#i tried to capture a little of that without changing any features or face structure

[pentacentric]

two halves made whole

there's some world out there where sam and lucifer came to an agreement

[jensensitive]

I am obsessed with the way in which you draw Dean. You have his features nailed to perfection - somehow your Dean looks even more Dean than Dean in the show, because you exaggerate everything that makes him HIM. It's truly breathtaking <3 Any advice on how to get those features so flawless?

This is so so nice, thank you so much 😭💕💕💕

Honestly Dean is like my go-to thing to draw basically, and has been for many years, like I have to try to refrain myself from just drawing Dean again sometimes. He's like probably half of how I've learned to draw at all. So there's definitely practice there.

That said, I did not immediately have much of answer to this. It's like, his face is just his perfect, beautiful face, and then I try to draw that. 😅

So I drew some Dean to figure out what it is I do, so thanks for the excuse to draw more Dean lol

Extensive answer under the cut

If you're drawing something realistic from reference, for Dean you kind of have two options, you can either get a screencap that's closer up so you can see details better, but the top of his head is cut off, or you can get one where you can see less details but his whole torso is in frame. It can be weirdly difficult to guess at where the top of his head is sometimes, and you don't need details to capture a likeness, I think it was Sargent that said that the shape of the head is actually the most important aspect in capturing a likeness, so it's something to keep in mind. On the other hand, if you want to look at his pretty eyelashes while you draw him, you might want something closer up. (An understandable impulse).

Another thing is just to look for a reference that you really like, contrasty light and shadow are also great to look for. It's difficult to create a great drawing without them, but also it will illustrate the structure of his head best too. Look for shadow shapes you want to draw. If a reference is too dark (as it often is, because it's supernatural), edit it so you can actually see what you're drawing lmao.

I took a bunch of random screencaps of 11x02-- as random as I could, normally I'd just take screencaps of what I already kind of like, but I tried to just get all of it so you can see what I'm not choosing. (also couldn't help taking some cas ones when the lighting was going really hard)

I love a profile, I love a 3/4 view, I love when his eyes are like half open. His face was kinda giving towards the end of this episode.

Hopefully you can see them well enough. The mass ideas are more important for picking at impactful reference, but ofc I'm also trying to avoid any where he's making a dumb face or it's blurry. Sometimes that's only evident when I open it bigger, but that's okay, we have a bunch to pick from.

a. This one is one I picked out because it's an interesting angle, and I'd definitely do a little study of it, but because the lighting is so soft, it probably wouldn't be super interesting.

b. I like this one, the face he's making is hilarious, and I like the rhythm of his hand, but if I were to draw it, I might draw a fourth finger, otherwise it might look strange. So keep that in mind too, if it looks odd in the reference, it will look odd in the drawing, so unless you're confident that you can effectively change it, pick a different reference or find a second reference to help you change it.

c. This lighting's more dynamic, and I like his expression.

d. Would be hard to pick between these. This one's 3/4 and has a nice eyelash shadow, and I love the shape of his eye when it's downturned.

e. Shoutout to the shape of Jensen's brow when he looks down gotta be one of my favorite genders. + subtle Rembrandt lighting. Lovely.

f. This one is so good. Overhead lighting getting a shadow from his ear in a sideview, defining the jaw in an interesting way. Great expression. It's a bit strange, the way he's looking to the side, so it might be hard to draw convincingly, but would be worth it if I could do it. The shadow from the hair defining the shape of the brow. The light on the cheek defining the slight eyebag. The reflected light under the eye, the light landing on the nose. Would probably change the hair a bit because it looks a bit odd at this angle in this lighting, and if drawn like this it would probably look at bit block-like.

g. More rembrandt lighting. Shoutout to the shadow that this upper lip casts on his lower lip. Shoutout to the shadow his lower lip casts on his chin. Shoutout to the line of light defining his neck. Shoutout to the shape of his brow and forehead.

h. The rhythms here are chefs kiss-- the shadow line diagonal from the corner of his hairline to the corner of his brow echoed by the shadow line diagonal of his cheekbone, then that second line following through to the line of light on his neck that curves the other way.

i. This one's kinda boring wrt lighting, but it's an interesting enough angle to do a study of.

I'm going with screencap c because it's gonna work well to effectively illustrate the basic structure of how I construct his features. It's not directly straight-on, so the form isn't lost, but it's straight enough on to properly show our proportions.

For supplies here, I'm just using a soft charcoal pencil, I just use the kinda cheap ones (currently Markart) cause I actually like them better than General's. And it's on smooth newsprint. I just get it in a big thing of 500 sheets. Not archival but it's a cheap thing that's incredibly enjoyable to draw on. Pink Papermate eraser and a kneaded eraser. The pen I use at one point for some reason is a red Pentel RSVP ballpoint I think, although I actually prefer a Bic.

1. So first thing I block in that main shape, in this case, his head and shoulders. I also have to draw in the hairline at the same time, cause I can't figure it out otherwise. He's got kind of pointy ears. The collar of his jacket often comes up pretty high on the back of his neck. He's got a distinctive hairline that I think can go a long way to showing it's Dean, it's worth taking note of. It swoops to our left, and then the corner (I guess?) of his hairline will line up with the corner/arch of his brow. And don't draw the hairline as an unbroken line, but several lines with some room to breathe. His shoulders are pretty straight and broad, but about three heads across which is pretty normal.

2. Next what I think about is the shape of the eyesockets and the line of the brow. This bit will go a ways for conveying Dean's expression, because he has a wide range from light and happy to horribly scowly that's in the brows. You don't have to define the exact line of the brow at this moment, blocking in the general line is fine just to have an idea of where it lands. You can go back later and refine it. I also find where the bottom lid lands. In my brain it makes a shape like what I've drawn. I might not draw it just like this, but even if I don't, this is the shape I'm thinking about. The line from the end of his eyebrow to his bottom lid is a fave, sometimes you can see it on him, especially at an angle, and it's real pretty.

3. Next I find where the bottom of his nose lands, it's about double the length of the eyesocket. And the line under his bottom lip, about halfway between his nose and the bottom of his chin. These measurements are pretty average measurements for a face. I didn't give myself enough room for his chin initially, so I moved it down to fix it. Also adjusted his face very slightly wider on the right side, cause it's looking a bit narrow.

4. I added some of our shadow shapes. This is where finding a reference with well-defined shadows will be very helpful. And I sketched in the clothes cause why not. The clothes don't have to be perfect, who cares, Dean's collar is not our point of interest lol. The shadow on the neck will probably be slightly curved because of the roundness of the neck. If it's not, you might want to make it curve slightly anyway just to help define the form. I blocked in where the eyes are.

eyes: For Jensen's lovely eyes, they have a specific shape that is so nice to draw, especially at certain and angles and with certain expressions. But basically the top lid is more angular and can be almost boxed off at the end, and the line from the corner of the eye to the lashes is an s-curve that's higher in the middle. Again, not unusual features in drawing a face, but such pretty examples. The shadow that his lower lid casts (or his makeup idk?) is often dark enough to look vaguely like eyeliner. Jensen's lower eyelids, an underrated part of Jensen. His eyebrows are thicker in the middle and sparser on the ends.

5. Next I found the corners of the lips. This is an important aspect in the way I draw mouths. Sometimes I just draw them with dots where the corners of the lips are, a curve where the lips part in the middle, a shadow under the bottom lip, and the curve of the cupid's bow. (This is seen below in 6) I think I also adjusted the bottom lip shadow here. Straight-on, the middle of his lips is slightly higher than the corners, but of course, this will change when not straight-on, depending on if we're looking up or down at his mouth. I also sketched in the nose shape. The ridge of his nose has a nice subtle bump, and then the ball of his nose is very slightly squared off I think, from a front-facing perspective, I feel like. And I drew in his slightly drawn brows. Just pay attention to the angles in your reference, because the expression, the perspective and the angle of the head can impact it. But of course generally, drawn down in the middle, furrowed = scowly; drawn up, unfurrowed = happy.

nose: I prefer drawing his nose in profile. And who wouldn't, look at it! The slight curve of the bridge and then the ball of the nose. I will exaggerate this a little sometimes, just because it's fun and I like it. I couldn't find a reference, but from below, you can see the shape of the bottom of his nose, it dips in the middle a bit more than average. Drawing the bottom of the nose is often a delicate balance between shadow and reflected light. I love keeping it light, save for the nostrils, but then the shadow under the nose can be important too. Sometimes it's just a stylistic choice. Note that there's a plane change between the side of the nose and the cheek. (I think I drew his nose too upturned here, but the general idea is still there)

6/mouth: In drawing the mouth, the top line of the upper lip looks more rectangular at the ends, increasingly so as it turns away from us, and much less so as it turns towards us. Of course, he has a full upper lip that you can shade as you like. I try to keep it distinct from the shadow of the line of the mouth, and a reflected light on the top lip can be good here too. For the bottom lip, it's always nice to give is some shine with a hard-edge highlight. For the cupid's bow, I try to leave a light between the upper lip and the shadow in the cupid's bow. For some reason I drew the shadow backwards here, but I think it looks fine.

7/ears: I started to shade it, and then I remembered that he has ears. There's a simplified way I draw ears that I like. It's not entirely accurate, because the two shadows at the top are actually usually connected, but I find it a bit distracting that way sometimes, so this is more subtle I guess. In profile, I don't really have a method of drawing it, I just draw whatever the reference gives me or bs it with a similar version of this, depending.

8/hair: My method for drawing his hair is 1) suffer 2) hope and pray. I like to leave a rim light-type deal between the contour/outliine of the hair and the rest of the hair, I feel like it helps define it a bit more. The direction of his hair, and thus the direction of my lines is something like this.

9. And then I more or less just shaded. When shading, it's always good to follow the direction of the plane, and I also alternatively like to shade in the direction that the light is falling to reinforce that gesture, but when I shade a face, I try to shade in the opposite direction of where wrinkles would go, if that makes sense, mostly up and down I guess. This is of course on a case by case basis, like a lot of times, I'll do the forehead horizontally anyway, but it's especially touchy around where the laugh lines of the mouth would be and the neck. And on soft plane changes (and softish hard plane changes), I often shade at a different angle to the main shadow. Shading direction can also delineate different areas of similar tones, like I did with the jacket and the side of the nose. I like to give Dean his eyelash shadow, because he deserves it. I also drew in the eyes, of course. I think I actually tend to shade them backwards, and the light would fall in the opposite direction, so when lit from the right, the right side would be darker, but I just don't draw it that way idk maybe I should.

And there he is, that's our guy!

Normally when I'm drawing, I'm definitely a bit more all over the place, and don't necessarily do things in perfect order. And it's good to move around. I'm probably not going to be shading things before noting where all the features are going to land, but I often am shading something before I've drawn everything. Or end up drawing one eye and then maybe do part of the other and then move to do part of the nose and then sketch in an ear and then maybe notice something's off somewhere and adjust that, etc. Just go with it, have fun, he's got a fun face to draw! 💗

[sugarstickery]

An Allegory Within the Dark

This is an unofficial fan translation of chapter 3 of Jujutsu Kaisen’s first light novel, Departing Summer and Returning Autumn by Gege Akutami and Ballad Kitaguni.

Summary: Mahito stumbles across an unusual human in his search for a place to call ‘home’.

Featured characters: Primarily Mahito, with brief appearances from Hanami and Jogo, along with an unnamed novel-only character

Timeline: An undefined time prior to the events of the Vs. Mahito arc

An Allegory Within the Dark

If you want to hide a tree, you go to the middle of a forest.

So if you’re looking to hide a person, you should go to the middle of a city.

Following that logic, it makes sense for curses worthy of being the true humans to set up their hideout in the city center.

Cursed spirits would actually have it much easier if they spent their time in places crammed with fear where humans and the like can’t live: deep in the mountains or in densely wooded areas, for example.

But for a group of curses plotting to overturn the current era, a base in the heart of the city is crucial for invasion and seeking refuge. That being the case, it’s also better to try aiming for a location with a high concentration of negativity.

Anyway, that’s how some employees from a scam business ended up massacred.

“This really is the simplest way to handle it. All of them nest together up here away from the public eye, so clean-up is a cinch.”

Jogo laughed while trampling the burning remains of a corpse underfoot.

Roughly two minutes ago, there were about six humans in the office.

The curses considered a few ways to handle dispatching them but ultimately decided that burning was the fastest, so Jogo quickly turned them to ash.

“But humans used this building, didn’t they? Won’t it be a problem if there’s property management or something?” Mahito asked, poking at an ostentatious vase displayed on a shelf.

Apparently the concern was unnecessary. Jogo tried to answer with a grin, but a nonsensical language cut into their conversation.

“⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⎎⍜⋏⏁ ⟟⌇ ☊⎍⌇⏁⍜⋔”

“Oi, bastard—! Stop talking, Hanami! It makes my head itch!”

Though Hanami spoke in nothing but meaningless sounds, the intention behind it was somehow transmitted directly into the minds of others. This was usually unpleasant and it irritated Jogo.

When he noticed Mahito still looking his way, Jogo continued to explain despite his frustration.

“Hmph... What? There’s no need to worry. I asked Geto what his aim was, and it looks like these were the kind of underhanded humans who got involved in plenty of unethical things.”

“Hm. So basically, other humans won’t actually come close if they get that curse stuff happens here.”

“Exactly. Any respectable, straight-laced human would never come near this place under normal circumstances. It’s the perfect city-center hideout.”

“Is it really?”

“...What is it, Mahito? You don’t seem satisfied. What’s there to worry about? It would put us in a great position to start preparing our plans for the city, and it’s great for a quick escape if we need one.”

“Mm... No, you’re right, but...”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“It’s just... This room is really tacky.”

“Huh?”

With a pop, a small eruption burst forth from Jogo’s head. His narrowed eye looked like a painting of a gently sloping mountain.

“It’s tasteless, isn’t it? Stuff like that gaudy gold lion in the sparkly jar or this cheap-looking sideboard.”

“What are you even saying?! I have no idea what’s gotten into you lately, but you’ve been so annoying!”

“Movies.”

“Movies? Are those overly-embellished portrayals of humans really that interesting?”

“They’re references for my studies on the structure of a soul,” Mahito replied with an ambiguous smile.

If humans could see him, they might be reminded of a proud elementary schooler discussing the knowledge they gained from a book report.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t find the stories that interesting either, but I don’t hate the sense of visual aesthetics that humans have. That said, this room has too many useless colors and really hurts the eyes.”

“Such bratty, selfish complaints... We can just burn or toss anything that’s an eyesore.”

“No need, I’m going to look for a place to settle down on my own.”

“What? Ah, hey— Where are you going?”

Not waiting for Jogo’s response, Mahito waved over his shoulder and vanished like smoke or a gentle breeze, off to who-knows-where.

“Geez… Maybe it’s because he was born from human fear, but even knowing he’s a curse, he tends to be way too frivolous. Watching movies and all…”

While grumbling out his complaints, Jogo took a pipe from his shirt pocket to put in his mouth.

Unlike human cigarettes, this wooden pipe somehow imitated a screaming face when smoked.

“But that Mahito...”

Jogo spun around to survey the room with his one eye.

“...He says that, but it doesn’t seem tacky to me.”

“⊑⏃⋏⏃⋔⟟”

“I already said shut up!!”

--

You can only find a hideaway that suits you by looking for it on your own.

Mahito wandered through the city with this in mind. He alternated left and right turns on a whim any time he happened across a traffic light, walked alongside stray cats, or sometimes simply went in the direction of clouds that he liked the shape of.

While traveling along his chosen path like this, he keenly felt just how laughable humans were.

Though the city belongs to them, no one walking in and out of it was more free than Mahito.

Everyone seemed constrained. They were captured by ties of obligation and vanity, living in a wide, deep, big city with such narrow outlooks.

Unaffected by the enormous sky sprawling out endlessly overhead, they box themselves into their concrete city with their own hands and limited perception of souls, passing the time by whittling their lives down further and further.

Mahito even learned the words for some of these human concepts to study later.

For example, they call it “morals”. They call it “common sense”. They call it “emotion”.

But a human soul isn’t anything more than the resulting mechanical movement that comes from external stimuli.

And so they let go of freedom and live tightly controlled lives, fearing the judgmental stares of others, stooping to flattery for society’s approval.

“...What a waste.”

Everyone is bound by ostentatious shackles of their own making.

That’s why these curses know there has to be a change, as far as humans go. Those who cannot do anything but crawl in such an unsightly way under the magnificent sky must hand over the world.

Mahito thinks. He ponders over any topic his soul turns toward. He walks wherever the wind blows him.

Before long, the time had come for the sun to descend in the western sky. He could hear the burbling of a river.

--

“Not bad.”

The hideaway Mahito found was under a bridge, across the river.

It was a tunnel, vacant and huge like a temple.

Pipes ran along the inside, clear water flowing from them and into the river. It looked like wastewater was drained here after being purified, so there wasn’t much discomfort.

Apart from the humid air and the moss that emitted a peculiar grassy smell, it seemed wide enough to splash and jump around in, and the concrete’s cool texture provided a refreshing welcome.

There’s a season that curses are partial to.

Negative human emotions accumulate from the end of winter to spring, and it could be said that the rainy season served as the so-called peak of their ripening.

The inside of the damp tunnel held the same atmosphere. There was a gloominess there in the dim lighting that could easily nurture fear. It gently moistened Mahito’s skin; he felt cozy.

“Yeah, let’s stay here.”

When choosing a place to live, it’s best to trust your instincts.

Perhaps humans should do the same, but what they can’t readily do, Mahito can decide without hesitation. If he’s free when he wanders, then he’s free when he settles down, too.

Mahito stepped into the tunnel in good spirits, knocking solidly on the concrete floor.

The soul’s metabolism smooths out in comforting spaces. But…

“Huh?”

After walking a short distance, Mahito discovered “that”.

He initially thought it was some garbage or something that a human illegally dumped. But before long, it became clear that it was a sack-like silhouette leaning against a wall.

At first glance, it perhaps looked like a mere collection of rags.

But the shape of a soul was there.

—Ah, it’s alive.

Yes, just as Mahito had realized, it was a human.

The tattered clothing and wildly overgrown hair and beard hid his shape, but it was undoubtedly a human.

His exact age wasn’t clear from his outward appearance, but whether he was 60 or over 80, he looked elderly.

Mahito thought it was a bit of a pain.

There was already a visitor living in his precious hideaway.

Of course, taking care of this issue would be an easy matter for him. But he felt the same discomfort as a homeowner finding a stain on the wall of their new house.

‘Anyway, if I’m gonna deal with this, let’s get it done,’ Mahito thought, reaching out toward the old man with a little sigh.

Whereupon, unexpectedly, the old man spoke.

“...I’m sorry if you’re displeased.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what you came here to do, but... I’m sure your mood has soured after stumbling across the home of an old fool. But I have nowhere to go, either.”

Mahito was a little taken aback.

The old man was clearly aware of Mahito and turned toward him to speak. This wouldn’t be surprising at all if he was talking to a fellow human.

But Mahito is a curse.

The eyes of a mere human can’t clearly perceive cursed spirits.

It isn’t impossible, though. If humans are born with cursed energy, it isn’t unusual for them to be aware of the existence of curses.

What caught Mahito’s attention was this old man’s lack of ‘eyes’.

As in, he had no eyes in the physical sense. Instead, in the empty sockets that once held them, there was a burn scar that was painful just to look at.

Even sorcerers rely on their eyes to view the world.

They depend on their field of vision to spot cursed spirits. That’s why so many of them use sunglasses and the like to conceal their line of sight, as it helps them remain unaffected. It also helps them maintain a balanced mind when their daily life overflows with curses.

However, that was not the case for this old man.

“Can you see me?”

When Mahito asked, the old man answered with a gentle nod.

“At the very least, I can feel you.”

“But you can’t see the world?”

“Naturally. That includes the scenery, what you look like, what color your skin is, and even your gender. Even so... I know you’re there.”

“...Are you a sorcerer?”

“Most likely not.”

“You’re being pretty vague, even though you’re talking about yourself.”

“For a long time, that’s what I’ve been the most vague about.”

Mahito began to notice something strange.

He can feel the shape of a human’s soul.

He knows the movement of a soul’s metabolism, whether it takes on a harsh form, withers weakly, or flickers with liveliness.

However, this old man’s soul was hardly metabolizing.

It was like a meadow with no wind, or a still sea, or the blue sky on a cloudless day.

No, it would be most appropriate to compare it to a stone.

His soul was like a stone on the side of the road.

No fancy ornamentation, no polishing. Unmoving, unwavering.

Calmly passing the time while growing moss.

That was the shape this old man’s soul had.

No matter how calm or how old a person is, the human soul always flickers.

As the years stack up, common sense doesn’t disappear, selfishness isn’t eliminated, and fear isn’t conquered.

But this old man was different.

The old man’s soul was at peace. He had sincerely accepted that everything would decay with time, but that didn’t mean he would throw his life away. It was truly similar to the way in which nature existed.

It was Mahito’s first time meeting anyone like this.

--

For a while, the tunnel became something of a den for Mahito.

He had gotten a hammock from somewhere, which he hung up between the pipes. He lounged in it and read, passing the time in comfort.

In a movie about life on a deserted island, a human who was desperate to survive made a hammock. Through it, he was able to regain a little peace of mind.

Since it looked surprisingly comfortable, Mahito gave it a try and it worked out nicely.

The arguments and fights of the outside world didn’t reach the inside of the tunnel, where only the burble of the small stream could be heard.

It provided a good environment for soothing the soul.

While leisurely absorbing new knowledge from his books, Mahito would sometimes absentmindedly gaze up toward the ceiling, or glance down at the corner where the old man squatted, looking as he always did.

“How do you live like this? It’s pretty mysterious...”

In the end, Mahito didn’t kill the old man.

It’s important to note that the old man wasn’t much of a hindrance for him. If it would make no difference whether he was there or gone, then Mahito figured getting rid of him would be more of a hassle.

The old man was just there, even quieter and more carefree than a stray cat.

Mahito knew the phrase: ‘man is only a reed, but he is a thinking reed’.

He found it hilarious and also genuinely liked it. It simultaneously boasted about being trapped in thoughts of the soul, while also showing that humans were frail as weeds.

It could be said that the old man was an unthinking reed, then.

No – he was even quieter than that; more like grass or some type of moss. In any case, the old man said nothing and simply carried on living.

Every now and then, the old man would suddenly shuffle off elsewhere, but he would be back to sleep before Mahito knew it. He was surely getting food from somewhere, but he never seemed to gain weight. If he lost any while in the tunnel, he would eat just enough to gain it back when he left, and no more.

It was a style of living so close to nature that it seemed more like a phenomenon than a life.

“That’s why I seriously wonder if you can see me.”

The suspicion was uttered suddenly.

Mahito wasn’t exactly speaking to the old man. Rather, his tone was that of someone talking to themselves.

But when he noticed that the old man’s soul didn’t waver even after hearing him speak, Mahito finally addressed him directly.

“How long have you been here?”

“Let’s see… I think a few winters have passed, but I’m not sure,” the old man muttered, his reply quiet.

Since they were two beings with souls who were aware of each other’s existence, Mahito felt it would be more natural to chat every now and then.

“Don’t you get bored?”

When spoken to in a soft tone, the old man also responded softly.

“I’ve forgotten how to be bored.”

“How do you usually pass the time here?”

“I don’t do anything, really. I just listen to the sounds.”

“The sounds?”

“The sounds of the water flowing.”

“...Is it fun?”

“It’s not. But I forgot how to have fun a long time ago, too, so it’s not an issue.”

So it was like that. Mahito nodded.

If this old man could no longer even feel the pain of boredom, perhaps his soul was worn down.

Humans of the city gasp and struggle through the hurt of not having enough, yet always wish for more even when they get what they wanted. Their souls grew fat and tattered through the rich accumulation of these negative feelings.

So in that regard, from Mahito’s point of view, the old man had a thin soul – but it could be said that was clever of him.

A fat and full human soul leads to a fear of losing the gratifying present moment, which in turn gives birth to curses.

“It’s hard to get your attention. What’s your name?”

When Mahito asked, the old man looked into the air for just a second.

“I left that behind. You can call me whatever you like.”

“There are humans without names? Even curses have them.”

“If you don’t meet other people, you don’t need a name.”

“Isn’t it a problem if you don’t have one?”

“When is it a problem?”

“When it’s time to be buried.”

“I don’t need a gravestone with a name. I can just be stuffed into a common grave, or maybe I’ll rot undiscovered and return to the earth that way.”

“Can’t you take a joke?”

“…Was that a joke?”

The old man didn’t laugh. Neither did Mahito.

But Mahito had the feeling that this old man was childish, contrary to his appearance. His lack of attachments created an unsullied disposition that might make him younger than he looked.

His interest in the old man simmered and surged.

It was his first time seeing this type of human, his first time feeling a soul with this form. For Mahito, this was a rare specimen.

What kind of path must life take to make this kind of human? What would be the most intriguing shape to make with a soul like that? What uses could one plan for such a person?

And what kind of curse would be born from them?

With these questions fueling his curiosity, Mahito started to chat with the old man.

“Why are you here?”

“…Why?”

The old man looked up toward the ceiling through his unruly bangs.

His eye sockets were empty, but it seems like even without sight, humans tended to stare into nothing when they were thinking. One curiosity of Mahito’s was satisfied.

“You weren’t born and raised in this tunnel, right? As a human, you must have been in that noisy city.”

“Ah, that. I lived a fairly busy life a long time ago. I inherited the house, worked, made money and supported my family.”

“So you were a human in a pretty good position.”

“In human society, yes. Looking back on it now, it was all meaningless.”

“So... what, you basically started living in a hole like a mouse, then?”

“I did that because I lost everything that I needed up to then. I lost my social status, my money, and a place where I belonged.”

“You lost it all?”

“I was tricked. That’s when my eyes were burned, so I lost my sight then, too.”

Mahito incidentally recalled the company Jogo attacked.

“You got tricked, huh? You seem pretty good-natured about it.”

“That’s because I didn’t care much about being tricked.”

“You’re a weird old man. Is this some kind of hobby where you get your kicks when people deceive you or something?”

“I’m just saying, that’s the kind of person I was back then. The ones who tricked me were my old friend and my wife. My eyes were burned in that so-called “accident”¹; they claimed I wasn’t of sound mind and body after that, and under the guise of caring for me, they stole everything I worked for before I knew it.”

“That’s a pretty flashy way to trick someone, isn’t it? You’re talking like it’s someone else’s problem.”

“Those two loved each other, and I was loved by no one. Knowing that was more monumental to me than being tricked.”

It was hard for Mahito to interpret what the old man said.

Love. Is it really such an important word?

It’s said that curses born from love exist in the world. It seems there are tremendously powerful ones among them, too. But Mahito doesn’t understand how the mechanism by which people love each other is any different from a cat’s attachment to a blanket.

Still, Mahito knows for a fact that people are obsessed with it.

“Didn’t you curse them? The ones who tricked you.”

“Not really.”

“’Not really’, huh. You know, normally a human in that situation would get angry and hold grudges, and it would make the shape of their soul deteriorate.”

“It’s true, though. I don’t think I had the energy to even consider seeking revenge or hurting them.”

“...I get it.”

Mahito nodded, filling in the blanks.

Regardless of whether or not he can guess the trends in human emotion, Mahito has studied many movies, novels and poetry so far.

Then there were the humans he tinkered with. Mahito could put together the pieces he gleaned from those things and use them to break down the old man’s story.

“So basically, you were in despair. So much despair that it was like your soul was about to die. That’s how you broke through the creation of grudges and curses and ended up like this.”

The old man slowly shook his head.

“I may have been disappointed, but I don’t believe I felt the intense despair you’re thinking of.”

“Are ‘disappointment’ and ‘despair’ different?”

“They are; this is just my personal experience.”

The old man raised his face, following the memories.

“There was no burning resentment or turbulent sorrow. It’s just... I was tired, I guess. Between work, assets, reputation, my life situation and duties, dealing with others, caring about the family name... I think I was probably just tired and worn out because of it all.”

“And that’s why you didn’t get mad even after being tricked?”

“I was at peace. They say the soul gets lighter after going through disappointments.”

The old man’s voice was calm.

It had a cool quality to it, like muddy water that had been filtered clean.

“I couldn’t see, I had no money, I had no love... But as I was walking through the city with nothing to my name, it all suddenly became inconsequential. And then, as I looked around, I saw the city in a new light.”

“Even though you can’t see?”

“Yes. When you can’t see anything, it’s just sound and wind that goes on forever anywhere you are. I couldn’t even see the walls blocking the city in. It was just endless darkness spreading out forever, like a starless night. For the first time, I understood how wide the world was. And I thought to myself... ah, I’m free, aren’t I?”

Mahito blinked rapidly.

This old man’s thinking didn’t fit any other case he had gathered so far.

Even hearing about his past, he couldn’t understand the old man’s thoughts.

But even from Mahito’s point of view, the old man was certainly free.

Without so much as leaving the middle of this tunnel, he knew that the sky was vast.

Perhaps he knew it better than any member of high society walking around freely in the city. He knew the wide spread of the sky, the soft caress of the wind, the gentle sounds of the water.

This old man, who looked like a simple rakugoka², had no property or social standing. He even lost his connection to other humans... And maybe that’s precisely why he could uncover the elusive meaning of the word ‘freedom’.

He was just existing, just being alive, without attachments, grudges or curses.

“So basically ‘not all those who wander are lost’?”

“Yes, though quoting Tolkien’s works might be a little tedious.”

Mahito smiled when the man immediately caught the reference to a book he just happened to read.

“Were you a bookworm?”

“All I did was cram a lot of information in.”

“It’s good to be well-read.”

If curses are born from the fear that humans feel, could this old man even be considered human?

As Mahito is, he struggles with the expression of human emotions.

But he was calm.

For the first time since coming into contact with humans, he had a feeling of peace.

“I think if everyone in the world was like you, I wouldn’t have been born.”

Mahito looked back at his book.

The old man, staring into nothing as always, fell silent again.

Curses are born from humans, but they also kill humans. There is no way for the two to coexist.

But in this tunnel, a curse and a human were doing exactly that.

Though distorted, this peaceful period of time flowed by gently.

--

It’s only natural for humans to hate and fear other humans.

Since they can’t see souls, they can only make guesses about the feelings of others, and they’re swayed by their own emotions.

They don’t understand that these things are just a reflection of the soul’s metabolism. They don’t even know where their soul is.

Mahito investigated the matter.

This blind man lost his sight and his connection to others, so his soul received less stimulation.

And so, no longer influenced by unnecessary things in the physical world, he spent a lot of time facing his inner world and reflecting.

“It’s kind of like a monk’s training. Through strong introversion, a person looks at their soul more often.”

Mahito walked around the city, skimming through a beaten-up copy of the Heart Sutra.

It was a sutra handbook that focused on controlling the soul. It looked like humans of the past did their own research into freeing the soul from the material world.

The old man’s life ended up in a similar state without him setting out to do it on purpose.

That was likely how he learned to feel other souls through the darkness he lived in. Mahito concluded this was the reason he was aware of curses.

“I think he was already predisposed, but... seems like it’s easier for introverted humans to show promise.”

If he gave the old man’s situation even deeper consideration, he could probably make a lot of guesses about a sorcerer’s training. There’s even a way to encourage the first manifestation of cursed energy.

In that case, it should also be possible to take a talented person and ‘make’ them into a sorcerer or curse-user.

Unleashing a curse-user made by a curse onto a sorcerer...

That might be a fun experiment. It’s easier to shake up a human’s soul by having them fight other humans, rather than just exorcising curses. Sukuna’s vessel should be no exception.

Although...

—Maybe it’s fine to do that a little later?

Yes, Mahito thought it over at his leisure.

He is free. When it’s time to move, he moves. When it’s time to rest, he rests.

And he was not in the mood to launch that plan into action.

Rather, for the time being, he just wanted to gather knowledge and indulge in thought. He also got some new books and wanted to read fantasy novels while basking in the quiet comfort of the tunnel.

Mahito’s gait became lighter. While walking alongside the throng of people, he even began to hum.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang out from between two buildings.

“—so damn annoying, yeah?”

Looking over that way, he saw two young humans: a man with long, thin hair, and a muscular skinhead. They were undoubtedly people who looked like trouble.

The long-haired man listened as the skinhead rambled on with his complaints, seemingly in some kind of sullen mood.

“Damn, it’s seriously freezing. Anyway, every last one of ‘em just puts on shitty airs, but it’s all just talk. Nothin’ but excuses. Ah, I wanna kill ‘em all...”

“You say that, but come on. You talk big about wanting to beat these guys to death when you’re pissed, but could you actually kill someone?”

“Sure. Ain’t like killing’s hard.”

“Seriously?”

Mahito squinted and listened, the conversation going in one ear and out the other.

It’s not that he disliked the way they acted or how they spoke bluntly about their heart’s desires. But Mahito knew people like this were all talk.

“Yeah– seriously, anyone’s fine, I just wanna kill someone.”

Then maybe you should do it without saying anything.

Better yet, he thought about practicing some killing methods on them. But Mahito felt the light weight of the book in his hand as he reached out, and he stopped.

Rather than sparing any consideration for this, he just wanted to go back to the comfort of the tunnel and read.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

The skinhead’s grumbling voice sounded like a spell.

But the words would find no power or heart to shelter in. Shut away between these buildings, the most a person can do is talk to themselves. It’s best for humans like this to stick to the narrow back alleys, foolishly thinking they’re enjoying a wide world.

Mahito averted his gaze and made his way back home.

--

“Why did Gregor become a bug?”

Mahito suddenly asked the old man, not taking his eyes off the novel.

It was a famous book by Franz Kafka.

A story in which a human unexpectedly turns into a poisonous insect.

“The most popular theory is that the bug is a metaphor.”

“Metaphor?”

“It means he was a person who was hated and oppressed within society, treated the same way a human would treat a bug. Kind of like an old man who was suddenly blinded and tricked one day.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Not exactly.”

It was detached and dispassionate, but an answer would come back any time Mahito said something. When conversing with the old man, it felt like talking to a dictionary. He had a lot of information.

He knew about things like the inner workings of the mind and human culture, and he was smart enough to explain it simply in discussions.

For Mahito, who analyzed human souls through books and movies, this old man’s knowledge and conversation helped in its own way.

When do humans get angry? Why do they grieve?

How do they trust and in what ways are they betrayed?

Mahito lived with a different sense of ethics when compared to humans, so there were many things he struggled to interpret. The old man explained them and helped him understand.

He had a strong interest in the experiences of the old man, who had once lived among humans but didn’t act like them.

“After becoming a bug, Gregor eventually hid away like he was told to, but he still ended up being spotted and it led to his death. Jii-san³, why do you think that is?”

“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

“That’s a quote from Virginia Woolf, right?”

When Mahito immediately and correctly guessed the source, the old man raised a brow slightly.

“You’re a pretty avid reader, too. Conversations with you are really stress-free.”

“Do you have to go back to living with other humans, then?”

“If you don’t have any attachment to the human world, there’s no need to run from it or stand against it⁴.”

“I see,” Mahito murmured to let the other know he was listening, eyes still on the book.

Even if he wasn’t looking at it, the old man’s perpetually calm soul was aglow in the dark like always.

Mahito read his book in the dim room lit by the brilliance of that soul instead of a candle.

Time quietly flowed through the darkness.

Outside of the tunnel, signs indicating the end of summer crept up.

--

The end came abruptly.

One day, when Mahito was heading back to the tunnel with an abandoned poetry anthology that he picked up on an aimless walk through the city, he felt a noisiness that shouldn’t have been there.

There were one, two, three swaying souls.

One had a very familiar shape, but it was terribly frail. It was like the dying flame of a candle weakened by the wind.

With the same unchanging gait as always, Mahito stepped into the tunnel.

As expected, the old man was there.

But the unusual thing was the crumpled, strange position that he was in.

He was also sandwiched between two younger men who were looking down at him.

“Oooi, isn’t this bad? Did this guy seriously die?”

A man with long, thin hair spoke in a tone that was not particularly anxious.

“Didn’t I say it? I said I could kill,” a muscular skinhead replied, his voice casual.

“But ain’t this just impulsive?”

“Yeah, well, the old man had some real cheek, looking down on us when he’s this weak. So why not just kick him?”

The skinhead likely played sports, given that his legs were as thick around as logs. Kicking an old man to death would be easier than crushing a can.

The two didn’t seem to have a single scrap of interest in the old man, his life or his soul.

There was no reason, no grudge, no clear murderous intent.

It seemed like they simply arrived at the tunnel somehow. They took the opportunity to do as much violence as they wanted. They beat him on a whim.

It could be said that this way of being is freedom for humans.

Mahito crouched down, peeking at the old man’s face.

The beaten visage of the man with burned eyes came into view. But even at a time like this, his expression was as calm as always.

“Are you going to die?”

Mahito searched for even a mumbled word or two in response.

“...Seems so...”

The old man answered in a hoarse voice. He likely barely had the power left to speak now. It appeared as though the two men didn’t hear him over their loud conversation.

He intently inspected the old man’s soul.

The peaceful soul was not flickering, nor did it hold anger or grief; it was simply coming to an unhurried end.

Mahito was impressed.

This old man had found the true meaning of freedom. He really was released from every tie of obligation in this world. Even on the verge of death, that didn’t change.

Being able to make sure of that with his own two eyes, Mahito felt considerably relieved. In the same way he would watch a flower wither and fall, he observed the old man’s death.

Nevertheless...

“Jii-san?”

He had a feeling.

It’s like seeing a plot twist you don’t want to see if you keep turning the pages of a book.

Or like knowing the contents of a present before you open it.

That kind of buzz spread through Mahito’s chest.

While he puzzled over the instinctive alarm bells screaming at him to stop watching, everything was heading toward its end.

“...I thought I would die alone.”

The old man’s soul dimly flickered.

A smile was on his swollen face.

“...To have someone... here to witness this old fool’s last moments...”

The flicker might have been insignificant, like a single drop breaking the water’s surface. Even so, for an instant near death, at the end of it all...

The old man’s soul ‘metabolized’.

“...Tha...nk... y...”

The old man died smiling.

“. . .”

Mahito’s eyes opened wide, and for a moment, he was frozen.

He thought the old man was different when compared to other humans. To Mahito, he seemed unfettered.

Mahito thought the unique philosophical views stemming from such an extraordinary state of mind had freed him from all the shackles of this world.

But despite all of that, the old man was still captured right in his last moments.

On the brink of death, he clung to someone else so he could avoid a lonely end.

The old man was only human.

For a human, it was likely satisfying enough. Perhaps it was even the proper way for one to die.

“. . .”

Mahito said nothing.

But what felt like a dry wind blew through his chest, leaving him cold.

He didn’t know the name humans gave that emotion. But his consciousness was like yarn tangling in on itself, wriggling around like a worm—

And suddenly, it all cut off at once.

The only thing left behind was the sensation of standing in a dry and barren wasteland.

“—So basically,” the skinhead’s voice echoed. “Police probably won’t do a proper investigation. Not for this old nobody.”

“Hey, hey, hey; that’s still a person,” the long haired man answered lightly.

“Yeah, well, that guy started it.”

“He shoulda looked at who he was talking to before he picked a fight.”

“Anyway, my pants are dirty from all that kicking... That’s a problem.”

“So fussy. That’s what you’re worried about when you just killed a guy? How funny.”

“That ain’t a person. Anyway, don’t you know I like being clean? Ahh, the blood won’t come off... Water doesn’t do any good, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t – but more importantly, if you’ve settled down, I’m hungry. Let’s stop by a convenience store.”

“I dunno. If you’re gonna look, buy a bento and let’s get outta here.”

Mahito quickly stood up in the same way one would when they finished looking for something in a store.

A sense of fatigue was deeply ingrained in his body.

Their incoherent voices persisted, reverberating through the tunnel, smeared with excuses and attempts to escape reality. He couldn’t hear the soft burble of the stream.

With deep-seated listlessness, Mahito approached the skinhead as one would move to pick up fallen trash.

Idle Transfiguration. The technique spreads quickly.

And thus, the moment he tapped the man’s back, its shape was no longer human.

“Ee—!!”

If he just killed them, it would create a nuisance in the form of a corpse, so he simply folded it up into something palm-sized and kept it alive.

Then, with a careless sweep⁵ of his hand, he folded up the other man as well.

“Begh—”

It fell silent.

Mahito gathered up the two, now no bigger than chess pieces, and turned his attention down toward the remaining corpse of the old man.

It was now just a bag of meat full of bones. Not even the soul remained, so he couldn’t use Idle Transfiguration to fiddle with it.

He was briefly troubled by its disposal, which served as the biggest inconvenience.

In the tunnel, there nothing but the sound of running water.

--

--

It was a day where the sky seemed farther away than usual.

Clouds peeked out from around the buildings and a good feeling was carried in on the wind.

Mahito aimlessly walked about the city.

“Maybe I’ll catch a movie. It’s been ages.”

He picked a tiny, somewhat old-looking theater and snuck in.

He’s had high motivation lately, and it seemed like some unnecessary things had peeled away from his soul, leaving him more carefree than ever.

Thanks to that, he had also begun to toy with humans more often.

If he can fold a person up and make them small, he wanted to test out inflating one instead, but he slept on the idea overnight. It was pretty fun, but he knew that he was getting too absorbed. He also felt that carrying on with too much persistence wasn’t a good thing.

A change of pace every now and then was fine, too.

He hadn’t closely checked to see what was being screened. It was mostly just plain and obscure movies, but if one went in with no expectations, they might come across a surprisingly interesting tale.

Curiously, he had that kind of a feeling.

While walking through the hall of the theater, he casually felt through his pocket, which had grown bulky with the ‘small humans’ that he had touched.

—Speaking of which, he thought that was a nuisance.

He carelessly tossed some of them away.

Opening the door, he stepped into the theater.

Perhaps because it was a weekday, there weren’t many customers. The silhouettes of what appeared to be students filled out a few seats here and there.

From where Mahito stood in the corner, he had a good view of the screen.

Soon, instead of a curtain raising, the theater was engulfed in darkness.

--

T/N: [1] In this sentence, the implication is that the “accident” was very much orchestrated by the old man’s friend and wife, who burned his eyes somehow and then merely made it look like an accident [2] The rakugoka is the storyteller in rakugo, a form of (often) comedic theater that relies solely on spoken word from the rakugoka, who only uses a fan and hand towel as props [3] A way of referring to old men in general, basically like “gramps/grandpa”; Mahito never calls him by an actual name [4] Essentially, the old man’s saying that he (or anyone) can exist parallel to human society without interacting if they have no attachments to it and can still find peace, contrary to the Woolf quote [5] Kanji reads sweep, furigana reads cleanse (the same word for exorcism that sorcerers use)

Thanks as well to Pixi for help with editing and tl checks!  If an officially translated version of the novel becomes available in your country, please consider purchasing it, or consider buying a copy of the original novel in Japanese if possible!

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 1/10

link: AO3

Chapter One - A Mutual Enemy

On the evening you first heard of the Van der Linde Gang’s presence in Valentine, you stood at the bar of Smithfield's Saloon disguised in men’s clothing. Not a typical Friday for you, as you tried not to make it a habit of sticking around places where reckless men became more reckless the further they disappeared into their cups. But years ago you’d helped the bartender, a giant man named Ernest, drum up enough money to pay off his debtors, and he held you in the highest of regards ever since. It was the only place you could drink without being disturbed. Ernest made sure of that.

“What’ll it be, the usual?” he winked at you, his large hands already reaching toward the whiskey.

You smiled and nodded.

“I have information you might want to hear,” he continued, pouring the liquor into a glass and sliding it towards you. You caught it easily.

“Oh?”

“There was a young lady here last night. Overheard her talkin’ to some fancy pants New Yorker who kept braggin’ ‘bout the luxury train he’ll be taking back to the North. She seemed awfully intrigued,” Ernest said. “And get this, it weren’t the only instance I’d seen her, neither. Few days ago she’d been traipsin’ around the outskirts of Valentine with a bunch of scary lookin’ out-of-towners.”

“Figure they’re planning on robbing the train?”

Ernest shrugged. “It’s easy pickin’. You know how naïve high society can be.”

Maybe easy enough for a one-person job, if done quickly and with care. You’d only robbed a train once with two people you used to run with. You didn’t run with them anymore. It hurt you to think of it.

You held up your glass for a refill and leaned forward, brimming with interest. “Tell me more about this train.”

—

The train tracks rattled underneath Arthur’s feet.

“Get movin’,” he said to Sean, pointing towards the trees hidden in the darkness. Arthur climbed atop the wagon they’d rode in on and placed in the middle of the tracks, which bore five hundred gallons of oil. He widened his stance for balance and pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “Here she comes.”

Arthur squinted against the blinding brightness of the incoming headlight, cocking his rifle as it approached. The train’s horn bellowed into the night.

It saw him. Good.

It came to a hissing and screeching halt. A uniformed man stormed out from the front cab. “What's goin' on here? What's—aw hell,” the engineer wailed, kicking the dirt underneath his feet. “Not again! Gettin’ real tired of this shit.” Behind him, a shadow of blurred movement. Charles, ready to strike him unconscious.

Arthur jumped off the wagon. “Hold it!” he yelled to Charles, who paused his assault and instead restrained the man with a pistol aimed at his head. “What d’you mean, ‘Not again?’”

“If y’all are trying to rob us, we’ve already been hit,” he wheezed.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“You and your boys are more than welcome to board and check. Reckon it’s a waste of time though.”

Arthur swore. “Let him go, Mr. S.”

Charles let go. The engineer stumbled forward, sputtering and coughing. In between heavy breaths he said, “Happened near the Heartlands. Strange feller in a mask robbed us blind and then pointed a shotgun at me, gruntin’ at me to start the engine or he’ll call for his gang to kill everyone on board.”

“Why in God’s name would he do that?” Arthur said.

“Beats me. But now that I think of it, he was probably expecting y’all. Here, he gave me this—” he moved to reach into his coat pocket, but ceased upon the chorus of rifles cocking. Sean and John had appeared to find what the holdup was.

“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Arthur growled. “Mr. S., if you could kindly grab whatever’s in that fool’s pocket.”

Charles complied, plucking out a wad of paper. He handed it to Sean, who read aloud:

Don’t want the loot, only your attention.

Have your lady informant go back to the saloon and talk to the bartender.

He’ll tell you where to find me.

Cause any trouble and you won’t see a cent.

Sean laughed bitterly, waving the note in the air. “Got us good, didn't he?”

“Give me that, you idiot.” Arthur snatched the note and tilted the lettering towards the train's headlight. “Goddamn it—”

A bullet whizzed by Arthur’s head. The engineer dove to the ground for safety.

“Get on your horses!” Arthur yelled to the gang and whistled. Once in the saddle, he spurred the horse on and rode hard into the trees, past the storm of bullets, and evaded capture.

He was the last to arrive back at camp, after making sure he hadn’t been followed. He passed Dutch’s closed tent and found Sean blackout drunk near the fire. John sat close by, clearly on the same trajectory as the Irishman, with the amount of empty beer bottles at his feet. Arthur cleared his throat. “Where’s Charles?”

John glanced up, eyes bleary and lined with red. In the firelight he looked small and exhausted. “Asleep.”

“You should be too.”

“Well, I ain’t,” John mumbled tipping the beer to his lips and draining it. He tossed the bottle aside with a crash.

“Need me to tuck you in Marston? How ‘bout a bedtime story?”

“Real funny, Arthur."

Arthur sat down across from John, allowing the sound of crickets and snuffling horses to fill the silence between them. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this shaken. Not even when you was freezin’ your ass off after them wolves got to you.”

John’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m a bit rattled, s’all. I got a bad feelin’, Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think the law showed up a little too fast?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I’m more curious about the son-of-a-bitch who knew we was gonna rob that train.” He turned, pulling the note he’d stashed into his saddlebag and brandishing it.

“See? You’re worried too. S’not just me.”

“I’m not worried,” Arthur cast the notion aside. No use in admitting to being worried unless there was really something to lose sleep over, especially in front of John, who looked like he was fixing for an excuse to leave again. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to give him one. He would gladly take a bullet before he watched Abigail’s face twist back into sorrow and disappointment on account of John flying the coop.

“We gonna be okay, Arthur?” John asks.

“Can’t tell the future anymore than you can, Marston,” Arthur said, crumpling the note in his fist. “What we can do is find the bastard who pulled the wool over our eyes, and deal with the rest as it comes along. I’ll talk to Mary-Beth tomorrow. Ask her to go back up to the saloon.”

John watched as Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, the edges curling into black.

—

You waited across the tracks from the abandoned trading post in Roanoke Ridge, taking shelter behind a sturdy tree (you’d almost hid behind one crawling with poison ivy vines, what a sight that would have been). The instructions you’d given Ernest to pass on had been clear: Whoever is sent must be on time and arrive alone. You checked your pocket watch. Already a half hour late. Out of desperation you remained a few minutes longer. The sun was almost at its peak in the sky, and you were getting hot with your scarf obscuring the lower half of your face. You cursed yourself for wearing such bulky trousers and long sleeves.

In your mind, the heist had been preferable to wasting away in the heat. With a little theater and luck, you managed to rob the train heading north. You still couldn’t believe your good fortune. Keeping your voice low and husky, the passengers and engineer had mistaken you for some hardened outlaw. You’d threatened them with your non-existent gang that was supposedly trailing close behind. In reality, the only thing riding alongside the train was the horse you’d borrowed from Ernest.

You scanned the landscape with binoculars, on the precipice of calling it a day, when you saw a pair of figures ascend the hill behind the dilapidated structure. The taller of the two was wearing a fading grey shirt that you imagined was once white, which stretched across his broad shoulders. He staked a far contrast to the companion at his left, a leaner man with dark hair that extended past a deep scar on his cheek. Both looked tough and mean. Exactly the type of men you’d hoped for.

Though two against one, the odds weren’t good if things went south.

You dropped the binoculars and reached for your rifle. Steadying yourself, you squinted through the scope, drifting down the length of their bodies until their dusty leather boots came into view. You cocked the gun, exhaled, and took the shot, aiming inches away from them.

“Shit!”

“Thought I’d said to come alone,” you called out. “If one of you gentlemen doesn’t get going, the next two bullets will be right in the forehead.”

“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man yelped. “Is that a woman shooting at us?”

“Woman or not, doesn’t change the fact she’s got a goddamn rifle!” the other fired back. “Alright, miss, my friend here is gonna get on his horse and leave. Ain’t that right, Marston?”

“Rode all the way out here for nothin’,'' he complained loudly and whistled. When his horse came around, he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. “If you ain’t back by sundown, I’ll come lookin’ for you, Arthur. Hear that, lady?”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. You waited until the horse disappeared behind the hills before coming out from the brush. At this distance, you could discern more of his features. The first of which you noticed were bright blue eyes that writers and painters alike had mused over for centuries.

He directed them at you. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

You lowered your rifle. “We’re off to a poor start, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t want no trouble. Just didn’t know what we was walkin’ into,” he said, moving closer, hands up slightly as if to not appear threatening. “You were real vague in that note of yours.”

You reaffirmed your grip on your rifle. “That’s close enough,” you said. Any closer and he’d eclipse you, your neck within snapping distance of those strong hands.

“Then, how about you tell me how this is gonna go?”

In the days leading to this moment, you’d thought of the ways you were going to approach this. Never did you imagine getting this far. “Do you have any idea why I may have invited you here?”

“To gloat, perhaps? About beatin’ us to that train?”

An involuntary upward twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Not quite, sir. I value my time and yours, so I’ll keep it short. I need you.”

Arthur pointed to himself. “You... need me?”

“Yes, you.”

He dipped his head, obscuring whatever expression he was making beneath the brim of his hat. Rubbing his neck, Arthur said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need me, lady. Accountin’ for the fact you don’t even know me.”

“I’ll rephrase. It’s not you I need exactly, it’s somebody like you. And your friend, for that matter.” You paused. “I used to have partners, too. One is dead, the other is in need of rescue. She was kidnapped. I want to hire you to help get her back.”

“Why not go to the sheriff? Seems a hell of a lot easier than getting up to all this trouble.”

“The sheriff?” you scoffed. “You really think he’d risk himself and his men to help me save a working girl from outlaws? Most likely he’d look into my background, and then I’d be arrested before I could even blink.”

“So all we gotta do is save your friend from her kidnappers and what, you’ll pay us?”

“You’ll get the money from the train, and I’ll throw in seventy dollars on top of that,” you said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Pardon me?”

“The catch,” Arthur repeated. “Seems too easy.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. Are you familiar with the O’Driscoll Boys?”

A spark of recognition. He was, in fact, familiar. “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Your friend Emma… them boys captured her?”

You nodded. “A former client of hers runs with that gang. He found us in a hotel room, shot Henry, and knocked me out. When I came to, Emma was gone, and I was alone.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be glad to help,” he said. “You see, there’s someone I’d need to run this by and he’s already got it out for their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. This’d be the perfect excuse for him to do something goddamn stupid.”

“Please. If you’re familiar with them, you can imagine how awful it must be for her. I’ll even give you half the money upfront,” you said, decocking your rifle and slipping it back over your shoulder by its leather strap.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll talk it over with some people tonight. Meet me at that saloon in two days, same time. If it goes in your favor, I’ll take you to see the man who makes all the decisions.”

“Are you going to make me wait again?” you asked.

“You’re the one asking for favors, miss.”

“I’m offering a job.”

Arthur’s lips set into a hard line. “A job that might get us into a world of trouble, adding fuel to a fire that’s been burnin’ for a long time now. Frankly, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

And because you didn’t want to push your luck, you fell silent. You watched him call for his horse and mount it.

“I’ll be on time,” he mumbled as an afterthought, and rode off in the direction he came.

[intheticklecloset]

Deku’s Interrogation (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

Yaaaas! I loved writing this prompt so much! I decided to take that “capture the flag” idea and turn it into a “rescue the hostage” training exercise for the class. I also decided to have Kaminari be the ler because I’ve written a lot of ler Bakugou torturing poor Deku! 😂 I think the change was refreshing and fun! Enjoy!

~

In all of his hero training at U.A., Deku had never been cast to play a villain before. He didn’t know why, now that he thought about it. Selecting classmates to play villains seemed to be random each time; the fact that he’d gone so many rounds without being cast himself was actually a pretty impressive statistic. Had Mr. Aizawa done that on purpose? Or maybe All Might had something to do with it?

No, he decided, walking slowly and alertly through the empty streets of the fake city they were training in. It was just the luck of the draw that he’d never had to play a bad guy before. But today was different. Today they were doing rescue training, and he and six others had been cast to play the villains. His job was to keep any heroes from getting close enough to their base to rescue their captive, Mr. Aizawa. With his speed and raw power, he seemed the perfect choice to make sure no one even got close enough to the building, let alone inside it.

Up ahead, he heard a soft sound followed by a whispered curse. Instantly his mind was shuffling through potential threats. Which one of his classmates was nearby? He could only rule out those who were on his team as fellow villains; it could be anyone hiding around that corner up ahead.

Deciding the element of surprise would be best, Deku surged forward, leaping up onto the side of one structure to use as a springboard to attack whoever was hiding, but his opponent seemed to have suspected he’d do this and had already bailed from where they’d been just as Deku came hurtling toward the spot they’d vacated.

When he stood up, Deku found himself face-to-face with Kaminari.

“Aw, crap,” Denki muttered, putting on an angry face for the sake of their training. “Of course it had to be you.”

“Thought you could sneak up on me?” Deku asked, trying to stay in character.

“If I hadn’t tripped over that rock, I would have.”

“Too bad for you.”

Kaminari threw his hands in the air, violent sparks of electricity shooting out from his hands and flying toward Deku at record speed. But thanks to One For All, the “villain” was able to jet away quickly enough to avoid damage, then hurtle back toward Denki and grab his arms, twisting them behind him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said in what he hoped was a growling voice.

“Oh yeah?” Kami whipped his head back hard enough to smack into Deku’s forehead, making him shout in pain and stumble back in the seconds before he found himself shoved against a wall, soft electric currents shooting through his pinned wrists. “Now, if you so much as blink at me the wrong way, I’ll fry you so hard you’ll go up in smoke.”

Wow, he’s really into this, Deku thought.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” the electric hero continued. “Where is Mr. Aizawa?”

Deku grunted, but he knew better than to make any sudden movements. “Like I’d tell you.”

All of a sudden, Denki got a look in his eyes that sent a shiver down Deku’s spine. The blonde eyed him for a moment, then glanced at his wrists – still buzzing with a soft current – and chuckled lowly. “Heh. Aren’t you a little too ticklish to be playing a villain, Midoriya?”

Deku’s eyes widened. “Y-You…you wouldn’t. Not in the middle of training.”

Kaminari’s answering smirk was positively evil. “Try me.”

Deku tried to break out of Kami’s hold, but the instant he moved – as promised – his friend intensified the current running down his arms, making them freeze up in a painful electric shock. While he cried out and was distracted, Denki grabbed onto his hips and started kneading. “Tell me where he is.”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Deku burst into laughter, shooting his arms down to grab at Kami’s wrists desperately. “NOHOHOHOHO NO NO, YOU CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T DO THIHIS!!”

“Says who?” Denki challenged, pushing him right back up against the wall. “The rules say the heroes are to find and rescue the hostage by any means necessary. Well, I intend to do both, even if it means tickling you to pieces to get the information I need.”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! KAMINAHAHAHARI!!”

“Better talk, villain.” Denki’s smirk became more playful now. “Or I’ll use my quirk to really tickle it out of you.”

Everything in Deku wanted to beg Kaminari to let him go, but in order to fulfill his role as a villain, he knew he couldn’t give up the information without a fight. So, despite his singing nerves, he spat out a half-growled, “DOHOHOHOHO YOUR WOHOHOHORST!!”

“As you wish.”

“AAIIEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” Deku shrieked with hysterics when Kami ignited his sparks just enough to send extra intense ticklish shockwaves through his system. His legs quickly gave out beneath him from the assault. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“Tell me where Aizawa is!” Denki demanded, grinning as he followed Deku to the ground and pinned him there. “Tell me, or I’ll tickle you to death!”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Deku desperately shoved at Kami’s shoulders, but in response the blonde merely laughed and straddled him, still focused on his hips. “I-I’LL NEHEHEVER TAHAHAHAHAHALK!!” He regretted his words even as he said them, but he had to stay in character! “I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAN TAHAHAHAHAKE IT!!”

“You can?” Kaminari beamed. “Great! Then you won’t mind if I just tickle and tickle and tickle and—”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP TAHAHAHALKING!!” Deku pleaded, the teasing messing with him more than he could stand. Resisting tickle torture was one thing, but teasing as well?!

“Stop talking? I thought you said you could take this?” Denki knew full well what he was doing, and under normal circumstances perhaps he would have felt a little bad about it, but right now he had a job to do. He was getting that location out of Deku if it was the last thing he did. “Oh, I see. You can take the tickling; it’s the teasing you don’t like!”

“KAMI--!!”

“Well, I mean, I did say you were a little too ticklish to be a villain. And here we are, me completely dominating this fight, all because you’re just so insanely sensitive! Why did the villains think to put you on guard duty when just one little tickle would render you helpless like this?”

“I’M NOHOHOHOHOT HEHEHEHEHEHELPLESS!!” Deku screeched, kicking his legs and trying to pry Denki’s fingers from his hips. But anytime he got close enough to make contact, the sparks emanating from the hero would force him back again.

“No? Go ahead, then. Get out of this if you can, villain.”

He was trying. So, so desperately he was digging his heels into the pavement, twisting and writhing to try and get Kami’s weight off of him, shoving at any part of his body he could reach. None of it was working. Denki knew his death spot was his hips and he was just staying there and Deku was losing his mind laughing and the electric shocks were only making it worse—

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Deku couldn’t help it anymore; if he didn’t do something he was going to go insane. Laughter-induced tears streamed down his cheeks. “STAHAHAHAHAP, PLEASE, KAHAHAHAHAHAMINARI!!”

“Where’s Mr. Aizawa?” Denki demanded, slipping back into his role as a relentless hero now that he saw how desperate he’d made his friend. “Talk, villain!”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Deku screamed, tossing his head back with renewed hysterics when Denki intensified his ticklish shockwaves.

“The more you resist, the more I tickle,” Kaminari said in a low, threatening tone. “Talk.”

Now Deku was well and truly losing his mind. He knew there was no getting out of this physically; he was far too weakened by the tickling and his thoughts were turning to mush with every second that went by that his torturer didn’t let up on his death spot. He could barely breathe. His laughter was beyond out of control – it was wild. There was only one thing he could do to get this to stop, and while he hated giving in so easily, he had no choice.

“OKAYOKAYOKAHAHAHAHAHAHY I’LL TAHAHAHAHAHAHALK JUST PLEASE STOP TIHIHIHIHICKLING MEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

Denki stopped, grinning victoriously, but at that moment the buzzer sounded and Present Mic’s voice blasted through the speakers. “The heroes have dismantled the villain’s defenses and rescued the hostage! This battle is over! Heroes win!”

For a moment, Kaminari could only blink in astonishment. His friends had rescued Mr. Aizawa while he was out here tickling Deku into submission? What good had that done anyone? He was such a moron. “Aw, man,” he mumbled, climbing off of his friend. “I didn’t even get to do anything.”

“A-Are you…kidding me?” Deku gasped incredulously, looking up at him through teary-eyed vision. “I w-was the villains’…primary defense! Y-You completely disarmed me, and while…while I was distracted the other h-heroes got in to rescue the hostage. You just won for…your whole team, Kaminari!”

Denki was silent for a moment. Then a megawatt grin spread across his features and he pumped a fist in the air. “All right! I did it!” He turned his smile to Deku, who still lay gasping for breath, and he hesitated. “Oh, uh…are you okay, Midoriya? Sorry if I went a little crazy, I just…” He knelt down beside his friend. “I had to play my role, you know?”

Deku groaned. “And since I couldn’t just give up the information you needed without a fight, I got tickled nearly to death. This doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well…I did say I’d hold you to letting me try out my new tickle-shocks on you.” Kaminari chuckled. “So you kind of had this coming anyway.”

After a long moment, Deku giggled tiredly. “Yeah, okay, I guess that makes me feel a little better.” He held out his hand, and Kaminari helped him to his feet. “Do me a favor though – next time you feel like tickling me, please do not use those tickle-shocks on my hips. That was unbearable.”

“Hey, I had to get the information I needed!” Denki replied with a laugh, walking with his friend away from the scene of the crime. “But it did seem a little intense. I won’t use them there again without warning you first; how does that sound?” He couldn’t very well promise to never do that again – it had been too much fun!

Deku considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. And hey, Kaminari?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I didn’t like playing a villain anyway.”

[mhalachai]

advance snippet: Updating Wednesdays on Patreon (The Untamed)

So. Do I need to write an Untamed modern!AU with a college twist (Lan Xichen is a music professor in Canada) in which Wei Wuxian attempts to self-therapy himself by creating a graphic novel fantasy AU version of his life (aka the real story of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation) and Lan Xichen attempts to rebuild his life after a toxic relationship ended? I mean probably not but has that ever stopped me?  here’s the intro snippet we’ll see how things go.

(Title is tentatively Updating Wednesdays on Patreon because i don’t know what to call this thing)

~~

The first day of August finds Lan Xichen in a coffee shop, tinkering with the syllabus for his new music theory course, when his phone pings with a message.

> Lan Wangji: Brother.

> Lan Wangji: Wei Ying has asked me to inform you that he will be publishing the first collection of pages in his new graphic novel on Patreon this afternoon.

Lan Xichen smiles at Lan Wangji's tone. For all that his little brother is more verbose in electronic communication than verbal, he's always so exact.

> To Lan Wangji: Can't wait! What's it about?

The little cursor blinks for a while as Lan Wangji continues to type. Lan Xichen just hopes that his brother-in-law's creative enthusiasm isn't running up against Lan Wangji's sensibilities.

Finally, a reply appears.

> Lan Wangji: Wei Ying wants me to tell you that it is completely fictional.

This gives Lan Xichen pause. Why on earth would Wei Wuxian, or Lan Wangji himself for that matter, need to make that declaration?

> Lan Wangji: It is a high fantasy xianxia story.

Before Lan Xichen can ask why that is causing this odd message exchange, another notification pops up on his phone.

> Wei Wuxian: Lan Xichen! Lan Zhan types so slow! It's just a different art style I wanted to try out and it snowballed from there!

> Wei Wuxian: I know you follow me on Patreon so you're going to get the notification this afternoon so I wanted to warn you hahaha

> Wei Wuxian: All names and places are purely fictional. I don't really have a sword.

Another message arrives, with all the information Lan Xichen needs.

> Lan Wangji: This matters a great deal with Wei Ying.

Lan Xichen smiles at his brother's words. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have been together since their junior year of high school, through a great deal of personal difficulties on both sides, and are still as fiercely protective of each other as ever. He loves them both for it.

> To Lan Wangji: Thank you for the information. I'm sure it will be great.

> To Wei Wuxian: Can't wait to see it! Anything you do is always great.

No more messages arrive, so Lan Xichen goes back to considering how to change the quiz structure of his musical theory class to avoid a marking crisis with the evaluation of his ensemble class.

Finally, as Lan Wangji gathers up his papers to leave, one last message comes in on his phone.

> Lan Wangji: Thank you for your support. We all appreciate it.

Attached to the message is a photo taken of Lan Wangji's family, he and Wei Wuxian holding Lan Yuan between them. The toddler grins at the camera, his arms around Wei Wuxian's neck. Wei Wuxian's looks at the camera, dark circles under his eyes like he's working through the night again, while Lan Wangji only has eyes for his husband.

It's so wholesome and loving that a sliver of pain rakes through Lan Xichen's heart. He's happy for his brother. His brother deserves the world. Lan Wangji deserves being loved, and to love.

Not everyone gets that. Sometimes, that falls apart.

Sometimes, for some people, love is just an illusion.

Lan Xichen tucks his phone away and leaves the coffee shop.

~~

He gets home mid-afternoon, and spends a while stowing away the groceries he picked up on his walk. The neighbourhood has several Greek and Persian markets and he's able to buy most of what he needs on foot, saving the Chinese markets in Richmond for his weekly dim sum brunches with Lan Wangji's family when he can borrow the use of Lan Wangji's sensible and economical mini-van.

He doesn't drive any more, not since—

Lan Xichen stops and puts down the bag of avocados. His mind is a funny place, bringing up the oddest things at the most inconvenient of times.

He doesn't drive anymore. He doesn't need to, using the bus and the odd taxi to transport his instruments up to the university for performances. The public transit system is so much better.

Safer.

He goes back to putting away the vegetables, pulls out a cookbook (new, spine uncreased, bought for him by Lan Qiren for his birthday) and opens it at random. He's never had coconut curry salmon before, but he has all the ingredients.

Trying new things. He's supposed to be trying new things.

The recipes says it will only take half an hour to make, so he goes up to his office and turns on his computer to check his work email. The message fly fast and furious, some about the new department head, some about class enrollment, a few from students asking if they can get onto his waitlist. He replies to the most urgent, files the rest, then checks his personal email.

The notification from Wei Wuxian's Patreon is up, so Lan Xichen clicks it.

Then he sits back, frankly impressed. He's seen Wei Wuxian's comic style progress since the boy was drawing silly cartoons to entertain Lan Wangji in history class, but even he wasn't prepared for this.

The art is gorgeous. Stylized figures, intricate period costuming, rich backgrounds – it's truly a work of art.

Then he gets a better look the two characters' faces, and laughs out loud. It's Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, clear as day, with long hair and flowing robes. Wei Wuxian's even managed to capture that exasperated-yet-fond look Lan Wangji has whenever Wei Wuxian is being particularly loud.

The introduction is even better. "Join our hero Lan Wangji and dashing rogue Wei Wuxian as they battle deadly monsters and forge a path with demonic cultivation!"

Wei Wuxian hasn't even changed their names. True, he uses his mother's surname professionally, so Cangse Ying can't be easily tracked back, but still.

Lan Xichen wonders for a moment if Lan Wangji is okay with this, but then he notices that the project text is available in both English and in Chinese, with the Chinese written in Lan Wangji's style.

They worked on this together, then.

Trying not to think about why that makes his chest feel funny, Lan Xichen opens to the first page--

-- Which features a bruised and bloodied Wei Wuxian falling off a cliff while a horrified Lan Wangji screams after him.

Confused, Lan Xichen makes sure he hasn't accidentally read the last page first. No, this is the first. Still a little baffled, he clicks to the next page, sees the stylized banner that reads six years ago and relaxes. This is Wei Wuxian's style of using flashbacks to interrupt the narrative flow. Lan Xichen spent most of Lan Wangji's university years hearing his brother's despair for Wei Wuxian's artistic choices in essay form.

But enough about the past. Lan Xichen settles in to read the first chapter of the story, where Wei Wuxian and his siblings (Jiang Yanli drawn lovingly, Jiang Cheng with a bigger frown and more menacing eyebrows than Lan Xichen remembers) traveled to the Cloud Recesses (the sarcastic nickname Wei Wuxian gave to Lan Qiren's West Vancouver mansion) for cultivator lectures. Lan Xichen is there on the page, too, drawn taller and far more imposing than he is in real life.

The first encounter between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji is fantastical and improbable and, according to Lan Xichen's recollection, almost completely accurate. Wei Wuxian had mouthed off at Lan Wangji at the weekend orientation camp for their new arts high school, Lan Wangji glared the boy into submission, then later that night when Wei Wuxian tried to sneak back onto school grounds with alcohol, he and Lan Wangji had gotten into a fight. Verbal, instead of with swords, and without the supernatural murder victims, but Lan Xichen remembered everything else from Lan Wangji's indignant recitation on his return home.

He keeps reading, enjoying the art and the lyrical narration, and keeps enjoying it right up to the scene when Nie Huaisang appears on the page to offer Lan Qiren a present, Meng Yao standing right behind him.

Lan Xichen doesn't remember standing up, but here he is, two feet away from his computer, heart pounding. He hadn't—Why—

What was Meng Yao doing in a story about Wei Wuxian's high school years?

Taking a deep breath, Lan Xichen makes himself return to his desk. As far as he knew, he was the one who introduced Meng Yao to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, when the boys were in university and after he and Meng Yao started dating--

Lan Xichen can feel his heartbeat slow, as he tries to breathe. He needs to stop this foolishness over Meng Yao. They dated before living together for a while, that was all. They broke up. It happens to people all the time.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were in college for most of that time, anyway, living their lives. They barely knew Meng Yao, even if Wei Wuxian's sister married Meng Yao's half-brother. They couldn't know how badly Lan Xichen had messed up their relationship, how terrible he had been to live with. It was his fault that—

Stop.

Stop.

It's over. In the past. A story that has Meng Yao as a minor character isn't going to mess with Lan Xichen's head. He's not going to let it.

He exhales and makes himself look back at the screen.

Meng Yao only shows up a few more times. For some reason, he's the only character who isn't tagged with his own name. He's there handing over the present to Lan Qiren, standing in front of Nie Huaisang when the Wens arrive, then in two last panels in which he tells the on-screen Lan Xichen that he has to return to Nie Mingjue's side.

Lan Xichen's stomach sours. He and Nie Mingjue had been close, before Meng Yao came into Lan Xichen's life. After that, Lan Xichen hadn't had much time for anyone else. That was normal, Meng Yao always said. People in love only needed each other.

Lan Xichen picks up his phone, then puts it down. He can't ask Lan Wangji about this. It would be weird. Wei Wuxian must just be making artistic narrative choices.

The chapter ends soon after, with Wen Qing and Wen Ning welcomed grudgingly into Cloud Recesses. The next chapter is due up in two weeks, the page declares, and welcomes any comments or feedback. A few people are already posting, gushing over the art work and discussing the teaser from the opening page.

Wanting to be supportive, Lan Xichen writes a small review, complimenting the artistic style, the intricacies of the outfits, poses a query as to the different colour palettes between the first page (dark, red, menacing) and the flashback scenes in Cloud Recesses (light, airy, hopeful), then translates the comment into English and posts both versions up. If Lan Wangji is going though all the trouble of ensuring a bilingual experience, then he will too.

He should go start dinner, he really should, but some part of him is drawn back to the first panel in which Meng Yao appears. He's shorter than Lan Xichen remembers in life, the long hair and braids suiting his face.

It's been so long since Lan Xichen last saw Meng Yao. He's not sure what he's thinking. Is he wistful? Mournful? Sad?

He doesn't know. He never knows what he feels about Meng Yao, which was the problem. He's not normal about feelings. Even Lan Wangji, whose brain is a unique and complicated thing, looking for order and reason and patterns in an illogical and messy world, loves fiercely, feels passionately. Maybe he got all the love in the family, and Lan Xichen got stuck with the stunted and undergrown heart.

Stirring, he pages back to the first appearance of his on-screen twin. The Lan Xichen on the screen looks patient, kind, a smile hiding behind his eyes.

He hadn't realized this is how Wei Wuxian sees him.

He picks up his phone.

> To Wei Wuxian: What an incredible achievement! The art is amazing!

> To Wei Wuxian: Where is the story from? As it's a work of fiction and has nothing to do with your real life ;)

> Wei Wuxian: Oh hahahha the story is a collaboration of a bunch of ideas! I can't tell u more (sworn to secrecy by my collaborators) but so glad you like it!!!!!!

> To Lan Wangji: Did you do the writing? I love the dialogue.

> Lan Wangji: Wei Wuxian did most of the English. I made it better and did the translation.

> To Lan Wangji: Have you told uncle about this project?

> Lan Wangji: He prefers to speak of my composition achievements.

Lan Xichen puts his phone down and rubs his eyes. The old tension between Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji never goes away. It started in high school with Lan Qiren's disapproval of Wei Wuxian, continued into university with Lan Qiren's disapproval of Wei Wuxian as well as Lan Wangji's decision to attend a local university for musical studies instead of going to Julliard in Lan Xichen's footsteps, and outrage at the news that Lan Wangji asked Wei Wuxian to marry him before they even finished their undergraduate degrees.

The resulting years had been a long-standing cold war, with Lan Xichen trying to mediate in the middle. Even the arrival of Lan Yuan on the scene twenty months previous hadn't softened both sides into anything resembling ease.

If Lan Wangji doesn't want to tell their uncle that he and his husband are collaborating on a semi-biographical graphic novel, Lan Xichen isn't going to muddy the waters.

> To Lan Wangji: It sounds like you're enjoying the project.

> Lan Wangji: Working with Wei Ying on any project is enjoyable. I read that couples with young children should try to engage in a mutual hobby outside of parenting.

> To Lan Wangji: Very wise.

He wonders if he should ask about Meng Yao, types out a message to that effect, then deletes it.

> To Lan Wangji: I should start dinner – see you on the weekend for brunch?

>Lan Wangji: Yes.

Lan Xichen puts his phone down. The days are long in August and the sun still bright, but he's tired and he doesn't know why.

~~

anyway that’s where this whole disaster is going. new fandoms are fun. 

[blackcloverdatabase]

English Translation of Novel 2: Chapter 3 – The Special Assault Squad Sprints Onward (Part 1 of 2)

Here’s the first half of the last untranslated chapter from novel 2! This chapter is all Magna and Luck, plus a new character named Morgan. This chapter also features some more information about dungeons and the people who explore them. We also learn more about the rampant classism in Clover Kingdom. It sure is rough to be a peasant.

--- The Special Assault Squad Sprints Onward (Part 1) ---

Clouds of dust blew violently over a desolate wasteland.

“……We’re here.”

“Yup~”

Treading upon the dry earth, Magna and Luck sported fearless smiles on their faces.

“……..Oh~ This place looks pretty tough.”

They stood before an enormous dungeon the size of a mountain wrapped in sinister magic. The two were about to enter, not because it was given to them as a mission, nor for their own sakes.

It was to heal Asta’s arms.

“A ha ha. Are you scared, Magna?”

Asta’s arms were destroyed in a fierce battle against Vetto, a user of beast magic, at the Underwater Temple. Moreover, his wounds were enchanted with ancient curse magic, so he was told that his arms would never return to normal. However, even when Asta learned of this, he didn’t give up hope. He said he wouldn’t give up. In fact, he shouted as if to fight against fate itself. If anyone had a right to despair, it was him. If anyone had a right to cry, it was him. He did neither. Instead, he shouted. He shouted that anything can be healed, and even if his arms never heal, he’ll find a way to fight without them.

He took the blow reality gave him positively, without giving up.

“Who’s scared!? If anything, I’m excited!”

Thus, as his friends, as his seniors, there was only one thing they needed to do. Everyone in the Black Bulls began a search for a cure to heal his arms. The worst of all the squads, a squad of rough and rowdy hoodlums, all banded together for a single newcomer. They all scattered in different directions to find any sort of hint to cure his arms.

“Wait for us, Asta……!!”

The place Magna and Luck were facing was a dungeon in the wastelands of the Forsaken Realm. No matter what they had to do or how long it would take, they’ll save Asta. With such thoughts in their hearts, they stepped foot into the dungeon.

 ……However,

“AAAAAAAAAH!”

In less than ten minutes since they entered, they sprinted back to where they started with incredible speed.

“A ha ha ha! I was right! You’re totally scared~”

“AM NOT! I’m not scared, but……”

He shouted to Luck, who was running beside him, then turned his head over his shoulder to looked behind him.

Behind Magna and Luck, those things were chasing after them with tremendous momentum.

“GeGaaaaah!”

Those things were skeleton soldiers wearing tattered armor, armored headless knights (Dullahans), and more. A grotesque group of them had appeared together with an eerie black smoke.

“I didn’t know there were going to be GHOSTS!”

It was a dungeon full of unidentifiable monsters – a ghost dungeon. It was apparent to them that this was the type of dungeon they got themselves involved in.

  “Haah……Haah……Hah…… How is it, Luck? Did we lose them?”

Magna was hidden in a small chamber of the dungeon as he whispered to Luck. The dungeon was structured like an anthill. There were many chambers in the dungeon with countless entrance and exit ways connected to each other by various passageways. The two managed to shake off the ghosts that were chasing them by jumping into one of these small chambers. They held their breaths as they checked the passageway.

“…….Okay. It looks clear. For now, I don’t sense their mana…… Even so, A ha ha, I don’t know if it’s possible to sense a ghost’s mana, so it’s possible they could come out at any moment.”

“S-stop scaring me! …….No, wait! I’m not scared! Don’t you look down on me!”

He wasn’t scared, but he looked all around the narrow stone chamber they were in with utmost caution.

“……. Seriously, what’s with this dungeon. I expected the trap magic and security golems, but the ghosts are……”

At first, he thought they were created with some sort of trap magic, so he tried blasting them with his magic. Since he was so afraid……. No, since he was so excited, he put a considerable amount of power into his attack. However, no matter how many times he struck them down, the skeleton soldiers’ bones would reattach to each other, and their bodies would return back to normal. Even the Dullahans’ armor would regenerate. As this back and forth continued, a ridiculous number of monsters had gathered, and an eerie black smoke began to obstruct his vision, so they decided to run away. In the end, he wasn’t sure what those things were.

“……Damn it. That old hag recommended one hell of a dungeon to us.”

“Old hag?”

Luck tilted his head in confusion at Magna’s curses. Magna nodded before elaborating,

“Yeah. An old hag sometimes shows up at the black market’s gambling dens. When she gambles, she’s really good. I had her predict my fortune, and she told me to capture this dungeon.”

This all happened last night. Magna had gone to be black market to buy some medicines that restore magic power. There, he ran into that old woman, and when he explained his circumstances to her, she read his fortune and advised him to capture this dungeon.

“……..Huh? Maybe this sounds weird coming from me, but isn’t that kinda shady?”

“At first, I thought so, too. But she’s famous for her accurate predictions. Also, that old hag said that Asta helped her out not too long ago.”

She told him that, when her purse was stolen from her, Asta, Noelle, and Vanessa retrieved it for her, so she felt a dept of gratitude toward everyone in the Black Bulls. Because of that, she cordially offered her consultation services to him, but…….

“……Damn it! Return the favor my foot! Her fortune telling must be bogus after all!”

“A ha ha…… is it, I wonder?”

“Anyway, are those things really ghosts? Do ghosts really exist?”

“Hm, I’m not sure, but whether they’re ghosts or not doesn’t change the fact that we don’t know what they are. I’m not sure why, but my mana perception doesn’t work on them.”

Luck generated lightning from his fingertips. As he looked at the lightning he was generating, he said,

“Well, maybe my mana perception isn’t working because we’re in an area with strong magic…… but I’ve never had this happen before. Not once.”

Like dungeons, there are special areas that generate strong mana, known as Strong Magic Regions. Unusual magic phenomena often occur in these regions, and the phenomena they cause can vary widely, but there have been cases of mana perception being rendered useless in these regions. However, a normal dungeon wouldn’t weaken his mana perception to this degree. If an enemy was nearby, then he absolutely should be able to sense them, and he should have been able to learn the general structure of this dungeon as well. However, for some reason, he couldn’t do either of those. There truly was something strange about this dungeon.

“……Well, that’s why this dungeon is worth capturing!”

Luck crushed the lightning in his hand, extinguishing it. He then added gleefully,

“This dungeon’s huge, I can’t use my mana perception, and there’s even ghosts…… A ha ha! The treasures hidden in here must be amazing!”

Dungeons are remnants left behind by the ancients, places where valuable magic tools and books that describe how to use powerful ancient magic are stored. The larger and more difficult the dungeon, the more valuable the treasures it contains. There’s a good chance that those treasures will contain a hint for curing Asta’s arms.

“Also……”

Luck’s soft smile transformed into a belligerent one.

“If we clear this dungeon, I bet we’ll level up.”

“……Yeah, you’re right.”

The main reason they decided to capture this dungeon was, of course, to find a clue for curing Asta’s arms. The second reason they came to this dungeon, however, was to get stronger. As much as they didn’t want to think of this, as Asta’s seniors, they had to consider the possibility that Asta’s arms won’t heal. Even if they don’t heal, Asta said that he would continue fighting. No matter what people around him might say to stop him, he’ll continue fighting. That’s why Luck and Magna need to get stronger – to support him.

Finding a clue to heal Asta’s arms and getting stronger. Maybe they were being too greedy, but as long as they succeed in doing one of those things, they’ll be able to help Asta. Conversely, they didn’t plan to return to the base until they succeeded in doing at least one of those things. They were here because of that resolve.

“…….Well, let’s go.”

Magna slammed his fist into his leg, which was still shivering from earlier.

“Everything happened so suddenly earlier that I got a little sca…… that I got a little impatient, but next time, I’ll expose them for what they really are and crush ‘em! All crush all those monsters!”

Magna pumped himself up as he stood up. At that moment,

“Is someone there?”

They heard a small voice from the doorway of the small chamber they were in.  

“EEEK!”

Magna jumped toward Luck.

“Ah, s-sorry! I wasn’t trying to scare you or anything……”

The person who entered the chamber was a young girl, who apologized as she approached them. She looked like she was in her mid-teens. She had smooth, shoulder-length blonde hair, and she wore a frilled cloak. She looked like a totally normal young girl. However, no matter how Magna thought about it, it was strange that a young girl like her would be alone in a dungeon, which means she must be……

“……Oh, Oooooooh! Oh no! They’re already back! So this time it’s a girl monster!? Don’t scare me like that! N-not that I was scared, okay!?”

He peeled himself off from Luck and tried to turn-up his delinquent vibes as he stuttered. He was about to fire his magic, but then,

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!! S-sniffle…….sniffle…….”

“……….Huh?”

The girl’s shoulders jumped up in surprise, and then she started sobbing.

“Sniff……..sniffle……. That’s right. I-I’m not cute at all, and I scared you……. so of course you’d call me a monster. I have no worth as a living being after all…….”

“N-no! Wait a minute! Why’d you interpret what I said like that!? I didn’t call you a monster because I was trying to be mean!”

Magna felt incredibly guilty. Luck rarely did this, but he recoiled in disgust.  

“Wow…... Magna, you made a girl cry. You know…… you should apologize. You can’t just pour on as many insults as you want, even if it’s just a stranger.”

“I’m not trying to insult her though!? She just twisted what I said into something negative! Actually, that’s not important right now! No matter how you slice it, it’s weird that a girl would be here by herself!”

“Sorry. This guy is a bit weird in the head.”

Luck ignored Magna and smiled at the girl to calm her down.

“I’m Luck. This delinquent here is Magna. We’re Magic Knights.”

“……Magic……Knights?”

When she heard those words, she raised her head up a bit to look at Luck. Even though she calmed down to some degree, it seemed that she couldn’t bring herself to say anything else since she was still so cautiously alert.

“….Yup, we’re Magic Knights. We came to capture this dungeon on a little mission of ours.”

Luck continued to speak to ease her discomfort. She stared at Luck blankly, before looking at Magna with a frightened expression once more,

“Eeek! ……I-I see. This person’s planning to abuse his authority to drag me to the ground…….”  

“I wasn’t planning to do that at all! What’s with all your wild ideas!?”

“……Magna, I misjudged you! To think you’d try to do that to a young lady!”

“I wasn’t doing anything! Don’t let her manipulate you like that!”

Magna yelled at Luck, but then he suddenly stopped as if he lost his strength. This was ridiculous. Rather, it was a complete waste of breath.  He took a small but deep breath before speaking with a mild-mannered tone of voice.

“…… Sorry for yelling so suddenly like I did. Could you please tell us your name and what you’re doing here?”

She paused a bit before wiping her tears.

“……. My name’s Morgan.”

Then, she looked like she resigned herself to fate when she said,

“……I also entered this dungeon because I have business here.”

“……Huh?”

This time, it was Luck who made a puzzled expression on his face. Fundamentally speaking, a dungeon is placed under national control the moment it is discovered. This is to prevent its relics from being stolen by someone from another country or a person with wicked intentions. This dungeon is no exception. Public access should be strictly prohibited. They didn’t know what kind of business this Morgan woman had, but there was no way she would have been allowed in without authorization. Just when Luck was about to ask her to elaborate, Magna, who was keeping watch at the passageway, shouted,

“Hey, Luck! Th-the ghosts are here!”

“GeeehGaaaaaah!”

A scream echoed from the floor beneath them, accompanied by a large number of footsteps coming from the interior of the passageway.

“Huh~ A ha ha, what’s with that? I guess I really can’t sense their mana after all?”

“Now’s not the time for that! What do we do!? Should we fight back!?”

The monsters were running with tremendous speed straight at them, hardly giving them enough time to think. Luck thought for a moment before replying,

“……I’d really like to, but let’s withdraw.”

His fighting instincts felt like they would emerge any moment now, but he endured it patiently. They haven’t developed any concrete measures against the ghosts, and they have Morgan to take care of. It would be too difficult to try fighting monsters they don’t understand while trying to protect someone. Those were his thoughts as they tried heading toward the passage at the other side of the room.

“H-hey! Hey! Luck! From the other side! They’re coming from the other side, too!!”

Just as Magna said, screams and footsteps were coming from the end of the other passageway, too.

“A ha ha……. A pincer attack?”

Luck whispered in response to what seemed like the perfect maneuvers to trap them, but at that moment,

“O-over here! There’s a hidden passageway in this room! We can escape through here!”

Although she was acting like a klutz earlier, Morgan ran across the room and pushed on a portion of the wall. When she did, the wall slid to the side, becoming an entrance to a passageway leading to the interior of the dungeon.

“H-huh!? Why do you know about that!?”

“I’ll explain later! Just get over here!”

“……….”

Magna and Luck looked at each other. They were in an unknown dungeon surrounded by unknown enemies being guided down an unknown girl down an unknown passageway. The whole situation was completely incomprehensible. Rather, the situation was completely haphazard.

“……This situation fits us perfectly!”

“Doesn’t it!?”

They understood each other’s intentions immediately and then turned their backs to each other.

“Fire Magic: Exploding Buckshot”

“Lightning Magic: Thunderclap Crumbling Orb”

After slamming the ghosts with a massive attack, they stepped into the hidden passage that Morgan opened.

“……For now, there’s nothing wrong with me being here, right?”

“……Sure. Thanks for the help.”

Magna replied to Morgan as he looked around the area she guided them to. It was a small room approximately the same size as the room they were in earlier. By the time they shook the ghosts from their tails, they somehow wound up here, but……

“…….So, how come you know so much about this dungeon, anyway?”

“……..”

……That was because the girl guided them through a countless number of passageways, rooms, and hidden doorways, even though this dungeon hasn’t even been captured yet. Why does this young girl know her way around a dungeon that even the Magic Knights haven’t figured out yet?

“Ummm……”

She hesitated to answer, but, eventually, she looked up toward Magna.

“……Y-you won’t eat me if I tell you, will you?”

“I won’t! What the heck do you think I am anyway!?”

“Eek!? You yelled at me…….Y-you’re so scary…….. s-sniffle…….”

She began to sob again as she said this, making Magna feel another pang of guilt. At the very least, he knew two things about this girl named Morgan…… she knows a lot about this dungeon, and she’s a total crybaby.

“Sniffle……. I-I’m sorry. I like archeology, so…….. I entered this dungeon without permission and did a lot of research…….”

She was a total crybaby, but once she finished crying, she gave them a heartfelt apology.

“……I see.”

As a Magic Knight, he could say that she was probably a dungeon plunderer – a generic term for nefarious people who enter dungeons without permission and take any treasures they find. He wasn’t sure what her goal was, but she was probably a member of one such group. One of the jobs of a Magic Knight is to capture such nefarious people, but……

“Well, you can answer us later.”

“I-I can!?”

Morgan raised her voice in surprise at Magna’s casual reply.

“Um…… maybe it’s wrong of me to out myself like this, but I’m basically a dungeon plunderer, you know?”

Morgan shook with fear as she averted her eyes.

“I-I was told that if I was ever caught by the Magic Knights, they would peel off all my fingernails and force me to drink an entire pot of boiling water……”

“Just what kind of group do you think the Order of Magic Knights is, anyway? We don’t do stuff like that……. Actually,”

Magna and Luck glanced at each other.

“We also came here on unofficial business, so we can’t exactly rat you out……. To begin with, capturing dungeon plunderers is….. you know? That’s work for a proper Magic Knight to do.”

“Yup! A ha ha! The Black Bulls have destroyed our fair share of ruins, too, so I don’t think that kind of work will get assigned to us anytime soon!”

“……T-the Black……. Bulls……”

Her face instantly became as white as a ghost, and tears began to gather around the corners of her eyes.

“……Eek! Sniffle….. S-so I am screwed after all. You’re going to abuse me, beat me up, and parade me around the capital…….!”

“What kind of weird ritual is that!? No! We’re not gonna do that……. But, we would like your cooperation, if possible.”

The corners of Magna’s mouth upturned into a small smile.

“You’ve investigated the inside of this dungeon, so you know its layout, right? You even knew about that hidden passageway earlier.”

“H-huh? Well, yes……”

“Then, could you guide us to the treasure room?”

This was crazy. She knew that. Even if only for just a bit, she forgot about her usual negative thoughts as she took a step back. When she found out they were Magic Knights, she was worried that they would get mad at her, but, honestly, she was also relieved. Walking through such a dangerous dungeon on her own, she could tell that she was reaching her limit. However, they were Black Bulls. Even out here in the outskirts of the Forsaken Realm, they were an infamously dangerous group. Frankly, she didn’t want anything to do with them.

“A ha ha! Magna, you can’t just ask her that~”

Luck appeared from behind her like a lifeboat. He seemed like a gentle human being, someone she could speak honestly with. Thinking this, Morgan turned around to face him……

“First, we have to ask her…….. how to slaughter those ghosts, right?”

“………”

When she did, she saw that Luck’s smile looked even crazier than Magna’s, his pupils dilated like a psychopath’s.

“……You see, I’m already at my limit~ When I’m faced with such interesting opponents, I just gotta fight them! A ha ha, I want to reduce them all to cinders…… but I might damage the dungeon if I do that.”

“……Eek!”

Morgan finally realized it…….

“……So, can you please spill everything you know for us?”

……The two in front of her were the most dangerous monsters here.

In any case,

“I……. I understand. I don’t know if I’ll be enough for you…… but I’ll guide you, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Morgan fortified her resolve as she faced them. She thought they were crazy. However, earlier, they fought while protecting her. Even after that, they seemed like they were trying to look after her. They weren’t that unreasonable. Most of all, they were strong. If she’s with them, then maybe……

“So…… um, I know I’m not in a position to say this, but…… in return, could you please listen to my request?”

Morgan examined their expressions as she continued,

“Um……. I’d like you to take back what was taken from me at this dungeon.”

“……What was taken from you?”

Luck tilted his head as he asked. Morgan nodded in response and clarified,

“……My grimoire.”

 After that, as Morgan promised, she guided Luck and Magna to the treasure hall. Along the way, she told her story. As she mentioned before, she loves archeology, so since a young age she has been sneaking into dungeons as a hobby. Just as she has done before, she undid the trap magic in this dungeon as she went to capture it, but in the second half of her journey, she ran into a problem. In addition to the trap magic that was installed, there were combat golems stationed inside, which fight to eliminate any invaders. One of the golems protecting this dungeon took her grimoire. After being defeated by a golem and losing her grimoire, she has been wandering through this dungeon for days, waiting for a chance to take back the grimoire that was stolen from her.

“……I’m not sure how to say this, but, well, you kind of had that coming.”

He ended up saying with a bored expression on his face.

“S……sorry. When I heard that this dungeon wasn’t captured and was full of dangerous traps…… I thought ‘Aah, that sounds so nice! What a lovely dungeon!’, so I couldn’t help it……”

Morgan said something completely incomprehensible to Magna with tears in her eyes.

“A ha ha! I understand! Even if I know that my opponent is crazy dangerous, when I think about what kind of magic they might use, I really want to fight them to the death!”

“Right!? Even if a dungeon is filled with trap magic that could totally kill me if I don’t deactivate it, I end up tripping it anyway so that I can see how it works!”

“You two are totally in sync in the psycho department. What a dicey conversation.”

Even though Magna commented as such, he knew that this didn’t erase the fact that he’s a bit crazy, too.

“Anyway, the biggest problem are those monsters. We’ll have to face them at some point if we’re making our way to the treasure room.”

Actually, they were attacked by those monsters many more times after that. Each time, Morgan would guide them to an escape, but there was no place for them to settle down.

“……I’m sorry. Even I don’t know what those monsters are.”

Unfortunately, an essential part of what they needed to know couldn’t be explained from Morgan’s research, either.

“All I can say is that those monsters only appeared recently. When I first entered this dungeon, they weren’t here…… If they were golems or if they were the result of trap magic, then they should have been here from the beginning, but……”

“A ha ha! In other words, these ghosts are……. An existence that isn’t supposed to be here, right?”

Luck’s nonchalant words sent a shiver down Magna’s spine. If he puts it like that, then those things really are……

“Did you set off any traps that might have set those ghosts free?”

In contrast to Magna, who was frightened……. Er, rather, a little bit surprised by Morgan’s words, Luck was calm and composed as he asked her. However, Morgan shook her head.

“I haven’t. I’ve explored countless dungeons, and it would be impossible to activate such large-scale trap magic without noticing it.”

“I-I see……”

Magna couldn’t help but nod at Morgan’s surprisingly persuasive words.

“……By the way, how many dungeons have you explored without permission, anyway?”

“……Well, I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

Morgan turned her eyes away from them with tremendous speed. They were the eyes of a habitual criminal.

“There’s one other thing that struck me as odd…… Before those monsters appeared, I could sense mana perfectly fine. I was able to reach the treasure room by doing that.”

When Morgan forced the conversation back to the main subject, Luck spoke quietly, as if he was thinking out loud.

“Then, those ghosts are doing something to block our mana perception……. Is that right?”

“I think so…… but, I’m not really sure what we can do about it…… To begin with, if our opponents really are ghosts, then I have no idea how they could be causing it…...”

“Yeah. Well, if they really are ghosts, then I don’t think common sense applies to them in general……”

The two stood with troubled expressions on their faces for some time before, finally, Luck gave up and said,

“Hmm, it’s no good. I haven’t had enough death matches, so I can’t think straight. Sorry, Magna. Can I snap some of your ribs? I only need to break three.”  

“Don’t ask someone if you can break their bones like you’re asking for a quick favor! ……Well, I’m getting tired of trying to use our heads, too. It doesn’t suit us.”

He wasn’t scared…… or rather, excited, by those monsters anymore. After encountering them over and over again, he had gotten used to them.

“The next time those guys attack us, let’s waste ‘em.”

Magna said with a villainous grin on his face. In the end, they were going to do what they were planning to do from the beginning. When he was firing his magic earlier, he was holding back. Even so, he found that this dungeon was built quite sturdily. It won’t fall apart if he goes all out for a bit.

“……Right. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back much longer, either.”

As if he was thinking the same thing Magna was, Luck said this with a voice filled with frustration.

Seeing those two like this, Morgan went as pale as a ghost and said with a flagrantly fake smile,

“T-then, the next time we encounter those monsters, I’ll just go somewhere else……”

“Just telling you this in advance, but you’ll actually be safest if you’re near us.”

“…… Sniffle”

Morgan began to cry softly, but Magna patted her back with a wry smile on his face and said,

“Don’t cry. You’ve entered countless dungeons before, right? You’ve got the guts to get through this.”

“Sniffle….. I get the feeling that this dungeon is more dangerous than the others, though.”

Not because of the trap magic and the golems, but because she was stuck with these two.

“Seriously though, how many dungeons have you gone to before this one? I won’t get mad, so just tell me already.”

“U-uh…….”

Once again, she averted her eyes when Magna asked her this.

“A-about forty, I think?”

Magna gave her a karate chop.

“Eeek!? You told me you wouldn’t get mad!”

“Yeah, but forty!? You’ve been to more dungeons than most low-ranking Magic Knights!”

Moreover, that was way more than the number of dungeons Magna has been to. Actually, he didn’t know there even were that many dungeons out there.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! If you indiscriminately enter every dungeon you hear about, then you just end up visiting that many eventually…… But, please don’t crush my eyeballs! Please!”

“……I was never planning to, but make this the last dungeon you sneak into. You’re lucky we’re the ones that found you. If another Magic Knight found you, you’d have been arrested.”

“A ha ha! Well, there’s that. But it’s also just really dangerous. This time, it was just your grimoire that was taken from you, but next time could be your life!”

“……Yes, you’re right.”

Morgan nodded in response to their scolding, reflecting on her actions penitently.

‘Did I go too far?’ Magna thought, but, a moment later, Morgan went back to normal and smiled.

“Even before all this, I was thinking about making this dungeon my last……. My siblings have all grown up now, so there’s no longer any need for me to earn money this way.”

“……You were doing this for money?”

Magna tilted his head as he asked. With a contrite smile, Morgan responded,

“Yes, I would draw maps of the dungeon and sell them to Magic Knights. I was born in a village in the Forsaken Realm named Seitan, so there wasn’t any other way for me to make money. By selling those maps, I was able to make just enough to get by.”

“……I see.”

As mentioned earlier, it is strictly forbidden for civilians to enter a dungeon. However, frankly speaking, if they have been assigned to a dungeon, a lot of Magic Knights would love to have a detailed map of a dungeon that hasn’t been captured yet. It’s a different story if you have a Magic Knight on your team who can map out the dungeon themselves, such as Mimosa and Luck, but if you don’t have someone on your team who can do that, then such a map would be a crucial asset.

Morgan drew maps of unconquered dungeons, and Magic Knights bought them. Those were the kinds of illegal transactions that were taking place. It may sound wrong of either side to do that, but that type of thing happens when both sides’ interests are in alignment. It was an unspoken agreement.

“My dad died young, and my mom had a weak constitution…… the only thing we had in abundance was mouths to feed, so……. eh heh heh, I had to make money somehow.”

“So that’s how it is…… Um, couldn’t you have worked away from home in the Common Realm?”

Luck said in an unusually considerate way. Magna pushed his sunglasses to his face and answered for Morgan.

“It’s difficult for anyone born in the Forsaken Realm to get hired in the Common Realm. Well, someone born in the Common Realm wouldn’t realize that, though.”

He said this in an indifferent tone of voice.

“A lot of peasants have weak magical power, and others have such strange magic that nobody knows what to use it for, so they’re often judged to be inadequate as workers. Even if a peasant moves from home to work in the Common Realm, they would find nobody willing to employ them…… it would be a pointless waste of hotel expenses.”

However, most peasants find themselves unable to pay for those hotel expenses, so they end up working in the kitchens to pay that off. On the other hand, it’s not as if the Forbidden Realm has many jobs to offer, either. If a peasant has a large family filled with young children like Morgan’s, it would be hard just to earn enough food for the day.

“People unable to find work end up with no choice but to make money by doing dangerous work…... like her.”

Magna placed a hand on her head and apologized,  

“I’m a peasant, too, so I get it. I’m sorry for saying that you deserved to have your grimoire taken from you……. You had your reasons.”

“Magna-san……”

Seeing him awkwardly try to be considerate of her feelings, she couldn’t help but say his name.

“Thank you…… b-but, I’m sorry. All of that is true, but…… in the end, one of the main reasons I started doing this is because I like it.”

She apologized, and then, with eyes filled with sorrow, continued,

“I really am worthless, a good-for-nothing…… I haven’t mentioned this yet, but my magic really is strange. It’s called Coating Magic. I can coat things with magic, and while it’s coated, it becomes sturdier and heavier. But that’s all it does……”

‘…….I see. It sounds like it could be useful, but it would be hard to find a job with magic like that.’

“Plus, I’m a crybaby, and I’m stupid…… I’m ugly, and I have small boobs. My legs are short, and my teeth aren’t lined up properly. I can’t skip, and I can’t stand coffee. I’ve realized that my drawings look really weird……. Sniffle”

“H-hey…… let’s leave it at that. My bad. I don’t really get what just happened, but it’s my bad, okay?”

Magna was waiting for her to finish her endless deluge of negativity. There was no reason for her to be so worried about weak points like that, but it kept on going, so he felt like he needed to do something quickly to stop her.

“……But, even somebody like me could help others capture a dungeon, even just a bit.”

She wiped away her tears, a small smile forming on her face.

“When I thought about how even somebody like me could be useful to my siblings, to those people in the Magic Knights, to anybody…… eh heh heh, I started to feel happy. I know what I was doing was wrong, but with each dungeon I entered, I started loving this job more and more.”

“……I see.”

Even though she was clumsy and prone to negativity, capturing dungeons was her hobby. It may seem contradictory for her hobby to be a dangerous job she took up out of necessity, but that seemed to be the case.

“Ah, b-but, like I said before, all my siblings are old enough to work now, so I truly was planning to make this dungeon my last……”

“Well, I’d say that’s a good idea. This may be fun for you, but it really is dangerous.”

Magna said with remorse as he gave her a small, pained smile.

“Actually, with that kind of courage and ability to take action, I think you’ll be able to find plenty of other ways you can make yourself useful. Find a different hobby and help others that way.”

He gave her words of encouragement, but tears began to form in the corners of Morgan’s eyes.

“……I-In other words, as I am right now, I’m trash that can’t help anyone…… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that someone like me wastes the clothes on my back.”

“Okay, I get it. First of all, you need to fix that negative mindset of yours, and fast.”

He didn’t say this for her sake, but rather for all the people that have to deal with her.

“……Weird magic….. doing dangerous things…… and making money……”

While the two of them went back and forth, as if he just had an epiphany, Luck mumbled to himself,

“……Oh, I see.”

Before clapping his hands together and turning toward Morgan.

“Hey Morgan-chan, recently…… that is, ever since the monsters started appearing, have there been any places in this dungeon you haven’t approached?”

“……Huh?”

Upon being asked such an abrupt question, Morgan had a blank expression on her face.

“Umm, I didn’t want to get targeted by them, so I’ve been careful about moving around, but…… I haven’t gone near the treasure room, not even once. The golem that stole my grimoire might be there, so I’ve been afraid to……”

“I see. And, while you were looking for the treasure room, you removed a lot of trap magic, right?”

“……. Yes.”

“I see……”

“…… Hey, what the hell? What the hell do you see?”

Magna asked impatiently, but Luck just started mumbling to himself again,

“There’s at least five of them…… no, six. Well, there’s probably more.”

That’s all he said before turning back toward Magna.

“…….A ha ha, I think I might’ve figured out the true identity of those monsters.”

He said in an excruciatingly casual tone of voice.

“Wait, what the hell-

‘Do you mean!?’ is how he wanted to end his question, but before he could finish,

“GeGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

The monsters in question appeared, along with a thick, black smoke. Moreover, just as before, the monsters commenced a pincer attack. There was nowhere to run in this small chamber they found themselves trapped in, and, this time, there were no hidden passageways to be found.

“……What timing!”

Although they had decided on having an all-out battle with those monsters, their current location was terrible. They couldn’t use their full power in a narrow chamber like this, and it would be difficult to fight while protecting Morgan. It was as if those monsters were waiting for them to come to a place like this before launching their attack. However, they had no choice but to fight.

“Luck, you take care of the monsters in the back! I’ll pummel the guys in the front!”

Magna said to Luck before getting ready to fire his magic, but……

“No, let’s charge our way through the front!”

Luck completely overrode Magna’s instructions and rushed toward the group in front of them.

“Hey, wait!? You want to bulldoze through them!? There’s way too many of them!!”

Magna pulled Morgan along with him as they followed behind Luck. Luck didn’t slow down one bit, continuing to fire his magic.

“Just do it!!”

“……Fine!”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, but he had faith in Luck. Luck may be absurdly rash, but his intuition when it comes to battle was on-point. Luck sounded confident when he gave his orders, so that was enough reason for Magna to follow him.

“Hey, Morgan! Grab my waist and don’t let go!!”

“Eek! ……So you’re going to make me come with you after all!? “

As she shrieked, Magna confirmed that she was clinging firmly to him before turning around and facing forward. After doing so, Luck glanced back at them and nodded with his usual smile. Magna returned the nod, faced the enemies before them, and cast their spell.

“Flame-Lightning Explosive Cannon!”

The combo magic the two fired struck the monsters with a thunderous roar, wiping out the entire frontline of the monster army. Magna and Luck fired simultaneously at point-blank range. Normally, they would use all the mana they have to launch such an attack, but, this time, they held back to preserve their strength for later. Even though they were holding back, the power of their combo spell was still immense. It sent all the monsters at the frontlines flying in an instant, and the aftershock blew away the monsters at the center. It was a surefire one-hit killer.

However, just as before, the skeleton soldiers and dullahans quickly revived themselves. They didn’t appear to have taken any damage, but……

“Orraaaaah! Exploding Buckshot! Exploding Buckshot! Exploding Buckshot!”

“A ha ha! Thunderclap Crumbling Orb! Thunderclap Crumbling Orb! Thunderclap Crumbling Orb! Thunderclap Crumbling Orb!!”

Not seeming to notice or care, Luck and Magna continued to pummel them with their magic as if they were laying siege on a castle. The skeleton soldiers’ bones shattered into little pieces and turned to charcoal. The Dullahan’s armor got smashed up. It seemed that their attack rate was starting to outspeed their ability to regenerate. And then,

“GeGaaah…… GEGAH!?”

There was a slight change in the groans the monsters gave out. Even then, the two didn’t stop their attacks. On the contrary, their attacks continued to gain more and more momentum as they charged toward the monster army. Once they reached the rear guard,

“GeGaaah…….. Ge- wait!? What the hell!? Why aren’t they stopping!?”

The groans of those monsters changed into that of a human’s.

“A ha ha! We found you!”

He was waiting for this moment. Luck leaped up and flew toward the back of the monster army, where he heard the human voice.  

“Oh shit! Ohhh shit! They’re here! Hey, what do we do!?”

“H-hell if I know! It’s your fault for crying out like that!”

There were several stern-looking men hidden within the smoke. They were a rough-looking lot, all of them dressed in filthy-looking robes. If one were asked to imagine a bandit or robber, they would probably look exactly like that.  Moreover, all of them had their grimoires open.

“A ha ha! I…… knew it!”

After confirming their location, Luck shot a ball of lightning at their feet.

“Woah, Uoooaaaaah!?”

The instant they were blown away, the monsters stopped moving. Like a puppet whose strings were cut, they fell apart with a clatter.

“Haaah……. Hah….. I get it now.”

Magna walked up toward Luck as he caught his breath, while also confirming that Morgan was still clinging to his waist. With her eyes rolled to the back of her head, she mumbled,

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t do anything bad ever again. Please don’t turn me into pig feed……”

She was still conscious, so they supposed she was probably okay. She’s probably not traumatized. Hopefully.

“These guys were controlling those monsters…… right?”

“A ha ha! Probably~”

Luck said casually as he surveyed the men they caught.

“Earlier, you were talking about weird magic, right, Magna? I was wondering if a few people with weird magic could combine their spells to make something like those monsters~ A ha ha! Looks like I was right!”

As he talked, he got closer to their prisoners. Although they were blown away by such a flashy attack, they were still conscious.

“……Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Magna squatted in delinquent fashion in front of one of their prisoners, a bald-headed man, as Luck cracked his knuckles behind him.

“We have to pay them back properly for chasing after us so persistently……. Right?”

“ A ha ha……. Right.”

“Eek!”

Needless to say, the two had a dangerous look in their eyes.

— To be continued in Part 2 —

The fact Morgan has to risk her life to create maps of dungeons to sell for Magic Knights gave me a new found respect for all those video game npcs that sell your character maps. Like her, some of them must have gone into those temples and dungeons themselves to draw them. The things I don’t think about when I play Nintendo games….

Things might be rough for Magna in the manga right now, but it’s nice to see some more of Magna and Luck being bros.

This chapter was ghosts, next chapter is golems! 

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Blowing Off Steam (Brick/Blossom)

@carriedreamerx and @kiebs have been hard at work these last couple of days drawing some really pretty art over on IG for various of our collective fics (check out their IGs, the art is super gorgeous). Since I have the artistic skills of a rock, I thought I’d say thanks with some Reds fight-and-make-out fic! This is an excerpt from an upcoming multi-chapter fic that will feature the Punks along with the Girls and the Boys. Gist of it is they’ve all been warped to a different planet and are stuck in a weird, possibly haunted house as they try to find a way out of it with punches and problem solving and *gasp* teamwork. They’re all in their late 20s in this. In this excerpt, Brick and Blossom blow off a little steam and Berserk takes all the credit.

(Unbeta’d and subject to change when I get around to posting the actual multi-chapter fic itself.)

xxx

Blossom had never felt more discomfited by Berserk’s absence than her presence, but she felt it now across the table from Brick with no one else around to draw her wandering eye, or his. He shifted his weight in his chair. She stretched her neck. He took a sip of water. She cleared her throat.

After ten minutes of this, he slammed his book shut. “What is happening?”

Blossom fixed her gaze firmly on her book and the passage she’d re-read at least four times now without absorbing any of it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s taken you twenty minutes to read two pages.”

The knee-jerk urge to refute him tugged at her like a dog begging for table scraps, but she ignored it. He wasn’t wrong. “I guess I’m finding it hard to concentrate today.”

They watched each other across the long table, and it struck her just how red his eyes were even from afar: two burning pits fixed entirely on her. Unsettling, yet strangely warm. She thought about retiring early, but she wasn’t tired. In fact, she was having some trouble sitting still in her chair. Maybe a walk outside would do her good, or even a run. Maybe Buttercup was free and up for a spar. Just anything to get her body moving and her brain blanking before her thoughts burned a hole through her skull and exposed everything to him.

“Let’s go a round,” Brick said. The sound of his chair sliding over the tile screamed in the cavernous, quiet library.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m trying to crawl out of my own skin.” He flexed a fist, and red sparks spiderwebbed along his knuckles to the wrist eager for something to burn.

Blossom’s mouth went dry at the manifest threat of his power calling to her like old ghosts. She could retreat, provide some excuse, it had worked before. But no excuse came to her now, and under the table, her fingers curled around a mass of pastel power itching for a summoning. She rose from  her chair, books forgotten, and headed for the door. “We can’t have that,” she said.

He fell into step after her not a moment later and followed her down the hall and up the second floor balcony to the first challenge room. The house was quiet and empty tonight, its vaulted ceilings cold and distant. It was as though they were the only two people awake in this uncanny place.

It took everything Blossom had not to stop and wait for him to catch up. His eyes at her back gave off a singular heat, homing and hyper-focused. Perhaps years ago, she would have never entertained the thought of turning her back on someone so dangerous. Now, the thought of what she might invite if she faced him kept her squarely focused on her destination ahead.

“Ladies first,” Brick said directly behind her when they reached the challenge room. He grabbed the edge of the door and held it open for her.

Blossom looked anywhere but back at him and stepped over the threshold. The change of pressure entering the pocket dimension made her ears pop and the access band on her wrist heat with power. As before, the walls on all sides moved as concrete structures grew and shifted, sky scrapers blooming like flowers and withering to dust, only to sprout again elsewhere. Brick followed and closed the door behind them. Already disoriented, Blossom began to float as she adjusted to the altered gravity and tried to abandon the idea of up versus down.

“Restrictions?” Brick asked. He shed his red jacket, leaving him only in his matching pants and a form-fitting tank top.

Blossom very maturely averted her gaze lest he assume she was ogling him, of all the ludicrous notions. Steeling herself, she unzipped her own red jacket and tossed it aside to join his. “Since when can you afford to restrain yourself against me?”

His laughter, light and low, shivered her to the bone. “All right, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He was on her in a flash with a hard punch. Blossom blocked at the last second, but the force sent her crashing into concrete. She barely had time to cough when he came at her again with another punch aimed at her face, but this time she dodged in the nick of time and it was his turn to eat rubble.

Adrenaline and Chemical X made for a heady, explosive cocktail in her veins that spread from her fingertips to the very ends of her long ponytail. Incandescent, pink power jumped over her bare arms as she poised to receive him again.

“Come on,” she said.

Brick glowed red, and it was her only warning before he rocketed after her. Blossom took off deeper into the maze of ever changing obstacles, the exertion only fueling her faster along in a familiar chase they had not run in years.

The pocket dimension was a death trap. Blossom darted over and under spikes and spires closing around her like jaws, her movements precise and fluid. But Brick was just as adept and wasted little energy swerving around the masticating mandible they had chosen for this evening’s playground.

Blossom swung around and under a sprouting obelisk, trusting her body to move exactly according to her will, but Brick abruptly changed course and met her mid-spin. Anticipating his sneak attack, Blossom let him have it with a wicked kick in the ribs.

Unfortunately, he was damn fast and grabbed her by the ankle just as her kick connected, and they both went flying with the force of her attack. A receding column broke Blossom’s fall with a rude crunch, and she broke Brick’s. Rose met red through a cloud of dust and electric Chemical X.

“Caught you,” he said.

Maybe it was the rush of the moment that drove her, the old thrill of the hunt from their heyday, never acknowledged but deeply felt. She felt him now, palms searing around her knee and pinning her neck, and she reached back.

Too close to avoid her open palm on his chest, Brick took her ice at point-blank range and blasted away in a flurry of snowflakes. He nearly hit a stone pillar punching out of the undulating wall, but managed to flip out of its path at the last second.

Blossom floated higher, her arms sleeved in ice and her breath misty. The temperature plummeted further as her power rippled through the pocket dimension. “Not quite,” she said in a voice that crept in between the shifting sky scrapers like hoarfrost.

Across from her, Brick’s power sluiced off him as thick as magma. He was a bright, burning star in this grey world, and god she could feel him pushing back and fighting for ground as if he were right in front of her. The chemically saturated air shimmered around him and ignited the blood in his eyes as they met hers. “Come here.”

It was all the encouragement she needed to give in to the timeless spark between them and unleash. Frost met fire as they collided, broke, and collided again. His punches smoldered, but her ice tempered them to cleansing smoke. And when she caught him in a freezing hold, he inevitably slipped through behind a veil of steam. Each unable to smother the other, they were evenly matched and forever at odds as they ricocheted off stone towers and toppled thrusting obelisks in their bid for dominance.

And that was what this was, what it had always been. Blossom had never felt the need to control and dominate another like she felt it fighting Brick. Call it fate, or design, or maybe it was just him, but there was nothing like this release, this honest surrender to the creature she was and always would be, made magnificent in the eyes of a true equal.

“I’m right here!” she taunted, with snowflakes in her hair.

Brick landed on a cracked block. The cement began to melt under the heat of his power where he crouched and captured her in those pyre-bright eyes. “Is that an invitation?” he shot back. “Or a threat?”

Alive with the thrill of unfettered competition, Blossom grinned. “Let’s find out.”

She took off at a punishing pace, half flying around the cement blocks and half skating over their frozen faces. Brick was right on her tail, his steps scorching the swaths of ice she left in her wake to cataclysmic ends. Wherever the two Supers’ extremities came into direct contact, the concrete collapsed and exploded like a parade of supernovas.

He was close, she could feel it, but he wouldn’t catch her, no way. Blossom was the best at what she did, and no one knew that better than her counterpart. But he was fast closing the distance between them, and when she chanced a glance back, there he was haloed in haze, his fire rising like great, golden chains, and he reached for her.

Blossom gasped, and it was her mistake. Brick caught her waist and pulled her back hard. The blizzard in her lungs went up in steam between his fingers clamped over her mouth. They hurtled together head over heels with Blossom kicking and jabbing with her elbows. But Brick locked her arms to her sides and anchored her to his chest until they came to a stop and she could hardly move. Pink power crackled on her skin as she thrashed in his arms, but he only laughed.

“That tickles,” he murmured.

Blossom immediately ceased her struggling. Immured in his arms with no chance of escaping unless he let her go, she became acutely aware of just how close they were. His breath was warm in her hair, and he smelled like smoke and parchment. He hadn’t loosened his hold around her at all.

“Brick,” she said, sotto voce.

He laughed again, low and husky. “Yield.”

The very word inspired an electric disdain in her. “No.”

He pressed his nose to her hair, and when he spoke his lips brushed against the side of her neck. “Are you sure?”

Blossom turned her head to look him in the eye and held on to her nerve out of sheer force of will. “Are you?”

This close, she could count his freckles and taste the heat he radiated, but there was no reading him beyond his singular and absolute focus on her.

He loosened his grip around her and pulled away. “No,” he said.

Blossom caught him before he could move away. Thoughtless perhaps, but Blossom never stopped thinking, not about their entrapment here, not about finding a way out, and not about him since the day they arrived in this strange place. She barely tugged at his shirt before he was on her again, arms around her waist and kissing her hard. Her fingers sparked with power as she threaded them through his short hair, making him groan, and he suddenly shoved them against the freezing, concrete wall until it cracked. His kiss was volcanic, as relentless as he was, and Blossom pulled him deeper with a smile.

The wall lurched at her back, and as quickly as it had begun, Brick ended the kiss and pushed her out of the way of a wicked spike just as it erupted from the enchanted wall. Blossom landed deftly on a nearby block and watched him do the same. Breathing hard, she wiped the traces of the best kiss of her life from her lips.

“Best two out of three,” he called to her.

Unable to resist, she smirked. “Restrictions?”

“You couldn’t restrain yourself against me if you tried.”

A retort sat poised on the tip of her tongue, but it still remembered his kiss and refused to cooperate.

“Blossom,” he said in a commanding tone that wanted answering.

Blossom’s power burst around her, radioactive, and she launched herself skyward. “Try and keep up.”

They spent the next two hours raining tempestuous ruin, on the pocket dimension and on each other.

xxx

Berserk took one look at Brick and Blossom when they returned to the Red Wing later that evening in their soot- and sleet-stained clothes, set her book down, and drained the rest of her bourbon. “Oh god.”

Brick rolled his eyes headed for his room. “There better be some of that left when I get out of the shower.”

Berserk flipped him the bird, which he returned behind his back before slamming the door.

Blossom hovered like a deer caught in the headlights until Berserk took pity on her and poured a fresh glass. “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

Blossom snapped out of it and took the offered bourbon automatically. “What?”

Jesus Christ.

You try to be nice for once, and nobody fucking appreciates it. Typical.

“Whatever.” Berserk went back to her book and her own glass of bourbon, which she topped off with the rest of the bottle so there would be none left for Brick.

Blossom didn’t fuck off to her own room like she ought to have, but instead sat down on the red sofa across from Berserk. She was smiling like a creep. Before Berserk could ask her if she needed medical assistance with whatever the hell was going on, Blossom said, “Cheers.”

Magenta eyes narrowed over the top of her book as Berserk studied her counterpart for any hint of a scheme. When she found none, she cautiously clinked her overfull glass to Blossom’s and drank.

They sat there in silence for a while. The sound of Brick’s shower was a low din behind his closed door as Berserk slowly flipped the pages of her book, some boring shit about this planet’s agricultural practices. Blossom had picked up a book of her own and curled up, her legs tucked under her in a perfect mirror to Berserk. Every once in a while Berserk would steal a glance at her counterpart and find her quiet and content with her book and bourbon. Peaceful was not quite the right word for this weirdly tranquil ambience, and Blossom for sure needed a shower. But, well…

Well.

“Thank you.”

It was so softly spoken, that had they not been reading in complete silence, Berserk may not have heard her speak. Blossom didn’t look up to acknowledge her sitting there, or even to check that Berserk had heard her.

Berserk curled a lock of her frizzy, red hair around her finger and buried her nose in her book. “Whatever.”

Blossom hid a smile behind her book and finished her drink.

xxx

Thanks for reading! <3

[lavalampelfchild]

Lava’s Art Masterpost

Hey, all!  Welcome to my art masterpost!  I have no idea if this is a thing that is done typically for art, but oh well, I like organizing things, so here we are!  What you’ll find here is mostly Dragon Age, with a few non-DA pieces in there, and there’s a range of styles I like to use, depending on my mood.  But a lot of what you’ll see will most likely combine lineart with some other form of coloring/shading.

Feel free to browse at your leisure, and I hope anyone who stumbles upon this enjoys what they find! :D And thank you to anyone who sees this and likes, or reblogs, or even just stops by to peruse a bit!  

All that said, away we go!

Digital Portraits:

1. Portrait of Nameless Woman, 2020 - This one is just an experiment with a watercolor brush that I did.  It’s not anatomically perfect, but I enjoyed playing around with shading.

2. Sketch of Aja Amell, 2020 - This one is basically sketch practice with my Amell~  Not really the most expressive pictures, but it’s a start toward drawing her more expressively.  Full disclosure: Aja is one of those OCs of mine that I have had trouble with deciding on a definitive appearance for several pictures, and I really want to work on upping my level of consistency when drawing her.

3. Long-Haired Fenris, 2020 - Exactly what it sounds like; this was for practice drawing Fenris’s features (I love how distinct they are), but with long hair because I am weak for it.  This one was a fun piece to shade, and mixing the stylized lineart that I normally use with a greyscale shading spectrum was really enjoyable.

4. Portrait of Ilorin Lavellan, 2016 - This is an oldie.  Basically practicing expressions, and it is technically a WIP, but I’m still very happy with how the shading turned out, especially because this is actually (aside from the unfinished hair) one of the more minimal pieces I’ve done in terms of lineart  It’s still there, and it still shapes the flow of the picture in some ways, but it also ends up flowing with the shading instead of standing out next to it, which I like.  (Both styles are good, though, and I love seeing other artists try both too.)

5. Old Portrait of Aja Amell, 2016 - Much older picture I did of Aja; she... honestly looks very little like the newer one, I think, and that consistency is something I’m still working on, but this one was the first picture of Aja with that particular hairstyle I drew.  What I like about this picture is how young she looks; it fits with her image as a fresh and sheltered Circle mage who’s only about 20 years old at the time of DAO.

6. Old Portrait of Trilyn, 2016 - They very first piece of art I posted to tumblr~ It’s not exactly how I envision Trilyn anymore, but it was still very fun to draw, and helped me get a feel for drawing him in the future. 

Dynamic Movement Pictures/”Moment’s in Time”:

1. Tabris in Arl’s Estate, 2020 - TW: blood.  I am super proud of this one.  My ultimate goal is to draw all of my Warden DAO OCs, and I could not believe I’ve never drawn my Tabris, and so here she is.  This was, in large part, practicing expressions because I absolutely love art that depicts characters in motion, or capturing some kind of expression.

2. Velyn in the Rain, 2017 - This one was actually based on some art that I saw in a Teen Wolf fic!  It was an experiment with a more expressive style (and one of the first pieces I did without lineart left in the finished version) and it was a huge step out of my comfort zone.  But overall, I am extremely happy with how it turned out.

3. Jem Nocking an Arrow, 2016 - And here is the lineart version.  This was entirely an excuse to draw my DAI baby, Jem, and to do a cool archer pose because archers are my fav, and I love characters in motion.

4. Solas Teaching Trilyn Fade Magic, 2016 - This one was a painterly picture that was also (like the Velyn picture) something which I tried to keep lineart out of.  Overall, I am proud of a lot of parts of the pic, but I think I would definitely go back over it and change a few things now if I had the patience.

5. Trilyn Closeup WIP, 2016 - TW: injury, blood, mention of abuse in the author’s note.  A lot of early pictures I have are of my OC, Trilyn, and this is one of my absolute favorites.  His entire upper body is technically in the picture, but I hadn’t finished rendering it yet, so this was what I posted.  And it was an experiment with a cross-hatching style with the pencil tool for some texture, with air brush shading and a blurring tool.  It’s a style I had fun playing around with!

6. Trilyn Blood Ritual, 2016 - TW: blood, injury (the slight cut used to supply the ritual with blood).  This one was definitely a sort of “captured moment” from a backstory I gave Trilyn, and I think what I was really going for was an atmospheric piece that could fit with any potential fic I wanted to write for Trilyn.  And then it ended up being practice for extreme lighting/shading techniques, and drawing the blood and the gross mass of demon ichor (or whatever the heck that is) turned out to be highlights of making the piece for me.

Art + Text:

1. Freedom and Control, 2020 - TW: scars, but very difficult to see.  This one was ambitious for me!  It started originally just as Solas and my Tal-Vashoth OC, Saara, facing each other, because I love the dynamic I’ve built for them in my head, but then it turned into an attempt at a tarot-esque background, and just sorta grew from there... Overall, I’m happy with how it turned out, especially with how Solas and Saara themselves turned out.  The version you can actually see a larger view is here.  

2. Marianna and Delia Codex and Art, Pt. 1, 2020 - I love writing my own codex entries, first off, and I love combining art with text to create a (hopefully) seamless work.  This work was an attempt to flesh out these OCs of mine with both art (because unique facial structures are hard for me to get down, but so important regardless) and text (because writing~).  I think it turned out well overall, but there are elements of the portraits that I might at some point touch up a bit.

3. Marianna and Delia Codex and Art, Pt. 2, 2020 - Part 2, with what I refer to as a “DAI Outfit Change” because I have always loved seeing fans show their own OCs as they look in DAO, DA2, and then finally DAI.  So I absolutely wanted to jump on that bandwagon myself.  The skin tones are a little off (and I’m sorry about that!) because I was playing with the watercolor brush at that point, and it dilutes the colors I use.  Still working to figure that out, but I was very happy with the overall lineart and structures of the faces.

4. Alistair/Aja Amell Picture with a Blurb, 2017 - Ooooold, old, old, old, OLD!  I still love the art, and I’m soooo happy with how the interaction between Alistair and Aja turned out (drawing kisses is extremely difficult for me; I always end up creating a distorted weird lip-creature, instead of realistically puckered lips...).  I’m not as happy with the blurb that went with it?  At that point, I was still very much figuring out my own DAO worldstate, and the characterization for everyone, so, eh.  Take it with a grain of salt!

Unfinished Costume Designs:

1. Ancient Elvhen Armor with Dwarven Influence, 2018 - People who do costume design work are amazing and mystical beings, and I wish I could do what they do.  This was an attempt at merging the Keeper robes from DAI with a more dwarven armor aesthetic, solely because I created an ancient elvhen character, Ceda, who was taken in by the Cad’halash dwarves mentioned in the Witch Hunt dlc, and I wanted this character to have a mix of the elven style of armor and the dwarven style.  I’m overall decently happy with it, but there’s still that persistent level of self-criticism present.

2. Herald of Andraste Outfit WIP, 2016 - This was a very old picture, not one I showed around a lot, but the idea for this was entirely born of my intense interest in how fashion and outfit designs could be used to create a symbolic image for the Herald of Andraste.  In general, I love the combination of ceremonial armor with long and flowing cloth, so that was what I went for here.  I’m still actually very proud of how this came out, and headcanon something similar for my Herald in my canon DAI worldstate.

Pencil Sketches:

1. Quick Saara Sketch, 2019 - TW: saarebas mouth scars.  Exactly what it says; very quick sketch of Saara I did in a small notebook I carry around with me.  This was basically a test for myself to see if I could manage to draw Saara with the features and facial structure I envisioned for her without needing to use a lot of references.

2. Mass Effect Character Sketch; Jesse, 2018 - Similar reason for drawing this one as the above Saara sketch!  With these characters, I love sometimes the way they can turn out with the specific character creator used for them, and when I draw them, I enjoy trying to create a definitive look for them using what I get from the CC, and my own knowledge of Hooman Faces.

3. Saara Sketch, 2017 - TW: saarebas mouth scars.  A more detailed sketch of Saara than the one above, and one I definitely put more time into overall.  It’s currently the profile picture I’m using for ao3, and is the definitive go-to reference picture I use whenever imagining Saara in a fic, or for other Saara pics I make.  I am extremely proud of this picture, and feel like I should work in graphite more often.  It’s such fun, and the texture is so nice to look at.

4. Sketch of Nameless Alamarri Woman, 2017 - This was a sketch I did of what I envisioned some Alamarri tribes to look like; I used artistic depictions of Gaul tribes and hairstyles for inspiration, and have used this as a go-to reference for my version of Alamarri tribes.  Nothing super notable about this one, but I really liked the way the shape of her face turned out.

Events and Gifts:

1. Another Scar, 2020 - TW: blood, injuries, gore.  The most recent piece of art on the list, and a gift for @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold; featuring sisterly love between Rica and fem!Brosca, which was her requested prompt.  This was a tough piece for me because of the difficulty with the lighting I dealt with.  For some reason, that one particular element of it gave me so much trouble.  Overall, I’m very happy with how it turned out, though, especially the skin tones of the sisters; Brosca I always sort of like as having this greyish, more gaunt look to her, while Rica I like seeing with a darker, richer, and warmer tone to her.  

2. A Very Cousland Christmas!, 2019 - This was for a holiday exchange for a server, and I drew a friend’s Cousland (Elissa, the girl on the left) with my Cousland (Gazza, the girl on the right).  I love kid-fic, and I love kid-art, and so I decided... baby Cousland art!  Drawing kid proportions was the toughest part, I recall, and I thiiiink it turned out well, and I’m still quite proud of it overall.  Elissa’s design came entirely from my friend, but I added the holly~

3. Exchange Gift with Dis Brosca and Mabari, 2018 - This was an exchange gift for @fanfoolishness, using her lovely Dis Brosca, and was my first real attempt at backgrounds... I struggled with the coherence of the foreground and background a bit, but I’m still very proud of how it turned out, especially with the colors I had to work with.  What I also really enjoyed working with was the lighting and the expression on Dis’s face.  Backlit subjects are always fun to play around with!

4. Inktober Picture, “Deep”, 2017 - TW: scars, injury, mentions of abuse in the author’s note/attached dialogue snippets.  This was for an Inktober prompt (the only one I’ve ever done, sadly... because I am bad with deadlines...), and again features Trilyn.  Trilyn’s backstory has him a former slave in Tevinter, and a lot of the early works I do for him are sort of deep-dives into his life there.  It’s all meant to be an exploration of the things he endures, and then those moments when he overcomes it all and takes back his own autonomy and self.  This art is definitely provocative, and I can understand if not everyone likes it, but to me, I just wanted to show just what he faces (without glorifying it) before showing the moment of his own triumph.

5. Christmas Holiday Picture with my Brosca and a Friend’s Amell, 2017 - This was a piece of art drawn first by a friend of mine, @nanahuatli~  She drew the Amell, the background, the mistletoe, etc.  All I did was add my Brosca to the mix to finish the image.  It was a lot of fun to do, 1) because it was fun trying to match her style so that the picture looked cohesive, 2) because I love doing collabs with friends, and 3) because it was just such a fun thing to imagine my surly short Brosca, looking at this weird plant/fungus/thing dangling over some puckering human!  It was an absolute joy to do this collab with her!  

6. OC Kiss Week Pic of Jem and Saara, 2017 - TW: saarebas mouth scars.  A spur-of-the-moment thing meant to demonstrate just what kind of dynamic my OC, Jem, has with my other OC, Saara (both of whom are members of Leliana’s network in DAI).  This was a very quick picture (deadlines...) and was mostly just to have fun drawing these two characters interacting, and to see if I could make them look like themselves.  I think I did a decent job with it overall, especially with Jem’s kissy-face!  (Again... drawing kisses are the bane of my existence, although hands and feet take a close second.)

[lacquerware]

2020 Recap - My Year in Gaming

2020. What a year for video games. I had big plans for last year, but in the end I did very little besides play video games, and I don’t think I’m alone there since we were all stuck at home looking for a way out of reality. I wanted to do a year-end recap as I’ve done sporadically in past years, but this one will be different than the typical “Games of the Year” format because despite all the games I played in 2020, almost none of them came out in 2020, and some of the things that defined my year in gaming weren't even games. 

Resident Evil 3 Remake (PS4)

RE3 was one of the only games I played in 2020 that didn’t coincide with the deadly pandemic's spread across the US. RE3 is, of course, a game about the spread of a deadly virus in Anytown, USA. It was an appetizer, I guess. 

When the Resident Evil 2 remake dropped in 2019, there were some things I loved about it, and a few things that felt like steps back from the original. I feel much the same about RE3. I had also theorized that a Resident Evil 3 remake would be better off as RE2 DLC than as a separate full-length game, and considering how short RE3 turned out, with some of the best sections of hte original cut entirely (namely, the clock tower), I stand by my theory. 

Oh well, at least Jill gets this rad gun, which for the time being is the closest thing to a new Lost Planet we can hope for anytime soon.

Sekiro (PS4)

Sekiro is the first video game I ever Platinumed. This is partly because conquering the base game was such a spartan exercise that going the extra mile to get the Platinum didn’t seem so bad, but it’s also surely a result of the pandemic. I needed a project and a big win. Who didn't? 

I wrote at length about why I like Sekiro more than every other modern FromSoft game, and also about the game’s cherry-on-top moment that reminded me of blowing up Hitler’s face in Bionic Commando. Please read them!

Death Stranding (PS4)

Release date notwithstanding, this was obviously the Game of 2020. I wrote about it here, here, and here. This game bears the distinction of being the second one I ever Platinumed. It took 150 hours. Only then did I learn I had a hoverboard.

Streets of Rage 4 (PS4)

This is the only 2020 game I played for more than a few hours. In fact, I cleared the entire game at least five times. I still don’t think it captures the gritty aesthetic of the prior Streets of Rages (nor even tries to), but this is probably the best-feeling bup I've played. Huge bonus points for finally bringing back Adam, but in the end I found it hard not to pick Blaze every time.

Blaster Master Zero 2 (Switch)

What impressed me about this sequel from Inti Creates was that it wasn’t just more of the same, even though that would've been fine. BMZ2 builds on its already excellent predecessor with a catchy new format where players can freely cruise the cosmos and stages take the varied form of planets—some big and sprawling, others short and sweet. Hopping at will from planet to planet without ever knowing what experiences and treasure each one held felt like system jumping in No Man’s Sky and island hopping in The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass, both of which felt like opening presents.

Dragon Force (Saturn)

Charming, satisfying, and addictive as a bag of chips. Unlike a bag of chips, when it’s over, you can do it all again. And again. And it’ll be different each time! This might be the first strategy game I've truly loved. Better late than never.

The PC Engine Mini

The PC Engine/TurboGrafx-16 Mini seems a particularly justifiable mini-console for people outside Japan because so many missed these consoles entirely, the games are hard to obtain, and the lineup includes titles spanning the entire convoluted Turbo/PC Engine ecosystem—the TurboGrafx-CD/CD-ROM², Super CD-ROM², Arcade CD-ROM² and SuperGrafx, in addition to plain, old standard HuCard games. I myself didn’t know the first thing about these systems before. It’s like reliving the nineties again for the first time. 

Most of the titles included are simple action games that don't require a command of Japanese, but make no mistake: being able to understand Snatcher and TokiMemo does make me feel like an elite special person worth more than many of you. 

(Side note: From a gender representation perspective, the difference between Snatcher and Death Stranding is stark. Virtually every interaction with every woman or girl in Snatcher is decorated with ways to sexually harass her. Guess someone finally had a conversation with our favorite auteur.)

A Gaming PC

I’d threatened to transition to PC gaming for years after beholding the framerate difference between the console and PC versions of DmC in 2012, and last July I finally took the leap, buying an ASUS “Republic of Gamers” (ugh) laptop with an NVIDIA GeForce RTX 2070 Max-Q GPU. It seems like consoles are getting more PC-like all the time, especially with all these half-step iterations that splinter performance and sometimes even the feature set (à la the New 3DS and Switch Lite), so with the impending new generation seemed like a fine time to change course.

In the half-year since, I’ve barely played a single PC game more recent than 2013, but just replaying PS3-era games at high settings has been like rediscovering them for the first time. 

I also finally experienced keyboard-and-mouse shooting and understand now why PC gamers think they're better than everyone else. Max Payne is a completely different game with a mouse. Are all shooters like this??

The USPS

Early in the year, I rediscovered my childhood game shop, Starland, which is now  an online hub known as eStarland.com with a brick-and-mortar showroom. To my delight, it has become one of the best and most modestly priced sources for import Saturn games in the country, and I scored Shining Force III’s second and third episodes, long missing from my collection, for a mere ten bucks each!  

In June, I treated myself to a trio of Saturn imports from eStarland: the tactics-meets-dating-sim mashup Sakura Taisen 2, the nicely presented RTS space opera Quo Vadis 2, and beloved gothic dungeon crawler Baroque. Miraculously, this haul amounted to just around thirty dollars total. Less miraculously, they never arrived. This was the second time I’d had something lost in the mail in my entire life, and also the second time that month. Something was wrong with the USPS, and it wasn’t just COVID pains. We would soon learn Trump had been actively working to sabotage one of the nation’s oldest and most reliable institutions in a plot to compromise the upcoming presidential election.

Frankly it’s a miracle there’s still such a thing as “delivery” at all, and a few missing video games is the last of my worries considering what caused it, but nevertheless this was an experience in my gaming life that could not have happened any other year. I won’t forget it.

*By the way, USPS reimbursed me for the insured value of the missing order, which was fifty bucks. So I actually profited a little off the experience.

Mega Everdrive Pro

I love collecting for the Genesis and Mega Drive, but I will not pay hundreds of dollars for a video game that retailed for about sixty.  The publishers never asked for that, and the developers won’t see a (ragna)cent of the money. I'm also far less inclined to start collecting for Sega CD, since the hardware is notoriously breakable, the cases are huge and also breakable, and the library just isn't that good. 

Still, I'd been increasingly curious about the add-on as an interesting piece of Sega history, so when I learned Ukranian mad scientist KRIKzz had released a new Mega Everdrive that doubled as a Sega CD FPGA, I finally took the plunge into the world of flash carts. This has proven a great way to play some of the Mega Drive’s big-ticket rarities I will never buy—namely shmups like Advanced Busterhawk Gley Lancer and Eliminate Down—as well as try out prospective additions to the collection. I never would have discovered the phenomenal marvel of engineering and synth composition that is Star Cruiser without this thing, but now that I have, it’s high on the shopping list.

The Mega Everdrive Pro is functionally nearly identical to TerraOnion’s “Mega SD” cartridge, but slightly less expensive, comes in a “normal” cartridge shell instead of the larger Virtua Racing-style one, and supports a single hardworking dude in Ukraine rather than a company with reportedly iffy customer service.

Twitch

Getting a PC also resolved issues that had long prevented me from achieving a real streaming setup, and much of my gaming life in 2020 was about ramping up my streaming efforts. I even made Affiliate in about a month. Streaming has been a great creative outlet and distraction, as well as a way to connect with other people during the COVID depression and structure my gaming time. Find me every Monday through Thursday 8-11pm Eastern at twitch.tv/lacquerware.  

Metroid: Other M (Dolphin)

PC ownership also gave me access to the versatile Dolphin emulator, liberating a handful of great Wii exclusives from their disposable battery-powered prison. 

One of the Wii games I fired up on Dolphin was Metroid: Other M, a game I’d always wanted to try but had been dissuaded by years of bad publicity and the fact that I never had any goddamn batteries. I know I should temper what I’m about to say by acknowledging that I was playing at 1080p/60fps on a PS4 controller so my experience was automatically a vast improvement over that of all Wii players, but I’m increasingly confident Metroid: Other M was the most fun I’ve ever had playing a Metroid game. I haven’t decided yet if I’m willing to die on this hill, but I will just say that if you like the Metroidvania genre in general and aren’t particularly attached to the Metroid series’ story or its habit of making you wander aimlessly for hours, there’s a very high chance you will enjoy Other M—especially if you play it on Dolphin.

Don't Starve Together (PC)

Don't Starve is the only game my friend Jason plays, so last year I tried to get into it with him. I respect this game's singular devotion to the concept of survival, but make no mistake: every session of Don't Starve ends with you starving to death. Or freezing. Or getting stomped by a giant deity of the forest. The entire game is staving off death until it inevitably comes. Even when death comes, you can revive infinitely (in whatever mode we were playing), which means even death is not an end goal. There is no end goal. You don't even have the leeway to "play" and create your own meaning as you do in similarly zen  games like Dead Rising. 

Don't Starve is a game for people for whom hard work is the ultimate reward in and of itself. Don't Starve told me something about Jason. 

G-Darius (PS1)

In the early fall, Sony announced they were dropping PS3, PSP, and Vita support from the browser and mobile versions of their PSN Store, and since the PS3 version of the store app runs like a solar-powered parking meter in Seattle, I decided this was my last chance to stock up on Japanese PSN gems. 

Among my final haul, the PS1 port of G-Darius proved an instant favorite. Take down the usual cast of mechanized fish in a vibrant, chunky, low-poly style that perfectly inhabits the constraints of the original PlayStation hardware. I believe this is the first Darius game that lets you get into giant beam duels with the bosses, which is quite definitely one of the coolest things a video game has ever let you do. The PS1 port is also surprisingly feature-rich, including some easier difficulty levels that present an actually surmountable challenge for non-savants.

This one’s coming to the upcoming Darius Cozmic Revelation collection on Switch alongside DARIUSBURST, a good-ass romp in its own right.

Red Entertainment

In my effort to shine a tiny spotlight on some of the unsung Interesting Games of gaming, I found myself drawn again and again to the work of Red Entertainment. First there were cavechild headbutt simulator Bonk’s Adventure and twin shmups Gates of Thunder and Lords of Thunder on the PC Engine Mini. Then I streamed full playthroughs of the PS2’s best samurai-era, off-brand 3D Castlevania, Blood Will Tell and the Trigun-adjacent stand-‘n-gun, Gungrave: Overdose. Then I was dazzled by Bonk’s Adventure’s futuristic spin-off cute-‘em-up, Air Zonk, which was also sneakily tucked away on my PC Engine Mini in the “TurboGrafx-16” section. It turned out all these games were made by the same miracle developer responsible for Bujingai, the stylish PS2 wushu game starring Gackt and a household name here at the Lacquerware estate. How prolific can one team be???

Month of Cyberpunk

In November, I started toying with the idea of themed months on my Twitch channel with “Cyberpunk month.” It was supposed to be a build-up to Cyberpunk 2077’s highly anticipated November release, but holy shit that didn’t happen, did it? Still, I always find myself gravitating toward this genre in November, I guess because I associate November with gloom (even though this year it was sunny almost every day). A month is a long time to adhere to a single theme, but cyberpunk is such a well-served niche in gaming that I could easily start an all-cyberpunk Twitch channel. The fact that we’re so spoiled with choice makes Cyberpunk 2077’s terrible launch all the more embarrassing. Here are just some of the games I played (and streamed!) in November:

Ghostrunner Shadowrun (Genesis) RUINER Remember Me Transistor Rise of the Dragon (Sega CD) Shadowrun (Mega CD) Cyber Doll (Saturn) Binary Domain Shadowrun Returns Blade Runner (PC) Deus Ex: Human Revolution Deus Ex: Mankind Divided Observer

Shadowrun on the Genesis gets my top pick, but the two most recent Deus Ex games are great alternatives for those looking for something in the vein of 2077 that isn’t infested with termites.

Lost Planet 2

Every year. I played through it twice in 2020.

Dead Rising 4

I slept on this one too long. While it's a far cry from the original game, it's easily the most fun I've had with a Christmas game since Christmas NiGHTS. This is the game a lot of people thought they were getting when they bought the original Dead Rising with their new Xbox 360--goofy, indulgent, and pressure-free.

Devil May Cry 5: Vergil (PS4)

Vergil dropped for last-gen consoles in December and breathed a whole lot of life into a game that was already at the head of its class.

Nioh 2

I’ve only played a few hours of Nioh 2 because I promised my friend I’d co-op it with him and wouldn’t play ahead. But he’s a grad student with two small children. Nevertheless, Nioh 2 is my Game of 2020.

And that's it! Guess I'll spend 2021 playing games that came out last year, and maybe eventually getting vaccinated? Please? 

[tiesandtea]

Suede fell out of bed into Britpop and Britpop controversy about Blur and bisexuality and who was doing what to who in what direction, but between episodes of public drama was glammy rock ‘n’ roll in the most classic English tradition. After years off duty, Suede is substantially re-united (without Bernard) and active and playing their first stateside gig at Coachella. 

An interview with Brett Anderson by Chris Ziegler. L.A. Record, 15 April 2011.

How did Suede and Metallica ever get together for all-night rock sessions? Brett Anderson: Our press agent sorta said, ‘Hey, Kirk Hammett is a big fan— should we get you together?’ So we went out to San Francisco to Kirk’s place and spent a lot of time being a bit naughty and playing songs in his basement. He had a studio—a little bit of a jamming room. I remember running through ‘Metal Mickey,’ we did a bit of T. Rex—we were off our faces, anyway. He’s a nice chap!

Kirk said he was struck by how normal you were and how you didn’t spank your buttocks once. I should have spanked my buttocks. He was probably very disappointed. ‘This can’t be the real Brett Anderson. He’s not spanking his buttocks.’

What Crass lyric is so close to the front of your mind at all times that you can sing it to me right this second? ‘Do they owe us a living? Of course they fucking do!’ I love Crass. Feeding of the 5,000 was one of my favorite records growing up. I love that record. I love all the artwork. Talking about bands that draw you into a world—Crass really created their world, and it was a really confrontational, intelligent, political world. I really responded to it as a young teenager.

What part of the Crass ethos do you hold most dear? I don’t live on a commune in Essex. But it opened my eyes—if it’s done right—how powerful political music can be. I never wrote overtly political music, but I did write music that dealt with not like party politics, but themes of poverty and alienation and I used that in songs—that was possibly inspired by Crass.

How was Suede a political band? Dealing with the politics of life. Setting our songs in a real social context. I never wanted to be a writer who waved flags for a political party, but listening to the songs you can tell I was brought up as a member of the working-class, and you can tell the songs have a very strong left-wing bias.

You said you felt there hasn’t been a definitive genre of music invented in the U.K. in the last decade, and that you feel music is meant more to placate than provoke now. Why? I do very much feel that’s the state of things. I can’t see that the last decade has created its own genre, which is a terrible shame for that generation. Not to say there hasn’t been great music. There’s amazing music! I love discovering new bands and there’s a great wave of new bands. But the biggest cultural development of the last like ten years was computer technology. It wasn’t anything to do with art and music, and that’s a shame. Even in the 90s, we had dance music—definitely a 90s genre. Maybe people have become too knowing. There’s too much of a structured sense of what’s cool and what isn’t, and that comes from magazines constantly publishing lists which contain the same five Beatles albums and this kind of thing. There’s this constant pressure to comply with this very sort of rigid set of accepted rock albums. So bands are too afraid to go outside those reference points. I sense this real fear in the music industry. A lot of it is because the industry has become a lot more corporate. People won’t take risks anymore. In the early 90s—that’s the only time I can talk about because that’s when I started—magazines were putting unusual bands on the cover. Magazines put Suede on covers before anyone had ever heard of us. Commercially, that was very ill-advised—but at least it suggested they had a sense of purpose. Now I get the sense people only back who they think are gonna win, regardless of if they actually think it’s any good or not. They will back who they think are the winners, and they will write good reviews for the bands they think are gonna sell lots of records whether they like them or not, and I think that’s a fucking terrible way to be. People are too afraid of not being cool? Or getting it wrong? No one’s willing to get it wrong. No one’s willing to stick their neck out and become a hated figure. No one’s got that kind of confidence. Everyone’s too willing to comply. It’s a terrible thing. But things go in cycles, don’t they? Maybe it’ll move into another period where people are taking chances.

When is the last time you suffered Stendhal syndrome? At the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. I was looking at the Toulouse-Lautrecs, which were absolutely amazing. I’ve never been a huge fan of Toulouse-Lautrec before, but seeing the paintings in the flesh—as it were—is just so amazingly powerful. They’re so beautifully observed. I’m not sure if I actually experienced Stendhal syndrome, but I’ve read about it and it’s an extreme reaction to beauty—that’s the closest I can imagine it to be.

What’s it actually feel like? Like drinking too much coffee. Slightly restless euphoria. Or maybe I’m getting it confused with actually drinking too much coffee. I’m a huge fan of art . I spend a lot of time in galleries and that’s my favorite period of art as well—the post-Impressionists. Paul Gauguin and those artists. I love all the medieval painters as well. People like Bruegel and Cranach and Holbein. There’s something incredibly primitive about it—Bruegel’s ‘Return of the Hunters’ is so atmospheric. What I really like about Holbein is he’s such an amazing draftsman and a great observer of human features. He could completely capture a person. You’re looking at someone who lived 500 years ago but it could be someone passing you on the street. They’re so real. I love that about Holbein’s paintings.

Did you want to try and observe things that carefully in Suede songs? It’s difficult in the framework of pop music. It isn’t a very subtle medium. It doesn’t have as much as fiction or fine art. You’re in a very rigid structure—melody and rhyme and rhythm and those things are constricting you. I don’t think pop writers can ever take it to that depth of observation. But what pop writers can do is engage at an emotional level that other artists can’t do. The pop song, when done right, is incredibly powerful. That’s partly to do with the simplicity as well. Truth in music is incredibly important, but artifice can be incred- ibly important as well—that’s something I’ve done quite consciously. Lots of the songs I’ve written for Suede have been deliberately superficial but perversely enough there’s a kind of truth in that. A sketch is powerful because you fill in the missing pieces. You fill in the framework yourself. If it’s too full, there’s no space for you to interpret it.

Francis Bacon said, ‘The job of the artist is to deepen the mystery.’ Absolutely. One of the most important quotes ever about creativity. Something I’ve learned through mistakes over the years is it shouldn’t be too clear what you’re doing. Sometimes the sketch is so powerful because of the room for interpretation. As soon as you know what something is about, it somehow kills the mystery. And mystery is so important in music. That allows the song to have life beyond what it was intended for. When a writer’s writing, they have a very specific thing in mind, but they don’t know about the life of the listener. The listener applies his life to the music and there’s a new interpretation. That’s why a good song has so much power. It reaches into people’s lives. But to do that, there needs to be a sense of mystery. I’ve always tried to do that with detail. There’s this whole thing with great songwriters saying songs should be universal, but I actually think songs should be opposite—strangely specific and set in a place to make them real. I mean, still allow space for interpretation.

You said once that Suede writes about the used condom, not the beautiful bed. That kind of detail? That’s not my favorite quote I ever said—but it keeps coming back. It must resonate with people’s vision of what the band is about. It’s quite a crass way of saying it, but I suppose it’s got some sort of truth. I always wanted to document the sort of grubby side of life. I didn’t want to talk in rock cliché. ‘Baby, I love you!’ clichés. I wanted to sing about the world I saw around me, and the world I saw around me was the used condom. It was the dusty street, the flickering TV. It was that use of detail and the fact I was born in the U.K. that made me write about the U.K. in detail, and it became distorted into the cliché of what became Britpop later—but it was never this nationalistic, jingoistic intention. It was just a desire to write about the world I saw around me.

Did you have to feel like you were living a Suede song to write a Suede song? I don’t feel I deliberately changed my lifestyle. But I didn’t rein myself in. I felt justified in writing what I was writing—the right thing to do for my artistic vision was live the lifestyle I was singing about, but it’s kind of a chicken-and-egg thing. I was living that, obviously. But you can’t live that lifestyle forever and wanna remain alive. Things have to change. I championed—well, I documented it, and then you realize that what you’re documenting is quite harmful.

Did you think you were going to end up on a prison ship like Dan Treacy? Well, toward the end of the 90s, things started getting quite dark. Life was definitely changing. I thought, ‘Well, maybe we need to veer away from something.’ I always feel I’m slightly on dodgy ground when people talk about this whole concept of the artist as a damaged character—it’s such a powerful cliché that people really wanna believe in, and I think there’s so much great art made through clarity and sobriety. The damaged artist casts a huge shadow people sometimes can’t see beyond. Me personally, as an artist now I feel much more in control of my art. Much more driven. Certainly more than I did ten years ago. But people need to believe in that sort of figure.

Jason Pierce said he started Spacemen 3 because of people like Roky Erickson and Alex Chilton—that he felt he could do what they did because they were flawed and not professional and perfect. It’s the ultimate DIY ethic, isn’t it? The ultimate punk thing? Saying it doesn’t matter how incapable or damaged or all these pejorative adjectives you wanna apply—not you can still create art, but it almost makes your art more interesting or valid or gives it an edge you wouldn’t have if you weren’t damaged? Someone like Ian Dury—the ‘cripple as artist.’ It gives the audience a fascination, I think.

You said you were making music to find community in a fucked-up world. Did you ever find that community? It’s always a search for some sort of community, isn’t it? There’s a line from one of the old songs, ‘New Generation.’ ‘We take the pills to find each other.’ A search for human … ownership or whatever. I don’t know. It’s strange to say because I’ve always conducted my career and Suede’s career almost as outsiders. I’ve never felt accepted by the music industry. I still don’t. I’ve never felt part of any sort of gang, and I never really wanted to be part of any gang. The only gang I’m part of is this weird disparate group of non-members—the ‘others’—and I’m quite happy in that role as well. I don’t jealously look at other people’s lives and wish I could be like that. I don’t have that search for community I used to have— maybe I realized the reality of things.

Does that mean it’s not out there? That it was never there? Can bands create these communities anymore? That’s the definition of a decent band. They create a community. When I answered your question, it was in a personal sense. Whether I’ve found a community. But hopefully Suede as a band created a community. That was one of our real intentions—I loved bands like the Smiths who had this world you went into, with the sleeves and the reference points. You very much immersed yourself. I wanted Suede to have that sense as well. Almost a strong Suede way of being. The Suede army, as someone once said.

If you didn’t find community, what did you find? It made my life. It gave me all those things we were talking about earlier. It gave me everything. Gave me purpose in life. I wouldn’t ever advise anyone to do what I did! I’ve been incredibly lucky in my career. 99 percent of people who go into music won’t be as lucky. It is a lot to do with luck! The fact I’ve met Bernard Butler—little things! I might never have met him, and we never would have written those songs and Suede would have been a very different band. I never just say, ‘This is what you should do!’ I was just confident and stupid enough to do what I did, and it just sort of worked! But some of the decisions I made—they were pretty rash!

Is it necessary to commit totally to being creative to be good at being creative? To jump in with no safety net? Absolutely. You’ve gotta let yourself out there. I didn’t even have an instrument to fall back on! ‘I believe I got enough of a voice to say something interesting, and I’m gonna do it.’ Confidence verging on stupidity that happened to pay off!

Does pop music defend the brave and stupid? I think so. You have to push it as far as it’ll go. Part of the reason the public loves pop music so much is the drama of the story. You have people who have no idea about the drama and just wanna listen to Phil Collins records and that’s fine, but there’s a whole other group of people that love the back story—how it’s made and why people fall out and fall in love. It’s almost treating the world of music like you’re watching a soap opera and people love that.

Why do people fall in love? Probably some sort of chemical function. I don’t wanna be unromantic about it but it fulfills a necessary function for the human race.

[coffeecomicsgalore]

For the Love of a Chat

Ao3

Chapter 4 – Thief

Chat Noir, the ever-excited kitty that he was, positioned himself in front of Marinette as they sat comfortably on her bed. She chuckled as she watched him waggle from the excitement.

After the akuma attack, Chat kept to his promise and had come by her balcony, enveloping her in a hug when he saw that she was safe and sound. It also delighted him further when he noticed that along with a small smile on her face, she was no longer exhausted from crying. When Marinette asked him why he was in such a good mood, he jumped from one foot to the other with his claws clasped together against his chest, the only thing he said was, “I have the best surprise for you.”

Marinette, not wanting to give away what she already knew, tilted her head and furrowed her brows, twisting her lips into a pleasant smile. “Fine, kitty. But let’s go to my room first. It’s a little chilly tonight.”

So, there they were, sitting on Marinette’s bed while Chat tried his best (and failing) to hold in his excitement.

“So, what is this surprise you wanted to show me?” Marinette inquired.  

“Well.... do you want to do something fun? You know, let out some of that frustrated steam from your terrible day?”

She feigned confusion. “What do you have in mind?”

Chat finally stopped fidgeting and held out his hand. “Marinette, this is the miraculous of the mouse. Usually there’s this really cool speech that Ladybug likes to give, but because there’s no akuma and we are doing this for fun, with a bit of structured patrol mixed in, I’m just going to say be nice, have fun, and make sure I get this back or Ladybug will have my tail.”

Marinette bit her lip as she tried to hold back a laugh. “So, is this your version of a cat giving his human a mouse?”

Chat dropped his jaw in disbelief. “Did you... did you just make a joke?”

“Well, you did tell me that my name was on your tag. Doesn’t that usually mean I’m your human? If that’s the case, it looks like your presenting me with a gift? Kind of like a cat giving his owner a mouse.”

“I can’t believe this.” He said, exasperated. “That’s it. I’m taking it back. This was a bad idea.”

Marinette scrunched her nose as she teased him. “You’re just mad that I stole your joke before you had a chance to say it.”

He scoffed, but then shrunk as he looked back at her, his disgruntled features wrinkling his mask. “You’re mean.”

Marinette couldn’t keep her straight face any longer as she tumbled into a fit of giggles. Chat crossed his arms and looked away from her. A humph left his lips.

“Alright, alright. Stop pouting.”  

“Fine. But only because I really want to play a game while we work.”

“Oh yeah? And what game are you thinking of, kitty?”

A mischievous gleam flashed across his eyes. “Want to play a game of Cat and Mouse?

Marinette narrowed her eyes as she thought it over. An impish grin crossed her lips. “Well, I guess then I need to take this, now don’t I?

Marinette grabbed the miraculous and said her hello to Mullo. She had informed the kwami their plan earlier that evening, ensuring that the mouse wouldn’t blow Marinette’s identity accidentally.

“Oh, hello Marinette!” The little kwami smiled brightly as she played along. “It’s nice to see you again! Ladybug informed me that you won’t be using me to help with an akuma, but she has also requested that you change your outfit due to the compromise. To do that, all you need to do is imagine it in your mind. When you are ready, use the transformation phrase and we can go!”

When Marinette felt she was ready, she carefully placed the necklace on her neck, smiling a ‘thank you’ to chat without words.  

“Mullo? Get squeaky!” A pink glow surrounded her and Chat averted his eyes from the bright light.

“Woah.” Chat said when she turned into Multimouse. “I don’t get see transformations happen in front of me very often. The last time I did it was with Chloe and that was years ago.”

Marinette had to hold the urge to scoff at the girl’s name. Instead she looked down to inspect her new outfit. She replaced the gray, black, and pink skin tight suit that she had once worn with a gray top into an ombre pinkish white skirt dress that had white trim down the seams of the outfit. Her sleeves were also gray until it reached her forearms, where it turned into white gloves. She stuck with black leggings that had an ombre affect until it reached her white shoes. Her hair was now a deep black in color but was put up in it its signature space buns, with braids going from the nape of her neck up to the bun itself to create an extra formal look. She still used the jump rope as a tail, finishing the look as it was tied to her waist.

“Ready to go, Mousinette?”

“Let’s go.”

---

Chat Noir and Multimouse danced along the rooftops in a friendly game of chase. The chaser (the cat) would choose a spot across the city and the chasee (the mouse) would run across the rooftops until they made it to the spot. If the cat captured the mouse before they reached the spot, then they would claim another spot and the game would start again. But if the mouse won the round, they would switch and would become the cat.

Since the game started, Multimouse had a lead on wins, her score being 6 to Chat’s 3.

“It’s supposed to be cat catching the mouse, not a mouse catching the cat!” Chat Noir said, panting as he leaned against a chimney.

“Sorry, Chat, but a mouse has to be fast to avoid being captured.” She giggled. “Want to try again?”

For the umpteenth time tonight, Chat scrunched his face in displeasure as he grabbed his baton to check the time.  

“You’re going to ruin your pretty face with wrinkles if you keep doing that.” She teased.  

Chat smiled brightly. “You think I’m pretty?”

She rolled her eyes. “I said your face is pretty. Now are you up for another round? I’d like to beat you a few more times before we try out patrol.”

Chat Noir narrowed his eyes while a dimpled, lopsided smile gave her a glimpse of his pearly white teeth. He pushed himself off the wall and then sauntered up to her until he was a few centimeters apart, giving him the chance to run his fingers up her arm. She looked up at him, her eyes glossy in wonder as she looked deep into his emerald hues. She could feel her heart race a bit, but she knew it wasn’t due to the constant running of their game.  

She swallowed thickly as his fingers ended at her chin, lifting it and holding her gaze to his ever so carefully. With a low and sultry tone, he looked into her eyes and whispered, “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes look in the moonlight?”  

She tried to speak but was too enamored to move.

He looked down to her lips as he licked his own. “Did you know that by me saying this I can do one thing that you might not expect?”

“Wha- what’s that?” She stuttered. She looked down to his lips and then back to his eyes as he slowly moved in closer, removing his hand from her face and placing both on the curves above her hips.

“This!” He cackled, grabbing onto the rope and spinning her away from him causing him to pull it off of her in one swift motion. When the dizziness subsided, she eyed the rooftops to find out where the cat had gone. As soon as she spotted him, she yelled.

“You come back here with my tail, you thief!”

With a hearty laugh, Chat Noir bolted off onto the next rooftop, the jump rope flapping in the wind behind him. “You have to come catch me first, Mousy!”

[iamkatehardy]

The Portrait (Alfie Solomons x Reader) - Pt 3

Word Count: 2.2 k

Warnings: Just cursing 😁

Summary: Can (Y/N) Shelby and Alfie finally reach an agreement? Will they say “See you later” or “Goodbye”?

Preparing the ground for the final part(s)!

The Portrait Pt.3 

 The first rays of the rising sun, which shone in through the large window in the bedroom, woke you up. You lacked courage to immediately get up, so you just rolled on the bed, covering your head with a pillow; another round of negotiations with Alfie Solomons definitely wasn’t something you were eager for. Furthermore, he made you wait for about an hour last time, didn’t he? He deserved a possible slight delay.  

You took your own sweet time getting ready; if you were going to trash Alfie, you would do it in style. The dolling up process was followed by a strong cup of coffee, while you leafed through the day’s newspaper, two vitally important things for a Shelby in the morning.

After getting a lecture from his boss, Ollie knew better than keeping you waiting. Not many women visited the bakery; when he heard the staccato sound of your heels clicking on the floor, he hurried to meet you at the entrance, escorting you down the hallway, to Alfie’s office.

“At least you’ve learnt something from my last visit, haven’t you, young man?” – A self-satisfied smile formed on your pouty lips.

After Tommy’s little prank involving grenades, Ollie had realized Shelbys were crazy motherfuckers, just like Alfie, or maybe worse ; he kept silent, trying to stay low and out of trouble.

Alfie waited in his office, even more impatient than usual; he kept coming up with excuses for his rather odd reaction to your delay , telling himself  it was because he was eager to get his hands on Shelby Company Limited, or maybe because you were thirty seven minutes and fifty two seconds late already. He knew exactly how late you were; his piercing eyes had been absolutely glued to his golden pocket watch since the appointed time.

When the doorknob jiggled, he nodded his head gravely, expectantly looking at the door.

“Ollie?!” – Alfie’s eyes moved to the man staying behind you, before he closed the door.

“Yes , Alfie?”

“Note this down, next time Miss Shelby graces us with her presence, we should offer her a watch, aye. Now, go.” – Waving his hands, Alfie shooed Ollie away.

“Oh Mr. Solomons, that is very considerate of you…” – You shot him a scornful appraising look, taking a long breath. – “ And I really appreciate that, but you don’t need to bother… It was a deliberate fashion delay.” – Your gaze locked with his, as the corners of your mouth lifted, to form the Shelby irresistible signature smirk.  

“Fashionable?! Women…” – He watched you closely, as you sat down, amused, yet cautious.

“ I didn’t expect you to know a lot about that subject anyway…” – Raising a caustic eyebrow, you looked down with a mocking air, while straightening your skirt.

“About what’s fash…”

“No, Mr. Solomons, about women.” – You interrupted him,  eyes darting over his face again; you could see a vein pop out in his neck, but his expression was seemingly neutral.

“May I offer you something to drink, aye?” – He tried to avoid the topic.

“A decent business proposition would be a good start…” – You shot him an impatient look. – “But after that, I wouldn’t say no to an Irish whiskey.”

The phone rang, in the otherwise silent office. Alfie looked at it, then at you.

“You should pick up; it seems to me like they won’t be giving up. Furthermore, we’ve got some time on our hands.” – You nodded silent approval, eyeing him warily.

“I’m sorry. I won’t be long, a’ight?“– He answered the phone and you took the opportunity to get your sketchbook once again.

Alfie spoke slowly, thinking and weighting his every word, as he stroked his beard. He blinked slowly, focused; his blue-green eyes were dark oceans of immeasurable depths, where you could drown yourself in, with no need of ever again coming up for air. His thumb slid across his lips; they looked soft, luscious, warm and unusually inviting, despite the coarse speech that often left them. His mind changed from brute to brilliant in a matter of seconds. He was immovable, irreverent, intriguing; it was annoying, but definitely enticing. He probably didn’t realize all that about himself, but even if he did, Alfie seemed to you like the kind of man that wouldn’t care; you loather it, and you loved it.

While working furiously on the drawing, your eyes devoured and took in each of his gorgeous features; you were possessed by a frantic need to have his portrait done, an undeniable appeal to capture all the secrets hiding in his features, the ones he wouldn’t voluntarily tell. He had no idea how much he inspired you, and you didn’t want him to; as soon as you’d lay your eyes on him, inspiration struck you as swift and sudden as a lightening, a raw electrifying feeling down to the cusp of you being, and the need to let it out through the thing you liked the most : art.

You woke up from your creative trance when you heard the name Tommy. After angrily closing the sketchbook, to keep it away from Alfie’s sight, you leaned forward on the table.

“Tommy, like my Tommy?”

Alfie just nodded; he liked to bargain with your brother, Tommy was way more flexible about the conditions than you were.

You ripped the phone off his hand, sitting over the table.

“Thomas, fuck off, keep your nose out of my business. You weren’t so willing to do business with Mr. Solomons when you sent me here, were you? Well, now I’m in charge, and this time, you can’t fuckin’ boss me around! Are we clear?” – You yelled, before slamming down the receiver. “If he calls again, you’re not answering, it’s my signature you need.”

He never though there was someone brave enough to shout at Tommy Shelby, let alone tell him to fuck off, and hang up on him.

“You’re in charge, sweetie.” -  A soft low laugh escaped his throat, followed by an amused smile.

“Let it be a warning for you too, Alfie. I’m not screwing around. Now, the contract, did you rework it?”

Alfie took the contract out of one his desk drawers, along with a bottle of Irish whiskey; after scooting the contract to your side of the table, he poured you a drink, which you promptly took in your hand, taking a sip as you carefully analyzed the contract.

“Way better than the first one…” – You swirled the whiskey that was left I the glass, tapping your foot slowly on the ground.

“So, what do you say, sweetie?”

Taking a deep breath, you put the glass down. Bending over the table slowly, you chuckled, making sign for Alfie to approach. He did; his elbows were resting on the table, hands clenched together, as he dipped his chin, looking  at you over your glasses.

“I say… Fuck. You.” – You whispered right in his face, before sitting back down. – “This is not what we agreed upon!  I don’t know what kind of deal Tommy promised you, but I’m not my brother… So, from now on, we’ll play by my rules, or we won’t play at all.”

He sank back in the chair, closing his eyes; a corner of his mouth lifted.

“Listen, love, it really pains me to be the bearer of bad news, especially to such a beautiful, determined, cunning little lady like you, a'ight… But you’re hardly in a position to make any demands, innit doll?” – He unclasped his hands and threw them up, opening his eyes to face you once again.

“Why am I even wasting my time?” – Rolling your eyes, you got up. – “You’re such a leech!”

“I’m a skillful exploiter of situations…”

“And you take pride in it, unbelievable…” – After grabbing your stuff, you turned on your heel.

“(Y/N), wait.” – He took a deep breath.

“What?” – You gently turned to face him.

“If you leave now, you lose.”

“I guess it makes two of us, Alfie. I’ve got something you want too, and I would gladly give it to you in exchange for your support and loyalty, if you know what that means, that is. But it’s never enough for you, and I refuse to give in to your disproportionate greed. So, negotiations end immediately.”

“ You’ll be losing far more than I will. You will be facing a war, not a single ally.”

“We’re fuckin’ Shelbys , Alfie, we are forged in fire… We stick together through thick and thin, and that makes us ready to face any war. If you can breathe, you can stand, and if you can stand, you can fight… With or without you, we’ll make it. Our demons will keep us company anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a long ride home, and I should be getting on with it. ” – Your gaze stayed on him a moment longer than it had to, before you gave him a courtly nod.

“I am sure that we can come to an arrangement in this regard, a’ight? Please, let us sit and talk.”  - He had weighed your words; the togetherness of your family had always been its strength, he knew it, and he envied it. Alfie didn’t have a family structure to back him up, or for him to back up, but maybe he could compensate that void in his life by helping your family.

“We tried, twice… Regrettably, however, we have failed to reach an agreement. We’re both too stubborn, and inflexible, for that.” – A faint smile crossed your face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

“Sweetie, I insist. We draw up a contract together and sign it.”  

“But this is the final try.”

“Name your terms, Miss Shelby.” – He made place for you on his side of the desk, bringing an extra chair, pulling it for you to sit, and bringing you pen and paper.

You shot him a look in which surprise and amusement were nicely fused, before siting by his side. After making a list of the demands and concessions of both of you in the negotiations, you discussed it for hours, before you finally reached an agreement that pleased both. You finally signed the contract, before Alfie folded it and put it on the drawer.  

He poured you another whiskey.

“Thanks.” – You took a sip, rubbing  the back of your neck  with your free hand.

“When are you going back to Small Heath?”

“Soon, I need to rub this in Tommy’s face, as soon as possible…” – You smirked victoriously, giving him a look of triumph.

“Oh…” – He pressed his lips together, furrowing his eyebrows, somehow disappointed you had to leave so soon. You were a tough nut to crack, but he could relate. – “ Didn’t like the city, huh?”

“As a businesswomen these were hard days here, Mr. Solomons…” – You glared at him, but then you chuckled. – “But I actually like it here… As an artist, I had a blast! I hadn’t feel so alive and inspired in ages.”

“An artist? “ – His eyebrows rose, and he curiously studied you.

“We can say I didn’t get the gangster gene in my DNA…”

“You’d never know it to look at you…” – He made a face.

“I’ll take that as a compliment…” – You got up. – “ It was a pleasure doing business with you , Alfie.“ – You extended your hand for him to shake

“Likewise, Miss Shelby.” -  He looked at your hand, then at you, and he finally took it, kissing your knuckles softly, instead of offering you a handshake.

Chivalry and Alfie Solomons combined? Was hell freezing over or something like that?

“(Y/N).” – You gave him a warm smile.

“(Y/N), a’ight.” – He reluctantly let go of your hand.

“I know you said I wasn’t in position to make demands… But may I ask you something?”

“Of course, by all means, yes.”

“I might have been drawing you…” – Your cheeks turned pink

“Might?” – He looked at you over his glasses.

“And I might as well finish it, if you wouldn’t mind, that is.” – Cocking your head lightly, your eyes widened, waiting for his answer.

Since he couldn’t come up with an excuse to see you again, he was thankful you did.

“I…” – He hesitated for a second.

“It’s ok to say no, I get it, really ” -  Nodding courtly, your lips curved into a sincere smile.

“NO. I’d like that, aye? We could meet up..” – He tried to set up a date, but you interrupted him.

“I don’t want to bother you, Alfie. I’ll come here later in the week,  before I leave for Birmingham. I will ask Ollie if you are available. If you are, we can finish it, if not… We can finish it another time.”

“We have a deal.” – Letting out a deep throaty laugh, he rubbed your shoulder.

“So long, Mr. Solomons.” – You decided to dare, and gently kissed his cheek, before heading out the door.

Once you left the bakery, Alfie called Ollie to his office.

“Cancel all the meetings I have this week, a’ight ”

“But Mr. Solomons…”

“Don’t question me! Need to available when… Never mind, just do it, aye? I have an important appointment, I just don’t know exactly when, so cancel all the others. “– He shooed Ollie away once again.

“He’s getting even more nuts with age.” – Ollie whispered to himself.

“But definitely not deaf, little boy!”-  Alfie shouted, throwing him a book before he disappeared through the door.

Tags: @picassho-18 , @sparklyreaderx , @titty-teetee , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @tiredoffeelinglost , @theladynevermore , @moralesunflower , @alexa4040 ,  @innerpaperexpertcloud , @marvelgirl7 , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @captstefanbrandt , @iv-nyc (In case you want to be tagged/untagged , let me know <3 )

[kalluun-patangaroa]

SUEDE: SLIGHTLY RESTLESS EUPHORIA

April 15th, 2011 

Illustration by Amber Halford

Suede fell out of bed into Britpop and Britpop controversy about Blur and bisexuality and who was doing what to who in what direction, but between episodes of public drama was glammy rock ‘n’ roll in the most classic English tradition. After years off duty, Suede is substantially re-united (without Bernard) and active and playing their first stateside gig at Coachella. This interview by Chris Ziegler.

How did Suede and Metallica ever get together for all-night rock sessions?

Brett Anderson (vocals): Our press agent sorta said, ‘Hey, Kirk Hammett is a big fan— should we get you together?’ So we went out to San Francisco to Kirk’s place and spent a lot of time being a bit naughty and playing songs in his basement. He had a studio—a little bit of a jamming room. I remember running through ‘Metal Mickey,’ we did a bit of T. Rex—we were off our faces, anyway. He’s a nice chap!

Kirk said he was struck by how normal you were and how you didn’t spank your buttocks once.

I should have spanked my buttocks. He was probably very disappointed. ‘This can’t be the real Brett Anderson. He’s not spanking his buttocks.’

What Crass lyric is so close to the front of your mind at all times that you can sing it to me right this second?

‘Do they owe us a living? Of course they fucking do!’ I love Crass. Feeding of the 5,000 was one of my favorite records growing up. I love that record. I love all the artwork. Talking about bands that draw you into a world—Crass really created their world, and it was a really confrontational, intelligent, political world. I really responded to it as a young teenager.

What part of the Crass ethos do you hold most dear?

I don’t live on a commune in Essex. But it opened my eyes—if it’s done right—how powerful political music can be. I never wrote overtly political music, but I did write music that dealt with not like party politics, but themes of poverty and alienation and I used that in songs—that was possibly inspired by Crass.

How was Suede a political band?

Dealing with the politics of life. Setting our songs in a real social context. I never wanted to be a writer who waved flags for a political party, but listening to the songs you can tell I was brought up as a member of the working-class, and you can tell the songs have a very strong left-wing bias.

You said you felt there hasn’t been a definitive genre of music invented in the U.K. in the last decade, and that you feel music is meant more to placate than provoke now. Why?

I do very much feel that’s the state of things. I can’t see that the last decade has created its own genre, which is a terrible shame for that generation. Not to say there hasn’t been great music. There’s amazing music! I love discovering new bands and there’s a great wave of new bands. But the biggest cultural development of the last like ten years was computer technology. It wasn’t anything to do with art and music, and that’s a shame. Even in the 90s, we had dance music—definitely a 90s genre. Maybe people have become too knowing. There’s too much of a structured sense of what’s cool and what isn’t, and that comes from magazines constantly publishing lists which contain the same five Beatles albums and this kind of thing. There’s this constant pressure to comply with this very sort of rigid set of accepted rock albums. So bands are too afraid to go outside those reference points. I sense this real fear in the music industry. A lot of it is because the industry has become a lot more corporate. People won’t take risks anymore. In the early 90s—that’s the only time I can talk about because that’s when I started—magazines were putting unusual bands on the cover. Magazines put Suede on covers before anyone had ever heard of us. Commercially, that was very ill-advised—but at least it suggested they had a sense of purpose. Now I get the sense people only back who they think are gonna win, regardless of if they actually think it’s any good or not. They will back who they think are the winners, and they will write good reviews for the bands they think are gonna sell lots of records whether they like them or not, and I think that’s a fucking terrible way to be. People are too afraid of not being cool? Or getting it wrong? No one’s willing to get it wrong. No one’s willing to stick their neck out and become a hated figure. No one’s got that kind of confidence. Everyone’s too willing to comply. It’s a terrible thing. But things go in cycles, don’t they? Maybe it’ll move into another period where people are taking chances.

When is the last time you suffered Stendhal syndrome?

At the Musee d’Orsay in Paris. I was looking at the Toulouse-Lautrecs, which were absolutely amazing. I’ve never been a huge fan of Toulouse-Lautrec before, but seeing the paintings in the flesh—as it were—is just so amazingly powerful. They’re so beautifully observed. I’m not sure if I actually experienced Stendhal syndrome, but I’ve read about it and it’s an extreme reaction to beauty—that’s the closest I can imagine it to be.

What’s it actually feel like?

Like drinking too much coffee. Slightly restless euphoria. Or maybe I’m getting it confused with actually drinking too much coffee. I’m a huge fan of art . I spend a lot of time in galleries and that’s my favorite period of art as well—the post-Impressionists. Paul Gauguin and those artists. I love all the medieval painters as well. People like Bruegel and Cranach and Holbein. There’s something incredibly primitive about it—Bruegel’s ‘Return of the Hunters’ is so atmospheric. What I really like about Holbein is he’s such an amazing draftsman and a great observer of human features. He could completely capture a person. You’re looking at someone who lived 500 years ago but it could be someone passing you on the street. They’re so real. I love that about Holbein’s paintings.

Did you want to try and observe things that carefully in Suede songs?

It’s difficult in the framework of pop music. It isn’t a very subtle medium. It doesn’t have as much as fiction or fine art. You’re in a very rigid structure—melody and rhyme and rhythm and those things are constricting you. I don’t think pop writers can ever take it to that depth of observation. But what pop writers can do is engage at an emotional level that other artists can’t do. The pop song, when done right, is incredibly powerful. That’s partly to do with the simplicity as well. Truth in music is incredibly important, but artifice can be incred- ibly important as well—that’s something I’ve done quite consciously. Lots of the songs I’ve written for Suede have been deliberately superficial but perversely enough there’s a kind of truth in that. A sketch is powerful because you fill in the missing pieces. You fill in the framework yourself. If it’s too full, there’s no space for you to interpret it.

Francis Bacon said, ‘The job of the artist is to deepen the mystery.’

Absolutely. One of the most important quotes ever about creativity. Something I’ve learned through mistakes over the years is it shouldn’t be too clear what you’re doing. Sometimes the sketch is so powerful because of the room for interpretation. As soon as you know what something is about, it somehow kills the mystery. And mystery is so important in music. That allows the song to have life beyond what it was intended for. When a writer’s writing, they have a very specific thing in mind, but they don’t know about the life of the listener. The listener applies his life to the music and there’s a new interpretation. That’s why a good song has so much power. It reaches into people’s lives. But to do that, there needs to be a sense of mystery. I’ve always tried to do that with detail. There’s this whole thing with great songwriters saying songs should be universal, but I actually think songs should be opposite—strangely specific and set in a place to make them real. I mean, still allow space for interpretation.

You said once that Suede writes about the used condom, not the beautiful bed. That kind of detail?

That’s not my favorite quote I ever said—but it keeps coming back. It must resonate with people’s vision of what the band is about. It’s quite a crass way of saying it, but I suppose it’s got some sort of truth. I always wanted to document the sort of grubby side of life. I didn’t want to talk in rock cliché. ‘Baby, I love you!’ clichés. I wanted to sing about the world I saw around me, and the world I saw around me was the used condom. It was the dusty street, the flickering TV. It was that use of detail and the fact I was born in the U.K. that made me write about the U.K. in detail, and it became distorted into the cliché of what became Britpop later—but it was never this nationalistic, jingoistic intention. It was just a desire to write about the world I saw around me.

Did you have to feel like you were living a Suede song to write a Suede song?

I don’t feel I deliberately changed my lifestyle. But I didn’t rein myself in. I felt justified in writing what I was writing—the right thing to do for my artistic vision was live the lifestyle I was singing about, but it’s kind of a chicken-and-egg thing. I was living that, obviously. But you can’t live that lifestyle forever and wanna remain alive. Things have to change. I championed—well, I documented it, and then you realize that what you’re documenting is quite harmful.

Did you think you were going to end up on a prison ship like Dan Treacy?

Well, toward the end of the 90s, things started getting quite dark. Life was definitely changing. I thought, ‘Well, maybe we need to veer away from something.’ I always feel I’m slightly on dodgy ground when people talk about this whole concept of the artist as a damaged character—it’s such a powerful cliché that people really wanna believe in, and I think there’s so much great art made through clarity and sobriety. The damaged artist casts a huge shadow people sometimes can’t see beyond. Me personally, as an artist now I feel much more in control of my art. Much more driven. Certainly more than I did ten years ago. But people need to believe in that sort of figure.

Jason Pierce said he started Spacemen 3 because of people like Roky Erickson and Alex Chilton—that he felt he could do what they did because they were flawed and not professional and perfect.

It’s the ultimate DIY ethic, isn’t it? The ultimate punk thing? Saying it doesn’t matter how incapable or damaged or all these pejorative adjectives you wanna apply—not you can still create art, but it almost makes your art more interesting or valid or gives it an edge you wouldn’t have if you weren’t damaged? Someone like Ian Dury—the ‘cripple as artist.’ It gives the audience a fascination, I think.

You said you were making music to find community in a fucked-up world. Did you ever find that community?

It’s always a search for some sort of community, isn’t it? There’s a line from one of the old songs, ‘New Generation.’ ‘We take the pills to find each other.’ A search for human … ownership or whatever. I don’t know. It’s strange to say because I’ve always conducted my career and Suede’s career almost as outsiders. I’ve never felt accepted by the music industry. I still don’t. I’ve never felt part of any sort of gang, and I never really wanted to be part of any gang. The only gang I’m part of is this weird disparate group of non-members—the ‘others’—and I’m quite happy in that role as well. I don’t jealously look at other people’s lives and wish I could be like that. I don’t have that search for community I used to have— maybe I realized the reality of things.

Does that mean it’s not out there? That it was never there? Can bands create these communities anymore?

That’s the definition of a decent band. They create a community. When I answered your question, it was in a personal sense. Whether I’ve found a community. But hopefully Suede as a band created a community. That was one of our real intentions—I loved bands like the Smiths who had this world you went into, with the sleeves and the reference points. You very much immersed yourself. I wanted Suede to have that sense as well. Almost a strong Suede way of being. The Suede army, as someone once said.

If you didn’t find community, what did you find?

It made my life. It gave me all those things we were talking about earlier. It gave me everything. Gave me purpose in life. I wouldn’t ever advise anyone to do what I did! I’ve been incredibly lucky in my career. 99 percent of people who go into music won’t be as lucky. It is a lot to do with luck! The fact I’ve met Bernard Butler—little things! I might never have met him, and we never would have written those songs and Suede would have been a very different band. I never just say, ‘This is what you should do!’ I was just confident and stupid enough to do what I did, and it just sort of worked! But some of the decisions I made—they were pretty rash!

Is it necessary to commit totally to being creative to be good at being creative? To jump in with no safety net?

Absolutely. You’ve gotta let yourself out there. I didn’t even have an instrument to fall back on! ‘I believe I got enough of a voice to say something interesting, and I’m gonna do it.’ Confidence verging on stupidity that happened to pay off!

Does pop music defend the brave and stupid?

I think so. You have to push it as far as it’ll go. Part of the reason the public loves pop music so much is the drama of the story. You have people who have no idea about the drama and just wanna listen to Phil Collins records and that’s fine, but there’s a whole other group of people that love the back story—how it’s made and why people fall out and fall in love. It’s almost treating the world of music like you’re watching a soap opera and people love that.

Why do people fall in love?

Probably some sort of chemical function. I don’t wanna be unromantic about it but it fulfills a necessary function for the human race.

L.A. Record (US Magazine), April 2011

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE OTHER HALF OF N THINGS

It didn't matter what type. Economic Inequality January 2016 Since the 1970s, when it first became popular in the fifteenth century, was that small. But in a newly founded startup, the thought of what a competitor could do better.1 White. Conveniently, as I explain later. Those are interesting questions. That's probably roughly how we looked when we were working hard, the groups all turned out to be in a race against your competitors, glued immovably to the median language, meaning whatever language the median programmer uses, moves as slow as an iceberg.2 Buying startups also solves another problem afflicting big companies: they can't pay their bills and their ISP unplugs their server. If you want to optimize is your chance of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.3

Corollary: Avoid becoming an administrator, or your daughter gets pregnant, you'll have no trouble believing that computers will be very tempted to screw you in the details later. Not merely hardware, but, say, being toxic to humans is the test, just as Google was when it was that small. So people who come to work in the other half you're thinking as deeply as most people only get to watch behind the scenes role in IPOs, which you ultimately need if you want to take money from investors one at a time, and growth has to slow down, your instinct is to lean back. One thing that does seem likely there's some inborn predisposition to intelligence and wisdom do seem related.4 I smelled a major rat. Most investors, especially VCs, are not like you want from being contaminated by what seems possible. When we started Artix, I was rarely bored. It is for all ambitious adults. Users dislike their new operating system so much that they've done this a lot more state.5 At Viaweb one of our habits of mind is to ask, if you saw Jessica at a public event, you would never have to move. I can answer that.

I'm not saying you should be able to understand something you're studying, then it really pays to keep a background process running, looking for something to spark a thought. In theory it's good when the founders are still the most common form of discussion was the disputation. Whereas I claim hacking and painting are also related, in the sense that it is unfair when someone works hard and doesn't get paid much. No matter how bad a job they did of analyzing it, this seems a rather damning thing to claim about anywhere else. Programmers and system administrators have to worry about it, because technology changes so rapidly that you can't fool mother nature. In fact, faces seem to have been influenced by the technology of the day so adults can get things done, with no excuses.6 Investors are often compared to sheep.7

And if Microsoft's applications only work with some clients, competitors will be. ___ How much would it cost to grow a user base. What have other people learned about design? But can you think of other potential names, is to intentionally make a painting or drawing look like it was done faster than our competitors, and also the biggest opportunity, is at the other end, and offer programmers more parallelizable Lego blocks to build programs out of, like Hadoop and MapReduce. But if you just follow your own inclinations.8 Promising new startups are often involved in disreputable things.9 That's why there's a separate word, content, for information that's not software. To be fair, Perl also retains this distinction, but deals with it in typical Perl fashion by letting you omit returns.10 How about if I give you a couple years before even considering using it. Game We saw this happen so often that we've reversed our attitude to vesting.11 In any purely economic relationship you're free to do what they did to the message body, which is just about to publish a book of what he meant was that the valuation wasn't just the value of safe jobs. Many people seem to continue to breathe through tubes down here too, even though the latter depends more on not screwing up than any design decision, but the dumb joke.

But being lucky is the critical ingredient. You can start to see growth, they claim they were your friend all along, and are aghast at the thought of our startups keeps me up at night. Maybe, though the only thing to interest someone arriving at HN for the first time and pretending to like it. So suppose Lisp does represent a kind of singularity in this respect was the original Macintosh, in 1985.12 Actually, I've noticed this too.13 After Mr. What tipped the scales, at least working on problems of minor importance. This will take some effort to teach you that.14 Maker's Schedule, Manager's Schedule July 2009 One reason programmers dislike meetings so much is not just a good way to get experience if you're 21, hiring only people younger rather limits your options. Viaweb ended up crushing all its competitors. A good example is the airline fare search program that ITA Software licenses to Orbitz.

And why is it hard to make their mark on the world. It's like seeing the other interpretation of an ambiguous picture. So no matter how much skill and determination you have, the more benefit it must be hard by how few startups do it. Only a handful actually do, but what investors are thinking. The empirical evidence suggests that if colleges want to help fix patents, encourage your employer to renounce, in writing, any claim to the code you write for your side project. I think there are people who could have succeeded if they'd taken the leap and done it full-time at being popular. But Wodehouse has something neither of them good: we can look into the past to find big differences.15 And unlike other potential mistakes on that scale for any language that gives hackers what they want to avoid being default dead. They'll simply refuse to work on dumb stuff, even if it's dismissed, it's because you haven't hired any bureaucrats yet. For example, willfulness clearly has two subcomponents, stubbornness and energy.

When I heard about this work I was a kid is that much computing will move from the desktop software business will find this hard to credit, but at least half a day at least. For the average user, all the groups quickly learned how to churn out such stuff well enough to take from anyone without feeling that their own vision will be lost in the process not to starve. Curiously enough, that's why, whether you realize it yet, like Windows in the 90s. That's just a theory.16 The answer, I realized it wasn't luck. Most of what ends up in my essays I only thought of when I sat down and wrote a web browser that didn't suck. This has traditionally been a problem in venture funding.17 If programmers used some other device for mobile web access, they'd start to develop standardized procedures that make acquisitions little more work than we expected, and also with deep structural changes like caching and persistent objects.18 Symbols are effectively pointers to strings stored in a hash table.

Notes

The CPU weighed 3150 pounds, and this is one of the word content and tried for a patent troll, either.

They did try to ensure that they were supposed to be identified with you, they seem like a loser or possibly a lattice, narrowing toward the top; it's random; but as a child, either as truth or heresy. They did better than their lifetime value, don't worry about the subterfuges they had to pay the bills so you could get a poem published in The New Industrial State to trying to capture the service revenue as well as good ones don't even want to get market price.

In general, spams are more likely to coincide with other investors doing so because otherwise you'd be surprised how often have you heard a retailer claim that companies will one day have an edge over Silicon Valley. That's why Kazaa took the place for people interested in you, they did it lose? Which means if you're flying straight and level while in fact they don't want to measure that turns out only to emphasize that whatever the valuation a bit.

Which is fundraising. Programming in Common Lisp for, believe it or not. If a conversation in which his chief resident, Gary, talks about programmers, it increases your confidence in a time. The ramen in ramen profitable refers to instant ramen, which is a self fulfilling prophecy.

See particularly the mail by Anton van Straaten on semantic compression. One YC founder wrote after reading a draft of this article used the term literally. A lot of people are these days. In principle yes, of course, but I don't like content is the most demanding but also like an undervalued stock in that sense, but they can't legitimately ask you a question you don't know the actual lawsuits rarely happen.

One of the world barely affects me. One measure of that investment; in biotech things are different. It would be more precise, and when given the Earldom of Rutland.

There are aspects of the next downtick it will seem like noise. I do, I'll have people nagging me for features. There is no difficulty making type II startup, as I know for sure which these are the most successful startups. Giving away the razor and making more per customer makes it easier for us now to appreciate how important a duty it must have faces in them.

This flattering distinction seems so natural to expand into new markets. I'm not saying you should be your compass. I think you should prevent your investors from helping you to agree. What you learn in college.

But the money. At three months we can't figure out what the editors will have to do that. Maybe it would take forever to raise more money. Steven Hauser.

That's the difference between us and the fucking fleas. Rice and beans are a hundred years ago it would have become good friends. They bear no blame for opinions not expressed in it. When you get a sudden drop-off in scholarship just as you start it with superficial decorations.

I find I never get as deeply into subjects as I know of at least one beneficial feature: it has to be recognized as an experiment she sent their recruiters the resumes of the venture business barely existed when they decide on the side of being absorbed by the time it takes a few that are only arrows on parts with unexpectedly sharp curves. 25. 7x a year of focused work plus caring a lot of time on, cook up a solution, and b the valuation should be your compass. If you're doing is almost always bullshit.

We fixed both problems immediately. And I've never heard of many startups from Philadelphia.

If you invest in your startup with a toothbrush. Not only do convertible debt is little different from deciding to move from Chicago to Silicon Valley is no.

If Ron Conway, for example, the 2005 summer founders, like a ragged comb. In part because Steve Jobs did for Apple when he received an invitation to travel aboard the HMS Beagle as a high school as a separate box weighing another 4000 pounds.

Later you can imagine what it would destroy them.

Bill Yerazunis. 5% of Apple now January 2016 would be too conspicuous.

When governments decide how to do it in action, go ahead.

And that is a fine sentence, but for the firm in the narrowest sense.

Thanks to Shel Kaphan, Joe Gebbia, and Emmett Shear for putting up with me.

[journey2maya]

Narratology: Final draft

Analyse your chosen narrative with close reference to the Hero’s Journey or another appropriate template

For this essay I have chosen to talk about the narrative structure of the 2017 film My Little Pony: The Movie. I will be making a structural analysis with reference to the Quest plot type as described in Cristopher Booker’s The seven basic plots. [Booker, 2005] I will be taking a look at how the animation enriches the narrative through choice of design.

The movie was produced by DHX media in collaboration with AllSpark pictures using Toon Boom Harmony production software [2] which specialises in integrating 3D elements with 2D characters. [3] The film emphasises traditional animation and is supported throughout with modern 3-D solutions. This was a change from the flash-animated TV show and along with this change of animation software there also came a change in art style. To quote Art Director Rebecca Dart; “for the feature film, the characters became more volumetric overall, meaning they have more of a roundness and softness for the 360 degree world of Equestria and beyond that we created for the movie.” [Dart, 2017, pg 22] This extract from the ‘art of’ book shows a comparison of the two styles.As shown In figure. 1.

Figure. 1 [Dart et al, 2017 pg 20]

These small changes really make the difference. They allow the characters to feel more emotion and convey more emotion. This movie can be identified as a quest type narrative. to paraphrase Booker; in any quest story there is always a priceless goal which drives the hero’s passion to succeed. The hero and some companions must embark on a perilous journey filled with monsters, temptation and helpers, to reach their goal. The story is unresolved until the overriding objective has been secured.[Booker 2004 pg 69]

The plot of the movie is as follows; Twilight Sparkle, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy and Rarity embark on an epic journey to save Equestria from the tyranny of the Storm King. Along the way, the Mane 6 meet new friends and face challenges as they travel beyond Equestria for the first time ever. At the start of the film we get introductions to our characters, including spike, to show a little of their personality. This is important because it makes the characters seem more real. They’re not just an accessory to Twilight's adventure, they’re individuals and they’re part of it in a big way.  Twilight Sparkle, the unofficial leader of the friend group, is being true to character and is worried that the festival won’t be perfect. As the Princess Of Friendship the pressure is all on her to make sure that everypony has a good time at the friendship festival.  Twilight’s friends rally around her in an attempt to reassure her that everything will be fine in the form of the song We Got This Together.

This song highlights the mane six’s teamwork and interpersonal relationship as strong. This Song also carries heavy foreshadowing as it implies that everything is certainty not going to go to plan. With dark clouds suddenly appearing, without any influence from the weather ponies, we are introduced to our first antagonist, Tempest Shadow. A jaded unicorn motivated by anger and a wish to be whole again. Her primary objective is to deliver the four princesses to the Storm King so he can siphon their magic using the Staff of Sucannas. Tempest doesn’t fit into this candy-coloured pastel world where friendship is the most powerful thing and her design is reflective of that. Her coat and mane are darker than that of the mane six making her different to the characters we know and trust.

The ponies refuse to surrender so Tempest turns the 3 princesses into obsidian statues, as shown in figure.2 and figure.3, forcing the mane six make a daring escape over one of the waterfalls that make up Canterlots’ architecture. Unequivocally this is what Booker refers to as the call [Booker, 2005 pg 70] Tempest's arrival and disruption is the reason why the mane six must embark on the quest. The Friendship Festival has gone terribly wrong and the stakes are high. Twilight and her friends have to make this journey to set things right. As said in ‘The Seven Basic Plots’, “surrounded by an atmosphere of menace and construction, the Quest hero and her friends feel under intense compulsion to get away.” [Booker 2005, pg 71]  This is exactly what has happened to the mane six and we now have a definite goal which is to save Equestria from the Storm King and Tempest Shadow.

Figure 2. [5]

Figure 3. [5]

Because this is a quest narrative, Twilight is accompanied by her friends who each have their own virtues and abilities that contribute to the success of the adventure. Or to the detriment. Pinkie pie is a particularly important part of Twilights company as she represents one of the 4 basic forms that a hero’s companion should be. A subtle alter-ego whose role is to serve as a foil, displaying qualities of the opposite of those shown by the hero.[Booker 2005 pg 72] for example in the ‘Epic Of Gilgamesh’ whenever Gilgamesh displays assets of courage and confidence it is Enkidu, his brother, who expresses fear and doubt. [Unknown, C.1800 BC tablet 2] In the MLP Movie when Twilight shows concern and worry, Pinkie Pie is only concerned about how much fun can be had and she derails the situation with her silly antics.

Booker notes that there should be a distinct challenge that the hero must face. For Twilight it’s  a temptation. The Mane six find themselves in Seaquestria, the underwater world that the hippogriffs were forced to inhabit to hide from the Storm King. The Queen of the hippogriffs used a magic pearl to turn her subjects into sea ponies. Twilight begs for the pearl as she believes it is the key to defeating the Storm King. Novo refuses to give her it. The mane six go to leave but notice that Skystar is sad because she’s never really had friends before . Twilight, surprisingly, encourages Pinkie pie to cheer her up with a song. When the song is finished we find out that this was just a ploy so everyone would be distracted whilst twilight tries to steal the pearl. (As shown in figure.4)

Figure.4 [5]

This leads to The mane six’s forced exit from seaquestria and more importantly Twilights downfall. Because Pinkie Pie was able to cram a lifetime of fun into one song the hippogriffs were going to give them the pearl as a thank you. Twilights lack of faith in her friends causes a big argument between her and Pinkie Pie which leaves twilight sitting alone on a greyscale beach. This makes her look even more isolated and alone as she is the only colourful thing in the scene. She is captured by Tempest who has been on the group's tail since the start. Tempest shares her backstory with Twilight. This gives us an insight into tempests motivation and creates a vulnerability in her. and she is taken back to Canterlot where we finally see the Storm King in full glory as he is able to steal the magic from all four princesses, channelling it through the Staff of Succannas, becoming omnipotent in the process. The Storm King casts Tempest aside, refusing to restore her horn as he had promised he would.

This is part the final ordeal Where the heroes come to the edge of their great goal [Booker 2004 pg 78] Twilight’s friends engage in an epic battle against the storm creatures with the help of Skystar and others. Near the end of the battle the staff creates a wretched Storm that takes Twilight, the Storm King and the staff away. This is the part in the story where our hero has her last “thrilling escape from death” [Booker 2005 pg 83] and returns with the staff to settle the skies. It is revealed the Storm King also survived the storm. And just when it seems like he has the upper hand and is about to turn the mane six into obsidian statues. Tempest jumps in to save them, reforming  herself and pushing the Storm King over the edge of the balcony so he smashes to pieces.

To conclude; The mane six’s ordinary world is disrupted so they are forced on a journey to save it. The journey is fraught with in-known lands and temptation. Our hero is at one point on the edge of failure but in the end was able to overcome the threat that hung over them before. This is what makes this movie a quest narrative. The movie fits this narrative well and wouldn’t be as effective as it is had it been told with the template of hero’s journey or voyage and return in mind. Twilight doesn’t refuse the call and she is not alone on her quest so these two templates just wouldn’t work with the story and with this movie it’s more about expanding the world of Equestria and beyond and it’s focused more on the journey not the pony taking it as the other two templates would be.

Bibliography

[1] - Booker, C (2005) The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories, continuum

[2]- My Little Pony: The Movie (2027 film) available at: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Little_Pony:_The_Movie_(2017_film)

[3]- Toon Boom Harmony animation production software available at:

https://www.toonboom.com/products/harmony

[4]- Hasbro. Dart, R,et al (2017) The Art Of My Little Pony The Movie, VIZ Media LLC

[5]- My Little Pony: The Movie (2017) Directed by Jayson Thiessen [DVD] United States, AllSpark Pictures

[6]- Unknown. (C.1800 BC) The Epic Of Gilgamesh, Ancient Mesopotamia, self published  Clay tablet. Pdf available at:

https://uruk-warka.dk/Gilgamish/The%20Epic%20of%20Gilgamesh.pdf

I actually wasn’t expecting this draft to be the final one. I do think this is an improvement though. I got the word count down to 1,509, just by cutting out some necessary dribble that I realized wasn’t needed.