#especially for creators that seem to want to pat themselves on the back for bringing up topics of class/privilege

[sapphirelass]

Two Peas in a Pod - Harry PotterxSister!Reader

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For this one-shot I have taken inspiration from both the book and the film, as well as left out parts of the original dialogue that, for the purpose of this story, felt irrelevant.

Word count: ≈ 2400

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You probably already knew this, but still XD

(Y/N) - Your name

(Y/N/N) - Your nickname

(Y/H/C) - Your hair colour

(Y/H/L) - Your hair length

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Two Peas in a Pod

Harry Potter and his twin sister (Y/N) were like two peas in a pod. Always had been. Supposedly, that was what happened when young magicians had to grow up with muggles, especially if those muggles were named “Dursley”. Harry was always more impulsive, whereas (Y/N) took on the role of the rational one, yet they had both been placed in Gryffindor house by the sorting hat four years prior.

It was now the first of September 1995, and last year had been a rough one. Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry and (Y/N)’s parents, had just come back and despite their efforts, this holiday had been more miserable than any of the previous ones. Dudley and his friends, dementor attacks, and a general lack of communication with the wizarding world left the twins in a particularly bad mood. They arrived at Kings Cross, and after pulling Harry away from Draco Malfoy, (Y/N), her brother, Ron and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts express, and found a place to sit.

During the start-of-the-year feast, the small group of friends quickly realized that something was wrong. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - Dolores Umbridge - was a ministry employe, which was weird on its own, but the way she spoke, acted, and kept interrupting Dumbledore with shrill, irritating *hum hum*’s made them all feel queasy.

After a quiet discussion in the common room (and quite a bit of loud arguing between Harry and Seamus Finnigan), they went to bed, yawning, and not exactly looking forward to that year’s first period of DADA.

***

They entered the classroom, and to their surprise, Umbridge actually wasn’t there yet. Harry and (Y/N) shared a confused look, but went to sit down, Harry with Ron, and (Y/N) with Hermione. Eventually though, the professor did arrive, her unnaturally high-pitched voice bringing them all back to reality.

“Good morning, class!” she said cheerfully

There was a quiet murmur among the students, and Umbridge shook her head.

“Good Morning!” she said again, this time more sternly. “I expect you to answer me when spoken to.”

A slightly louder “Good morning professor” could be heard, and though Umbridge didn’t seem too pleased, she decided to move on with the lesson.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels - OWLs” she started. “Your previous teachers in this subject have all been quite questionable choices, however this year things will be the way they were meant to. Open your books on page 4.”

A few minutes had passed before Hermione raised her hand and said “Professor, there is nothing in here about using defensive spells.”

“Using spells?” Umbridge asked, laughing nastily

“We’re not to use magic?” Ron asked

“You will be learning defensive magic in a safe, risk-free environment”

“But”, said Harry, rather angrily, “what good would that do? If we were attacked that wouldn’t be risk-free!”

“Ha!”, laughed Umbridge, “And who exactly do you think would want to attack a helpless child such as yourself? Besides, the education you will receive will be more than enough for you to pass your OWLs, and that is after all just what school is about.” She finished with a smirk, looking rather satisfied with her speech.

(Y/N), who had sat quietly this whole time shifted slightly in her chair, and exclaimed: “It’s not though!

“Sorry?” Umbridge asked, dumbfounded

“School isn’t solely about receiving good grades! It’s about preparing the students for life, and supplying them with the tools and knowledge necessary in order to succeed and improve. If we’re not going to do that, then why, may I ask, is this a mandatory course? It’s already starting to seem rather pointless to me.”

Harry was perplexed. How his sister always managed to, 1: use her words in such a remarkable way, and 2: remain calm through the most infuriating of situations was a mystery to him, however he turned his gaze back towards Umbridge, waiting for her reply.

“Nonsense” She said. “This course is compulsory, and rightfully so!”

“How though?” Inquired (Y/N), pushing it further than she probably should have. “Can you name any situation, apart from the exam, where your teachings will be of any help to us? Or didn’t the ministry consider that?”

That was the top of the iceberg.

“DETENTION!!” shouted Umbridge. “My office, 8:30 would you be so kind, Ms Potter.”

(Y/N) flinched. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however detention was not something she had to endure very often. That was more Harry’s thing. She sank quietly back onto her chair, and Umbridge continued with her boring, unnecessary lesson, reciting facts and procedures they had all learnt about 4 years earlier. (Y/N) could feel her brother staring, practically burning a hole in her neck, but somehow, probably thanks to Ron, he kept quiet for the rest of the class.

An hour later, class ended and none of the Gryffindor students wasted any time getting out of Umbridge’s classroom. (Y/N) threw her stuff into her brown, leather bag and dashed out of the room without making eye contact with her brother or friends.

“(Y/N/N)!” Harry shouted. “Wait up!”

He caught up with his sister on the stairs leading down to McGonagall’s classroom.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking up at him with an annoyed stare she said “Yes Harry! Just brilliant!” with a sarcastic tone in her voice. She kept on walking, but Harry grabbed her shoulder. A few years ago, they had been roughly the same size, but Harry had grown A LOT, and was by now almost seven inches taller. All the quidditch training had apparently paid off too, and (Y/N) knew instantly that she would never be able to escape his firm, yet gentle grip. He glanced down on her with a worried look on his face.

“I’m serious!” he said. “Stop”

She turned around and faced him. “What?” She spat at him, suddenly noticing her icy voice.

“Sorry…” (Y/N) mumbled, “she just pissed me off. I’m fine.” Her facial expression softened and she met Harry’s eyes for the first time since class ended. He let go of her shoulders, and was just about to say something when a tall ginger came running at full speed and gave (Y/N) a supportive pat on the back.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “(Y/N), did you see the look on her face? Bloody hell, she was angrier than Malfoy after Harry beat him in his first quidditch match!”

“Yes” stated (Y/N) simply, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, “I saw…”

“Oh cheer up!” stated Ron, “an hour or two of detention isn’t the end of the world. If you ask me, it was totally worth it!”

Hermione gave him a disapproving stare as (Y/N) sadly stated, “It might not have been the cleverest thing to do” Both Harry and Hermione blinked at her with a sort of “you-don’t-say?” kind of look as she kept on speaking. “But you must admit that it’s the truth? Defence against the dark arts has never been as important as it is right now. We are all going to die before the end of the year unless we learn and improve?!”

“You’re right.” Hermione muttered, and surprisingly, she smiled slightly. “But we’ll have to talk about that later, otherwise we’ll be late for transfiguration. Come on!”

***

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and the quartet soon found themselves in front of the fireplace in the common room. It was about 8:20 when (Y/N) stood up, grabbed a jacket, and left for Umbridge’s office.

“Good luck!” Harry said, frowning deeply, “I’ll wait for you here.”

(Y/N) turned around quickly, “Haz, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep and I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

Harry gave her a sort or irritated look, to which she sighed and left without a word.

“What do you think she’ll have her do?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know” Harry hissed, “but I’m sure she’ll tell me when she gets back...”

The remaining three looked at each other. Ron threw Harry a chocolate frog, and then - they waited…

***

*knock knock*

There was a slight clinking noise, like metal on china, followed by a repulsing “come in”. (Y/N) took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Ah!” chirped Umbridge, “Potter, sit down, will you?”

(Y/N) apprehensively made her way across the room to the chair her so-called “professor” had pointed at. She sat down and looked around nervously.

“You will be writing some sentences for me today, no” Umbridge said, as (Y/N) reached down to her bag to pick up something to write with. “no, not with your own quill. You’ll be using a rather special one of mine.” She smiled evilly, and pushed a black, pointy feather across the table.

(Y/N) grabbed it carefully and asked in a silent, trembling voice, “what should I write?”

“Oh, right! How about… ‘I must obey my superiors’?”

***

It was about three hours later, when (Y/N) slowly made her way back to the common room, red, hot blood dripping from her left hand leaving a small trail through the corridor. The pain had intensified, and was by this point almost unbearable. She took a quick detour to the girls’ bathroom, hoping to be able to clean herself up a bit before having to face her friends and brother. She had told him to go to sleep, after all, it was almost midnight by now, but she knew him all too well. The odds of him being in bed were absolutely zero.

She watched the thick, red liquid disappear down the sink and let a few tears fall, before grabbing some paper making sure no tears or blood could be seen. She had to make it through the common room up to the dormitories quickly though, since she was sure Harry would be able to tell she’d been crying, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Sure, she could just tell him, but something inside her argued against that. He had been rather angry and distressed all summer, and she knew he wasn’t feeling much better now. Harry had enough to deal with without handling her problems too.

Entering the common room, roughly four seconds had passed before her brother was by her side.

“Hey,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

She nodded and mumbled a quiet. “Yes. ‘m tired though, night Harry”

She walked the stairs up to her dorm, leaving Harry behind. He simply stood there dumbfounded. What had just happened? “Oh… okay, night (Y/N/N)”

She didn’t answer…

***

The following morning, he found her at the breakfast table, slowly digesting a tiny portion of porridge. She was wearing one of his old quidditch jumpers underneath her cloak. He knew, because it was far too big for her, and the sleeves reached down to her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling her (Y/H/L), (Y/H/C) hair, “Feeling better?”

“Sure, “ she murmured, slowly pulling the sleeves even further down. He gave her a supportive hug.

“But come on now, “ he urged her. “You can’t be sad forever. What did she have you do?”

“Nothing…”

“(Y/N/N)!”

“Just write some sentences. It was fine, rather dull to be honest with you.” She threw the spoon into the bowl, and pushed it away. “How are you feeling? Any bad dreams?”

“Always…” he muttered, shaking his head at the milk that had splashed out on the table, “could have been worse though.”

Harry made himself some toast, as Ron and Hermione joined them in the great hall.

***

A week or so later Harry had had enough. It was in defence against the dark arts, on a rather cold Tuesday afternoon that he finally snapped, and shouted at professor Umbridge, who seemed almost too happy for a reason to give him detention.

The gang sat, yet again, around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry suddenly left and climbed through the portrait hole. He came back a few hours later, a downright furious look on his face, and walked straight up to his sister without even noticing the ghost he had stumbled through. He looked down at her smaller frame, his quidditch jumper yet again pulled over her head.

“Let me see, ” he said through gritted teeth, causing (Y/N) to look up at him, trying her best to act confused.

“Wha…”

“(Y/N) - let. me. see.” he repeated firmly, his emerald eyes penetrating the mental wall behind which she had been trying so hard to hide her troubles.

She closed her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to her elbow. The blood had naturally dried, however five heart wrenching words were etched into her still red, irritated skin.

I must obey my superiors

No one said a thing. (Y/N) was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her brother’s eyes, all while Harry felt madder than he ever had before.

Madder than when Dudley had been pushing him around the school yard.

Madder than when Malfoy had taunted him because of the dementors.

Madder than when he had found out that his aunt and uncle had lied about their parents true fate for almost 10 years.

This was his sister, and it was far from okay.

Without thinking, Harry was just about to shout at her for keeping something like that from him, when he noticed that she was crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she were clearly trying to hide. It felt as if all his anger simply washed away, and he crouched down and took her hand in his.

Harry’s hand was still covered in blood. He hadn’t had time to clean it, but had instead taken the shortest way to the common room, after realizing what had happened. Raising his right hand, he pulled her closer and felt her lean her head on his chest. They sat like that, arms wrapped around each other, for hours and slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Were they okay? Not at all. Would they be? Absolutely! Because they had each other, and when it really came down to it, that was all they needed, as the Potter twins were just like two peas in a pod.

~ L

Masterlist

[ordinaryschmuck]

Why I (Want to) Love Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this! I’m an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons. I also LOVE the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Whether as a kid, or an adult pretending to be a kid, this franchise is one that I’ll always revisit no matter how old I get. So when I heard that a new version of the series was coming out in 2018, titled as Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I was excited about it. Then I watched the series...and most of that excitement went down the sewer drain. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were some elements that seemed like there was some definite promise for a good series, but other aspects...I’ll have to explain. 

But keep in mind, I am going to be spoiling a lot about the series. So if you haven't watched it yet, I highly recommend you do so to form your own opinions. Because while it may not have grabbed me as much, that doesn’t mean the same can’t be said for you. With that out of the way, let's get started with--

WHAT I LIKE

The Animation: If anybody ever tells you that Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles has awful animation, they are objectively wrong. Rise of the TMNT has some of the best, if not the best, animated fight scenes I've seen from any action series in recent memory. Probably because the show understands the number one rule of action animation: Good animation is a requirement. Not an exception.

For an action-oriented animated series, the audience needs to feel the impact whenever characters punch, block, or dodge in each fight. Yes, even dodge. Because if you can feel even the tiniest gust of wind that passes by a character's face after a punch, then you know the animators are doing something right. And trust me when I say that is present in the majority of most fights in Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Are there moments when the movements are slow and rigid? Yes...during the dialogue and comedic scenes. Moments where good and quality animation isn't really all that necessary. You see this same technique in most modern anime: The animation is rigid and cheap for the dialogue-heavy scenes so the animators can give extra attention to the epic action set pieces. Not a single person complains about this happening in their favorite anime of the week. But when Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles does this, apparently it's a bad thing? Explain that logic to me!

The animation is phenomenal in this show. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise because those people are either blind or insanely stupid. Either works.

It’s Pretty Funny: And that's about it. It's nowhere near one of the funniest shows I have seen, and previous iterations of the franchise did a much better job at balancing humor and heart, but Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles did a great job at getting a laugh out of me from time to time. It has a very random sense of humor that works well with its manic energy, similar to what Star vs. the Forces of Evil did early on in its first season. Even if one joke fails, about ten more take its place, most of them funnier than the others. There may be an occasional issue where a joke spoils a dramatic moment, but Rise of the TMNT is one of the few shows where that issue doesn't happen often. Besides, the series sets itself up as more of a comedy than other reboots and reiterations, so it wouldn't look good if it wasn't funny. Thankfully, it is, and in a way, the show is a success because of it.

It Tries to be Something New: This is what I respect most about the series. The downside about a reboot is that writers have to find a way to tell the same story but with adjustments that make it seem different. That's the same way Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles operates as a franchise. The original concepts of the stories and characters are always iconic, and I'll love them with my whole heart, but I will admit, there's a point where the same thing over and over again can be a little tiring. Then there's Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which makes changes where other shows would ask "why," this is the one that asks "why not?"

Why not change the personality and backstories of characters that still fit with the spirit of the original?

Why not change the genders, races, and possibly sexualities of these iconic characters?

Why not make something new?

Now, some have argued that the show is a little too new. Which I can kind of see the point of. After all, what's the point of changing characters and concepts so drastically when you could just make an original series? But even then, most of the changes are pretty clever, that I think it’s worth remembering for future iterations. Like making Casey Jones a female. Casey is a gender-neutral name, and I legitimately thought this series would do it for that reason alone. So I feel bad that the writers never got a chance to allow the series to reach its full potential with ideas like this due to Nickelodeon screwing them over (Seriously, never pitch a show to Nickelodeon. It rarely ever works out, and it's not worth the risk). I can see how these ideas could result in an incredible show that might cement the series as one of the best iterations of the franchise. But I can't base a story on potential. I can only judge what I see, and what I see are brilliant changes that impress me from time to time.

The Creators Are Still Fans: Despite making something completely different, you can tell that everyone working on this show loves TMNT as the rest of the fans do. There are dozens of references to previous versions littered throughout the series. Whether it's shoutouts to the 90s cartoon to bringing back voice actors from the last one, there are moments where the crew behind the series emphasizes how much they care about the franchise. There are also times when a reference has such a deep cut to it. For example, the series has the previous VA for Splinter to voice the current version of Shredder. I shouldn't have to explain how that is a brilliant idea, especially given Shredder's relationship with Karai...which I can't fully explain due to it spoiling TMNT (2012). This might be a whole new experience, but it is clear that history is not ignored when it comes to Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

The Cast is Colorful: It's not precisely a diversity win to have half the Turtles voiced by black VAs, but it is unquestionably some good sign of progress. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are...accurately what they are called. So they are not defined by the skin tone of the VAs themselves. So having half of them be voiced by people of color makes me hopeful that maybe future reboots would consider more colorful castings. Hell, maybe one day we'll have a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles reboot where all of them are POCs, to the point that we'll have an all-Asian casting for these timeless heroes (which makes way too much sense to me).

And it's not just the casting of the turtles that impresses me. Because the series making April O'neil black is an idea that I'm more than ok with. It's implied that she's black in the original comics by Keven Eastman and Peter Laird, so it works as another deep-cut reference that proves how big of fans the crew is. Plus, who cares? I mean, if we're still having issues of changing the race of a character who was originally white, all I can say is grow the hell up. You can complain if they don't grab you, but if the issue is because of one decision that shouldn't negatively affect anybody, I don't see the problem. Besides, at this point, a character being white is basically the base plate for someone in the future to change their race at another time.

Also, let’s give the people behind the casting a pat on the back for casting Asian VAs for characters who are, well, Asian. It’s the bare minimum of common courtesy and avoids the trouble of having white VAs do asian accents that have become quite culturally insensitive nowadays. So it’s a pretty cool decision if you ask me.

Diversity is never an issue, especially since representation always matters for people who demand to be heard. It's definitive proof that anybody can be anything, whether it's a hero in fiction or the voice of that hero behind the scenes. And you can't really do that when everyone is so white that it's blinding.

Donatello: This is the best character in the series. Not only because Donatello has the most consistent personality (more on that later), but also because I'm a sucker for the cynical super-geniuses. These types of characters always have a quick and dry wit that never fails to get a laugh out of me, and this version of Donatello became my favorite just for that factor alone. Most of the credit goes to Josh Brener, who does a phenomenal job at his performance and comedic delivery. As for the emotional bits, he's...fine, but the drama isn't the show's best strength anyway, so it doesn't matter as much. Because the fact that it's Donatello who earns the spot as best character in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles reboot is an impressive feat in itself that any criticism offered for him is moot in the process.

WHAT I DISLIKE

Leonardo: I'm willing to make half of this a personal issue because I have grown to despise Ben Schwarts in the last four years. No offense to the guy, I'm sure he's a really great person in real life...but he has done nothing but play the same character in FOURS YEARS! Whether he's Leonardo, Dewey Duck, Sonic the Hedgehog, or even M.O.D.O.K.'s son (yes, that's a thing), Ben Schwarts has practically played the exact same character each time. The highly energized, dimwitted, and egotistical character who slowly tries to learn to be a better person in the end. AND SOMETIMES, NOT EVEN THAT! I'm sick of it, as it always breaks the immersion of the series as all I hear is Ben Schwarts and not the character he's voicing. But it's not just the voice behind Leonardo that frustrates me. Because the thing is, I can see how this version of him can be incredible.

It doesn't take a genius to know that this version of Leonardo is meant to be more childlike and carefree so he can morph into the more mature leader we all know and respect him as. The issue is that the writers barely do anything with that idea. Sure some episodes make this Leonardo more like, well, Leonardo, but they're far and few between the ones where he's the same Ben Schwarts character that I've grown to hate. Even when he is at his most Leo-like, as seen in the episode "Man vs. Sewer," it's so drastically different from how he usually acts that it feels less like character development and more like inconsistency. It's a shame too because I really love this idea. With a little more polish, it could work out. As is, it's just a huge chunk of wasted potential.

Raph’s Too Good of a Leader: This is a similar issue to what I've mentioned about Leonardo. Because, again, I love this idea. Raphael, in multiple iterations, complained about how he should be the leader and just as frequently learns why the job rightly belongs to Leo instead. So starting with this role reversal should be a well-executed idea that gives Raph what he wants while eventually giving the fans what they want. And it would be if not for the fact that Raph seems to be too good at his job.

I get it. If Raphael was too incompetent, the turtles would have gotten nothing done, and it would get too tiring too quick as Leonardo constantly proves why he should lead and why Raph should follow. This actually happens from time to time, and it is already tiresom. The issue is that the intention was to make Leonardo the leader in the end. So why spend so much time showing how Raphael is capable at the job and barely any time showing why Leonardo is a better fit? There are even times when Raphael seems like he really is a better leader than Leo, which I feel as though it is contradictory to the point the writers are trying to get across. In the end, it's nothing more than another really great idea met with insanely poor execution.

Master Splinter (Early Season One): ...Did anybody like this version of Master Splinter in the first half of season one? Because this character was atrocious, especially compared to the previous Splinter from TMNT (2012). We went from what is easily the best interpretation of the character to what was, at the time, the worst. He was lazy, selfish, and emotionally distant with his sons to the point where he only acknowledges them by the color of their bandannas. I understand that the writers needed a more comedic version of the character due to leaning extra hard into comedy, but I don't think I laughed once with his antics in the first half of season one. Thankfully, he's been gifted with a softcore reboot during the second half and onward. This Splinter is awesome, serious, he works well as a straight man, and he has a backstory that's easy to follow while still being kind of heartbreaking. It's a tremendous improvement from what we've been given, but it still doesn't change how downright painful he initially was. I won't complain about the results, but I do have the right to complain about what we got beforehand.

Characters are Inconsistent: A common complaint you'll hear about Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is that the main characters are the same. That's not true because there are definite differences that separate each one apart from the other...the issue is that the writers are not consistent with those changes. I've touched upon it with Leo, but the truth is, everyone in the main cast suffers from inconsistency with their personalities. If Raph is supposed to be the meathead with a good heart, why are there times when he acts like the smart one who occasionally enjoys violence? If April is supposed to be as wild and carefree as the rest of the guys, why are there episodes where she seems to be the sane one? If Mikey is supposed to be kind yet somewhat stupid, why are there episodes where he's selfish and more intelligent than Leonardo? Even Donatello, who is the most consistent out of the whole cast, still suffers through moments when he isn't as clever and cynical as he usually is. These inconsistencies are annoying, and at times, it feels like their personalities are dependent on what the writers need for a joke or for the episode. Characters are the most essential aspect of any story for any medium. If audiences don't care about the characters, they'll find it hard to care about anything else. And how can we care about anyone if we're not one hundred percent sure what their personalities are in the first place?

The Pacing: I sort of expected this when it was announced that this reboot was swapping the franchise's usual half-hour runtime for a ten-minute one, but in all honesty, it isn't that bad. It is slightly fast at times, but that's just as quick to get used to. However, there is one strange phenomenon about this show that I can't let go of.

You see, this series somehow has worse pacing with extended episodes and specials than it does with its usual ten minutes. I don't know how this is possible either. Because despite having as much time as the writers want to establish each plot point, it still feels like they fly through them a little too fast than they regularly would. It makes no sense, but it's constant in every extended episode, especially the series finale (which, to be fair, is partially Nickelodeon's fault. AGAIN!). So keep that in mind when watching.

The Characters Are TOO Overpowered: It feels weird complaining about this. Because making the characters capable of doing anything and surviving much more leads to some of the most epic action sequences in animation history, not just the series or the TMNT franchise as a whole. Despite that, though, there is one crucial thing that is always missing from those fight scenes anyways: Tension.

To fully explain why tension is required in action, I'll have to use Samurai Jack as an example. You see, the titular character can, at times, be just as invincible as these versions of the Turtles and survive even worse. But regardless of him being victorious after nearly every episode, no matter how high the deck is stacked against him, there was always a sense that he fought hard, literally and figuratively, for those victories in the first place. Jack losing articles of clothing or getting cut up gives the illusion that he might not win in the end. He still does, and he always does, but showing the audience that he can and will get hurt makes seeing that victory feel earned. The only times the Turtles, April, or Splinter get hurt is either for comedic slapstick or because the story says so. This is why I consider Shredder destroying the lair is the best fight scene in the entire series. The second he starts destroying their weapons, it gives the tension required to believe maybe, just maybe, not everyone will make it out alive this time. Because if the characters aren't careful, they will face intense consequences as a result. Thus making an adrenaline-pounding moment in the process. Unfortunately, this is the one and only fight scene where that happens. Every action set piece is still epic, don't get me wrong. But there's a reason why writers make even Superman seem less invincible than typical in a fight.

Baron Draxum: THIS is the biggest issue that I have with the series.

As a villain, I didn't give a s**t about Baron Draxum. He was a dull antagonist with a generic evil plot, but other than that, he was perfectly serviceable for a series like this. Even getting a few chuckles now and again...but then the writers decided to make him REDEEMABLE!?

This guy?

The maniac who wanted to commit genocide on human beings, all because of insufficient proof that they'll do it to his species first?

Didn't we already learn how that's awful reasoning after Steven Universe?

Actually, that's not fair...because Steven Universe has a better explanation behind wanting to redeem the Diamonds than Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles does about Baron Draxum! And I'm not kidding! For Steven Universe, the characters believe that it's better to end things peacefully than killing anyone, even if they're the worst criminals. It's a flawed mentality, sure, but it's one you can grasp and understand. What's the reason for redeeming Baron Draxum? It's because he's the reason why Splinter and the turtles are a family...F**k all the physical torture Splinter went through on top of the social ostracization he experienced because of it. No, no, it totally validates the decision to forgive and forget...Oh, wait, no, it doesn't. BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE INSANE!

Who in the f**k honest to goodness thought that would be a good idea? I'm all for finding silver linings in a bad situation, but that is just flat-out lunacy! Because it's the equivalent of saying, "Yeah, this person was a complete a-hole, but they're still the a-hole that made you who you are today." But that is a very dangerous lesson to preach to kids. Because here's the--Hey *snaps fingers* Here's the thing: If a person treats you like garbage, you don't owe them anything for who you are. It's one thing if a person inspired you or cheered you on, but if someone basically ruined your life and physically harmed you and others, don't forgive them. They don't deserve it. ‘Cause f**k Baron Draxum. And whoever thought this was a good idea, you seriously need some help.

Man, is this how it feels to be Lily Orchard? IT SUCKS!

IN CONCLUSION

And that's what I think about Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. 

It's a fantastic series! I just like everything except for the execution of ideas, most of the characters, and the overall pacing of it...that means it's not a good series, is it?

Yeah, it's a real shame that I don't like this. Because I want to. I really want to. The pieces are there, and I can see how this could be a great and memorable version of a series I loved since I was a tater-tot myself. But I don't. I'm sorry, but I just don't consider this to be an A+ series. It's a solid C, for sure, because it's mostly just style with very little substance. I still respect the amount of effort everyone put into this reboot, but for me, it just never had its chance to fully rise to the occasion.

[scribblewriting65]

Top 5 YouTube Channels

Intro

Communication is a powerful and ever-changing force; especially with the rise of the Internet in recent decades. And no online service knows this better than YouTube. Hosting thousands of channels and millions of videos, no website has sucked away our free time quite like Big Red.

Today I would like to acknowledge 5 of the platform’s strongest creators, in my eyes. Whether it be for their intelligent content or the sheer fun they bring, to me, these guys are some of the best of the best; and proudly hold some of my greatest respect.

Quick disclaimers: This is my first writing like this, and as you know, opinions can change over time; so please lower your pitchforks and know that there are plenty of channels I love. Also, when writing this, I don’t have a particular order in mind (Except for #1). Whether you find your favorite on the bottom, top, or nowhere at all, know that these guys deserve a watch (if my digital mouth has any impact on your choices, that is).

Enough talk though. Onward, to appreciation!

#5: JT Music

Art is mankind’s most unique unifier, and no art brings people together quite like music. Whether it be country, funk, or rap in this pick’s case, you can look just about anywhere for a good time.  And while rock star NateWantstoBattle is a close second in this regard, no musician really does it for me quite like JT.

While most would look at the genre “Video Game Rap” with an upturned nose, those that stick around won’t find anything quite like what Skull and Pat bring to the table. Their weekly tunes always bring a fire to my subscription feed, whether they’re putting me into the role of a badass superhero, or dragging me into the darkest abyss, I can just about always have a good time nodding my head to the beat.

Not only is their work consistently fun, but it’s also wide in diversity, and constant in quality. Hits like Follow Father, No Hero, and Hungry for Another One capture their source material perfectly within a musical context. Even their cameo appearances in tracks like DAGames’ We Want Out and Zack Boucher’s Ultimate Super Smash Bros. Rap steal the show with their wild energy. I always find myself smiling when I find their newest song; getting a small amount of enjoyment even in my less liked tracks.

Consistent fun and passion can be felt in the notes, and I can’t help but rock my skull out when JT Music starts playing.

#4: GameXplain

Games offer a wide variety no matter where you look. No matter if you’re looking for a deep insight into 30 second clips, latest updates on a title, or general thoughts on an event, you can always find something, or someone, explaining the perspective for you.

I’m a funny guy, aren’t I?

GameXplain has certainly explored over the years. From Cool Bits and Missing In Action in the past, to their famous modern Analyses and Discussions, Andre and friends have always hosted an approachable place with a variety of outlooks from its diverse crew, like Andre’s obsession with Stunt Race FX and Ash’s knowledge and love of Mega Man.

Even if you aren’t super into any of their interests, you’ll still find a laid-back but insightful pool of content. Their discussions are a personal favorite of mine, bringing fun, thoughtful ideas to events or ideas occurring in the gaming industry. I can’t help but get caught up in their hype, especially for Nintendo Directs or the annual E3 Show.

Even if I don’t quite understand the excitement that something is receiving, I can always go to these guys for a solid explanation and platform to join the hype train.

#3: Mithzan

It seems that no matter where you go, Minecraft can be found there. Games, books, plushies, animations, even an entire convention; those familiar blocks pervade some space of modern culture. While this space has hosted some incredible creations, simplicity also has its own beauty.

Mithzan uses this simplicity to great effect. With his buddies Ross, Pooki, Jerry and frequent guests, Max is always there to give me a laugh. And while Minecraft holds a variety of fun games like Would You Rather and Never Have I Ever, Mithzan also offers experiences outside of the blocks, like Uno and Dead by Daylight.

Along with the wide content, the experiences and humor are also varied, sometimes employing puns or old-fashioned smack talk, to name a few. Even with the different conversations and games, the fun and heart are always there. Whether he’s playing a wacky or horrifying game, Mithzan is approachable and honest with his style of play.

#2: Mother’s Basement

Appearances can be deceiving, no matter where you look. Assumed bullies are victims themselves, ‘loner’ people are simply introverted, and the most stubborn ones find themselves lost in an unexpected niche. All it takes is a little looking around, and you’ll find a new lesson or friend more often than not.

And what better place to look for insight than in a Mother’s Basement?

While not all people can see the artistry that anime brings to the table, Mother’s Basement brings its potential to the limelight. With weekly insights and discussions on things like how animation enhances an atmosphere or what makes a fight extraordinary in Animelee, the ideas and thought put into these discussions is top-notch.

Along with this, Geoff (the host)’s voice is great support, staying calm but strong, adding great emphasis on major points. He even provides touches of comedy and actual life advice into his videos. I find myself especially entertained with his analyses on My Hero Academia and Fullmetal Alchemist, but Geoff also covers topics like best romantic partners and essential shows to watch (and avoid), and pointing out his reasons why. Even if anime isn’t your style, there are some videos dotted in discussing topics like the nuances of binge-watching in “Is Binge Watching Bad for Us? (Netflix vs. Disney+)” and other media like movies (“Spider-Verse: The Ultimate Spider-Man Movie”) and video games (“Insomniac’s Spider-Man is Truly Superior”).

While it took some time to grow on me, I’m glad to have been welcomed into Mother’s Basement. With plenty of insight and care put into each video, Geoff is just about always a good choice for fun education on how artistic Japanese animation can be.

#1:Fawful’s Minion

The world is full of stories; they’re simply part of human nature. Whether it be fantasy, drama, or comedy, all of us have the potential to weave tales that inspire. And none have inspired me on YouTube quite like Fawful’s Minion.

This mean bean gaming machine has the mouth of a divine artist. His videos always bring a bright smile and incredible awe to me for just how much quality and care goes into each video. Fawful’s Top 10’s have never let me down with their fun, reasons, and pure passion that is tangible in every project.

Not only are the videos fun, but they’re also inspiring too. Fawful’s linguistics is beyond captivating, even partially motivating how I speak and write. Along with constantly being a good time, I’m always inspired to write or gain a storytelling voice whenever I watch an FM video.

And the touches of insight into his personal life give Fawful an air of relatability. Now, I realize I may make him sound like some sort of Shakespearian poet, but he also dispels this through his more colorful language, bringing in modern terms (and curses) and joyful, nearly maniacal at times, laughter and emotion into his speech, making himself grounded and relatable.

Most of all, Fawful’s storytelling skills were, and still are, a big reason why I write and tell my own stories. I want to enrapture others with my words like Fawful does, so he gets a big thanks and respect in my book. Balancing fun, humor, emotion, and creativity, Fawful’s Minion has made a goon out of me, running towards the goal of becoming a true storyteller.

Outro

If you made it here, thanks for sticking around! I wanna maybe try these sorts of blog/list posts more often, so tell me what you think! If you like this and want to see more, feel free to check out my AO3 Page: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribbleWriting65. I hope you enjoyed this little list, and I’ll see you next time!

[scratchybeardsweetmouth]

Iain Glen Knows Why You're So Thirsty For Jorah Mormont on Game of Thrones

By Madison Vain April 29, 2019  Photography [and Videography] by Tyler Joe

Excerpt:

Ser Jorah Mormont crossing the wide terrains of Westeros on horseback is a familiar sight for fans of HBO's Game of Thrones. But for actor Iain Glen, who’s played the role now for seven-plus seasons, it’s hardly his favorite mode of transportation. “I always find a bicycle,” he says, sitting in a Midtown Manhattan green room, speaking about how he prefers to get around since the show catapulted its cast into the stardom stratosphere. It’s simply the most practical—not to mention safest—way to travel, these days. In some locations, especially Spain, he notes, fans don’t hold back when they spot the lovelorn lord. “They’ll attack you,” he says. “They’ll just grab you and start snogging you without invitation.” It's not exactly a violent response, but it does make getting around difficult. “They just want to hold you,” he continues. Cue: a set of wheels. “I don’t know what it is,” he admits, “They stop looking. They don’t associate actors with bicycles. So [I] just always sneak out the back, get a bicycle, and find a hickey restaurant on the outskirts of town. That’s my modus operandi.” New York is a bit easier, and he insisted on arriving at our April interview on foot even though a few blocks away fans have been camping outside of the hotel where the Thrones cast is staying for the premiere of Season Eight. Fans in the city recognize him, but let him get on his way. “It's lovely, actually,” he admits, laughing. “It reminds me of London.”  Historically, the attention has been confusing for Glen's younger children. (He has one son and two daughters.) His youngest is six and, as the actor says, frequently taken back by the approach of strangers. He chuckles, recalling her questions: Do you know that person? Why do people keep speaking to you? Why are they calling you Jorah? But for Glen, it's welcome. He says his wife actually put it best: “Who would not want someone to pat you on the back and tell you you're fantastic a few times every day?” For many of Glen’s young costars, Game of Thrones marked the very beginning of their careers. (Bella Ramsey, who plays Jorah’s cousin, the spunky Lyanna Mormont, hasn’t even seen most of the series on the account of only being 15 years old.) But the 57-year-old Scot has been working consistently across film, television, and theater for decades. One of his fondest memories of New York, he says, almost wistful, was when he and Nicole Kidman starred in Blue Room on Broadway in 1998. He lived near Central Park and spent his down time perusing the Met, freely.   “It’s a great deal to take on when you’re that young,” he says of co-stars like Maisie Williams and Sophie Turner who began filming as young teens. “But they all seem to be managing incredibly well.” And, as only an actor seasoned by years of rejection can, he quips, with a laugh: “And, if I’d been Kit’s age or Maisie’s age when I started, I certainly wouldn’t be complaining!” A wizened perspective actually made him more measured in his acceptance of the role, initially, he recalls. “When you accepted the job, you had to commit for, I think it was four years,” he says. “And they wouldn’t tell you if you were gonna die.” Glen said his team pressed HBO for details: “I asked for a breakdown, going forward, season by season.” His quest turned up few details, but something about the little he learned inspired him. “Listen, you go out for stuff, and there’s some things you really want and some things you don’t,” he says. “I really wanted this. I remember saying to my wife that I had a funny feeling about it. I felt like it was going somewhere.” As we all know now, he was right. The show is watched obsessively, by millions. (The Season Eight premiere drew a record 17.4 million viewers, making it HBO’s biggest night ever for streaming.) And in the age of Netflix binges where watching on your own time is the norm, it remains a can’t-miss, Sunday night event. That reality is a treat for the cast, as much as the viewers, assures Glen. A long career means the actor is exponentially more aware of how special it is to have been involved. “It’s very unusual to come back to something again and again and again,” he muses. “The life of an actor is very ephemeral. That’s what we’re used to; getting thrown with a bunch of strangers and getting to know each other really quickly and then saying, ‘Right, I’m gonna completely forget about that and now I’m going to jump into something else.’ Certainly, in my experience as an actor, I’ve never done anything like this. And to come back to something that everyone is saying is just going fantastic, that’s a very binding thing in itself. That was very winning.” much has been made over the years about some of the brutal shoots the cast has had to endure each season. (See: the Battle of Winterfell, which required 11 weeks of freezing, night shoots.) But for the most part, Glen was lucky. “In the early seasons, I was part of the Dothraki/Daenerys storyline,” he explains. “We were always on the move, always traveling. But we were always coming into rather fantastic, gorgeous, sunny warm spaces. We were filming the bit that the crew always looked forward to each season, before they went back to shitty, wet, cold weather.” And then came the greyscale. When the disease had gotten to its worst, Glen spent eight hours with the costume department, getting a full prosthetic outfitted on him before each shoot. “It was like coming in at midnight and being ready to shoot at eight, to then do the ten-hour day,” he recalls. “It reminded me of some of the drugs I’ve taken. At university, I was pretty spaced out—but in a nice, helpful, acting way.” It was also during this time that Glen thought his run on the notoriously deadly show was coming to an end. “I thought my number was up,” he admits. “[Creators] Dan [Weiss] and Dave [Benioff] really enjoy fucking with the actors—not giving them any sort of clues. So I asked them both individually, because I couldn’t get the answer.” He still came up short. “One of them said ‘I’m not saying.’ The other, when I said, ‘Do I survive the greyscale?’ said, ‘You do this season.’” (Turns out, the actors know just how you feel, wondering about their characters’ fates.) Ser Jorah is not Jon Snow. He doesn’t have a hero storyline and he's not a contender for the Throne, so it wasn’t a give-in that he’d earn such a passionate fanbase. And yet the Jorah fan accounts on social and thirsty fan fiction on the internet has run wild over the years. Glen attributes it to his devotion to Dany, the Mother of Dragons. (Even, yes, when he betrays her.) “In a chaotic, mad, dangerous, and violent world in which people are generally out for themselves,” he begins, “the purity of his desire to support her—to be there for her—is a nice contrast to the rest of the show. For the first two, three seasons, it was about this desire to express that from his point of view, but never doing it.” He follows up, “Do you know what I mean?” Um yeah. Jorah as the head of House Friendzone is the material that’s spawned, to be exact, a gajillion memes since the show’s 2011 debut. The way he looks at her, even now, oozes with a desperation that viewers can’t help but melt over. “I think they modulated their journey really beautifully throughout the seasons,” he says of the writer’s attention to Dany and Jorah. “I think they found a really compelling root through it, where for you, as an audience, it's hard to stand from the outside. And I'm not the best person to ask, but people tell me, that you have such a mixture of emotions watching. At first you think, ‘Oh please, go on and say it!’ But then very quickly it's, ‘Oh god! You shouldn’t have!’” On a show that has to divide time between so many characters each week, there’s an inevitable risk that some storylines will feel one-note or under-developed. Glen’s refuses this in his portrayal of the former slave owner mightily, instead bringing a weightiness as well as a readiness to recognize internal conflicts to his turns on screen. “It’s like real life,” he says of his careful approach. “Isn’t it? With people that we fall madly in love with, there’s always a moment of, ‘Fuck, I never realized you were such a shit when I fell in love with you.’” It’s been a delight, truly, for audiences. But Sunday night, the pensive stead’s run finally came to an end. After leading legions of troops into the Battle of Winterfell, near the end of the one-hour, twenty-two minute episode, he fulfilled his final mission: protect Dany with his life. He lasted as long as the battle and Dany held him as he drew his final breath. For the fans who've loved him, they know it's exactly how he'd have hoped to go. [...] “I feel very happy with his story arc,” Glen tells me. “When we read all six episodes before we started at the beginning, in a big room in Northern Ireland—Belfast—I thought the writers had managed it incredibly well and thoroughly, in terms of looking after everyone. It’s one of the hard things when you write big, sweeping, epic dramas like this. How do you look after everyone’s storyline, individually?” We’ll continue to see as Season Eight continues its March towards a May 19 series finale. Glen is adamant that the sheer scale of the production will stick in his memory bank forever. “I felt like a kid, coming into set and seeing some huge, monumental fucking castle—and arriving at bases with so many vehicles, so many extras, so many horses. There’s a side to that which is just really thrilling.” But the moment he’s actually most fond of a shoot from Season Five when Ser Jorah, following a brutal journey with Tyrion Lannister, offers his life to Dany in the Fighting Pits in Mereen. It took several days—and five or six other fighters—to film, something Glen loves, but it was what was going on behind the camera that he enjoyed most. “My family was there,” he recalls. The crew dressed his then seven-year-old up as a mini Ser Jorah and let her call the shots alongside director David Nutter. “They put her in the gear and put scars on her face. It was so, just great.” Looking ahead, Glen joins the DC Universe. Earlier this month, it was announced that the actor would take on the role of Gotham City’s most notorious billionaire, Bruce Wayne, on Titans. It’s unlikely that that show—or any role—could eclipse Jorah’s rabid fandom but that hardly bothers Glen. “I’m proud of the product and I’m proud of any association with that,” he explains. “You can walk around thinking, ‘Didn’t you see my Hamlet?’ or ‘Where were you when I did Henry VI at the Royal Theater Company?’ but you’re wasting your time. [Thrones] is kind of the Holy Grail, to be critically approved but have a massive following? That’s the ticket.”

[beanfic]

Chapter 15

Word count: 1875

Warnings: Angst & violence

Author’s note: Second to last chapter! I added a bunch more stuff because I felt like originally it ended so abruptly, and I also want to apologize for the cliffhanger but you only have to wait until thursday for the last chapter! Again, thank you all for all the support! It means so much to me, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

“You ready for this Connor?” Josh asked the boy who stood in front of him. Josh finished wrapping the last piece of tape around his arm, and he patted Connor on the back.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” he shrugged as he finished putting the tape on his own body. He walked over to the window of their house and stared outside. There was a swarm of yellow as hundreds of Banditos stood outside awaiting their instructions.

“I’m surprised at how many banditos showed up,” Josh exclaimed, running his hand through his hair. “

“I guess the message spread pretty fast, huh?” Connor looked up at Josh. He had fear in his eyes, but he knew he had to be brave for his family.

“Rose did a good job, I was fortunate to have found her in Trench.” Josh walked over to Connor and wrapped his arms around the boy. It had been two days since they had escaped from the Dema headquarters, and it was spent getting prepared for the fight. They were constantly running and hiding from the Niner’s that were hunting the two men down.

“Okay, grab a pile of torches and head out there and hand them to the Banditos,” Josh instructed him. Connor went over and grabbed a handful of the Torches that Josh had gotten from the local wood shop and went out. Everyone looked and turned to him as he walked by handing them the torches.

“For Tyler,” each bandito said one by one in a whisper. Connor’s eyes made contact with each and every Bandito that he handed a torch too, and his own eyes started to fill with tears as he finally realized and understood why his dad did what he did. His music touched all these people in ways that could never be explained.

Connor walked back to the front door where Josh was standing. He wrapped his arm around Connor, and held him close as they looked out at the sea of yellow.

“For your dad,” Josh whispered. Connor closed his eyes and rested his head on his body.

“For my dad.”

Clancy ran down to the cell that you and your daughter was laying in and stared at you with a look of panic. She panted heavily as she was out of breath from running.. She walked over to your cell and kneeled down so she was face to face with you.

“The whole country is revolting, the Banditos are taking over,” she announced.

“What? What do you mean?” you asked frantically. Clancy kept on looking over her shoulder.

“I don’t have much time, but Josh sent a message out to all the Banditos across Dema, and they are revolting against-” her sentence was abruptly stopped when Nico slammed the door open and an angry Keons followed him

“Clancy!” he screamed. She mouthed she was sorry to you before walking up to her father.

“I told you she was up to no good, I’m not going to have any more of this!” Keons roared as he walked over to Clancy and slapped her cheek with the back of his hand. Clancy fell to the floor and grabbed her cheek with was pulsating.

“Clancy,” Nico said softly as he kneeled down by his daughter. “What is wrong with you?” he directed towards Keons.

“You are not fit to rule this country, Nicolas. Look at your daughter. I’ve said this over and over again. You are pathetic.”

“Are you okay Clancy?” Nico whispered to her as he held her in his lap. He ignored every word that Keons was saying.

“You can either prove to me that you are capable of being a ruler, or you could end up like how Tyler is going to end up.”

“What do you need me to do,” Nico murmured as he helped Clancy sit up.

“Dad?” she whispered but Nico was already turning around to face Keons.

“Take care of Tyler, I’ll get her,” he directed his head towards you and you sulked more into the corner that you were trying to hide in. Autumn was quivering in your arms, and you were trying your best to keep her calm.

You watched as Nico hastily walked over to Tyler’s cell and held him up by his neck. You bit down on your lip to keep you from crying out, but the taste of blood soon filled your mouth from how hard you were biting. Tyler’s body laid limp in Nico’s hands.

Keon’s walked over to your cell and opened it up. His gray skin shined under the light and his dark eyes stared you down. He grabbed your arm with a tight grip and pulled you and your daughter up so you were following him.

“Where are they taking us?” Autumn cried out. You shushed her, as you squinted into the sunlight. They had taken you outside, and it had been a while since you last saw daylight. You looked up and around you, and you were mesmerized by the buildings and pillars everywhere.

You continued following Keon's down multiple streets and corners for what seemed like forever until you started to recognize where you were being taken to. Glorious Vista, also known as the place where the Creators and Listeners live.

Keon’s pulled you towards what looked like a stage, and as you got closer you recognized the other seven Bishops standing up there as well as Tyler sitting in a chair. His head was moving a little, and it looked like he was starting to regain consciousness again.

There were about hundreds of people gathering, all of them being listeners and creators that were lucky enough to live in Glorious Vista, the town made especially for the top 1%. The sound of a microphone being tested got everyone's attention and soon it was so quiet you could hear a needle drop. You stared up at the stage to see your husband being humiliated by the Bishops. You wanted to run up there but there Niners everywhere, watching you closely.

“Listeners and creators, bishops and niners,” Nico boomed. “We have here a coward.” He held up Tyler and the crowd all booed. You grabbed onto Autumn's body tighter, and you placed her head into your shirt so she couldn’t see what was going on. You could feel her body shake as she sobbed.

“What happens when someone breaks the rules?” Nico asked and the crowd all chanted together.

“Smear them!”

“And what happens when someone breaks the rules a second time?”

“Kill him!” those two words echoed in the town and your knees become weak. You could not just stand here and watch your husband be murdered in front of you for creating music and helping people. You looked around frantically for Clancy, knowing that she would be the last chance of helping.

“This is an unfortunate day, but we have rules for a reason,” Nico spoke to the crowd. His eyes kept dancing between Keons and the crowd, and nervousness filled his words more than it was threatening.

“Do you hear that?” Autumn whispered as she looked up to you. You tried to listen to see what she was talking about, and then you started to hear a faint chant coming from afar. You turned your head around and could see bright orange lights were followed by yellow coming this way.

“Banditos,” you whispered to yourself.

“Connor!” Autumn squealed as she saw her brother holding hands with Josh in front of a huge crowd. Multiple people were holding torches, and it the yellow was blinding. They all were singing together in unison as they marched closer and closer to the stage where Tyler was.

“I could take the high road...” faintly sang the Banditos and everyone turned around to see a wave of yellow coming towards the middle of the arena like space. You turned around to look back up at the stage and you saw Tyler stand up from his chair and look forward. Nico’s mouth was stuck open but Keon’s looked angry. The other Bishops were talking among themselves as they had never seen this before.

“I’m a bandito,” rang out while more than 300 people sang. The sound was enough to bring shivers to your spine. They all stopped right before the stage, pushing all the other Listeners and Creators out of the way. They continued to sing towards Tyler, and you saw him drop to his knees. You wanted to run up there and save him, but you were struck with fear so you didn’t move.

“This is the sound we make…” Tyler croaked from the stage.

“Mama!” Autumn pointed up at her dad who was singing back to the crowd of Banditos. He hadn’t been able to even speak for the past few days so you were in awe of the power of the song.

The crowd all started to chant ‘Sahlo Folina’ as they swayed together holding hands. Tyler looked up at the sky while he was taking in the music and regaining his strength. The black on his neck started to fade a little as if the music was making him not be smeared anymore. Suddenly, a group of Niners headed towards Josh and Connor and you screamed out in terror.

“Stop!” Nico raised his hand to stop the Niners from hurting Josh and the boy, and the Banditos continued to chant. Nico looked around frantically not knowing what exactly to do, but Keon's walked over and whispered something in his ear. You didn’t know what he said, but you knew it wasn’t good.

You watched as Nico pulled out a knife from his pocket and held it up to Tyler’s throat. This made the singing stop, and it became as quiet as the night sky.

“Dad!” Connor screamed as you watched your son run to the front and push multiple Niners out of the way. Josh dropped his torch and followed after Connor but he was suddenly grabbed by Sacarver.

“No!” you screamed and you dropped to your knees. Your hand was around your stomach as you stared up at the stage through misty eyes. Sacarver dragged Josh to where Nico was holding Tyler, and he also pulled out a knife and held it up to Josh’s neck. Nico looked over at Sacarver with a panicked look and stared out at the crowd.

“Please,” you sobbed to yourself and Autumn was still tucked underneath your arms.

“No more errors!” Nico cried out with a piercing scream.  He raised the knife up in the air and thrusted it down, but suddenly a body came barreling into him and grabbed his arm before the knife could come down. You looked up to see Clancy holding her father's hands.

“Please, stop this,” she wailed. “Don’t kill them just because they make music.”

“Clancy,” Keons walked over to her but she stood up and faced the Bishop.

“I don’t care what rules you have in this country, but something you will never understand is the impact of their music,” she spoke with confidence towards Keon's who looked over to Nico.

“Nicolas, what do you have to say?” he asked and Nico took a deep breath before saying what he had to say next.

[zenonaa]

“Hey, look!” Aoi says, nudging Makoto. “Your face is on that one!” He follows her finger. His face hasn’t been carved off and wrapped around a sign, but his image is on one. On several. Many with hearts around them. Kyouko folds her arms over her chest. “You seem to have some admirers,” says Byakuya, smirking. Yasuhiro grins and points into the crowd. “So do you, Togami-chi.”

Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto Characters: Naegi Makoto, Kirigiri Kyouko, Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya, Hagakure Yasuhiro, Asahina Aoi Additional Tags: Post Game Summary: The Survivors do a Q&A with the general public. Comments: Done for a request! ‘Naegiri... a kiss out of envy or jealousy’. I got carried away lol.

***

The only person who thinks this is a good idea is Yasuhiro.

“We don’t even have to do anything other than smile and wave,” says Yasuhiro, with his arm slung across Makoto’s shoulders. Even the smallest movement brushes their legs together.

Despite no longer being students or captives with a limited wardrobe, the six of them are still wearing their old school uniforms. Touko pulls a face, sitting opposite them in the cramped space, and next to her, Byakuya rests his cheek in his hand and stares out of the window at the early morning sky that their plane soars through, seemingly lost in thought.

She took until the end of the first hour of being beside him to calm down. There are only six seats. Between Yasuhiro and Aoi is a slim aisle.

“This is ridiculous. We’re not high school students,” grumbles Touko with her fists clenched into tight balls on her lap.

Yasuhiro keeps his arm around Makoto but turns his head slightly toward Touko. “We have to wear them! The outfit is, like, one of the most recognisable aspects of our character design, ‘right?”

“Stop saying things like that. We’re not video game characters,” says Aoi, frowning across the aisle at them. Touko huffs. “Don’t worry, Fukawa-chan, once Futuristic Foundings marks our tests, we’ll all get brand new uniforms.”

“It’s Future Foundation,” says Touko through her teeth.

Byakuya wrinkles his nose. Out of all of them, his clothing - a suit - is the most professional, so he can’t complain about his attire. He doesn’t.

“It’ll be a miracle if you pass,” Byakuya instead informs Aoi, who pouts. Ignoring her, he pushes up his glasses, and though he turns away from the window, he doesn’t concentrate on anyone. Solemnity clouds his eyes and overcasts his features. “We mustn’t lower our guard, even for a moment. While there are people who will surely rejoice when they see us, there are those who could use this as an opportunity to attack the world’s symbol of hope.”

Silence hangs over them, bar a constant gentle hum. Makoto studies his hands, then lifts his gaze. Byakuya’s eyes have cleared and are fixed on him. Looking around, Makoto realises that everyone else has trained their eyes on him too, including Kyouko, seated between Aoi and a window, one leg crossed over the other. Until now, whenever his eyes had strayed to Kyouko, she had been focused on the world outside of the plane.

He scratches the nape of his neck and hunches his shoulders. “It’s not just me who’s the world’s hope. We all are. I mean, you all had to find hope within you when we faced off against Enoshima. I just helped bring it out of you guys...”

Most of them quirk their brows, mouths either pursed or slanted at one end.

“Naegi-kun’s right,” says Kyouko with a smile. Makoto gives her one back, and the flight continues.

The plane lands in a private airfield. They stretch out their arms and legs without having to worry about whacking someone in the face or kicking them in the shins, but the air outside is barely cooler than that in the aircraft. Yasuhiro’s back pops. However, the respite doesn’t last long, and guards that all look the same soon escort them to a small coach bus, which drives them to a domed building, and then the guards accompany them through several drab hallways.

In a large, open room, everyone passes through metal gates the shape and size of a normal door, and after they’re intensively screened and patted down, they’re given hooded cloaks and they finally embark another coach bus and head to the city square. Makoto doesn’t know what to expect as he stares out at the dreary industrial city. Accelerated decay and destruction have eaten chunks out of buildings, and the only cars they spot along the way are abandoned on cracked sidewalks or partially buried in debris and sludge-coloured moss. When he breathes in deeply enough, he inhales a musty odour.

Despite the lack of traffic, their coach bus crawls along for ten minutes until it parks down an alley. As soon as they step out, guards surround them from all sides and guide them forward. Outside stinks of soot, sweat and oil. Elbows and shoulders bump. They can hear humans chatter and shout beyond their bubble, but they can’t see anyone past the guards. All they can see is a red sky and the backs of guards dressed in business suits, wearing either sunglasses with ear guards or helmets with tinted visors, as well as concrete slabs underfoot.

Rough hands push Makoto and the others up a short flight of steps, and then they find themselves on a raised platform. A stage. The guards part like the Sun shining through the clouds like it hasn’t done in years, and the six survivors are confronted by an ocean of people, who erupt into applause and screams at the sight of them.

Aoi peels off her hood and the others follow suit, causing the screams to increase in volume.

“That’s a lot of people,” Aoi murmurs.

“With a lot of signs,” adds Yasuhiro as he mops his brow with a torn handkerchief.

Makoto surveys the crowd. Indeed there are. Signs are scattered across the crowd with different designs and messages.

“Hey, look!” Aoi says, nudging Makoto. “Your face is on that one!”

He follows her finger. His face hasn’t been carved off and wrapped around a sign, but his image is on one. On several.

Many with hearts around them.

Kyouko folds her arms over her chest.

“You seem to have some admirers,” says Byakuya, smirking.

Yasuhiro grins and points into the crowd. “So do you, Togami-chi.”

In fact, they all seem to. Byakuya, Makoto and Kyouko occupy the most signs, followed by Aoi, then Touko, and then Yasuhiro, even if one were to exclude the images of Touko with angry font and a black cross over her face. Those signs are at the heaviest density in one spot in the crowd, and though they only make up a small percentage, they catch the eye quickly. Touko shrinks back a bit. Yasuhiro squints.

“Those guys really don’t like Fukawa-chi,” he remarks with a small, ingenuine smile already sagging, trying to keep the mood light. It fools no one.

“I think it’s more that they don’t like her alter,” says Kyouko, looking over as well.

Guards stand in a line in front of the stage and behind Makoto and the others too. Regardless, Aoi narrows her eyes at the signs and slightly positions herself in front of Touko.

“It seems she has some fans anyway,” Byakuya tells them, peering at another group of people holding up signs with Touko’s face on them, lacking crosses and bearing words of solidarity.

His eyes travel across the excited, writhing crowd, and stop on a particular sign. It has a photograph of him and Makoto on it.

“What is a naegamSOITDOESN’TAPPEARINTHESEARCHi?” asks Byakuya, reading the text on it.

Yasuhiro cups Byakuya’s ear and whispers something to him. Byakuya stiffens, glances at Makoto and then shuffles away a bit. Makoto pretends not to notice, though he doesn’t really mind, understanding.

Romance, even the allusion to it, isn’t something that Makoto has ever seen Byakuya appreciate receiving, or appreciate in general. Indeed, Makoto has only witnessed him react negatively to it and the idea of it from anyone else, treating it like a weakness, something to be exploited, looked down upon, and especially being in a place like this, with an audience, Byakuya probably wants to distance himself from that sort of thing as much as he can. A thing that goes against how he was raised, in a cold, business environment, and so disgusts him.

Also, Byakuya has often talked about how he dislikes ‘commoners’. So that too.

“He’s not my type,” says Byakuya nonchalantly, and Yasuhiro gives him a curious look.

“You have a type?” he asks, but he doesn’t receive an answer.

“Silence, please,” a female voice booms from speakers attached to quad truss pillars on both ends of the stage. The audience continues babbling, but whoever is talking doesn’t wait for silence and speaks over them. “We won’t be accepting questions until there is silence. Then, you may click your remote, and we will give you the chance to ask any of the survivors a question of your choice.”

Makoto, Kyouko, Byakuya, Touko and Aoi all slowly turn toward Yasuhiro, who yelps and throws up his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t know there’d be questions!” says Yasuhiro as guards approach them with headsets.

“Now what?” asks Touko, holding her fist close to her mouth, on the verge of popping her thumb between her lips either to chew or scrape her teeth on it.

“... Maybe we should answer their questions,” says Kyouko. She puts her headset on. “It would let people get to know us better, and we can clear up any misconceptions people have. If we want their support, we should be open with them.”

They cast their eyes toward the crowd, and Makoto lingers on the signs with Touko’s face smeared with black paint. Byakuya clicks his tongue. With a nod, Makoto places his headset over his ears, and then the others, including Byakuya, slip theirs on as well.

Eventually, the crowd quietens, and then an alrighty growl thrums overhead. Makoto tenses. They tilt their heads back with a jerk. The noise comes from a drone that flies out from behind the stage and hovers above the audience. For a couple of seconds, it stays suspended in that exact spot before descending into the crowd. As it seems to close in on its target, Makoto can just make out a red dot flashing on a girl’s remote. Everyone in the audience has their own standardised remote. Each one has two buttons and a small diode that can emit light.

The drone floats in front of the girl’s head. Those who are nearby shuffle to give it more space.

“My question is for Naegi-san,” the girl says into her remote, which acts as a microphone too. Makoto wonders if the drone is recording them. She can’t be older than ten. “What was the scariest thing to happen to you during the killing thing?”

For a situation like this, that sort of question isn’t unusual, but none of them knew they would be asked anything, and even if Makoto had been prepared, he doubts he wouldn’t have flinched, or that his heart wouldn’t have skipped or his stomach wouldn’t have felt like it was coated in thick sludge. The girl’s expression remains unmoved. Fixated. Hundreds upon hundreds of eyes prick Makoto’s skin, including those of his former classmates.

And the eyes of his dead classmates.

He breathes shallowly.

“The beginning was really scary,” Aoi pipes up, with an index finger raised.

“Y-Yeah. A lot of it was pretty scary,” he says slowly, his headset amplifying his voice. Makoto winces. His head feels light. Unreal. “Seeing people die... that would scare most people.”

That young girl’s gaze probes him, pawing at the inside of his head. He gulps and with a deep breath, fortifies himself, and speaks through the ringing between his ears.

“For me, the scariest parts... were the first trial, because I didn’t know what to expect, and later when I thought I was about to be executed toward the end,” Makoto says. Silence. Bated breath from all. Makoto laughs a little due to nerves, and his voice cracks. “I didn’t know I would be saved, but the idea of spending the rest of our lives in there... that filled me with dread. But I got through it. That’s... That’s something, isn’t it?”

Right after the girl finished asking her question initially, the light on her remote had switched off. The drone whirrs off and arrives at another person, a young boy, whose remote had started flashing.

“What about the others?” he asks them. “What scared you the most?”

At least that gives Makoto a chance to compose himself. They rattle off their answers. Yasuhiro gives Junko as his answer and grimaces when Aoi reminds him of Alter Ego’s first appearance, then Aoi recalls that and the double murders. Kyouko says she’d rather not answer and Touko agrees quickly, while Byakuya claims that he never felt fear.

“Not even when Enoshima dropped that bomb on you about your family?” asks Yasuhiro.

“... Yes,” says Byakuya. Then, without missing a beat, and with his arms folded over his chest, Byakuya pats his hand against his upper arm and adds, “Next question. We have a lot of people to get through.”

A teenage girl is next.

“Do you ship tofu, Togami-san?” she asks.

One of the things that Future Foundation supposedly do is provide foods, so Byakuya says, “Yes, we do.”

The effects of his words ripple through the crowd, a tide that’s half-roar, half twitter. Makoto and the others exchange mystified looks. Indifferent to the clamour, the drone finds its next participant.

“So tofu is real?” asks another girl, wide-eyed and shaking slightly.

“Yes, obviously it is,” snaps Byakuya, to the same effect.

Noise surges through the crowd. There are a lot of beaming faces. Some are even crying. A few glower and sulk, here and there, but they’re drowned out by the majority, who hoot and hug and weep and wave their arms.

Byakuya blinks and though he tries to keep his expression blank, a bit of bewilderment seeps through, wrinkling his forehead.

“I guess people are really passionate about bean curd,” says Aoi with a bemused smile.

He pushes up his glasses and doesn’t comment. Once the crowd eventually quietens to a low rumble, the drone takes flight and searches for the next person.

It selects a middle-aged man with dull black hair.

“I have a question for Kirigiri,” he says, sort of raspily. “What did you and Naegi really get up to in the locker rooms?”

“Huh?” goes Makoto, puzzled. Kyouko stares at the man, eyes fully open but her mouth shut tight.

“When you guys were in the locker rooms,” explains the man, wringing his remote, and Makoto remembers that there were no cameras in the locker rooms at Hope’s Peak so nothing that transpired in there would have been broadcasted. The man lets out a wheeze. “We saw Togami and Fukawa get down and dirty in the dorm, but were you guys really just talking to the laptop in there?”

The other four turn to Touko and Byakuya. Touko shows a lot of teeth but she isn’t smiling as she peeks up at Byakuya, who stands very, very still.

This explained why Byakuya had been so shocked at finding out they were being broadcasted to the whole of Japan. Someone who knew that certain families controlled the world from the shadows wouldn’t have been surprised at a revelation like that.

“Togami?” says Aoi. She covers her mouth with one hand. “Fukawa-chan?”

“S-So what if we did?” hisses Touko. No one speaks. Touko sneers, sticking up her nose. “W-We both consented! We both could consent. We both... wanted it...!”

Her lips contort as she dithers between smirking and biting on them, but when she glances at Byakuya, her lips slump and she stares down at her feet meekly. For the first time, ever perhaps, Byakuya looks prepared to die.

“I...” Makoto turns back to the audience. His face is stiff and he thinks he’s wearing too many layers. He shakes his head. “No. No, we just talked to Alter Ego in there... That’s all.”

No one is paying much attention to Makoto. Yasuhiro tears his eyes away from Byakuya and Touko.

“Hey, if you guys want juicy details like that, you’ll have to pay upfront after the show,” he tells the audience. “Who has another question?”

While all this had been going on, the drone had been waiting beside a woman who, on appearance, seems to be in her mid-twenties.

“Naegi-kun, do you forgive Maizono-san for her actions prior to her death?” she asks, as formal as her business suit.

Makoto hesitates, and takes a few moments to figure out his answer. Everyone watches him relentlessly. He tries to talk, but nothing comes out at first, and he swallows hard.

“Yes. I do,” he states.

“But she tried to frame you!” shouts a different woman, and the audience fizzes, threatening to explode like a shaken bottle of fizzy drink.

His heart beats fast. Makoto shows his palms.

“Maizono-san wasn’t thinking clearly, and she couldn’t have known that she’d have been sending us all to our deaths if she left,” says Makoto, but his words do little to soothe the crowd. Or do anything, really, apart from attract more questions aimed at him.

“So you think that if she had known, she wouldn’t have done the same thing?” asks a man wearing a jeans jacket. The drone hovers by him.

“I...” Makoto falters, remembering her wide eyes, her trembling hands and her tear stained cheeks. His stomach coils. He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t say... what she’d have done... but Maizono-san was afraid, and her plan failed because her heart wasn’t fully into it. I’m sure she wasn’t thinking straight.”

More chattering.

“She means a lot to me, and in my heart... I know she wasn’t a bad person. I can’t hate her,” says Makoto as firmly as he can.

“But - ”

“Next topic, please,” says Kyouko, interrupting the man, and the drone obediently heads over to someone.

“Do you miss your family, Togami?” asks a man in casual clothes. T-shirt and jeans.

Byakuya turns his head a fraction, cheeks slightly flushed from before.

“The Togami Conglomerate cannot be destroyed as long as I am standing. I am more than capable of returning it to its former glory,” says Byakuya calmly. He nudges up his glasses. “No. It will be superior.”

“Not that, I mean... like your mother and father. Your siblings,” explains the man. “Do you miss them?”

“I lost contact with my siblings a long time ago. They are strangers to me,” says Byakuya plainly, no longer looking at anyone. “As for my parents, I can’t reverse whatever happened. What’s done is done.”

“So you don’t know?” asks a girl, clutching her remote.

A chill scuttles down Makoto. Byakuya’s lips press together.

“Know what?” says Byakuya, eyeing her. The girl is unperturbed.

“Enoshima broadcasted your father’s death to the whole world,” explains the girl. “He was on his knees, begging your Impostor for mercy... At the time, we all thought it was you who killed your dad.”

She says it like she’s reciting a bit of history during a study session. Byakuya’s head jerks back. He gapes at her but hastily throws up an aggressive front.

“That didn’t happen,” he snaps, but the grumbles in the audience suggest otherwise.

No matter how much or how long he glares, no one cracks. His lips quiver before squeezing together, and trembling faintly, he brings his hand to his chin, somewhat holding it, somewhat covering his mouth, and he doesn’t look at anyone, seemingly examining the gradient in the stage flooring with a cold and unreadable face that Makoto thinks could crumble if Byakuya opened his mouth again.

Touko stamps her foot and leans toward the crowd, gritting her teeth. “How dare you upset Byakuya-sama! Have some respect, you preppy, untuned accordion!”

“I just said what happened!” the girl calls out, but her remote no longer functions as a microphone so her voice barely carries over.

“Uh... anyone else got a question?” asks Yasuhiro, forcing a grin.

They watch the drone flit over to the next person.

“What did Oogami mean to you, Asahina?” asks a teenage girl with chin length, turquoise dyed hair.

Makoto glances at Aoi. His heart twinges at the sight of her face. Aoi shifts a foot back, and averts her eyes before she hugs herself.

“Sakura-chan means a lot to me. She was my bestest friend. She comforted me, gives me strength... and I’m going to do the same that she did,” says Aoi, voice shaking, and she rubs the heel of her palm against her eyes. Then she lifts her head, glowing with determination, eyes bright. Tears twinkle in her eyes but they aren’t a sign of weakness. They show her strength. Resilience. “I’m going to become as strong as her. That way, she hasn’t really gone.”

The crowd outnumbers Aoi greatly, but the power of her words, her existence, wash through them all, and they stand in front of her enthralled. Even those on the stage with Aoi are riveted. Aoi puts her hands onto her hips, teary face on proud display. Her smile carves into her cheeks, and she and her companions only faintly register the drone as it flies over the quiet audience to its next destination.

“How can Future Foundation let a disgusting monster walk free?” someone barks.

They whip their heads around. The drone arrived at the group holding signs with Touko’s face crossed out on them.

Touko tenses a second before everyone else on the stage does.

A woman with wiry grey hair grabs the drone to stop it from flying off and though she doesn’t need to, she raises her voice, spraying spit. “Why can that monster go home at the end of the day, but my son can’t? A mother shouldn’t have to outlive her son!”

The drone wiggles but she keeps her grip tight on it. Touko’s elbows draw into her sides and she drags a foot back. She tries to answer but just breathes with a rasp, and her next attempt results in a weak whine.

“Leave Fukawa-chan alone!” Aoi throws an arm in front of Touko, forming a barrier. “She didn’t do those things!”

More shouting, throughout the crowd. Touko cowers more.

“Genocider isn’t going to kill anyone again,” says Makoto, brow furrowed. “She... Genocider... promised me.”

“That’s all you have? Her word? That won’t bring our brothers, our fathers and our children back!” the woman with wild grey hair shouts.

The members of her group bellow their agreement, baring the teeth, contorting their faces. Makoto can’t say they don’t have the right to be hurt, to be angry. He doesn’t have a response. All he can think right now is that Future Foundation didn’t think this through. None of this is beneficial for anyone, not for Genocider’s victims and not for Touko either.

“They’re the same person!” someone else in the group screeches, pointing at Touko. “DID doesn’t work like that. She got the sneeze thing from an anime, and she didn’t faint when she saw that Kuwata boy’s bloody corpse!”

“Hey, the lighting in there was poor, ‘right?” explains Yasuhiro, but the audience doesn’t seem to be listening.

It’s one, large, thrashing entity attacking itself, flaking shouts, boiling with hot emotion and snarls. Touko looks about to vomit. She slaps a hand over her mouth and her legs slowly start to give way as she sinks to the floor. Her eyes don’t blink - her face twitches, but she doesn’t blink.

“We need to get Fukawa-san out of here,” says Kyouko. “Togami-kun, Asahina-san, take her from here.”

Aoi gingerly wraps her arm around Touko, tucking a hand under her armpit, and helps Touko up. Normally, Touko would probably shake Aoi off or argue, but Touko sags against Aoi instead, whimpering. Byakuya frowns at Kyouko.

“Why me as well?” asks Byakuya.

“You will be able to calm her down, and Asahina-san can make sure you’re not too rough,” explains Kyouko. She smirks humorlessly and adds, “And Asahina-san can keep an eye on you two, in case of mischief.”

Byakuya nearly chokes. Only a glimpse of his face can be caught before he turns away sharply, quick to march off. Aoi leads Touko off the stage with Byakuya following close behind. Guards prevent anyone from invading the stage, no matter much certain audience members flail their arms and charge. The crowd shows no signs of calming and in the end, more Future Foundation guards trickle out from around the stage, and after their orders for peace are ignored, they remove the group protesting against Genocider from the area.

This prompts the audience to recede and slowly quieten in fear that they will suffer the same fate.

“We will proceed, but if something like that happens again, question time is over,” warns a woman’s voice through the speakers.

Silence reigns. Someone could sneeze, and everyone would hear. The drone selects its next person. Three of the survivors remain on the stage, and they can’t see their friends anymore. Hopefully, they’re fine. No. They are. Makoto is sure of it. His fists clench.

He doesn’t know how long they’ll be gone but several questions later, and they still haven’t returned.

“Why exactly was Hagakure held back three grades?”

“Can we see Kirigiri’s scars?”

“What sort of girl is Naegi-kun into?”

“Was Hagakure high the whole time?”

“It’s due to a series of misunderstandings. I plan to sell the movie rights, so that’s all I’m saying for now.”

“No.”

“Um... Someone... kind...? With a cute smile... and a good heart? Sorry, I haven’t been thinking about this sort of thing lately.”

“I wasn’t on drugs at any point,” says Yasuhiro with a pucker in the middle of the v-shape that his eyebrows create. He jabs the air furiously. “If any of you guys suggest that again, I’m suing.”

The drone descends to the next participant, to a girl who looks a bit younger than them.

“Naegi-kun, who do you prefer: Kirigiri or Togami?” she asks, jiggling the bangles on her wrists as she shakes her fists excitedly.

“What?” blurts Makoto. Kyouko stiffens. Yasuhiro’s eyebrows rise.

“I mean, Kirigiri’s always cold toward you, and she totally threw you under the bus toward the end,” explains the girl. The crowd mumbles.

Makoto’s smile is tight. “I wouldn’t describe Togami-kun as a warm guy. He can be quite cold too, at times.”

“Yeah, but that’s how he shows affection, right? Otherwise, he wouldn’t make you his errand boy.”

Maybe it’s for the best that Byakuya is absent. Yasuhiro positions his hands onto his hips.

“I think Togami-chi just knows that he can boss Naegi-chi around and not say weird things to him like Fukawa-chi does... or worry that Naegi-chi’s alter will come out and kill him. And I mean, the dude also made Naegi-chi open a door we thought was rigged with a bomb,” Yasuhiro points out.

The crowd mumbles louder. At the edge of his vision, Makoto can discern Kyouko studying him with a small frown. He fidgets with his collar.

“They’re both my friends,” says Makoto, letting go of his collar and lowering his hand. More firmly, he says, “I’m not going to choose between them. Also, Kirigiri-san can be cold sometimes, but I know that she has a good heart. Though she tries to mask some of her emotions sometimes, she’s definitely not emotionless. When she lets us see her true feelings... it’s... nice.”

Okay, he might have fumbled at the end there.

Kyouko touches her heart while Yasuhiro holds in a snort that manifests as a gleam in his eyes. Makoto’s face grows hot and he tries to ignore them. He hears some grumbling from the crowd, but he stands by what he said. The light on the girl’s remote disappears and the drone takes flight. It soon swoops down and hovers in front of the next speaker.

“My question is for Naegi,” says a girl about Makoto’s age. “Who was the cutest?”

He flinches. Kyouko and Yasuhiro jerk their heads back.

“Cutest...?” Makoto repeats, not completely processing the question initially even though on the surface, it’s a simple question.

His brow creases and he scratches lightly at his cheek. The audience hushes, and the tension presses against Makoto, glues his jaw shut.

Not that he has an answer anyway.

“Who...?” he manages, at a loss for words.

“Maizono!” someone yells.

“Oogami!”

“Fujisaki-chan!”

“No, Togami! He thinks Togami’s the cutest, duh!”

People begin shouting different names, and though the girl says something, even with her remote projecting her voice, she can’t be heard over everyone else.

The drone zooms around to various people.

“Obviously, he finds Kirigiri-san the cutest!” crows a teenage boy, and the drone flies off in one direction.

“No way!” says a man with rimless glasses. “Kirigiri doesn’t feel that way about him! It’s one-sided.”

It goes in the other direction.

“Naegi’s the one that doesn’t reciprocate her feelings!” says someone else, a woman with a bob cut.

The bickering continues. Makoto haplessly looks one way and another, again and again. This would have continued for longer, most likely, had after a few more head tosses, his head not veered into someone’s palm. He starts to turn more, to see who has grabbed hold of his cheek, but colours blur as a pair of lips crash into his. His body seizes up. Surroundings bleed through, all violets and pale skin, and the texture of the gloves that cradle his cheek give the person away.

Kyouko. It’s Kyouko. Kissing him. Makoto. She sets a hand onto his hip and adjusts her angle. He’s frozen, even as her warmth leaks into him, even as his heart works itself into a frenzy.

For a few moments, the audience is transfixed in silence, or perhaps time has stopped completely. All he knows, all he can think about, is her.

Then, there’s cheering. Some people might be moaning or huffing, but those sounds are trodden on in the stampede of elation. Kyouko dips him, keeping her mouth on his, her heat entangled with his, their hearts connected, and the noise grows almost deafening.

Makoto slowly relaxes, and he stays as he is.

Finally, Kyouko straightens, holding Makoto, who goes limp in her arms.

“Any more questions?” she asks.

Not a single one.

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

Caught in the Storm | ii

Connor x Original Female Character [part i] | masterlist

"Hey Barton, you in there?" The raspy voice of Hank Anderson broke the silence, and suddenly, the darkness vanished, and Sam was able to open her eyes again. Trying to understand her whereabouts and what was going on, she lifted herself up from the clean white floor in front of the bathroom stalls, slowly trying to balance herself on two legs, feeling wobbly, like it was the first time she ever tried to stand.

The bathroom she was in was completely clean, as it had been when she had entered it, but that was impossible? Three knocks on the door brought her back to reality. 'Barton?' Hank! 'YES, HANK, HELP! I am locked in here, the doorknob, I... Please help me!' She felt him trying to open the door from the other side and stepped aside when it didn't budge, knowing full well he would kick it in seconds later. With a loud bang, the door crashed open, revealing the older grey-haired man standing on the other side, giving her a worried look. 'Sam, are you okay? What happened to you?' She couldn't answer, especially not after hearing the genuine worry in his voice, she just rushed towards him and threw her hands around his neck, pressing herself against him to have something to hold onto. He hesitantly hugged her back, she felt his warm hands on her back and pressed against him harder, feeling ridiculous for the tears that were running down her face. 'Thank you...' she muttered as she let go of him, and tried to get past him when he blocked her way. 'Hey, what the heck happened in there?' 'I...' Quickly trying to think up a response that wouldn't make her seem insane, she replied with the first thing that made sense. 'I was in there and when I tried to leave, the doorknob came off and I couldn't open the door, and my claustrophobia kicked in and suddenly made it seem like the walls were closing in on me and then I screamed and no one heard me, and my god thank you, Hank, thank you so much.' She hugged him again. He seemed to be satisfied with her response, quickly patting her back again. 'Well, you're welcome. Fowler called you and me to his office, and when you weren't there and weren't showing up either he sent me looking for you.' The captain had asked for her? 'What did he want?' she asked irritatedly, while they were starting to walk back to the office area. 'I don't fucking know, he wouldn't say anything before you were there.' She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the thoughts about what had just happened, and tried to return to her usual, more cheerful and optimistic point of view. 'Then let's go find out, shall we, Hanky?'

'Alright, you two still gettin' along as well as you did back in the 'Red Ice Task Force''? Asked Captain Fowler, while she and Hank sat on the other side of the old wooden desk in his office. 'I sure hope so.' she muttered while Hank just nodded. Sam had joined the DCPD shortly after Hank had been promoted to Lieutenant for his successful Red Ice Operation in 2028, and had helped him out significantly with finding a metric ton of Red Ice a couple of years later in 2031, and the two had been friends ever since then. 'Well, I have decided to switch up teams here. As you might have noticed, I have recently hired a couple of new employees as well as some androids to help us out with the Red Ice Epidemic, and I want you two to work on something else now.' 'You're kicking us out of the Red Ice Investigations?' Sam asked with a shocked expression on her face, while Hank seemed as indifferent as usual. 'Try not to see it like that, rather as a sort of promotion! I need my best people working on these deviant cases.' Deviants.Sam had heard of deviants, androids apparently malfunctioning, awakening, feeling human emotions, becoming more human? Always having been intrigued by androids themselves and especially deviants, she cocked her head slightly and asked: 'So what exactly does that entail then?' 'You'll be assigned cases that look like an android or a deviant has been involved, and you will track them down and bring them in, it's as easy as that... Well, almost. CyberLife insists on following the protocol for this, and that involves sending us an android for assistance.' Hank's head suddenly jerked up, and he looked directly at Fowler. 'What?! Jeffrey, I can't do that, I can't work with those plastic assholes.' Hank frantically shook his head now, his eyes wide open in panic, while Sam tried to rationalize the situation she knew was very personal to Hank. 'They send you an android to help you find androids?' Sam questioned, and Fowler nodded. 'I tried to convince them that we didn't need any assistance, but they harshly persisted. They'll send some sorta special model here, it'll be here tonight or tomorrow, I'm afraid I can't change that, Hank.' Hank shook his head again angrily, then stood up and furiously took off through Fowler's office door. 'I think I should go after him...' Sam excused herself as Fowler nodded understandingly and she bolted after Hank, rushing to his desk only to find it vacant, then running outside to where his car was usually parked, only to find the spot empty and Hank gone.

Sam had decided to leave Hank alone for the day, to just work as long as she had to, to finish up all of her Red Ice files and then force herself to go home and not go out searching for him in his favourite bars. She would talk to him tomorrow, and try to calm him down and open him up to the idea of working with an android, which might very possibly be beneficial for their detective work. It was way past 10 pm when she checked her watch, much later than she'd originally planned to go home, partly because of all of her work, but also because she couldn't bear the feeling of going home without knowing if Hank was safe. Sam licked the tip of her thumb and slowly turned the page on her most recent case report, not really paying attention to what she was reading.   Would he do something stupid? Would he hurt himself deliberately? Would he kill himself? Sam knew of his backstory, she had gotten to know his son Cole before he had died tragically, and she had witnessed this incident draining all life and happiness out of Hank. She turned the page again, absentmindedly drawing some scribbles on her wooden desk. Oh fuck it, she'd try to call him at least and then go home. Just to make sure. Grabbing her coat from the back of her chair, she quickly swung it around her shoulders to shield her from the cold outside, then pulled her bag over her shoulder and snatched her phone from the table, before she rapidly made her way through the office building downstairs. As soon as she'd entered the elevator, Sam dialed Hank's number and waited. And waited. Then, suddenly, when she almost didn't expect an answer anymore, a crack, a loud static noise and then: 'Hello?' Hank's voice sounded groggy and slurry, drunk and sad. 'Hank, it's me, Sam. You okay?' 'Wha- of course, I am, what are you now, my mother? Don't you worry I'm fucking brilliant, I'll see you tomorrow.' Another grunting, a cracking noise and he was gone. That was not the way Sam had hoped for this conversation to go, but she guessed she couldn't really do much but wait for tomorrow to come, to try and cheer him up a little. She sighed as the elevator stopped, typing a quick message to Hank to call her if he needed anything while getting off the elevator. When she paused for a moment to glance over the final message before sending it, her phone started ringing in her hands. Half hoping it to be Hank, she picked up, registering a female voice on the other end. 'Detective?' It was Sarah, the android that worked at the reception upstairs. 'Hi Sarah, everything alright?' 'Yes, of course, thank you for asking. There is someone here, who is asking about Lieutenant Anderson. Do you perhaps know, where he is?' Someone asking about Hank? Maybe family, that she didn't know about since he avoided talking about his personal life at all times. 'I'm not sure, but I think he's probably having a drink or two nearby, but I can't tell you which bar he's in for sure, sorry, Sarah.' 'That's alright, thank you, Detective. Have a nice evening!' 'Thank you, Sarah, goodnight!' Sam answered and hung up. She always tried to be as nice as possible to the androids, that she worked with or encountered anywhere else, on the one hand, because she knew, that they were often treated terribly by others, with people treating them like slaves or even abuse them in worse ways. Even though she knew they were 'just' machines, she felt like you could at least treat them with respect. On the other hand, because her father had been a friend of their creator, Elijah Kamski, when they were younger, and he had provided them with a prototype android named Kyle after her mother had died in a car crash when Sam had just turned 10, who had been there for them ever since, teaching her to appreciate androids in ways that other people never really understood. She smiled to herself as she thought of the past times with Kyle and her father, and the smile almost didn't leave her face until she was in bed a little later, cuddled up with her old, black tomcat Lucius, until her phone vibrated, signaling an incoming text message. [Hank, 11:40 pm]: sam, possible homicide involving a deviant, 4167 prudence street, be there ASAP, i'm on my way.

[caticorn61]

Forget Me Not (Part V)

Summary: You could never forget him, but what happens when an accident causes him to forget you?

Genre: Angst/Fluff (Chanyeol x reader)

Word count: 2994

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six

(A/N) I LOVED writing this! Please let me know what you thought of this and I will do my best to update again soon!

You picked up the cup carrier off the counter as you thanked the barista and handed him the change. A few days had came and went and you finally felt yourself falling back into your old routine. Starting with your lunch break. You went to your usual sub shop, the one two blocks from work, and you ended with coffee. Your midday life line. You ordered the usual, which included Chanyeol’s usual too. At first it wasn’t on purpose, you just spat out the first thing that came to you mind. The order you got for years and when you realized you had his too you didn’t know what to do. The first few days you would throw it out, mentally scolding yourself for messing up like that, but today you kept it. You planned to surprise him in his studio, sit down with him and watch him work. That was your favorite past time. Even when you weren’t peppering kisses on his cheeks or the back of his neck, even when you just sit there and watch the gears in his head turn as he writes. The way his eyes lit up when he got the sound he wanted, or how he bit his bottom lip slightly when he was stumped. That was when you loved him most.

You walked past the front desk of SM, waving hi to the staff at the front desk and greeting them as you waited for the elevator to meet your floor. You eyed your reflection in the stainless steel of the elevator shaft, fixing your hair and your clothes. A new jacket that Lani bought you on a girls day out rested on your shoulders. She called it a pick me up method. Buying clothes to boost your confidence and make you feel like a sort of new person. You couldn’t deny you felt a little lighter on your feet today. Part of you felt a little like a schoolgirl, dressing up nice to impress the guy she liked. It was all so cliché that you had to force yourself not to cringe.

The elevator was empty. Red Velvet’s latest release replaced the stereotypical elevator music that most places had. Whenever you got in this elevator it was like a mini dance off. God forbid you rode it with Kai, it would start off playful but even then he would outshine you effortlessly. Chanyeol always goofed off and exaggerated his moves, unless it was to his own songs, in high case he would do his best to look as cool as possible, proclaiming he couldn’t make himself look like a fool to his own music in front of the woman he loved. At which point you would kiss him to shut up him up and tell him he’s always a fool but that’s why you loved him.

The floor his studio was on were always eerily quiet. The soundproofed walls kept in every ounce of life and music that they produced. Today however there was a quiet him among the producers and creators that shared the floor. Max and Henry laughed over something stupid they saw on their phones, their work laid spread out in front of them. Amber spoke with her manager and one of the producers over her new song. It was good to see everyone at work.

You walked up to Chanyeol’s door and opened it. You stopped knocking s long time ago, knowing he more than likely wouldn’t hear you anyhow over his work. He swirled around in his chair, the big one that he still made look small when he sat in it. A look of pleasant surprise took up his face and a broad smile spread to match it. You felt your stomach do a small flip and you hated yourself for how much you still loved him. How the smallest of things had you wrapped around him.

Then you saw her.

Your smile faded, and instead of doing cute little flips your stomach bunched up like it had been poisoned. The girl he had ran too a few days ago sat in front of you. The one that was eerily similar to you, but name brand. Looking at her made you feel like a knock off and he had just found the real deal. A laugh laid on her tongue, as the air went stiff. Like you had just interrupted a pleasant conversation with your prescience. Or walked into a room full of people talking about you. She sat perfectly in front of you, her legs crossed comfortably as if she had been his closest friend for years. Her hair was casual but perfect, she even flashed you a smile that, honestly, made you want to go blind.

“Hey what a surprise!” Chanyeol exclaimed. He ran a hand through his hair as he adjusted his hat as he stood.

“I, uh, brought you some coffee. I thought you might like a little pick me up.” You said softly. Your eyes darting back and forth quickly between her, him and the coffee in your hand. You awkwardly shuffled in place. If you had known she was going to be a part of his life more frequently you would have bothered. Even if she was just a friend, it felt like you’d been replaced. “Here.”

“Was, you know me so well.” He gushed slightly. “This is Hye-ah by the way, we met at a shoot last week. Hye-ah this is my stylist.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve seen your work, you are incredibly talented.” Hye-ah beamed,

“Thank you.” You dead panned. “Um, I should go, sorry for interrupting.” Chanyeol’s smile faltered as he looked over your face. His brows furrowed as he sat his coffee on the side stand.

“You can stay, we were just talking, we weren’t in anything deep.” He stated, his eyes fixed on you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine it’s just supposed to snow soon and i walked here so, i shouldn’t stay out.”

“You walked?” He exclaimed, “it’s freezing outside. Let me call you a cab at least.”

You shook your head. Even if you wanted his help you still preferred walking to being in a car. Any car.

“It’s fine, Chanyeol. Now go back to work, I’ll see you later.” You faked a smile and turned to leave, ignoring him as he called your name. As you walked to the elevator you passed a trash can and dropped your coffee in.

—

You stared at the Christmas tree intently. Normally you had the members help decorate it with you but this year they were all busy. They apologized and swore up and down they would be home soon to help carry out tradition but you knew better than to expect show business to be done on time.

You rubbed your hands together lightly. Your knuckles had started to crack again. They did this every year. Once the weather turned cold your hands felt like sandpaper. This year seemed worse for some reason. They cracked to the point that they would bleed, and your skin would flake so terribly that you hated to look at them. Lotion helped a point but it never quite fixed it.

You heard the lock click and the door push open as Baekhyun stepped in. His eyes looks exhausted but he smiled his cheeky smile as he wiggled in place.

“It’s Christmas!!” He yelled and dropped a bag in front of you. A medium sized one with no logo on it. “I started my shopping.”

“Better than me, i have no clue where to start.” You said as you snooped through the unassuming bag.

“Ah no!!” He yelled and grabbed the bag away from you. “You’re on the naughty list. No gifts for you.” He waved a finger at you as you chuckled and rubbed some hand cream into your skin. “Ah have your hands always been this bad?” He took your hands in his, holding them like he was a concerned mother doting over her kids health. He was always the mother duck in your life. The protective older brother that was there even when you didn’t see it.

“It happens every winter. Although they usually don’t bleed.” You states as he whined while examining your sad knuckles. “He used to kiss them you know. Whenever they got bad he would take them and kiss each knuckle as if it was it was a cure all.” You laughed softly,”I guess he was right.”

Baekhyun looked at you softly through his round glasses, his small gentle but heartfelt. He patted your hands softly and gave them a squeeze. “I’ve got a lotion I’ll lend you that will help with this for now. I’ll bring it to you after i shower and then I’ll help you with the tree, Okay?” You nodded and he disappeared into the hall. You sighed into the empty space before you. You decided to play some Christmas music to put you in the mood, you pressed the playlist you had put together and connected to your Bluetooth speaker. As the music flooded the room you felt a new energy run through you. The box closest to you held tinsel and other random decor items. Thankfully you already had the lights strung up, but tinsel, to you, was especially annoying. For a second you debated leaving it off this year but you didn’t want to hear it from Chen for “breaking tradition” so you sucked it up and pulled it out.

Dancing to the music made the tinsel-ing go faster. You got as high as you could reach then figured you would need one of the giants to do the rest. You retrieved a box of ornaments from the container next to you and put them on randomly. Typically you’d put some on that looked nice and then scatter some handmade, more meaningful ones around to give it a personalized glow. Each member had their own ornament that they would put on themselves. You had made them a few years ago as a project and they loved them more than they would ever say. They wound up making one for you in return, calling you an honorary exo member and giving you the cheesy power of style. You rolled your eyes just thinking about it. They were all so cringey at times, but you loved them anyway.

The song switched over to “What I want For Christmas” which became your favorite Christmas song of all time last year and still reigned king. Something about this song made you feel so romantic. So at peace. Kind of like you were taking a hot bath. Warm but free and safe. It made you want to slow dance every time you heard it. On occasion Chanyeol would put this on randomly and dance with you in the kitchen out of nowhere.

You closed your eyes and swayed to the beat slowly. Imagining yourself back in your kitchen in one of those rare moments. And there it was. The warmth washed over you. The feeling that this song gave you washed through you from your head to your toes. Your hand raised subconsciously as you pretended he was there. Sometimes you would talk while you danced and sometimes you would just lay your head on your chest and enjoy each other’s company. Even if Chanyeol moved on this would stay one of your fondest memories. Even if he never remembered you and married some other girl, and if you found someone else those moments would remain. Moments where you were undoubtedly and unconditionally loved. You could only hope he felt that too. Even if he didn’t remember it anymore. A part of you was starting to accept it. Starting to think and pick itself up and dust itself off and try and throw itself back into life. To move on. To just move forward. You had taken off your ring and now and hung around your neck on a delicate chain. You would never part with it, but seeing it every day was breaking you like a hammer. It was the mental masochistic equivalent of “why are you hitting yourself”. Taking it off your finger was part of your recovery.

You pretended that he had one had in yours and the other holding you close. That he had the same cologne he always wore because you demanded he never change it. You pretended that he was holding you the way he always did. And somehow you felt at home in your pretend little world. Maybe all this practice you’d had lately was making you delusional, because it felt real. You pretended so hard that if you weren’t careful you’d cry. You pretended until you opened your eyes.

And then you realized you weren’t pretending anymore.

He had one hand in yours and one resting on your waist is gently that he seemed to be scared to move you. His eyes set almost lovingly on your face that you had to blink to really believe what you saw. He smiled at you and chuckled.

“You there?” He said just barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” You replied, keeping your voice soft as an attempt to preserve the small amount of intimacy that had somehow been created.

“It was unlocked.” He answered and you nodded softly.  You were so close you could feel his breath softly on your face. There were only inches between you, it was so easy and so, so, tempting to just kiss him. You wondered if his lips tasted like coffee. They usually did since he practically lived off it. You looked at him with a sense of curiosity. Wondering how the hell you got here and hoping you could stay. He looked at you and with every fiber of your being you had forgotten yourself. You forgot that he wasn’t yours, that he had forgotten you entirely. He looked at you, as if he felt exactly how you did. Undoubtedly and unconditionally loved.

“Hye-Ah is just a friend by the way.” He mentioned hesitantly. “She’s practicing for a survival show that puts her debut at stake. She wanted some pointers and i agreed to help her out.”

You looked at him and took in a slow deep breath. “You don’t have to explain this to me.” you breathed, “You’re allowed to have female friends other than me. You don’t owe me anything just because you can’t remember me.”

Chanyeol’s face grew an expression you’d never seen before. Not on him. It was more serious, yet somehow still soft. He nodded so slightly that if you hadn’t been watching him so closely you’d have missed it.

“I know. It’s not because i don’t remember you that i felt like telling you. I just wanted you to know.” He said. He looked away and suppressed a laugh.

“What?” Your laughter joined his.

“It just feels kind of, well, like…” he paused, “like I’m cheating on you somehow. Which is ridiculous I’m aware.”

You giggled a little. In your head you couldn’t stop laughing at the whole irony of this. Just how close he was to figuring anything out but yet how far. It was a fine line.

“Well I’m glad to know.” A small smile slowly took over your face. In response he seemed to glow, happy his little confession was well received. You wondered what he thought of you. What went through his mind when he saw you. You were beginning to see that you weren’t just a fly on the wall to him. Maybe you were the flowers on the counter that he checked on. Maybe you were the candles he burned to add a certain layer of home to the air. Maybe you were the elephant in the room.

“Who’s playing all this sappy Christmas music?? Didn’t we talk about this??” Baekhyun exaggerated as he walked in the room. The two of you immediately separated, Chanyeol turning to pick up a box and open it and you putting a hand on your hip and scoffing at Baekhyun’s comment.

“Baek this is your song. Literally the one you wrote.” You quipped.

“Yes but it makes me feel soft and i don’t want to feel soft i want to be alive while decorating the tree not mush on the floor.” Baekhyun picked up your phone and started flipping through the playlist you had up.

“Hey!” You yelled as you reached for your phone, only causing him to smack your hands quickly away. You felt a sting as the skin on your hand broke open. Tiny droplets of blood poked through the wound.

“Look what you did!” You said, shoving your hand in his face. “My hands are worse enough without your salty ass.” You stuck your tongue out at him playfully and he made a face back to you. Chanyeol came over and picked up your hand, which was nearly engulfed in his.

“Yikes, have they always been this bad?” He said, “My Mom always taught me that the Best way to cure winter skin is to kiss it. She always did it to me when i was little.” He cooed as he rubbed a thumb over your wound and without warning brought it to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. You froze in place, your heart forgetting it’s own beat and pumping harder as if it had been just as surprised as you. “There, your hands won’t hurt as much now.”

You turned your head slowly to Baekhyun and saw a smile appear on his face even though he fought hard to hide it.

“I guess you won’t need this then.” He shook the hand cream that he had in his other hand. He shifted his eyes to Chanyeol, his own practically ready to burst as if he was keeping a secret safe.

“Looks like you found your cure all.”

[welcometojoelsvoid]

Short Hair and Flower Crowns | Retold!AU

Another AU involving Lotus and @hoehoehoelt ‘s wonderful Danem’misaan Lavellan.

This AU’s basic storyline is that neither Lotus nor Denny had been forced into slavery and are living their own normal lives with their family and because their dads are friends they meet and becomes friends too. Also, they’re like 7 years old in this.

Name: Short hair and flower crowns 

Words: 2608

Characters: Lotus Draqon (creator: me), Danem’misaan Lavellan (creator: That Hoe Over There), Keilma and Eerik Draqon (creator: me),  Caelynn and Soveliss Lavellan (creator: feiwygadhhhhhhoe)

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Warnings/Additional tags: This is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever written, platonic soulmates meet for the first time, kids being adorable, mentions of racism/discrimination, there’s a really cute drawing in there somewhere so prepare yourself, also I pretty much let me ADD run free in this because I felt like it fit since this is from very young Lotus’ POV k thanks byyyyeee

Author’s Note: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

((apologies for any typos or grammar mistakes, my dyslexic ass is feeling extra illiterate today and my grammar app doesn’t always pick up all the mistakes, try to enjoy regardless and also ily hoe slay like a bitch ass queen woof))

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

The Draqon family was known for their kindness and moral value, a wealthy household of a humble man, his family and staff. The name itself didn’t have further meaning than that, at least in the beginning. A small baby, not older than a few months, had been left at their doorstep with a bouquet of lotus flowers. Lady Draqon had always wanted a child and this provided the perfect opportunity. This child, however, was not a usual one. With purple scales, claws, tail, red horns and a magenta eye to match the family name. For the time being, the lady of the house called the baby her lotus flower since no actual name had yet to be given. They tried many names for their new family member but nothing seemed to feel right, so Lady Draqon had set the nickname she gave the baby in stone; he would be known as Lotus. 

The Draqon household was located in Saimvinmaa, just about a 4-day boat trip from Thedas. Saimvinmaa is a lush place in a colder climate with beautiful forests and lakes and even more beautiful towns and cities. The head of the household, Lord Draqon, went on a business trip to Thedas and on his journey he met an amusing fellow, the father of the Lavellan family. Draqon had invited Lavellan over to his home when his trip was coming to an end and, after finding out about Lavellan having his own family, encouraged him to take his child and wife along.

Lotus and his mother had gotten a letter from Lord Draqon about the arrival of him and his guests, Lotus' mother had immediately begun preparations; cleaning, preparing the guestrooms, going out to buy more food supply. Meanwhile, Lotus didn’t seem too excited, rather nervous actually, never before really properly met other people or even befriended other kids. The language wasn’t an issue, he knew common just fine, he was just very awkward with social situations. Growing up different was a challenge, yes, everyone is different but being the way Lotus is is beyond the lines of too different. He’s gotten used to the looks he gets when he walks around town, it doesn’t bother him as much anymore. He just wished they’d have the courtesy to even try to hide it. Ever since he was old enough to understand words his mother warned him about intolerant people and reminded him of his family’s love for him. It got him thinking, how would his father’s new friends react to him? Did they know? Would his father really bring intolerant people into their house? He had mentioned, in his letter, that the Lavellans were farmers, they lived with animals and took care of them. Lotus always wanted a pet, like a cat or a dog, but he could never get too close to a cow or a horse. In truth, he was scared of horses, they’re big and loud and freak out easily. He didn’t like horses.

It was too late to worry about it now, the horse carriage carrying his father and his guests was already in view as it approached the front doors of the manor. Lotus and his mother were waiting for them side by side along with a few maids. As the carriage stopped in front of them and the doors were opened, the maids went for the luggage and excused themselves, while Lady Draqon went to greet her husband with hug and kiss, letting him introduce her to the Lavellans.

"And this is my son Lotus; my pride and my joy." Lord Draqon smiled as he put his hand on Lotus' shoulder, his mother petting his hair gently. Lotus regarded the elven couple with caution. The mother approached him slowly and crouched down to his level, still at a comfortable arm's reach, she had long, braided auburn hair and markings covering her face like the father did but had freckles underneath and kind blue eyes. "Hello there, Lotus! My, what lovely hair you have! It's very nice to meet you," she said, speaking calmly as to not startle him. She smiled as Lotus muttered out a quiet thank you, standing up and straightening her clothes. "Your father has told a lot about you, Lotus. He says you're quite the artist." The father looked to be younger than his own with medium-length, brown hair styled in a ponytail and neatly trimmed facial hair, his eyes were hazel. Lotus nodded and his eyes wandered to the child standing beside the eleven man, clutching his hand. The boy looked like his father but had freckles and blue eyes like his mother. "This is Danem'misaan, he's rather shy as well. Spends most of his time reading outside. Do you read, Lotus?" Another nod. "Ma reads to me most of the time, I like the ones where they go on adventures," he said, a little more at ease. His mother patted his hair again and smiled, "Shall we go in? You must be tired from your trip. Dinner will be ready in a few moments," she said, welcoming the visitors into their home, telling her husband to show them around while she goes to assist the kitchen staff. Lotus' father guided the guests around till they reached the living room, offering them a seat and ushering the kids to go play.

Lotus exited the room through the open glass doors that led outside, halting to see if the other was following. He led them to the backyard. It had large patches of grass with a fountain and platforms, a lake, a forest and it was filled with different flowers. The silence was awkward as they walked beside each other. What were they supposed to talk about? What did kids talk about with each other? Lotus often hang around the kitchen and talked to the maids about what they were doing, asked what they were making, if he could have a taste of the pie. He didn't know what he's supposed to say.

"Are your scales real?" Lotus side-eyed the other, brows furrowed, "What?" "What about your horns?" He asked again, "Are they real? Can I touch them?" The boy reached his hand to touch one of the small horns on Lotus' head but was stopped by him dodging. "S-stop that!" He yelled and hopped back as the boy tried again. "Yes, they're real but you can't touch!' Lotus glared at the other. "Sorry, your horns are just really cool," he said as he lowered his head, rubbing his arm. Lotus was taken aback. Cool? No one had ever called his horns cool. Most people whispered behind his back about it being a shame he looks the way he does. Compliments and reassurance about his looks came mostly from his family. "It's fine, just- just don't do it again." The boy nodded and they continued walking till they reached a patch of grass with a bunch of white flowers blossoming on it and sat down next to each other. "Your name is Lotus, right? Like the flower?" The boy asked, squinting as the sun shone brightly in the sky. "Yeah. I can't remember your name." He raked his claws through the grass, picking at the flowers. "It's Danem'misaan," the boy said, picking a few flowers himself. "You have a long name," Lotus commented, twirling a flower between his fingers as he watched curiously as to what the other boy was up to. "People call me Danem sometimes." He mused, twisting the flowers together, not paying much mind to Lotus following the movements of his hands with his own. "Can I call you Denny?" He nodded with a quiet 'sure', more focused on the flowers in his hands.

Lotus watched intensely as Denny worked, trying to copy what he was doing but not succeeding as well. Lotus looked at his own creation, comparing it to Denny's, who's honestly looked much better. He huffed, "No fair! How do you do that so easily?" 

He whined as he set down the poor excuse of a flower crown on the ground. Denny laughed as he told about it taking a lot of time to get right and how many times he couldn't do it either. He walked Lotus through the process slowly, guiding his hands and reminding him to be aware of his claws and not to pull too harshly. The two continued in pleasant silence as they crafted their crowns, enjoying the decent weather.

A moment passed before Lotus spoke up again, thinking his words through. "Do you know what heriviö means?" He asked, tilting his head to look at the other, who in turn shook his head. "It means monster in Saimvi. I've heard people call me that, especially the other kids. They never want to play with me because I'm scary and weird." His voice was hushed as he spoke slowly, fidgeting with the decent but still scratched flower crown in his hands. "I don't think you're scary and weird. I think you're cool." A compliment; simple words that meant something more, words Lotus wasn't used to, words that were hard to accept. Words that somehow needed more proof than insults. “The people here talk about me a lot,” Lotus said, “They talk about how my clothes are dirty, how I act weird and how my hair is tangled. and messy.” “Do you think that’s true?” Denny regarded his flower crown, carefully made and pretty. Lotus shook his head, “No. At least not all of it. My hair isn’t messy, it’s just hard to keep it not so messy looking.” His hand played with the two small braids of hair. “My Ma says my hair is really fluffy and thick, that that’s why it looks like this.” Denny looked up at the sky in thought, “You could cut it short, like really short,” he suggested. Lotus looked at him as if he said something revolutionary. “I-I could?” He pawned at his own hair. The other boy nodded and shrugged, “Sure, why not?” He looked back at his flower crown and reached over to put in on Lotus’ head. “Whatever you decide, I think it’s pretty.” Lotus continued to stare at Denny, his face pink. He looked away at the blue sky, “Why not...” he repeated under his breath.

The hours went by quickly, after dinner Lotus, Denny and their mothers went on a walk around town. The weather was warmer and the sky was clear, so a small trip ought to be nice.

“You know Caelynn, my mother lived on a farm when she was a young girl.” “Oh, really?” “Yes! Mother was quite the woman, she was crazy about archery and was rather great at it too.” Lotus’ mother’s family came from Räive, a countryside area in Eastern-Saimvinmaa, and she had always been proud of her roots. She often told Lotus stories of his grandmother, Mijakki-Laera, who was known in her time as a very adventurous young lady who eventually stole the heart of a nobleman, Eerik. They travelled to Tymijärne where they settle down in Draqon estate and started a family. “Me and my sisters, Lietso and Herji, were a group of troublemakers in our youth.” she laughed as she told stories of her childhood and how she was quite the heartbreaker until she finally fell in love with the young, reckless son of a fellow noble family who shared her father's name. “You truly are a peach, Keilma!” Both mothers laughed and shared stories as their sons walked in front of them. Lotus and Denny were walking side by side, Lotus answering the various questions Denny had about the town, albeit most of the answers were along the lines of “I don’t know” and “I can’t remember”. The group walked for a while more before turning back, surely Eerik and Soveliss were already missing their presence.

The rest of the day they spent chatting and telling stories, they ate supper outside in the garden, drinking tea, ale and milk and eating fish, potatoes and bread. They laughed, joked and smiled, enjoying their time together, toasting to a beautiful, blooming friendship and bond between families. Eventually, the sun set behind the horizon and Lady Draqon ushered everyone to their rooms, tucking Lotus and Denny into their beds and bidding goodnights. Lotus’ room wasn’t huge, but it was bigger than Denny’s and very pretty too. He had many stuffed animals, books, wooden carvings, clothing and the walls had beautifully painted murals. Lotus told him the murals were painted by his mother a few years ago and he had helped and painted some himself, which showed. He wasn’t bad but there was a difference between Lotus’ and his mother’s work. She had been really proud of him that day, Lotus clearly showed signs of having a creative artist’s mind. She herself painted as a hobby and also cooked, baked and sewed. His father was a good cook as well and was very poetic.

The morning came and the Lavellan family was packing their belongings, Denny and Lotus spent the last few hours of their time connected at the hip, not ready to say goodbye just yet. The two children were lying in the same patch of grass as the day before, looking up at the fluffy clouds in the sky. “I don’t want you to go yet,” Lotus said after a moment of peaceful quiet. “Yeah,” Denny sighed. “Me neither.” The silence prolonged and turned into minutes until Lotus sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. “We’re best friends... right?” Denny followed suit, tilting his head. “Yeah, of course.” Lotus turned his head to look at the other, his brows were furrowed and his eyes were piercing, “And we’ll continue being friends even if we’re far apart?” Denny nodded as the atmosphere around them changed, it wasn’t one of sorrow anymore, it was one of determined hearts and minds; a promise of forever between young souls. “Danem, Love, your mother is asking for you!” Lotus’ mother called out from the back door and approached Lotus as the other child bid his thank yous and farewells, turning to say goodbye to Lotus as well. Keilma sat down next to her son on the grass, hand petting at his hair, bringing him into a hug as she rocked him back and forth. Small sniffles could be heard coming from the child. “Goodbyes are always difficult, I know, Love, I know.” She kissed the top of his head before gently taking the child’s small face into her hand, wiping the tears away with her thumb. “You’ll get to see him again someday. It may take a while, but you will.” Lotus jerked away from his mother, “I forgot!” He yelled out, standing up in a hurry, his mother giving him a questioning look. “I need to tell Denny something important!” He said before bolting towards the front yard, not wanting to waste time finding his way out through the halls of his house. The Lavellans were boarding the carriage at the gates. “Denny!” Lotus yelled out with his hands cupped around his mouth, “Denny!!” The boy in question turned his head towards the sound just as he was about to climb in. “I wanted to let you know that- that the next time we meet I’ll have short hair!!” He was smiling through his words and waved at his friend who returned the smile with his own and held up his thumb. “You can keep the flower crown! Wear it a lot cuz you look really pretty in it!” Denny yelled back and disappeared into the carriage with his family. Lotus was joined by his mother and father, all waving their new friends goodbye. 

Lotus couldn’t wait to get his hair cut.

[canadian-buckbeaver]

Don’t Hat on the ComicBerry

A late Christmas gift for @soloshikigami , commissioned by @battre-la-rage , based off of Battre’s picture.

Merry Christmas!

Sans had to chuckle as he watched the other version of him dragging the two Papyruses around the mall.  The little version of Sans was like a tugboat, propelling the other two forward and through the ‘tides’ of the mall.  It was the final countdown to Christmas, and naturally the building was packed with humans and even the occasional monster, all trying to get that last-minute shopping done in time.  He followed lazily behind them, keeping a wary eye on the humans that were passing them, pressing close to them.  They had already ‘lost’ one wallet in such crowds, he didn’t want to lose another one.  So he followed behind them like a short, stout bodyguard.  It was an easy job as long as he kept his magical blue iris activated.  No one ever came too close to them then.  And he was able to stay close to the others.  Not close enough to them to be stifling, but just close enough that he could hear Blue’s overexcited tones exclaiming over everything in the windows that they passed.  Just close enough to catch the occasional glimpse of those wide, beautiful eyes, sparkling brightly in joy and wonder.  To see those cheekbones slightly dusted with the palest blue blush with enthusiasm…

He is positively adorable, Sans thought to himself, already for the countless time that day.  His grin relaxed, a small, long-forgotten sparkle appearing momentarily to his own eye lights as he watched them.  For a while now, he had tried to deny his feelings.  He had tried telling himself that Blue reminded him of Paps, a much, much smaller version of Paps, perhaps when the skeleton was a baby bones.  Both skeletons were energetic, shared similar goals, hated their brothers puns and loved cooking after all.  He also tried saying that Blue was legitimately another version of him from another universe, so of course he would be curious about him, wanting to know more… wanting to hang around him…

But no more lying, not to his friends, or to himself anymore.

Sans was positively taken with Blue.  Infatuated with his energy, his caring, his constant belief that everyone can do a little better if they tried hard enough, and how he cared for Stretch, his own lazy brother, and how quickly he had bonded with Sans and Paps.

Speaking of Stretch, the orange hoodied skeleton was jogging right alongside Blue, holding tight to his hand, acting as a very bony anchor to keep him from wandering off too far and too fast.  Sans’ own brother, Paps, held Blue’s other hand, just as eager and excited as his smaller companion, but had been on his best behaviour since they had first arrived at the mall.  Together the two energetic skeletons had ooed and ahhed over the flickering Christmas lights, over the fake snow in the windows, and especially over the toy train that puffed real steam.  Stretch, the Blue’s older brother, chuckled at their reactions, smiling back Sans, shooting him a knowing wink.  Their brothers really were the coolest.

Sans sighed softly, smiling at them.  They really were the coolest of the cool.  He carefully eyed Blue, making sure that Stretch didn’t catch any of the soft looks that he would sometimes shoot at the oblivious skeleton.  Stretch had already warned him about being too forward with his brother…

His very innocent brother.

* * * * *

It was only a few short weeks ago that Stretch had asked him to join him for supper.  As they settled in their favourite booth at Grillby’s, Stretch had cut directly to the chase.

“I thought I would approach you as a friend first.  I like you a lot, Sans, and would hate to lose our friendship over it.” Stretch had told him, pulling the sugar stick from his mouth and sticking it in his pullover’s pocket.  “But it is my brother that we are talking about.   He’s… not experienced in any sense of their word.  So, to protect him, let him approach you, not the other way around.  He’s read his dating manual numerous times, probably knows the thing cover to cover, but that is the only experience he has with dating.  Excluding the little play dates that he had with Chara of course.  Let him decide what he really wants with you, a relationship or friendship, without the little hints or nudges.”  Stretch had peered down at Sans, his one iris sparking to life so quickly that the magic startled a nearby beaver and rabbit monster.  “Or you’ll be in for a bad time. Got it?”

Sans had a lot of respect for Stretch.  Not only because he was another judge monster, one that had been chosen by the Creator to judge the human for the sins and STATS, but also as a fellow monster.  It had taken a lot of balls (heh!) to say that to Sans’ face, to risk a friendship to protect his brother.  So he had agreed to the conditions.  He would let Blue decide what he wanted with Sans, and Stretch wouldn’t interfere with the outcome.  It was a good deal, perhaps a better one than he deserved.  He nodded and promised Stretch.

* * * * *

So that brings us back to today.  Blue had somehow been able to convince the three of them to finish Christmas shopping in possibly one of the worst times to shop.  Humans were crammed into every store like sardines, standing shoulder to shoulder and pushing, the monsters trapped right there with them.  To say the least, it was quite the experience.

A couple hours later and Sans was quite done with the whole experience of it all.  They had all been pushed and shoved more times than they could count, been hit with bags, and one monster bigot tried to start a fight.  Stretch too looked tired, even Paps looked ready for a rest.  Blue was still rearing to go, full of boundless energy.

Sans was slightly jealous.  He would love to have that much energy, keep up with him.

“Come on guys!  One more shop and then we can stop for lunch!” Blue said, attempting to cheer them on.

Stretch shook his head.  “Sorry bro… I’m all burnt out…  I need a couple minutes to rest…”

To Sans’ surprise, Paps nodded.  “I must agree with the lazier version of me.  I also need a few minutes to rest.”

Blue looked downcast.  He longingly turned to Sans, his eyes large and watery.  It reminded him of the anime that Alphys and Undyne of both their universes liked to watch, or those cat videos that Papyrus showed him from time to time.  He could feel his soul pound slightly.  He needed to protect this baby…. He was so precious, so cute… “I can still go with you Blue.” he heard himself saying, a small sigh escaping his mouth.

Paps and Stretch looked at him in surprise as Blue looked at him with complete and utter joy, his pupils turning to stars.  “Sans, are you sure?  Usually you have had a nap and eaten lunch by now…” Paps said worried.

“I know, but I’m fine.  Go on guys, we’ll catch up.” he said, nodding to Stretch and Paps.  He could already knew what would happen.  Stretch would go for a quick smoke break, perhaps even drag Paps into a sweet shop or bakery.  He would try and check up on them every so far but…

This perhaps was the best opportunity that Sans had to spend some alone time with Blue.

But then again, he was starting to get tired.  Maybe he should rest first.  He was nothing but a lazy bones after all.

The next moment, hood was seized and he was being pulled backwards, away from the brothers.  “We’ll back soon!” Blue sang, leaving Sans to shrug helplessly at the Papyruses.

“Do you think that they will be ok?” Paps asked Stretch.

The lazy skeleton nodded.  “Blue looks sweet and innocent but he has been trained by Alphys, much like you and Undyne.  He won’t hesitate to protect himself against random humans.  And he has your brother with him.  Sans will protect him if anything happens.”  Stretch was already patting at his pockets, searching for his cigarettes.

* * * * *

Sans had to admit that skipping his break was worth it.  He had insisted on grabbing a quick cup of coffee, just something to keep him going, but other than that they were non-stop.  Ducking into one shop, then the next.  Occasionally buying the odd doo-dad but, just enjoying their time together.  Sans felt his guard begin to drop, his smile relax.  He found himself having a great time.  Having Blue’s energy concentrated solely on him was, well, it was indescribable. Those blue eyes were his alone, that infectious smile and giggle were his…

He was truly hooked on this skeleton.

“Ooh! Sans!  Look at the hat shop!” Blue said suddenly, roughly pulling Sans’ arm to the side.  Sure enough there was a little hat in the corner of the mall.  There were many mannequins and heads in the windows, all sporting some sort hat of every era.  “Let’s look in here quickly!” Blue said.

Sans couldn’t say no.

The shop was completely dead, not a soul to be seen.  Sans supposed that hats weren’t the hot commodity of the year.  The salesclerk looked bored, taping away at the computer, peeking up interestedly at the two skeletons entering the shop.  She was delighted with the two of them.  Gushing about them, she was amazed with the two of them.  Of course she was a student doctor with a biology major, so seeing two skeletons walk in, no flesh or muscles or organs to see or speak of… Sans and Blue now knew what celebrities felt like.

They tried on every hat of the store it seemed like.  From the pirate’s long feathered felt hat, to the biking helmet, even the strange propeller hat.

Blue and Sans giggled at themselves as they tried on the final two hats.  Sans had gone with the classic Santa hat, guaranteed to replenish the Christmas spirit in any scrooge.  Blue on the other hand, had found a silly toque with fox ears.  Sans glanced at Blue, taking in the sight.  The red-brown of the fur should have clashed with Blue’s blue scarf and coat but, instead he found that it brought out his eyes that much more.

“You guys look absolutely amazing!” the clerk said.  “You guys will be the best looking skeletons on your date!”

…..

Wait.  Did the clerk just assume that he and Blue were dating?  Sans wanted to argue with her, set the record straight (heh!), but his soul warmed at the thought of the thought of this little outing being their first date.

Blue smiled at her.  “Thank you very much, Human Sarah!” he laughed his signature mweh heh heh.  “We thank you for your help in choosing the perfect hats!”

Sarah giggled and began to pick up the extra hats, replacing them on their heads and shelves.  Sans looked down at Blue’s mitted hand and gently took it, squeezing the hand softly.  Blue looked up at him, a soft blush lighting up his cheekbones as he smiled back up at him.  Sans led the way to the register, taking out his card and paying for the hats.

After all, a gentleman always pays on the first date.

* * * * *

Blue was still holding tight to Sans’ hand as they traveled the length of the mall, the both of them not letting go of each other.  They were happy and content, their souls thumping in unison.  They were quiet, just enjoying the moment.  Blue quickly waved to another monster, one that looked similar to Sans’ NiceCream Man.  The tall bunny had quickly waved back but continued on their way.  He must be in a hurry…

“Hey look. A photo booth.” Blue pointed out.  “I first heard of them when I was still down in UnderSwap. They are used to take lots of fun, happy photos of humans.  To remember certain events or memories.  I’ve never tried them before… Do you want to try it with me?”

Of course Sans couldn’t say no to him.

Plugging in the coins, he joined Blue inside the little booth.  For the first three shots, they smiled largely at the camera, their eye lights wide and joyful.

For the last picture Sans couldn’t help himself.  The frame was perfect for the holidays, surrounded by ribbon and a piece of virtual mistletoe hanging between them.  As the camera whirled to life, he quickly bent over and kissed Blue’s cheek.  His teeth landed with a small little clank, blue magic sparking between them.  At the sensation Blue’s eye lights became wide and shiny, sparkling.

The picture snapped.

[dustedmagazine]

Listening Post: Michael Cosmic — Peace in the World / Phill Musra Group — Creator Spaces (Part Two)

Following up on the part of the conversation posted earlier today, the Dusted crew continues to discuss these newly reissued free jazz records from 1974 Boston.

Mason Jones: I'm pretty outside the jazz realm, though in my years playing avant-experimental music I've crossed paths with a lot of free players, particularly the early '90s Oakland scene (Splatter Trio, Gino Robair, Pluto, and the like). I've dipped into jazz quite often from time to time but for some reason little of modern jazz resonates strongly with me. The expanses of this release that do, surprisingly, are those that breathe more slowly. John Coltrane's not my thing, but like others I also hear echoes of Alice Coltrane in parts of "Peace in the World" for example. Even though it doesn't really sound much like her work, it somehow feels similar. I dig the splashing, crashing drum solo in "The Creator Spaces" and find Ertunç's playing pretty evocative throughout. My deficiency in appreciating reeds certainly impedes my judgment on a lot of this, though, so I'll have to let others get deeper into it all.

Jonathan Shaw: Michael, by "otherness" earlier, you mean a form of alienation beyond being black? Something more musically mediated?

Michael Rosenstein: Good point! By "otherness," I was referring to musical practice. While the traditions of free jazz (and by the mid-70s, the language had developed traditions) were referenced by many of the musicians in Boston, they brought an outsider sensibility to things. That is certainly not unique to Boston, but it was something that certainly struck me when I was first hearing musicians like Voigt, Harvey, Davidson, and Smart (to name a few).

Jonathan Shaw: So interesting to think of a music that wants to articulate some principle of "freedom" developing traditions. Tradition isn't intrinsically reactionary, but that's the way the term often gets used these days—I think especially of how the term resonates in the Traditional Workers' Party. Assholes. 

What's freedom's outside? Where can we hear it on these records? I don't know who coined the term "free jazz" and to what extent that usage of free speaks to other forms of Africanist and African American identity construction in 20th century culture; as I noted somewhere above, my sense of "free" in free jazz is liberatory, but in a nationalist sense, black as essentially other than white, and decidedly other than European. But that's not the only way to conceptualize things. Back in the 1920s, Alain Locke argued that black Americans were best positioned to fully embody the country's ethos of freedom and liberty, precisely because blacks understood the opposite of freedom and liberty like no one else. For some reason, I think Locke would be more attracted to Cosmic/Musra's music than he would to Archie Shepp c. 1970 or Braxton.

Derek Taylor: I’m not sure on the origin of the phrase “free jazz” earlier than Ornette’s composition/album of the same name, but that’s when it really started to gain traction as a descriptor. While the “free” is in there, so is “jazz” denoting a foundational framework around which the free elements center and revolve. The specifically Nationalist leanings came shortly after and were confounded in part by the prominent place of white players in the music: Charlie Haden w/ Ornette, Roswell Rudd w/ Archie Shepp, Alan Silva, etc. The free musical elements that Cosmic and Musra employ definitely sound on that axis to my ears while bringing in aspects in part apart from jazz tradition as well (the zurna, African/Latin percussion instruments, etc.)

Any musical idiom that has historical legs is naturally going to develop traditions. Even music as resolutely non-idiomatic as free improvisation has developed recognizable vocabularies over the years through the repeated use of extended techniques and other tools (a reason why Derek Bailey, despite his protestations against precedence and familiarity, is usually instantly recognizable). Tradition in the context of Cosmic/Musric seems like a way of preserving, celebrating older means of musical expression outside Western, or more ambiguously white, cultural standards. But I don't get the feeling that they're doing it from a position of any overt animosity or concerted resistance, but more from a place of naturalness and positivity. 

Mason Jones: When I hear "free jazz" or "free music" I also inevitably think of LAFMS, which was coming at "free music" from a very different angle than the jazz cats, though with a lot of sympathy both ways. They were looking to unmoor music from pretty much all frameworks, while I still think of free jazz as identifiably "jazz" — it's leaving behind the traditions but somehow still employing a lot of the same thinking. The Cosmic/Musra set is undeniably jazz even at its most outré, and to me feels only partially "free" in this context. I agree that it doesn't sound reactionary, so I might say that it's aimed towards freedom of expression rather than freedom *from* anything, if you know what I mean.

Jonathan Shaw: Probably also worth noting that a bunch of free players had good times in Europe—Cecil Taylor, Art Ensemble of Chicago, Don Cherry.

Bill Meyer: When musicians operate from a jazz foundation, and when they think what they are doing continues to relate non-antagonistically to jazz, you have free jazz. European free improvisation was started by people who loved jazz, but felt that they could not contribute in a culturally primary way. To be a Briton or European who loved jazz was to love something that came from somewhere else, but they wanted to take the example of serious aesthetic advancement that they saw in Ornette/Coltrane/etc to heart. Some of them (Paul Lytton, I believe, has talked a lot about this) very self consciously cut themselves off from playing music they really loved in order to grow. Others were aware of not being a part of it but continued to use it as a touchstone - Evan Parker for example. And Brotzmann sees himself as a jazz musician, I think, even though he's quite willing to step outside of jazz.

Cosmic/Musra, I think, come from a specifically African-American angle. Presumably they aspired to play jazz before they arrived at the music that they play on this set. The beyond-jazz aspects of their music relates to a divergent stream of jazz (Sun Ra, John and Alice Coltrane, Pharoah Sanders, the AACM) that was reflects ways of expressing and defining identity that were current in the African-Amerian community. As a whole, this music reflects an interest in Africa and non-European cultural, a disinclination to accept mainstream narratives and perspectives at face value, and a valuation of strongly felt/expressed spirituality that made a lot of room for the esoteric. 

Derek Taylor: There’s definitely a lot of anecdotal history in support of Jonathan’s point about Stateside versus European experiences for ex-pat free jazz players and jazz players in general. But it wasn’t all rosy for them either. Ayler (in)famously got booed and worse at stops on his first European tour and Coltrane/Dolphy were hit with critical devaluations even earlier for the avenues they opted to explore. That makes the brothers experiences intriguing by contrast. Yes, they came later after the groundwork had been established by forebearers, but they still experienced a pretty uniformly positive response to what they were doing, at least in Chicago and Boston, if not L.A.

Brötzmann’s relationship with and to jazz has been contentious throughout his career. I don’t think he has much use for the term as a descriptor for what he does and hasn’t for quite some time, although his own listening habits apparently tend toward the classicists (Sidney Bechet, Coleman Hawkins, etc. who were themselves somewhat ironically the revolutionaries in their day). Parker’s much more open about acknowledging and embracing his debts (to Coltrane especially).

I get the feeling that Cosmic/Musra’s core musical beliefs came out of the AACM. It’s where they ostensibly really learned to play their instruments. Musra tells the story of Roscoe Mitchell recruiting him, clarinet in hand, right of the beach. Earlier influences were in the African American church (both sang in the choir) and by proxy their father’s record collection/musical interests. So right off the bat neither was coming from any sort of traditional pedagogy, jazz or otherwise. They were steeped in the divergent stream Bill mentions almost from the start.

Jonathan Shaw: Thanks for the context, Derek. You mention the positive response the brothers' records got. Is that response recorded anywhere? Were any prominent jazz critics and/or thinkers writing about the brothers in the 1970s? It would be interesting to see how their contemporaries processed the sounds.

Bill Meyer: I think it's interesting to think about what we mean when we say tradition and what the brothers might have thought tradition meant. Free jazz in all its stripes was the New Thing, and the influences we've noted would have been, for the brothers, music from the last five or ten years. On the other hand we can think of a free jazz tradition because free jazz has been a label as long or longer than most of us have been alive.

Derek Taylor: Good questions, Jonathan & Bill. I was going off of Clifford Allen’s notes & other contextual information available over at his blog Ni Kantu. He’s talked/corresponded with Musra over the years and has gathered a lot of anecdotal context, although I get the impression that the positive response(s) as described was more at the audience/community level rather than a critical or establishment one. Lots of gigs, but pretty much under the radar of the conventional jazz/music press, although I could be mistaken.

The AACM was founded (at least formally) in May of 1965, which would mean that it was it was less than two years old when Mitchell ran into a teen-aged Musra on the beach. Hardly time enough to establish tradition in an orthodox sense. That in turn seems to imply that the traditions the brothers were interested in exploring were older, non-Western and not strictly observed, but rather interpretative jumping off points. It doesn’t sound like their formal instruction prior to AACM enrolment was very extensive at all. 

Michael Rosenstein: I wouldn't say that their records got particularly positive responses when they came out. They came out in such limited runs and distribution was so localized at the time. But they definitely played out a fair bit in Boston based on the documentation provided in Mark Harvey's book. There is a flyer that is reproduced from Spring 1974 that lists the following:

That's nine gigs within six weeks in clubs, churches, galleries, universities, radio, and a festival! And there are enough other flyers in the liner notes to the CD and Mark's book to show that this wasn't just a fluke. This provides some evidence as to how much they were integrated as musicians into the DIY jazz and arts communities in Boston at the time.

Derek Taylor: Nice! Appreciate the specifics from Harvey’s book, Michael. When you say responses, are you speaking to audiences or on the critical/journalistic end or both? The grass roots aspects to the brothers’ efforts are pretty pervasive from the nature of the gigs, to their chosen crew(s), to the DIY-nature of the recorded documents. A large slice of their overall charm from where I sit.

Jonathan Shaw: I'm also curious. I'm charmed (wrong word, but hope you all hear me) by the self-released aspect of the records. I come from punk musical and social backgrounds, so my touchstones are Dischord Records, scene reports in Maximum Rock n Roll, zine culture, etc. It's really cool to see the antecedents of those marginal modes of cultural production in Cosmic/Musra, Sun Ra, and so on. As with the free jazz, the punks were trying to find authentic community that could buttress their resistance to social convention in art and in life. I don't know how self-selected the choice to self-release was for Cosmic/Musra.

Michael Rosenstein: Ahhh. When I say that the records "didn't get positive responses," it was in the context of national/mainstream jazz journalism. I also checked the archives of the Boston Globe to see if there was any newspaper coverage but non popped up. But response seems to have been pretty solid within Boston based on the fact that they got radio play (on underground radio/college radio) and played around quite a bit. I agree about the DIY nature of the recorded documents, but I also hear that really extending into their overall musical sensibilities. Like Derek notes, you just need to look at the range of musicians they pulled in. 

Self-produced, self-released small labels were definitely relatively prevalent at that time for jazz musicians. I remember going to New Music Distribution Service in the early 80s in New York and there were shelves upon shelves upon shelves of records, a large chunk of which were self-produced. Nice to see that this stuff is continuing to be mined and released.

Jonathan Shaw: Not to continue to allege a comparison, but the proliferation of punk small labels in the 1980s (SST, Alternative Tentacles, R Radical, Dischord, etc) signaled a deliberate choice on the part of some bands to remain outside the music industry. Most of that came out of a left-ish, anticapitalist stance that was more or less coherent, depending on the band; some wanted to gain as much control over the production process as possible, for ideological as well as aesthetic reasons. The loving song to Malcolm X on Cosmic's record is potentially interesting in this regard: X stressed the necessity for black neighborhoods to assert greater control over their local economies, so that wealth could be generated within the community and stay within the community.

Derek Taylor: I think the comparison between valuation of DIY approaches in punk and jazz communities is spot-on. As Bill mentioned earlier there's a long history of jazz artists starting their own labels or having labels started by others to advance their work/interests. That tradition carries through to this day, but was just as prevalent contemporaneously with this set. Hat Hut was just getting off the ground in Switzerland in 1974 as a conduit for Joe McPhee's output, which had earlier been fostered by Craig Johnson's CJR imprint and Giacomo Pelliciotti's Black Saint/Soul Note ventures were launched in similar fashion to steward Billy Harper's efforts. All three were fiercely artist-focused and remained so even when outside pressures/enticements attempted to lure them in other directions. History is also littered with jazz artists who accepted major label overtures only to be dropped when the returns on investment didn't manifest (Sonny Simmons, David S. Ware, Henry Threadgill, Arthur Blythe, etc.). It's not entirely clear whether Musra & Cosmic ever shopped their work to outside concerns, but based the energy the put into their enterprises top to bottom I kind of doubt it.

Bill Meyer: Yeah, Max Roach, Charles Mingus, and Mingus's wife Celia started Debut back in the 50s. Sun Ra and Alton Abraham started Saturn around the same time. It was not new. At the time that Cosmic and Musra made these recordings, I can't imagine that they had a lot of other options. It was a rough time for jazz, commercially speaking. And one thing the punks and indie rockers figured out that I think the jazz indies of past decades never did was how to put together touring and distribution networks. 

Jonathan Shaw: 1974 was rough pretty much all around. I've been listening to the version of "Arabia" on the Phill Musra Group record this morning, which seems to me much tougher and dissonant than the longer take on Cosmic's. Even the cymbals on the shorter version have more attack to them. Alongside "Egypt," I can't help but think of the Yom Kippur War of the previous year, formation of OPEC, and the consequent gas shortages in the US. I wonder what it was like performing songs themed toward North African and Middle Eastern cultures at that time.

Bill Meyer: Recession, gas lines, Watergate... they were not salad days.

Michael Rosenstein: There are a bunch of labels started by jazz artists like the ones noted above along with Strata-East founded by Charles Tolliver and Stanley Cowell, and Cecil Taylor's short-lived Unit Core label. But, as Derek notes above, I would guess that Musra & Cosmic were driven more by just wanting to get their music out than by wanting to stay outside the music industry. There just weren't that many options around in the mid-70s for jazz musicians. If anything, I would put their efforts closer to the DIY cassette scene. From the liner notes, it looks like neither Cosmic Records or Intex Records (the two labels that put these out) pretty much existed only to release Musra & Cosmic's music and then disappeared.

Derek Taylor: Interesting question regarding the reception toward music referencing North African and Middle Eastern cultures in the mid-1970s. I doubt the audiences Cosmic & Musra were courting evinced any overt ire or issues, but you never know. A tangent and a much later case, but drummer Pete La Roca (in)famously attempted to bar the reissue of his 1965 Blue Note album Basra (a minor masterpiece, IMO) out of the purported opinion that the title was disrespectful to American troops that had died in Iraq. 

Jonathan Shaw: Interesting info, Derek. My grade-school memory of the 1970s suggests that anti-mid-eastern sentiments kicked up a lot after the Islamic Revolution in Iran. I don't know how extensive or intense anti-Arab feeling was in the 73-74 oil shock or to what extent Africanist/African-interested jazz music would have been on that radar of hate.

On a different theme: Michael noted earlier that "The Prayer," on the record of previously unreleased stuff, doesn't feature either of the brothers. From the album booklet, it looks like the only of player of note to the rest of the collection is John Jamyll Jones. The decision to include what seems a relatively tangential piece—especially one of such length—is strange to me (it's a lovely piece). How influential a player was Jones? How extensive might his influence have been on the brothers?

Michael Rosenstein: My guess is that the inclusion was to provide context of other music in a similar vein that was happening in Boston at the time.

Derek Taylor: Jones led the World Experience Orchestra, another Boston band of which the brothers were members and had strong strong ties to NYC. Now Again reissued two albums as a two-fer package prior to the set under discussion here. I was excited prior to hearing Jones, but came away underwhelmed. The music just doesn't hold together as well and the use of singers and less skilled participants is more pronounced. 

Jonathan Shaw: That's too bad. I'm listening to "The Prayer" again. Appropriate that it starts with a statement from Jones. I don't usually respond well to flutes, but the solo (notes credit the playing to Stan Strickland) really lights things up. I wonder how thematically significant the instrument's gentleness is, with respect to prayer. The strings also give the piece a sort of rapturous quality. There's some dissonance around the 17th minute, but it's not a dominant tone. Also, the audience's initially confused response to the coda is pretty great.

Michael Rosenstein: Back to the notion of comparing these releases to punk labels in the early 80s, I think a better comparison would be to the local rock bands in the late 70s who did small-run, self releases. There was a promo e-mail that got forwarded recently for a reissue of music by the Austin band Terminal Mind. From what I can tell from the info on the site this band wasn't known much outside of Austin at the time, put out a few EPs themselves that sold out quickly, and then recently got unearthed. Jenny can probably think of a bunch of other examples like this. I think it was just reasonably affordable to pull together a short-run EP/LP back then.

Derek Taylor: The Numero Group has kind of made that sort of thing their reissue forte over the years, first w/ a slew local/regional soul labels and later branching out to include rock, punk & other genres, even yacht rock. 

Jonathan Shaw: The tack Michael suggests is how a bunch of those early-1980s labels started. SST was originally a vehicle for Black Flag to put out singles in LA. Once they figured out that it was possible, they invited some friends along for the ride.

Mason Jones: Exactly — similar to Slash, Dischord, and so forth. Even Industrial Records and Mute, for that matter!

Ian Mathers: Speaking of getting in late and miss some fascinating conversation... I can give a complete novice’s perspective, at least. I was delayed partly by the problems of fitting in listens of this pretty sprawling set (or sets?), but I have been following the conversation with interest and learning a lot, and really enjoying those listens when I have been able to fit them in. I have virtually no jazz vocabulary to discuss these with; I grew up with Kind of Blue and A Love Supreme and loved the latter, and have been able to get into four Miles Davis albums so far (In a Silent Way, A Tribute to Jack Johnson, On the Corner and, uh, Dark Magus) and although I've listened here and there to plenty of things (including some free or at least freer jazz) and usually enjoyed it, for whatever reason jazz just doesn't tend to be something I put on unless I think about it. I feel like I should personally apologize to Derek here (who's writing about I've been reading and enjoying here for years!).

What this means is that while I recognize most of the names that have been mentioned in relationship to the music here, and even have enough context and/or fuzzy memories of having heard them before that the references have made contextual sense to me, when I'm walking around listening to "The Prayer" I'm mostly thinking that the part where the bass and violin are most prominent (my favourite part) makes me think of, say, Astral Weeks meets the Dirty Three. So I apologize for an fumbling and/or ignorant cross-genre comparisons I might make.

The most unexpected part of the experience for me so far is that I pretty much instantly liked the Michael Cosmic and World Experience Orchestra material, the Phill Musra Group tracks took a little longer and honestly still aren't my favourite (although I don't dislike them). I was struck by Jonathan's comment about the Musra "Arabia" being a little tougher and more dissonant, which I agree with, because both of those things would normally make it my preferred version, but in this case in addition to those qualities this shorter version just feels a little less... colorful? Listening now I'm wondering if this isn't partially the production or even room tone, but those four Michael Cosmic tracks, especially the longer first two, just feel so vibrant and communal and joyful, and the Phill Musra tracks just feel a little more... considered? formal (if that's not a totally ridiculous descriptor for any of this music)? restrained? And I think because "Arabia" is the only shared track between the two I feel the contrast a bit more there. That being said I do really like "The Creator Is So Far Out" in particular.

My favourite track here though, by far, and for some of the same reasons I know Derek wasn't necessarily a fan, is "Space on Space". I am a repetition guy and even though the actual music is vastly different some of my love for "Space on Space" comes from the same part of me that adores Oneida's "Sheets of Easter" or the loops at the end of Liars' "This Dust Makes That Mud" and Massive Attack's "Antistar" or the many 20+ minute tracks by Muslimgauze I've heard over the years. And here with "Space on Space" maybe it's the fact that there is that continuing element that allows me to more fully appreciate the parts of the band that are peeling off and doing their own thing while the looping musicians vamp in the background. It's probably the most viscerally thrilling free jazz track I've heard, although again my prior experience is minimal.

It's been a real education reading the liner notes and the discussion here about the context surrounding the brothers and their music, not least because some of that confirms the feeling I was getting from this music as soon as I played it the first time (I wanted to go in blind, just in case I wound up being overly suggestible). I definitely want to keep this stuff around, although in the future I honestly might split it into three, because the situations where I'd want to hear the Michael Cosmic material versus the more meditative Phill Musra Group versus the even more laid back World Experience Orchestra track here would probably be different.

[agent-7-at-your-service]

Future Plot: Project Prometheus - Chapter 1

(( Sandra, Justinian, Telemachus, Iruka, Kitzeh, Agent 7 (mentioned), Hera of the motherly moon (Mentioned)  and Pyrrhus/Chaodis belong to me

Camille, Marina, and Pacling (mentioned) belong to @inklingleesquidly

Nebula and Wish belong to @myzzy and @agenttwo  

Mysteeri belongs to @dreadangel

Designs of Marina and Wish belong to @teamuntyblue

Emerald and Sapphire belong to @twelvetailedkitsune and @son-of-joy

Agent 0 (mentioned) belong to @son-of-joy

Celeste and Willow (mentioned) belong to @alpinesquid

Arsenic belongs to @a-demo-of-a-hero ))

Camille managed to get Nebula, Justinian, Emerald, and Sapphire to come with her as they were hanging out in Inkopolis Square along with Marina and Wish. As for Telemachus, he was found in Octo Valley with his little sister, Iruka, hanging out with Kitzeh, the Inkatarian Hybrid and Agent 7's daughter, in what was once Cuttlefish's Shack. Telemachus decides to join only if Iruka comes with them. Camille had to agree which made Iruka squeal in bliss, still thinking that Camille and Nebula are Callie and Marie.

Agent 0 decided not to go for he is done being a Champion of Ares. He did pray they stay safe even though he had trained his daughter to take care of themselves. Hera of the Motherly Moon is with her mother, Agent Beta 10, having some family bonding on another planet. She was the champion of the goddess Hera and the cupbearer Hebe. Willow, who was Champion of Asclepius, didn't want to come for similar reasons that Agent 0 had; however, she did hope Celeste would be okay. Agent 7, who was once the Champion of Heracles, refused to go, thinking the job is done; instead, he sends his adopted daughter, Sandra, to represent for him.

Kitzeh still kept that hidden passage to Hephaestus's Forge in her personal guild pub. The passage still has that mine cart. It still transports Camille's party a full speed with the end, catapulting them into a pile of pillows.

Camille, Nebula, Justinian, Celeste, Emerald, Sapphire, Telemachus, and Kitzeh were the only ex-champions that came. In addition, Marina, Wish, Iruka, and Sandra also joined for various reasons. And it turns out that Arsenic and Chaodis were already in Hephaestus's Forge, representing as champions of Hephaestus and Eris respectfully.

Meanwhile, someone has followed Camille's Party -- one more person that took interest in what Camille is doing.

Arsenic and Pyrrhus run over to help their friends out of the pillow pile.

"Arsenic, I thought you and Hephaestus replaced the catapult cart and cushion," Camille remembered.

"Oh... Uh..... we forgot," Arsenic folds her arms, "Wanna fight about it?"

"I don't think we have time for that," Pyrrhus intervened. He offers a hand to Camille so that he can help her up.

Camille sarcastically laughs. "Welcome to Hephaestus's Forge I guess...... It's been a while." She gets up and dusts herself. "And I can help myself, Chao-Chao." That was the nickname she gave Pyrrhus when he was called Chaodis.

She's now recalling many things that happened in the forge, including how the Olympic Champions began their journey. She then remembered something -- something grim and heart-wrenching -- two funerals.

"So what exactly are we back here for?" Telemachus asked, remembering the forge.

Camille snapped out of her sudden trance of remembering things.

"...Hephaestus told me to bring you guys back here," Camille explained. She looked bothered, still trying to get over the fact her parents got kidnapped and that Janine is missing.

Anger -- and only anger -- is what's building up within Camille.

The news about Moros kidnapping the parents of Camille has spread all around the Mythological world of Greece. From the descendants of the Amazons to the residents of the Underworld, they all knew who Camille was and they all know what Moros did. Most of the people of Inkopolis only know that Camille's Family -- except Pacling -- have gone missing.

Marina and Nebula place their hands on Camille's shoulders, hoping to comfort her. Camille looked at them and smiled.

Pyrrhus and Arsenic took the ex-champions and their allies to the Vault, the very sanctuary housing the 20 heirlooms of their respective Olympians. Hephaestus is in one of the halls leading to the Vault, carving up a statue of Eris to replace the deteriorating one. Hephaestus started lecturing, sensing the ex-champions' presence:

"When the first primordial, Chaos, created the universe, the worlds, and the waters of the Classical World, water-meadow dove Eurynome and ocean-wind snake Ophion were the first lifeforms created. Both titans were granted the power to create, resulting in the creation of the thirteen other Primordials and the Earth of the Classical World. When Eurynome exiles Ophion to Tartarus, his power was divided among the Primordials and herself. Thus, lead to the descendants of gods and the creation of mortals of the Classical world. The rest is mythological history then complete legends.

We Olympians are descended from two of the fifteen Primordials that helped shape the classical world: Uranus and Gaia. You can say that Eurynome is both the Ancestor of all Titans and creator of the Classical World. Ophion's divine power over the winds was given to Aeolus and the Anemoi by Eurynome. The Titan Cronus earned his time powers from Chronos. The Olympian Eros is an incarnation of the Primordial Eros. And Moros and the Children of Nyx descend from Erebus and Nyx."

Hephaestus puts down his tools and sighs. He looked tired.

"The resting places of Athena, Triton, and Melinoe... they've disappeared." Hephaestus stops sculpting and approaches the door. "And the Olympian Family Tree has somehow....... rejuvenated."

"What do you mean by that?" Telemachus asked.

"The Gods have returned." Hephaestus opens the doors. "Someone was using the Omphalos Stone. Hermes returned to Mount Othrys to check on it, and it's been stolen. But I'll handle that later."

The Vault's hall was still empty with nothing but the pedestals and the 20 treasured heirlooms of the gods. Behind each pedestal is a mosaic portrait made of clay, marble, and granite, displaying the major Olympian deities. On each pedestal, the heirlooms were still intact and untouched for some time.

This amazed Marina, Wish, Iruka, and Sandra as they never seen this place. The ex-champions, on the other hand, have been here several times when the Titans and Typhon threatened the world.

"You know what do, children," Hephaestus permitted.

Camille, Nebula, Justinian, Celeste, Emerald, Sapphire, Telemachus, and Kitzeh stepped forth to their former pedestals: Athena, Poseidon, Persephone and Demeter, Hestia, Apollo, Artemis, Hades, and Dionysus. Pyrrhus did the same, standing front of the pedestals of Eris. Arsenic already retrieved Hephaestus's Heirlooms. Soon Sandra stepped forth as well, but Hephaestus blocks her way.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hephaestus questioned.

Camille stood by Sandra to intervene. "She's taking his father's place."

"As the champion of Heracles, sir," Sandra bowed slightly.

Hephaestus looked into Sandra's eyes, and he shook his head. Instead of telling Sandra she isn't suited for the role, he shakes his head, denying the inkling the right to take Heracles's Nemean Lion Cloak. Camille sighed and pats Sandra's shoulder.

"It'll be alright, Sandy," Camille then walks over to Athena's Pedestal.

Nebula retrieves Poseidon's Trident and Triton's Conch Shell; Emerald and Sapphire retrieve Apollo's Bow and Artemis's Tiara respectively; Celeste retrieves Hestia's ball of clay which the goddess called her "Heart"; Justinian retrieves Persephone's Staff and Demeter's Satchel; Arsenic retrieves Hephaestus's Hammer and Tongs; Pyrrhus retrieves Eris's Golden Apple of Discord.

When Pyrrhus transforms, he's no longer himself; he is now Chaodis Diamachi, Descendant of Achilles. Adorned in crow feathers, lead, silver, and little gold, he still looked like Eris, the goddess who deceived him as a mother.

With one glance at the boy who is now Chaodis, memories deep in Camille's mind were resurfacing like beasts trying to break free of their cage. She had to look away and ignore what she saw and did back then. She looked back at Athena's Pedestal. She retrieves Athena's spear, but when she tries to take Zeus's thunderbolt on the pedestal next to her, it electrocutes her.

"Ahh!" Camille retracts her arms away from the thunderbolt. "What gives!?"

"It must be looking for another champion." Telemachus tries to retrieve Hades's Helmet of Invisibility, but it left a frostbitten touch. He retracts his hands away before the helmet engulfs itself in ice. "I guess it's the same with me."

"Dionysus's Thyrsus Wand and Wine Jug is stuck to the pedestal." Kitzeh seems to have trouble retrieving her heirloom.

Hephaestus takes notice of the issues. "That's not supposed to happen... I'm afraid they're searching for other champions. I don't know why." He then looked alarmed as he took a closer look. "So that's what the material does..."

The kids don't know what the god meant by that until they noticed a change in color from the Olympian heirlooms. They appeared glass like and filled with clouds and stars as if the veils of the galaxies and nebulas have been trapped in these belongings. Only Hephaestus's Hammer and Tongs remained in their bronze alloy form along with Hermes's Talaria and Caduceus (which are with the god at the moment).

"Wow..." Iruka was amazed by the new appearance of the Olympian heirlooms.

"What does this is mean?" Marina asked Hephaestus. "Does it have something to do with the Gods returning?"

Marina has studied mythology for the sake of understanding the past. She knew the Ancient Greeks of Human Civilization have a faith around Mount Olympus and all of Greece, but the idea of mythology repeating like this was new to her. She didn't know Camille, Nebula, and a number of others have ended up in the affairs of the Greek Pantheon, especially in the Titanomachy.

"I forgot to mention to you kids that the revived Olympians came to my Forge and retrieved their Heirlooms back," Hephaestus explained, "Hermes and I were quite confused. When they got their heirlooms, I replaced them with replicas made of a type of an enchanted Adamant that I call Promethean Glass. With the fire of Olympus and the sands made from the stone that Prometheus was chained to. They still act like their original."

"You're saying the real heirlooms are with their rightful owners?" An anonymous girl asked, stepping into the Vault. "Shouldn't they handle this for Camille?"

"Mysteeri?" Camille turns her head towards the Vault entrance with the other kids following.

Entering through the Vault door, an inkling girl much older than the other squids and octopi appears before her. She appeared like normal: yellow eyes, black and magenta hair like Callie's, and dark skin. Then suddenly, the ice engulfing Hades's Helmet thaws, glowing for Mysteeri.

"Were you following us?" Wish asked.

"Yes, and I heard about what happened to Camille's parents and grandmother." Mysteeri then looked at Hades's Helmet. She can hear it calling to him. "And I want to help." She started stepping towards the pedestal of Hades.

Telemachus noticed this and stepped aside so that Mysteeri can pick up the helmet. The Helmet has chosen her. She places her hand on the helmet and picks it up. Hephaestus encourages her to put it on, and she did.

In seconds, Mysteeri transforms, appearing in a black skin-tight suit with a lily and cobra design with white gloves and gold studded bracelets, hot pink and gold sandals, two leather belts strapped on each arm, and black-wing sleeves. A diadem is over her chest with the symbol, Pluto, Hades’s symbol. Hades's helmet of invisibility made up her hairstyle: a beehive-like hairdo with bangs sweeping to the right. The hair is wrapped with two leather strips each with three diadems and they extend down her ears.

Mysteeri is the new Champion of Hades.

She looked at herself, but she looked indifferent towards the new attire.

Soon Sandra is suddenly heard screaming. Everyone looked towards her, and she was glowing as bright as the sun. When the light dies down, Sandra wasn't there. Instead, there's a white lion-headed warrior in a war robe of bronze and fiery gold; her belt is leather, carrying a sword made of bronze-gold alloy. The warrior is humanoid with large lion paws and a slightly muscular tone.  The warrior appeared in it's 20's.

The lion-headed warrior was looking down at its hands, surprised yet confused.

"Where did she go?" Mysteeri asked.

"Sandra was just here in the vault," Emerald supported.

"And now there's a lion-man in here?" Celeste was looking at the warrior.

"Agent 7 is gonna kill us..." Justinian sounded nervous.

"We saw her touch the lion cloak," Wish explained.

"Yeah, she just stared at the pedestal and walked towards it, and then she just grabbed it," Marina added.

"She must've touched the lion cloak out of curiosity," Nebula assumed.

"But who's the lioness?" Iruka asked, amazed that the lioness-headed warrior came out of nowhere.

"It's me, guys." Sandra's voice was coming from the Lioness-headed warrior.

Sandra is the new Champion of Heracles.

Sandra grabs her lioness-head and pulled it back like a hood, revealing herself. She looked older with her indigo hair tied back. Overall she was beautiful. She smiled.

"How do I look?" Sandra asked.

Hephaestus was going to disapprove of this and demand her to put it back on the pedestal, but when he looked at Sandra's Olympian form, he nods in respect. Telemachus takes his sister, Iruka, out of the Vaults to explore the Forge; he convinces Wish and Marina to join. The returning Champions welcome Sandra and Mysteeri as new Champions.

"Now that almost all the Champions are here with new honorary members, let me show you all what has happened." Hephaestus looks to Arsenic. "Get Telemachus and those other kids, take them to the elevator." He then looked to Kitzeh. "As for you?"

"I'll... be heading back to my pub in Octo-Valley... I know my way out." Kitzeh bows in respect and simply leaves the Vault and later the Forge.

Hephaestus has Arsenic guide the former Olympian Champions to some room while he guides Sandra and Mysteeri to his main forge. Hephaestus took the Keys of the Underworld with him. It was originally a key blade, but not it's two simple keys.

The Blacksmith god reaches out to Mysteeri, gesturing her to hand him weapons she has with her.

"Got any weapons in your possession?" Hephaestus asked.

Mysteeri steps forward and took out two pistols -- one purple and one silver. They were her signature weapons: War and Death.

"This is all I've got," Mysteeri replied, "They're called War and Death."

Hephaestus takes the weapons, but Mysteeri gave a slight sign of concern. Still, she trusts the Blacksmith god. He was going to make a few modifications.

"Quite rare of me to forge firearms... but mixing it with the Keys of the Underworld..." Hephaestus started tempering both the first gun, War, and the first key. He places them on an anvil, holding them with tongs, and started hammering with his hammer. "Let War become Polemos." Hephaestus then worked on the other gun, Death. "And let Death become Thanatos."

When Hephaestus was finished he handed the guns back. They appear more like a key but the trigger and barrel almost visible. Mysteeri tried it out and shot down four lanterns. She smiled at her new guns, Polemos and Thanatos. She can see the galaxies and stars cloak her weapons.

Hephaestus then looked to Sandra. "As for you, I already had a weapon made for the former champion of Heracles." He goes over to a stone chest and opens it to pull out a unique ax also cloaked in galaxies and stars. "I modified Heracles's club so that it can act like an ax. Now it's yours." He hands it to her.

Sandra takes it and noticed how heavy it was. She didn't mind the weight.

"Thank you," Sandra said.

"This is the least I can do for newcomers." Hephaestus gives Sandra and Mysteeri a hand gesture to follow him. "Come, it's time I show you the city I've built beyond Mount Olympus."

Hephaestus leaves his cyclopes to manage activity in the Forge, he then takes the Champions -- transformed into their Olympian forms -- to a massive room of marble where the 20 Olympian Gods were painted on the dome ceiling. In the center of the room is a bronze lever in the shape of a thunderbolt, a carved bone, and a trident bundled together. Arsenic came just in time with Telemachus, Iruka, Marina, and Wish.

Before Hephaestus and pulls the lever back, he approaches Telemachus, Iruka, Marina, and Wish. He hands each of the four something: golden cloaks with a medallion depicting six arms sharing a lightning bolt.

"This city doesn't allow mortals through unless protected with this," Hephaestus explained, "The symbol on these medallions show that you're under The Six's protection."

"The Six?" Iruka wondered.

"The first Olympians," Telemachus answered, "Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus."

"Who would build a city at the top of the mountain?" Marina asked, knowing that a few settlements were established around Olympus only and not on the mountain itself.

"Who said it was built at the top of a mountain?" Hephaestus pulls the lever.

There was a roaring sound and the room started to feel like a real elevator, rising to the top. However, the way this elevator accelerate made the Champions and the four other children stagger a bit and get on their knees. Only Hephaestus remained standing as the elevator goes up. When the elevator reached the top, everyone but Hephaestus ended up flung in mid air for a few seconds before falling to the ground.

Hephaestus and Arsenic open the doors to reveal a vast city built in the clouds of the sky's shining blue. Enchanted bronze foundations kept the city afloat with every building surrounded by cloistered courtyards where the finest vegetation grow and the walkways are paved with gold. Unique jumps pads were placed everywhere to help some residents make their way from one building to another. The residents here were all walking about, wearing tunics, chitons, gold, and bronze.

"Welcome to Olympus, the true home of the Olympians." Hephaestus steps into his rebuilt home. "I'm taking all of you to the Acropolis where you'll take your oaths as champions."

Soon there was the sound of galloping, the sound of stomping, and the sound of horses and oxen pulling chariots.

"Woooo!!! The sun is faster than the moon, Artemis!!" A young man with fair skin and dark hair flies by, driving a gold chariot pulled by four fiery steeds. At his side is a guardian made of yellow light.

"Apollo! Slow down, this isn't a race!!" A young girl with fair skin and dark hair followed her brother, driving a silver chariot pulled by two horses with ghostly feathered and helmets that make their heads look like that of oxen. Beside the girl is a blue ghostly maiden.

"Helios, Selene, how are their chariot driving lessons going?" Hephaestus called to the guardian and maiden.

"Apollo still needs to watch their speed!" The guardian replied.

"Artemis would make good use of this chariot for his nightly hunts!" The maiden replied.

Hephaestus laughs. Everyone was amazed. Apollo and Helios drive faster, racing his sister, Artemis, and Selene; both of them didn't take notice of the Inktran Sisters. Emerald and Sapphire run over to watch the two gods continue their race. Sapphire looked closely and noticed the two gods carrying their Heirlooms.

"Was that Apollo and Artemis?" Emerald asked Hephaestus.

"Both reborn anew..." Hephaestus stood by the Inktran Sisters' side. "And your their champions."

"Are all the gods here?" Nebula walked over Emerald side. Justinian stood next to her.

"They're living among the mortals, living mortal lives with their powers still intact," Hephaestus answered, "But they're enjoying these decent lives."

"I thought the gods looked down on mortals,"  Mysteeri argued with Hephaestus's back turned. She has little knowledge of Greek Mythology, but she sure knows that the Pantheon has mixed views of mortals.

"A certain messenger convinced them otherwise, and they learned from the Trojan War." Hephaestus is talking about Hermes, indicating the revived gods still remember what they did in their past lives. "The Olympian Pantheon are carrying out sentences as punishment, and the only one carrying the longest sentence is Eris."

When Hephaestus mentioned Eris, Chaodis stepped over to stand by Sapphire.

"Does she regret what she did?" Chaodis asked. "Or does she still enjoyed the pleasure and thrill in that chaos she made?"

No one wanted to remember those days. There were mixed emotions among the group; Iruka, Marina, and Wish stood silently, knowing something happened and was caused by the goddess Eris. Hephaestus sighed, not wanting to answer.

Chaodis looks down grimly, knowing the answer already. "My apologies, Hephaestus."

"Let's just continue on the Acropolis." Hephaestus guides them there.

--

The Olympian Acropolis entrance was a stairway to a starry dome room. Half the floor has a ghostly image of a resting titan with a pyre made over where his heart would be. All the constellations can be seen and four constellations were glowing so brightly that lines were connecting the stars: Orion, Libra, Virgo, and Taurus. Camille looked up at those constellations. The Muses were there with wood-carved staffs and round shields.

An altar was built in front of the pyre, and at that altar, Hestia stood proud and tall, carrying her True Heart. She appears like the perfect mother to all, and she was dressed in sandy brown and gold. She had a shoal of charcoal and lumber brown.

"Aunt Hestia." Hephaestus bows.

"Hephaestus, rise for me. No need for such politeness." Hestia smiled at Celeste. "My Champion, you and the others are here to retake your oaths?" She then smiled to Mysteeri and Sandra. "And you two are here to take the oaths in place of the old champions?" She then smiled at Telemachus, Iruka, Marina, and Wish. "And their possible allies? Welcome to Olympus."

The former champions nod, Mysteeri and Sandra nod, and the rest bow.

Hestia giggles and gestures the former champions to step forward and get on one knee with their right hand placed where their own hearts are. Telemachus, Iruka, Marina, and Wish stood where they were and watched. The Muses stand around them in a circle. Hestia asked them to repeat after her:

"...You speak that which we know well: nay, even of ourselves we know that your wisdom and understanding is exceeding, and that you became a defender of the deathless ones from chilling doom. And through your devising, we'll come back again from the murky gloom and from our merciless bonds ... And so now with fixed purpose and deliberate counsel we will aid your power in dreadful strife and will fight..." (Theogony, Line 617; Hesiod)

Afterward, Hestia gestures Sandra and Mysteeri to come forth and do the same thing, but with hymns.

Sandra repeated two hymns after Hestia.

Sandra's first hymn is spoken with the Muses:

"I will sing of Heracles, the son of Zeus and much the mightiest of men on earth. Alcmena bare him in Thebes, the city of lovely dances, when the dark-clouded Son of Cronos had lain with her. Once he used to wander over unmeasured tracts of land and sea at the bidding of King Eurystheus, and himself did many deeds of violence and endured many; but now he lives happily in the glorious home of snowy Olympus, and has neat-ankled Hebe for his wife. Hail, lord, son of Zeus! Give me success and prosperity." (Homeric Hymns, Hymn 15)

Sandra's second hymn is spoken with Frankincense burning:

"Hear, pow’rful, Heracles untam'd and strong, ... 'Tis thine strong archer, all things to devour, supreme, all-helping, all-producing pow'r;  To thee mankind as their deliv'rer pray, whose arm can chase the savage tribes away: Uweary'd, earth's best blossom, offspring fair, to whom calm peace, and peaceful works are dear. Self-born, with primogenial fires you shine, and various names and strength of heart are thine. Thy mighty head supports the morning light, and bears untam'd, the silent gloomy night; From east to west endu'd with strength divine, twelve glorious labours to absolve is thine; Supremely skill'd, thou reign'st in heav'n's abodes, thyself a God amid'st th' immortal Gods.With arms unshaken, infinite, divine, come, blessed pow'r, and to our rites incline;Th e mitigations of disease convey, and drive disasterous maladies away. Come, shake the branch with thy almighty arm, dismiss thy darts and noxious fate disarm." (Orphic Hymns, Hymn 11)

Mysteeri is next, repeating after Hestia:

"Hades, magnanimous, whose realms profound are fix'd beneath the firm and solid ground... and wrapt forever in the depths of night... Earth's keys to thee, illustrious king belong, its secret gates unlocking, deep and strong. 'Tis thine, abundant annual fruits to bear, for needy mortals are thy constant care... Thy throne is fix'd in Hade's dismal plains, distant, unknown to rest, where darkness reigns; Where, destitute of breath, pale spectres dwell, in endless, dire, inexorable hell... With captive Persephone, thro' grassy plains, drawn in a four-yok'd car with loosen'd reins, Rapt o'er the deep, impell'd by love, you flew 'till Eleusina's city rose to view; There, in a wond'rous cave obscure and deep, the sacred maid secure from search you keep, The cave of Atthis, whose wide gates display an entrance to the kingdoms void of day. Of unapparent works, thou art alone the dispensator, visible and known. O pow'r all-ruling, holy, honor'd light, thee sacred poets and their hymns delight: Propitious to thy mystic's works incline, rejoicing come, for holy rites are thine." (Orphic Hymns, Hymn 17)

"You are all Champions of the Gods --now or again. Go forth in the name of Olympus," Hestia concluded before ending the Oath-Taking Ceremony.

Telemachus, Iruka were congratulating Sandra on being the new Champion of Heracles while Marina, and Wish congratulate Camille and Nebula. The champions were all kind of excited to become champions again. Mysteeri is hanging out mostly with Camille.

Hephaestus was taking them to the courtyard of Zeus's Palace where stories were told that the Greek Pantheon gathered for a full assembly. Gold automaton table arrived out of the palace when Hephaestus came with the champions and allies, offering grape juice and bread while they sat around.

"Pyrrhus told me you revived an old alliance, and I can assume this is the 5th incarnation of the Argonauts," Hephaestus began.

"Why the 5th?" Mysteeri asked.

"A man named Jason formed it for the sake of finding a fleece to get his throne back," Hephaestus explained, "Then a former Argonaut named Ascalaphus of Orchomenus started the 2nd incarnation with fewer heroes during the Trojan War by the request of Agamemnon. The Hero Achilles later replaced Ascalaphus when a spear killed the argonaut. After the Trojan War and the Fall of Olympus, Aeneas of Troy formed the 3rd incarnation of Argonauts to continue the legacy of the Greek Heroes and Pantheon by founding Lavinium. But that incarnation failed when Lavinium was renamed as Alba Longa and later Rome, and the legacy was tarnished."

"And that's where our incarnations of the Argonauts come in after so many years, ohhhhhh... it's like walking down memory lane for me." Camille sounded bored and sarcastic when saying that.

"...And you're right. And Nebula made the request to form the 4th incarnation to fight the Titans, defeat Typhon, and foil Eris's plans." Hephaestus stood up, continuing to talk. "And it dissolved for a good reason. Then there's the 5th incarnation that formed in the land you call America, and it lives on to this day. But..."

"But what, Hephaestus?" Marina asked.

"Who started this recent incarnation?" Hephaestus asked.

The majority of the meeting pointed at Sandra. Iruka didn't know much about Sandra, so she didn't point at her. Camille didn't point because she is focused on getting her parents back and finding her grandmother.

Hephaestus looked at Sandra carefully for a moment and then smiled. Now he understood why Heracles's Heirloom called out to her.

"So... when are going to go after this Moros god?" Camille asked impatiently. "I want to get my mom and dad back!"

"I was just getting to that." Hephaestus gets up. "You'll all be taking your free-time to explore the Mediterranean to investigate for signs of the Children of Nyx."

"Great..." Camille gets up, thinking this isn't going to help find her parents. "Then let's go guys."

"Not so fast, Champion of Athena." Hephaestus halted. "All of you go on and explore Olympus, see what you can bring on the journey. Camille, we need to talk."

Everyone splits up and go about in Olympus, Hephaestus and Camille took a stroll around Zeus's Courtyard. The volcanic Blacksmith God is aware of Camille's attitude at the moment, and want to help her in some way.

"Camille, your parents may be alive," Hephaestus stated, "Probably imprisoned somewhere in Moros's Realm."

"When I get my hands on Moros, he's gonna be ripped apart in more pieces than a popped, shredded tire!" Camille has fire in her eyes. "I swear he's gonna get it!"

"So you're not afraid of Destiny himself?" Hephaestus questioned.

"Destiny can die in a hole for all I care! I make my own destiny!" Camille folds her arms. "So he better give back Mommy and Daddy once I come up to his door steps! I'm not afraid of him..."

"You're afraid of losing them?" Hephaestus further questioned. "Your parents?"

Camille was silent. "... I just want Mommy and Daddy back."

Hephaestus then mentioned something that might help Camille communicate with them. However, there was a catch. They would need to see a wise woman in Athens for this.

"Camille..... will you believe me that there is a way to see your parents again?" Hephaestus asked.

[mollysgoldilocks]

During the Critical Evaluation session, we were asked to create a mind map of all of the things that we as practicing artists are interested in: whether that be materials, ideas, concepts, colours, themes, etc. Usually, mind maps for me can look extremely busy and complicated with multiple arrows connecting each idea and trying to link them back to the core concept. However, I think the most useful way of considering a mind-map is just a collection of notes, ideas, words and phrases that come into mind when I think about my own work and my own interests.

My brain works similar to a mind-map. I have all of these different connections that I’m constantly making with ideas and themes, yet I never really physically note them down - or if I do, they’re on a scrap receipt that I end up throwing away. I think of them, give myself a pat on the back for connecting the two together and then go about my day. Little of what I consider to be good connections end up actually being discussed and explored in more depth. I get too caught up in making sure my work has strong connections between each idea, rather than considering that the weaker connections might actually be the most interesting to explore.

I do most of my “thinking” on paper: when I’m writing, or more specifically typing (as it’s faster for me), connections seem to make themselves more visible, or perhaps I don’t give myself the time to think when I’m away from my computer. The act of typing my ideas and having the ability to connect them instantaneously, move ideas around and section them off easily helps to consolidate the stream of consciousness I have when thinking about all of the different aspects that my work deals with. 

To some, they might seem quite shallow. Yes, I’m interested in the aesthetics of staging, theatricality and Renaissance dramatisation. For a while, I did worry that my interests were too shallow in terms of their influences - why did I like these aesthetics? Why did I enjoy looking at snapshots that portray some sort of active scene in a static form? I honestly couldn’t answer it. Right now, I don’t even think I can articulate why these are my interests in their purest form - I can’t pinpoint exact reasons why I like my work to take on this form. I often just say “aesthetics” - which of course is true, but I know surely that deep down there is more of a reason for my interests, which I am slowly uncovering and learning as I consolidate all of my ideas together.

In my mind-map, I was able to uncover a few of these interests and make the necessary connections that help me to piece together my artistic practice. I started with a main element, which has been an interest for a few years, yet I’ve only just started to explore it in more depth: staging, and the theatricality of drama. This staging concept I feel has huge scope for work: the ability to create worlds within worlds and bring them to “life” eases the pressure of painting or creating straight from memory; having staged sets and staged worlds that exist in one form before they exist as a painted form. The performativity of the self is a concept that I’ve recently realised is quite prevalent in my work, and one that I wasn’t really aware of before. I started to use myself in my work as the reference character because I was too nervous to work with other people and get them to “do what I wanted” for lack of a better term. If something wasn’t exactly as I planned - how would I ask them back to do another shoot? Did I rely on them to create the work that I wanted? The only way that I could think to combat these was to work solo, prompting my interest and desire to create, and be, by myself and for myself. I realised recently that the performativity of the self, exploring the ability to become different versions of the self and Shakespeare’s “All The Worlds A Stage” were integral to my practice and why I do things the way I do; the DIY and the self-created. The ability to work with costumery and props to create different characters with only myself pushes my confidence and self-comfort. It might seem self-obsessed, but in the words of Richey Edwards from the Manics “self disgust is self obsession”, and I feel that hating oneself is as self obsession with loving oneself: the central and pivotal part of that being the inclusion of the self. Whether my obsession with myself being the sole creator is through disgust or love, the result is the same: I want, selfishly, to be the one that creates my work, and only I. 

Exploring more deeply the sense of being, the idea of becomingness and painting as a way of becoming is very integral to my practice and the reason why I am set on creating a painting as the final display. Translating objects, props, concepts and core ideas through different mediums and seeing the effect each medium has on the reading of the prop and concept is entirely interesting: taking a prop that exists in the real and translating it into a digital medium, then back again to the real through the act of painting. The becoming of this object through the medium of the paint, bringing it back into the real yet not. It is real, yet it is a symbol of something real. The consideration of the real and whether there is a true real at all is a concept I’ve explored through a few essays and continues to influence me and how I work. The digital/real spilt, especially within society, really sums up my practice as a whole. I use the digital and the real to create a body of work, and without the other my work could not exist. So within my practice, the digital and the real are as important as each other in the existence of my practice, which is interesting, as is the question of whether my work exists within both the digital/real simultaneously, or whether my work exists within the purgatory between the two states: whether it is considered a real or a digital product. 

For my Research in Practice essay concerning the modern trend of Accidental Renaissance imagery and comparing that to Classical Art Memes, I discovered my interest in the reason that memes are viral: using a commonality as a basis for collective understanding. Using the collective knowledge as the core of the meme, the meme then become viral by playing on this shared knowledge. This got me thinking about why I use fairytales as the basis of my work, when it doesn’t necessarily play a large part in the real concepts of my work. Honestly, I think the fairytale usage acts as a nice shell for me to create a world from: I don’t have to create the characters from scratch; instead I can adopt an imagined narrative that can be prescribed or not prescribed. A commonality in the aesthetics of my work, for example using the fairytale as like a mannequin for me to dress up in my own clothes, is the reason I think I am drawn to using well-known fairytales. Not to mention, they played a large part in my own childhood, and the performativity of myself is interesting to consider in terms of the relationship between myself and the fairytale. It poses a lot of questions: is it a retelling of the story? Is there something deeper? Why is the fairytale landscaped differently? Why is it painted instead of having a moving narrative? What does the freeze-frame say about the work, or the concepts, or the narrative? Is it really static, or is it hinting at something moving? 

Another point I considered within my mind map was the idea of the copy-and-paste culture: being online and having the ability to copy and paste any information that you find in seconds. The copying and pasting of words, stories, narratives is an updated way of word-of-mouth passing of fables and fairytales. Not only this, but the act of copying and pasting is used in my work in the most basic sense: I copy and paste reference photographs I’ve taken of my own props or my own world-creations and use Photoshop to arrange them into a staging set. So, the copying and pasting of narrative and stories, along with the actual copying and pasting of the files to create my practice, feeds into the digital/real concept: what is the real, and can the real be digital? We all have different versions of ourselves, that often we copy-and-paste from other people that we admire. I’m doing just that in a more literal sense both in the aesthetic creation of my work and the concept of the becoming of myself/my work. 

[huntertales]

Part Two: It’s Just a Scratch. (Abandon All Hope S05E10)

Useful Links: Last Part | All Episodes Word Count: 6,227. A/N: Oops, I made this part super long again. And while I would have gotten this out sooner...I guess I need to catch a little cold to help slow down the process. I hope this was worth the wait! Make sure to bring a box of tissues for the next part! :'(

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Today was the day: doomsday. You sat in the backseat with the brothers for the drive that took almost all morning with the Harvelle women riding behind you as Cas decided to hitch a ride with them. Nobody said much of anything, except to make sure you had everything you needed to face an impossible amount of demons and their creator; salt, shotguns, demon knife, and most importantly, the colt and the ammunition Crowley gave you. While you had just about every single weapon all of you had, along with a few spares from Bobby for safety, you weren't exactly sure what the outcome was going to be. Or what you should be even feeling right now.

You weren't scared to see what might unravel in the next upcoming hours. But you weren't restless with excitement at the thought of facing off with the devil, and watching as one of the Winchesters put a bullet in his head. You were just...handling the situation best as you could, trying the pessimistic at bay and the optimism of what might be from keeping your hopes up that this was all going to end with the devil being dead and the world would be safe. Getting revenge isn't that easy, you knew that first hand. Killing Azazel took years and the brutal killing of your parents, the Winchesters and Jess before Dean finally pulled the trigger. The past year and a half of getting to this point was the worse situation you had ever been in. You just hoped all of the fighting and sacrifice would be enough to stop this before it could get worse.

“Anti-God is Anti-American.”

You looked over your shoulder to see the progress of where Ellen’s truck was when you arrived into town just a few minutes ago, but your eyes lingered to a billboard just across the way. It was huge, no doubt the size was so people could see it right away in this small little town to convey the message this was a God fearing town. You sat back in your seat and looked straight ahead. This town was abandoned, but no thanks to the big man upstairs. He could save them from what evil was lurking in these abandoned streets, but you had a feeling God was long gone to care about what his son was doing.

Dean told you and his brother to see if there was any service around here after he couldn’t find any on his phone. Which wasn't a good sign for all of you. The result had been to roll down your window and try every which way to see if you could have at least find a single bar. But there was nothing. You sat back in your seat and shut your phone before it could get damaged from the drizzle of rain that was coming down.

"Great. It's like Croatoan and War all over again." You muttered underneath your breath, just quiet enough for you to only hear. You looked up from your phone and to the boys, who were trying themselves to see if you had any contact to the outside world. "Are you guys getting a signal?"

“No, nothin’.” Dean answered you. “Nice and spooky.”

Dean adjusted his handling of the phone so it was now placed back in his pocket, his free arm waved for the Harvelle women to pass through as he moved the Impala to the curb. You watched as Ellen drove a bit further until her truck was right next to the Impala. She seemed to have made the same discovery as you and the boys had. "Place seem a little empty to you?" She asked, you could hear the worry starting to settle in her voice.

“Sam and I are gonna go check out the PD.” Dean explained the situation to the women and CAs, who had been quietly sitting in the backseat for the entire car ride. You grabbed the duffel bag you had switched out from your clothes last night to everything you needed from ammunition rounds of salt and too much holy water. Before you opened up the backseat door to get out, you patted around in your pocket, wanting to make sure you felt the outline of the demon knife. The boys agreed on keeping the colt if you could take the knife if you had stumbled across an unfriendly visitor. “You and Y/N stay here—see if you can find anybody.”

You told the boys to be careful, a warning you always told them before they ventured out on their own. You let out a sigh as you walked to the sidewalk, allowing Ellen to park as the Impala drove off into the distance, and soon, disappearing from sight. You tightened your grip on the bag as you looked over at the car to see Ellen turned the key to shut off the engine as Jo wasted no time in getting herself out to join you. She looked around for a brief moment to see if she could find anyone herself, but her gaze spotted Cas, who was still patiently sitting in the backseat, and seeming not in a rush to get out. Jo looked over at you with a bit of a confused expression, you merely shrugged your shoulders, knowing that even after of knowing the angel for over a year and a half, he still did things that surprised you.

“Hey.” Jo leaned forward and tapped her knuckles against the backseat window to get the angel’s attention. “Ever heard of a door handle?”

"Of course I have." You turned your head away from the car to see that Cas was standing in front of you and the younger woman. You rolled your eyes from his ability to jump wherever he wanted, always managing to catch you off guard. You were about to make a remark about how he should learn to act like a human being, but you stopped yourself, finding something off about how Cas was looking around town as his eyes squinted slightly, almost as if he was picking up on something that you couldn’t. You asked him what was wrong out of concern. “This town’s not empty. Reapers.”

"'Reapers'?" You repeated after him. You didn't like hearing the mention of a reaper, but it was the plural of the word that made you feel even more uneasy. As if you could see what the angel could, you cautiously examined the empty streets, trying to find at least a reaper with the naked eye. "As in one than one?"

"They only gather like this at times of great catastrophe—Chicago fire, San Francisco quake...Pompeii." Cas explained to the three of you. You let out a slow breath, not needing to have a history lesson to figure out all of the tragedies could have been categorized with one thing in common. The death toll of human rates that reached from a few hundred casualties to an entire city being buried under volcanic ash and the debris of their once standing civilization. "Excuse me. I need to find out why they're here."

You weren't exactly on board with the idea of Cas running off on his own, especially with no way of contacting him with service being down. But you had a bit of faith in thinking that maybe he could figure out what was going on without getting himself into trouble. You watched as he began walking into the empty streets and stopping every few steps, as if he was trying to observe something before heading off. The angel wandered all the way across to an old movie theatre after spotting something in the window. You squinted your eyes to see there looked to be an older man dressed in a black trench coat and pale white eyes that were haunting Seeing him brought a sense of warning to you. Maybe you had a bit of an advantage here with your other half, but this particular reaper caused something to be set off in you, a warning flag. As you directed your gaze to Cas, you had the sudden urge to capture his attention, but when you looked down at the street, he was gone.

+ + +

You tore the place apart best as you could, but in the ten minutes since you arrived, there was not a single living soul in sight that you could find. You and the Harvelle’s decided it'd be best to head to the station to see how the boys were coming along. The entire car ride to the station had left you antsy, you were hoping that the brothers would have Cas at their side, but when they were waiting on the sidewalk with only themselves and the Impala parked, you could feel your stomach drop. Something bad was happening here, and your instincts were telling you the angel had landed himself in harm's way without even realizing it.

"Station's empty." Dean said, giving you a bit of information that was an obvious fact from the state of this town. You stuck your head out from the backseat window to hear him better.

“So is everything else. By the way,” You wrapped your fingers around the cold glass to ask them a very important question that wouldn’t leave your mind, you were now hoping they were going to give you the answer you wanted to hear. “Have you seen Cas?”

“What?” Sam asked you, his reaction wasn’t exactly helpful as it was nothing short of surprised at what he was hearing. “He was with you.”

Ellen shook her head, “Nope. He went after the reapers.”

“Reapers? He saw reapers?” Sam questioned all of you. You watched as his expression began to change into a serious one. Even he didn’t like the sound of how this situation was coming along for the five of you. “Where?”

“Well, kind of…” Jo tried to answer the younger man, but she couldn’t be specific as she paused for a moment before giving a rough estimate from how he reacted. “Everywhere.”

Everybody decided it'd be best if you started on this adventure on foot to save the precious gas you had just in case you needed to make a quick getaway. And this town wasn't that big. It wouldn't take too long to find out that there was nobody here. You followed behind the group with your bag still hanging over your shoulder, but with an added touch of a fully loaded shotgun in your hand, just in case an unwanted visitor came your way. You weren't sure what you to expect with abandoned towns, but you knew nothing good came from it. You'd seen people infected with a demonic virus you nicknamed it Croatoan that turned people from civil human beings to monsters that wanted nothing more than to rip your throat out. People got infected with the virus through blood. While you had to learn the hard way, it turns out, thanks to a nurse who got infected, you were immune.

The other situation that you had landed in not too long ago with Ellen had townsfolk attacking just about anyone after they were seeing black eyes. While you were lead to believe there was a mass demon possession, that wasn’t the case. You had met the first horseman—War. He decided to have a bit of fun and make people paranoid out of their minds. It was either kill or be killed, like the good old days. He was taken care of after you cut off his finger and stole his ring. You tried figuring out what was going on here, but you’d been here for less than a half an hour. All you knew was that people didn’t decide to skip town after they found out the devil was coming. It didn’t explain all the reapers, and where the hell Cas had wandered off to.

“Well, this is great.” Dean spoke up, breaking the silence that had fallen between the five of you. “We’ve been in town for twenty minutes and we’ve already lost the angel up our sleeve.”

“You think, uh,” You looked over at the younger Winchester when he decided to try and give a possible theory to what happened to the angel. You roughly bit the inside of your cheek when you began thinking of what danger Cas might be in. Sam lowered his tone slightly as he shifted closer to his brother so he could propose a theory that only the two of them could discuss without any of you starting to get cold feet for the big fight you were thinking was still hours away. “You think Lucifer got to him?”

“I don’t know what else to think.” Dean admitted underneath his breath.

You found yourself beginning to trail behind on the group, your thoughts blocking your concentration on the situation at hand, as the pessimistic attitude you'd been trying to push away since you left this morning were beginning to become too bearable to pin down. You tightened your grip on the shotgun you were holding as you slightly turned your head, just a natural reaction you had grown accustomed to for hunting. It never hurt to check your surroundings to see if there were any enemies trying to sneak through in your blind spot. You honestly thought this place was abandoned without a human soul here. While you were right about that, you might have forgotten about the ones with a soul black as their eyes.

You turned your head to the side when you saw her again, the black eyed bitch you kept sneaking away whenever you tried to pin her down and stick the knife into her chest, Meg. You weren’t ever happy to see her. Jo had met the demon awhile back when she first started hunting on her own. It was in the form of Sam after she decided to possess the poor man and take you on her little adventure of slaughtering hunters for the fun of it. But she wasn’t the reason why you stopped dead in your tracks and forgot how to properly move. Meg felt her smile grow even more at your precious reaction, but it seemed the rest of the group didn’t realize she was gracing her presence, so she decided to make it known by making a vocal announcement.

“There you are.” Meg said with a cheery voice. She wasn’t the least bit afraid when she saw four guns loaded with rock salt pointing her way. Sam was the first one to recognize the demon, as he spit out her name with a venomous tone. “You shouldn’t have come here, boys. But I have to say, you're my job a hell of a lot easier."

“Yeah?” Dean wasn’t afraid of the demon. He wasted not a single second to pull out the colt and pointed the barrel at the woman, his finger on the trigger. The man didn’t realize she here to chat and say hello. But she wasn’t dumb enough to come to a gunfight empty handed. “Well, I could say the same thing for you.”

"Didn't come here alone, Dean-o." Meg said. You didn't need to hear the spine-chilling growl to realize the demon had brought a weapon that was far superior to a little gun. You nervously swallowed as you watched one of the hounds closest to Meg put one paw out in front of him, everyone could only see an invisible force make a splash in a small puddle. You, however, saw every little detail of the beasts, from their sharp claws and teeth they showed off as they snarled at you.  There was at least ten, far too many for any of you to fight off, even with the colt in your possession now. You didn't even know if the knife could work and shooting rock salt at the hounds would be like poking a stick at a bear. It would only cause it to get angrier. "Hell hounds. I know how much they're your favorite, Y/N."

"Eat dirt and die, bitch." You hissed at her.

"Come on, Y/N. Don't be like that." Meg said. She pretended to be hurt at your words as the hell hound far to the left snarled at you, his lips snarling upwards to show off his razor sharp teeth to you. You quickly looked away to keep from the vivid memories of the night you were dragged to Hell from flooding back to you. "Our father wants to see you."

“I think she’ll pass.” Sam said, jumping to your defense. “Thanks.”

"Your call. I'm just doing what I'm told. My father said he wanted Y/N alive. But he didn't say anything about getting a few scratches on that pretty face of hers. So, what is it gonna be?" Meg asked as her gaze lingered over to you to make the final decision. "You can make this easy on everyone. Or you can make it really, really hard."

You took a moment evaluate where they could be; one was still lingering next to Meg, your gaze followed another that was starting to get ready at pounce at you before going for Sam. You shifted your sight just quick enough to realize there was one for Ellen and Jo. Maybe, just maybe, if all of you were smart enough, you could get out of here without a scratch. And you had enough bullets in the colt to take down the hounds if you pointed them out to Dean. You had a feeling being half demon was starting to have an advantage in this fight. You slowly looked over at the man to see that he had been following your eye move. With the simple nod of the head, you thought it wouldn't hurt to take your chances at fighting them.

"When have you known us to ever make anything easy?"

Dean wasted not a single second when he drew the colt away from the demon to point it at the hound. You heard the shot go off, wounding the animal just enough for it to be taken down, but that still meant you had nine other of his friends nipping at your heels. All of you didn't waste a second before you were running for your life. You heard the vicious barking come from behind you, and it was getting closer than you wanted. Taking a second to inspect the situation, you noticed one of the hounds was going for the Harvelle women as another chased after Sam, the last one was dead set on you. As he reached up one of his claws to dig it into your skin, you aimed the shotgun and pulled the trigger, wounding the hound just enough for it to lag. You tried your hardest to start running faster, but it seemed in that moment, your mind decided to stroll down memory lane.

Your heart pounded inside your ears, it was loud enough to muffle the gunshots that were going off around you, but it wasn't enough to silence the agonizing screams of pain that seemed to have come out of nowhere.Suddenly you could see it all again; Dean lying on the floor as a hell hound hovered over him, the hound's claws viciously digging into his chest as he begged for the pain to stop. You couldn't scream or cry, Lilith had made you a prisoner in your own body as you watched the man you loved be torn to pieces. All you wanted to do was for it to stop. You suddenly could feel yourself on the brink of being sick at the memory, and just like that, your legs seemed to have forgotten how to work. You stumbled slightly in your footing, and just that little lag, was enough for a sharp pain to pierce your skin.

You felt the scream that had been building up in your throat suddenly come right now when you felt yourself being thrown to the ground by an invisible force that nobody could see except you. You landed face first on the pavement, your shotgun stumbling out of your hands after the hound had nicked your leg just enough to make you fall prey to him. Everyone had been heading for a sport's store that was just along the way, but your cry of pain had made them stop for just a second. You shouted at the top of your lungs for them to go on without you as you tried your hardest to fight off the hound before it was too late. You pulled the knife out from your pocket before the hell hound could sink his teeth into you and drag you away like a dead carcass to show it to his owner. Before either one of you could try and see who would win this fight, you heard a gunshot from the colt go off, wounding the hound.

Dean wasn't going to let you fall behind, while the rest of the group headed for safety, he took his chances at helping you. You quickly grabbed his awaiting hand and pulled yourself to your feet, you tried your hardest to ignore the stinging feeling in your ankle as you made it to the safe haven Sam and Ellen had found. But it seemed you weren’t out of trouble just yet. Jo had strayed away from the store when she spotted a hound coming for you, and while she tried to warn you, it was too late, so she decided to take action. She raced forward to the two of you, and at what she thought was a safe distance, she took her shot at the hound. You looked over your shoulder to see that the hound was wounded momentarily, but it decided that for right now you could slip away, for it had another target on its mind. Your eyes widened in fear as you screamed Jo's name on the top of her lungs to get back when you saw the animal coming for her. But it was too late.

You watched in horror as another hound came out from nowhere, and without a drop of remorse, he sunk his claw into the woman's hipbone, dragging his nails into her skin and sending her flying down to the ground. As she cried out in pain and tumbled to the pavement, you somehow realized how to function as a hunter again. You pushed Dean away from you and snatched your shotgun from the ground so you could take a shot at one of the hounds that was tempted to make a move on you as his friend was about to attack again. Ellen had witnessed everything happened. You could hear the woman shout her daughter’s name with horror as Dean raced over to help Jo. You tried your best to fight off the hounds as you took shot after shot to get them to back off. Your mind only focused on survival as you backed dangerously fast to the store, and avoiding the trail of blood that lead directly to the store as you took off your last shot before stumbling inside to freedom.

Neither you or Sam wasted a second when you slammed the door shut and pressed your back against it, keeping the hell hounds at bay for a second as the younger Winchester reached to grab a thick metal chain. You stepped away so Sam could wrap the chains around the handle of the door and give you all a bit of safety. But it wasn’t safe here. Chaos was rising between everyone as Dean tried to gently lay down Jo to the ground and propped her against the counter as Ellen was following close behind. She tended to her bleeding daughter as you found yourself rushing forward to see how bad the damage was. You dropped yourself to your knees and tried to see how Jo was doing, but all you could see was blood. It was covering the tiled floors and Ellen’s hands. You shrugged off your jacket and quickly gave it to the woman, hopeful that it might help at least keep the wounds from draining out anymore blood if you could help it.

"All right, okay, okay. Breathe, breathe, breathe." Ellen told her daughter as she pressed harder against the wound. Jo tried her hardest to tell the both of you she was fine, but she was far from it. She was starting to become dizzy from the blood loss as she was sweating, all of which weren't good signs. "Boys, need some help!"

But they were a little busy right now. You pressed harder against Jo's wound as the brothers grabbed whatever rock salt they could find, making sure to cover every single crack of this place, building a fortress that would keep out any possible threat. While you could hear the growling from outside slowly die down, their damage was still going strong in here. Ellen slowly moved your hand away, saying something about how she wanted to inspect the wound for just a second. The boys had raced straight forward when everything was done to see what was going on here. You swallowed and did what you were told, allowing your, now bloodied, hands to hover as Ellen slowly forced herself to lift her own to inspect the wound. You could feel yourself let out a sharp gasp of surprise at how deep the gashes were.

“Oh, God.” You accidentally muttered underneath your breath.

It was bad, worse than you had anticipated. Jo's wounds were deep enough for blood to keep gushing out when Ellen took the slightest pressure off as Jo let out a whimpering noise of pain. You could feel yourself instinctively pressing back down on the wound again before she could lose anymore fluids. At this moment you needed to be strong and level headed, but when you looked up at Jo, who knew how bad her wounds were, you gave her a wobbly smile, despite being on the brink of tears. You told her that everything was going to be all right. Maybe it was for her to think there was a chance at getting here alive...or for your guilty conscience for leading everyone here.

+ + +

You busied yourself over the past hour to help Ellen the best you could to help find all the supplies you would need for to cover her daughter's wounds so she wouldn't risk the chances of getting an infection or losing any more blood. Jo was stable now after you found some ace bandages and some clean towels that were soft enough to makeshift for medical attention she desperately needed. Despite being in tremendous pain, Jo didn't complain, she just laid against the counter with her legs outstretched as Ellen did everything she could to ease the suffering best to her ability. You hadn't moved from Jo's side since you had gotten here, and while your legs we're starting to cramp, you felt the obligation to stay by her side and tend to any need she might have. You kept her mind busy and forced her to stay awake by asking her how hunting had been with her mom and told a couple funny stories about Cas to help lighten the mood. Jo had gotten a kick at hearing about the angel's attempt of losing his v-card in a brothel to a prostitute named Chastity, but it seemed he wasn't smooth with the ladies. She tried to laugh when you told her about how the girl lost it when he brought up her buried daddy issues, yet the slightest shift in movement caused her to let out a wince of pain.

Sam had been around every once in a while to see how things were going and to check on the salt lines to make sure it was in check. Dean had kept to himself since all of you were put on lock down. He searched around the store until he found a portable radio and some batteries to make the thing work. You looked away from the women as Sam headed over to his brother so the both of them could have a private conversation about how seriously screwed all of you were. All of you were trapped like rats as Cas was probably in the same predicament, not to mention, the Devil himself was here. While it was good to know this plan might just work out, the concern right now was to get out of here before anyone else could get hurt.

You were pulled from your thoughts at the faint noise of squeaking coming from the radio Dean had been tinkering with over the past few minutes. Sam wandered over when Ellen called out for a pair of hands that weren't covered in blood. You glanced down to see that your clothes and hands were stained red, the sight of it made you feel another wave of nausea when you inhaled the deep rich copper smell. You pulled your attention away from the mess when you heard Dean speak, and even from your spot across the small store, you heard a voice that suddenly felt like music to your ears. "Bobby, it's Dean. We got problems." "It's okay, boy. That's why I'm here." Bobby comforted the older Winchester, knowing even with his voice strained as he tried to be hard, there was no denying the fear in Dean's voice. "Is everyone all right?" Dean paused for a moment when he heard the question. You watched as he looked over his shoulder to stare at the situation that had been slowly unfolding, he shifted his gaze to see that you and Ellen were doing everything you could to keep Jo in at least stable condition. While you had tried to remain optimistic that things were going to be fine for the woman, Dean had seen more of this lifestyle, and he knew a bad situation when he saw one. “No.” Dean answered as he looked backed to the other side of the store, turning his back again on the four of you. He tried keeping his voice hush when he spoke the devastating news. “Uh, i-it’s—it’s Jo. Bobby, it’s pretty bad.”

“Okay. Copy that.” Bobby replied after a second of silence of his own, needing to take some time to process the worst case scenario that was unraveling. “So now we figure out what we do next.”

“Bobby,” Dean muttered the hunter’s name as he tried his hardest to tell him what happened. He didn’t need to see her wounds to figure out this wasn’t going to end well. He had to pause again so he could force the words out of his mouth, but saying it would mean that this was actually happening. “Bobby, I don’t think she’s—”

But he couldn’t do it. Dean took his finger off the button and stopped himself. He stared across the room and focused on anything with his vision starting to grow the slightest bit blurry as he tried his hardest not to break down. He always forced himself to be the leader of the group, it was a role that came naturally to him. Dean would rather stay in charge so things could go his way. But with this situation, he couldn’t. He was pinned in place like the little fly trapped in the spider’s web. He was being forced to watch one of his closest friends suffer, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.

“I said, ‘What do we do next,’ Dean.” Bobby said. His tone was serious as he forced the older Winchester to start focusing on the situation he was being dealt with. Dean let out a heavy breath as he bent his head down to rub his eyes from the stress. But like a good leader, the man sucked in his internal pain, and jumped back into the conversation. “Now...tell me what you got.” Dean told him the little progress that all of you had been making. The only lead you had was something about reapers Cas mentioned about wanting to talk to. But that had been what felt like an entire lifetime ago. “Before he went missing, did Cas say how many reapers?”

“I-I don’t know. He said a lot of things, I guess.” Dean muttered with a solemn tone. “I mean, does the number matter?”

You excused yourself from the little group when you tried to be of assistance for someone else when you heard Dean getting frustrated about how Bobby was focusing on something that seemed so little of importance, right now. But it was the devil in the details. You walked over to Dean and tapped the back of your hand against his arm, catching his attention. You nodded your head to the walkie-talkie to you could speak to the man. "Bobby, it's Y/N." You said. “The way he was looking, the number of places Cas’ eyes went, I’d say we’re talking over a dozen reapers—probably more.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Bobby said, you found yourself rolling your eyes at his response.

“Nobody like the sound of that, Bobby.” Dean told the man. “But what—what does that sound like?”

“It sounds like death, kids.” Bobby answered him. You furrowed your brow as you locked eyes with the man standing in front of you. Neither one of you would had a good feeling about this. “I think Satan’s in town to work a ritual. I think he’s planning to unleash Death.”

"You mean, like," Dean tried wrapping his head at what he was being told. "This dude and taxes are the only sure thing?"

"As in Death—the horseman, the pale rider in the flesh." Bobby said, being more specific.

You let out a quiet sigh from what you were hearing as you turned your head slightly to look at Jo from the corner of your eye. "'Unleash'? I mean, h-hasn't death been tromping all over the place?" Dean asked. "I mean, hell, Y/N and I've died several times ourselves."

"Not this guy. This is—this is the Angel of Death, big daddy reaper. They keep this guy chained in a box six hundred feet under. Last time they hauled him up, Noah was building a boat." Bobby explained the situation to you and Dean. You heard him pause for a moment, as if he was thinking to himself. It seemed that he figured out an answer to a problem that was so little compared to what you had going on here."That's why the place is crawling with reapers. They're waiting on the big boss to show up."

The Devil himself and the Angel of Death all in one town. As if things couldn't have gotten any worse. You placed the back of your hand against your forehead as you shifted around slightly in your spot, turning your back on everyone so you could wrap your mind around what the hell was going on. You tilted your head up slightly as your eyes slowly shifted upwards to the ceiling. This...this was beginning to become too much for you to handle. You inhaled a deep breath breath through your mouth, trying your hardest to compose yourself. Dean tried lifting up the mood by asking the other hunter if he had any good news to spare.

"Well, in a manner of speaking. I've been researching Carthage since you've been gone, trying to suss out what the Devil might want there. What you just said drops the last piece of the puzzle in place." Bobby explained to the both of you. You turned around in your spot to hear what the man had to say after you gotten your emotions under control for now. "The angel of death must be brought into this world at midnight through a place of awful carnage. Now, back during the civil war, there was a battle in Carthage—a battle so intense, the soldiers called it 'The Battle of the Hellhole.'"

"Where'd the massacre go down?" Dean asked, seeming intrigued at this new information.

"On the land of William Jasper's farm." Bobby said.

You and the older Winchester's locked eyes when you heard the exact location of where the Devil would be tonight. You shrugged your shoulders slightly as you forced yourself to give the tiniest bit of a smile, thinking this was the little fraction of optimism you needed to get through these next challenging hours. But you knew. You knew this wasn’t going to end the way you wanted.

This situation had reminded you of when you were about to go to hell, when you were trapped in your own body as Lilith took control, everything was about to get worse. You knew it was going to end. You found yourself starting to remember an old poem that Dante Alighieri had written about his character's journey through all nine circles of Hell.

Through me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for aye. Justice the founder of my fabric moved: To rear me was the task of Power divine, Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

[salty-dracon]

ace hang plays secret heroes: the d&d campaign part 2

(For reference, when a person’s words are in quotation marks, they’re speaking in character. Brid’s character Verity in particular Wants The Dick, Arthur’s character mostly just solves problems by strongarming them, and Lily’s character Kory and Val’s character Morgan are just the same as their creators. So, a pair of edgelords with magic powers.)

DM: *drawing a map of a prison cell the characters are trapped in* Okay, try to break out before time runs out. 

Brid: SEEK A WAY OUT!

Arthur: Time...? Like, how much time?

DM: Please just solve my puzzle, I worked on it all week. 

Lily: Uhhhhh... I’m 90% sure that I can pick the lock with my thieves’ tools. 

DM: Rotary lock. Nope. 

Val: What’s under the bed? 

DM: Under the bed, you find a small locked box. You don’t know where the key is. 

Lily: I pick the lock with my thieves’ tools. 

DM: .... roll. 

Lily: 14 plus my proficiency bonus plus my dexterity modifier gets me 20. 

DM: ... fine. You open the box and find a paper with the combination to the rotary lock. 

Arthur: I... enter the combination into the rotary lock? 

DM: The cell door swings open. 

Brid: YOU FOUND IT!

DM: ... Is that a reference to something?

------

DM: Suddenly, Kory is grabbed from behind by a giant red dragonborn.

Lily: Oh fuck. 

Arthur: The one I threw into the ocean?!

DM: “What are you doing out of your cage, hellspawn?”

Lily: “We’re not so different. Your mom fucked a dragon.”

DM: “Please leave my mother out of this.”

(Val is losing his shit)

DM: “What’s so funny?”

Val: “No, it’s actually funny because her mom did fuck a demon, y’know?”

DM: “What are the rest of you doing out of your cage? I’m under strict orders to keep you four confined.”

Brid: What’s the dragonborn wearing? 

DM: Uh... my concept art has him wearing just a pair of pants. He’s uh... he looks like a monk.

Brid: “Nice abs.”

DM: Um... “Leave my abs out of this too.” Are- are you actually trying to seduce him?

Brid: Maybe it’ll throw him off guard so I can shove my sword down his throat, I don’t know.

DM: ... Okay.... “You four had better come with me.”

Val: Morgan is still laughing his ass off.

DM: Your captor does not respond to this and merely takes it in stride as he leads you back to the cell. As you are about to reach it, you run into another familiar face- a pale-skinned human. He smiles at Verity. “Hey, cutie.”

Brid: Okay, fuck this guy. 

DM: He’s the fucking mermaid! He’s the only character I’ve described as ‘pale’ this entire time!

Brid: Oh. Yeah, fuck this guy! I’m gonna fuck him! 

Arthur: The funny part is, you’re a paladin. 

Brid: Paladin of revenge. And my vengeful urges are telling me to FUCK. 

(Val starts laughing again)

------

DM: When the four of you wake up, you’re treated to breakfast. For Kory it’s a few hard-boiled eggs and a slice of toast, for Grustat it’s hardtack and cheese, for Morgan it’s a couple of slices of toasted bread with a pile of nuts on the side, and for Verity it’s cheese and toast. 

Lily: Thanks, uh... who served us? 

DM: Dragonborn. “Oh. I never introduced myself. Call me Typhon.”

Brid: “Can I call you sexy instead?”

DM: “I appreciate the praise, but please call me what I ask.”

Val: “Why the hell are we locked up here?”

DM: “My employer wills it. You’re stuck here until she gets here, so sit tight.” With that, he leaves. 

Lily: So... now what? 

DM: Why don’t you solve this other puzzle I worked all week on, that doesn’t require thieves’ tools whatsoever?

-----

DM: Okay, you’re just hanging out in the cell again... roll. 

Lily: *rolls* 4.

DM: Never mind. 

Val: We’re about to get ambushed, son!

-----

DM: You’re approached by a timid elf man. He’s wrapped in a blanket. “I was watching you. Especially... you.” *points to Lily*

Lily: “Me? Uh, and not her?” *points to Brid*

DM: “No. You’re... delicate. With your fingers.” He sits next to Kory. “Can you fix my fingernail?”

Morgan: I cast cure wounds-

Lily: “Shut the fuck up, Morg. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

DM: “It’s broken and starting to rot.” He holds his hand out. His fingernail is, indeed, broken and starting to rot. 

Lily: “Hey Veri-”

DM: “No, I want you to file the old nail away.”

Lily: “... Okay?” I guess I take out my set of tools and start filing his broken nail. 

DM: Roll me a dexterity check. 

Lily: ... Six plus my dex modifier plus my proficiency bonus gets me eleven. 

DM: Not too shabby of a job. He looks pleased. “Thank you. What is your name?”

Lily: “Uh, they all just call me Kory.”

Arthur: “Wait, you’re saying Kory isn’t your real name?”

Lily: “Kory’s a nickname!”

DM: “I see... Kory. I like that. And, um, Morg, was it?”

Val: “It’s Morg-”

Lily: “SHSHSHHHHHHHH”

Val: “As I was saying, it’s Mor-”

Lily: “SHHHHHEEEEEEE”

Val: “What?!”

Lily: “We’re using codenames!”

Val: “Since when?!”

DM: The druid seems very amused by this.

------

DM: Just so we’re clear, are you guys fine with some of the NPCs flirting with your characters? 

Brid: Yeah, I’d be fine with it. 

Arthur: *shakes his head*

Morgan: Morgan wouldn’t like it. Like, do it, I’m fine with it, but Morgan wouldn’t like it. 

Lily: Wait, are you saying that Dragonface, Fish Lips, and Treeboy are gay? 

DM: Bi. Actually, Lily, I’m begging you. Please use those nicknames in character. That’s freakin’ hilarious.

Lily: As long as they don’t try to force themselves on Kory it’s fine. 

DM: Dragonface... fuckin’ Dragonface... next time you say that i’m bringing a kazoo.

-------

DM: Long rest complete. As you guys wake up in the morning, you are approached by Thaumas, the ice wizard. 

Brid: “Hey, sexy.”

DM: “Hey, cutie!” He opens the cage, carrying a few plates with him. Looks like your breakfast. He lays it out before you. “Just so you know, we’re getting a visit from the boss in a few hours.”

Morgan: “Boss?”

DM: “The Empress.” He gently pats Verity’s head. “You, in particular, should leave this place.”

Brid: “Why?”

DM: “Our Empress doesn’t take kindly to women.”

Lily: “You do know I’m a woman too, right, Fish Lips?”

DM: “Yes, but you’re a tiefling. Our Empress is an elf. She’d only kill a pretty girl like the paladin girl.”

Brid: “Well, shit.”

Val: We’ll wait for Fishy to leave and then we’ll chat about what to do next. 

DM: As Thaumas leaves, you guys notice that he leaves the door just a little bit ajar. It’s possible to escape. Genetika will be here soon. What do you guys want to do?

Lily: .... Let’s split up, I guess. Verity just to protect her, and I’ll sneak around and look for an exit. 

Brid: I’m a paladin! I don’t need protection. 

Lily: Please? 

Brid: *sigh* Fine. 

Val: So Morgan and Gru will just hang out in the cage? 

Brid: Guess so. Good luck. 

Arthur: Shouldn’t we, y’know, not split up the party? 

Lily: We each got a tank and a healer. We’ll be fine. 

Arthur: Okay, first of all, your tank is your healer, and our tank... well, isn’t. 

Lily: We’ve got offense, tank, and healer between the two of us. We’ll be fine. 

Arthur: I still think it’s a bad idea. 

DM: I mean... 

Val: Okay, DM says we shouldn’t. We’ll all escape together. 

Lily: Why don’t the three of you go, and I’ll stay behind? 

Val: Are you fucking suicidal?!

Lily: Kinda, yeah. Hey, what’s the right answer? 

DM: I was kind of hoping to tailor the rest of the day based on your choice here, so.... I don’t know, take your pick. 

Lily: Tell ya what. I’m an ugly tiefling, so I’ll stay behind. You three see if you can break out. 

Brid: I’m a little scared for you.

Lily: I got diplomacy proficiency. I’ll be fine! 

DM: ... Okay. Is that your final answer?

Arthur: I’m fine with it. 

Val: Whatever. 

Brid: Yeah. 

DM: .... Okay, hold on, let me pull this out of my ass.

--------

[animeindoblog-blog]

Fullmetal Alchemist Live Action Movie Review

New Post has been published on http://animeindo.org/blog/2017/11/29/fullmetal-alchemist-live-action-movie-review/

Fullmetal Alchemist Live Action Movie Review

Sloan The Female Otaku

Never Forget

Episodes : 1 (Movie)

Genre : Fantasy, Adventure

Aired : Nov 2017

We’re assuming you have either read the critically acclaimed manga, or watched the masterful anime series of the same name. This article will mainly focus on the live action Fullmetal Alchemist film as an adaptation. Thanks to the staff at Anime NYC, we were lucky enough to watch this amazing film before it even aired in Japan. But in case you forgot about the story, or just want to take a trip down memory lane, continue to the following section.

Contains Spoilers

Alchemy is magic down to a science of sorts. To create something, one needs to give up something else in equivalent exchange. At a young age, the Elric brothers, Ed and Al, became fascinated with alchemy. After their mother died of a sudden illness, Ed and Al decided to bring her back through human transmutation – the ultimate taboo in alchemy. By doing so, Al was taken away and their mother appeared as a burnt corpse. Heartbroken but not defeated, Ed gives up his arm and leg to bond Al’s soul to a suit of armor. Now the two search for the Philosopher’s Stone, a stone that can create anything without having to do an equivalent exchange.

Thankfully, the boys are very talented, as Ed can use alchemy without having to create a transmutation circle. And Ed can still use alchemy, even as a hollow suit of armor. Becoming the youngest state alchemists of all time, Ed and Al find themselves closer to the Philosopher’s Stone. Time and time again the Elrics run into fakes, but through their journey, they uncover the truth about the stone and their government.

In the meantime, strange supernatural creatures resembling humans roam around every corner, and Ed and Al keep running into them. They are homunculi; artificial humans. Their job is to protect the sacrifice, and enforce any order Father insists upon. But eventually, the truth sets itself free, when Ed and Al discover that the Philosopher’s Stone is made up of human lives. They decide to give up on the Philosopher’s Stone and find another way to get Al’s body back. But first, they must defeat the homunculi and everything else the government is hiding.

Before the film started, an interview was played with the original creator of the manga, Hiromu Arakawa; and Ed’s actor, Ryosuke Yamada. Arakawa’s face was covered by a drawing of a cow, as that’s how she sees herself. The two talk about how they love the film and seeing it come to life. Arakawa herself especially loved the movie, and even wants to see a sequel. If the original creator is happy with the film, how could anyone dislike it?

Within recent years, we’ve gotten more live action adaptations of multiple anime and manga franchises than usual. A lot of the time, the live actions are rushed during production, so they look cheaply made and horribly adapted. It’s as if the director didn’t care for the original work. This is not the case with Fullmetal Alchemist. The characters were perfectly cast, the CGI was lifelike, and the pacing was phenomenal. You could tell that director Fumihiko Sori, is very passionate about Fullmetal Alchemist, and truly put his heart into it.

To properly adapt the entirety of Fullmetal Alchemist, studio Bones made it into a 60 episodes anime series in 2009. However, a movie can only run for so long, hence why Arakawa would like to see a sequel. The live action film is over 2 hours long. It adapts the first season and a half of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. This means that characters were cut out, and integral scenes to progress the plot were also scrapped. However, Sori was able to make every flow just right so that Fullmetal Alchemist fans and newcomers would be satisfied.

Speaking of satisfied, the ending leaves you with the same feeling of excitement that you had when you first watched/read Fullmetal Alchemist. Sure, things were rushed and changed towards the end (more on that later), but overall, Fullmetal Alchemist did its best to bring the story to life. Moving onto the technical side of things; the CGI was stunning. There weren’t any awkward green screen backdrops, or cheap special effects. Al was completely CGI, but the way he moved made it seem as though there was an actual person inside that suit of armor.

When alchemy is used, a spectacle of rocks or flames soar in the air. It’s incredibly lifelike, to the point that you have to question whether it’s really a special effect. As for the soundtrack, it captured the atmosphere of a fantasy adventure series. And the theme that played during the credits was a catchy pop song that we will gladly download. But don’t just watch the credits for the catchy song, there is a special clip as well!

Why You Should Watch Fullmetal Alchemist

1. Perfect Casting

There is no way we could see any of these characters being played by anyone else. Not only do they look like the characters (despite the story taking place in Europe, and the actors being Japanese), but they got the personalities down pat. Although Al is CGI, Atomu Mizuishi did great voice acting as an innocent sweet child. The actors put so much effort into their characters, that you feel as if they are the characters. Moments of sadness may even make you tear up, as you see a character breaking down or screaming.

When our favorite characters first showed up on screen, the audience cheered. Not only because we love the characters, but because they appeared in a way that’s uniquely them. For example, Maes Hughes, a character beloved by all for his happy attitude, makes his entrance by busting through a door with the biggest of smiles. Roy Mustang enters the big screen by showing off his epic flame alchemy. And Ed (as a 13-year-old) appears by jumping off a building, sticking the landing, and saying a cool one liner.

2. Pacing

Although the film was rushed and even changed towards the end, the majority of the film was paced very well. Immediately, you’re introduced to Ed and Al’s backstory, followed by the end results of the Liore priest’s actions, and quickly making a trip to the Sho Tucker incident. This may sound rushed as well, but in actuality, only the important parts from the manga/anime were shown. This gave the audience no time for dilly-dallying, but instead wrapped us into the fantastical world and plot. By adapting important scenes, a newcomer would not have to force themselves to read the manga in order to understand the story.

Given the length of the film, and the content the director had to work with, it is very impressive that almost every character got enough screen time. From the film, a newcomer can understand and sympathize with Ed and Al’s tragic past. A newbie will also feel a romantic bond brewing between Ed and Winry. It’s honestly mind blowing as to how Sori was able to compile so much of the story and have it make sense, all in roughly 2 hours.

Why You Should Skip Fullmetal Alchemist

1. Changed Ending

When adapting a work, you can almost always expect something to be changed. The question is how much will be changed, and how big of an impact will the change have on the story? Unfortunately, the last 30 minutes of the film were drastically altered. The worst change by far was giving Sho Tucker more screen time. Yes, you heard us correctly. They gave one of the most hated characters in anime/manga, more screen time. Sho Tucker was released from prison, and sort of played the roll Kimblee had in the original series.

The same can be said for Hakuro, as he played the role of Wrath. Sho Tucker and Hakuro team up to create an artificial army using Philosopher stones. The famous scene of Roy Mustang repeatedly killing Lust was also changed. Instead of carving a transmutation circle into his hand, and snapping his fingers repeatedly to kill Lust, Mustang gets help from Ed and fires a long beam of flames to burn Lust. Lust then dies feeling happy that she could die like a human.

2. Cutting Out Characters

There are a wide variety of fan favorites throughout Fullmetal Alchemist. Such as Armstrong, Scar, Olivier, and Greed. Sadly, none of those characters show up. This is especially odd in Greed’s case, considering that Greed plays a huge role in the story by introducing homunculi to Ed and Al. Wrath was briefly mentioned in the film, but again, his role was taken over by Hakuro.

Even stranger was Scar’s disappearance. Multiple times throughout the film, we were told about the Ishvalan War, and later find out that Ishvalans were used for the Philosopher’s Stones creation. Seeing Scar trying to get his revenge for the slaughter of his people would have made sense in the film. Perhaps they couldn’t cast a tan enough person who spoke Japanese? Whatever the case, we just wish one of these characters had screen time instead of Sho Tucker.

Fullmetal Alchemist is most definitely worth your time. If you want to introduce a friend to the story even though they’re not into anime, then this movie is perfect. And if you just want more Fullmetal Alchemist in general, you’ll love the film even more. It may not be a perfect adaptation from start to finish, but what we got made us more than happy to see a sequel. Will you be watching the Fullmetal Alchemist live action film? Have you read the manga, or watched the anime? Let us know, and we’ll be happy to reply with our experiences as well. Till next time!

Author: Sloan The Female Otaku

Sup everyone! I’m your female otaku. And that’s the intro I use for my Youtube videos. After being an otaku for 5 years, and a lover of film editing for 8, I decided to explore my horizons by writing articles on anime and otaku culture. I also love cosplaying and making people laugh. Please subscribe to my channel at Sloan The Female Otaku if you want to see more. Sayonara!

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