#however: many of you are wrong

[windienine]

everyone has to be a little less mean to themselves about not reading enough books. letting go of reading as a pride thing is the first step to relearning how to actually enjoy reading for pleasure again. it's totally fine to start with a novella or with a comic or with a field guide or with literature meant for someone younger instead of being mad at yourself for not grokking ulysses in a week. just vary your diet and you'll be good.

i'm a literature scholar, i'm the one who has to be strict with myself about page counts and citations. you all? do what you want, just read and have fun.

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[kizzer55555]

Welcome to the Restraint! (Restaurant)

Imagine Danny runs to Gotham and starts squatting in an abandoned old building in Crime Alley. Slowly putting some ecto into the place to claim it as his haunt (while recovering from the sudden loss of his old one). And he does the normal stuff to survive. Finds some odd jobs, often as a messenger, and is just surviving. Another thing he does is make his own food. It’s cheaper than takeout and he’s gotten pretty good at cooking (out of necessity instead of eating sentient hotdogs). Then he ends up accidentally taking in some street kids. Or more like they follow him home. He can’t just turn them away so he makes a meal for them and lets them stay the night then sends them on their way. And then it happens again. And again. And ok, so maybe he saved a girl from getting molested. And that older guy from getting his only good blanket stolen. And sure, maybe letting that poor pizza delivery guy rant was unnecessary but he looked like he was having a bad day ok? Pretty sure that kid with the scar is a meta too but…he needed a place to stay a few nights alright? It’s not like any of them stay permanently. Danny’s started picking up a few more odd jobs to pay for all the extra food he’s had to buy. Always keeping his place stocked. At least he doesn’t have to pay for water and a fridge, he just makes some ice (or melts it). Sure the water is cold, but it’s probbaly the cleanest water in Gotham. And then some of the people start paying. Like…actually paying in exchange for food. Not sure if it’s because of guilt or pity but Danny won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. And with all the money, he hasn’t had to take as many dangerous jobs. Soon, his little abandoned apartment became what’s essentially the closest thing to a legitimate restaurant in Crime Alley.

It didn’t look normal. The chairs and tables were more like old couches and stools pulled up to coffee tables and cabinets turned on their side. Although with the bulling becoming more like Danny’s haunt, the walls naturally started repairing themselves so at least it didn’t look like it was gonna collapse anymore. And ok…so Danny might have rescued a few feral kids who…weirdly have gold eyes. And possibly stopped a meta trafficking ring on accident. And look, these people didn’t have anywhere to go! And the apartment did have empty rooms. It was already known as a place someone could crash for the night (last winter the entire place was cramped with people. Danny had to break up multiple fights but they usually calmed down when he got there.)

One benefit from controlling a haunt is controlling the temperature inside so it was one of the only buildings with ‘heat’. But back to his…strays. So yeah…most didn’t seem like they could rejoin society…so he let them stay. And…they kind of became employees? Impromptu bodyguards? (Some of the golden eyed people almost felt like he was rangling feral ghosts again.) they came in all ages. A few kids, lots of teens, and a few adults. Same with the metas he rescued. They mostly helped deliver food to costumers. They even got a phone line working and could take orders. (Although the new…employees…also got more protective whenever a fight broke out.) With all the extra money he’s been getting he was even able to afford some medical supplies. A lot of his customers(?) came in injured and he tried his best to patch them up but now he could do more than tie some ripped clothing around the wound and use ice to numb it. He’s got bandages. And pain killers. Plus other medical stuff. He can even give someone stickers now! All that experience as an injured vigilante was paying off. Even Villains and goons start attending this place. The place was unofficially designated as one of the Alley’s ‘safe zones’ where no fighting takes place inside (the body guards make sure of it.) the metas and Talons are getting an identity for themselves, the street kids even get a job and a hideout, random people can go there for help or to pass messages, this place provides food, shelter, and medical care. No one wants it going down.

So yeah, welcome to the restaurant!

(I’m debating whether I want this to be the weirdest restaurant/safe place/truce area in the alley, or whether I want Danny to accidentally become a crime lord. Possibly both.)

Also, this place is called the Restraint because I keep misspelling Restaurant and I think Danny would do the same so the name stuck. (Or one of the kids spelled it when making a sign or passing around messages to spread the word of this safe place.)

So anyways, to add some angst, after Danny adopts a bunch of crime alley kids/villains they find out about Danny’s powers and that he’s a ghost, only they don’t know about Halfas so they think Danny is fully dead and this super kind guy who has been the only person to ever treat them like people…died. He died likely a long time ago and there’s nothing any of them can do to change that.

(And if the GIW dare to come into the alley, they better be prepared for the entire place to turn on them.)

[julijbee]

girlbossing too close to the sun.

[moeblob]

Capri Sun... I miss you... (it still exists).

[swampthingking]

andrew’s definitely gotten in trouble with his pr manager for tweeting things along the lines of:

“no mania inducing medication will compare to the euphoria i will feel the day donald trump drops dead”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

you are so whimsical i qant to check out this mdzs (..??) because of your whimsical nature thank you sorry im very high and your art moved me emotionally

This is simultaneously the sweetest and funniest thing someone has sent me, thank you.

[lumarys]

honestly one of my favorite things about the ava fandom is how many different gender headcanons there are. five different people will all have completely different interpretations of a character’s gender. can’t get this anywhere else

[b4kuch1n]

about ready

[uncanny-tranny]

I love you smile lines and worry lines and grey and white hair and wrinkles and purple spiderweb veins and the process of aging and living in a body that is standing the test of times. I love you experiences that make you wiser and stories that make you laugh, and every little process that happens to get to the point where you have so many memories because you have the fortune to be here and be so radiant

[flying-cat]

People don't want character redemption they want a revenge plot from a story that was never supposed to be about revenge

[falconfate]

Hello ranger’s apprentice fandom can we talk real quick about the stupidest thing Flanagan ever wrote

It’s about the bows. Yanno, the rangers’ Iconique™️ main weapon. That one. You know the one.

Flanagan. Flanagan why are your rangers using longbows.

“uh well recurve arrows drop faster” BUT DO THEY. FLANAGAN. DO THEY.

the answer is no they don’t. Compared to a MODERN, COMPOUND (aka cheating) bow, yes, but compared to a longbow? Y’know, what the rangers use in canon? Yeah no a recurve actually has a FLATTER trajectory. It drops LATER.

This from an article comparing the two:

“Both a longbow and a recurve bow, when equipped with the right arrow and broadhead combination, are capable of taking down big game animals. Afterall, hunters have been doing it for centuries with both types of bows.

However, generally speaking and all things equal, a recurve bow will offer more arrow speed, creating a flatter flight trajectory and retain more kinetic energy at impact.

The archers draw length, along with the weight of the arrow also affect speed and kinetic energy. However, the curved design of the limbs on a recurve adds to its output of force.”

It doesn’t actually mention ANY distance in range! And this is from a resource for bow hunting, which, presumably, WOULD CARE ABOUT THAT SORT OF THING!

Okay so that’s just. That’s just the first thing.

The MAIN thing is that even accounting for “hur dur recurves drop faster” LONGBOWS ARE STILL THE STUPID OPTION.

Longbows, particularly and especially ENGLISH longbows, are—as their name suggests—very long. English longbows in particular are often as tall or taller than their wielder even while strung, but especially when unstrung. An unstrung longbow is a very long and expensive stick, one that will GLADLY entangle itself in nearby trees, other people’s clothes, and any doorway you’re passing through.

And yes, there are shorter longbows, but at that point if you’re shortening your longbow, just get a goddamn recurve. And Flanagan makes a point to compare his rangers’ bows to the Very Long English Longbow.

Oh, do you know how the Very Long English Longbow was mostly historically militarily used? BY ON-FOOT ARCHER UNITS. Do you know what they’re TERRIBLE for? MOUNTED ARCHERY.

Trust me. Go look up right now “mounted archery longbow.” You’ll find MAYBE one or two pictures of some guy on a horse struggling with a big stick; mostly you will actually see either mounted archers with RECURVES, or comparisons of Roman longbow archers to Mongolian horse archers (which are neat, can’t lie, I love comparing archery styles like that).

Anyway. Why are longbows terrible for mounted archery? Because they’re so damn long. Think about it: imagine you’re on a horse. You’re straddling a beast that can think for itself and moves at your command, but ultimately independently of you; if you’re both well-trained enough, you’re barely paying attention to your horse except to give it commands. And you have a bow in your hands. If your target is close enough to you that you know, from years of shooting experience, you will need to actually angle your bow down to hit it because of your equine height advantage, guess what? If you have a longbow, YOU CAN’T! YOUR HORSE IS IN THE WAY BECAUSE YOUR BOW IS TOO LONG! Worse, it’s probably going to get in the general area of your horse’s shoulder or legs, aka moving parts, which WILL injure your horse AND your bow and leave you fresh out of both a getaway vehicle and a ranged weapon. It’s stupid. Don’t do it.

A recurve, on the other hand, is short. It was literally made for horse archers. You have SO much range of motion with a recurve on horseback; and if you’re REALLY good, you know how to give yourself even more, with techniques like Jamarkee, a Turkish technique where you LITERALLY CAN AIM BACKWARDS.

For your viewing enjoyment, Serena Lynn of Texas demonstrating Jamarkee:

Yes, that’s real! This type of draw style is INCREDIBLY versatile: you can shoot backwards on horseback, straight down from a parapet or sally port without exposing yourself as a target, or from low to the ground to keep stealthy without banging your bow against the ground. And, while I’m sure you could attempt it with a longbow, I wouldn’t recommend it: a recurve’s smaller size makes it far more maneuverable up and over your head to actually get it into position for a Jamarkee shot.

A recurve just makes so much more SENSE. It’s not a baby bow! It’s not the longbow’s lesser cousin! It’s a COMPLETELY different instrument made to be used in a completely different context! For the rangers of Araluen, who put soooo much stock in being stealthy and their strong bonds with their horses, a recurve is the perfect fit! It’s small and easily transportable, it’s more maneuverable in combat and especially on horseback, it offers more power than a longbow of the same draw weight—really, truly, the only advantage in this case that a longbow has over the recurve is that longbows are quicker and easier to make. But we KNOW the rangers don’t care about that, their KNIVES use a forging technique (folding) that takes several times as long as standard Araluen forging practices at the time!

Okay.

Okay I think I’m done. For now.

[ganondoodle]

(idk if anyone wants to keep hearing my opinions on totk book stuff but-)

apparently it says that rauru DID have kids, multiple even, which yeah... is kinda necessary for zelda to even be connected to them so much so that sonia can SENSE a blood connection (which, even with all the excuses with magic, is just a little too far for me to suspend my disbelief bc its over, OVER, ten thousand years worth of generations that seperate her from them that one lil touch of the hand can sense that (feels more like an attempt to make you care about them or .. see them as zeldas "better" parents just bc they exchange a few nice words, i never got the feeling they were 'better' parents and its also kinda disrespectful to her actual parents, like sure rhoam wasnt the best but i wouldnt call rauru better just bc he was polite)- i could see maybe the light power of hylia or sth but since its the coolest dude that ever lived rauru now that had it which still doesnt make sense and makes me unreasonably annoyed and she can sense BOTH of their powers in her? nah) the fact theres NOTHING about them in the game itself is just so ... no way they planned any of this

i dont think theres anything they can do or say that wont make be believe they either

are making it up alla 'fix it in post' mentality trying to hastily explain stuff the game never bothers to do to try and appease fans or let it appear as if they thought about it at all

something went really REALLY wrong during development, which kinda seems likely given how the game turned out (im sorry i cannot let go, its not just the writing, the game design too and how little was changed in the map while being so damn expensive, i dont know how people dont feel scammed q_q)

given that they (allegedly) spent the last entire year of development on polish (where??? where????? huh??? like it would make it more understandable (EXCEPT for the price) if there was alot of trouble, which was also bc it got delayed and ... turned out like this, but they dont want to say it, especially given their reputation, with that quote i have heard way too many times 'a delayed game blah blah') i just??

are they just gonna go and do it like they did with kashiwa (kass)? "they uuuh where flying around the whole time ony cool sonau tech maschines, you just dont see or hear from them ooooorrr they were uuuuh out of the country at the time" (sending invitations to other continents to join their glorious kingdom ;) )

(bet they are also gonna say they did all the stuff like ... moving the shrines around (lol?) and lifting the islands up into the sky- which is still weird bc ... didnt they also say they were living in the sky before coming to the surface?? so where?? did they park all their islands on the surface and the mystery kids had the keys so they had to repark them back into the sky after they returned off camera?? xD also why are the islands so different as an environment if they where from the surface? like even the STONE up there is different- and if they were first in the sky then on the surface and the nback in the sky .. why is there not a single yellow tree or grass in the past- you cant really argue that it changed bc they were up there so long bc .. nothing else changed, the suddendly and totally always there sonau buildings are largely in prime condition, only some slightly moldy, and what we see of the glorious past looks barely any different from the present, aside from like ... some standard trees shuffled, no castle yet and that glowy uwu filter DESPITE that stupidly long time frame between it)

[whereisyourstar]

That's Me

Part 4 of the Stand By, Hold Back, Be Patient series

Part 3, Part 5

Rating: SFW with mild and minimal explicitness at the end

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Brief mention of talking with an abusive family member, brief mentions of blood, murder, etc., awkward walks, the slow burn is starting to kindle

Life goes on. Payday comes and goes, May starts in a cool, rainy earnest, and you begin to settle in.

You make some adjustments to your living room's layout, adding an ugly, overstuffed yellow-green ottoman that goes with nothing else in the room, because it was free on the side of the road and you liked it. Heracles gets a dog bed that he never uses save as a convenient place to put his toys, the favorite of which is a stuffed lamb he whined over at the store. He worries over it constantly, and you have to stop him from taking it with him when you go for walks in the forest, which has gotten you thinking, however hesitantly, that perhaps Heracles could do with a friend. You remind yourself that you're a long way off from being able to take care of two dogs, but you do keep an eye on the various animal shelters around Crystal Lake.

The locks on every single one of your doors has been replaced, and you've even added a latch to the porch's screen door, which you're devastatingly proud of. It took days of on-and-off labor, half of which you spent sure that you'd ruined your good, strong doors, but the end result is a cabin that just feels safe again. That's the important thing.

You got around to answering some of those piling up messages on your phone, too. Some lie about having to wait until payday to reconnect your phone gets you out of most of the vitriol, but it brings up a whole slew of lectures about how you've always been awful with money, and what were you thinking buying that cabin, and what are you going to do when you need to get a real job out there in the sticks, and when are you coming home? You add answering at least two messages a day to your schedule, but do nothing about the calls. She's your mother, but there's limits.

The truce with Jason holds. You've seen him twice in the week since coming to an agreement. The first was just as a glimpse in the forest while Heracles forged a trail up ahead, heading the opposite direction to do…whatever it is he does when he's not terrorizing you. The second time when you were switching the lock on the front door and he rounded the corner of your house, completely casual, like he owned the place just as much as you. Heracles, who had been idly sniffing around the trees while you worked, launched himself like a rocket directly into Jason's arms, surprising you both, and you'd been left apologizing for him between laughter. You'd tried to explain what you were doing with the locks, that it made you feel better to have something sturdier on your doors, and you still couldn't tell if he actually understood. He'd shown no interest in going into your home again anyway, so you supposed it didn't matter.

It's a bleary day when you see him again. The rain hasn't let up all morning, lending a little extra lifelessness to your daily scrolling and reporting, but right as you break for lunch and get a day-old croissant in you—you got a box of six half off at the store because they're slightly too brown, and they're the most delicious thing you've had in weeks—the patter on the windows abruptly stops. It surprises you enough to pull back the curtain on the window over your kitchen sink and, like a beacon, a patch of sun burns through the cloud cover.

You turn to Heracles, who has been watching the final crumb of croissant like with complete focus, and ask, "Wanna go?"

It's a win-win-win. He gets to pee without getting drenched, you get to finish your croissant without judgement, and you both have a chance to stretch your legs. There's just something extra intolerable about being inside when you have to be, and extra freeing when you pull in that first lungful of rainsoaked, cool, green-smelling air.

The forest is waterlogged after so much rain and within minutes of walking you realize that your comfy hoodie isn't going to cut it against the drops still sliding down the tallest trees. Looking up is an exercise in getting errant water in your eye, but you keep craning your neck backward to watch the tops of the trees while Heracles leads you around. It's dizzying how tall some of these trees are, and you're not even in a particularly old part of the forest. Far east of your cabin, caught between the lake and the town, is where the vacationers and residents alike don't go, the forest thick and dark and old out that way. You heard someone mention bears and mountain lions who make that part of the Crystal Lake woods their home and decided you had no business over there.

You're staring at sky between layers of branch and leaf and twig, idly fascinated with how quickly the silver clouds pass by while Heracles sniffs the base of a tree with gusto, when a branch snaps to your left. There's a moment where you don't recognize him as he ducks under a low bough a few feet away—so he does own other clothes, this ratty grey-brown jacket making a stunning debut with the usual outfit—and your heart does an odd flip when you take in the hockey mask. Instant relief, because it's just Jason, not some stranger. A stranger catching you in the woods opens up an entire gamut of possible outcomes that you're not prepared to deal with, but Jason? He's a known quantity, as much as someone like him can be known. Just here to catch up with Heracles and maybe check that you're not making a nuisance of yourself on his land.

The relief and a small helping of embarrassment at being caught quite literally watching the clouds translates into being downright friendly on reflex. "Hey!" you sign hello, muscle memory pulling your lips into a smile. "Here to—"

The rest hardly matters, because Heracles finally tears himself away from the tree long enough to run to Jason, pulling you right along with him. You stop just short of him while Heracles makes quick work of jumping up and scrabbling muddy paws all over Jason's legs. You wince and suck a breath in through your teeth at the twin trails of newly wet muck on the pants despite all the filth already encrusted on them. "Ahhhh…" you say half behind your hand, watching Jason's reaction carefully. He pays the paws and the mud no mind, even squelches onto one knee on the drenched forest floor to rub at Heracles' ears. Still— "We've been working on that. I like his enthusiasm, but he nearly bowled over a kid with a burger in town yesterday, so…anyway, sorry about the muddy hello."

Jason makes a noncommittal gesture before going right back to lavishing Heracles in attention. He has, however, caught your dog doing the only thing he loves more than receiving undivided attention—exploring and sniffing to his heart's content. Much sooner than normal, Heracles pulls away from Jason and starts tugging on the leash, harness straining. A thought you're not sure what to do with immediately pops into your mind—spending time with your dog is the only thing keeping you breathing at the moment, so what happens if Heracles can't meet that quota? So far these visits have stretched anywhere from an hour to fifteen minutes, and granted, you don't have the best data considering how new this all is, but you're certain a minute isn't anywhere near enough.

So you make an invitation of it. Arm straining against Heracles' impressive resolve to drag you with him, you look to Jason and say, "Ah, you actually caught us in the middle of a walk, and he's not going to want to stop for at least another hour. If you're not busy, would you like to…come with us? For a bit?"

He surprises you by agreeing once he's stood—that same careful slowness in his movements that you just can't figure out—with a yes. And then you're off, Heracles' tail high and wagging to have his two favorite people walking behind him.

It's…awkward. Awkward in the way that you don't want it to be awkward, but you're the one that created the situation in the first place, so you kind of just have to deal with it. Jason chooses to walk with you, not up with Heracles like you thought he would, and puts roughly four feet of space between himself and you wherever the forest allows. It's the kind of room that would insult you if you thought he was doing this for any other reason but to hang out with Heracles. As it is, you just do your best not to veer too closely to him while Heracles chooses his path.

The silence is expected, and even kind of nice once you get used to another person being there to share it. There's a good rumbling in the distance that says the storm isn't done with Crystal Lake just yet, but it sounds far enough off that you're not too worried about it yet. Birds chirp and flit around in the trees, sometimes accompanied by much heavier wildlife that you can't see, and it doesn't take too long for you to become absorbed in the forest again. And you take a few extra glances at the clouds and their silver-gold interplay with the hidden sun, because it's still gorgeous out here even with a serial killer on your left. It's enough to make a person nearly forget to be afraid.

What you don't expect is for Jason to be the one to break that silence. He draws your attention back by plucking the leash in your hand like a guitar string, pulling you back from admiring a brown bird that seems common for the area. You try not to let your sudden spike in fear show on your face when you turn back to him.

Dog, he signs, then points up ahead where Heracles scratches at a spot in the mud. Dog.

Your brain whirls to try and figure this one out. The two of you haven't communicated at all, really, since the day he forced you to take ASL off one of your brain's shelves. He hasn't seemed interested, despite you continuing to sign all the words you know when you talk at him. This comes out of left field and you have to kick your brain out of nature-appreciation mode to answer. "Heracles? Oh, he's fine, he'll start walking again in a—no?" Dog, he signs, then points at Heracles again. "Y…yeah, Heracles. Did you forget his name?" And you slip the leash's handle around your wrist so you can sign name, two fingers tapped to two fingers. Jason jolts, leaves making wet noises under his shoes when he half-turns to sign yes while pointing at your hands.

Lightbulb. "Name!" you exclaim, spurred on by his enthusiastic yes. "You wanted to know the sign for name! Do you want to know why Heracles is named that—" and you sign why, intent on making good on your self promise to teach him question words "—or maybe you go by something else? Or—"

Jason points to you and signs name.

What a way to realize you never introduced yourself to him. A mix of mortification and confusion no doubt colors your cheeks, because yes, you never thought to tell the mass murderer your name, but you also didn't think he'd be interested. He's here for your dog, not you—you're just a conduit through which the dog can be experienced. But he did ask.

When you tell him, you watch his mask very closely, try to get a better look at that very brown eye you saw before. There's not enough light in the forest to illuminate the deep eyeholes of the mask, but you do get to watch in quiet awe as Jason perfectly fingerspells your name, just as you did. There's something about watching his big, gloved hands work so delicately around the movements of your name that you feel…something. Maybe pleased? Impressed that he picked it up so quickly?

"You got it," you tell him, and you can't stop the little smile that comes upon you when he signs it again. Like he's trying to commit it to memory. "That's me."

Heracles has less patience for this interlude than you do, but the dam's been broken now, you're pretty sure you won't annoy Jason by talking to him, so you try to keep the conversation going when the walk starts up again. "You know," you start after a moment, catching him turning his mask nearly over his right shoulder to better look at you. So that sagging eye is mostly or completely sightless, then. He's going to hurt his neck like this, craning it over and down to see you, and you make a mental note to walk on his left next time. "It's kind of funny. You're Jason, he's Heracles…we've got an Argonaut theme going. Maybe if I get another dog I'll name it Orpheus…or Nestor, I always liked Nestor." You glance up to find Jason staring down at you, and you say, a little meekly, "Like…the Golden Fleece? The myth?"

And, so deliberately that it's almost comical, Jason signs yes-no. Maybe, or I don't know.

While Heracles pulls the two of you along, you tell him. It's a barebones overview of the Golden Fleece tale—neither of you have the kind of time required for the full myth—that you have to look into the furthest pits of your childhood Greek myth obsession to scrape together, but before you've hit on the even-more-mythical Jason and his Argonauts departing Iolcus, the present-Jason has stopped you over a dozen times. With a bit of work on both your parts, including finally getting those who, what, where, and why signs into play, he's got a working understanding of the main characters and the meddling gods before too long. You're fully warmed to the topic by then, using your hands not to sign, but to just gesture as you put together biographies of ancient heroes, and you can feel how much you're smiling. Every question is more than welcome, bringing with it the validation of poring over dense, flimsy-papered tomes of myth as a kid, and you're more than happy to explain what you can. It's clear Jason's getting into it, too—his stiff body language shifts the longer you talk, the more readily you answer his questions. He trips over his own fingers more than once trying to sign who or where and you have to bite your cheek to keep from thinking out loud about how nice this is. It doesn't feel like something you're doing to placate him, and you don't think he's the type to indulge you, so it's truly just…talking. Talking with someone who wants to know what you have to say.

Jason's hands are literally and metaphorically stained with the blood of innocent people, good people, and he's also the most engaging person you've spoken with in years. An ethics scholar would have a field day with the way you're feeling right now.

It gets to a point that, when Heracles abruptly yawns and starts to turn back, you actually feel your heart sink a little. He stops for a pat from Jason when he passes between the two of you, but he's clearly finished with his explorations for the day. You try to keep your expression and tone neutral when you say, "Looks like he's done out here. It's been…what, an hour? Hour and a half since we left?" You check your phone and wince—closer to two, but then, Jason did join on about thirty minutes into the walk. The energy of seeing him probably kept Heracles going longer than normal. Still, you look up at the sliver of sky you can see from here and bite your lip. Jason's signing what when you pull yourself back. "Heracles'll just take us the way we came, which wouldn't normally be a problem, but there's no way we're beating that storm."

As if on cue, a huge clap of thunder rings out somewhere nearby, and both you and Heracles jump. Jason just lifts his head to stare at the same patch of sky you did—lots of neck on display, all of it sparking that unnatural-discomfort-wrong part of your brain—before tapping his chest and pointing a direction perpendicular to Heracles. Then he takes off in that direction using these long, purposeful strides, and you have to run with Heracles just to follow behind. He checks over his shoulder only once and slightly readjusts his speed, which means you were right to follow and he isn't just attempting the world's rudest Irish exit. "Come on, follow Jason, buddy," you tell Heracles needlessly. He finds it fun trying to keep up with Jason, meaning you're dragged behind at a half-jog for who knows how many miles.

The sky threatens to break open for the entire twenty minute jog back, but it holds out just long enough for Jason to deposit you and Heracles back to to the awning-side of your cabin. You knew Heracles didn't take you too far into the forest on these walks, but being so close this whole time surprises you, and you let out a surprised "Oh!" as you step out of the woods. A glance at the sky shows it dark, the sun on its descent making for an eerie ambiance, but you're grinning when you turn to Jason. "Thank you! That was so much faster, thank you so much!" You're panting around the words, but you do mean them. He just makes that same noncommittal gesture from before, then turns to go.

Something in you can't accept him just walking off like that. You should be glad to see him go, and a part of you is, but still…you enjoyed yourself this afternoon, however improbably. He didn't have to listen to you like he did, and he certainly didn't have to show you this more direct route to the house. So you shout, "Wait!" after him and before he's turned round again, you ask, "Do you eat?"

Over his shoulder, still mostly pointed away, the mask dips down. Yes.

"Okay, stay right here for just a minute, I have something for you." And you don't check that he's staying behind as you get your door unlocked, taking it on trust that he's not about to let you embarrass yourself. Where that trust comes from is anyone's guess, but it urges you to ignore the mud Heracles tracks inside while you take a day-old croissant from the box and hurriedly wrap it in a clean yellow gingham patterned kitchen towel. You're back outside in an instant and your heart does a curious little leap to see him still standing there, waiting for you. You run right up to him, fear completely forgotten, and hold the parcel out in the space between. "Here, it's just a croissant, but it's genuinely the most incredible thing I've had since I got here. You have to try one."

Jason eyes you, then the wrapped up croissant, then you again. Pointedly does not take it when he signs why?

"Because I had a lot of fun today," you say, entirely too honest. "No one's let me go on like that for…I don't know, years? It was nice, and I appreciate it, so…here. There's no poison in it, promise."

You're close enough that you can see the shape of Jason's working eye scrunch a little, and his shoulders lift, like you've said something funny. But he does take the croissant, all careful, tentative movements, and you shudder at the feeling of his gloves against your bare knuckles. There's a moment where he just holds it in his huge hands, staring at it, then he looks up at you and nods once. A thank you, you think.

The sky ruptures into a torrent of cold, harsh rain, so you don't linger. Still, from the safety of your front door, you watch as Jason tucks the croissant into some interior pocket on his jacket, which is just extremely gratifying.

You wonder if you should have invited him in as you're wiping off Heracles' muddy paws, the dog in question collapsed into a puddle of sleepy bliss. He got you home in time to avoid the rain, but you assume he lives somewhere in the denser, older part of the forest with all the other dangerous creatures. That's a long walk, even for someone with his stride.

It would have been polite to invite him in, but even if he'd said yes, you don't think there's any getting around the fact that the last time he was in your house it was with the intention of killing you. (And you do want to know, more than ever now, why he chose not to that first time. And the second. But that requires a level of communication that will take a lot more than just a walk or two to achieve, you're sure.) Then there's the fact that, the time before that, he killed an entire shift of construction workers in here. You could ask what he did with the heads, probably, but do you really want him to show you? What if he decides to add yours to whatever nefarious skull pile he's building?

One nice, mostly one-sided conversation doesn't change what Jason is. It's good to remember that. But even still, you find yourself tucked up on the sofa for the requisite pre-dinner nap, Heracles already passed out and kicking in his sleep, and reading a retelling of the Golden Fleece myth. At the very least, if these random Jason appearances keep happening, you can make them interesting for him. And if you happen to enjoy it too, well. You'll leave that one to the ethics scholars.

Jason sits against the wall of his house and rips the bundle out of his pocket. He's dripping with rain that still hasn't let up despite the long walk, but what's important is that it's mostly dry here, and he can think. He thought plenty on the way over, he always thinks best while walking, but he needed to see this thing while poring over his own thoughts, and for some reason he just…hadn't been able to let the thing you'd given him be ruined by the downpour.

He unwraps the yellow cloth—clean, smelling faintly of soap and the bread it conceals—and finds you were telling the truth. You said it was a croissant like he was supposed to know what that is, but it's obviously just a cold, very brown, curved roll of some kind. It crackles under his fingers when he squeezes it, flakes fluttering from the cloth and onto his lap. Not like any bread he's ever encountered, in this life or his first, but it seems, for all intents and purposes, completely mundane. There's no poison in it, promise.

So what is your angle. You're not the typical trespasser, he knew that after his first encounter with you. You're fast, having taken him by surprise twice now with just how quickly you've been able to run when he's close by, but you're also smart. Anyone who recognized his sign—and he still doesn't know why that particular memory unburied itself that day, of his mother sitting across from him at the table and showing him the peculiar gesture for dog after she'd had success in teaching him mommy, trying to build his vocabulary with all his favorite things first—and was able to answer in kind had to be, but to then use those signs to give him the ability to answer questions, and ask his permission to stay…it puts him on the defensive just as surely as any weapon. He had thought he was dealing with a deer, all freeze instinct or breakneck speed when startled, and approached you with that idea in mind. No sudden movements, not while he was still making up his mind about what to do with you, in case you decided to run.

He kept the tactic after coming to the agreement with you, but after today…you're not the trembling doe he thought you were.

You're scared of him. You should be, he's intentionally terrifying, but that fear needs someplace to go when your life isn't in danger. A deer will run when it is scared and will bleat when it's caught, but a deer isn't as smart as you are, nor is it as protective. No prey animal he knows would go to such lengths as you have to protect Heracles, which means he has badly miscalculated, because you aren't prey at all. You're a predator, just like him. Intelligent, quick, and loyal—he thinks of your eyes, how you watch him just as intently as he watches you, and thinks hawk.

He puts together what he knows. You're dangerous, and he needs to understand how. Not in the same way as him, you were so easy to hold down—and he lingers, not for the first time, on the way your exposed throat had curved up, just daring him to touch it, when you screamed for Heracles to run—and the singular hit you've gotten on him was completely ineffectual. He could overpower you in an instant, but he hasn't, in part because of the way you speak to him. You know the signed language he learned pieces of as a boy and wasted no time in communicating with him. He wanted to answer your questions.

It strikes him that every single time you have demanded he wait, he did it without question.

You wouldn't be the first to manipulate him—there are still stains of blood on the floor here from the last time a victim deceived him, desecrating his mother's memory in the process—but you are the first to have the opportunity to do it over a span of time. If manipulating him is what you're doing at all. He can't tell, which is the point, and it frustrates him. How could it be anything else, though? Because just like with the questions, with the waiting, he wants to hear you continue that story. He wants to talk to you. He wants to see you again.

From where he sits, miles and miles away from where he left you, he can feel your presence. It's a sense gifted to him by this second life, this ability to know when his territory has been invaded. He tracks his victims by it, honing in on each individual presence until they are snuffed out. At this distance, he is aware of you, but passively. A caress on the back of his mind that is becoming all too familiar. His sense of you draws him in a different way than the others—he just wants to be closer.

Are you aware of what you're doing to him? Talking kindly to him, giving him gifts, in the hopes that he will care enough to continue to spare your life? And, worse than that, are you aware that it's working?

Jason lifts his mask and tears into the bread-croissant with his teeth and swallows it. It's harder than he remembers bread being, but the softer inside melts where it touches his tongue, tasting of butter. He prefers meat, but even in the midst of this newest crisis, he has to admit that it does taste…good. The most incredible thing you've had since you got here, though? You clearly haven't had the long, sweet berries that grow on the trees in his woods. They will be in season soon, maybe you would like—

He tamps down on the impulse with another bite, then a final one until all that's left is a million crumbling flakes in his lap and the towel the bread was wrapped in. He brushes the flakes off and he tries, he tries very hard, not to care that he's holding something you touched. He'll just put it in his pocket and leave it outside your door the next time he's in the area. He'll just put it in his pocket and leave it outside your door, and then he'll pet Heracles, and then you will say something new that draws him in, and he will stay longer than he meant to, and you'll get your talons further in, and—

The smart thing to do is throw the rag into a corner of his house and leave it to rot. Or maybe he can tear it into strips to make new wicks for the candles on mother's shrine. Maybe he'll carry it on him for a while longer, so he can shove it into a victim's mouth when their screaming can't be silenced by his machete quick enough.

But rather than do any of that, Jason carefully spreads the cloth over his palm. Then he removes the glove on his other hand, lets it fall to the ground while he touches his fingertips to the soft, clean material. His stomach feels tight, and his jaw clenches. He brings the material to his mouth and presses it to his lips, bunched up under his nose, and he breathes it in. Your hands were on this, however briefly, and through the scent of bread and soap, he tries to get the scent that is just yours. His tongue drags against the cloth, just once, as if he could taste you.

He feels himself stirring, stiffening, and he tears the cloth away, frustrated and disgusted with himself. None of that, not because of you, not because of anyone. He'll return the towel and stand in the rain and remove all vestiges of your influence on him.

Jason stands, his breathing the loudest thing within the walls of the house, and shoves the cloth into his pocket. But not before he rubs it between his bare fingers, just one last time, and spells the letters of your name against it.

[gingermintpepper]

hi I love your tags so so much! they were so sweet and so interesting and creative and the whole Aphrodite type of beauty thing sounds really interesting do you have any articles and recommendations to read further into it??

-hogoflight

Hello my fine feathered (I am assuming possession of feathers if you are, indeed, capable of flight) @hogoflight! I'm always always happy to hear that people appreciate my frenzied rambling in the tags :D! I have a lot of articles and recommendations :D!! Ancient Greek notions of beauty and representations of it in their art and sculptures is a pretty well studied topic! There isn't any way for us now to know definitively what the beauty standard was (it varied widely from region to region and culture to culture after all) but here are a couple of my favourite reads about Aphrodite and what her representations tell us about idealised beauty!

Probably the most empirically extensive one I can list is Krönström's thesis which compares statues of Aphrodite and literary text referring to both the goddess and mortal women to determine physical ideals for women in five specific eras of Grecian antiquity. Including measurements of the statues there are many descriptions of Aphrodite as 'curvy' with a 'voluptuous figure' and with 'ample buttocks and bosom'.

"When the beauty traits are described in the texts, they are never extreme or anything that could not be found in normal people just that they are more beautiful in every aspect. Furthermore, the sculptures’ physical forms look healthy, they are tall and have distinct curves. Great examples of this are the Knida sculpture and de Milo (the Melian) sculpture."

Of course, these images are still idealised, and there was still a concept such as 'too fat' or 'too skinny' found in written records (and this thesis even includes analysis of pornographic writings and descriptions of the fashion and stylings of pubic hair of women from different regions!!) but from an interpretational standpoint? There is absolutely no reason why these can't refer to a fuller figure. Height was also a very important factor after all and over the course of many eras, it seems like being well proportioned in addition to the length and appearance of one's hair were the most important factors (and, like Apollo, greater beauty was given to those with curlier hair)

Mireille M. Lee's 'Other Ways of Seeing' essay which talks about the forgotten female viewers of Knidian Aphrodite which is also extremely illuminating on how Aphroditic sexuality and sensuality was perceived totally differently from the well documented male voyeuristic gaze (which was overly preoccupied with the statue's nakedness and therefore over-sensationalised the statue's physical appearance) vs women's perspective on the statue which is more centered on the beauty of simplicity in Aphrodite's garment and decoration and in her power and ability to captivate both in her finery and without it. I think it's especially useful in exploring the importance of finery, jewellry and adornment in representations of Aphroditic beauty.

"Some of the small-scale copies are heavily jeweled, especially those from the eastern Mediterranean, for example the Hellenistic gilded terracotta statuette in the Çanakkale Museum (Fig. 5) in which the goddess wears, in addition to the armband on her (right) arm, the following: a necklace with multiple pendants; cross-bands extending over both shoulders and hips, with a cascading pendant in the center; a coiled snake armband on the left arm and another snake on her left thigh, and a twisted anklet on her right leg. (The left leg has been restored, and might also have featured an anklet.)"

"Jewelry is especially associated with Aphrodite in Greek literature. As seen above, in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, the goddess adorns herself with gold jewelry, dress-pins, and earrings in the shape of flowers (162–3)..."

Finally, and to me, the most important one in the argument for an interpretation of Hyacinthus as fat, beautiful and fundamentally Aphroditic comes from Brilmayer's brilliant brilliant thesis done on Aphrodite's work and influence in Archaic Greek Poetry which does away with all of that masculine preoccupation with physical proportion, measurement and bodily ideals for a focus on a Sapphic Aphroditic ideal centered in clothing, ornamentation and, most importantly cunning as symbols of Aphrodite and ultimately a feminine idealised form of beauty. This paper also discusses Pandora and Helen in these terms and it is just kind of a wonderful read tbh.

"Combining Homeric and Hesiodic elements with her own ideas, she [Sappho] alters the way female beauty is viewed. For example, the Homeric war chariot – a symbol of male, military prowess - comes to symbolise the totality of Aphrodite’s power uniting in itself male and female qualities. Having addressed the concept of beauty directly, Sappho then concludes that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. With the help of Helen of Troy and her beloved Anaktoria, Sappho sets out to reinvent the concept of female beauty as a godlike, subjective quality that may be expressed in many ways, yet remains inspired by Aphrodite."

The conclusion to all of this of course is that Aphroditic ideal beauty is much more fluid compared to its stricter Apolline masculine standard. The nuances and understandings of both are of course, constantly being studied, analysed and scrutinised but really, if Dionysus who was both bearded and clean shorn, effeminate, birthed and rebirthed (and twice gestated!) and strongly associated with vegetation can be popularly portrayed as fat and handsome, why can't Hyacinthus?!

[angelsdean]

ruthlessly deleting old 2021/2022 posts (not by me) from my dean studies tag like *click* un-incorporating that from my beliefs system! also the way SO many posts have me like ok uh-huh good aaand then say one completely wrong thing that loses me. it's so many posts.