#even art often seems like its assuming things not yet confirmed

[davrinassan]

i dont think ive ever seen a fandom clutch so hard to their preconceived conceptions of characters before the games even out that they can write 461 pieces of fanfiction and shove em on ao3

[miekasa]

love talk

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: it’s not important that eren is a tattoo artist i just wanted to share bc i gave him tattoos here :’), fluff i think, smut/nsfw content, if you see a hint of eremin then no you don’t </2

+ word count: almost 2k, sickening innit luv

+ notes: yeah, still thinking about eren speaking german during sex bc he’s losing his mind hehe. i suppose this is the… softer version. might post another one later, who knows. and yes, i did almost name this pussy talk. 

Unbeknownst to him, Eren Jaeger speaks three languages.

The first two are obvious, but English is his preferred language; the one you’ll find him speaking most often. It only makes sense, seeing as it’s what the overwhelming majority of people, media, and signs spew at him.

The second is more reserved; something you might assume given his name, but not know for sure unless you asked, or stuck around long enough to catch him rambling excitedly to Armin in German, with broken slang phrases of English interspersed. It’s fascinating—cute, moreover—the way he stumbles back and forth between both tongues; and the difference in tone between them. You’re not sure if your own bias is peeking through, but you’re certain Eren and Armin both sound a little… meaner in German; more sarcastic, at the very least—and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were talking shit the whole time.

Though, there is a special, reserved intonation to his mother tongue that shows itself when Eren’s around you. It doesn’t seem to be by choice—gone beyond comprehension that he’s forced to revert to grunted expressions and curses in a language foreign to his surroundings. You assume them to be curses; you never can confirm, and Eren seems to not even be aware of his switching in the heat of the moment, can never quite recall what he was saying to you.

There are times when he’s reduced to mere sounds, no comprehensible words between the hundreds of thousands he knows—only guttural moans, and breathy sighs, and he seems to not even be able to understand himself. You have to admit, it’s a bit of an ego boost to be able to fuck your boyfriend stupid in two languages.

And at first glance, Eren doesn’t seem like the type of guy to know about anything outside of himself. He doesn’t seem like the full-sleeve, three ear piercing, tattoo artist kinda kid; but Eren Jaeger speaks the language of pictures, of symbols, of images, that he is able to decipher and give meaning to upon creation. He’s got a penchant for art, and a vision bigger than himself, so it’s only right that he takes his knowledge and applies it in its most permanent form. The tattoos are more than a hobby for him—they’re an extension of himself, his art, his language; and his body is the only canvas fit enough to capture them.

So, here, with Eren laying on his back, chest exposed, arms bent for his hands to rest against your waist, you get to see the culmination of all the words and all the pictures, from all the languages he’s deemed important enough to find a place on his skin.

“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” you question, reaching your hand up to trace over the delicate waves that ride along his right collarbone.

“No,” Eren winces when you move—just enough of him to feel an ounce of friction inside of you, but not enough to give him what he wants. He wiggles himself a bit, desperate for something, “Not at all.”

It makes you chuckle, with a sort of disbelief, at both his words and his actions, “You get things tattooed on your body that don’t mean anything to you?”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, followed with a boyish smile. He blinks at you slowly, lids fluttering and hands gripping tightly at your body, “Learned that not everything has to have a deep meaning to want to keep it around,” he tells you, right palm moving to venture over your tummy, and up your sides, “Somethings you just love.”

You don’t miss the lilt in his voice on the word ‘love,’ but you play it off, rolling your eyes at his deliberately sweet affections, and then, gently, your hips, “Pretty poetic for something with no meaning.”

“Yeah, well, Armin taught me that,” Eren grits, hands fastening themselves at your hips again.

“You talk about Armin a lot when we’re in bed you know,” you taunt him, moving your fingers to trace over more of the tattoos that litter his right shoulder, “Something I should know about?”

Eren shivers at the feeling—of your fingertips on his skin, and what he swears was an intentional clench around him, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You smile at him, enjoying the contortions of his face when you run your hands down his chest, palms pressed lightly against his pelvic bone. Eren bends a knee, but does he best to remain still, and you can’t help but to chuckle. He looks pretty when he’s trying his best.

“I’m greedy,” you tell him, raising your hips, and pausing in your words as you slowly lower yourself back on to him.

“Trust me,” Eren scoffs, a façade to cover up his reddening cheeks and shaky thighs, “I know.”

He tries to move his hips up, desperate for something more; for you to fucking move, but, you keep your hips perfectly still. Instead, you reach your arms behind you, and onto Eren’s thighs, cementing them to the bed. He groans, his hands sliding down to your own thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“And you called me greedy,” you huff, amused, as Eren rolls his eyes beneath you. When you’re sure he’s not going to move, you bring your arms back around, palms splayed on his stomach, “Relax. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, in an ideal world, this would be happening when I was playing COD, not when I was already impossibly hard with morning wood. And with a lot less teasing on your part.”

You have to laugh—genuinely giggle—at Eren’s blunt honesty. He’s unintentionally charming; another linguistic skill he seems unaware that he’s proficient in. You can tell he doesn’t understand the source of your amusement, but the look in his eyes, the twinkle in his irises lets you know he’s too far gone to even care.

“Call it a lesson in self-control,” you say, moving your hands to his sides in time with a shallow grind of your hips, “Besides, I’m admiring you.”

Eren keeps his hands anchored on your thighs, shivering at sensitivity of his dick coupled with your hands stroking over his pecs, “Lesson fucking learning—babe, fuck, please—”

“Shh—not yet,” you coo, and reach to pull his arms off of you, leaving you with room to admire his sleeve. You take pity on him, holding his right wrist with both of your hands, before slowly beginning to bounce on him.

Eren squirms, his free hand reaching to grab at the flesh of your ass, eyes blinking open to watch his cock be buried inside of you. The relief is instant—for the both of you—immediate groans and shallow profanities slipping past your lips as you build a steady pace to ride him.

“Tell—tell me what this one means,” you question slowly, keeping your right hand around his wrist, but using your left to point to the tattoo; a stylized line art of crossed wings.

“Some shit about freedom,” Eren grunts, fingers twitching, “Fuck, babe—more, please, I’ll—”

Eren cuts himself off with a whine, and you hiss yourself, lifting your body all the way to the tip, before lowering yourself again at an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, you can feel everything; every vein on his shaft, every twitch of his cock. You feel Eren deep inside of you, even see where the bulge outlines your tummy.

You still yourself for just a second, catching your breath, anchoring yourself on Eren. You’re pretty far gone yourself, but you want more; for yourself, and for him. You do your best to stay coherent, slowly grinding atop of him, questioning him about another tattoo on his arm, ignoring the way his palm grips at your bicep. It’s a small one, with detailed Japanese characters that you can’t understand, but appreciate anyway; it’s one of your favorites, and you ask Eren about its meaning, clenching yourself around him as punctuation to your question.  

Eren sucks air between his teeth, left hand pulling back to run his fingers through his hair, a grunted word in German falling from his lips. You smirk, but let him try to answer you.

“I don’t fucken’ know,” Eren grumbles, head thrashing from side to side, “It’s really fucken’ hard to remember anything—shit—like this. S’fucking torture.”

“Hm,” you hum, not satisfied; eager for more of Eren’s love language, “Tell me something in German, instead, then.”

But Eren can only babble beneath you; sounds incoherent in either language—reduced to desperate whines and grabby hands at your thighs, waist, boobs—anything. You lean forward, letting go of Eren’s tattooed wrist, and reaching to ghost your fingers over his lips.

“Come on, Eren, you’re usually so good at it when we do this,” you taunt him, words coated in sweetness that distract you from keeping up your pace, “Just want you to talk pretty to me. Tell me something, baby.”

Eren’s eyes travel from your fingertips, up your arm, neck, and to your face. When he meets your gaze something shifts; eyes heavy with want, and bitter with dissatisfaction.

So, he reaches for your extended hand, laces your fingers together, “Something like what?”

You wrap your fingers around his, then do the same with your left hand, “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a smile, finally satisfied.

Eren grunts, bending his right knee for leverage before he flips you over, hands still intertwined, but now pinned over your head, harshly pressed into the pillows below. He buries his head into the crook of your neck; licking a stripe along your collarbone, where you’d teased him minutes before. Then up, up, up, your neck to the shell of your ear, retreating downwards to suck on the skin just beneath your ear, nipping with pointed teeth.

Eren keeps his weight on you, the length of his cock sliding over your slick folds while he bites angry, red blotches into your skin—a kind of impermanent tattoo of his own making on your body. The friction is good, but not enough, and you wonder if Eren intends on teasing you as long as you’d done to him; but, he breathes heavy breaths up your neck again, before mumbling a series of foreign syllables into your ear.

He hovers over your face, satisfied by the daze in your eyes; the slight openness of your mouth. It’s you who looks dumbstruck now, a foreigner to his ministrations; and for once, he’s in control with his second tongue.

“What—what does that mean?” you finally ask, squeezing your eyes briefly when Eren teases the tip just past your entrance.

Eren chuckles, airy, gritty, and cocky all at once. He pushes his cock inside of you, balls deep, only to pull out almost all the way, before leaning forward just slightly, so that his bottom lip grazes over yours.

“It means I love you,” he whispers, hips bucking forward, “Try to remember that, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna fuck you stupid, baby.”

[sineala]

Captain America: The Great Gold Steal

I wrote this up last week because I did not have access to my usual comics files but I figured I could review something that was just a book. So here is a review of the 1968 Captain America novel Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White, with an introduction by Stan Lee. I really liked it, actually! It was surprisingly good!

This novel features: Cover art of Captain America holding his shield in one hand and a very large gun in the other! A scene where the villains dramatically unmask Captain America and have absolutely no idea who he is! Captain America being extremely, extremely depressed about being in the future! Captain America dropping acid!

(I'm not kidding about the last part. In this novel there is a lot of LSD use. By Captain America. Talk about something the Comics Code wouldn't ever let you put in a comic book. Thank you, 1968.)

Faithful readers may remember that some time ago I posted reviews of Marvel prose novels from the 1970s. There was a line of prose novels featuring everyone's favorite Marvel superheroes, published by Pocket Books in the late 70s; I have reviews of the Iron Man, Captain America, and Avengers entries in the series; I liked the Iron Man one best, and I also have a Doctor Strange one I have not yet read. They're all short and action-packed paperback reads, of varying quality; the only one by anyone you might have heard of is the Avengers one, which was written by David Michelinie, who was actually writing the Avengers run at the time. That one was, um. An experience. 

(Yes, it's "prose novel" because otherwise the assumption is "graphic novel.")

Marvel still publishes prose novels now, of course, also of varying quality; some are new plots and some are straight-up novelizations of comics arcs, which I guess is useful if you want to, say, read Civil War and not look at pictures at the same time. I also have a bunch of those that I could probably review if anyone wants. But, anyway, I personally am particularly intrigued by the older Marvel prose novels, both because the stories are all original and not retellings, and also because I often prefer the characterization found in older comics. And the older prose novels of course use the then-current characterization. So reading a Marvel prose novel from 1979 is like getting to read a brand-new comic from 1979, and that's a whole lot of fun for a nerd like me. Also do you know what's not subject to the Comics Code? Prose novels. So things can happen in these that definitely could not happen in comics of the same era.

This brings me to my current prose novel, which is something else entirely. I mean, okay, not really, it's still a Marvel prose novel. But it's not part of the same line. It's actually a lot older.

Bantam Books actually published Marvel prose novels in the late 60s. Yep, a full decade earlier. They published exactly two, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they were probably not bestsellers. The first one, which I do not own and now sort of want to track down, was an Avengers novel in 1967, The Avengers Battle the Earth-Wrecker. And then in 1968 they published the novel I am currently holding in my hands, Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White.

(I am still not sure why no one involved in titling this book thought of the word "theft.")

Judging by the back copy, it appears to be about Captain America foiling the villains' dastardly plan to steal gold from the Federal Reserve. Oh boy. Fun.

So this book is from 1968. The modern Marvel universe had kicked off just a few short years ago! Captain America was just getting his own solo book after the end of Tales of Suspense! And here's a novel about him, back when certain elements of his characterization were perhaps a little more flexible than they are today, by which I mean that the cover art -- which the internet informs me was painted by Mitchell Hooks -- is a striking full-body portrait of Captain America, head held high, shield in one hand... and a very large gun in the other. Hell, yeah. Not gonna see that in today's Cap comics, are you? It's amazing and I love it.

(Okay, you might see that in Ults. I'm pretty sure I have seen that in Ults, actually. But this is still cool.)

So the cover art is a definite plus, and apparently it's one of the few reasons anyone has ever heard of this novel. The other reason -- and the reason this is more expensive than the later novels, I assume -- is that Stan Lee's name is slapped on the cover, because he wrote an introduction. (I think I paid about $30 for this. The others were definitely under $20.)

All right. Here we go.

The first page is actually a brief summary of Steve's origin story, but not a version I was familiar with. Steve was born July 9, 1917 (yes, I was surprised too), was orphaned at a young age, and was a student at Columbia University (!) before Rebirth, which in this version is a gradual process that is also extremely body-horror. Steel tubing was inserted into the marrows of his bones. He was fed "high-protein compounds." Then they gave him a chemical that "gave him complete control over every nerve, muscle, and cell in his now-magnificent body." Sweet. Where can I get some of that?

The blurb also confirms his control over his own metabolism as well as his healing factor ("wounds would heal in half the normal time"), which is nice, because sometimes I wonder if canon even remembers the healing factor.

(I don't know why Marvel has this kink for filling people's bones with metal, though. It's not actually empty in there, guys! You need your bone marrow! How else do you want people to make new blood cells?)

The book is dedicated to "Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, without whom there would be no Captain America." Hey, Marvel, Joe Simon would like a word with you. I'm just saying.

The Stan Lee introduction is three paragraphs written in Stan Lee's, um, inimitable, distinctive and extremely florid narrative style -- if you've read any of his work, you know what I mean -- and making the point that Captain America is incredible and you will like him. If you are just discovering him for the first time, you will definitely like him. Okay. Thanks. I guess.

Oddly, the writing style here is substantially different than any of the other Marvel prose novels I've read; it doesn't immediately front-load you with exposition and a cast of colorful superheroes. It opens with a sort of James Bond spy-novel feel, running through a series of unnamed villains and bystanders, and a man who wants nothing more than to talk to Captain America but is killed before he can. Steve comes in halfway through the chapter, and he seems to be written for a reader who doesn't necessarily know who he is, and he isn't introduced as Captain America with his shield flying ahead of him to smite evildoers, or anything like that. He's just a tall, handsome blond guy who is reading a bunch of novels and is unsatisfied by all of them because all he can think of is the past. It's definitely an attitude I would expect from Steve in this era -- he is very much a Man Out Of Time here -- but it's also not how I expected the book to introduce him. You wouldn't even know he was Captain America by the end of the opening chapter, which then ends with a digression about the history of NYC subway tunnels. It's like it wants to appeal to someone who has watched a bunch of Man from UNCLE and just wants to read a cool thriller. Which is not at all what I was expecting.

By the beginning of the second chapter, of course, we discover that Steve is Captain America, as he changes into his uniform. The narration refers to him as Rogers when it's in his POV, if anyone is curious. He apparently keeps the cowl off in the mansion, because the cowl annoys him.

It was not so much that he needed to conceal his identity these days, because for all intents and purposes he had no other identity. Steve Rogers was officially dead, and had been for almost twenty years. Captain America *was* his identity. It was only when he donned the tight-fitting blue uniform with its shield chest-emblem, the red snug-fitting leather boots, and the heavy, yet pressure-sensitive red-leather gauntlets, that he began to feel real -- a complete human being.

Steve? Buddy, are you okay there? You're really not okay, are you, huh?

You see what I mean? They're really hitting the early-canon angst. Hard.

(Also it sounds like his uniform is a few sizes too small.)

We then get an expanded version of the backstory from the beginning excerpt. In this version of canon, Steve actually has an older brother, Alan, who is handsome and athletic and basically amazing, and when they are orphaned they are raised by their aunt and uncle. Steve gets TB twice as a kid, nearly dies from it, and when the stock market crashes, ends up separated from his brother and in an orphanage after his uncle loses everything.

(Honestly if I were writing this book, his brother would be the secret villain. Chekhov's Gun!)

Steve has glasses, gets bullied, is a nerd and an honor student, and studies law at Columbia because he wants to help stop fraudulent business practices and also fight organized crime. Legally, I mean. In a manner relating to law. I guess he's sort of like Daredevil. The lawyer part of Daredevil.

And then he joins Rebirth, and this is the part where I had to put the book down for several minutes, because Erskine's secret chemical, the key to making super-soldiers... is LSD.

Oh my God. You should see my face right now. My expression is, I am sure, indescribable. I'm trying not to wake the dog up laughing.

I just. Holy shit. This book is from 1968 in a way I definitely was not expecting. What the fuck, Marvel?

This project was headed by the brilliant biochemist, Dr. Erskine. His work with the endocrine system, and chemical body control, was well beyond that of his contemporaries. Only he, of all his colleagues, had fathomed the secrets of the Swiss Dr. Hoffman's 1938 discovery -- the mind-controlling LSD-25.

Let's just pause here for a few minutes and contemplate this.

I will point out that Albert Hofmann (yes, the book spelled his name wrong) didn't actually discover that LSD was a hallucinogen until 1943 when he accidentally tried it, but I am positive that 1968 here was a time when Some People were convinced LSD was a wonder drug. I'm still laughing. As far as I can tell, legal manufacturing of it stopped in 1965 so I am pretty sure that the author did not just decide to name a drug that had an ostensible legal therapeutic use, because it wouldn't have still had one by '68.

Anyway, in this version of events, Rebirth is a month-long process that involves a lot of vitamins, physical conditioning and training, and, yes, putting metal in his bones like he's the next Wolverine. They're filling his bones with stainless steel rods to make him stronger. That doesn't seem like a great idea to me, but I am also not sure about dropping acid to gain superpowers. Clearly I am not a genius scientist. Also Erskine knows what DNA is, apparently, because he's just that great. Anyway. Other than the metal, those all seem like relatively normal interventions. So far.

Now Steve has become fairly big and strong (and I guess he still has metal in his bones? this concerns me!) but they need to make him superhuman, so, yes, really, it's time to drop acid. Several pages of this book are devoted to describing Steve's acid trip. His acid trip is amazing and he discovers that he has conscious control of his entire body down to the cellular level. He can control the adrenaline in his bloodstream! He can tighten his muscle fibers! And when he's done tripping he still remembers how to do this, if not exactly on a conscious level, but he can still access the abilities. And that is how you make a super-soldier. It's LSD. Remember, kids, drugs are awesome! Do drugs!

Let's maybe take a few more minutes to think about this.

I just. I have no words. How did anyone at Marvel agree to print this?

I think for the most part superhero origin stories tend not to involve real drugs because people are generally aware that drugs they've heard of won't make you into a superhero. I guess this is what it looks like when you invoke the names of real drugs. They probably wanted something that sounded more realistic but somehow I don't think this was the best way to go. (Radiation, of course, will definitely make you into a superhero but I feel like most people have accepted that as one of the conventions of the genre.)

Anyway, after that Erskine gets killed by Nazis, of course, and Steve goes to war, and for some reason this book contains footnotes by Stan Lee himself listing the comics you can read all of this in. Just like the actual comics do!

We are introduced to Bucky, who for some reason is also from the LES in this version, although not anyone Steve knew before the war, and there is of course a description of Bucky's tragic death and Steve's subsequent icing.

They are really, really stressing the Man Out Of Time thing here:

No other man could have survived so fantastic a voyage through time. And no other man could feel so displaced by time.

He was a man twenty years in his own future. By rights, he should be nearly fifty years old -- nearly twice the age of his fellow Avengers. Yet his mind and his body were not yet thirty.

When the Avengers had brought him back to New York with them and insisted that, as an honored hero of the past, he join them, he felt a sort of melancholy homesickness for his own time and world.

We then get a few paragraphs with the usual being sad that he let Bucky down and got him killed, and also that he misses his family, and that Steve Rogers doesn't exist anymore, and that nobody is alive who remembers him, and that war is hell.

Hey, Steve, maybe the drugs you should do are antidepressants. Just a thought.

Also, this book is 118 pages and we're not out of the origin story flashback until page 34. I think there are some pacing issues here.

Actually, I lied, the flashback keeps going, but now we're up to the Avengers finding him, and I have to say that the list of things Steve finds strange about the future is kind of charming when the future is 1968. Men have long hair! Women have shorter skirts! Everyone is kind of blasé about rocket launches because there have been so many space missions now. (Oh, come on, you haven't even landed on the moon yet, 1968! You're not that blasé.) Color TV! And, excitingly, LPs! You can now listen to 36 minutes of consecutive music. (I actually don't know what previous standard he's describing that is a ten-inch record that holds six minutes a side because I don't think 45s are that big. Yeah, no, I just checked and 45s are seven inches in diameter. Hmm. Oh, never mind. He means 78 rpm, doesn't he? In my defense, the record player my family had when I was a kid didn't play those.)

The description of Steve coming into New York for the first time is definitely written by someone who knows New York, which is fun. There is generally a lot of local flavor to the setting of this book. That’s one of the best parts.

There is a brief summary of Steve's feelings about all the Avengers -- he is most impressed by Thor, which, I mean, fair, he's an actual god -- and Hank telling him all about how he can live in Tony's mansion. With Jarvis. Who Hank says is actually from Flatbush. Apparently Steve spent a lot of time at the NYPL branch at 5th and 42nd trying to catch up on history. And then of course the Avengers ditched him and gave him the Kooky Quartet, and for some reason they're not here right now either so it's just Steve being sad and alone and dealing with this mysterious dead guy. I think probably the book is also done explaining fiat currency now. This is definitely the weirdest Marvel novel I've read.

Anyway, we have now returned to what is ostensibly the actual plot. Steve shows up at the New York Federal Reserve Bank (I guess the theft is happening here and not, like, at Fort Knox) with the gold bullion that the dead guy from the beginning of the book had on him -- I think I got distracted by the LSD bit and forgot to mention that part, but the dead guy was carrying some US government gold -- because the actual plot is that villains are trying to tunnel into the bank vault and steal gold. Steve discovers this after he gets the bank manager to give him a tour. The bank manager tries to refuse, citing security concerns -- Captain America could be anyone under that mask, after all! Steve just smiles and says, "If I removed my mask, would you have any better idea of who I am?" and I guess that's a flawless argument because he gets his tour.

(I'm sorry, all I can think of is that one gif from the JLA cartoon where Lex Luthor bodyswaps with the Flash, announces that now that he's in the Flash's body he's going to discover the Flash's secret identity, then pulls off his own mask, stares at himself in the mirror, and says, "I have no idea who this is.")

Given that the theme of Steve's interior life in this novel is "Steve Rogers died twenty years ago" it seems even more sad that Steve is just walking around basically saying, yeah, well, I'm nobody. And apparently that is being reaffirmed for him by the narrative.

So Steve goes down the tunnels, takes out some of the bad guys, and gets himself knocked out and buried in a collapsing tunnel. Don't worry, he's gonna be fine.

A lot of this book, by the way, is from the POV of random people, like this bank guard who went with Steve into the tunnels:

He had wondered, briefly, if a man like Captain America ever knew the pinch of too many bills, had ever felt desperate over the arrival of yet another mouth to feed. But, of course, Captain America had no family, and would hardly concern himself with such matters. It didn't occur to Thompson to wonder if this in itself might not be something for which to pity Captain America.

Rude. I mean, come on, do we really need random characters telling us Steve is a sad sack whom nobody loves? Steve's already got that covered!  (Also, how does this guy know Captain America has no family?)

Anyway, thanks to the power of LSD, Steve is going into a trance, amping up his metabolism (he loses "several pounds" in a few minutes), and making himself super-strong so he can dig himself out. Hooray. This is definitely how human bodies work. Also LSD. This is definitely how LSD works. Yes.

Steve then finds out that a couple of the guards who were with him in the tunnels died down there and he goes home and eats dinner while stewing in miserable guilt because he was responsible for their deaths. He's really not okay. I'm not sure the book actually understands how not okay they have made him. Then someone from SHIELD is on the phone for him and he is briefly cheered up by the thought that it might be Sharon although I think we should also note that the narrative makes it clear that at this point in canon Steve still doesn't know her name. Remember when that was a thing?

Alas, it is not Sharon; it's just a random SHIELD agent who happens to have information about the plot and asks to meet. Then, as Steve leaves to go to the meeting, we get two pages of exhaustive description about the mansion layout and how it's built relative to the surrounding buildings. It feels like this book was written by a frustrated city planner. But anyway, the meeting is a setup and the villains capture Steve.

They knock Steve out, drug him, take him to their hideout, and tie him to a chair. Except, once again thanks to the power of LSD, the tranquilizer they're using wears off way sooner than they expected and so Steve feigns unconsciousness and listens to them discuss their evil plans.

And then the villains unmask him and I swear it's exactly like that JLA gif:

Rogers heard footsteps scuffing across a thick carpet, and then Sparrow's voice again, almost directly over him. His ears still buzzed, but he fought to catch the elusive familiarity of the man's tone. He wished he dared open his eyes.

"This is a moment which I, personally, have long awaited," Sparrow said, his voice rising in triumph. "*The unmasking of Captain America!*"

Then, his nails scraping along Rogers' face, Sparrow dug his fingers under his cowl, and ripped it back. Rogers felt air strike his exposed cheeks and forehead. Then fingers clutched his blond hair and pulled his head back. "Behold!" Sparrow said.

Raven was first to speak. "Well, I dunno about you, Sparrow, but it rings no bells with me. I never seen him before."

Starling agreed. "His face means nothing to me."

"He could be anybody," said Robin. "What good does this do?"

Sparrow let Rogers' head fall back to his chest, and his voice when he spoke was defeated. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I always wondered. I felt, if these guys -- these costumed heroes -- wore masks, it must mean something."

"Captain America was missing for twenty years," Starling said. "That could mean the first one died, and this one took his place. He looks awfully young."

"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter. Let's get going."

(Yes, the villains all have bird-themed codenames. I have no idea why.)

This scene just makes my day. I love dramatic unmaskings. I bet they'd have been a lot happier unmasking Iron Man.

The villains then leave Steve and go to a power plant, where we switch POVs to one of the plant employees and get two entirely unnecessary paragraphs about his racist and anti-Semitic thoughts about his coworkers before the villains murder him. Great. Thanks.

Anyway, the villains cause a blackout, while meanwhile they've left Steve alone with the girl villain, and Steve is busy trying to persuade her that crime doesn't pay. He's moved from the "do you know what they'll do to you in prison?" theme onto "how exactly are you going to spend a billion dollars in gold bullion when it's illegal for civilians to possess? who are you going to do business with?" and then points out that gold is heavy and hard to transport, which is when she gets out a a knife.

The bad guys are off to steal the gold, and Steve has now successfully turned the girl they left him with, because she frees him. Of course, the first thing he does is put the cowl back on.

"Why do you wear that?" she asked.

"The mask?" He smiled. "It gives people something external to concentrate upon."

"But..."

"Without it, I'm just another ordinary-looking man. With it, I become a symbol. For some people it creates awe; for others, fear. Look at me. I'm different now, aren't I? With the mask on."

"Yes," she nodded. "You look -- bigger, somehow. Stronger. Fierce, implacable. You look a little scary."

"Exactly. You no longer see me as a person, but as a thing -- an Avenger. It can be a potent psychological weapon."

"They were so disappointed, when they took your mask off. As though underneath they'd find a famous person."

"Maybe that goes on TV -- handsome playboys, and all that. But I've been anonymous all my life. Even my real name would be meaningless to you, to them. No, the mask is part of the uniform, a psychological device. That's the whole story.

Now: let's get out of here. You have a good deal more to tell me yet, and we can't waste more time."

Bwahaha. In a few years, Steve's going to be pretty surprised about who superheroes are, I think.

STEVE, now: Superheroes definitely aren't secretly handsome playboys! That would be silly! STEVE, after Molecule Man: fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK I'm such an idiot

I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Also, not that the issue of Steve's psyche actually recurs after this, but he's once again having the narrative vindicate his belief that Steve Rogers is dead and whoever he is under the cowl doesn't matter. Steve, I don't think this is very healthy.

Steve then tracks down the villains stealing the gold, has some geopolitical thoughts about where the gold could be going (he thinks either South Africa or Russia for the best laundering potential) and then hides himself in the villains' trunk while they drive to Staten Island, which is where they're taking the gold out of the country from.

During the final confrontation, Steve finally gets to see the villains, and he discovers that the one in charge is in fact the director of the Federal Reserve Bank who Steve met at the beginning of this book. Gasp. But that's not all! He's also... the Red Skull!

Honestly, I was kind of surprised; I didn't think this was the kind of book where we'd get any known comic villains, but I guess it's always gotta be the Red Skull. I think he's the only one of Steve's big villains who likes to disguise himself; Zemo has obvious disguise issues and I imagine it's also hard to cover up Zola's Teletubby-esque television body.

Steve shoots one of the villains, because I guess that's what he does in this era of canon.

So the plot wraps up in, like, two pages, because for some reason all these early Marvel novels wrap up very fast. Red Skull, of course, attempts to escape and then disappears and his body is never found. The end.

Well.

That was definitely a book. That I read. Believe it or not, I actually think it was the best of these early Marvel prose novels that I've read so far, even if it was also the absolute weirdest; I thought the thriller-style plot was entertaining, I liked Steve and his Extremely Sad characterization, I obviously enjoy all the identity themes, I liked how very detailed the New York setting was, and I do like how they tried to treat it all seriously. I mean, sure, this did lead to LSD in the super-soldier serum in presumably the name of realism, but I felt like the book was trying to present superheroes in a way that didn't feel silly and also didn't really take for granted that the reader would automatically accept superheroes.

It felt like a book that was written hoping that people who weren't superhero fans would read it, if that makes any sense. And I thought that was interesting, because most modern superhero work that I can think of assumes they've got complete audience buy-in and everyone is willing to suspend their disbelief and we all know the genre conventions and are expecting people running around in brightly-colored spandex. Whereas this is more like a James Bond novel if for some reason James Bond were called upon to defend his decision to wear brightly-colored spandex instead of bespoke suits. But I assume no one read it, because Bantam never published a Marvel book after this one.

If you can actually find a copy of this one for a price you're willing to pay. I recommend it. It was delightful and way more solid than I thought it was going to be.

Also, come on, you know you want to read about Captain America's acid trip.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Twitter ー Carla Tsukinami [2020 Compilation]

–> This post includes all tweets posted on the official Rejet Twitter account for Carla Tsukinami (@DialoverCarlaT) in 2020.

Shuu l Reiji l Ayato l Kanato l Laito l Subaru l Ruki l Kou l Yuma l Azusa l Shin l Kino

February 14, 2020 (Valentine’s Day)

> What a bothersome lot. I’ll blow all of you away at once.

> When it comes to these things, it’s quality over quantity.

> One precious thing. Obtaining that is more important, don’t you think?

March 14, 2020 (White Day)

> An uncommon guest has come to visit.

> Guess I shall give these ‘marsh mallow’ things Kanato gifted me to Shin.

–> This took me a while to figure out, but Carla wrote he received 魔種麻呂 from Kanato, which isn’t an existing word in Japanese at all. However, when you look at the individual readings of each character, they are pronounced as ‘ma-shu-ma-ro’ or マッシュマロー, the Japanese word for ‘marshmallow’. I guess Carla does not know what a marshmallow is. xD

> I do not know which magic creature has been put into these things. So until I identify them, it seems wise not to eat them.

–> The ‘ma’ character in Carla’s unique spelling of the word ‘marshmallow’ means ‘magic’ on its own, hence why he thinks they’re made from magic beasts living in the Demon World.

> Oi, you. Come closer.

> I heard that today you are supposed to return the favor of last month’s festivity. Following said tradition, I shall thank you as well.

> You are a woman worthy of becoming the bride of a Founder. However, that is not all. You are also a woman I personally do not wish to lose. I am grateful towards the fate that brought us together. Furthermore, I shall fulfill my own duty as well. I vow to protect you, no matter what awaits us in the future.

April 1, 2020 (April Fools)

> Moon March 🌙 E-shop opened

ll Cured dry ham ll

From today onwards, we shall start selling farm fresh and Founder-approached cured dry ham. We can ensure the delivery of high quality products to your doorstep. Only those capable of grasping its value, should press the purchase button.

April 30, 2020

> Come here. We do not get to enjoy such a peaceful time together very often. I shall dote on you plenty to make up for all the lost time. 

> Tell me. Go ahead and explain to me what lovers usually do when together in their room.

May 28, 2020 (Birthday)

> How puzzling. Why do you seem so happy, when it is my birthday being celebrated? However, it is not a bad thing. It appears I can get a sense of fulfillment from seeing you try so hard for my sake. In that case, scoot over. I want to feel you close to me. I want to confirm that you are most definitely by my side by touching you directly.

June 26, 2020

> I cannot believe you are asking me to play the role of a teacher. It seems like you do not quite comprehend your own position.

> Again? Watch your step carefully. How many times must I repeat myself?

June 27, 2020

> You could have simply gone to bed before me.

July 7, 2020 (Tanabata)

> I wish to come across a new art gallery.

July 22, 2020

> I am surprised you are still conscious.

> I forced my fangs inside your flesh. It would have not have been strange for you to faint from the pain.

> Seems like you have become capable of accepting any and all stimuli. When you give me such a commendable reaction, I cannot help but want to ‘dote’ on you even more.

> This time, I will give you something you are always craving for...Exactly, pleasure.

> I shall love you more profoundly.

July 27, 2020

> Dry cured ham represents despair and sadness?

> Why?

August 31, 2020

> The buzzing of cicadas makes for a rather elegant tune.

> Shin. Prepare a watermelon at once.

October 16, 2020

> On my way to the museum, I ran into a certain young man. He was a *

--> In the original Tweet, his sentence cuts off mid-way as well.

> He was a court painter who specializes in portraits. I had him paint my picture, but ultimately, I did not feel very satisfied with the end result.

> My face is not buried that deep inside my scarf. Why did he have to exaggerate it such an extend? For one, a portrait usually takes several days to finish, yet the painter in question finished it in just mere seconds. One should take their time painting a picture of me.

> It truly is a shame, but it seems like his skill level has decreased over time.

October 22, 2020 (DL x Mayla Classic)

> Oi, you. Why are you spacing out in the hallway?

> Aah, Shin said that…? I see.

> In that case, I might have a clue. Follow me.

> Take a look at those stairs.

> Amongst the Wolf Familiars, there’s one which has a bad habit of leaving all shiny objects he stumbles upon on the staircase like that.

> I assume Shin hid the gift in the underground dungeon, hoping you would find it after being ordered to clean the place. However, it was taken away by the Familiar before that, ruining Shin’s plans.

> He should have simply handed it to you. Shin is still quite immature as well, taking such a roundabout approach and then getting upset.

> Oh well, I suppose it is fine. Either way, you should take it.

> This is our gift. From here on out, you should always keep them on you, so they do not get stolen by the Familiar again.

October 31, 2020 (Halloween)

> Trick or Treat...is truly ridiculous. There is no reason to choose one or the other. I shall get my hands on all things I desire. Well then, go ahead and submit your everything to me.

November 11, 2020

> Today calls for a celebration.

> It is ‘cured ham day’. There is not a single day in the whole year worth celebrating more.

> I suppose I should have Shin prepare a few extra legs.*

-> I was really confused by this tweet at first because when I looked up the word 原木, it translates as ‘timber’. However, apparently it is also used to refer to the whole legs of dried ham which come on a wooden stand. 

December 18, 2020

> Why are you making such a face? ...The cold? I see, I suppose humans already show the first signs of hypothermia at this temperature. I cannot simply stand and watch in silence as you continue to freeze. Well then, let me prepare you a cup of hot tea. Let us get warm together.

December 19, 2020

> Woman. This one. Order this one. I desire this drink, its crimson color is vibrant, yet somewhat reminiscent of the dark as well. However, please do not get the wrong idea. I do not feel attracted to it due to its strong resemblance to blood. Any blood other than yours holds no value. Of course, you are special and irreplaceable to me as a person as well.

December 24, 2020 (Christmas)

> Are you enjoying yourself? No, I am not criticizing you for your behavior. When I see you in high spirits, even I get a pleasant feeling inside. I feel like I can sympathize with humans who get excited about Christmas a little better now.

[joy1579]

a starry night (jumin x artist MC)

a teeny tiny ficlet I wrote this afternoon because i didn't feel well and spent all day in bed which meant i didn't have time to do the head canons i wanted. but i said i wanted to upload something everyday so i was determined to do something. now i need advil. hope you all enjoy!!

MC doesn't feel at home in the penthouse so she decides to add a personal touch in the form of a mural on the living room wall. Jumin appreciate her effort.

this is 1250 words of fluff. its straight sugary sweet fluff and romance, like it implies something once but that’s it.

The penthouse still didn’t feel like home after the wedding. You stood in the living room hand on your hips as you surveyed the pristine white walls.

“even the art is monochrome” You sigh. You swore you would go insane if you didn’t add some kind of color to the room. “Elizabeth? What do you think? Doesn’t it need some color, and maybe some shelves for you to climb?” you ask as the Persian cat sat to your left surveying your soon to be canvas. Stooping to scoop the blue eyed beauty from the floor you smiled. “let’s surprise daddy shall we? I’ll ask if we can paint and decorate tonight but you and I have to keep the details a secret okay?” the cat mewled softly and tapped your hand with one of her free paws making you giggle at her confirmation of your pact.

That night Jumin came home late and you couldn’t wait to see him. You were practically bouncing as your husband put away his coat, hiding the sly smile that graced his lips as he took extra time to straighten his coat in the entry way closet. You tried not to groan as he slowly begins to remove his shoes.

“darling I know what you’re doing and it’s not fa- “you begin to whine but he cuts you off swiftly with the kiss you had been waiting for.

“I’m sorry my love. I couldn’t help myself.” He admits running his fingers through your long hair. “have you eaten? Should we get dinner?”

“oh no I haven’t eaten yet but first I have something big to ask” you say pulling him gently into the living room “honey bunny do you mind if I paint that wall?” you point to the wall in question which had already been stripped of what little decorations it had had on it that morning.

“darling I’ve already told you. this is your home you may decorate however you want, paint all the walls if you want” he chuckled

“I don’t need to paint all the walls. Just that one” you announced proudly extricating yourself from his arms to stand facing the wall planning out your new project. “I’ll go shopping tomorrow for everything I need. Oh I was thinking of setting up something for Elizabeth too. If that’s okay”

“of course my love. Have I ever told how beautiful you look when your planning things?” he said hooking an arm around your waist and spinning you to face him.

You laughed at that “you may have mentioned it” Of course he had. He had told you, you were beautiful so often you could have sworn it was carved in your soul at this point and yet, hearing him say it always made your heart jump.

“good.” his simple answer was low and sure as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and bent to capture your lips in a gently commanding kiss. You couldn’t help the satisfied hum that rose in your throat as your arms found their way around his neck. When you both pulled away it was in a mutual contentedness. “I’ll call the chef to prepare dinner. Would you care for a glass of wine on the balcony while we wait?”

“sound lovely. You call I’ll get the glasses and wine then meet you out there.” He hummed in agreement already pulling out his phone.

 Over the next few days you gathered paints and shelving to start your project. You would need a lot of paint for everything you had planned, and something to hang while it was being worked on so that it could stay a surprise for your husband. Once the painting was started you struggled a bit keeping Elizabeth the third out of trouble. The kitty seemed so intrigued but all the blues and golds you had amassed she couldn’t keep her paws of it, so that task fell to you. Slowly but surely though the wall came together and then something struck you. You had to add something. Something personal. That night Jumin noticed the loss of one of your wedding photos in the bedroom but you assured him you only need a reference and it would certainly be returned soon.

“am I to assume the mural you’ve been working so hard on is nearly done then” he asked while drying your hair after you two had shared a relaxing bath.

“so close. I think you’ll like. I hope you’ll like it anyway. Elizabeth seems excited to play with her part at the very least” you chuckled to yourself.

“I’m sure I’ll adore it. After all it was painted by my very favorite artist.” He murmured grazing his lips against your neck making you shudder.

“Jumin,” you sighed as you felt his teeth scrap against the junction of your neck and shoulder “I think its time for bed darling” you just barely managed before he swept your feet from under you to carry you bridal style towards the bedroom.

“absolutely.” He growled as he continued to nip and suck at your neck.

It was done. After nearly two weeks of work it was done. You couldn’t wait to show Jumin and judging by the clock he should be home any minute. So you collected your paints and locked them away in the studio Jumin had set up for you. You were putting away the last of the navy blue when you heard the door open. You dropped everything and ran to your love.

“HONEY BUNNY” you cried as you leapt at him. He caught you in his arms easily his smile wide and genuine. “I finished it. come on” you said excitedly. You pulled him towards the living room but paused and spun on your heels to face him. “close your eyes. Cover them. I’ll lead you don’t worry” and so you did. Leading the blind CEO along by the hand with gentle instructions as you situated directly in front of the wall. “okay. Look” you whispered standing behind him so he could see all of it.

Silence. Such silence it made you nervous. His face was unreadable, even to you with all your practice and you were sure he hated it.

Your rendition of Van Gogh’s starry night adorned the wall with only one alteration. The silhouetted peak that originally sat in the left foreground had been swapped for the silhouette of you and Jumins Wedding photo. You had spent so many days focused on the life size silhouette perhaps it was too much. Normally your husband didn’t know the meaning of moderation but you could understand if he thought you had marred a classical masterpiece with your change. You supposed you could repaint it, if he hated it that much. Though you would have to remove the small climbing shelves you had put in the major swirls of the piece for Elizabeth to jump between.

Just then you felt Jumin spin you and Kiss you fiercely. “never has anyone ever been so perfect as you my love” he muttered against your lips stealing your breath as he kissed you again. Your head was spinning from the affection as he pulled you tight against himself. “I love you, and I love your work.”

“you had me worried, with all your silence you meanie” you chastised him playfully and resting your head on his shoulder. “so it’s okay”

“it’s perfect”

[aion-rsa]

Why The Great North Isn’t Just Another Bob’s Burgers

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It’s easy to take one look at FOX’s newest animated comedy, The Great North, and assume it’s exactly like the long running and beloved Bob’s Burgers. Two of The Great North’s creators wrote a good chunk of Bob’s Burgers episodes and the shows share a near-identical art style after all. At first glance some of the Bob’s Burgers character archetypes seem to be involved as well: awkward daughter, an odd sarcastic youngest child, and a loving, if somewhat offbeat, father.  So why bother with something like Bob’s Burgers when you could just watch Bob’s Burgers?

While there are a few surface similarities, by the end of the first episode of The Great North you’ll realize there’s so much more to it than just an Alaskan set version of the Belcher family. It’s got humor all its own, unique characters, and the potential to be something that isn’t merely a rival to Bob’s Burgers but a truly unique experience.

So let’s head up north to discover all the reasons why The Great North is so wonderful. As a brief primer, the show is set in Alaska and follows the Tobin family with fisherman dad Beef, artistic daughter Judy, loveably dumb son Ham, bear-suit wearing son Moon, oldest and eager to please son Wolf, his always chipper and new to Alaska fiancé Honeybee, and Judy’s best imaginary friend Alanis Morissette…played by Alanis Morssette.

The Family’s Lack of a Mom is Refreshingly Handled

A lack of a mom is a huge trope in animation at this point (look at damn near every ‘90s Disney movie) and if there is a mom, especially in a comedy, she tends to be wacky or overly loving. The Great North puts a new twist on both of these in its very first episode.

The plot of the premiere deals with Beef struggling to get over his ex-wife years after she abandoned the family. An ex-wife isn’t anything to write home about, a single dad taking care of a family is a comedy trope in of itself, but it’s what we learn about Beef’s ex that makes this element so refreshing.

Instead of the mom just not being present or having died off screen, Beef only acts like she’s dead, a fabrication everyone goes along with to keep him sane. When he isn’t around though Judy is quick to point out the rest of the family doesn’t buy this and they never liked her much anyway. She even flat out states,

“She was a really bad mom, okay? And it was actually better when she left.”

The other kids then list off horrible things she did, like name their dog Grandma solely so, “she wouldn’t be lying when she said we were with Grandma when people asked.” She runs a blog with her “new lover” about stores that wont chase you if you shoplift. Even in her goodbye letter to Ham she just wrote, “smell you later.”

I love this so much because it replaces all the easy sentimentality of a dead or simply absent mom that comedies love and instead opens up some fantastic new storytelling opportunities. In the pilot alone it gives us deep insight into Beef, that despite how awful she was he refuses to think anything but the best of her. Why is he like that? Is it his way of not thinking about all the terrible things she did? She’s left him so broken he has to concoct an elaborate fantasy to keep himself sane. It makes you instantly love the character and while he does seemingly get over this denial in the pilot I can foresee it impacting him for the rest of the series.

It’s also so refreshing because the kids aren’t all that broken up about it. Knowing their mom was terrible helps reflect a lot of what kids go through in real life. Sometimes they just have a bad parent and there’s no deep explanation of why, they just are and it’s not great. Maybe Judy and the others are hurt by this and I’d love to see the show tackle that in the future but even if it strictly keeps this part of their characters on the comedic side of things? It’s empowering. These kids aren’t broken up by their awful mom and want her back; they’re thriving BECAUSE she isn’t around. 

Nick Offerman Being Nick Offerman

Over the years Nick Offerman has perfected the deadpan and loveable character that brought him to fame in Parks and Recreation. His role as Beef isn’t a major departure from that mold but it does allow Offerman to be even warmer than his most famous character. 

As Beef he’s a capable man who gets up to see the sun rise and chop wood. He loves nature so much he steals a potted plant from a mall to take better care of it. His love for his family is on full display and he often goes to absurd lengths to keep them together. Offerman brings a great charm to the role and all of the jokes he delivers are winners. 

The Rural Location

Bob’s Burgers draws much inspiration from its city setting, while The Great North is set in rural Alaska. This may seem like a surface level change but once again opens up all kinds of new opportunities for stories and characters. Where the Belcher family was somewhat cynical to city life (you would be to with a landlord breathing down your neck) the Tobin family openly embraces the chilly north.

Judy sits out on the roof and talks with her imaginary best friend, Moon takes great pride in his ability to mimic a soon to be eaten cadaver laying out in the snow, and Beef specifically gets up every morning to stare in wild wonder at Alaska’s majesty while whispering “hot dog.” The whole family even delights in going to the mall, which is the kind of joy only someone living out in the middle of nowhere can truly appreciate.

The Different Character Dynamics

Even after eleven truly fantastic seasons Bob’s Burgers characters still manage to never feel stale and the team behind the show always finds new ways to play around with them. With such a rock solid cast of characters you’d think they could tackle any story imaginable but The Great North is already proving to be a home for stories that just wouldn’t work for Bob’s Burgers.

The most noticeable change is that most of the kids are older. Judy and Ham are both sixteen which opens up a lot of possibilities that couldn’t be done with the Belcher kids. They can get involved in more serious relationships, have jobs (as Judy gets in the first episode), and are able to be more autonomous from the family. Wolf, the oldest of all of them, is engaged! Imagine what could be done with a soon-to-be married couple? Honeybee herself also functions as a delighted fish out of water to Alaska, her thoughts on the Tobins’ life a needed commentary. Her outgoing personality also clashes well with Moon’s stoic nature.

Read more

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The 10 Best Bob’s Burgers Episodes

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Judy and Ham also share a more loving sibling dynamic than any of the Belcher kids ever have. In Bob’s Burgers the kids don’t wear their hearts on their sleeves, they’re more likely to make sarcastic quips about one other. The Great North though has Judy and Ham share a special bond, the two have a secret handshake that goes for an indeterminable amount of time. It’s really sweet and it makes me excited to see what kind of comedy can be mined from this more openly affectionate family.

Ham Is Gay And I Love Him

Ham is my favorite character so far in this show. He’s a little slow on the uptake but loves everyone in his family a lot and can even make a perfect replica of a cadaver… in the form of a cake. He also happens to be gay, a fact that is wonderfully confirmed in the first episode when he blurts out, “I AM GAY!

To which Moon responds, “we know. You’ve come out to us a bunch of times.”

Beef then adds, “we love you just the way you are, damn it!”

Ham, clearly not remembering his past comings-out, yells, “WELL, THANK YOU FOR BEING AN ALLY!”

It’s a great scene and kicks any subtext out the door. Queer audiences don’t have to sit around guessing who COULD be queer in the show (as they’re so often forced to do with so little representation in media) there’s a character who said OUT LOUD he’s gay. He’s one of us!

Bob’s Burgers has had several one-time gay characters (Bob did refer to himself as “mostly straight” once but that was more of a gag) but getting a gay teen in the main cast is sublime. He’s also a different sort of gay teen then we’re used to in television, with a tiny “probably thinks it’s cooler than it actually is” mustache and his “not quite all there” personality. He’s not a stereotype, he’s got some obvious flaws, but he’s loveable! Sure enough, his family loves him and accepts him.

Having a gay character in the cast opens up so many story possibilities. Are there any other gay kids in this rural town? What if there’s only one and he’s forced to date him? Does he know what kind of guys he likes yet? Where do the gay kids hang out in this town? 

It also must be reiterated that his family loves him and accepts him. While drama over coming out and acceptance is totally valid, I’m glad that Ham will get the chance to just be gay and his family will support him all the way. We can just see him happily (if somewhat absent-mindedly) live his life and that’s needed in a world with so little queer representation. As a pansexual man myself it’s heartwarming. I wish I had a character like Ham when I was growing up. 

Alanis Morissette Is A Main Character

Yes, Alanis Morissette is in The Great North (played by the actual Alanis Morissette) but in an absolutely perfect choice she’s not the REAL Alanis Morissette, she’s Judy’s best imaginary friend who just happens to be Alanis Morissette. Judy’s artistic so it makes sense she’d look up to someone as incredible as the Canadian musical genius. As an imaginary best friend she tends to serve as a sounding board for Judy’s thoughts and gives absolutely flawless advice.

Even better though? The imaginary Alanis Morissette also only appears in the Aurora Borealis. That’s… incredible. What a way to take advantage of the show’s location!

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

 The Great North is a delight. It’s only been two episodes (the third one premieres February 14 and the first two are available on Hulu) but it’s already shown a lot of promise. Not in the “oh it’ll get good eventually” sense but in the “no it’s already great and I want to see more of it!” Don’t think of it as another Bob’s Burgers, just think of it as its own wonderful moose-filled show (it’s Alaska, what did you expect) and you’ll have a fantastic time. Truly, in these dark times we could all use a little help from imaginary best friend Alanis Morissette.

The post Why The Great North Isn’t Just Another Bob’s Burgers appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[meew3]

In my experience, a-spec orientations are pretty inherently, invisible. Often the topic doesn’t come up unless you’re dating someone (though this doesn’t stop intrusive family members and such from pestering you about if you have a s/o yet) but even then if you keep your mouth closed it’s pretty easy to pass as cis het in a lot of cases. If you happen to be dating someone who appears to be the “opposite” gender (even though there’s really no such thing) as you, people will assume you’re straight. It’s called the invisible sexuality for a reason.

Often, I think this invisibility even extends to one’s own mind. It’s easy to forget it’s something about you because there’s so many interactions we as humans have that aren’t about romance and/or sex. It’s easy to forget until you find yourself being anywhere from put off of it to being downright infuriated by it whenever you see romance and/or sex whether it be in an IRL setting, in a book, TV show, play, song, movie, any other fiction, history, or other present day news. (Of course this isn’t meaning to say all ace and/or aro people feel this way or can’t gush and find couples cute and etc.) but still, it starts to seep into your mind that sex and romance is the ‘normal’.

Then you can start to want to want it.

Even though you know you don’t like romance and/or sex for yourself. You know it won’t make you happy. Yet you still want to fit in, to experience this thing that everyone seems to be in on but you, that’s ‘incomparable and apparently such an amazing feeling’. You can end up in a place where you keep wanting things that you aren’t even sure you want and then falling into despair when you can’t seem to be like that.

You can start hating yourself.

When all you want is to just fall into line with the norm, to experience things like everyone else, because it would just be simpler, you’d understand it all and feel these “universal” things, even though there are few of those in the world. Self-loathing from this can grow to a very damaging amount, even though it can be over something that most of the time can be easy to ignore.

And it can hella feel like you’re the only person that feels this way until you know how to look for other a-spec people--and even then, things can differ between people. You can easily start to think you’re crazy, that you’re making everything up. There’s nothing really mainstream to find to confirm you aren’t alone. It’s either in obscure parts of the internet that can only be found after googling things or a select few websites. Some books have started to pop up, albeit slowly. 

You shouldn’t have to go scouring specifically to find someone like yourself in some art/book/film/etc to check if you aren’t crazy, that this is a widespread thing, not a niche thing that you have to explain to someone nearly every time and possibly run the risk of having to defend if its “real” or not.

It can send you into a frenzy, feeling like you’re stuck on an island. Resentment easily breeds, and you can find yourself hating so many things you don’t want to hate, just because you’re sick of so much of it being forced into your face nearly all the time.

It can become easy for you to hate what’s around you, as well as yourself.

[chikkou]

I'd ask this on your Lisa sideblog but you don't have anon on and I'm shy lol, but do you have any headcanons relating to Lisa the First? Like Lisa's views on religion, her relationship with her mother, if any of the various worlds we see mean anything?

hoh man i didnt even know anon wasnt on LMAO... ill turn it on after i post this!

also fuck YEAH i do holy shit i fucking LOVE lisa the first!! i know its sort of the black sheep of the lisa series, since it is a completely different type of game and was clearly austins first game, but i fucking ADORE it dude. the music - which he made ENTIRELY IN THE FREE TRIAL OF FL STUDIO BY THE WAY - is FANTASTIC, the art direction is actually pretty fucking incredible for an rpgmaker game that uses a good deal of basic assets, and the gameplay.... ok yeah that part is a bit lacking but its a yume nikki-style game be nice it was his first time LMAO

ANYWAY back to ur question. first and foremost, i think this is not even a headcanon so much as straight up canon, but lisa DESPISES christianity. marty is christian, probably catholic given the golden crosses everywhere, and he is a fucking scumbag hypocrite. lisa likely associates all of christianity with this line of thinking, as there is one room in the bile area where the melted martys (although i suppose we can just call them joy mutants now LMAO) simply stand in a circle surrounding one big cross. the role of the melted martys is up for interpretation of course, as is everything, but after playing the painful and seeing them described as “mindless sheep,” i think this is how lisa viewed them. so they likely represent other people that, to lisa, are probably just as sick and disgusting as marty

lisas relationship with her mother... i go back and forth on this one a lot. i can never decide if i prefer the headcanon that lisas mom died in childbirth, and so lisa never met her, or if i prefer that lisas mom was around for a very short time and then either left or died. the fact that she says “i didnt want to leave” at the end of the first leads me to believe that she most likely died. in either case, the memory of her mother was clearly important to lisa, as she wears her pendant through the entire game and its explicitly noted as being a gift from her. in either case, i think that the death/absence of the mother is heavily implied to be the primary cause behind martys descent into alcoholism and lisas abuse, since the white room strongly implies that marty did at one time sincerely love and care for her as a father properly should 

as for the meaning of each of the rooms, i think most of them are fairly self explanatory, but some of them are a bit more vague, so ill break it down in terms of how i see it (and ill put them under the cut because its long as hell):

martys house - this is the most literal one. pretty self-explanatory. the dark, yet vibrant colors and the ear-bleedingly loud tv are pure sensory overload, something lisa probably deals with on a regular basis. when lisa goes outside and it turns into a sky of marty faces, i think this is the transition into the psychological part of the game

the lobby - this is honestly just pure yume nikki ripoff LMAO... but if i had to ascribe a symbolic meaning to it, i think its probably a quiet and safe area for lisa to retreat to in her mind when she needs it, but even that eventually gets sullied as tricky rick makes his way there, too (and tells her hes “just waiting” when she talks to him). the majority of gameplay is lisa searching for items with which to kill tricky rick, who always abuses and disparages her whenever she talks to him, telling her she’ll never forget. as for the reason why... well, take one look at him and its pretty clear whats going on there. (the name is also a reference to richard nixon, whose nickname was... well, you can figure it out!)

the town - the bar area is 100% my favorite from this world; lisa clearly hates alcohol and anyone who drinks it, associating them all with marty, and that music... all i can say is YUCK. the entire section also consists of lisa having to give up something in exchange for what she needs to move on, and usually getting the raw end of the deal out of it (she gives one marty a banana, he gives her a banana peel in return). she does all that while avoiding a marty following her outside who repeatedly tells her “you cant escape,” and upon reaching tricky rick (who is atop a narrow, columnar, PINK mountain), it becomes pretty clear whats happening to her. 

the sea room - fucking marty spiders man. im assuming they represent the sickly feeling of crawling skin she gets when she looks at him or is anywhere near him, but holy GOD they are annoying to deal with. she kills tricky rick with pills here - we dont know what kind of pills these are, but i interpret them as sleeping pills, and given the rumbling music and the rapid cycling marty background, i wonder if he forced her to take these. marty is everywhere here, but the only one she can speak to is seen chilling on a raft of some kind. marty likely spent much of his time recreationally, i.e. drinking, so it makes sense why this would be here

the rope room - theres no symbolism here this is just pure comedy (LMAO). if i HAD to assign some meaning to this area, it would be that lisa likely is so despondent at this point that putting in effort to do anything feels utterly pointless, much like climbing this long-ass rope was

the white room - as i mentioned earlier, i personally believe that this area depicts the previous relationship between marty and lisa (and also has one of my favorite songs in the game). he is shown doing traditional fatherly things - he is no longer wearing sunglasses and is wearing a suit, meaning he was likely employed, and is actually smiling. he also spends time with her in a completely platonic, familial way. when she interacts with him, there is a little heart over his head. after lisa walks through the golden statues (which will reappear later), the entire world becomes filled with bile, and martys appearance returns to that of the other martys, but with an extremely warped, grotesque face. the item she needs in this area to kill tricky rick is found between two golden crosses.

notice that all of the items she kills tricky rick with - a razor, pills, and now a plastic bag - are things that a child could plausibly get their hands on; none of them are explicitly weapons. i think this shows both her age and how often she must have considered using those things against him. 

the bile room - probably my favorite area in the game, and also features what i consider the quintessential lisa song. this area really drives home lisas disgust with marty and with christianity as a whole - it almost certainly has the highest concentration of crosses, and it is also quite literally covered in wall-to-wall bile, dirty water, and disgusting houses. a lot of the most graphic sights, like the melting martys and the pond martys (no idea what to call them LMAO) are here, so i think this is pretty much the lowest circle of hell for lisa. marty gives lisa a freshly cut finger in exchange for a napkin here; im not necessarily sure what that represents, but i think the napkin was used by marty to masturbate (as he says “i needed that” after he takes it), so perhaps the finger is martys?

lisa kills tricky rick here in a cave that is not-so-subtly shaped like a penis, and gets a vhs tape in which he pretty explicitly states what is going on in the game; he even pretends like he doesnt know who lisa is at first, which somehow makes it even more disgusting. the fact that vhs tapes play a role here sort of makes me wonder if marty really WAS filming some of what he was doing, and given that lisa the joyful confirms that brad was forced to somehow participate in lisas abuse, that is.... horrific to think about, honestly

the marty tape - this tape just has the player (as marty) walk up to lisa and suited marty, who are having a tea party with a plastic tea set. they both get hearts over their heads if you talk to them. i think this drives home that he and lisa did once have a normal relationship, and perhaps theres some part of marty who misses that? theres a LOT of ways you can interpret this; having the player become marty really calls a lot into question.

the mansion - the room leading here has a marty staring directly at the player who informs lisa that she needs a sword to progress. unsubtly, the sword must be placed into the crotch of a womans statue. the mansion inside is beautiful and ornate, and easily the most gorgeous area in the game - and it all leads to what appears to be a proto-joy mutant marty, sort of looking like jabba the hutt. i dont doubt that this is intentional, given that jabba the hutt is associated with slave leia, and its not at all a far leap to call lisa martys slave. the golden statues of women, as well as many golden crosses, are everywhere in this area. its actually quite a large space with a lot of thought put into it, so im really upset that i cant figure out more of what it represents LMAO

the final area - lisa seems to go back to her actual house, but upon leaving her room and entering whether the living room would be, the whole area changes. she encounters herself in a blood red room, but when she talks to the other lisa, she turns into marty. i think this represents a clear question - who is lisa without him? IS she anyone? or is she just a vessel for him to do with what he pleases? she encounters a naked marty telling her to give up shortly after, and flees from him, but is followed by voices repeatedly telling her that she must accept her fate. i think this clearly show the mental state of lisas last days. she was tormented, eternally. she truly felt there was no escape from marty. even the background becomes nothing but martys face, over and over again, as the end screen flashes.

at the end text, she finds a video tape, and in the tape sees someone who is ostensibly her mother from behind. she apologizes for not being there for her, but when that figure turns out, its martys face that she sees. the sky turns into marty. the music becomes corrupted and overrun with pretty fucked up laughter. she tries to run, but marty is already everywhere. theres nowhere for her to run. and then the game is over.

note that the video tape comes AFTER the games end screen, which stops not long after the appearance of the naked marty. so i personally believe that the “game over” represents her deciding to take her own life, rather than just give up and accept her fate. by running from him into the blackness, she got away from marty the only way she could have. it is sad and horrible, but that is honestly the best ending that she could have gotten in this game.

the first is definitely not as good as the painful in terms of gameplay, that much i can agree on, but i really think people miss out on a lot by not playing it. i think its really crucial to see lisas life from her own perspective before you can see it from brads - after all, brad may have known more than anyone else about what was going on, but he did not experience it like lisa did. for brad, lisa is a symbol of his own regrets and failures, but lisa was a PERSON (well, in-universe anyway LMAO). she suffered on her own, with pretty much no one to help her, and then she suffered so much that she couldnt take another second of it. 

[athenaquinn]

Strong Hand || Frank & Athena

TIMING: Present  LOCATION: Soul on the Rocks  PARTIES: @frankmulloy and @athenaquinn SUMMARY: A fae and a hunter walk into a bar... and then there’s Hughie.

Frank heard the reactions, born from her entrance alone, before he even saw her. Now that he looked up it was clear from his usual view from the bar that within the dim-lit picture that spanned out in front of him, something did not belong. A head of long yellow hair, to be specific. One, she was young. Two, she looked much too clean, too put together, to properly belong in the typical crowd that Soul attracted. Of course, that wasn’t to say that they didn’t take a liking to her. Frank watched as quiet fascination graduated to bold introductions; offers to buy her a drink, or bum her a smoke. Creepy-Joe remained stationary in his usual corner, watching but doing little else otherwise. Nothing offensive enough to warrant intervention so Frank returned his attention to the tasks at hand, cleaning and filling drink orders, all while keeping his attention outward for anything unseemly--or at least, by Soul’s standards. He didn’t notice how long time had passed or how long the girl had been sitting at the bar before she had flagged his attention. She was close enough for him to get a good look at her now and his suspicions were confirmed: much too young. Frank threw his towel over his shoulder, the usual distance of 6 feet maintained, “you got an ID for that order?”

She wasn’t stupid. Athena knew full-well that Soul on the Rocks was not her crowd. She’d lived in town all her life - which was certainly long enough and knew that of all the places to sneak into, that was usually the last on her list. The Bullet was where she preferred, and even though many of the people there had known her since she was a child they were alright with turning a blind eye and letting her order a proper drink. Sometimes, at least. However, she also knew that she was stubborn and that meant taking her fake ID and borrowing a leather jacket from one of the girls in her sorority and driving over to the bar. Part of her regretted the decision the second she opened the door and she felt all eyes on her - and though she loved attention, this was not exactly in the way that she typically preferred. Especially since most people in the bar were well-over the age of twenty-one and even over twenty-five or six. However, Athena was not one to back down from any challenge and so she tossed her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at the offers to drink or smoke. “You know smoking kills you, right?” She bit back at one man. Before she could register his response, she felt her body tense up. Fae. There was a fae here and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly who the fae was just yet because there were far too many people backed into the bar. Taking in a deep breath, she made her way over to the counter. There was only one man behind the bar and she felt her skin crawl. Which meant he had to be the fae. Or at the very least she was in closer proximity to whoever the fae was. She pressed her palms against her thighs for a moment, grounding herself before she responded. “I do.” She flashed him a smile. Athena found that she regretted choosing a thin layer of lipgloss over the darker lipstick that Julia had offered her. She knew that she looked young, but usually a little flirting with a bartender made them forget that. Not yet willing to hand over her ID, she twirled her hair around her fingertips and leaned onto the countertop. Her skin was crawling, but she wasn’t going to give in. She was stronger than that. “I am admittedly newly twenty-one. Well, newly as in a few months ago.” She could feel the eyes of some of the other patrons on her. “Do you really need to see my ID? What’s the harm in a little trust?”

Frank recognised the lip-glossed smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes but if you tried hard enough you might be able to convince yourself that it did, artful twirling of her finger around her hair, the honey sweet tone that coated every word that came out of her mouth. Jake would have melted. Perhaps Frank would have too had he been younger, known less about what he was, what he could do. Before he had his good nature beaten out of him, not that there was any evidence on his skin as proof to the claim. The proof was ingrained in muscle memory and instinct, which manifested outwardly in carefully trained behaviour; like keeping his distance, and his hands, to himself—along with drinking himself into stupor in the hopes that it might dull the effect of any…influence that might have slipped past his guard. Which happened a lot more often than he liked to admit.

As she smiled up at him and Frank…well, his face was smoothed of any emotion to assume one of patient indifference. He was older now...and he wasn’t Jake. “Sure you are.” His arms were crossed over his chest, his finger tapping patiently against his side. While he might have let slide the little game she thought she was playing if they were at the Perfect Pint, the fact was, they weren’t. While it was of no fault of her own, Frank was also not oblivious to the eyes she attracted. “Look at where you are kid, you think this the sort of place that breeds trust?” He had half a mind to send her home now, though experience warned that- that was a sure road to a bad ending, one way or another. Then again, what did it matter? She wasn’t his responsibility, what the fuck did he care? He shouldn’t care about Ariana either but alas—he did care, and he cared now. Fuck. “Look, if you ain’t got an ID, I’m gonna send you home. Next time get a fake one or something.”

She noticed him watching her. Not that it was hard, being in such close proximity, but she felt uncomfortable regardless. Uncomfortable but necessary. Athena knew that she couldn’t very well kill this fae in the middle of a bar - though if there were a bar to do it, Soul on the Rocks seemed like just the place. Unfortunately, as unresponsive as he was to her hair-twirling, a man just down the bar was not - and he had to be at least in his late thirties. Athena rolled her eyes, adjusting her position - learning her arms further onto the bar, chin resting in the palm of her hand. She knew that she was attractive, and although the last thing she wanted was for a fae to be attracted to her (though how wonderful of an advantage would that be - what a way to get them all alone), if it got her something she needed, she could deal with it. It only further proved that she was good at masking her identity.

“I am.” She said, voice even. Her eyes narrowed at the kid remark, “well, I don't know, but can’t you just trust anyone?” Athena fought away the urge to smirk, instead letting her eyes grow wide. She was good enough at people watching to fake naïvety when the situation called for it. To fall into who she might have been if she and her brother shared more personality traits. “I do have an ID.” She slid it out of her wallet, handing it over to him. Joan Parrish, it read - not a total lie, though far from her real name - after all, she couldn’t have her parents getting in trouble, as they were upstanding members of the community. “Told you.” She tapped her nails on the countertop. “So, do I get a drink for free? I heard that sometimes if you’re lucky, that happens. I’ve already been offered that from other people here!” She could feel the cold iron of one of her knives against her hip, but she couldn’t use it. Not now. She could consider this a recon mission of some sort.

Frank answered her question with silence and a pointed look, his brows raised, as if the answer to the question seemed obvious enough that it needed no response. The word trusting and Frank could not be further opposites, anyone who knew him knew this, and even those who didn’t learned very quickly. He waited, watched, for the younger woman to produce her ID. When she does, he doesn’t take it from her hand, but waits until she puts it on the bar top. Joan Parrish. It was her face on the small card, and the date of birth proved that she was of age—if one was in the habit of trusting everything they read. Frank was not. Even if it didn’t, he seldom poured any great effort into inspecting anyone’s IDs, it was just a matter of doing his due diligence. Still doubtful of its authenticity, he returned the ID anyway (returning it to the bar top before stepping away for her retrieval). Her apparent confidence prompted an amused grin to crack over his lips, a chuckle building first in the depth of his chest which then formed the beginning of his words, “that might have worked on Jake kiddo, but I ain’t Jake. So I guess that means you ain’t so lucky tonight. Think about what you can afford and then get back to me, yeah?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, a particularly eager patron broke through the throng and claimed an empty seat at the bar. He’ll pay for whatever the little lady wants, he said and he smiled and he turned that smile to her, and then Frank wasn’t smiling anymore. “Fuck off Jerry,” the word sliced through the noise and he said them without hesitation. “If you think she’s gonna go anywhere with you, you’ve got another thing coming, so walk on.” The man—Jerry’s mouth opened as the beginning of a retort was forming, Frank turned his gaze on him again, and wisely, he thought better of it and slinked off. Frank’s height and general aloofness afforded him an influence that was untouched by any sort of supernatural advantage, this served him tremendously in a place like Soul, while it didn’t help him back any friends he’s convinced himself that he liked that just fine. He turned back to the younger woman, Joan Parrish, a little apologetic, he did just rob her of a free drink. “I mean, do whatever the fuck you want. You can call him back if you really want that drink, he’ll be more than happy to come back if he thinks he’s got a shot.”

Athena watched the man inspect her ID. The rumors that she’d heard about Soul on The Rocks tended to imply that she wouldn’t be asked for her ID, but considering she’d accidentally walked into a place of employment of a fae, she figured that luck was not especially on her side tonight. “I don’t know who Jake is,” she responded, giving a shrug. “This is my first time here.” First and last, probably. Though she wanted to find out more about the man - find out as much as she could. Even though she knew her parents would frown upon her being in the bar, if she could learn more about the fae, then perhaps all would be forgiven. That was, if they ever even found out what she was up to. She hid very little from them, which meant that they very rarely suspected that she did anything but what exactly she told them.

However, as another man came over and began offering to buy her a drink, looking her up and down, she twisted her lips into something of a half-frown. Even if he wasn’t way older than her, he was entirely not her type. This might have been a mistake, Athena was starting to realize. Continuing to realize, if she were more willing to be honest with herself. If nothing else, the dim lighting and completely not her style music were signs that she probably shouldn’t have even bothered coming.  He was defending her? The thought practically made Athena’s blood boil. She didn’t need defending, particularly not from a fae, but a small part of her figured that in any other scenario, she would be at least a bit grateful. It just had to be a fae, didn’t it? “Are you kidding me?” She practically spat. “No way ever. I do in fact have a solid head on my shoulders, and that means I don’t go off with strange men.” She was always deeply fascinated at how unaware fae could be when it came to who she was. Not that it was something she’d ever dare complain about, but it amused her all the same. “I think I’d like a hard cider though, and I can pay.”

“Clearly.” He said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, closed lipped and crooked, but still with its soft edge. Despite what his appearance, and his general demeanour even, might suggest, Frank was never very good at playing condescending or deceitful. Everything about him was always painfully honest. He was private, and liked his privacy, but was always truthful. Some might suggest the latter was the unfortunate side effect of his supernatural inheritance, but that was all Frank. While anyone’s introduction to Soul was a source of amusement, especially someone inexperienced with the bar’s particular crowd, a quiet wariness always hummed beneath the surface, ready to spring to action at a moment’s notice. “Ah—yeah, don’t worry about Jake. If you’re lucky you won’t have to know him.”

The cute coy-school-girl routine dropped for a moment, and the little tiger showed her teeth. A consequence of instinct and character rather than anything so superficial. People were always infinitely more interesting than the mask they put on for others. He wasn’t sure if she thought her little flirting game would work on him—and then he wondered whether he should be more concerned if he gave her an impression that it would—but if she failed to catch his attention before, she’s certainly got it now. “Kudos to you kid. You might actually survive this shit hole.” He said as he reached for the glass and began filling it with the question. Of course it’s a fucking cider. Soul wasn’t exactly known for its extensive cider collection, most opted for any option that got them the most drunk at the lowest cost. Cider was not exactly the bar’s drink of choice. “Your hard cider, Joan Parrish.” With the practice of one who’s done it a hundred times before, Frank slid the cider across the bar, the glass coming to stop at her hand with a gentle tap. His distance rule strictly obeyed. Ducking his head into the kitchen, Frank called to one of the workers there, one hand already in his jacket pocket to produce a little white box of cigarettes as he called for someone to get their ass out here while he takes his fucking smoke break. To Joan, he said, “you can pay Hughie for that cider, Joan Parrish.” To Hughie, he said, “Joan Parrish still needs to pay for her cider,” and added in a hushed tone, “and do me a favour, keep the creeps away from her please?” And then he was out the back door, a lone cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Not that obvious, mister.” Athena wanted to bristle. Did, internally at least. If he was so damn keen on calling her kid then she’d fire right back. That was all she could do, right now. She wondered for a moment if there were any hunters in the bar. “Why, is he so much more boring than you are?” There was a giggle that followed her words, one that was likely too light and airy - more carefree than she usually found herself. One that drew a few more eyes as she finally resorted to covering her lips with a hand, refocusing back on the man. Apparently, acting overly calm and eager could do something of a wonder to stop her skin from completely crawling, though a certain part of her wanted to pull at it, just as she did whenever there were fae around, and particularly the ones who looked human.

“Trust me, I’m good at surviving a whole lot of things.” He seemed clueless enough to what she really was that she doubted that he’d take that remark as anything beyond a perhaps overly-confident co-ed, and that worked just fine for her. She wasn’t afraid to bite back if some creep thought they had half a chance with her. Athena had to admit she was a bit impressed the bar had a cider - though she knew it was a decently popular drink, this bar seemed far more the type of place to just have mediocre beer - though she supposed the same could be said about any number of the frat parties she went to. She caught the glass easily, curiosity piqued at the fact that he was staying away from her, potentially from any possible contact. She filed that away in her mind for later examination, for later when she was away from the bar that was practically buzzing. With a certain energy that she found herself equally repulsed and intrigued by. Incredibly unlike the life she was usually a part of, and for a moment she found herself feeling naïve - at least to a certain level. I wonder if that’s what my brother feels like all the time, Athena pondered for a moment before looking back over to the man, who was now leaving. “You’ll be back, won’t you?” She called out, before focusing on whoever else the fae had sent to babysit her. “How much do I owe you?” She asked Hughie, looking him up and down before pulling out her wallet and pulling out a twenty. “This should be enough, right? When’s my friend coming back over? Can’t believe he left right in the middle of our conversation.” A small pout formed on her lips. “So, Hughie? Name or nickname?” She took a sip of her drink, not quite focusing on him, but instead on the direction where the other man had gone, as if daring him to come back.

Mister. Frank noted a hint of derision that was lent to the word, a childish retort that was probably meant to rebel against the label he had given her. It was precisely something a kid would do, and it prompted a faint smile to curve at the edge of his lips. Then she giggled, and it was an uncommon enough sound that it attracted even more curious glances, thirsting for the pretty young flesh that had so generously presented herself to them at the bar. This time however, the boldness stopped at the glances; no one seemed particularly interested in following in Jerry’s misguided footsteps, or at least as long as Frank was still working the bar. So business went on as usual, at least for now. “Nothing stopping you from finding different company,” he raised his eyebrow in a kind of challenge, leaned forward just slightly, while still keeping respect to his six feet rule, “let’s just say, you giggle enough times and you can probably get as many free drinks as you want outta him.” That alone, Frank thought, spoke volumes about his particular…character. There was a reason Frank and Jake didn’t get along. Although Frank’s insistence that he was a slimey asshole (usually to his face) probably burned any bridges they had for reconciliation, which suited him just fine.

“Are you now?” There was something about Joan Parrish that Frank had come to enjoy—almost endear. Or the very least, found to be a source of light amusement. A certain battle-hardened naivety about her that appealed. No normal person was so quick to declare that they have survived things, and it spoke to something that she did. An unknown history that Frank was not privy to, and was still debating on whether he cared enough to want to be. Or maybe she was just a kid who said things she didn’t mean. Either way, that was a little note he tucked away, to be revisited later. She was drawn to him, for whatever reason, that much was obvious, or she wouldn’t have called out to him. He was suddenly very self-conscious of his abilities, one that seemed to operate of its own volition, sometimes even without him knowing. He spared a glance back at her but didn’t answer, and found himself that much more eager to get out and get himself back together. “He’ll be back,” Hughie answered for him, “he takes a lot of those…his smoke breaks. But he works harder than anyone here, and closes up after everyone and throws the assholes out, so the boss lets him.” He was not as tall as Frank, and was a skinny looking thing that could have a few years over Joan, but was definitely younger than Frank. Not a fae, but charming enough to be, certainly a lot more forthcoming than Frank was. He took the money from her and busies himself with getting her change, “plenty, thanks—and no, Frank hasn’t got any friends. I don’t know if you’ve met the man but he doesn’t exactly scream friendly. And god forbid he comes within a mile of you, literally. The day that man actually hands you a drink, will be the day hell freezes over. Oh, name’s Hugh, but everyone calls me Hughie which I think sounds a lot more…” His eyes look between the girl and the door, and then he laughs, “that son of a bitch. A little old for you isn’t he?”

She could feel the eyes on her and she shrugged it off. Even if they tried something, and something about the fae behind the bar seemed to be keeping them away, but even if they tried something Athena had no qualms dealing with them on her own terms. If anyone asked, it was easy enough to say that she’d trained at her mother’s gym - or rather, Linda Quinn’s, since she wasn’t Athena, not right now. Soon enough she wouldn’t need the fake, but it was working overtime to her advantage right now. Both for getting her into the bar and for keeping her proper identity secret from the fae behind the bar - though her face would remain the same - but if it came to that - when it inevitably did, unless someone else got to it first - it wouldn’t matter. “Mm,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder before she refocused back on him, watching as he leaned just slightly closer to her. “Well, he seems like a skeevy kind of guy, then, though I appreciate the tip.” Her lips curved up into a smirk. “Good to know how to get free drinks if I feel a need for it.” She adjusted the jacket, a sudden chill rolling through her body, though she couldn’t tell if it was due to someone opening the door or the continued presence of a fae so very close to her.

“I am.” She replied. He didn’t reply much beyond that, didn’t ask probing questions that could have so easily come along with it. That sometimes did, if she happened to off-handedly mention it to anyone else. Which she usually didn’t, or followed it up with how tiring being pre-med was - which wasn’t a total lie. It just wasn’t as tricky to figure out as some of the creatures she’d studied. Studied and dealt with, though Athena didn’t find any of that too difficult in the end, either. She gave a small huff at his utter lack of response, but allowed herself to refocus on Hughie who was, thankfully, not fae. She let her gaze flick up and down, taking him in, letting a smile settle on her lips once again. “Well, hard work should be rewarded.” Athena had half a mind to follow him outside, because then they would be all alone - but it was too obvious, too easy to point to her, and besides, Hughie seemed certainly more willing to talk to her. She pocketed the change, not looking back behind her again - any of the other creeps in the bar were at least maintaining their distance, whatever else they were doing mattered little to her. Inconsequential, in the end. “Well,” she began, biting her lip in false shyness once again, “his tricks are something.” He didn’t like to touch people. Her mind was spinning, narrowing down to what he might be. Of course, there was always the chance of being an overly-cautious fae, but she also knew there were certain ones for whom touch played a role. “Hughie’s a nice nickname. I -” she couldn’t fight back another laugh of her own, still light and carefree, at his next remark. “Oh him?” Tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, she weighed her options. “I mean, I guess? He seems to care so much though, and what’s not appealing about that? He is old though. Well, comparatively speaking.” She permitted her gaze to focus on the door for a few moments more - a few moments beyond what might have been typical, before refocusing on Hughie. “Nice of you to stick around and keep me company though, I do appreciate that.”

A light blush coloured his cheeks, but he never shied away from flattery. Hughie blossomed under praise and kind words, a stark contrast to his co-worker who bristled at them, and guarded himself against them with a defensive word or cold silence. A sure way to sever any ties before it had even a chance to form. That was Frank. Hughie threw his head back and laughed, and if the word honest could be attributed to any laugh, it would be his. There was nothing derisive or sarcastic, not even a waver that might suggest jealousy. “Trust me Joan, you would not be the first, or the last person, to think that—or the first or the last to try. That is if you’re into the whole tall, quiet, mysterious and stupidly good looking types.” A stroke of luck with his god-given genes, some might say. Though ‘lucky’ was not the word Frank would use, and despite being raised Catholic, Frank didn’t believe in God. “Although to his credit, I think he does care, like genuinely. He looks out for people, he breaks up fights—well, I say ‘break up fights’, but he mostly just gets his ass handed to him. And then he goes and pays for their cab so they can get home. I mean Frank can be an ass, but it’s hard to hate the guy.” Hughie noted once more her wandering gaze back to the door, for a split second too long, and a hint of pity was found in the smile that now shaped his lips. “He is old—comparatively speaking. Although I should probably also tell you that he hasn’t shown any interest in anyone. Not once, not as long as I’ve worked with him anyway.” When her focus shifted back to Hughie, he was all mush in her hands. His grin was all teeth, both stupidly sincere and shamelessly pleased. “I think you’re real sweet, Joan. I mean it’s not exactly saying much considering the types we get in here, but you’re a lot nicer to look at for sure.”

Hughie wasn’t the only one to think so. The bold gazes found new courage in Frank’s absence, and more of them were suddenly very keen for a drink at the bar, and their generosity extended to the young woman that was already there. “Come on man, she’s minding her business, leave her alone.” His warnings and protests were silent to ears that considered rejection a challenge. Hughie was kind, and to those whose language was aggression and violence, his kindness was taken as harmless. Frank was not harmless, and his return was marked with a brusque, “fuck off Jerry,” as he grabbed a towel from under the bar and threw it over his shoulder: smoke break was over. “I’ll call a fucking cab next, I won’t ask again.” Hughie, visibly relaxed by Frank’s return, dipped his head to whisper something conspiratorial to Joan, a barely concealed laugh colouring his every word, “calling them a cab is Frank’s way of a threat.” Frank, who’d heard the hushed exchange, did not find it equally amusing. “Fuck off Hughie.” If you knew him just enough, which Hughie did, you could hear a ‘thanks’ in there.

There was something certainly satisfying about knowing that she could get a reaction out of the other bartender. Athena settled into a comfortable smile again, letting her hair fall over her shoulders as her fingertips tapped against the cider glass. “Try?” She said, tilting her head. She supposed it was comforting - to a degree - that her recon was easily dismissed as a childish crush. She wondered about Hughie - wondered if he felt secondary to the other man - the one who was, apparently stupidly good looking. “Maybe I am, who knows, really?” She let one finger tract the divots on the counter stop, making eye contact with Hughie as she did so. Though she had no interest of a romantic sort in either of the bartenders, a little extra attention to the one that was quite possibly ignored for favor of a fae who could trick and manipulate those around time couldn’t hurt. Besides, there was something incredibly endearing about him. Hard to hate unless you know what he is. She shrugged. “He seems real noble, huh? Besides, I’m not that young, but I understand your point. It’s all comparative, hmm?” Hughie turned back to her and he had a similar look on his face to many of the freshman boys who she sometimes saw around campus. “I think I might be terribly offended if you thought I wasn’t nicer to look at.”

She made a face at the other men who had decided that now was the time to return to the bar. Well, the rumors about this place certainly hadn’t been exaggerated. It was sweet that Hughie was doing his best to fend them off, though Athena had half a mind to turn around and deck one of them herself. Particularly that Jerry character. Turned out that she didn’t have to, given that she felt her skin crawl again before she saw him, and watched Jerry slink away, another laugh - though a bit more biting this time - escaped her lips. She turned to Hughie, running her tongue over her teeth and raising an eyebrow at his words. “Well, hey, at least it means the general public doesn’t have to deal with them.” Athena settled back, offering a shrug. “He’s just helping me, and since his name isn’t Jake I figured it’s safe, isn’t it?” She winked at Hughie before taking another sip of her cider. “You know cigarettes can kill you, right?” A repeated remark that she’d given to one of the patrons, earlier. This time however, there was a hint of amusement that would suggest a certain playfulness. Not that I’d mind, even if you have kept these creeps away. “Will you drink with me, at least?” Her gaze flickered over to Hughie. “Either of you.”

Hughie answered her with a pursed lip and a pensive expression. He didn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve, Hughie was all heart. He had enough heart in him to give to every pretty smile and every kind word he received, and he gifted them freely and in earnest. And he needn’t bribe anyone with promises of free drinks to convince them he was charming, he just was. Perhaps it was this charm or his naivety or a combination of both that had endeared him to Frank. With the knowledge of the world that existed beneath Hughie’s mundane one and the creatures that lived within it (creatures like him), the latter had warned him of his habit, though Hughie never took much notice of it. That was just Frank being Frank, he thought and Frank’s warning had been abandoned long before Joan smiled at him. “Noble is a strong word. I mean, the guy’s still an asshole.” He grinned, and did not mind saying it aloud considering how often he’d said it to Frank’s face. Frank just grunted, which means it must be true. And it was. “Don’t be. You look very nice.”

His hand operated entirely on its own accord as Frank made drinks that he’s done a hundred times before, for patrons he’s seen just as frequently. He was still technically on the clock, and Joan wasn’t the only one at the bar. Even as his hands worked, his mind was elsewhere, he spared a glance, and an ear, at the two as they laughed to themselves (“Ew—yeah, Jake is his own brand of asshole. Definitely do not get free drinks from him,” Hughie chimed). He recognised instantly that wretched hand of envy as she grabbed his inside and twisted it, giving rise to the ugly feeling. He envied their distance, the literal closeness as Hughie lent over the bar to reach her ear. He envied that they can joke and Hughie could be charming and pleasant and have his company be enjoyed and know with complete certainty that the reciprocated amiability was a result of him, because what else could it be? The simple, magnificent, connection between two people. Truth was, Frank was all heart too, he was just always too afraid to use it. For good reason. He answered her words with a raised brow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth; this was not the first time he’s heard this. Judging by her tone, it was not the first time she’s said it. “It can try,” he said, and it was casual enough to be taken as a joke, though the downward turn of Hughie’s lips showed that only Frank thought it was funny. That was because Hughie didn’t know that cancers don’t kill Gancanaghs, though Frank certainly smoked enough to test that theory. “I don’t drink on the job.” Frank said, just as Hughie answered, “yeah, sure!” He turned to Frank, eyes silently begged for permission, and Frank hadn’t the heart to say no. Oh what the fuck. “You are paying for every fucking glass Hughie.” As if the kid had the tolerance to go for more than a couple of pints. “No one hears of this, or you’ll hear from me.”

“Eh, still seems noble to me.” Athena grinned. “I mean, I don’t think it’s best if I say anything about the second part, because he’s been nothing but more than civil to me.” She could comment, if she wished, about the fact that he wasn’t human, that his niceties could easily be a front to whoever he really was - but perhaps that was another discussion for another time. If she ever got Hughie alone, to poke and wonder just what he knew, though she knew that she’d have to be delicate in her questioning, given how entirely oblivious the vast majority of the town was. It meant she’d have to find some way to see him again that didn’t involve coming to a creepy bar that smelled far too much of tobacco. “Well, if you say so, I’ll acquiesce, I suppose I do look good and a compliment from you is better than the others out there.”

Athena kept her gaze trained halfway on Frank even as Hughie whispered in her ear. If he was one of the species that she figured he might be, she had half a mind to say that she was safe, that he couldn’t harm her. But instead she bit her lip, gaze torn between the two of them. “I’ve got no plans to get any drinks or talk with Jake, don’t you worry - but it is sweet of you to look out for me.” It was part of a game, because people usually based their opinions on how someone looked, and she knew that she didn’t exactly look tough. She let her grin turn open-mouthed, running her tongue along the bottoms of her teeth. “Well, it can, and I could tell you about the damage it does to your insides, but maybe that’s not proper bartop conversation, hmm?” Raising an eyebrow, she shrugged at Frank’s refusal to drink. She hadn’t expected either of them to agree, but she supposed that she ought to not have been very surprised when Hughie was jumping to agree. He reminded her a bit of a puppy dog, in a way that she did admittedly find a bit charming. Maybe the factor of comparison played a role, too - what with being compared with a literal fae and a much of thirty and forty-somethings who remained far too eager to steal glances at her, though a good number of them were at least somewhat ignoring her now that she was focused in on the two bartenders.  Athena took another careful sip of her cider, the playful and somewhat coy grin from earlier returned. “What will you be drinking first, Hughie?” she giggled. “Will Frank at least talk with us? I know I can provide better and more enlightened conversation than, well…” she waved her hand behind her. “Them.” She let her lips form into a pout. “Please?” Even if batting her eyes proved mostly fruitless on the fae, it didn’t hurt. Provide him with the sense that she was anything but a threat.

Hughie’s smile was wide, positively brimming with a lightness that did not belong in Soul. He’d tangled himself in the vines of Joan’s apparent loveliness and seemed to be in no rush to get himself out. Such was the romanticism of youth. Frank looked at the world through the cracks of the rose coloured lens, and it warned him to keep his distance; so he does. Hughie was too trusting, incredibly so. His smile said that he would throw himself to the wolves to ‘look out’ for the young woman sitting next to him, and Frank knew that he would sooner be ripped to shreds before he got a chance to save anybody, and if Hughie knew what was good for him, he would already be on his way back into the kitchen. “Thanks doc but I know what it can do,” to most humans anyway. “Don’t mean I’m gonna stop doing it.” Hughie turned to Joan, a resigned look on his face, and simply shook his head, “don’t bother. I’ve already tried. Many, many, times.”

Before Hughie could give an order, a pint of beer had travelled the length of the bar and stopped at his hand. He took a tender sip at first—nobody came to Soul to sample their most favourite drinks and the beer that Frank handed (or more accurately, slid across the careful distance of 6 feet) to him was far from his, but it was pleasant enough that the sip became a mouthful. “House lager,” he said, and after another mouthful, added, “it’s alright.” Frank, who was not attached enough to anything, much less the drinks at his least favourite bar, was not offended enough to give a reaction and continued fussing over some glasses for some more drink orders. Joan Parrish was a picture that resembled everything exquisite and delightful about youth. She was all play, with her pout shaped mouth and batted lashes, and the glimmer of something more secret behind pretty blue eyes. It charmed both the Hughie’s and the Jerry’s of the world. It might have endeared itself to Frank too had he let it, but true to form, he remained distant and detached, and answered with a simple: “Hughie can keep you company. He loves to talk, the trick is to get him to shut up…” Hughie launched into his objection at Frank’s accusation, but the latter’s attention was already lost. He was looking past them and out toward the middle of the bar, where the root of a brawl was beginning to take shape in the form of loudly traded words that graduated into a shoving match. “Fuck me.” He muttered under his breath. Frank doesn’t miss a beat, and tossed the towel aside as he carved a path out into the storm. The first fist of the night was thrown, and it cracked across Frank’s jaw with enough force to knock his head to one side. In fairness, the target was not Frank but the man behind him whom the bartender had pulled out of the fist’s trajectory at the last possible moment. Hughie winced, but didn't move from his seat. This was not his first fight at Soul, or the first time he’s seen Frank take a punch. He calmly reached over the bar, found Frank’s phone (punched in his passcode) and dialed a number. “I guess I’ll be calling the cab then.”

“Well, can’t say I didn’t warn you then,” Athena shrugged. She held a certain sort of delight with how much Hughie was smiling. It was almost enough to distract from the fact that there was a fae in this bar who was helping her and who she couldn’t kill. Almost. “Well, it’s good he has someone like you.” She didn’t laugh this time, but instead let her smile do all the talking. It drew less attention she found, and that was for the best, at least here. She was good at keeping secrets, keeping herself toned down when need be, though she did prefer to be more the center of attention usually.

Either these two did truly know one another in a way similar to how Athena knew Amanda, or Frank was just good at guessing orders or wanted Hughie to shut up. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it, which was a bit of a source of frustration for her, but she had gotten better about dealing with her frustrations as she’d grown up. This wasn’t some chess game when she was little, when she’d get terribly annoyed every time her brother took too long choosing the next move when they were playing chess. How she’d once gone through nearly an entire box of colored pencils in kindergarten, snapping each one as she tried to color in a picture all while sensing that one of her classmates was fae, but when the feeling was still new and entirely consuming so much so that she couldn’t pinpoint it. Regardless, Hughie had his drink now and Athena didn’t drink beer, but she had half a mind to reach out and ask if she could try some. Perhaps she would, soon, but not yet. “The cider’s great, if you want to try that.” She replied instead, unable to help herself. “I don’t have any germs, I like to keep myself clean as possible.” She glanced back over to Frank, watched as he meticulously cleaned the glasses (though, Athena had to wonder, would the clientele here really care if one was a bit smudged with a questionably cloudy mark?). If this was to be counted as recon, and she had to count it that way - and learning any sort of habit was beneficial in the long run. “Well, I love to listen, so it works out just fine.” Except before she could do more listening of the man near her, she heard a fist collide with someone’s jaw and then Frank was moving over and apparently what Hughie had said was true, because he was trying to break the fight apart and Athena sat with quiet fascination, though outwardly she shifted her expression into one of concern. “I guess you will.” She said, turning back over to Hughie. Palms pressed against her thighs, she let her eyes grow wide. “Can I help you?” Tongue held between her teeth, she blinked just how she knew she was supposed to whenever something terrible was going on. “We can get drinks another time.” That much permitted a shift to a teasing smile. “I just - is Frank going to be okay?”

Frank doesn’t swing but sidestepped every throw hurled at him. For one as tall as he was he moved with remarkable grace, although it was probably very easy to look graceful when one knew what he was doing and the other two were flinging their fists around in desperate, drunken, Hail Mary attempts at hitting something…anything. To their credit some of those blind throws landed, others merely clipped him, though neither had enough force to do any real damage. Which was just as well. He has yet to have a conversation about broken bones that healed overnight that did not end terribly at worst, and very awkwardly at best. “Oh don’t worry he’ll be fine.” Or he was until one of those Hail Mary throws saw Frank’s cheek at the end of a fist. He stumbled, but recovered quickly enough before the second Hail Mary found him. “Yeah…He’ll be fine.” Said Hughie, more to himself now. “Walk it off Frankie! That’s a lad!”

It was a battle against time at this point; more energy was required to throw a punch than to avoid it, and they always tired themselves out in the end. It was a sort of dance they’d watched him do enough times that one would think they would eventually catch on. Alas, anger made for poor decision making and with intoxication at its right hand the outcome was a predictable one, although they always seemed very surprised when Frank outlasted them. And he always did. This time, he caught one by the scruff of his shirt, and the other by the arm (his hand on the sleeve of the other’s jacket), which Frank had pinned up against his back as he pushed them both forward toward the door. Moans and groans and a chorus of general dissatisfaction ushered them out; the fight was over though not many were very happy about that. Hughie who was watching the unravelling of the events very closely, Frank’s phone still held up to his ear, let out a breath of relief as he finished the last of his instructions into the receiver. “Yeah, for two people…separately. If that’s okay?…okay? Okay. Thank you.” Frank was already out of the bar at this point, he’d just caught a glimpse of him throwing the two (barely) fighters to separate ends of the curb as the door closed behind him. Hughie pocketed the phone and turned to Joan with an offer of a small apologetic smile. He’d wanted to impress her with a pleasant time, in a hopeful bid to get her to come back so he might see her again. He had liked her, and you don’t find girls like Joan Parrish in places like Soul on the Rocks. Although after what had just happened, he decided that it might just be as well. “I’m sorry, I have to go make sure he’s okay.” He had half a mind to tell Joan to stay put. The last thing Hughie wanted was to put her in the company of two men who, only moments ago, seemed bent on tearing each other, and Frank, apart—although the alternative to that option offered him little comfort. “Do you want to come with?”

Even Athena had to wince at the fight breaking out in front of her. She was used to training, used to fights designed for the purpose of bettering oneself and not for the purpose of trying to - well, she didn’t even know what the fight had started about. Only that it now involved two drunk men and a fae who she watched more carefully - that part held in certain fascination, watching his movements and the way he held himself. Just in case, she reminded herself. It was always important to understand how others worked - their bodies and minds. Particularly people like Frank. She glanced back over to Hughie, who seemed incredibly willing to cheer on his - friend? - Athena was not quite sure, but his eagerness continued to be fascinating to observe.

She bit her lip as the other men in the bar groaned as the two drunks were ushered out. This place really was something else, though Athena found that she did not entirely regret coming, if only because she had now discovered a fae who she had never found before. There was always the chance that she would have run into him elsewhere in town, but here she got the chance to be not herself and that permitted her a certain level of power. Though she very much doubted that he thought of her as vulnerable entirely (she could read his facial expressions well enough to know otherwise), he certainly had no idea what she was properly capable of, given an opportunity. She let her gaze shift back to Hughie. She almost felt bad for how much her lips turned to pouting around him, how much of a thrill she got out of his reactions - though at the same time she wasn’t entirely opposed to them either. She listened as he ordered cars for whoever was out there, drew designs in the water that had fallen from the condensation on her cider glass, both their drinks now long forgotten. “Don’t be sorry.” She let her gaze fall to him again, all softness and caring. Besides, she’d lost track of Frank as well - though she presumed he was outside with the drunks. “Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.” She hopped off of the stool and wrapped her jacket around herself. “That is, if you’ll have me, of course.”

Frank turned at the sound of the bar’s aged hinges groaning, a sharp word taking shape on the tip of his tongue, poised to command any over-zealous spectator that followed them out to take their sorry behind right back in. Alas the words never became more than a thought long forgotten as a mop brown-curly head emerged from the bar, a smaller blonde one following close behind. Frank’s surprise was not for Hughie, whom he’d already expected to come check on him, as he usually does, but was reserved for Joan Parrish. She was apparently not the little flower that shrank from a fight but rather a woman of firmer constitution that followed it out. Perhaps she was neither of these things, and was simply another over-eager spectator with the difference of a pretty face and a more expensive outfit. Although the way she regarded them, regarded him, Frank suspected that it was the former—either way, there was more to Joan Parrish than a pretty smile and a cute glass of cider, and he filed this little piece of information away. Maybe he would see her again, maybe he won’t, either way it didn’t hurt to know. Not that it made any great difference to Hughie of course, who perhaps did not realise the same caution Frank did, or he did and simply didn’t care. Even with Frank minding the two drunks, Hughie kept himself firmly fixed between them and her. “Your phone Frankie.” Hughie took a step forward, the phone in hand, but Frank stopped him and gestured to him to throw it over instead. Unknown to Hughie, he was edging much too close to Frank’s 6 feet, but he didn't question it (although the prospect of closing the distance between himself and the two violent drunks could have something to do with it) and did as he was asked. “And don’t call me Frankie.”

“Cab should be here soon,” Hughie casted an apprehensive eye on the two shadows that sat at opposite ends on the curb, Frank standing firmly between them. “You look…good.” You could practically hear the wince that seeped from Hughie’s face and into his words. The street lamp did him little favours on his split lip, and the dark purplish shadow that sat prominently against his cheekbone. Alas, Frank wasn’t looking at Hughie but rather past him, at the woman that had not said a word in this entire exchange. She didn’t look afraid but rather fascinated, and so was Frank. “Sorry about that ugliness back there.” He said. Hughie, as if realising that Joan was still behind him, a new development as far as Frank was concerned considering he hadn’t lifted his gaze from her since it found her, said rather sheepishly, “oh, yeah. I didn’t want her to be left alone with that lot back in there so I thought—” Frank didn’t give him the chance to explain, and went on as if he had not said anything at all. “Are you leaving too?”

She could feel Frank’s eyes on her, but it did little to bother her, to knock her off balance. Athena wasn’t so easily moved, even if he could practically see his mind working, as if trying to figure out who she was. Even if she never returned to Soul on The Rocks, she fully intended to run into him again, either purposefully or on accident. There was far too much that she was curious about, so much so that her curiosity seemed to have alleviated the chills under her skin. Which was something else she filed away - if she turned everything into work for the sake of curiosity whenever she could, then perhaps she could more easily work to stop feeling on edge every time she came near anything fae-related. She focused her attention back on the matter at hand, watching Hughie as he gave Frank back his phone, and she watched to see how much he would react to being so close. She had half a mind to try it a bit herself - and perhaps she would have, but the two now rather dejected but still fairly drunk men were not something she wanted to deal with.

She continued to watch the exchange between the two of them until she felt Frank’s eyes on her again. “I mean, I guess I should’ve expected that.” She shrugged, eyes growing just slightly plaintive. Athena realized then that perhaps Hughie had been a bit too focused on the phone return to notice her. Or remember that she was there, and she offered him a smile that said thank you for caring, or at least, she hoped that it did. “He was just trying to look out for me, I think.” Pursed lips and a shrug followed that. “I might be leaving.” She let her gaze focus back on Hughie. “Unless I was given reason to stay - but I think that given the experience with the patrons,” she looked back at the door, “given all that - you two have been real kind to me,” she forced a blush onto her cheeks as she looked between them, “maybe it’s best if I do go.” She pulled out her own phone. “Though,” she turned to face Hughie, “if you wanted to hang out without creeps hitting on me and without your boss having to break up bar fights, I’d be down.” She looked back over to Frank, “you should probably get some ice for that to reduce the swelling, though you took that better than I imagine most would’ve.”

“I’m not his boss.”

“He’s not my boss.”

Their words were said at the same time. Hughie, because he liked Frank too well to ever think to form an association between him and their actual boss. Frank, because—simply, he didn’t care to be anyone’s boss. His aversion to telling people what to do could be credited as a consequence of his supernatural abilities. It was also just as likely that it was just Frank being Frank, or maybe a combination of both. He watched as Hughie positively lit up at her invitation, his heart pumping a light dusting of pink to colour his cheek. “Yeah? I mean—yeah, yes! Of course!” He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, and with visible effort to keep it from trembling, proceeded to put his number into her phone. “Christ…” Frank’s eyes turned heavenward, desperate to look at anything else that might spare him from further witnessing Hughie’s love-sick bumbling routine. He caught Joan’s eyes, and her remark prompted his hand to absently nurse the sore on his cheek. “I’ll live,” he said and tried not to think about the pain that was emanating beneath.

Sweet relief took the form of two cab cars as they pulled up against the curb, one after the other. Frank took the first of the drunks by the arm and stuffed him into the back of one cab, deposited some cash into the driver’s window and did the same for the second offender. He tapped his hand against the roof of the cab and the last car pulled away. Just like that, the night came to a sudden stillness and all seemed quiet once more. Alas, silence was a delicate glass and in the hands of drunken idiots, it could do little else but break. In the case of Soul on the Rocks, it quite literally shattered as the sound of glass breaking could be heard from inside the bar. A reminder to both Frank and Hughie that they were still on the clock. Dutifully and without a word, Frank stepped away from the curb and headed for the bar. For a brief moment, he met Joan’s eyes, and he didn’t falter but came to a deliberate halt in front (but still distanced) of her. “Don’t take this the wrong way Joan Parrish, but I really hope I don’t see you here again.” He said and ducked back into the bar, the door creaked open, bleeding sound into the night, and then closed behind him, and then quiet. This time it was Hughie who broke it, and he did so with a grin that he turned to Joan, “I think he likes you.”

[mocha-sim]

For a while now I’ve wanted to write out a post concerning where I stand on the whole issue with YanSim and its developer (in short: neutral, leaning heavily towards the negative side, but I like the potential of the story and characters). There are a lot of problems and I really want to throw in my two cents

This might not be necessary, but I need to get it off my chest, and hopefully make some people think about other points of view

Warning: long post ahead

1. Six years and still in development

I can really see both sides here

On one hand, six full years without even one rival - the single most important part of the game - and a game still full of placeholder assets, and terrible code on top of that, is pathetic

On the other hand, Yandev is working with only a small team of volunteers and himself, who (no matter what he claims) knows very little about game development (from what i’ve seen, he’s made one before, but it looks like a very small-scale and basic fighting game, unlike YanSim which is much more large-scale and has a lot of features)

Professional game teams do have full, high-quality games made in less than six years, but that time is also a product of game company employees being extremely overworked. Lately I’ve seen a lot more people talking about this issue, which is good, but isn’t it hypocritical to not also apply that logic to Yandev?

Again, though, I’m not sure how much time he spends actually working on the game - to me, it seems like he spends a lot of time on discord, reddit, etc. even if he does only stream for a few hours every night. Maybe the “harassment” that’s “slowing down game development” wouldn’t be such an issue if he didn’t spend so much time online interacting with these people?

2. The writing and characters

I’m not a huge fan of how the game’s story is handled, either

I don’t think it’s 100% fair to cast a final judgement with the game the way it is now - Osana not being out is in no way a good thing, but it also means that there hasn’t really been any opportunity for story or character development yet, especially for the rivals. That being said:

I feel like there’s a lot of wasted potential with characters’ individual stories and with the game’s story as a whole, like the “Aishi curse” - I just can’t think of many good stories with a main character who’s basically an empty husk. If Ayano had emotions from the beginning, and actually had to struggle with them, she could be a much more interesting character. There doesn’t even need to be a magical curse for it to run in the family - the way children are raised has a serious impact on the person they grow into. If Ayano is raised by a crazy, abusive stalker of a mother, she may well turn into the same thing.

Taro, too - he has so many contradicting character traits. He yells at Ayano for “scaring him” when she’s carrying a box cutter or laughing, but has the courage to run right up to a murderer and take off their mask?? He doesn’t care about reputations for Osoro or Oka, but won’t love Ayano if her reputation drops too low?? We’re told that he’s “friendly and respectful”, but we’re never shown that part of his personality. On top of that, we’re not really given a reason to like or pursue him as the goal of the game - when he’s not interacting with Girl of the Week, he doesn’t really do anything except sit by the fountain and read. I feel as though Taro should have a routine that involves interacting with other characters and gives us more of a feel for the personality we’re told he’s supposed to have

Raibaru as a whole makes no sense and feels like a satellite character to Osana. In Osana’s shoes, I would want to have a word with her about personal space. There’s not a lot to say about her aside from that, because... she doesn’t really do anything except follow Osana around all day and shut down the player’s attempts to kill her. She feels more like a soulless obstacle than a character

I think there should be more true pacifist options than just matchmaking - even the befriending elimination route will, in Yandev’s own words, involve someone getting hurt. If we’re supposed to have a choice on whether or not to hurt and kill people, there should be more variety in our options

3. The game’s code sucks/it’s poorly-optimized

Yeah.

I don’t know much about coding but the amount of awkward stretching/bending limbs on corpses, clipping through walls, low fps, etc. makes this obvious. It was definitely a bad move on Yandev’s part to start a project like this without at least taking a coding/game development class or something

I think the best course of action for Yandev would be to get a professional programmer on board after Osana is released and spend a few months fixing the game’s code before he starts work on the next rival

4. The character models are just stolen Unity models

They are just unity models, but not “stolen” at all - YanDev paid for them.

That being said, they’re sort of ugly and inexpressive, and personally i’m hoping they get replaced soon

5. The characters are all minors

They’re not. It’s in flashing red letters on the screen when you open the game. I can’t help but feel like the reason people keep insisting that the characters are minors is so that they can feel like heroes for defending them or something

It doesn’t make a lot of logical sense, but there’s still plenty of time for this to be fixed. I think it was recently confirmed that Akademi is called an “academy” now and won’t be referred to as a high school again

Imo YanDev should just change it to a post-secondary school, since that’s probably the most seamless way for all the characters to be adults

One last thing I want to say on this is that, when it gets brought up, I often see people use the excuse “the age of consent in Japan is 13″. 1: it isn’t - the Japanese government lets each prefecture decide its own age of consent, but 13 is the minimum. As far as I know, no prefecture has set it below 16. 2: even if 13 was the age of consent, that doesn’t mean we should accept and defend it as “part of a different culture”. It’s still pedophilia. 3: Japanese people actively protest against things like this

6. The uniforms are middle-school uniforms/don’t look like they belong in a prestigious school

Yeah

However there are multiple uniform options, and it looks like the default uniforms will be completely changed in the final game

7. Panty shots

YanSim is an 18+ game, but there is such a thing as too far

I’ve seen people who tolerate it, but I haven’t seen a single person who actively likes the panty shots and would complain if they were removed. Imo the part that makes this bad is the fact that we, the player, actively have to point our camera up a girl’s skirt and take a photo of her underwear with it being in full view; the whole way this works makes it obvious that the feature was put in there for titillation more than anything else, and it just feels uncomfortable. If it were more like Uekiya’s key-stealing minigame where all we have to do is push a few buttons, the whole gross/uncomfortable aspect could be taken away and a lot of people would probably be fine with it

It would also be better to replace it with an expanded version of the phone-stealing feature: this would let the player get “points” for students of both genders, plus it would still make sense to gain more points for certain students, like the student council or the bullies. Maybe you could even steal teachers’ phones under certain circumstances?

8. YanDev is homophobic

Again not too sure on this one

Iirc, most of the comments people bring up on this are from years ago when he still went by EvaXephon

But speaking as a wlw, I think some of the ways I’ve seen him talk about f/f relationships are pretty creepy. And on top of that, he seems to be considering adding a “female senpai” option to the game, but no male player character? (though i guess i can see the point of view that a male mc would need a lot more new voice lines, animations, etc. while the senpai follows a mostly fixed routine and would only need so many. still, it seems wrong to have one without the other). I hope I’m wrong about this but his support of the LGBT community seems mostly focused on the L and more for his own entertainment than any actual support

9. YanDev is making more money than he should (and handles it poorly)

His Patreon may be dropping, but his YouTube channel is raking in even more money with 2M+ subscribers, and he’s making even more money from things like merch and donations... all while apparently still living with his parents (which i don’t find hard to believe). He’s also apparently bought 2 switches and a sex doll instead of using the money to hire the help he desperately needs with his game

Assuming he really does still live with his parents, I fully support the petition to get his Patreon suspended until he at least finishes Osana. Most game devs don’t make any money off of their games until they’ve finished it completely

10. YanDev wrote rape fanfics

So I did briefly check his old ffn profile some time ago, and as far as I could see everything had the proper ratings and warnings

Tagging/warning/rating is a fanfic author’s only responsibility to you. You make the choice on whether or not to read it. If everything is appropriately tagged and you read it anyway, that’s on you, not the author. If you are mature enough to be on the internet unsupervised, then you are mature enough to curate your own experience.

Fiction is the place to explore controversial themes and topics. It doesn’t mean in any way that a content creator would condone the things they write about in real life

11. YanDev steals art/assets

He does, and still hasn’t apologized for the DLC rivals thing. In fact he made a post defending himself for it, and even compared himself to Andy Warhol in the process (lol)

I’m not sure but I think I heard something recently about him continuing to do this type of thing (the grass, etc.). In which case we should continue to put pressure on him until he credits the creators of whatever art/assets he stole. Art theft is inexcusable

12. The fanbase is mostly kids

This is unfortunately true, and it’s a big problem (i’ve had to deal with it myself on my youtube channel)

However I would personally say that this problem is outside of YanDev’s control. Kids seem to be drawn to edgy/violent things, or things they shouldn’t be allowed to see (just look at Call of Duty). I put the blame for this on the parents who aren’t monitoring their kids’ computer activities. As for YanDev, he’s not a babysitter and it’s not his responsibility to censor his content for kids who shouldn’t be viewing it in the first place

Underage or not though, he should really avoid calling his fans things like “fuck kittens”. Even from the perspective of an adult that’s super creepy to hear

13. The character designs suck

Some are alright, others are absolutely awful

I think that, in a game built on anime tropes, characters should be allowed to have unnaturally-coloured hair. I mean, a lot of characters in anime do have weird hair that you wouldn’t see in real life (seemingly without any dye), and it can add a lot of personality to their designs

But some YanSim characters push that too far. The science club is the worst of the worst imo, despite being otherwise one of my favourite clubs. The neon streaks are ugly, and what’s up with the visors? Why are they allowed to wear those outside of club time? Why do they wear them during club time, as opposed to actual goggles or something? (i have this issue with a lot of club accessories, imo the accessories are unnecessary in the first place)

The bullies and the light music club also take things too far. Their designs are crowded, hard to look at, and out-of-place. Nothing against characters with multi-coloured hair, but there’s a time and a place and a “prestigious” school setting isn’t it

(also, slightly off-topic, but why does almost every “intended couple” look like they could be siblings?)

I could probably make a whole separate post on the character designs in YS, but I’ll save that for another day. (i’m just very passionate about character design)

14. YanDev has collaborated with porn games 3 times now

Once I could overlook (after all, the characters are 18+ and YS is already not for kids) but a third time? Seriously? And so soon after the last one?

Not only do I have mixed feelings about Yandev doing crossovers when his game isn’t even in the demo stage yet, isn’t this game supposed to be taken seriously as a horror game? I can’t think of a single other horror game that has willingly put its characters in porn.

Also I can’t help noticing that he advertises the porn game crossovers a lot more than he did with that one Dark Deception crossover. Did he ever even mention that one? I only ever saw it on the Dark Deception Twitter

15. YanDev is rude to his fans

I don’t have a lot to say against this one. As far as I’ve seen, he is, and he doesn’t take criticism well at all (just look at the subreddit - yes, a lot of the things that were removed deserved it (unfunny cum chalice jokes, etc.) but there have also been completely innocent questions, fanarts, jokes, and fanfics that have been removed. Not to mention mods going through peoples’ post history and banning them for being active in r/Osana. Both he and his mod team seem insanely paranoid)

I think he’s going to have to grow a thicker skin and stop censoring critiques if he wants to get anywhere with this game. Not just fans who bring up tiny details that might need changing, but also big, glaring issues like the code and character designs and such. He also doesn’t seem that professional for a game developer who wants to be taken seriously

That being said, if you’re the type to spam the discord server/subreddit/fan communities who have nothing to do with Yandev like the amino, you deserved that ban

16. YanDev defends pedophiles/the “sex license” thing

“No adult ever has any excuse to do anything sexual with a child. As soon as you touch a kid, you have crossed the line from being someone with a mental disorder to being the worst scum imaginable. Having a mental illness is involuntary, but touching a kid is a choice. If you have a mental illness, I feel bad for you. If you violate a child, I feel disgust and contempt for you, and I think you deserve the death penalty.” -From YanDev himself on this page

The sex license thing is also debunked on the same page: the whole conversation was taken out of context and the hypothetical “license” was supposed to be something that only an adult could meet the requirements for

17. “Corona-chan”

This was a really insensitive move to make in the middle of a pandemic, and I agree that the design was racist

However, YanDev listened to the fans’ complaints and removed the easter egg a day later, plus gave an apology. I think that this was the best thing he could do in that scenario and idk what else people are expecting him to do about it

18. YanDev’s general portrayal of high schoolers

Honestly, it’s not 100% realistic (especially in some of the dialogue. you know what i’m talking about)

I’m surprised that more students don’t seem to have friends outside of their clubs. It seems like all the students mostly stick within their club/group - walking to school together, spending their breaks together, etc. A lot of the ways the characters behave are very robotic, like walking in a perfectly straight line everywhere they go

That being said, a lot of the things i’ve seen criticized in regards to this are not part of the problem. By the time you’re in high school, you’ve probably hit puberty. It doesn’t make a character automatically sexualized if they have bigger breasts (though some designs in the game are over-sexualized, like a few certain staff members)

19. Muja, Mida, and Hanako

Let’s start with Hanako: Yandev has already said that she’s not romantically interested in her brother, she’s just insanely clingy and doesn’t want him to get a girlfriend out of fear that he’ll forget about her. If you still insist that she’s in love with Taro, then that’s on you

Muja and Mida I have mixed feelings on.

If every student is 18 or older, meaning that the first-years are 18, that makes Taro, a third-year, 20-21 years old. If Mida and Muja are in their early 20s as Yandev has said, that means that the age gap isn’t an issue. However, it’s still wrong for a teacher or a nurse to pursue their student/patient

I don’t think Yandev should need to spell out “hey, Mida and Muja are not good people” in flashing neon signs. The game is rated M and anyone who’s old enough to play it should be able to understand that without it being said. If you need morality in fiction spoon-fed to you, you probably shouldn’t be watching/reading/playing anything rated above PG

On the other hand, YanDev has a nasty habit of making these things into a joke, which is really insensitive and creepy. Like saying that Mida’s favourite food is “the spit of a younger man” (yikes), that she’s tried to seduce her own students 69 times (haha 69 so funney right guys XD), or that whole confession scene mess. It’s less of a problem with Muja, but it’s still there. As much as the audience shouldn’t need everything served to them on a silver platter, issues like these should still be treated with respect, not made into gags

20. Yandev wastes time on “Easter eggs”

I have to agree that he does spend time implementing unnecessary things sometimes (like the abc challenge), but as far as I know the Easter eggs are what he does in his spare time while waiting for assets from volunteers. However: snap mode, which was hyped up for years, turned out to be a flop with zero purpose, disappointing a good portion of the fanbase.

21. Love Letter

So far I’m really liking the look of this game: I like the models and the school environment they’ve shown, and it seems like they’re doing a lot of things in better or more interesting ways than YanDev, like not outright telling us who the rivals are. I don’t think it’s fair to accuse them of “stealing” anything, when it seems like most of the assets the games have in common are the things they bought from the Unity store (Love Letter even changed the base Unity model to have a more appealing look)

I'm glad to see that they actually listened to criticism from fans on things like Setsuna’s design (I love her newest look and I hope it’s the final one). From design alone she’s already a more interesting protagonist, and she looks like the sort of character you’d actually enjoy playing as

Not sure I totally buy the claim that it was all done in two weeks, but even if it was over the span of months, that’s still miles better than YanSim’s six years

Knowing that Dr. Apeis has already ditched one project I’m staying open to new information on this, but as of right now I’m looking forward to playing the demo!

Overall: A lot of the hate against the game and the dev are unnecessary, but some is justified and we shouldn’t blindly defend everything he does (seriously, you can admit that the character designs are shit. no one is going to stone you for it).  There are a lot of improvements Dev could make, both on the game and on his behaviour towards fans.

I think that the biggest improvement would be for the game to just stop taking itself so seriously. At this point, it’s so full of memes, cringy google translate names, excessive edginess, and gags that it may as well just be a fun ridiculous anime game instead of a serious horror game. I feel like taking this approach could make it more successful (plus, it doesn’t really have a lot of horror elements aside from the gore)

There are a lot of cases of people taking things too far. Like spamming YanDev with explicit gore/animal abuse, trying to swat him, spamming volunteers with weird porn, trying to hack into volunteers’ accounts (including bank accounts), etc. That is going way too far, no matter how awful or pathetic you think a person is. If you are doing these kinds of things, you are doing more harm than Dev or his volunteers

Attacking YanDev’s appearance is unnecessary and not related to his behaviour or skills. Same with the chalice memes

However, I’ve seen a lot of YanDev’s defenders lashing out against “gremlins”, lumping all of them in with the kinds of people who do these things. If you check r/Osana, you’ll see that most if not all of the people there condemn this behaviour: the gore and porn spammers are a loud minority (and i’m willing to bet most of them are the basement-dwelling losers from KiwiFarms and 4Chan)

Attacking and/or spamming fans who are just trying to enjoy the game is also unnecessary. Someone liking a video game you don’t like is not doing you any harm. Be mature and move on

I’m not sure if some of what I’ve said above is 100% accurate so if anyone actually read this and has evidence against it then feel free to add

I think that’s about all I have to say on that. Again, i don’t know if it will change anything in the fandom but i really just wanted to get this off my chest

[secrets-and-aetherlight]

Of Brambles and Visions

Yves has always had a peculiar fondness for the bramble patch that covers much of the eastern reaches of the Black Shroud. Something about that sprawling tangle of oversized thorns speaks to the predator in him. Many dangers lurk in these bladed shadows, but he rests himself before a humble campfire, content in the knowledge that he is the most dangerous among them.

It’s a clear night. Stars peer through the crevices in the patchwork of thorns overhead. It’s an ideal night to camp in the open air. 

Or it would be, with fewer interruptions. The wind is still, which means that the rustling he can hear in the underbrush nearby must be the sound of an approaching creature. He wonders absently if it’s another bandit intent on ambushing him. The last was enjoyable, but he has had enough terror and blood to sate him for one night.

A small figure weaves its way nimbly between thorns the size of falchions. As it approaches the campfire, its outline becomes clearer. It’s a Miqo’te. Hardly a surprising sight in the Shroud, especially at night. But then her violet eyes come into view. Her pupils are narrow, better suited to daylight than to the darkness. A Seeker of the Sun. And a familiar one, at that.

When she finally stands before his campfire, he rises. Not to attack or to defend, but to acknowledge the presence of someone with whom he has history.

A longer history than even she knows.

“J’aeda,” he murmurs, “what an unexpected pleasure.”

The Seeker gives a derisive snort. She folds her arms across her chest and eyes him skeptically. “Is it? I seem to recall that the last time we met, you called me an ill omen.”

Her talent of looking down her nose at him when she is little more than half his height has always fascinated him. Even as a child, her mastery of the withering look was already flawless. Perhaps a healthy dose of disdain toward those outside of one’s tight-knit community can be counted among the essential accomplishments of a young refugee.

“I believe when last we met, I was still a touch disgruntled that you had foretold a Calamity and failed to mention that it would rain down fire on my head, specifically,” he explains dryly.

“My visions are hardly that clear-cut.” 

She settles herself on the ground before his campfire and loosens the ties to the large knapsack strapped to her back. Making herself comfortable without invitation, Yves notes with mild amusement. Fearless as ever. He would have it no other way. He lost the right to object to any liberties she chose to take with him years ago.

Yves resumes his seat on the opposite side of the fire and regards her curiously. “I was under the impression you were still in Gyr Abania.”

“My work with the resistance has come to its natural conclusion.”

“Why not stay? Ala Ghiri is your home, is it not?”

The looks she gives him this time is not precisely withering, but it is chiding. “That’s where I was born. You know very well I didn’t grow up there. The concept of ‘home’ has never really meant much to me. I go where I’m meant to be. Where my dreams lead me.”

“And they have led you here, to me?” Yves says, his tone mocking. “They must be more akin to nightmares.”

J’aeda is in the act of searching through her knapsack for something, but at these words, she stills. Perhaps he has come a little too close to the truth for comfort. But whether she has come to utter dire prophecies about his future, or whether he haunts her nightmares for reasons related to their shared past, is difficult to judge.

Her next words do little to enlighten him. “Just so.”

She rummages around in her knapsack for a few more seconds, and then she withdraws a tin which, once opened, is revealed to contain some sort of jerky.

“I assume you’ve already fed, judging by the corpse I passed on my way here,” she comments, selecting a strip of jerky. 

He doesn’t bother to confirm or deny it.

J’aeda chews on one end of her jerky for a few moments in silence.Then, perhaps catching a hint of uncertainty in his expression, she says, “Relax, Yves. You’re a mere stepping stone for me this time. My dreams only made two things perfectly clear in regards to you. First, that you hold the key to the riddle I’ve been dreaming for several moons, and second, that you’ve finally finished your quest.”

“My quest?”

The look that she gives him suggests he’s being obtuse.”Your wife’s killer?”

“You dreamt about that?”

“It was tangential to another dream, but yes.” She pauses to take another bite of her jerky. “I’m glad you finally got your revenge.”

Yves finds himself with nothing to say in reply. The subject of his late wife and her murder is fraught, and not merely due to his grief and rage at having lost her too young. It was in the pursuit of his revenge that he first encountered J’aeda, and nothing about that meeting, or the fortnight that followed, was pleasant for her. No doubt the memories of his abuses as he attempted to drag information out of her 12-year-old self are still vivid in her mind. And yet she has the grace to congratulate him on his belated victory. 

Oppressed by he knowledge of his own sins, he cannot even bring himself to thank her.

“Fate wasn’t kind to you, was it?” she continues, clearly not expecting an answer. “I finally saw his face in my dreams. I know his name. And it’s too late to be of use to you. But that’s the trouble with the Sight. It has a time table of its own. I rarely get the information I want when I want it.”

“Even with an angry old man poking at you with magic,” he mutters.

She hesitates momentarily before answering. “Especially then. Visions don’t like to be forced. At least... mine typically don’t. At best, I can ask my soul a question before I go to sleep. Burn incense, draw a circle of runes to sleep in. Sometimes that will work. But chances are I’ll get an answer to an entirely different question instead. Often one I never even knew to ask. If there’s an art to this process, I have yet to learn it.”

Again, he’s not sure quite how to answer. A belated apology for his treatment of her all those years ago would be in order, but that’s not really his way. The words ‘I am sorry’ have never sprung readily to his lips. But he has been acquainted with J’aeda for 18 years now. Surely she knows. Surely there is no need to speak the words aloud.

“Anyroad,” she says a moment later, coming to his rescue by changing the subject, “That wasn’t my main reason for seeking you out.”

Ah, right. “You said I hold the key to a riddle.”

J’aeda nods, selecting another piece of jerky from her tin. “It’s not actually a riddle per se, but a vision that I want you to interpret.”

Yves lifts a brow at her, intrigued. “What makes you think I can interpret it?”

“You’re in it, for one.”

“How worrisome.” His tone is flippant, but he is not entirely at ease with the knowledge that he featured in one of J’aeda’s dreams. Given that some of her dreams involve Calamities and other disasters, it’s not necessarily a good sign.

“Just listen,” she says, but then she takes a bite of jerky before immediately launching into her description of her dream. He waits patiently for her to finish chewing, knowing that this hint of passive aggression on her part is deserved.

“So,” she finally continues, “in my dream I saw a house by the sea. The rafters of the house were on fire, but instead of swallowing up the house, the fire was losing ground. It was flickering like a candle in a windstorm, threatening to blow out. Meanwhile, dark waters surrounded the house, flooding the basement and gradually rising.”

“How dark were these waters?” he asks.

“Black. Like pitch, or--”

“Ink?”

She looks at him oddly.

“Do please continue,” he says smoothly. “Where was I in this vision?”

“Standing on a hill nearby, watching.”

“Just watching.”

“Yes. As though you were interested in the outcome, but not enough to interfere.” 

“That seems callous of me,” Yves comments, recalling Michaux’s words during their midnight meeting in the Coerthan snow. 

You left them behind... You abandoned everyone!

Yes he did. And he would again. 

J’aeda is gazing thoughtfully at him, as if trying to puzzle out what he’s thinking. “I suspect you know what house I’m talking about. Perhaps you’ve even been there, but at the very least, I think you’ve heard about it, haven’t you?”

“Hmm.” Yves tilts his head as he meets her stare. Yes, it seems fairly clear which house, and which organization, her vision pertains to. Whether he feels like sharing that information is another matter. “A house by the sea, you said? Why are you so curious about it?”

“Presumably because I’m meant to go there,” she says, shrugging. “I follow where my dreams lead. That has been my rule since I was still in my teens. You know that.”

“I know that, yes,” he agrees calmly, “and I am also aware that those dreams have led you into danger more than once.”

“Yes. And out of danger, too.”

“But why would you wish to go to a house that is simultaneously flooded and on fire? One could argue that it is already a lost cause.”

J’aeda shoots him an impatient look. “I’m assuming the dream isn’t literal.”

“Literal enough,” he mutters. 

“Then explain,” she demands, gesturing with her half-eaten strip of jerky for emphasis. “You seem to know even more about this situation than I expected. You’re not just a disinterested observer, even if that does seem to be your preferred role. You’re invested. So what do the fire and water signify? Why do you think the house from my vision is a lost cause?”

Yves lets out a soft huff of annoyance. He doesn’t want this. Not for J’aeda. True, she’s no defenseless child anymore, and true, she has spent years working first with the Ala Mhigan resistance and then, presumably, helping with the ongoing war effort in Gyr Abania. And even before she slipped behind enemy lines, she wasn’t exactly leading a safe existence. But this is a different kind of war. J’aeda is used to fighting an enemy that views her as a savage, but considering her gifts, the Ink and Flame are likely to view her as something more: a desirable recruit.

But whether he helps her or not, J’aeda will inevitably find what she’s looking for. If he truly cares about her, he’ll give her all the information she needs to navigate this treacherous sea of Ink and Flame safely.

And so he does. 

He explains the Ink and Flame in as much detail as he can, and even briefly outlines his own experience with the former. He describes the major players in each faction. He tells her about Priarch and the Covenant of Ash, not neglecting to heap disparagement upon the former. He explains why, in her vision, the flames appeared to be losing ground while the inky waters continued to rise. He even tells her about the disastrous masquerade in Ishgard.

He doesn’t mention the conflict within his own mind and heart. He doesn’t tell her that he has begun to feel the call of the Ink like an ache in his bones. But judging by the shrewd look she gives him, she’s a touch suspicious.

When he concludes his explanation, J’aeda takes some time to mull it over. Then she murmurs, “So... Priarch is the house divided. A literal house by the sea, inhabited by Ink and Flame. I’m not used to my dreams being quite that easy to dissect.”

“It might not be that easy,” he suggests. “Perhaps you are not actually meant to go to that house. You could join me on my hill instead.”

She smiles, amused, but shakes her head. “You seem to hate Priarch, and yet it sounds like there are several people you care about who are already involved in it. Watch from your hill if you prefer, but I’m not interested in being a mere observer.”

“And yet, do you even know what you will do when you get there?”

“Offer my services as a healer, naturally.” She smiles grimly. “One thing I have learned in my travels is that healing talents will always be relevant. That is as true in times of peace as in war.”

True. Presented with a competent healer with wartime experience who is neither infected nor tempered, Secariot would have to be a fool to not recruit her. Yves sighs. As useful as it would be to have another contact in Priarch, he is still reluctant to see her installed there. Perhaps he is not merely worried for her safety, though. Perhaps he feels that a seer of her caliber is much too valuable an asset for the likes of Priarch. Perhaps he thinks Covenant deserves her more. Or it is even possible that he prefers to keep her as his own personal secret.

But that is not his decision to make. It’s not his place to interfere with J’aeda’s choices. He learned that lesson the hard way 18 years ago.

“Well then,” he replies, returning her smile. “I suppose all I can do is to wish you safe travels. May Azeyma and Nymeia guide you.”

She will need all the help that the gods are willing to grant her.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Politics is the warfare of minds

“The intergalactic fleet restriction laws are clear.” Began Councilor Yumi as she addressed the entire governing body of the Pan Galactic Federation. “No species is to have a navy larger than the established criteria which states ten ships per system controlled by an individual member species of the Federation.”  She pointed a slender finger at the human ambassador sitting on the opposite side of the audience chamber. “The humans have ignored these limits and for the past several years have been building a massive navy of nearly a thousands ships within the limits of the “Sol” system!” A round of gasps and exasperation’s rung out in the chamber as all eyes turn towards the human ambassador who was still calmly sitting in place and meeting Yumi’s gaze head on.  “Do you mean to make war against us?” “How dare the humans!!!” “Expel them from the Federation!” Came the cries of other councilors until the entire room was in uproar. This went on for several minutes until the lights dimmed and a massive hologram of the Federations Executor appeared. “Silence please, members of the Federation, silence please.” The cries and jeers began dying down with the Executor’s call for silence until the room was once more silent as the grave.  “Councilor Yumi,” the Executor spoke, “these are serious charges you bring against the human species. Very serious. I hope you have proof to back these claims or I shall hold you in contempt for attempting to start panic and turn the Federation against one of our own.” “Indeed councilor. we began receiving reports from our merchants trading with humanity that they had begun purchasing large amounts of ship building materials. We then dispatched a recon team into their system and discovered massive hidden shipyards orbiting the planet known as “Mars” churning out ships at 3-4 per earth week.” Yumi paused for the information to set in, and also for dramatic effect. She’d waited a long time to knock the humans back into their place and this was her chance to finally do so.  “Additionally,” she added, wanting to stoke the flames further “in human culture Mars is most often associated with the god of war. Another ill omen I find most troubling.” It was important to strike not only at humans from a practical level but also on a spiritual level. Many of the species in the Federation had different religions that were taken seriously. By bringing in humans concept of a god for “War” Yumi could further turn additional councilors against humanity.  As more glares fell towards the human councilor the Executor raised a hand and then turned towards the human councilor. “Councilor Nevara, you have been accused of ignoring established fleet regulations and illegally expanding your species navy. There is considerable evidence against you by the information provided by councilor Yumi but judgement is not against you. You may now respond to these accusations as you see fit before a final judgement is rendered.”   Councilor Nevara rose from her seat and flattened the front of her robes before gazing out across the councilors present. As she fell on Yumi she stared for several seconds before bursting out with laughter. Yumi was taken aback for a moment, she had not expected the human councilor to react in such a manner. The laughter was loud and meaningful that lasted for at least a minute before dying off. “My honored councilors,” Nevara began as she wiped the tears from her eyes, the last of her giggles dying away,”I feel there has been a grave misunderstanding. A misunderstanding of such scale that I could not help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all and I pray you will forgive me for any notions of disrespect you may have thought towards you all.”  Nevara coughed into her hand for a moment before shaking her head clear and continuing. “It is true, we are building large amounts of ships; and yes, there are massive dockyards orbiting our planet Mars producing ships at an impressive rate.” Yumi looked on with a smug smile as she assumed that the human was about to cave and admit to building a war fleet.  Nevara motioned to Yumi, a serious tone taking over. “But these ships are not for war and implying so without doing further research in my book is the real provocation here by councilor Yumi attempting to spread her anti-humanity views.”  Yumi’s hands slammed into her desk. “LIES!” She shouted. “We have proof that you have been building a massive fleet for months now and our spies have confirmed that!” Nevara wasn’t shaken by the sudden outburst and instead turned to the Executor. “My dear Executor, I will be more than happy to answer all inquiries councilor Yumi may have or any other councilor present as my people have nothing to hide, but I would like it noted that it will take much longer for me to respond if I am interrupted by sudden outbursts before I can finish.”  Yumi’s face was turning red with anger and she was about to rebuke Nevara when the Executor cut in. “Your point is noted councilor Nevara. Councilor Yumi, you will not interrupt again while councilor Nevara is offering her defense. She patiently waited for you to level your claims against her without interrupting you and you shall do the same. We are a Federation, not a school of youngsters on the playground.” Yumi bit down a rebuke she was about to say and sat back down.  “Thank you councilor Yumi.” Nevara’s remark only seemed to rise the irk of Yumi even further. “Now I will address your claims one at a time. First, you claimed that there were hidden shipyards on Mars. That is simply not true.” Nevara fiddled with the controls on her desk for a moment and a hologram of Mars and the surrounding moons was brought up. “For those of my fellow councilors unfamiliar with the Sol system this planet is the planet in question Mars.” She fiddled with the controls again and the image increase to one of the nearby moons revealing several shipyards. “As I confirmed earlier the planet does have several shipyards orbiting it, but what is mistaken is that they were hidden. Currently I am using the interstellar positioning system available to all councilors and their respected staff and I can clearly zoom in with such detail as to make out the face of one of the construction crew members. If we were truly hiding these shipyards, do you not think we would have done a better job all things considered?” Yumi could see several councilors fiddling with their desks as well and projecting smaller versions of mars in front of them and began examining the shipyards. “It is true that at one point in human history that Mars was named after the human god of war for the planets color appearing as blood. But this was several dozen centuries ago, back when humanity was still infantile as a species. Why for the longest time many of our species believed the female half was created by a god who broke the rib off a male human so he could have a companion.” A few chuckles came from nearby councilors at the self deprecating joke. “I assure you that despite the meaning behind the name it has remained as a legacy to our culture and history, something of which I am sure many of my fellow councilors understand. Some of your races date back thousands of generations and have no doubt left countless names reflecting moments that have meaning to your people and your people alone.” Yumi was getting upset as she could see many of the previously angry councilors now nodding at Nevara’s words.  “Your next claim was that these shipyards were producing warships. Again, that is not true. They are producing mining vessels and nothing more.” “Forgive me Executor but I can not stay silent in the face of such lies!” Yumi decried as she rose once more. “Our spies infiltrated several of these shipyards and acquired several plans showing these vessel have increased hull thickness, heavy shielding, large turret housings, and hangars large enough on either side to fit an entire squadron of fighters and bombers.”  Yumi used her controls and replaced Mars with blueprints of the ship designs.    “Councilor Yumi,” the Executor cut in, “you were warned not to interrupt councilr Nevara during her defense.” Yumi was about to respond when Nevara cut her off. “I thank you for your kind words Executor but I am fine with this interruption. No doubt this is a cause of concern for many of my fellow councilors, a concern I am happy to put to bed.”  “It is true that these ships are highly different in scale and design from other standard mining ships, but that is because this is a new model built entirely by humans.” She enhanced the designs to focus on each issue as it arose. “The large hangars are in fact the entry points for asteroids to be pushed into by support craft. The asteroids would then be grinned up and the valuable ore separated from non-valuable ore. The large turret housings are intended to hold state of the art mining laser that would cut up larger asteroids into smaller pieces for the support craft. The laser nearing the end of its testing cycle as it is one of our most advanced lasers to date. It is also roughly the same design as our battleships capital guns so while the laser is still in development and not ready for implementation yet we instead used the capital gun as a place holder for testing purposes of the new ships. Once the laser finishes testing and is put into production the capital guns would be switched for the lasers.  Yumi wished to barf at the amount of explanations the human was giving to cover their tracks but she wouldn’t be fooled.  “The extra shield layers are to help protect the ship from erratic asteroids that may drift into the ship while it is harvesting. While I am hesitant to explain the thicker hulls as it reflects poorly on my people I feel I must to erase any doubts my fellow councilors have of our intentions.”  “Our shield systems are far from perfect. At the moment they are able to maintain some protection but are known to short circuit and power down. We are new to the concept of shield technology so this would be our first attempt, but because we know our own failings we increased the hulls to compensate a shield failure possibility.” Nevara fiddled once again with her controls and brought up a video file. “What you are about to see is our initial test footage with our shields.”  “All watched in silence as a picture of a human vessel came into view. In the background they could hear what sounded as other humans listing off technical data when the ship was suddenly covered with a blue sphere. A secondary ship came into view and released a large asteroid that drifted towards the shielded ship. Upon coming into contact the shields lit of under the strain producing a blinding beam of blue light. This lasted for several seconds before the sphere vanished and the asteroid continued drifting into the now unshielded ship and crushed several decks before bouncing away into space.  “This file,” Nevara cut in as the video vanished, “was deemed top secret by my government as it reflects upon humanities capacity.” She grasped her desk for a few seconds and paused, staring down at the desk. “My government did not give me authorization to release that video to you.” A sudden series of gasps came from the room. “Nevara held up her hand for silence. “After I leave today there is a high chance I will be relieved of my position and sent to prison. But I will not leave here without showing you this and clearing the air from these lies and misconceptions that have been put at my peoples feet.”  Nevara raised her head and glared at Yumi. “My people have no intention of making war on any of you, all we wanted was to harvest the massive asteroid fields surrounding our system and use the materials to improve the lives of our citizens. Had any of you asked we would have been glad to have shared that information freely since we felt it wasn’t worth of a galactic announcement in these chambers where wars have been declared and the lives of billions saved by the actions of my fellow council members. We felt it wasn’t worthy to stand next to such actions so we chose to keep quiet and let the Federation deal with more pressing matters.”  “But you never did ask did you councilor Yumi?” Yumi could feel her plan backfiring as she saw numerous eyes stare at her. “No, you never gave me nor humanity any chance to explain ourselves. Instead you sent spies into our home system infiltrated our shipyards, and lets not forget, STOLE our species latest mining ship design and then broadcast it to every councilor in this room!” Nevara waved her hand across the entire chamber. “Every councilor here now has a copy of our ships, ships that took generations to develop and design and perfect, costing not just money and materials but also in the lives of our builders that died along the way from on-site accidents. You spit on our fallen’s legacy with your actions and instead use them for your own means, framing humanity as blood thirsty monsters when all we wanted was to harvest some GOD DAMN SPACE ROCKS!” Nevara slammed her fist into her desk with such force some of the nearby councilors retracted in shock.  Nevara continued glaring at Yumi for several seconds before closing her eyes and calming down. “I laughed earlier because I thought this was all some mistake. But now I see by your very own actions that you Councilor Yumi just hate humanity and will do anything in your power to set us up for a fall.” Yumi stood in silence as Nevara changed gaze to the Executor. “I feel that I have provided sufficient detail for my peoples defense. The proof has already been uploaded to my fellow councilors and they can go over it at their pleasure. Any additional questions I would be more than willing to answer in the coming days if I am not recalled. I apologize but I am suddenly feeling unwell and beg your leave Executor to return to my office.”  The hologram hovered over the councilors for several moments in silence before nodding. Nevara pushed in her chair and left the council chamber in silence.  Yumi could hear the councilors around her. “She was trying to play us against humanity.” “She must really hate humans.” Do you think she was lying?” “Nevara showed us classified documents, why would she if she was lying?” “I hope the humans don’t replace her, we could use more of that spunk from a councilor.”  The tone of the room had turned on her and it was Yumi now who felt like she was backed into a corner... ------------------- “Did they suspect anything?”  “Doubtful.” Nevara answered the hologram in her office. The shades had been drawn and a dampener field was running to block out any outside monitoring devices.  “They had our designs, we need to know for certain. Too much is riding on this.”  “Yes sir. I believe I painted a pretty enough picture to swing their voices against Yumi, even going so far as to show them “classified” documents knowing full well what my government would do for me.”  The hologram chuckled. “Doubt they’d think we’d give you a medal and promote you several ranks.” Nevara smiled. “That reminds me, have the government issue me a censure for my actions and have me recalled “pending further investigation”. That should help make the cover story more believable.” “We already have a military cutter heading out your way with an escort to “haul” you back to earth to account for your actions. Should arrive in a day or two. Continue working as you normally would and show little reaction when they arrive, like you always knew they were coming. “ “Understood sir.”  “You did our people proud councilor. We were barely able to detect a breach in our security at the shipyards and scrambled to implement the fake documents. Without your performance now our entire operation would’ve been discovered earlier than planned.” “Think nothing of it sir. How far along is the operation now?” “The fleet has been moved closer to earth for security reasons while arming continues. At current rate we’ll be ready to sail within a month.”  “I can’t wait to see our ships flying over the skies of everyone planet in this stupid federation.” Nevara said. The hologram nodded to her. “We’ve had to play nice with the Federation after the first contact wars, but now with our fleet we can go toe to toe with them.” Nevara smiled. “No more playing nice to those that tried to keep us from our destiny.”  A sudden knock at her door alerted Nevara. She instantly cut the hologram and disabled the dampener field. She adopted a posture of stress and concern and then opened the door. “Yes?” she asked meekly. “Councilor Nevara,” an alien councilor stood at the door,  “the Executor wished me to deliver to you the news that the council has found the charges against humanity baseless and cleared you of all of them. They are now in the process of writing a petition to the human government to say they wish you to stay on as a councilor.” Nevara raised her head a bit higher. “That is most kind of them, but I’m not sure if that will be enough to sway my superiors. They can be stubborn sometimes.” The messenger nodded. “Indeed, your species is known for that and your cleverness. The way you were able to easily put councilor Yumi on the back foot was most impressive. I pity anyone that would meet you on the fields of war.”  Nevara smiled. “Indeed. I pity all those that try to keep humanity low.” 

[lil-meow-meow-goes-rawr]

Illusions

⚔︎ Previous Chapters: Trouble Brews

⚔︎ Pairing: Jungkook x OC

⚔︎ Genre: Medieval Fantasy, Knight!Jungkook, Knight!Hoseok, Wizard!Yoongi, King!Namjoon, Prince!Taehyung, Prince!Jimin, Brothers!Yoonjin

⚔︎ Warnings: mentions of minor character death

⚔︎ Rating: 13+

⚔︎ Synopsis: Nothing is quite as it seems as Emelyn finds the Knight, but discovers a dark secret

⚔︎ Word Count: 8.4K

⚔︎ Masterlist

I clung to the dragon’s talons as I watched the world soar past beneath me. Heights had never been something I feared in the past, yet my heart seemed to stop every time I glanced down.

A scream clawed its way up my throat as the dragon folded its wings and we shot toward the ground at an unholy speed. Clutching tightly to the talons wrapped around my body, I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping for a quick death. How did a dragon kill its prey? Would I be burned or pounded flatter then one of Nelly’s pancakes? I wasn’t certain and I really didn’t want to know. More than anything though, I prayed the beast wouldn’t eat me alive.

The dragon landed with surprising grace for something so large. I kept my eyes shut as I felt the beast gently place me on the ground. I knew what I had to do. I knew I should have already leapt to my feet in an attempt to run away. At the very least, I should have drawn my sword. Yet I was paralyzed with fear. My body refused to respond. Instead of escaping, I laid in a crumpled heap on the cold ground, awaiting my demise.

A wave of hot air washed over my face and I let out a small whimper. With a snort and a shake of its massive head, I heard the dragon maneuver away from me. It was only then that I was able to force my eyes open to take in my surroundings. He had flown us inside a large cave, most likely carved into the mountainside. My breath hitched in my throat when I saw the beast staring at me from the other side of the cavern, its legs tucked delicately beneath it. In an odd sense, the image reminded me of the cats that roamed the castle. It eyed me curiously for a moment as its tail wrapped lightly around itself. Lying there, so utterly vulnerable, I should have already been dead. So why wasn’t I?

The dragon suddenly let out a sharp cry of pain and curled itself into a ball. Curiously, I watched as the dragon occasionally twitched, letting out a few distressed moans.  Was it injured? Had Jimin inflicted more damage to it than I had originally assumed? Just then, an even more terrifying question crossed my mind – should I attempt to help it? If I were to move, surely it would eat me.

I gasped and drew further away when the dragon cried out, a small jet of steam shooting from its opened jaw. In horror, I watched as the dragon’s body began to shrink and morph. It was as if I were witnessing something straight out of one of Taehyung’s old tales. The prince had a wild imagination and knowing that I scare easily with such things, would often produce stories of terrifying magical creatures and the wizards which ruled over them. Although magic had been outlawed long ago, it was not uncommon to find the rare few who still practiced its art. Taehyung had told a story much like this one before. A man forced to morph into a dragon with every rise of the moon. Cursed by an old witch to terrorize the village bellow it. It was a tale Taehyung had heard from the knights when he was just a boy. One that had haunted my nightmares ever since. The very story which was playing out before my very eyes.

Mere moments passed before a young man’s figure replaced that of the dragon. At nearly the exact moment, the sun shone through the opening of the cave, serving as a beacon of light to illuminate his face. I must admit, he was a handsome man. Large eyes which resembled those of a fawn, stared over at me with as much uncertainty as I felt. His gaze held no threat, yet I did not allow myself the luxury of relaxing in his presence. I had just witnessed a dragon transform into a man. A man who now sat a few mere feet from where I lay. As far as I was concerned, he was still a danger to me.

The man made no move to come any closer, content to stay where he was as we simply watched each other. His long hair was unruly and was obviously not kept. The ends were chopped at odd angles just past his nose, as if he had attempted to cut them himself without so much as a mirror as guidance.

His head tilted to the side, his eyes wide with curiously when he asked, “Who are you?”

I gaped at him, unsure if he was attempting to confuse me or if he was genuinely serious. “I should be asking you that question. What right did you have, kidnapping me?”

His face instantly fell. “Oh no. No, no, no.” Bringing his knees to his chest, he began shaking his head while quietly chanting a string of apologies.

Frowning, I found myself leaning in his direction, attempting to find a better view of his face. He was upset. That much was clear. Yet what he was upset over remained a mystery to me. I was about to ask if he was alright when he suddenly hissed in pain and brought his hand up to his chest. It was then that I realized his worn, black tunic was damp and tainted an odd color. My eyes grew wide, immediately recognizing the sword wound. I had dealt with plenty of them in my time. Having never been allowed to fight in battle, the closest I had ever gotten to doing so was work in the medic tent. Treating sword wounds had become a bit of a second nature for me. I wasn’t an expert, but I knew a wound to the chest was never a good thing.

Without stopping to think of my actions, I rushed toward him. Falling to my knees, I reached out to him, my eyes going wide at the amount of blood that had accumulated on the tunic, yet there was no hole in the fabric. Of course, he had been a dragon at the time he’d been hit. Perhaps that was the reason his clothes had been spared.

He shook his head and backed away the moment I attempted to reach for his tunic. Confused, I reached out to him again, but he only retreated further.

“I am only trying to offer my assistance. You’re bleeding.” Though the statement was a bit obvious, I didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowing me to help.

“D-don’t come a-any closer. I’m f-fine.”

I rolled my eyes and sat back on my knees with a huff. “You’re clearly not alright. There’s more blood on your tunic at the moment than there is in your body. If you do not allow me to help, I fear you’ll die right here.”

He dropped his gaze to the ground, his hand pressed firmly against the wound. “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

My heart dropped at his words. What sort of unbelievable circumstances must a man go through to lose the will to live entirely? As a dragon he had appeared as the largest threat to our kingdom, yet in that moment, he was nothing more than vulnerable man who was in desperate need of a friend.

“I will not have you speaking that way. Now remove your tunic so I may tend to your wound before the Lord takes you home for good.”

His eyes shot up to stare at me in disbelief. I nodded my encouragement and slowly, he did as I asked. I took in a sharp breath as my eyes landed on his skin. Small, smooth scales covered his chest, yet that wasn’t what caught my eyes. Jimin had sliced him clear across the chest, the wound bigger than any I had ever seen before. Still, the wound itself was not what had nearly knocked me off my feet. For the blood that ran from wound – the blood shone a bright golden color.

“The Phantom Knight.” I breathed, not fully believing it myself. “You’re the Phantom Knight.”

A shy smile crossed his lips. “Hello, Princess.”

“It’s you? You’re the knight? The one everyone speaks of. The one who protects this kingdom. I can’t believe this. Jimin and Taehyung . . . Nelly? They were right. They’ve been right this whole time and I’ve been naive.” I let out a slow, shaky breath. Another realization hit me, and I looked up to meet his eyes once more. “You’re the moon dragon as well. The legends are not only real, they’re one and the same.”

Somewhat reluctantly, he confirmed my accusation with a nod of his head.

“I must return with you to the kingdom.”

“What? Why?”

“It is my duty. I set out to find the Phantom Knight and by the grace of God I have found him. Please, you must return with me. If you do not, my kingdom will surely perish.”

He let out a slow breath of recognition. “The battle.”

“Yes. The battle.” I reaffirmed. “The battle which they will surely lose if you do not help.”

His eyes darted to the entrance of the cave, squinting slightly as he looked directly into the light of the sun. He brought his tunic back down, keeping his gaze pointedly off me. “I fear it is best if I remain where I am.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am not what the kingdom needs right now.”

I stared at him in utter disbelief. He couldn’t be serious. After everything he had done for this kingdom in the past, he was simply going to walk away when we needed him most? It didn’t seem fair. Why would he turn his back on us now? No, I wouldn’t allow it. I had set out to find the Phantom Knight and I would be returning with him.

“Are you, or are you not, the Phantom Knight?” I asked.

With an air of caution, he answered, “I am.”

“And is it not the Phantom Knight who patrols our land and does everything in his power to protect the people within its borders?”

“It is.”

“So why have you suddenly given up on us?”

He shook his head. “I have not given up on the kingdom.”

“Then why are you refusing to help.”

“Because right now, I fear I might cause more damage than good if I were to intervene.”

“Why?”

“I can no longer control it!” He snapped. His eyes burned with fury as he finally trained them on me.

I flinched back in surprise, my hands reaching up into a defensive pose.

Taking a deep breath, the man sank back against the wall, his face screwed up in self-hatred.

Slowly, I lowered my hands and in a quiet voice asked, “What is it you can’t control? Perhaps I can help.”

Shaking his head, he brought his knees to his chest again only to hiss in pain at the small action.

Remembering the wound, I reached my hand out to cover his. Shocked, his eyes darted up to meet my own. “Please, let me help you. I’ve seen what happens to wounds that aren’t dressed properly. Knights have died from them.”

Hesitating only a moment longer, he reluctantly nodded his consent.

I gave him a small smile as I reached down to tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of my dress. He watched me closely. Not a word escaped his lips, but his eyes remained wide with curiosity. I had to wonder when he was last shown any form of kindness. The way he acted around me resembled the way in which I felt after the engagement. It had been three months before I spoke to anyone or allowed anyone close to me again. Something told me he had been alone for so much longer than three months.

Using the end of the cloth strip and dipping it in the cup of water he had beside him, I cleaned the wound as best I could without the help of the medical supplies I was used to. To the man’s credit, he only flinched once as I cleaned the deepest part of the wound.

“Thank you.” The words were hardly more than a whisper as I finished tying the cloth around his chest.

“It’s the least I could do. It was my brother who inflicted the wound after all.”

“Your brother?”

I hummed in response. “He’s not my true brother. Not by blood, but he is as much a brother to me as anyone ever could be.” Sitting back, I tucked my hands under my legs. “Can I ask you something?”

His head gave the smallest of nods.

“Why did you take me here? Was it simply to help you with your wound?”

He shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as he dropped his gaze.

“Then why? If you aren’t planning to help my kingdom, why take me?”

“I suppose the dragon deemed you worthy.”

“The dragon?”

He pursed his lips, his frown deepening as his head tilted to the side. “Hmm, yes. The dragon.”

“But aren’t you . . . aren’t you the dragon?”

A sharp shake of his head was the only response he gave me.

“You say you’re not the dragon, yet I just watched you transform before my eyes. Would you care to explain how that is possible?”

He bit his lip nervously. “It is difficult.”

“You’re more frustrating to speak with than the King. Don’t you ever give a straight answer? If you weren’t planning on killing me, and I haven’t been brought here simply to act as your nurse, then please do enlighten me. What is it that you need from me?”

“I need your help.”

My breath caught in my throat, having not expected a response to my harsh words. “Why would you need my help?”

Crossing his legs under him, the man stared adamantly at his hands folded delicately in his lap. “I’ve been cursed. You wouldn’t understand.”

Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet, only to sink down to the floor beside him. He looked uncertain yet he allowed me to close the bit of distance between us. “Then help me understand.”

“I need you to help me break the curse.”

“What curse?”

He hesitated. It was clear he wasn’t keen on the idea of sharing this information. “Many years ago, I was cursed by a witch. I-” A shaky breath fell from his lips and I could feel him closing up again.

With a gentle, encouraging smile, I urged him to continue. “You know, I find it’s easier to speak with a stranger about your problems. Lucky for you, I’m an exceptionally good listener.”

He glanced in my direction, though once he caught my gaze, he dropped his eyes back down to stare at his hands. “I am not the hero your people think I am.”

“No one ever is.”

He shook his head, and I caught a glimpse of tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. “In an attempt to save my own family, I took the life of someone innocent. Someone the woman held dear. In retaliation for my actions, she cursed me.” His words became rushed then, as if he could not stop now that he had begun to let them out. “In the end it was all for not. My family was slaughtered and the witch herself was executed. Since then, with the rise of every moon, I am forced to become something I can not control. The moon’s light transforms me into the monster I was that night. I have killed more people than I can save. Because of this, I have vowed to protect your kingdom in the light of day, when I have complete control of myself, in hopes for atoning for the pain which I have caused your people.”

His words fell on me like a wall of stone. I found it hard to breathe as I tried to imagine the things he had been through. His voice, though firm and strong, was that of a man who had been scarred beyond anything that could be repaired.

“Recently however, it seems as though I have been losing control even when the sun is shining brightly above. Even having you here with me now is a risk to your safety. I cannot go fight for your kingdom without knowing for certain that I will not harm anyone in the process. I have done far too much killing in my life. I will not do it any further.”

Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes for a moment to gather my thoughts. There was nothing I could say to ease the tension that had grown between us as he told his story. Not only was this man the savior whom my kingdom looked to in times of need, he was also the cause of so much destruction. Hoseok’s face flashed across my mind. The look of utter despair he’d made while retelling his family’s encounter with the moon dragon. Resentment and anger built, causing my chest to tighten with every story of loss I had ever heard, now knowing it was the cause of the man sitting beside me. Yet at the same time, my heart ached for him. He wasn’t much older than me. I was merely ten when Namjoon had become king. It was only a year before that when Hoseok’s family had been killed. This man had been so young when he’d first been inflicted with the curse. He had simply been a young boy trying to protect his family. A young boy who made a mistake and paid for it dearly. A boy who sat beside me, now grown but just as frightened.

“What’s your name?” My voice was low as I decided to avoid the topic entirely for now.

Frowning, he tilted his head in confusion. “Sorry?”

“It is clear you know who I am, yet I do not know your name.”

“Jungkook”

“Well, Jungkook, I do believe I owe you a great deal of gratitude for what you have done for my kingdom. It is because of you that my people hold onto hope. It is your existence which keeps my people happy and carefree. I find it only fair that I help you in return.”

His eyes grew wide at hearing my words.

I laughed lightly at his reaction. “Will you accept my help?”

“What is it you wish to receive in return for your service.”

“You really haven’t been handed much kindness in your lifetime, have you? I wish for nothing in return.”

His eyebrow raised skeptically. “You have been raised by the royal family, yet you wish for nothing. Either you were not taught in the ways of negotiating, or you simply have no mind for it.”

I scoffed indignantly. “I will have you know that I have accompanied the King on many trips of negotiation, and I have been the one to secure the outcome every time. However, I am not here to negotiate with you. I am simply returning the favor which you have granted my kingdom throughout the years.”

“You wish for me to come fight with you.” Jungkook countered knowingly.

“If you so wish to offer your assistance, then I shall not turn you away.”

A knowing smile crept up his lips. “Very well then. Emelyn Kim, if you are able to help me gain control of this curse once more, I shall help you win this battle of yours and restore your kingdom to peace.”

“You are more than gracious, my Knight.” I stood and offered him a hand.

Stubbornly, he got to his feet on his own. With a smug grin, he reached under his tunic and untied the bit of cloth I had secured earlier. My eyes widened when I saw it. Not a speck of blood was visible. In fact, it appeared cleaner than when I had applied it.

Leaning in close, he dropped the cloth in my hand and whispered, “I heal quickly. One of the benefits of having this curse.”

My breath caught in my throat and I wasn’t able to properly breathe again until he stepped back and created a bit of distance between us once more. Closing my eyes for a moment to clear my mind, I voiced my next question. “How are to go about breaking this curse.”

“If I knew, I would have done it on my own long ago.”

I huffed at his disappointing answer. “It appears as though I am going to have to take the lead on this mission then. Lucky for you, I might know someone who may have an answer for us.”

Jungkook looked genuinely surprised, as if he hadn’t truly believed that I would be able to help.

“Though I suggest we leave now. It will be at least half a day’s ride to get there. By that time, King Merek may have already taken Namjoon’s army.”

Jungkook shook his head with a small smile. “You do not give your King’s knights enough credit. They will be able to hold their own until we return.”

“You do not seem to realize the immense size of King Merek’s current army.”

“I realize, Princess. I have watched him grow it. His numbers may be large, but the knights in King Namjoon’s army are far better trained.”

Still I hesitated. Even with better trained knights, the odds of them losing to Merek’s army were still great. I did not like the idea of them standing alone.

“Hey,” leaning down, Jungkook met my concerned gaze, “I promise. I won’t let them lose this fight. But I cannot go into the battle without having full control of myself first.”

“You’re right,” I said, steeling my courage, “they will be fine.” A new, determined smile painted itself on my lips. “So, shall we go break a curse?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Our destination, the small village of Lindow, lay just beyond the mountain range. Nestled just on the border between my kingdom and Taehyung’s, Lindow was often a place I would visit. The village was the main source for the royal family’s supply of clothing, with most of the people in the village being either dressmakers or tailors. Yet the village held a dark secret. Alongside its creation of some of the finest clothing this kingdom had ever seen, it was also the secret holding for the largest group of those who still practiced magic. Taehyung, Jimin and I used to ride to the village nearly every week. I had begged for the elders to teach me what they knew, but they had always refused. It was safer if the King’s ward did not know such things. Still, the art of magic fascinated me.

I had long since grown an understanding with the villagers, a promise that I would never reveal their secret. In exchange, I was welcome among them and they would have no need to hide their magic around me.

“Why are we here?” Jungkook asked, bringing his horse up to ride beside me.

I grinned, waving at one of the women I recognized as Ellice. She had sewn the dress I wore to Namjoon’s coronation. She was also the woman who first showed me how to mend my own dresses. “We are here to see Ryia.”

“Who?”

“Ryia. A dear friend of mine who happens to know a bit of magic.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened to twice their size and his voice was low, as if to keep from drawing attention to himself. “But magic has been outlawed for years.”

“Of that I am well aware. In fact, I was there the day the law was written.”

“Then how is it that this woman still deals in magic?”

Pulling my horse to a halt, I turned to him seriously. “For some, magic isn’t simply a delightful pastime. Ryia was born with magic in her blood. To deny the use of magic would be to deny herself the right to live.” With a small smile, I urged my horse forward again. “If she cannot help us, I fear you are in more trouble than you thought.”

It was not long before we arrived at Ryia’s doorsteps. Excitedly, I leapt off my horse and raced up the stone path to her door. Ryia had become like a second to mother to me after my own mother had died. During my first several years under the care of the Kim family, I had spent more time at Ryia’s house than I had the castle. It had been ages since I had last seen her, and I was more than anxious to receive another of her warm embraces.

Jungkook remained on his horse, uncertainty wafting off him as I lightly rapped my knuckles against the wooden door. Seconds later, Ryia appeared, her face lighting up as soon as she saw me.

“Emelyn!” Her arms wrapped around me in a bone-crushing hug.

Grinning widely, I returned the embrace. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed, it has.” Ryia kept her hands on my shoulders as she pushed me back to arm’s length. “Let me look at you. My goodness you’ve grown since the last time you were here.”

“It has been nearly two years.” I reminded her with a small laugh.

“And we mustn’t let it go that long again. Please, come inside. I shall make something warm for you to eat.”

Shaking her hands off my shoulders, I stepped back with a small shake of my head. “As much as I would love to spend the time with you, I’m afraid I’m in rather a big hurry.”

“What is it you need, my dear?”

Looking back over my shoulder, I nodded toward Jungkook. “My friend here needs your help.”

Ryia’s eyes widened when she saw him. “My apologies! In all my excitement to see Emelyn I did not notice you there.”

Jungkook offered her a tight-lipped smile. “It is quite alright. It was not my intension to interrupt your greeting.”

“He is a polite one.” She winked at me and I felt my cheeks flush.

“We were hoping you’d be able to help us solve his . . . problem.”

Ryia’s smile suddenly dropped and she eyed me knowingly. “Emelyn, you know I am not inclined to use my magic on just anyone.”

“I know that, but please, you must help us,” I pleaded with her, “I am not sure if you are aware yet but King Merek has declared war on our kingdom. Regretfully, I must admit it was my own doing which has caused this rift between the kingdoms.” Behind me, I sensed Jungkook tense at my words. I had forgotten to mention that little detail to him earlier. “As such, I feel it is my duty to fix it. Though this is something I cannot do alone. That is why I need Jungkook’s help, but he cannot help me unless I help to solve his problem first. It’s all rather complicated.”

“I fail to see how one man is going to help you take down an entire army.”

Jungkook leapt down from his horse, his feet landing on the hard ground with a surprising grace. “May we speak to you inside for a moment? Once you hear my story, perhaps you will better understand the situation. Though it is not a story I wish to share with everyone.”

I had not noticed the few villagers who had begun to gather round. We had unwelcome ears listening and Jungkook’s secret was not one any of us wished to divulge. “Please, Ryia.”

With a reluctant sigh, Ryia agreed to let us talk. “Very well then, but we must make it quick. I am due to have a visitor soon.”

Once seated inside, Jungkook took the lead in telling her everything. At first, it appeared as though Ryia was not going to believe us. She was skeptical and I could not blame her. Jungkook’s story was wild at best. If I had not seen it for myself, I wasn’t sure I would have believed him either.

“I practice magic. I have seen magnificent things happen, but even I must admit this story seems a bit crazy.” Ryia said.

“Believe me, I understand.” I said. “Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed it either.”

“But the Phantom Knight?” She glanced at Jungkook with apprehension. “I believed there was someone out there lending a hand, but I never believed the legends to actually be true.”

A small, sheepish smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips.

“All we’re asking, is to see if there is any way you can help. Jungkook can’t risk morphing in the middle of battle.” I urged, praying with everything in me that Ryia would be willing to help.

“I’m afraid I do not possess the magic abilities to help you.” Ryia sighed. “Simple magic is one thing, but you are talking about something far greater than I have ever seen. You speak of dragon magic. The magic used to defeat the dragons decades ago. No one alive would be capable enough to practice magic of that sort.”

I blew out a defeated breath. “So, you’re saying you aren’t able to help at all?”

“I am sorry, Emelyn. A spell that powerful and that old will not be so easy to break.”

Without a word, Jungkook stood from his chair, bowed his head politely in Ryia’s direction and quietly left the house. I watched out the window as he sank to the ground beside the horses, occasionally reaching out to scratch their ears as they ate. The disappointment on his face had been clear.

Turning back to Ryia, I asked, “Do you have any idea where we might begin to look for help?”

She hesitated. “There is one man I have heard of. He lives far up in the mountains and is said to practice the ways of the old magic. I find it highly impossible that he has indeed perfected the art, yet he is the only one who may be able to help your friend.”

“Where?” I stood, resting my hands on the table to lean in closer. “Where can we find him.”

“He and his brother live near the peak of Blood Mountain.” Reaching out, she cupped her hands over my own. “Please, Emelyn. You mustn’t go there. It is deemed Blood Mountain for a reason. Whether you believe this curse to be true or not, it is not worth your life.”

“You’re right. The curse is not worth my life, but my kingdom is. What is the name of the man we seek?”

Ryia sighed in resignation. “The man you seek goes by the name of Yoongi. Not much is known about him other than he could be very dangerous. Anyone who dabbles in dragon magic must be mad.”

“Thank you, Ryia, for everything.” Taking my hands out from under hers, I straightened and padded back to the door. “I shall come visit again once the curse is broken and this war is over. Until then, please take care.”

Ryia let out a bitter laugh. “It is you who must take care, my child. Return to us safely.”

“I promise.” With one last small smile, I left, not knowing whether I would be able to keep that promise.

Jungkook heard me exit the house and immediately turned, watching expectantly as I approached.

“Mount up. We have a long journey ahead of us and very little time in which to complete it.”

Jungkook sprang to his feet, his face splitting into an adorable, childish grin. “You have found an answer?”

I hummed in response. “I believe I’ve found someone who can help us, yes. Though it will not be an easy quest. Are you prepared for this?”

“Are you?” He countered.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

With a gentle nod of his head, Jungkook silently asked permission to help me onto my horse. I faltered at the request. It wasn’t as if I weren’t used to it. Back at the castle, I was not allowed to mount a horse on my own. Though I was perfectly capable of it, Namjoon insisted I follow the rule, claiming it to be more appropriate.

Somewhat reluctantly, I consented to his request and he effortlessly lifted me into the saddle. His strength was something to marvel at. Even the knights held no candle to him.  Distantly, I wondered if that strength would leave should we manage to break the curse.  Shaking my head, I cleared my mind of those thoughts. Jungkook had said nothing about breaking the curse. We were simply seeking to gain control of it once more, though I knew eventually we would have to break him free from its hold. No man deserved to be cursed, even if that meant our kingdom would lose its Phantom Knight.

Jungkook and I rode as fast and long as our horses would allow. It had been a long time since I had ridden with Taehyung and Jimin. The exhilaration I used to feel back then returned as I relished the feeling of the wind on my face. Jungkook was a bit harder to read. His face was carefully blank for most of the ride. As night continued to draw closer, he became increasingly more agitated. By sundown, he had forced us to stop and make camp.

“We could have kept going.” I argued as I untied my horse’s saddle.

Jungkook simply bit his lip, glancing up toward the sky once more. I noticed he had been doing so every few seconds as he too released his horse from its saddle. Within minutes, he had helped me gather enough kindling to make a fire and had ignited a small spark which quickly grew into a warm blaze.

“I have to go.” Jungkook announced, his eyes trained on the disappearing sun.

“Where are you going?”

“You can’t be near me.”

“What?” I felt utterly helpless as I watched him scramble away from me. He looked so upset. All I wanted was to help. “Jungkook, are you alright?”

“No.” He stood suddenly, nervously wiping his hands on the sides of his tunic. “It isn’t safe. Please you have to stay here.”

Pushing myself to my feet, I started towards him. “Jungkook, wait -”

“Just stay away from me!” He shouted.

I froze, watching as tears built in his eyes. Without another word, he fled into the trees. I wanted to race after him, to demand he explain what was happening, but something held me back. A realization that I should have seen sooner. Looking to the sky, I noticed a nearly full moon shining down on me.

“The moon dragon.” I breathed.

Seconds later, the silent night was interrupted by a scream. A scream I recognized all too well for it was the same sound I heard when Jimin struck the dragon the night before. With the rise of every moon, I am forced to become something I cannot control. Jungkook’s words replayed in my mind over and over. At night, he wasn’t the knight my entire kingdom adored. In the night, he was a killer. With the rise of the moon, Jungkook became a monster.

Another cry sounded as I heard the dragon take off from the ground, crashing through the treetops and into the night sky. Rushing back to the campfire, I quickly put it out, knowing that the flame would only serve to draw the dragon to me. He had asked me to stay away from him for a reason. I needed to be alive in order to save my kingdom. For now, that meant staying clear of the dragon.

Guilt gnawed at me. It wasn’t simply a dragon. It was Jungkook. The shy, quiet knight who protected my kingdom according to his own will. I should be helping him, not hiding from him. I had seen it in his eyes before he ran away. He was scared – scared of what he might do once he’d transformed. He was scared of the destruction he might cause. My heart ached for him as I sat amongst the leaves and pulled my knees to my chest. Jungkook would do anything to protect this kingdom, yet I hid from him in a time when he needed me most.

A cold wind whipped at my face as if reprimanding me for my cowardice. Shivering, I pulled my cloak tighter around me. My eyes shot to the sky at the sound of another distant cry from the dragon. Training my sight on the figure in the distance, I watched as he circled the small clearing. We were nowhere near a village. I prayed he would not venture too far in search of one. For now, everyone was safe. For now, all I could do was wait until the sun rose and my knight returned to me.

I had to wonder what it was like for him. To lose control like that was such a terrifying thought. Was he still aware of what he did as the dragon? Was he forced to watch as he hunted the people around him? The dragon landed gracefully in the clearing, only a little way off from where I was. Jungkook had been forced to endure this nearly his entire life. He could have become resentful and hateful toward the people of this world and no one would have blamed him for it. Yet he remained humble through it all. Jungkook saw this as nothing more than a punishment for what he had done. In my eyes, the punishment for his crime had long since been paid. Truthfully, I didn’t even see it as a crime. He had merely been protecting his family. I was sure I would have done the same if I had been put in his position.

The dragon stretched out his neck, turning his head in my direction as if he could feel me staring at him. He made no move to come closer though I knew his eyes were trained on me. Just as it had been in the cave, there was no threat behind the stare. He was simply regarding me as another presence.

With a shake of his head, the dragon stretched out its wings once before folding them tightly against his body and settled down amongst the tall, soft grass. He watched as a couple of birds flew overhead, and a spurt of steam shot from his mouth to chase away a curious rabbit. It was peaceful, simply watching him be, and for once in my life I felt truly safe. As if the dragon had taken up watch over me. He was not here to harm me. Jungkook had said himself that the dragon had chosen me, though he never explained why. I wagered the dragon didn’t like this imbalance any more than the knight did.

With a small smile, I leaned up against the tree behind me and allowed my eyes to drift closed. For the first time in a long time, I had a restful, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I woke before the sun. The light was just peaking over the horizon as I slowly blinked my eyes open. With a small moan, I stretched and rolled over only to come face to face with a large scaly leg. I suppressed a surprised scream, spinning back around to find the dragon’s head lying right next to my own. Its tale was wrapped securely around us both and it was sleeping soundly.

Moments later, the giant form shifted, and the form of the knight took its place. My breath hitched as my eyes came to rest on his face. There was something so soft about his features when his guard was down. He appeared so gentle and innocent. I had the strong urge to protect him from all the evils this world had to offer. He had been broken for so long, he deserved to have a bit of peace.

Jungkook sniffed and I jolted up, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. Stretching his arms above his head, he slowly opened his eyes which immediately came to rest on me, and I watched his guard go back up. I doubted he knew of what he had done last night, and I wasn’t about to tell him.

“Sleep well?” I asked, keeping my back turned to him as I could still feel my cheeks were flushed.

He hummed a quiet yes and I noticed how much deeper his voice became in the morning. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth and I bit my lip to keep it at bay.

“We should resume our journey.” I said, finally getting to my feet and straightening out my dress before turning to him. “There is still a long way to go.”

Smiling, Jungkook slowly got to his feet and shuffled over to me. “I suppose you aren’t used to going without a mirror in the mornings.” Reaching up, he gently pushed my hair out of my face.

Mortified, I quickly ducked away as I scrambled to fix it. Alyse had put it up into an elegant braid the day before and I suddenly wished she hadn’t. Managing to find the pins to remove them was proving to be much more of a challenge than I had anticipated.

After a moment, Jungkook stepped up behind me and I heard a soft voice ask, “May I help?”

Slowly, I nodded my consent and dropped my hands. He was a bit awkward at first. His hands were clumsy, and he managed to poke my head with more than a few of the pins, but his hands were gentle. After removing all of them, he unwound my hair from the braid and let it fall down around my shoulders.

“Thank you.” I said softly, turning to offer him a grateful smile.

Unable to meet my eyes, Jungkook cleared his throat. “We should get moving. The sooner we find Yoongi, the sooner we can be back to help the knights.”

“Right. Of course.” I said, dropping my gaze.

“Milady,” I looked up again to find Jungkook presenting me with my horse.

Avoiding his eyes, I took the reins, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a long way to go.” He grinned and mounted his own horse after helping me onto mine. “Are you ready, Princess.”

“You know I’m not actually a princess, right?”

He shrugged indifferently.

Rolling my eyes, I urged my horse forward. “Hurry along, my knight, or you might just get left behind.”

Jungkook laughed, the sound rich and beautiful. Spurring his horse on, he raced past me initiating the race. Laughing along with him I happily obliged, ready to put to use all the skills I had learned from having raced Taehyung and Jimin. There was no way I was about to let him win.

Everything was going smoothly until we reached the river. Jungkook showed no fear as he raced toward the water. The river seemed quiet enough. We seemed to have come up on a rather shallow area, still I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of crossing.

“Jungkook!” I called out, trying to capture his attention.

Having rode too far ahead to hear me, he continued racing toward the river. I didn’t like this. Something felt wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but something wasn’t right. Urging my horse forward again, I chased after Jungkook. Perhaps it was simply irrational childhood fears coming back, but I had to stop him from crossing the river. Not here at least. We could find a different way across.

I wasn’t fast enough. Jungkook and his horse plunged into the water without an ounce of hesitation. Pulling my own horse to a stop, I watched with bated breath as they began to splash their way across.

It was then that I saw it. A blue form skirting along the edge of the water’s surface, heading directly for Jungkook – a water spirit. Suddenly my apprehension toward the river made sense. I had been there the day Ryia expelled the water spirit from the stream which ran beside her house. The creature had been small and hardly posed any threat. When I questioned why she attacked it when it had done nothing wrong, she answered with a curt, “It would not have stayed small for long.”

The one racing toward Jungkook and his horse was at least three times bigger than the one from the stream. Taking the form of a light blue wisp beneath the water’s surface, a water spirit seemed harmless enough. It wasn’t until after one breached the surface that its true colors were shown. Water spirits were known to take down fully grown knights, dragging them down to the depths of their watery homes. Those men were never seen again.

My throat closed up as I tried to yell for Jungkook. I screamed until my throat was raw, yet I could not make a sound. I watched helplessly as the water spirit drew closer. Jungkook had nearly made it across. Perhaps he truly would be able to make it across safely.

My prayers remained unanswered however when the water spirit finally caught up with Jungkook and sprung from the water beside him. His horse reacted by leaping to the side, subsequently throwing Jungkook from his back. Jungkook landed in the water with a large splash and I held my breath until I saw his head emerge once more. Gasping, he turned back in my direction, as if preparing to swim back across. His eyes caught mine with a questioning glance.

Shaking my head wildly, I leapt down off my horse and raced toward the water’s edge. “Jungkook, no! Get to shore! Get to shore now!”

“Emelyn? W-what’s wrong?” He struggled against the undercurrent, fighting to keep his head above water.

“It’s a water spirit! You need to get to shore!”

His eyes widened in recognition and his head immediately shot from side to side, searching for the creature.

“There! Behind you!”

I tried to warn him, but I wasn’t fast enough. By the time I caught sight of it, the creature was already beginning to emerge from bellow the surface, directly behind Jungkook. Larger than any water spirit I had ever seen, the creature loomed over Jungkook, its bright red eyes shining with hunger. Stone grey in color, the water spirit was at least twice as tall as Jungkook and resembled a war horse. Though water spirits could take on nearly any form when emerged from the water, a horse was the most common.

Jungkook spun around, only to dive to the side just in time to avoid the horse’s hooves. My hand sprung up to cover my mouth as I watched Jungkook disappear beneath the surface. The spirit spun in a circle, attempting to locate its prey once more. Its eyes eventually landing on Jungkook’s form, slowly moving away beneath the water. With a shrill cry the spirit dove back beneath the water as well, returning to its blue wispy form.

Jungkook emerged seconds later, gasping for air as he dragged his arms through the water as fast as he could.

“Emelyn, no!” Jungkook’s voice froze me in my tracks, forcing me back to my senses, only to realize I had been slowly inching toward the water.

“I can help!” I shouted back, wishing desperately there was something I could do to help without entering the water.

“Just stay ashore!”

I screamed when he was dragged beneath the surface once more. This time, he didn’t come back up. I searched the water frantically, but the reflection of the sun on the water’s surface kept me from being able to see anything. He had been under too long. Even an invincible knight couldn’t stay alive without breathing. His name fell from my lips in a desperate cry, but there was nothing. No indication that he was alive.

Just as I was about to head into the water to find him, despite the risk of drowning myself, the river began to bubble. With a shaky breath, my feet slowly began backing away from the water’s edge. Something big was coming. Something much larger than the water spirit.

Seconds later, the moon dragon crashed through the surface of the water, its talons wrapped firmly around the water spirit. With a sharp intake of breath, I watched as the dragon shot into the air, only to stop when he had reached a dizzying height. Releasing its hold on the spirit, the dragon let it drop back to the river below. Even a water spirit wouldn’t be able to survive a drop like that. Though they may have inhabited the waters, they could not control it or bend it to their will. The water’s surface would surely flatten it.

I didn’t pay much heed to the water spirit, however. It was the dragon which had my attention. The sun was shining brightly overhead. Jungkook shouldn’t have been able to morph into his dragon form, yet it was the dragon which stared down at me now. Unlike the other times the dragon had looked at me however, this time I felt threatened. He no longer looked at me as though I were an ally, or someone to protect. I had become another threat in his eyes. I had become the dragon’s prey.

Where was Jungkook? What had happened beneath the water’s surface? Why had he changed midday? Something had triggered the transformation; I only wish I knew what it was. Perhaps if I knew, I would be able to help bring the knight back.

Suddenly, the dragon let out a piercing screech. Ducking my head, my hands immediately flew to cover my ears. The sound was shrill and caused every animal within several miles to retreat. My ears remained ringing even after I straightened back up. Looking to the sky, my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. The dragon had disappeared. The sky was empty and there was no sign of there ever being a dragon present.

I swallowed hard as my eyes searched the area around me, hoping to catch a glimpse of the knight. It was unnervingly quiet. I had never felt quite so alone as I turned to retrieve my horse. Jungkook had warned me that the moon dragon may appear without warning. My worst fear had come true.

Jungkook was gone.

[xenoglossy-but-also-fishing]

| to carry onward

I haven’t really been feeling all that amazing for a while, and I haven’t written anything for even longer than that, it feels like. So I thought ‘hey! Maybe I can write something to try and make myself feel better.’ 

I still don’t feel 100% better, but I do feel a lot better. So I thought I’d post it since I was happy with it and stuff. And... ya. I don’t really know what to add here. That’s all I wanted to say, anyways.

____________________

It must have been some time near the next morning. Just close enough for the slow beginnings of the day to begin, yet without the majority of the city rising from their beds. 

In other words, Amandine’s favorite part of the morning. 

The slow feeling of dawn, when the sun was just barely awake itself… it gave her a nice spot of time to herself. A good book, a nice cup of something warm, and a roaring fire… 

Then it was out the door to get on with whatever exciting plans she had for the day. 

At least that was usually how her mornings were spent. Yet judging the scent of hot chocolate that wafted through the house, this was not the ‘usual’ morning Amandine had come to know so well. 

Not that she minded. A change of pace was welcome, now and again, after all. After slipping into her house robe and putting on her slippers, Amandine sauntered off into the strongest source of the cocoa scent. 

“Oh. Sorry— did I wake you up?” Oliver stared at her with a nearly startled look. Steaming mug of hot chocolate cradled in between his hands, a blanket draped over him like some sort of veil. It was almost covering his eyes. 

She shook her head at first. Not trusting just him seeing the gesture alone, Amandine replied, “Not at all. I am usually awake at this hour of my own accord.” 

“Really? I had no idea.” 

“You’re quite welcome, then.” She grinned for a moment at her own words as she slipped into the room to steal her favorite spot on the couch. “I put a considerable amount of effort into not making too much noise in the mornings. It disturbs the magic.” 

And in trying not to wake him, either, yet that was likely a given. He struck her as one who did not like being woken up needlessly, and she was frankly not quite interested to find out.

Oliver looked around, eyes narrowed and half-squinted in suspicion. “Magic…” There was a soft hum, then a sudden turn back. “Wait. You don’t mean literal magic, do you?” 

“Metaphorical magic.”

“Right. I knew that,” he said with a nod. The way he looked off towards the fire said otherwise, yet Amandine chose not to mention it. The loudest noise in the room, for a brief moment, was him taking a long sip from the mug. 

“If I may be so bold as to ask, Oliver…” He looked back up mid-sip when she trailed off, “Just how long have you been awake? You’re usually much more... aware than this, for lack of a better term.”

It wasn’t as easy a question as Amandine thought. Oliver leaned forward, placed down the mug, and started counting on his fingers. He stopped for a moment, blinked, then finally shrugged. “...can I get back to you on that one? I can’t do math at this hour.”

“Shall I assume you’ve not slept since yesterday, then?” 

“That’s probably more accurate than any number I could give you, to be honest. Ya.” 

“Fury preserve, what have you been doing, then?” Taking a better look, it certainly looked like he’d been awake that long. She wasn’t entirely sure if Oliver was looking at her, or through her. Or both, somehow. “Attempting to gain a sixth sense through sleep deprivation?” 

At the moment that it took for Oliver to answer, the sudden fear of him agreeing with her response was vivid. Twelve only knew what one could get from so little sleep. Other than hallucinations and a handful of questionable decisions.

“I… don’t think that’s actually possible, is it?” 

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been foolish enough to attempt it,” Amandine answered with a short rise of one shoulder. 

“Anyways, no, I’m not trying to see ghosts. Or whatever a sixth sense entails. Five is good enough for me.” The mug was once again cradled in his palms. Thumb running across the handle in some sort of rhythmic, subconscious pattern. It was oddly distracting.

Amandine’s gaze moved away from the mug handle. “Well then, forgive me my curiosity. I do hope you try and get some sleep soon.” All the talk of sleep did nothing but make her drowsy. A nice cup of coffee would set her right, at least— or, in a brief flash of an idea, “Did you happen to make any more hot chocolate? Assuming it isn’t cold by now, I may pour myself a mug, as well.”

“It should still be warm enough, I think.” Oliver looked up again from where his eyes had dropped. Once more looking rather surprised at the sudden words. More tired than he appeared… how good he hadn’t accidentally spilled hot cocoa on himself from nearly falling asleep like that. 

_______________________

The hot chocolate was far better than Amandine had thought to imagine. Clearly, it was a beverage Oliver had down to a fine art. 

“I’ll need to pester you for your methods of cocoa making,” she remarked to him as she walked back into the living space. The heap of blanket that was curled onto the opposite chair to her own said he was still sitting there. Whether he was awake there… 

There was a sharp intake of breath and a few mumbled words. “Thanks.” That was far clearer, at least. “It’s, um, this recipe that Syd always used.”

“Ah.” She took a long sip, “I see.” 

The silence that settled in was a few shades too tense than Amandine would have liked. Sydessin was still a rather sore topic to speak of. She had some doubts about the idea that their departed friend would stop being one. Death ever seemed to have that effect. 

It took another few moments for either of them to say something again. “Hey, Mandi?” The sleepy hints in Oliver’s tone were almost gone, suddenly. 

“Mhm?” Another short sip and Amandine’s attention was solely on him. 

“I… know we technically are already, but…” he trailed off, let out a breath, and asked, “Could we talk? About… something?” 

For some reason, ‘something’ didn’t feel like it was a hot chocolate recipe. Amandine placed down her mug, shifted in her seat, and nodded a few times in confirmation. “Of course. What is it you had in mind?” 

“Great. I just… wanted to ask, I guess. Do you ever just feel, like… tired?” 

The feeling of ‘not quite what it sounded like’ didn’t leave— in fact, it only seemed to have gotten sharper. “I doubt there is a soul who does not feel tired from time to time,” she answered with a slow hesitance. Head tilted by the slightest hint at the question, and her caution in the answer she gave. “No one is truly immune from feeling tired, after all. Hence why sleep is such a valuable tool, I would wager.” 

“I don’t mean sleep-tired,” Oliver said with a few shakes of his head. “I mean as in tired-tired. Even if you get a full night’s sleep, you still wake up feeling like you didn’t so much as close your eyes once.” 

So that’s what he meant. She’d had a feeling that was… hm. “More often than is perhaps healthy, in that sense, yes.” There was a mutual pause to sip their cocoa. Amandine didn’t bother putting her cup back onto the table afterwards. 

“Ya.” There was a sudden rise in his shoulders, and then all of the tension suddenly dropped. The blanket nearly fell over Oliver’s eyes, yet he pushed it back up to only cover his head. “I’ve been feeling like that for a while.” 

“There is little surprise as to why. These past months have been… eventful, after all,” she agreed. ‘Eventful’ was probably the mildest word she had for it. From Sydessin’s death to Eada’s announced retirement, they did not want for tragedy nor action. 

“And with all we still haven’t even begun to deal with, either… I can barely think of it all without wanting to curl up into a ball and cry, or something.” 

“There is undoubtedly a lot on our plate.” And more to come, as he’d said. Amandine let out a sigh and took another long sip. The hot chocolate was beginning to lose some of its heat. “There is little wonder why it has begun to crack.”

“It’s a surprise the plate isn’t in a million pieces already,” Oliver muttered into his mug. The look in his eyes was somewhere between jaded and frustrated. Or, more accurately, a healthy dose of both at the same time. 

There were plenty of things Amandine considered saying. Flourished and hopeful, frankly— she knew well enough the feelings he meant, and they didn’t feel all together helpful to herself, either. Yet it was worth enough of a try, if nothing else. 

“Well, I know not about the plate, yet I’ve been much helped of late by the support of friends,” Amandine told him. Her pinky finger flicked to his general direction before settling back into the mug. “Their presence does little to alleviate the weight of all that has happened, that much is true. Yet it goes some way to making it a little easier to carry, even if it is for but a few moments. And even should I stagger and fall, they are there to help me find my footing once more. And I for them.” 

Something of a smile crossed his face. Oliver nodded slowly a few times, mug rising just to his mouth before he took a sip. Weighing the words, it seemed to Amandine. “I guess so. That tired feeling is never as bad when I’m with you.”

“I’m full glad to hear it. And, in an unexpected turn of events, I feel the exact same way in your presence.” 

He got up after a moment, finishing off the last few mouthfuls of hot chocolate in his mug. “I should probably be getting to bed… I feel a lot better for talking. Tired, still, in more ways than one, but… I think I’ll be alright.” 

“I wish you a fitful sleep, then. Take care of yourself, Oliver,” Amandine told him with a final warm glance and a wave. 

“You too, Mandi. I don’t wanna sound too cheesy, but… thank you for, you know… being yourself and stuff.” 

“I can be nothing else.” She offered a wink and a laugh as Oliver turned away with a chuckle of his own towards his room. Full silence resumed in the room again, and Amandine turned back towards the fire, watching the flames dance.

What a simple sort of magic it was; both metaphorical and literal. Even in the bleakest of times, or the blackest of nights— there was ever some small hint of solace to take shelter in. To carry onward for and from.

[junionigiri]

Bakumomo Week Day 1 - Band/Music

art by safri, words by juni :)

Katsuki stares at her across the table, the vast expanse of expensive polished mahogany a mile-wide crevice, splitting their worlds in two. Yaoyorozu Momo, elegant and regal in the type of fancy dress that only rich people bother to wear at home. She’s sipping tea imported from some mountain in China, served in a gold-trimmed porcelain cup. Classical piano plays in the background–Katsuki guesses it’s a nocturne by Chopin, based on how gentle and melancholy the notes sound, how the notes remind him very much of her.

“You’re right, Bakugou-san,” she confirms. “I didn’t know that you also liked classical music! This is surprising.”

The way her whole face glows, with that little bounce that makes her spiky ponytail bob, almost catches him off-guard. Fuck, is this why Ears and those other extras gush about her when she’s excited over some nerdy shit? It’s distracting as fuck.

“Ain’t a big deal,” he grumbles. It’s fucking abnormal how she manages to make even the mundane act of refilling his tea and humming in assent look so damn refined. Even the way she breathes, what the hell.

He grumbles over his tea again and takes a sip of that fancy shit. He makes a face to tell her that he doesn’t enjoy it that much, even though it isn’t bad at all. She gives him a smile that tells him she doesn’t believe him.

“Well, I still think it’s impressive. No offense, but you gave me the impression that you only liked rock music.”

He supposes the dark clothes and wild hair and all the piercings and tattoos he got after graduation from UA would give anyone that impression. As do those jam sessions with Yaoyorozu back in high school, when she played the keyboard while he attacked the drums in precise strikes that look wild to the untrained eye.

Nevertheless, he scoffs. “Judgin’ a book by its cover, Ponytail? I thought you were better than those other losers who assume shit about me.”

“I didn’t mean that at all!” He sees her lower lip trembling in a strangely familiar way. “I wouldn’t ever. Not for you, Bakugou-san. I mean… not when that happened, before.”

So. She’s talking about that thing in Kamino ward. It’s not like Katsuki would ever forget that whole shitstorm, ever. Five years later he still sees the villains lurking in the darkest corners of his mind, hears them arguing for his loyalty in his sleep.

It seems that Yaoyorozu has not forgotten either. He can’t imagine she would, ever. On an afternoon like this when they’re somehow alone, with tea and Jirou’s shitty goth rock playing in the background, she told him how Kamino Ward happened for her. Somewhere in between shopping for shitty disguises and hiding in the crowd after they had extracted him, she thought she died. All of them did. That shit’s too heavy for all of them at fifteen. And yet after all that she insists that she regrets nothing, because in the end Katsuki’s alive and on their side.

She doesn’t fool him though–he saw that tremble in her lower lip and the tremor in her fingers. He wonders if she gets the nightmares too. If she listens to all this music designed to make someone snooze to calm her down when she remembers the things All for One showed them.

“So… classical music,” Yaoyorozu says brightly, cutting through his dark thoughts like a knife. “Do you have any favorites? Any experience playing?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That hag made me play all sorts of shit.”

“Do tell.”

“The basics. Piano, violin.” She paid for drum lessons too when he got bored of classical, but she fuckin’ regretted that soon enough.

“That’s amazing, Bakugou-san! I wish I knew! We could have played together, and–”

He exposes his teeth in a snarl. “If ya think I’m gonna play that boring snoozefest shit for anyone, think again, Princess.”

He’s called her that for some time now for no other reason than it fits her, and he feels like it. She should have been used to his mouth by now, but there’s always that second where her blood rises to her cheeks that he enjoys wickedly.

“Just when I thought I got used to your rudeness.” Her cheeks does just that again and it’s so obvious by the way she straightens her back and looks away that she hates it and it makes him decide to call her that over and over. “I suppose if your reason for not playing is simply because you can’t, then your reluctance is more acceptable.”

Katsuki frowns. “Oi. Who says I can’t play?”

Yaoyorozu shrugs. “It’s been years since you picked up the instrument, Bakugou-san. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d simply forgotten.”

Oi, no-one tells Bakugou Katsuki that he can’t fuckin’ do something. A typical extra might be shit after not playing for years, but not him. Yaoyorozu should know, they’ve had these little jam sessions for years and even without Jirou telling him how to play he has enough musical sense to make great music.

It’s so that in the next moment he’s snarling at her about how stupid an assumption that is and drags her by the arm into the music room, stomping the entire time. They aren’t supposed to start playing until Ears and Goth Bird and Pikashit got their asses there, but they’re late and Katsuki will not wait for them to prove himself.

“Bakugou-san?!” Exclaiming in that breathy way of hers is all she can do as Katsuki forces her ass down in front of her grand piano. There’s an interesting shade of red on her cheeks right before he lets her go that he wills himself to ignore.

“Ya think a guy like me forgets shit like this?” There’s an array of string instruments displayed on one side of the room. He isn’t about to touch anything that looks like a Stradivarius or anything like that; he’s confident that he can make great music with any one of them.

She blinks. “I suppose not. So does that mean we’re playing a duet?”

“Whaddya think?” he snaps as he begins tuning the instrument.

Yaoyorozu’s mouth gives way to another amused smile. “All right, Bakugou-san. Which song do you want to play?”

He snorts. “Anything, fuck. Not the boring shit like Canon in D or whatever.”

She rolls her eyes. “I like Pachelbel.”

“Like I said, boring. What are you, a grandma?” he quips. Yaoyorozu would play the hell out of Pachelbel’s canon, but she’s too good for that overplayed shit. He watched her play Stravinsky, for fuck’s sake.

Yaoyorozu huffs. “Well, if you’re so confident, might I suggest the first movement of Beethoven’s Violin and Piano Sonata No. 5? I’m not sure if you’re familiar–”

There’s a glint in her eyes that she often used with him when it’s just the two of them. It’s a look he likes on her–as the years passed she learned not to be afraid to challenge him to anything, even little senseless ones like this.

Katsuki grins. “Spring, huh? Easy. Bring it.”

Yaoyorozu smirks in a pretty way she has absolutely no right to, and begins playing.

They don’t have the sheet music to guide them, just the memory of the song to guide them. Katsuki knows enough of it from secretly practicing with a silent violin he kept in his apartment, whenever he felt restless. Maybe he played with too many accents but that’s how he wants it to sound.

It seems that Yaoyorozu knew enough of the song to play from memory too. There’s a thoughtful look on her face as her pale, graceful fingers fly over the keys. There’s a conscious effort to match the way he plays, giving way to the adlibs and liberties he does with the music and adding her own elegant touch to it. When he closes his eyes, he swears he smells wildflowers all around them, feels the warmth of the sun on his skin.

He opens his eyes and sees Yaoyorozu, and he feels more at ease. The dark melts away with each note they play.

They eventually finish the song. The silence that follows the last note is accompanied by chills and a sense of disbelief.

Yaoyorozu smiles at him, exhilarated, a little shocked laugh coming out of her mouth. “That was amazing,” she says breathlessly, one hand flying to her chest.

“Yeah. I guess,” he replies quietly. It was fucking perfect in every way, and while he expects nothing else from himself, having her there gives a whole new layer to his music, something he can’t define that leaves him elated. Like a drug, maybe. It’s scary.

She turns to face him, eyes shining in excitement. “My heart is going crazy! I’ve never felt this way before… the two of us make lovely music together, don’t we? It’s magic, it must be!!”

His heart’s doing some fucking shit in his chest too, but it isn’t the first time for him. Not around her, at least. It races ever wildly as she stands up and takes a few steps closer to him, peering up his face. He masks that with a tch. “What, like the two of us can make shit music? You know that’s impossible.”

She giggles. “You are incorrigible, Bakugou-san.” Another step closer; he sees a mischievous glint in her eyes that makes him wonder what the fuck she’s up to.

He almost drops the fuckin’ violin when she steps close enough to him to feel her warmth, smell the scent of flowers in her hair, hear the rapid tempo of her heart. He looks up and sees those raven eyes gleaming from up close, filled with unsung words and notes that resonate straight to his chest.

After a quiet moment of hesitation spent with their breaths stuck in their throats, her full mouth opens. “Is it too strange to ask if we could…”

The door bursts open, and in comes Ears, Pikashit and Birdhead, essentially destroying whatever was building up between them. “Hey, sorry we’re late! There were villains on the way here, and we–”

Katsuki can’t stop the expletive that comes out through gritted teeth. That electric dunce’s voice has never sounded more irritating than it does now. Wait, scratch that, the duhhh sound that comes out of his gaping mouth is even more irritating than what should be humanly possible. “Uhhh–wait, what is going on here, what are you two–”

The tension made of whatever snaps between them when Yaoyorozu breaks into giggles. “You aren’t interrupting anything at all, Kaminari-san, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure? You two seem like you’re finally about to resolve that years-old sexual tension between the two of you, so if you want, we can go and–”

Katsuki’s palms are just about to spark when Ears nudges the idiot sharply at the side. “Denki that dumbass mouth of yours is gonna get you killed someday,” she hisses not-so-subtly as she begins pulling him aside. Facing the two of them, she says, “We’ll have tea first, Yaomomo and Bakugou, take your time, don’t mind the idiot.”

“Oh, but there’s no need–”

“Revelry in the tea room,” Tokoyami utters, following the bickering couple out of the room. The door closes again behind them, leaving just the two of them.

They stare at the closed door in stunned silence, and then at each other. By this time Yaoyorozu’s face is a touch too pink than it was before, her mouth curled in a bashful smile. “Well… that was embarrassing. I suppose it’s too much to ask to play more music with you, Bakugou-san.”

Fuck. Having that tension addressed so bluntly makes facing her such a struggle now. He ought to kill that blonde bastard, instead of being flustered and shit around her. He clicks his tongue and looks away. “You don’t even gotta ask, Princess. I’ll play all the music ya wanna play.”

Whatever pissed off thought runs through Katsuki’s mind gets derailed when he feels her hand curling around his. He looks at their point of contact, flabbergasted, and then at her face sporting a serene smile.

“All right,” she says with a warm glow to her eyes that’s exactly like spring. “We’re going to make great music together. Just the two of us.”

With that promise made, they leave for the tea room with the beginnings of a beautiful song playing between them.

[flyingiseasy-landingnotsomuch]

That triumphant transcendence of the pattern is what novelist Nicole Krauss explores in an exquisite response to Vincent van Gogh’s 1884 letter to his brother about fear and risk-taking. Her piece is part of an exhibition by the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, in which twenty-three contemporary artists and writers respond to the letters of Van Gogh in paintings, sculptures, letters, poems, photographs, and videos.

Krauss writes:

Dear Vincent,

You write about fear: Fear of the blank canvas, but also, on a larger scale, of the “infinitely meaningless, discouraging blank side” that life itself always turns toward us, and which can only be countered when a person “steps in and does something,” when he “breaks” or “violates.”

It’s extraordinary that I should have been given your letter now, because it is exactly that act of breaking that has been on my mind this last year, and which I feel has everything to do with how I want to make art, and how I want to live.

It’s a strange thing about the human mind that, despite its capacity and its abundant freedom, its default is to function in a repeating pattern. It watches the moon and the planets, the days and seasons, the cycle of life and death all going around in an endless loop, and unconsciously, believing itself to be nature, the mind echoes these cycles. Its thoughts go in loops, repeating patterns established so long ago we often can’t remember their origin, or why they ever made sense to us. And even when these loops fail over and over again to bring us to a desirable place, even while they entrap us, and make us feel anciently tired of ourselves, and we sense that sticking to their well-worn path means we’ll miss contact with the truth every single time, we still find it nearly impossible to resist them. We call these patterns of thought our “nature” and resign ourselves to being governed by them as if they are the result of a force outside of us, the way that the seas are governed — rather absurdly, when one thinks about it — by a distant and otherwise irrelevant moon.

And yet it is unquestionably within our power to break the loop; to “violate” what presents itself as our nature by choosing to think — and to see, and act — in a different way. It may require enormous effort and focus. And yet for the most part it isn’t laziness that stops us from breaking these loops, it’s fear. In a sense, one could say that fear is the otherwise irrelevant moon that we allow to govern the far larger nature of our minds.

And so before we can arrive at the act of breaking, we first have to confront our fear. The fear that the blank canvas and the blank side of life reflects back to us, which is so paralyzing, as you put it, and seems to tell us that we can’t do anything.” It’s an abstract fear, though it finds a way to take on endless shapes. Today it may be the fear of failure, but tomorrow it will be the fear of what others will think of us, and at a different time it will be fear of discovering that the worst things we suspect about ourselves are true. My lover says that the fear, which seems always to be there when one wakes up in the morning, and which he feels in the hollow between his ribs (above his stomach and below his heart) comes from the “other world,” a phrase that always brings tears to his eyes, and by which he means the awareness of our finitude, our lack of the infinite and eternal. I think he’s right, but I would also add to that that fear, being anticipatory, is always without knowledge. It is a mental calculation based on the future unknown. And yet the experience of fear is the experience of being in the grip of a sensation that seems to possess an unassailable conviction in itself. To be afraid that the plane will crash is, in a sense, to assume that the plane will crash. And yet even if we could scrape away the many forms our fear takes and get to the underlying source-our mortality, our division from the infinite — we would still discover that our fear is not based on actual knowledge, unlike the part of us that chooses to be free. Bravery is always more intelligent than fear, since it is built on the foundation of what one knows about oneself: the knowledge of one’s strength and capacity, of one’s passion. You implied as much in your letter: “However meaningless and vain, however dead life appears to be, the man of faith, of energy, of warmth, and who knows something, doesn’t let himself be fobbed off like that,” you wrote. “He steps in and does something, and hangs on to that, in short, breaks, “violates.”

And so we find ourselves, once again, in front of the blank canvas. The blank canvas, which reflects both our fear and our opportunity to break it. In Jewish mysticism, the empty space — the Chalal Panui, in Hebrew — has tremendous importance, because it was the necessary pre-condition for God’s creation of the world. How did the Ein Sof — the being without end, as God is called in Kabbalah — create something finite within what is already infinite? And how can we explain the paradox of God’s simultaneous presence and absence in the world? And the answer to this, according to the Kabbalah, is that when it arose in God’s will to create the world, He first had to withdraw Himself, leaving a void. To create the world, God first had to create an empty space.

And so we might say: The first act of creation is not a mark, it is the nullification of the infinity that exists before the first mark. To make a mark is to remember that we are finite. It is to break, or violate, the illusion that we are nature that goes around in a loop forever. But it is also a confirmation of our knowledge and freedom, which is all we have in this world.

Sincerely,

Nicole Krauss