#its longer & rougher than originally intended

[kraptos]

finally finished the first draft for ch 11!! look at that word count 👀

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[passable-talent]

VADER X GN!READER

cryst am I writing a fic? what is that. who does that anymore akfkvjsb

dedicated to @sunsetkenobi bc she deserves it and I probably wouldn’t be writing this otherwise

okay so if you’ve seen how to train your dragon 2, this is that one scene. ya you know the one. I decided I wanted to break my own heart and here I am to do that so. ergo I do not own the song nor the original concept nor httyd akckcja

also I find writing vader exceedingly difficult thank u send tweet

my apologies for reappearing just to drop a mediocre fic

The stormtroopers took your saber when they captured you.

You had tears in your eyes as they ripped the blade from your grip, but you couldn’t do much about it, with force blockers around your wrists. You just had to watch as they carried away the last remaining piece of your husband.

You hadn’t seen Anakin since he left for Mustafar, intent on ending the Clone Wars. The last time you’d seen Obi-Wan, he told you that Anakin had been killed there, when a sith named Darth Vader struck him down.

Ever since, you’ve been hiding out. Hoping to escape the Jedi hunter who killed your husband. He was ruthless, and powerful, but you did your best to stay among the crowds, unseen, unnoticed.

Unnoticed was a word for it- you weren’t in Jedi robes, and you no longer had your saber. Being dragged through the bowels of an empire ship, stormtroopers flanking you on all sides, you looked like any other prisoner.

You got a cell far, far in the corners of the ship, like they were trying to bury you away. You took the steps down and into the cell and stood amongst it as the troopers left.

Your saber... who knows what they’d do with it. You’d made it with a piece of metal that Anakin had given you, a piece of scrap he’d found on one of his Padawan journeys with Obi-Wan. Nothing else... you had nothing else. You had nothing else of him. And now, your saber was gone, too.

So, your final few hours. You were caught as a Jedi, labeled a traitor to the empire. You were in the ship of Darth Vader, Jedi hunter. You were facing execution now, you knew it. You’d been caught.

So there was no need to hide anymore.

The cell was cold, but it wasn’t too bad. Your fingers would get chilly after a while, but for now, it was a good enough place to meditate. You hadn’t been able to take that risk in so long.

You sat down in the center of the cell, opening yourself to the force for the first time in years.

It was painful, at first. You felt great grief, all around you, surrounding you. It was familiar, too familiar, it brought you right back to the moment that Obi-Wan told you Anakin was dead.

But this was different.

It was a universal grief, one much bigger than one man. It was like a mourning of the force itself, mourning her lost Jedi, mourning each of the thousands of them.

You closed your eyes, feeling like you were leaving the cold cell, becoming bigger than it. You reached out to the ship, to the troopers who wouldn’t know the difference, the millions of miles of wiring working through the cruiser. You felt the metal, the heat, the drone-like worksmanship from the pilots and the sanitation crew.

And then you felt the anger. Rage, the likes of which you hadn’t felt in quite a while. It startled you, tossing you out of your meditation. You opened your eyes and fell backwards, catching yourself with your palms on the floor. And then the door opened.

You jumped to your feet, staring up at the imposing figure in the doorway. A black cape, a saber at his waist, and a menacing helmet.

He took a step into the room, and you took a step back. The door closed behind him.

“(Y/N) (L/N), Jedi scum,” Vader said, his voice deep and scratchy, even through the vocoder of his helmet.

“Lord Vader,” you answered, pressing your back against the wall. There was something to the area around him, the force felt so... unsettled. It was like he both channeled and reflected it, pulling it toward him and pushing it away. Like he was fighting it.

And yet... there was something familiar about him. Your gaze slipped back to his saber, which seemed so oddly familiar. His presence, as well. It made something in your mind ring, as though your own body felt him familiar, too.

How could that be?

“Keep your eyes from my saber,” Vader growled after a few moments of silence, “you won’t be taking it. You cannot escape.”

“I’m not thinking of taking it,” you assured him, hoping not to anger him. “It just... it reminds me of my husband’s saber.”

“Husband?” Vader echoed, his body unmoving. You wished he could at least take off the helmet so you could see his facial expression. “Jedi aren’t meant to marry.”

“I know,” you breathed out, trying to keep eye contact with the disturbingly familiar man, even through his helmet. “But I did.”

There was a moment in which the only thing you could hear was the humming of the ship. And then he turned, his cape spinning behind him, and made his way to the door.

Your husband- you would marry him again, if you could. He was the love of your life, and that was never going to change.

Your wedding, the most beautiful day of your life. Padme’s villa on Naboo, a gorgeous lakeside view, a beautiful ceremony, even if the both of you were still tainted with your padawan hairstyles. But then, later that night, sitting around a fire with a song you would go on to sing together every night you had to yourselves amidst the war. A song you’d develop a dance to, a song you could still hear in his voice, if you listened hard enough.

As Vader approached the door and began punching in a code, you turned your head to the side, closing your eyes.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas,” you began, whispering it under your voice, barely even melodic. You hadn’t intended for Vader to even hear you.

“With ne’er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me.” You glanced back up, seeing Vader frozen at the door. When you didn’t continue, he turned his head back toward you with the slowest movement.

“No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey...” Your nerves got the best of you and you trailed away, no longer having the bravery to continue, the strength. You couldn’t cry in front of Darth Vader.

“...if you will promise me your heart...” came that rasping voice, and you snapped your head up. A shuddering breath escaped the vocoder of his helmet as he lifted his hands to its sides, lifting it from his head.

He turned his gaze to you, and your heart pounded harder with every feature you recognized. His face was scarred over from burns, his neck crossed on each side of his throat with thin surgery scars. His eyes were yellow and red, but that much was expected from Darth Vader. His hairline was mottled with scars where the scalp hadn’t healed enough to grow hair, and the rest was unkept, but still it was a familiar gold.

“And love me for eternity...”

Your eyes widened and your hands lifted up, reaching forward to his face, tears already welling in your eyes. Anakin, Anakin was alive, he’s right here. Your husband is alive. You cupped his face, rubbing your thumbs over his cheekbones. His voice was different, rougher, deeper, but still you heard him. His eyes closed slowly, his face lowering into your palms.

“My dearest one, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me...” You took a deep breath to steady your voice, overwhelmed with relief, emotion, surprise. “But I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me.”

Anakin’s eyes opened, and they were blue, that blue you hadn’t seen in so long, that blue you adored. A low smile pulled at his lips, one you never thought you’d see again, and he took his arms around your waist. There was a laugh to his voice as he sang.

“But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry-“ You took slow steps, the cell smaller than your usual dance space, but you made do. His hands spread along your lower back, yours on his shoulders.

“And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me!”

You pulled away, taking his hand, stepping into the familiar pattern. He didn’t step as nimbly as he did when you’d last seen him, but still he tried.

“I have no use for rings of gold,” you sang, falling into the familiar patterns, his smile, the way he looked at you, “I care not for your poetry, I only want your hand to hold-“ Finally his smile brightened to what you remembered, and you took his leather-covered hand between both of yours as you sang your last line, your voice no longer timid, now loud and happy.

“I only want you near me.”

You joined his voice, finally twirling in the circles you never thought you’d have again, holding the man you thought you’d lost.

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold, for the dancing and the dreaming-“ His leather glove, after all this time, hadn’t changed. Did he wear the same one?

“Through all life's sorrows and delights, I'll keep your laugh inside me.” His voice wasn’t exactly the way it’d been when you’d seen him last, but still, it blended perfectly with yours. Six years... it had been six years.

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning,” You took a spin, like walking on air. He stepped around you, never letting go of your hand.

“I'd gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me!” With the last word, he lifted you up by the waist, pulling you against his body, your knees only just on either side of his hips. Mostly, he held you up on his own, your forehead pressed to his. You’d missed that smile so much.

Your husband is alive. Anakin Skywalker is alive. You couldn’t help your breathy laugh as you settled your weight against his chest, cupping his cheeks.

“Oh, Anakin...” you breathed, closing your eyes, and for one blissful moment, all was perfect.

He dropped you.

You looked up, startled, into yellow eyes. His expression was blank, his glaze flitting over you. He turned with a whip of the cape that forced you to step back, and before you could say a word, he clipped the helmet back over his head.

He only gave you one more look before he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him.

And now the cell felt so much colder.

-🦌 Roe

[dukeofriven]

Homestuck means more to me than I feel like I can truly put in into words - to this day I maintain without irony that the original work is one of the most important texts of its era, and I point any aspiring writer to it as a master-class in character voice and plot-adjacent story progression. But with that in mind on this, 413, it should be said that my feelings towards Homestuck the past few years have been somewhat ambivalent. The primary trend in Homestuck as a franchise has been one of inheritance, with Andrew Hussie stepping back and fans of the work stepping up as his heirs. And the result has been an extremely mixed bag. It produced some genuinely delightful video games (I have yet to play Act 2 of Hiveswap but I hear its pretty great), but a lot rougher treatment towards the continuation of the original story. I’m one of the weirdos who actually liked the Epilogues. I didn’t enjoy them, exactly - they’re far too unpleasant to be enjoyable in any epicurean sense - but I found them challenging, complex, meaty (no pun intended), and really interesting. What they did didn’t always work, but they were so supremely ambitious that you couldn’t help admire them. The problem was the Epilogues proved what didn’t work in Homestuck: it felt a little like a purge or a blood letting, taking the story to the darkest of all places to prove that it could be done and then letting all those impurities go. That it was followed up with genuine delights like Pesterquest seemed to bear this out: we have explored the boundaries of tone and discovered just how far Homestuck can go, and where it probably shouldn’t trend all that often. At the time I pontificated about what I called the ‘Pumpkin’ timeline. In a story that always rejected binaries, it was clear to me that the future of Homestuck lay neither in Meat or Candy, but instead in the third option, one that rejected the nihilism and tragedy of both, one in which John found a way - as he had before - to tell fate to go fuck itself and do the impossible, the way Earth-C was originally impossible. This seemed so obvious that I always felt a little surprised I had to explain it - MEat and Candy were narrative aberrations when you took Homestuck as a whole, and the future would be, like Peterquest, finding that third option. But it turns out I was wrong. The future of Homestuck would, apparently, be doubling down on Meat and Candy, dystopic, hyper-emotive settings that were simply not built to cary long-term storytelling because by the end of the the Epilogues they were finished as narrative places - they’d served their purpose. And so i remained baffled that the future of Homestuck, Homestuck 2, remains mired within them. I dip in and out of Homestuck 2 repeatedly, and it’s... a thing that exists. It’s not bad. It’s not very good either. It just reads like someone treding water, as it muddles around spaces whose narrative point was already exhausted two years ago. It suffers dramatically from not really having a point - and this is the odd thing because much of OG Homestuck could equally be accused of being meandering and not getting anywhere. I think the problem is the writing - Andrew Hussie is a master at writing conversations that don’t go anywhere and don’t achieve anything but which nevertheless stick with you because of how well-crafted they were. So many conversations in Homestuck are just groups of people shit-talking one another: they don’t further the ‘story’ in the sense of plot progression, but they leave you wanting more because of how much you enjoy spending time with these charming idiots. Homestuck 2 struggles to find its way to that space because so many of the characters are just... lousy adults now, old assholes with shitty lives and worse temperments. I think everything was summed up in the very first panels - endless monologues by Dirk Strider. It was the worst possible way to start a new project: my reaction as visceral. By the end of the Epilogues it had become abundantly clear that Dirk Strider was an enormous piece of shit who did nothing but gaslight everyone around him, audience included, and - and this was the important part - was therefore not worth listening to. This was proven in Pesterquest, where we got to hang with old Dirk, rediscovered what a lovely character he could be, and were able to tell his Epilogue counterpart to go fuck himself, the pompous tool. And yet H2 chose to open with page after page of this exhausting tool monologuing about how he was still the most arrogant, pompous asshole in fiction, and in the year of our lord... 2020, was it, I think we’d reached a point as a society in which we’d realized we shouldn’t give those people attention any longer. And yet H2 keeps dragging us back to the blowhards and the depressed jerks. Sorry, this kind of turned into a rant about Homestuck 2 which was not my intention, but I can’t express my disappointment any clearer: Homestuck as a franchise is weirdly bifurcated between video games that seems to understand and completely nail the tone of the series but are concerned with narrative side-lines, and a ‘main story’ that thinks Dirk Strider’s ontological onanism is riveting reading material. Anyway, on this 413, I just wanted to say that I wish Andrew Hussie was still writing his own damn comic. 

[latin-dr-robotnik]

SonAmy - First flight

Sonic, Tails and Knuckles all have many stories about the heroic feats they achieved with the help of the Tornado. Since their first adventures they used the famous biplane to confront Dr. Eggman... but what about Amy? How and when was her first flight?

“Tails! Have you seen Sonic?” 

Amy approached the Tornado, parked just outside the workshop. She travelled all the way to the Mystic Ruins in hopes of sharing a little picnic with the blue hedgehog. The calm and warm evening served as the perfect set up for a date; but thing is, he wasn’t informed at all!

She got no response, yet could still hear some mechanical noises coming from the Tornado. Frustrated, she left her picnic basket on the ground and started walking with leaden feet towards the plane.

“Tails, I asked you a question! No need to be so rude! Tails!”

But a different, unexpected figure rose from within the cockpit.

“Uhh, Tails isn’t here.”

“Sonic?!” She froze in place for a moment. “Oh, I’m sorry! I thought it was Tails ignoring me!” 

She looked away for a moment, feeling a little embarrassed about the whole ordeal. Sonic was looking a bit rough and dirty from working all day inside the plane. He was even playing with a big wrench on his hand.

“Heh, nope. He left early and hasn’t returned... yet.” 

Amy took an extended look at him, and the plane, then back at him.

“What... what are you doing, exactly?”

He chuckled. “Hey, I can take care of my plane on my own, do a little maintenance on it, y’know!”

She covered her mouth with her hands, only her eyes left visible, shining and excited as ever. 

“Oh my gosh! Is it actually your plane?”

“Well, duh, of course it is!” He leaned over the side, pointing to the letters SONIC printed on the red fuselage. “See? My name, my plane. Tails just likes to use it more than I do, haha!”

“Oh, I see.” she looked away again, directly back at the basket she left behind. “Hey, I think you must be tired from working on that plane all day... wanna join me for a picnic?”

Sonic scratched the back of his head, a little hesitant.

“I... can’t right now. I need to test this baby and see if it’s working as intended and-”

He stopped himself for a second and kept staring at her, pouting with her arms crossed. Doing test flights alone is a perfectly fun routine, but her sole presence was enough to give him a completely new idea.

“Let me tell you something,” he asked with a smug look on his face, “how about you join me and test this thing together?”

Amy opened her eyes, shocked by the sudden proposition.

“Y-you mean f-flying together?” She blushed a bit. “I-I mean I’ve never flown in my life, but sure! I’d l-love to!”

Sonic jumped from the cockpit up on the wing, then extended a hand to her, smiling.

“Heh, then jump on!”

“What!? You mean o-on the wing? D-don’t you have another seat or something?”

“Nope, the wing is for passengers.” Sonic reassured her, then shifted his head to the horizon beyond the runway. “But don’t worry, the day is perfect for an evening flight, there’s almost no wind and we have another hour or so of sunlight. Not that I can’t fly at night... but I don’t like the look of those clouds in the distance.”

He pointed out a massive barrier of clouds still far away. She nodded and climbed on top of the wing, still a little unsure of this whole thing. She’s never been in the air, let alone standing on a wing, with nothing to hold her! Was it really safe?

Well, Sonic wasn’t too bothered about it - in fact, he was pretty excited! His face lit up with excitement as he returned to the cockpit, setting everything up for takeoff. After flipping some switches and checking everything, he raised a hand to his mouth, as if mimicking a real commercial pilot communicating through a speaker.

“Ok Ms. Rose, this is your captain and pilot of the day Sonic the Hedgehog speaking. We are just about to take off - time of day: 18 hours 39 minutes, temperature is... warm, I guess. We have a lovely sunny evening, with clouds in the distance potentially limiting the amount of air time we’re gonna get today. Hold on tight, as we don’t have seatbelts in the economic class, and please enjoy your first flight with Hedgehog Airlines. Captain out!”

She giggled through the entire speech, feeling excited as ever but at the same time scared of doing all of this for the first time. She kept her eyes on the runway ahead, standing in silence as Sonic kept flicking some switches and adjusting the stick.

Captain Sonic soon returned for take-off.

“This is Captain Sonic speaking again, we are taking off!” He said, while accelerating the plane. “This is standard procedure, so please bear with us as we reach optimum speed and...”

Amy panicked at the speed and movement of the plane. Sonic pulled the stick swiftly, and up they went!

“And we are in the air. Next destination: the Mystic Sea!”

Amy felt the rush of adrenaline kicking in as they were no longer on solid ground, but also struggled to find some stability riding on the Tornado’s wing. Sonic was right, there was little to no wind... when they were stationary. Now that they were cruising the skies at speed Amy quickly realized the challenge she was facing.

“Wah-ah! This is too fast!”

“Heh, you call this fast?” He chuckled, breaking away from his Captain character. “C’mon, don’t try to resist against the wind, just stand there and... open your arms to it!”

Amy stumbled a bit as Sonic leveled the plane to a stable height, flying further into open sea. She finally managed to find her footing, looked at the sunset... and stretched her arms as much as she could on both directions.

It felt great. She never felt as free in the wind as at that very moment. Opening her arms was like taking the role of the sail of a ship, free to be taken wherever the wind decided to. They were going fast, yes, but after facing her initial doubts and fear, she stopped caring about it.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall on her back, enjoying more than ever the warm sun and the fresh wind. Sonic looked up, watching her be so happy that he couldn’t help himself but to smile tenderly, reminiscing the first time he ever took to the skies, and how good it felt as well. It’s the small details like that, bursts of energy and happiness that sometimes get lost in everyday life, in doing the same thing repeatedly and losing that original spark in the process. He’s been flying all over the world for a while now, and it started to feel like regular business. But just at that moment, he remembered just how beautiful it should feel.

He kept smiling at her for a minute, then snapped back to reality. He wanted to have some fun now.

“This is your Captain Sonic speaking.” He interrupted her. “We are changing our route to go through the ever so impressive Mystic Crags! We’re gonna need the help of our passenger and her open arms to direct us to and through the crags. Buckle up because we’re about to start dancing!”

Amy looked at him over the shoulder, her arms still wide open and more confident than ever.

“Let’s do this.”

Sonic moved the stick north-wise, and pulled down bit by bit. In a matter of seconds, they were flying pretty close to the water and heading directly back to the coastline. Amy kept her eyes locked in the rocky and rugged terrain ahead, with tall cliffs that lead into the sea, followed right by the many, many crags sticking randomly along the shore, all in different shapes and heights. The entire place seemed like a bird’s training ground, twisting and turning between rocks and natural arches. 

“Okay, time to test how this baby truly handles.”

Sonic gripped the flight stick with determination, his sights fixed on a tentative route around the crags at full speed, but keeping in mind he wouldn’t be able to do many tricks with a passenger on board. 

No silly barrel rolls or anything like that today.

Amy felt the adrenaline rush reaching its peak as they approached the first set of crags. She focused on keeping a solid enough foothold as Sonic turned from left to right, up and down constantly. Both of them were so concentrated not a single word came out of their mouths through the entire show, just enjoying the adrenaline rush. First they raced past the rocky coast, then another lap through a different route, and another one... and after a while, a final grand tour around the entire place that culminated with them flying through a rocky arch and coming out high up in the sky again.

After such a rush, Sonic turned west right back to the sea, and both started laughing at the same time.

“That. Was. AWESOME!” Amy cheerfully exclaimed while looking at Sonic, jumping in place and then holding her hands close to her chest. “I wasn’t sure if I was excited, or scared, or pumped up, or everything at the same time! The wind felt great, then it felt so thrilling rushing by all those rocks at that speed! I hope you could’ve seen my face, I was so seriously concentrated the whole way through, haha!”

Sonic’s laugh slowly turned into a serious face of concern.

“Hmm...” He said to himself, “I don’t really like the look of those clouds...”

“Huh? What’s wrong, Sonic?”

“Uh, I mean-” He covered his mouth again and looked back at her. “This is your Captain Sonic speaking, I’m afraid we might have to go back to base earlier than intended, a storm is certainly coming soon and Tails wouldn’t like to have a soaked plane inside his workshop! Uhh... captain out.”

“Oh, right.” She looked up, watching as more and more clouds started forming right above them as the last rays of light tried to pierce through and the wind started getting a little rougher. “It’s a shame, really, but I understand. Let’s go home, captain~”

The last minutes of the flight were spent in a bittersweet silence. 

On one hand they were having so much fun and were so happy everything turned out like it did; but on the other they weren’t able to stay for longer like that, being practically forced to return home. Risking flight in stormy conditions was strictly off the table for Sonic, and so they bid farewell to the crags, and then the sea...

Sonic landed the Tornado just outside the workshop gates, and he made sure to check everything before leaping out of the cockpit and back on solid ground. 

He lended a hand to Amy, offering to help her jump off the wing, to which she nodded and grabbed it.

“That was so fun. Thank you, Sonic.”

“Thank you for flying with Hedgehog Airlines,” he joked one last time while putting one hand on his mouth and the other on the back of his head, “I’d appreciate if you rate your experience today with five stars.”

Amy smirked, then without a single doubt she jumped directly at him, hugging with more strength than usual.

“Oh, I’d rate you TEN STARS if I could!”

“Heh... ow, Amy, it’s fine haha, no need to... squeeze this much”

He slowly put both of his hands close to her back, barely touching her. Then he noticed the picnic basket she left earlier.

“H-hey, about that picnic...”

Amy let go of him, and reflected on the main reason she was there to being with.

“I... I don’t think we’ll be able to do it now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the clouds...”

“It doesn’t have to be outside, though.”

Sonic winked at her. And her face instantly lit up.

“Oh, Sonic! You’re a genius!” Amy ran back to pick the basket, then pointed at the small door to Tails’ Workshop. “Shall we do it inside?”

He slowly walked towards the bigger hangar doors, smiling all the way through as Amy was about to open the other, smaller door.

“Yup. I’m gonna store the plane and join you in a super sonic second!”

“Oh! I’m so going to pick a movie to watch tonight!”

“Heh. It’ll be fun.”

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

Bonus: Ever wondered what happened to Tails? He actually came back home sometime after midnight, and wasn’t happy at all - he was completely soaked! Turns out the day wasn’t too kind for our lovely fox, and the storm that arrived earlier that night and never left did not help at all. At the moment he opened the door, all he wanted moment was to get inside his bed and not be disturbed by anything or anyone. 

Yet, when he entered the workshop and passed through the living room, he found Sonic and Amy sleeping on the couch in front of the TV, Amy in particular resting on Sonic’s shoulder. 

At first he didn’t pay too much attention to them, opting instead to walk upstairs to his room, but just as he was opening the door he had a change of heart. He silently pulled out a blanket from his bedroom and came back to cover them. Then, he turned out the TV, the lights and finally went to bed, smiling tenderly at the two on his way up the stairs. 

Even after having a completely awful day, the sole sight of two of his best friends peacefully resting together was enough to warm his heart again and cheer up his night.

[Author’s note: if you’re confused about my take on Tails’ workshop layout or you simply want to read more from me, check out Sonic’s Memento Collection! Oh, and also my Special Content Section. Happy birthday, Amy!]

[theseerasures]

Conspicuous Media Consumption, 2020

it’s that time of year again! *saddest toot from the party horn*

for those of you just joining us: it’s a “consume a different content every week for 48 weeks of the year” challenge. for a longer explanation, check out last year’s write-up here, and as always, feel free to pop in and ask questions about any and all of this content.

(same disclaimer as last year too: content for this project ONLY here, and not certain...*looks at my billion Sad Cop Lady posts*...hyperfixations.)

(man remember when i was big into X-Men comics earlier this year? better times than these, if only because no one's discoursing about Emma Frost’s woobie/war criminal ratio anymore--her w/w, if you will)

(...i swear at one point i didn’t exclusively like platinum blondes but alas)

Bitter Root (comic, 1 issue finished 1/1/2020): still very cool on a basic concept level, but runs into the Image Comics problem of just not having enough content to keep my interest beyond that. part of that is on me, for picking it up again BEFORE the second arc rolled out, but the first five issues didn’t really follow (or resolve) any cohesive story either, so...meh.

Immortal Hulk (comic, 3 trades finished 1/17/2020): still not gonna be something i care deeply about (maybe one of Bruce’s Hulksonas dyed his hair???), but i do want to give kudos to Al Ewing for sheer consistency in terms of sustaining this level of quality storytelling month by month for more than two years now. working with the dense archive of the Hulk mythos and managing to make it interesting and thoughtful is impressive even if i personally would not expend the same effort.

Disco Elysium (game, finished 1/18/2020): honestly i should have twigged onto what this year was gonna be like when the third thing i drew from the barrel was pure uncut Eastern European flavored depression. i faintly recall people ragging on it for being pretentiously cynical, but i actually thought its core slid more towards idealism than people give it credit for. also gratified that i haven’t heard anything about Robert Kurvitz using slave labor to finish it, which is a thing we have to say about our video games now!!! fun.

Watchmen (TV, 7 episodes finished 1/27/2020): i am a fool who wants to believe in Damon Lindelof and I WAS RIGHT!!! honestly still cannot believe that he pulled off this highwire act with such deft aplomb. might be my favorite TV this year, which is a pretty high bar given how much TV i ended up watching.

On a Sunbeam (comic, finished 2/1/2020): Tillie Walden rightly deserves all the praise for inventive queer storytelling, but i will say that on reread--since i first read this as a webcomic--there ARE some issues with pacing here that clearly come from the foibles of its original intended medium. still just excellent, even if after some plot significant haircuts i was having trouble telling a few folks apart.

Lazarus (comic, 1 trade finished 2/8/2020): it’s so good and i want moooooorrrreee--though obviously Rucka and Lark have the right to take all the time they need. the newer longer issues work really well with the epic prestige drama vibes of the story! i’m into it.

The Good Place (TV, 4 seasons finished 2/18/2020): i’m gonna be super honest: i actually wasn’t a big fan of the finale, nor the last season as a whole. it felt like all of Eleanor’s flaws vanished for a majority of the season, and the Chidi-centric episode where they tried to give a legible justification for why he’s Like This was...i didn’t care for it. still, it’s so good and unique on the WHOLE that we’ll literally never get anything like this ever again, and that counts for a lot.

The Old Republic (game, finished 2/21/2020): it’s an MMO so it will never actually Be Finished so long as the servers aren’t shut down, but i caught up on the content i’d missed in the intervening months. Onslaught thus far has mostly been...kinda bland tbh; going back to Imps vs. Rebs after all the shakeups in the previous expansions feels like a waste.

High Road (album, finished 2/22/2020): someone should tell Kesha not to say that word!! otherwise i was very happy with this album, and happy FOR her even though we don’t know each other. being able to find joy again in the same genre of music you made while you were being horrifically exploited is very cool.

Young Justice (TV, 13 episodes finished 2/28/2020): given how much the middle stuff dragged--STOP KILLING YOUR HIJABI CHARACTER IN HORRIFIC WAYS--i was...actually kinda mad by how the end managed to stick the landing anyway. the day being saved by Vic’s self-acceptance and Violet’s sublime compassion was A+, and even the Brion/Tara switchup was a pleasant surprise, though it relied on me caring about Brion MUCH MORE than i actually did.

Manic (album, finished 2/29/2020): do people still care for/about Halsey? i feel like even That One Song that was on every tumblr gifset ever has kinda faded into obscurity at this point. this album was...okay. i feel like people give Halsey a pass for extremely obvious lyrical turns that they wouldn’t for other folks because of her subject material--which is fine. not really my cup of tea, but i also listened to lots of Relient K this year, so that’s probably a good thing.

Jade Empire (game, 3/10/2020): the only 3D-era Bioware game that didn’t franchise out, and for good fucking reason!!! the Orientalism and appropriation really haven’t aged well, and even beyond that the story was...standard Bioware faire. even my usual “my wife’s a bitch i love her” Bioware type didn’t do it for me, and i just ended up romancing no one. it did make me think a lot about what level of cultural borrowing is accepted nowadays, and why: people still look fondly at Avatar and talk about how ~accurate and respectful it was, for example, despite it being staffed almost entirely by white folks, and the Orientalism ALL OVER the monk class in DND is still fine for some reason.

Alif the Unseen (book, finished 3/31/2020): interesting to have read this AFTER reading The Bird King last year, because it highlights how the intervening years have shifted G. Willow Wilson’s thematic interest and improved her craft. i’m actually quite fond of how her characterization work is rougher here--Alif is extremely flawed to the point of being insufferable, but it makes his development by the end more satisfying. Dina is also just good and i love her

Baldur’s Gate (2 games, finished 5/31/2020): well, having finally finished the series i’m happy to say that it...still doesn’t really do it for me, sorry. any awesome story moments were overshadowed by the EXCRUCIATING inventory management system and the combat (i still don’t know what a THAC0 is and at this point i’m afraid to find out). these games crucially lack the Home Base that later Bioware games were so good about, and that (coupled with the huge cast of characters you can drop off and never see again) really hurts the intimacy for me. by the time we finally did get one it was the Hell Dimension in Throne of Bhaal, and i was just...trying to get through it. (yes, i did just say that about one of the most beloved expansions ever to one of the most beloved games ever.) THIS particular iteration of “my wife’s a bitch i love her” was very good, but the game wouldn’t let me romance her :(

The Underground Railroad (book, finished 6/19/2020): honestly what is there even left to say at this point! it was exactly as good as every critic on the planet said it was, even with my usual aversion to hype. draining and horrifying in turns but still insistent upon a future for Black folks.

Steven Universe (6 seasons and a mooooooviiieeee, finished 7/11/2020): yes, i DID finish the show and almost immediately begin a rewatch. this series is now one of my top five most formative things, and the amount of love and respect i have for it is incalculable. that said: i once again did not love how the central conflict of Future was resolved (just the resolution--i loved the finale just fine). for all of Steven’s breakdown was built up, resolving it with “EVERYONE HUG HIM UNTIL HE CRIES” felt...cheap, especially since up until this point the show had been so good about treating trauma and mental illness with the respect and nuance it deserves. it made me wish some of the earlier, less substantial episodes had been cut so we could spend more time at the end.

What It Is (comic, finished 8/19/2020): y’all i love Lynda Barry SO MUCH. for the longest time i was worried that One Hundred Demons was more a lightning in a bottle situation but every book of hers i pick up makes me feel obscure emotions i didn’t even realize existed. the compassionate way she’s able to describe her child self and how weird and fucked up she was (and still is) is honestly aspirational.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (TV, 5 seasons finished 9/26/2020): so here’s a reversal of what i’ve been complaining about with other shows: i was mostly lukewarm-to-warm about She-Ra, but the later seasons and the finale made me much more into it as a whole. more shows should improve in stakes and overall quality as they age tbh!! i still don’t actively love Catradora (my sole quibble with season 5 actually has to do with the way Adora kept backsliding as a character to make certain Plot/Relationship things happen), but i’m very happy for them nonetheless. i can certainly appreciate a show that will go for High Feeling over tight plot. dark horse standout moments: trees growing everywhere proving that Perfuma Was Right, and Hordak and Adora seeing each other--that weirdly intimate moment of recognition.

Fetch the Bolt Cutters (album, finished 10/7/2020): again i find myself not having much to say that no one else has said. it’s good! once again love it when an artist reclaims something they’d attached with negative affect (anxiety, depression, disordered eating) for better and brighter things.

Solutions and Other Problems (comic, finished 10/25/2020): i was very into Allie Brosh’s ambition with this book, which feels weird to say but i stand by it. it’s cool to see an artist try to make a new medium work for them instead of just sticking to what already works. not all the experimentation was 100% effective, but it was still delightful and occasionally devastating to read, so.

Legend of Zelda (3 games: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask, Link Between Worlds, finished 11/1/2020): this was the third time i’d played Ocarina of Time, which made it the nice, comforting groove i settled into before Majora’s Mask blatted me in the face. i’m not usually a completionist Zelda person because...the gameplay in Zelda is bad, do not at me it just is, but i really felt like i HAD to be one for Majora’s Mask since the whole point is to get attached to the banalities of the town. i’m sure nobody’s surprised that i loved it, even if it gave me an existential crisis about how life goes on in the game for NPCs when you’re not there to save them from it, and there’s not enough time to save them all all the time (also not a surprise to anyone: Romani and Cremia gave Personal Feelings). Link Between Worlds...bad. not like in a “this is a bad story by every measurable gauge” way, but i was already struggling with the 2D playstyle shift enough that for the whole story to end with some “yes it’s v sad that Lorule is Like This but trying to steal Hyrule’s privilege is Even Worse Actually” noblesse oblige bullshit left a VERY poor taste in my mouth, this year of all years. i did audibly gasp when Ravio took off his mask, though. i’m currently playing Breath of the Wild in cautious increments; it’s the first time i’ve enjoyed early Zelda gameplay, but if they wanted fully voiced cutscenes i wish they got voice actors who...knew what words sound like.

folklore (album, finished 11/6/2020): my belief that Taylor Swift is Just Fine continues, i’m afraid. i LIKED this album, don’t get me wrong, and respect her constant drive to innovate, but i didn’t love it substantially more or less than any other Taylor Swift album. mostly i’m just tickled by how she thinks leaning into the indie aesthetic means borrowing Vita Sackville-West’s entire wardrobe, though i will admit to feeling Something when she swore in a song. i think it was like. savage vindication?? you go ahead and swear, Taylor Swift. you deserve it.

Shore (album, finished 11/19/2020): do people still care about the Fleet Foxes? i think there was some Drama with Josh Tillman a while back but i don’t remember where the discourse landed with who was being more problematic. it was nostalgic for me to listen to their new album--made me remember being an undergrad who exclusively listened to men who mumbled and played acoustic guitar all over again.

Star Wars (3 movies: original trilogy, finished 11/27/2020): there is So Much bad Star Wars these days that every time i rewatch the original trilogy i’m afraid that they will suddenly be bad, but guess what! they’re not. i love these children and their hot mess stories, i love that Lando doesn’t know how to say his best friend’s name. what stood out to me this time was the way Obi-Wan described the Force in A New Hope, which strongly implied that ANYONE can be Force Sensitive; that obviously faded with each subsequent movie, but part of me does wish they’d kept it.

X of Swords (comics, 22 issues finished 12/5/2020): i am enjoying Hickman’s X-lines!!! not so much here for the Grand Conspiracy or whatever, but the character work and highkey weirdness is fabulous--they FEEL like X-Men, despite all the shakeups in-universe. this crossover is a nice microcosm of all that: grandiloquently all over the place, but still full of cool standout moments and genuine hilarity. ILLYANA DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SPELL MAGIC.

Fire Emblem (4 games: Sacred Stones, Path of Radiance, Radiant Dawn, Awakening, finished 12/14/2020): this was the thing that i was closest to giving up early on, but i ended up hyperfixating on it instead. that’s a credit to what the gameplay does to my lizard brain more than anything else, because the story and character writing is...insipid. it was very bizarre to witness this franchise blunder around with its animal-people racism allegory around the same time i was getting back into RWBY, and ITS animal-people racism allegory blunders. Awakening was the first time i felt anything for the franchise beyond “teehee red units disappear make exp bar go up and brain go ding,” so i’m excited for more mature storytelling in subsequent games (they MUST get better. they MUST). the child husbandry thing is...very bad tho, and Apotheosis being “challenging” entirely through the game changing all the rules is also bad.

once again no vidya games that came out this year--i’ll probably pick up Spiritfarer or Hades after the New Year, though (or maybe TLOU II! but probably not. sry Laura and Ashley). more TV and franchises this year, which made me feel In Touch with the Children but was also kinda exhausting. nothing was so egregiously terrible i dropped it without finishing! in a year like this that feels almost like an accomplishment

[bnhascribbles]

The Prince

Prince!Iida x Tutor!Reader

Fluff, Pining, Humor, Slight Angst (?)

Words: 5K

Warnings: Brief mention of blood/assassins

The floor rumbles beneath dozens of pairs of shoes and even though it’s almost completely covered, you catch flashes of the polished wood between songs.  It shimmers, reflecting back the lights of the chandelier, twinkling brightly enough to rival the stars. However beautiful and spectacular it all seemed though, you still missed spending hours alone, watching the real stars.  Your work in Inginea had left you with very little time to explore; your nights usually consisted of preparing lessons and lectures deemed fitting for members of the royal family.  It would be nice to spend time outdoors again, to feel the cool night air tickle your nose, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise.  Then again, the next time you experienced that, you’d likely be standing on the deck of some ship that was homeward bound, carrying you far away from this place and its people.  That part wasn’t so nice. In fact, it was downright depressing.

You’re jolted from your self-pity when you recognize a familiar face from across the dancefloor.  You hadn’t expected to meet Iida here tonight, but you can’t say that it’s a shock to see him standing there, seeming uncharacteristically frazzled as he sidles through the mass of swirling bodies surrounding him.  

It’s his posture that gives him away; no common person ever made such an effort to keep his shoulders so far back, his chin so steeply angled upward, his feet so firmly planted—like he was imitating the oaks lining the perimeter of the castle gates.  No, the decorum with which this man carried himself was the sort that they only taught royalty—only taught princes.  You grin and begin to shimmy your way through the crowd.

It takes more than a few gentle nudges and one less-than-subtle shove, but you eventually brave the chaos and reach him.  To his credit, Iida’s disguise was spot-on. There wasn’t a sign of his family’s sigil on any of his garments. No royal blue doublet covering his chest, no moonstone pendants gracing his neck; he had obviously gone out of his way to pass himself off as common—a near-impossible feat given the fact that the man practically oozed refinement.  Still, the laces of his shirt are frayed now and his britches stained.  If you hadn’t known his face so well, you might’ve thought him a stablehand and not the next in line for his father’s throne.  

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you this far from the palace, sir.”  You greet him, careful to avoid using his true title. Iida flinches when you address him, but then he squints and realizes it’s only you.  He frowns.

“Was I really that easy to pick out of the crowd?  I was certain that this time, my attire was—”

“It wasn’t your attire that betrayed you.”  Had anyone from the palace witnessed the way you’d interrupted the crown prince, you might’ve received your dismissal much earlier than you intended to.  Then again, others might have been wholly more apathetic towards the situation.  Everyone was still rather confused when it came to the proper way of addressing each of the princes.  After all, Tenya Iida was the younger of the Iida brothers. He’d been raised with the same careful care and instruction as his brother all his life, for no reason other than tradition.  Because originally, Tenya wasn’t supposed to be the next king.

“To the average person, yes, you look perfectly ordinary.  But me?  I know you too well for that.  I also don’t know a single lordling that puts so much effort into the way he stands.  It was a noble effort though.  Well-thought-out.”

You nod him away from the crowd with your chin, leading him towards a quieter corner of the hall.  Nobody bats an eye. The common people knew of their king and queen, yes, but the royal children were another matter altogether.  Tensei’s face had been woven into banners lining the wall in the days leading to his coronation, so at least a few would recognize him.  Tenya had no banners, and thus, no face as far as the public was concerned.  That would change soon enough, though.

It wasn’t uncommon for assassins to be sent after royalty.  Enemies to the crown, families of those accused of treason, even other princes and princesses had all been historically known to hire men to “do away with” their opponents.  What wasn’t common was for these killers-for-hire to make it past the palace walls—to make it to the crown prince ’s chamber, unseen.  Nobody but Tensei could know for certain what occurred that fateful night, but castle gossip would have you believe a dozen versions of the same story, all with the same conclusion: an assassin lying in a pool of their own blood and a prince that was now crippled from the waist down.

Some liked to whisper that it’d been the king and queen’s decision to pass over Tensei—that they’d rushed at the opportunity to hand off the crown to Tenya, the second son, before the panic set in. Others claimed that it had been a collective decision, made by the whole of the court.  Supposedly, advisors sought to prevent rumors of weakness within the monarchy, while the nobility simply sought to replace Tensei with someone more malleable to their demands. Having actually spoken with the (current) crown prince, you knew all of these rumors to be false.

The way Tenya told it, his brother had abdicated of his own volition, long before knowing of the permanent nature of his injuries. Because Tensei had reasoned that, if he could not protect himself from one man, what right did he have to try and protect a nation from many?  And once he’d made up his mind, there was no arguing with him. The members of the Iida family were notoriously stubborn; no amount of pleading would be able to sway the prince's decision.

So every effort was directed towards Tenya Iida, the new future king.  An array of instructors were hired to fill gaps in the prince’s knowledge—nearly all of them foreign and much younger than the typical world-weary, wiry-haired persons that had formerly been in the employ of the palace.  The prince needed people to instruct him on the world beyond Inginea—the way it worked and the direction it was heading in.

That was where you came in.  

“It seems there are still many things I need to learn.”  Iida sighs, staring down at his hands, fumbling with the edge of his coat.  “I’m afraid I’ll never be ready to be k—” he catches himself before he betrays his identity, “—for the part that comes next.”

You lean back against a pillar.  “Nobody is ever ‘ready’ to lead. It comes with time.  Until then, your tutors and advisors will be here to guarantee that you understand whatever it is you need in order to rule.”

“But you’re leaving, so you won’t be one of them.”  Iida’s words catch you off guard. You’d been careful to keep news of your departure confidential.  Only the king and queen knew… but then again, you suppose that was how he’d learned.  From his parents.

“It’s true.  I’m taking a boat home in the morning.”  Neither of you speaks. The moment is tense and weighed down by a mountain of unspoken words, things you each want very much to say.  Still, there’s no silence—the party and merrymaking endure in spite of your quietude.  

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me these past few days?”

You fight desperately to keep the edges of your mouth turned upward—to keep tidbits of truth from tinging your expression.  “I’m not a fan of the word ‘avoiding.’  It implies there’s a deliberate decision being made.  Perhaps I’ve simply been keeping myself busy? I did seek you out tonight, didn’t I?  And while we’re on the subject of language, the phrase ‘past few days’ is far too unspecific of a time period to—”

“Don’t do that,” Iida says, his tone firm— firm and authoritative.  Good: he was beginning to sound like a king should.  “Don’t launch into a lecture so you don’t have to answer my questions.  Especially if this is the last night I’ll ever see you.”

You chew on your lip.  Pushing the prince any further would do no further good—he’d already followed you out this far.  After all, the last thing you wanted was for hundreds of pleasant memories with him to be soured by one, less-than-pleasant farewell.

“I’m not a fan of tearful goodbyes.  I thought it might be easier to part if I distanced myself a bit, but then you had to go and ruin my plans by showing up tonight.”  You exhale, finally letting your frown show. “There is very little that a foreigner could ever teach you in ways of domestic affairs, and you’ve learned all that I have to share in regards to foreign cultures.  There’s no reason for me to remain here any longer than I already have.”

The non-silence returns, just as awkward as the first.  This time, Iida is the one to break it.

“How long has it been since you first arrived here?”  The question catches you off guard. But you suppose it’s nicer than enduring the many other, more difficult questions he could send your way.

“About a year, I expect.  I remember they were just taking down the decorations from the New Year’s celebration when I got off the boat.”  You recall the thrill you’d felt at the time, coming to a strange new land full of opportunity, experiences, learning.  “There were these round, white objects hanging from the streetlamps at the docks—they almost looked like masks.”

Iida’s face perks up, just a bit.  It wasn’t often that he had the opportunity to teach you something.  “That’s because they were masks.  They’re an old symbol here, meant to encourage a hasty end to the cold.  The seas are rougher during winter months, so it’s believed that ancient sailors would wear masks to protect their faces from the saltwater spray, and also to frighten off harmful spirits that might sink a ship.  The first recorded figure from the time was Ingineum, the person whom our land was named after they—” He cuts himself off, as though he’s only just realized his excessive enthusiasm on the topic—the way his hands have shot up from his sides, gesticulating wildly.

“So, it’s really been a year then...”  Iida laughs nervously, his voice trailing off into the ambient noise of the room.  His face is a tinge pink, and you have to be grateful that he seems to have forgotten how angry he’s supposed to be with you.  “Is it strange that I feel as though I’ve known you for much longer than that?”

You smile.  “Not at all.  Do you remember our first lesson?”

“How could I not?  You walked into the study nearly an hour late, and you were sopping wet .”

“I got lost in the garden and it was raining and—”

“—and the gardens are indoors, so the rain is negligible.

“It was an added stress to my already-eventful first day.”  

Iida rolls his eyes.  His glasses are missing—probably abandoned in an attempt to better devote himself to his disguise (however unnecessary it ended up being)—so you get to see every second of the uncharacteristically cheeky gesture. “That still doesn’t explain how you found a way to—”

“—fall into the fountain?  The thing is carved out into the middle of the floor!  It’s a wonder more people don’t tumble into it, especially when the palace is swarming with children and servants that always seem to be in such a rush to get somewhere important.  I’ll never understand why your family never put a barrier around it.”

“There’s never been a need to: it’s massive!  Do the people from your home not know to mind their step?”

“Do the people here never have an ounce of fun?”

Iida stares, his jaw hanging low, mouth agape like he’s ready to lecture you on the difference between “fun” and “foolery.”  When he doesn’t waver after a minute of that, you counter with a wide-eyed glare of your own.  Then his lip twists upward and a stifled snort erupts from your nose, and before either of you fully-realizes what’s going on, you’re both doubled over, cackling—full-on, without an ounce of care for the dozens of haughty faces sending disapproving looks your way.  Iida grabs your elbow, his shoulders still shaking with the weight of his laughter, and drags you out a doorway onto the terrace before you can attract too much unwanted attention.  

It’s chilly outside, lingering bits of winter clinging to the air, rushing down your throat as your giggling persists.  Thankfully, nobody else is around to see the rather ungraceful way you scramble to catch your breath.  Soon, your wheezing slows to the point that you can actually speak again.

“You’ve certainly become more amicable in the time I’ve been here, my prince.”  And despite how you try to suppress it, another snort forces its way up. “That scowl you wore when I first greeted you...I was convinced you’d dismiss me without so much as a ‘hello.’”

“I seriously considered it!  I’d been waiting there for an hour !”

“Nearly an hour.”

“Regardless,” Iida insists, “nobody would’ve questioned my decision.”

“Yet here I am, still in the employ of the royal family with my reputation intact.”  You purse your lips. “Tell me: why wasn’t I cast off at the first sign of impropriety?”

It’s said in teasing—another game of yours, meant to rile him up (or to “test his patience” if you were giving it a professional sort of description)—yet Iida seriously seems to ponder the question.  He turns away from you, peering into the darkness beyond the edge of the paved terrace.  In the direction of his gaze, the glow of orange lamplight only just illuminates the edge of the palace gates.  You know their shape well, but you can’t shake the feeling that they look like rusted wrought iron from here—not the golden masterpieces they seemed in the daytime.  You wonder how the prince sees them tonight.

“I suppose I was too curious for my own good,”  Iida says, eyes still focused on something in the distance,  “I suppose I wanted to know more about the type of person that could walk into a room of strangers and still smile the way you did.”

“It’s easy to smile when you love what you’re doing.”

Iida inhales, slow and heavy.  “I…” He peers upward, like he’ll find the end of his sentence somewhere in the stars.  When Regulus and Denebola offer no words to fill the pregnant pause, his frustrated groan does the job for him.  “I don’t enjoy many things these days.”

“And I don’t believe that.” Your response is instantaneous, and perhaps a bit frank for the situation. You continue, regardless. “When you’re studying, you may not realize it yourself, but half the time you’re grinning so wide it looks as though your cheeks might split.  When we practice languages, when we discuss politics...”

He turns to face you finally, and something soft crosses his expression.  

Familiar. Affectionate. Dangerous.

“That’s because you’re there.  Because I lo—”

You tense, your hand swinging out and clutching the arm of his jacket, pleading.  “No. We’ve been through this.”  

“We haven’t been through anything because you won’t let me—.

“Say something foolish?”  A sour, stinging taste creeps up your throat as you take a step back. You needed distance and you needed him to see it.  “That’s my job, my prince  To teach you the things that are appropriate and the things that are not.  This conversation concerns the latter.”

Iida furrows his brow, his jaw tight. “Because you’d reject me?”

You should’ve expected that this conversation would happen eventually. You can’t pretend you hadn’t noticed the way Iida stole glances at you over the edge of his book when he thought you weren’t watching. How he always scrambled to fetch your papers himself when he had a good palace-worth of servants ready to do it for him. How he found every excuse to slide his seat closer, brushing his shoulder against yours as he leaned over to point at some insignificant passage, asking questions he already knew the answers to.

The worst part was...you’d caught yourself doing those very same things.  Staring for longer than you should’ve. Enthusiastically accepting his requests to prolong lessons for “just another hour.”  

Letting yourself fall in love with him, slowly, but surely, even after you couldn’t pretend not to notice anymore—after he’d cornered you in the library red-faced and stuttering, scrambling to say those sincere words that would be the ruin of both of you.  

Of course you hadn’t given him the chance to finish his declaration.  You didn’t have it in you to turn him down, not when just seeing him, looking so noble in his royal blues, had been enough to make something buzz deep in your stomach.  And returning his affections wasn’t ever an option.  Not at all appropriate for a person in your position.  You weren’t royal nor a noble. You were just another type of hired help, even if you were afforded more luxuries than the average cook or gardener.

So you’d found some clever reason to excuse yourself, frantically gushing about needing to organize manuscripts or keep a promise to teach some orphan how to read.  You couldn’t even remember the lie you’d used—only Iida’s reluctant, tight-lipped smile when he realized that you were, in fact, lying.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”  You finally say.  It isn’t a lie this time. Not really.  You were leaving, and you weren’t about to admit that it’d been your choice to refuse the king’s and queen’s offer for a longer term of employment.  Things were already so....delicate with Tenya.

“You don’t have to.”

“Just like you don’t have to become the king?”  It comes out harsher than you mean it to, hissed through gritted teeth.  Iida winces as though he’s been struck. “Nobody has to do anything in this world.  But we both have our obligations regardless, be they pleasant or not.  And I—” the shudder in your voice is as unpleasant as it is unintentional, “Tenya, don’t make me start fantasizing about things that just aren’t possible.  I’m not strong enough for that.”

Iida breathes.  In, then out. Heavy, but even, watching you the whole time.  When he speaks, the words are soft. “That’s the first time you’ve said it.”

You scoff.  “I’m smart, but I’m no saint.  Even I have my limits.”

“No.” He says, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “It’s the first time you’ve used my name.”

The air suddenly feels like ice.  Not so cool anymore—more cold incarnate, jagged tendrils working their way around your lungs and squeezing.  They freeze you from the inside out, all the while draining you of whatever oxygen your measly throat seems fit to collect.

“I beg you to forgive me, my prince.”  You’re formal about it, your back straight, your expression incredibly blank. You’re acting as you should be—as you should’ve been this whole time.

“Stop that.”

“It’s late and the hour has made me forget myself.” Tuning him out, you take a step back towards the doors, back towards the safety of the crowded hall.

“Please —"

“I think it best that I retire for the night. My ship departs early in the morning and I should be rested if I’m going to catch it.”  You swallow hard. “Goodnight, my prince.”

Goodbye would be better, you realize once the words leave your mouth. It wasn’t like you were going to see him again after tonight; you owed it to him to give at least use the proper “farewell.”  But truthfully, you don’t trust yourself enough to say anything else—not when your eyes burn the way they do.  

A tearful goodbye: this was just the thing you’d wanted to avoid.  Because in that moment, when the only thing keeping your eyes dry is sheer force of will, you make the mistake of imagining, for just a moment, what it might be like to stay.  It wouldn’t be right or responsible, but really, would that be such a bad thing?  Truthfully, you’d done a terrible job as a tutor; you’d taught the prince, yes, but you’d also committed the cardinal sin of your trade and become too attached.  You’d already acted the part of friend and confidant. What was the harm in making one more mistake?

Rather than dwelling on it for any longer, you turn away.  You can hear Iida say your name once, frantic.

And you rush towards the door.  

The footfalls behind you don’t register in your mind until it’s too late.  His fingers feel incredibly hot as they curl around your wrist, pulling you back and keeping you from taking the final few steps inside.

“Don’t leave like this.  Not while you’re forcing this....this professional facade to try and push me away.  I know you too well for that.” Hearing your own words—having them scooped up and hurled back at you like a well-timed arrow, makes your heart ache.  Still, you say nothing. You know better than to do that. So Iida continues.  

“Love me, love me not—it doesn’t matter anymore.  You’ve made your choice and I’ll respect it. But let’s not say goodbye on bad terms.  Speak with me just a little longer. Teach me something new.”

And just like that, you feel your expression melt.  Surely it couldn’t do any harm?  

Although you know that’s far from the truth, you twist to face him.  “I would, but I’m afraid I wasn’t lying when I said I’d taught you everything I know.”

When he realizes that you aren’t denying his request outright, Iida’s eyes widen.  He’d expected you to argue. “There has to be something. Astronomy? History?” His voice fades as he wonders aloud, thinking—always thinking.  You’re about to tell him to give up; the two of you can speak without a need for lessons, but then something excited sparkles in his eyes.

“Dance?  How do they dance where you’re from?”  Slowly, delicately, Iida releases his hold on you.  But he doesn’t pull back. His fingers unfold, flattening as he pushes the flat of his hand against yours.  The action itself is a question: is it like we dance here?  With quick steps and pressed palms?

“It’s different from your way.  Same principle, different posture.”  You thread your fingers into the spaces between his.  The gesture is academic—impersonal and meant purely for demonstration purposes.  “And there’s not such a rigid rhythm to it. Less stepping, more gliding.”

Iida smiles softly.  “Yes, I think I must’ve seen this in a book once.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, what with the extraordinary amount of time you spend reading.”

“Tease me all you’d like, but in this case, it helps,” he walks backward, dragging you with him towards an empty area of the terrace, “although I’ll admit, I’m a bit unsure about this next part.  So please, tell me if I’m making a fool of myself.”

“It’s simple.  I’m sure you’ll manage well enough.”  You extend your free hand out towards him. Iida doesn’t take it though.  His jaw tenses, just for a moment, then he’s shaking his head.

“They weren’t hand-in-hand.  It was different...I’m sure of that much.”

You sigh, giving his hand a squeeze.  “You’re overthinking things.”

“No, I’m right.  I know I am.”

The rest happens as... as a smear of motion, carried by the swell of music whooshing through the open doors.  You think you see it, though—the way Iida’s hand edges in, trembling, but pushing forward even so. It dips down below your wrist, then below your elbow, never halting in it's smooth, creeping motion forward.  Not until his touch is grazing across your side, feather-light, but very much there. It doesn't sink in at first—how close he is—until you feel the warmth as his fingers press into your back, dragging bits of your tunic along as they do.  You're not sure you've ever felt so feeble as you do in the instant you realize the prince’s palm is curled around what feels to be the entirety of your waist.

“I believe it was something like this,”  Iida says. The tug on your waist is gentle, but the prince’s hold over you is such but you have no choice but to stagger forward.  By the time you start wondering if this hasn’t been one big mistake, the distance between the pair of you is practically nonexistent.

All of it is entirely academic, though.  Without a doubt, it was academic.

“This is...one way of dancing, yes.”  You stutter through your breathlessness.  “Although now I’m curious to know what sort of book you were reading.”

“An old one” is all Iida offers before he begins to sway.  You fumble to find a spot for your free hand, finally setting it along the slope of his shoulders.  He’s taller than you remember—his shoulders broader.  How was that possible? How could a person you see nearly every day suddenly seem so much more... dashing?

“You’re doing well, but you still have to count, my prince.  Follow the music.”  In an effort to distract yourself from your own thoughts, you throw yourself back into your teaching.  “One, two, three, and.  One, two, three, and.”

You drag Iida along for a while, counting out loud, showing him the rhythm to follow.  Soon, he’s steady enough to lead without your instruction.  The moment he takes over, the cobblestones seen to transform a dancefloor of their own.  The endless sky becomes a ballroom, with a chandelier of stars and a tapestry of moonlight glistening over your swirling bodies.  It’s easy to forget yourself—to get lost in the fairy-tale quality of it—while you’re there, grinning and dancing with the prince.  You don’t ponder the past, the present, the future. You don’t debate the principles governing ethics or art or architecture.

The two of you just dance.

But as all things must, the song eventually ends.  The rising line of the wood flutes dies away and the steady vibration of the drums gets lost in the nothingness of night.  You and Iida stare at each other for a while neither quite sure the proper way to proceed.  You’re the first to speak.

“I believe it’s time to say goodbye.”  You’re sure to emphasize the point by pulling your hand away from the prince’s shoulder, returning it to your side.  

Iida’s grip tenses for a fraction of a second, like he’s only just remembered his hand clutching your waist.  Nevertheless, he removes it without argument.  You can’t help but notice the way cold rushes at you in the absence of his touch.  “I believe you’re right.”  

“Well then,” you smile despite the wave of nausea threatening to topple you right there and then, “thank you for a wonderful year, Prince Iida.  Goodbye.” You step away from him, but you’re distinctly aware of the fact that your hands are still joined. The prince hasn’t completely released his hold over you yet.

You’re about to repeat your farewell—a reminder—but then Iida bows his head low.  You don’t have a moment to question his intentions before he’s dragging your hand up, pressing his lips to your knuckles.  The act itself catches you off-guard. The way he lingers makes your face heat up.  You can only pray the color doesn’t carry to your fingers.

Without rising completely, Iida peers up at you, not smiling, but also not looking as upset as you’d expected him to.

“Goodnight.”

It isn’t the same, solemn “goodbye” you’d granted him, but by that point, you’re too exasperated to question much.  It wouldn’t be until early the next morning that you’d understand the meaning behind it.  

You’re stepping out onto the docks when you find the ring tucked into the pocket of your belt.  It’s silver with a single clear, blue stone propped into an intricate setting.  You’re not positive how long it’s been there, but you can certainly guess.  The gemstone alone must be priceless—expensive and much more extravagant than you ever would’ve dared to accept from anyone.  Then again, you suppose the gifter had known that—had understood that the implications behind the present would be extremely obvious.  Rings like this weren’t given as a parting gift.

As it turns out Prince Tenya was far more capable than even you’d given him credit for.  He no longer needed you—that much was clear as day.  But if his gift was any indication, he certainly wanted you.

And, much to your absolute horror, you wanted him too.  Even now.

You look to the ship— your ship—docked only a few dozen meters ahead. Its captain ushers you forward with the back of his hand, barking out some harsh words you don’t quite catch.  You glance back over your shoulder and the glint of white porcelain masks still hanging from the lampposts commands your attention. Tales of burly sailors, daring and intelligent, quick and resourceful fill your mind and...and you realize that you never did hear the end of that story.  You brush off the thought before it can make you overly-sentimental.  It’s all so difficult, though, because just beyond the lamps is the street you’ve just come from, and even further up, atop a hill you know very well, you can see a golden gate.  It’s just barely visible through the line of oaks surrounding it: the trees are tall and proud and standing adamantly upright, just like a prince you know.  Like the hill, you know him very well.

For what feels like the first time in your life, an irreconcilable sort of indecision throbs deep in your chest.  Not that there’s much a choice to make.  

Right?  

[nefarioussdotcom-blog]

Kai-yacking!

Author:  Roojin Hooblal

“And so we beat on, boats against the current.”

This is one of the most iconic quotes in English literature. I realized very early on that nearly all the classic books I was drawn to had something to do with water. Moby Dick, The Heart of Darkness and of course, The Old Man and The Sea by Ernest Hemingway.

My first water-induced adrenaline rush was when I first did my first whitewater kayaking down the Batoka gorge in Zambia. When anyone mentions the Victoria Fall, locally known as the Mosi Oa Tunya (‘The smoke that thunders’), my mind immediately remembers my first time on the water. Sure, if anyone has taken on the Zambezi rapids they will tell you that you may be some kind of crazy to start off on such a beast of a river, they will also tell you about the Stairway to Heaven, the Three Ugly Sister, The Devil’s Toilet Bowl, Gulliver’s Travels, and of course the granddaddy of all 24 rapids; rapid number 9, Commercial Suicide!

It started innocently like all great ideas do, among a group of mates, screaming fables over shots of Snake Baijiu in the middle of China. BAD IDEA!! Two months later, there we were, standing at the start point, the gravity of the situation quickly dawning on us as we watched the river crash violently against the rapid number one aptly called Against the Wall. During the expedition I made two vows. The first which I’m certain was going through the mind of a marooned crocodile we came across was that if I made it to the end of the gorge, I would never touch even a cup of water ever again. When We got to the end I made a second vow; that I would have to come back and do it again! Boom!!!! I was hooked. The water had claimed me.

Getting into kayaking could be the most rewarding activity or sport you can get to. Many people may think the kayak is a new way for kids high off energy drinks to do stuff for their YouTube channels. The kayak actually goes back hundreds of years. Man and his affair with the water has a long and fascinating history. The kayak was first used by the indigenous Aleut, Inuit, Yupik and Ainu hunters in the subarctic regions of the world to hunt on inland rivers and lakes. In fact, the word kayak originated from the word qajaq meaning ‘hunter’s boat’. Early qajaqs were made from the stitched hides of animals stretched over a wooden frame and ranged up to approximately 9 meters.

Due to its use in hunting, the kayak was built for optimal maneuverability. The paddler was intended to be able to change direction easily and in the event of an accident, the paddler would be able to rescue a fellow paddler. The kayak’s design focuses on directional stability or tracking Vs maneuverability. The paddler’s body also plays an integral roll in how the kayak will perform and respond. For example, if the paddler is too heavy, the kayak may sin due to excess weight. If the paddler is too light, the paddler may not be able to get the most control of the kayak’s mobility. Ensuring that a kayak is the right size and fit is one of the more crucial steps to an enjoyable experience that can lead to a life-long hobby.

Benefits of KayakingThough there are various styles of kayaking, one thing is for sure; Kayaking is a healthy way of living. What is it about kayaking that becomes an addiction to anyone who decides to pick up the paddle?It is SocialIn water sports, like kayaking, I have had the chance to meet so many interesting people from all walks of life and from all over the world. Each with their own stories of how they got into the sport, the challenges they face and how they overcome them. Personally, through kayaking, I have learned to challenge myself and overcome fear and indecision better. It is always stimulating to hear stories from other paddlers after a long expedition around a campfire looking up at the starry sky.FitnessNothing will get your muscles jumping into action faster than behind a paddle. Kayaking is sure to demand you develop a level of fitness. It is also sure to give you a proper aerobic exercise. But best of all, it gives you concentration. You start to pay attention to things like rhythm and cadence. You start to adjust and understand your body better. You learn how to economize your energy output. You start to learn how the paddle is an extension of you. It definitely will keep you healthy.A Chance at NatureVery few activities will bring you this close to nature. You become mentally aware of currents and undercurrents. You feel winds and even the slightest breeze makes you make tiny adjustments. This is very meditative and calming. And if you love recreational kayaking or for fishing, very few modes of transport will take you closer to schools of fish without agitating them the way a kayak would. Depending on your location, you could even get very close to seals or dolphins that you can touch them. They may curiously swim to you in ways they may not if you were on a motor powered vessel. These encounters can be very rewarding.Whitewater KayaksThese kayaks are roto-molded in a semi-rigid, high impact plastic, usually polyethylene. This type of kayak is ideal for fast-moving water. The plastic hull allows the whitewater kayak to take contact from rocks without breaking or leaking. They range from 1.2 to 3.0m long. Whitewater racing combines a fast, unstable lower hull with a flared upper hull to combine flat water racing speed with added stability in open water. These require the paddler to have substantial skill to achieve stability, due to their extremely narrow hulls. Like all racing kayaks, white-water racing kayaks are made to regulation lengths.

Play boat

Whitewater Kayak

This type of whitewater kayak is short, with a scooped bow and a rounded stern. This ensures high maneuverability over speed and stability because they are already in faster-moving waters. These are pretty much the closest thing to a BMX kayak. They are built for performing tricks. They are the primary kayak used in playboating or freestyle competitions which are also known as rodeo boating. You are more likely to see paddles doing airborne tricks with one of these. Pretty Dope, eh?

Creekboat Whitewater Kayak

These are significantly longer than and more voluminous than play boats, making them more stable, faster and higher floating. They are primarily used for speed on narrow, low volume waterways and rivers because of their stability and speed, which enables them to hit rapids at higher speeds.Sea and Touring KayaksIn 1932, a German man called Oskar Speck, disenfranchised by the economy, hopped into his kayak and only paddled for seven-and-a-half years and over 30,000 miles to Australia. Only to Australia. Unfortunately, after weathering monsoons, mosquito bites, limited fresh water, and crocodile infested water, upon reaching Australia, he was immediately arrested as a war criminal. Oskar eventually was released and wedded an Australian gal. His mode of transport was a Sea kayak. Embarking on such an epic journey definitely requires fortitude and a lot more planning and substance. Of course this challenge was successfully  taken on recently by Sandy Robson and she had to use a kayak built to handle such an expedition.

Sea and Touring KayaksSea kayaks, also known as Touring kayaks are built for journeys of hours to weeks long expedition. Their volume above the waterline gives them increased security in rougher conditions and even more room for gear.  Yet, the sea kayak offers a low profile to the wind, with a forward-raked design and unique mini-transom, sure to appeal to the sophisticated paddler. Sea kayaks in most cases trade maneuverability for seaworthiness, stability and cargo capacity. They typically have a longer waterline, and provisions for below-deck storage. They can accommodate one to sometimes three paddlers.Sit-on-topsThese are sealed-hull crafts, developed for leisure use and are mainly constructed using polyethylene to ensure strength and affordability. These have scupper holes which are tubes that run from the cockpit to the bottom of the hull so that water that enters the cockpit can be drained out. Sit-on-top kayaks range from one to four paddlers. They are popular for fishing and scuba diving. A disadvantage with this kayak is that its hull may develop perforations that may fill with water over time without the paddler knowing.

A sit-on-top tandem kayakFishing has become a fast growing activity in kayaking. Where a Sit-on-top kayak is not the go-to kayak for paddling for paddling and maneuverability’s sake, it outperforms other kayaks as the best platform for angling/fishing. Its ability to sit shallow allows it to approach schools of fish without scaring them off the way a motor-powered boat wouldn’t. Its very stable and can allow paddlers to spend hours out on the water easy!Inflatable KayaksInflatable kayaks don’t have to mean boring! Au contraire!!! Inflatables have an advantage when it comes to portability. The paddler is able to carry them to their favourite scenic spots with the help of  a large enough bag.

Choosing Your KayakBefore you decide on getting a kayak, it is important for you to identify the one that suits the activity you want to be doing, because kayak performance is determined by a varying number of factors. It is important to be practical about how often you think you may need to actually go out kayaking. Is it a hobby you are committing to? Is it an activity you plan to do a few times only? It may be more practical for you to rent rather than hastily purchase one if so. This will allow you to test a wide range of kayaks to find which one appeals to you the most before splurging. However if you are committed to a journey into the world of kayaking, you had better select one that matches the kind of activity you will spend your time doing.Another important feature for the ideal kayak is comfort. You will most likely be spending hours on end in the kayak and the last thing you want is to have your legs go dead on you. You have to ensure it is the right size for your body and that all adjustments are correctly done according to your particular needs. Most importantly, always be safe and have fun!Top Kayaking DestinationsIn an article for Red-Bull, ten-time world champion Claire O’Hara listed some of these kayaking heavens. I have kayaked on only two of these listed, and based on my own experience I am inclined to trust her judgement and also consider this as my Wish list kayak destinations:

1.  Slovenia

2.  Ottawa River, Canada

3.  Zambezi River, Zambia

4.  Lake Rotoiti Rotorua, New Zealand

5.  Norway

6.  White Nile, Uganda

7.  The Grand Canyon, USA

[oscopelabs]

Unbroken Windows: How New York Gentrified Itself On Screen by Jason Bailey

It was 1972, and Lewis Rudin had a problem—specifically, a Johnny Carson problem. Rudin, a real estate developer and committed New Yorker, had founded the Association for a Better New York (ABNY), an organization dedicated to cleaning up the city’s image (and thus, its attractiveness to corporate clients) via aggressive campaigning and spit-shine marketing; the organization was, for example, instrumental in the development of the iconic I ❤ NY campaign.

But all the good work ABNY was doing, Rudin fumed to the organization’s executive director Mary Holloway, felt like pushing Sisyphus’ boulder when he switched on NBC late at night: “How can we change the image of New York when Johnny Carson's opening monologue every night is about people getting mugged in Central Park?”

As reported by Miriam Greenberg in her book Branding New York: How a City in Crisis Was Sold to the World, Rudin went to the trouble of meeting with network heads, imploring them to pressure personalities like Carson to lighten up on the “New York City is a crime-ridden cesspool” jokes. In 1973, Mayor John Lindsay himself called network executives and even some comedians to a City Hall meeting where he made a similar plea. This was in stark contrast to the usual modus operandi of the Mayor’s Office of Film, Theatre, and Broadcasting, which prided itself on avoiding censorship or editorial interference in the making of motion pictures in the city—indeed, several of the grimmest, grimiest portraits of life in New York (Death Wish, Panic in Needle Park, Little Murders, The French Connection) were borne of this period. But people had to go out to see those. Johnny Carson came into their living room every night to tell them what a shithole New York was.

Rudin and Lindsay’s efforts were ultimately unsuccessful. Johnny Carson continued to roast the city—especially after escaping it when The Tonight Show relocated to Burbank, California in 1972—and prime-time comedies like All in the Family, Taxi, and Welcome Back, Kotter mined similar veins of urban unrest. Meanwhile, gritty crime series from Kojak to Cagney & Lacey to The Equalizer presented a similar picture of the city—dirty, grimy, and dangerous—to that of films like Taxi Driver, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three, The Warriors, and Fort Apache, The Bronx.

But in the 1990s, that all changed. And there’s a compelling case to be made that the change began with Jerry Seinfeld.

*

If we talk about Jerry Seinfeld, of course, we have to talk about Woody Allen, and not just their obvious similarities (roots in stand-up comedy, neurotic Jewish New Yorker persona, tabloid mainstay). In the 1970s and 1980s, while most New York movies were dwelling in the horrors and shortcomings of the city, Allen insulated himself in his upper-class Upper East Side neighborhood and made movies about people who were mostly untouched by crime, homelessness, and graffiti. In films like Annie Hall, Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters, and Crimes and Misdemeanors, Allen’s characters sip wine and trade hard truths and pointed witticisms at the city’s finest restaurants, parties, and apartments as the city burns around them; in Manhattan (which, by its own opening monologue admission, romances the city “all out of proportion”) he even edited out a joke about muggings from a Central Park carriage ride sequence, so as not to spoil the delicate mood. Allen’s New York was “not another world,” Martin Scorsese once said. “It’s another planet.”

That vision of New York—upper-crust, erudite, sophisticated—wasn’t entirely absent from the big and small screen in the ‘70s and ‘80s, thanks to films like An Unmarried Woman and Kramer Vs. Kramer, and such TV shows as Diff’rent Strokes and The Cosby Show. But Allen’s films, and even more so Rob Reiner and Nora Ephron’s Allen-esque When Harry Met Sally (a far bigger commercial success than any of Woody’s work), created a vision of comfortable, upscale, wise-cracking New York living that would reach a mass audience via Seinfeld, which debuted in 1989.

The first two brief seasons of Seinfeld (or, as it was originally titled, The Seinfeld Chronicles) struggled in the ratings, but it slowly built an audience and climbed in the Nielsens, and by season five (1993-1994) it was one of the top five shows on the air, anchoring NBC’s “Must See TV” line-up of Thursday night sitcoms. In September 1994, it was joined on Thursdays by another comedy, in which urbane New York pals joked, dated, and shared the horrors of city living. Friends, however, was a rating smash right away, and not only because of its killer schedule placement. It sanded away the rougher edges of Seinfeld; its characters were more likable (or, at least, intended to be), and its humor was less spiky. It ran even longer than Seinfeld, ten seasons, every one of them in the top ten, all but one in the top five.

*

Even as these New York comedies—and others that followed, like Mad About You, Caroline in the City, and The Single Guy—were topping the ratings, the face of the city was changing. “Don’t forget to in the late ’80s, you came off of a couple of financial crises, some bad times,” explains agent Chris Fry, of Elegran Real Estate. ”It was a little bit more affordable, things were dropping. And I think the shows that you’re talking about definitely had a positive effect on what people perceived New York City to be.”

Crime was on the decline across the country, but especially in New York City, a drop that began under Mayor David Dinkins and continued under Rudy Giuliani. The latter, in coordination with NYPD commissioner William Bratton, instituted an aggressive policy of enforcing so-called “quality of life” crimes like graffiti, turnstile-jumping, and panhandling; this philosophy, modeled on James Q. Wilson and George L. Kelling’s controversial “broken windows” theory, held that if these comparatively minor yet highly visible crimes were eradicated, the city would look clean and controlled, and thus psychologically discourage a lawlessness that would result in fewer serious offenses like murder, rape, and theft.

This vision of the city was certainly reflected in NBC’s Thursday night lineup. The early ‘90s comedies found fodder in the minor inconveniences of city life, but rarely trod into the seediness and crime that defined such earlier sitcoms as Night Court and Barney Miller. Paul and Jamie Buchman’s apartment wasn’t burglarized; none of the Friends were mugged in Central Park. When a blackout hit New York City in the summer of 1977, there were over one thousand fires, over 1500 damaged and/or looted stores, and nearly four thousand arrests. When a blackout hit NBC’s Thursday night New York City in the fall of 1994, Chandler Bing got trapped in an ATM vestibule with a supermodel.

If these sitcoms were the television reflection of the “broken windows” theory, their creators had a much easier time cleaning up New York City—in part because they weren’t shooting in it. Much like the films set in New York City before Mayor Lindsay established the Mayor’s Office of Film, Theatre, and Broadcasting, all of these series were shot on soundstages and backlots in California, with the exception of the occasional second-unit exterior establishing shot. So they took place in New York City, but the version of New York City they presented was highly fictionalized. Just as Paul and Jamie, Jerry and the gang, and the Central Perk crew were funnier and sharper than real New Yorkers (and lived in apartments far beyond their means), the New York they lived in was squeakier and clearer.

“I love Friends,” says Sire Leo Lamar-Becker, who was inspired by the shows of the ‘90s to leave California and move to New York, where he currently works in the fashion industry. “But Friends was so sterile. It didn’t feel real. And what Sex and the City offered was, I felt, a more nuanced portrayal of the city.”

Like the New York movies from the late 1960s onward, Sex and the City had the advantage of authenticity: It was shot entirely in New York, the exteriors and the sets (constructed and filmed at Silvercup Studios) and everything in between. “If you’re familiar with this series, and the movies, the city is integral to it,” explains tour guide Lou Matthews. “They've called it, like the fifth girl is the city. It's really crucial.” As a guide for the “Sex and the City Hotspots Tour,” which On Location Tours has conducted since 2001, Matthews has seen, firsthand, the psychological effect of that particular show.

“I've definitely met girls in their twenties, or maybe they’re still in college, on the tour who are saying, ‘Yeah, I fell in love with Sex in the City and New York City because of Sex in the City. And like, I’m already trying to figure out how I can get a job here.’ And then I’ve definitely met a few where the reason they moved here was because of Sex in the City, like they wanted the life that Carrie has. And here they are.”

The life they found was, in most cases, not exactly what these shows promised. “As someone who has lived here for 10 years,” laughs Lamar-Becker, “sure, there are some things that are unrealistic—like, Carrie being able to afford all her shoes. That’s unrealistic. But the feeling of the city is always captured well.”

And that indefinable but unmistakable quality, that feeling of the city, is what’s shifted most over the past quarter-century or so – through Seinfeld and Friends and Sex and the City into 30 Rock and Gossip Girl and Girls, through When Harry Met Sally and You’ve Got Mail to The Devil Wears Prada, Trainwreck, and even The Avengers. Some of that shift in public perception is merely a reflection of reality, of filmmakers and show-runners pointing their cameras at the city and capturing the gentrified, yuppified, Disney-fied mutation it’s become.

But some of that is also life imitating art. Every day, Lou Matthews’s tour bus is filled with people like Sire Leo Lamar-Becker, members of a generation of viewers whose impressions of New York were formed not by Taxi Driver and Kojak, but by the Sex and the City films and Netflix binges of Friends. They watched those shows and memorized those movies, and then migrated to New York City like so many immigrants before them. Their predecessors flocked to Ellis Island, lured by promises of a new world. These settlers came to the Magnolia Bakery, seeking not so much a new world as a better one, full of enviable careers, witty friends, and all the cosmos they could drink.

Lewis Rudin would have been proud.

[queen-scribbles]

Homecoming

This is technically, TECHNICALLY sfw, but it does skate closer than I usually go to, yknow, the other thing. A lot closer. :3 Set right after the Trooper endgame

                                                    ---

She was beginning to wonder if the smoke smell would ever come out of her hair. 

Briyoni stepped out of her third almost-scalding hot shower and growled at the still faintly clinging odor. She had a nice permanent memento of the battle for Corellia, she didn’t need to reek of smoke forever, too. At least attempting to get the smell out made a nice excuse to repeatedly visit the first real showers she’d had access to in months. Bry ran her fingers through her hair to squeeze out the excess water before drying off.  And they were heading back to Coruscant today, so after reporting to Garza, she could go home and stand in her own shower until the hot water ran out if she so desired.

“And I probably will,” she muttered to herself as she dressed--gingerly, thanks to a few lingering sore spots. That was honestly the single most tempting thought in the galaxy. Fortunately, Corellia to Coruscant, plus time to meet with Garza and wrap up any official business would only delay about a day.

Bry got her gear together, met the rest of Havoc at the spaceport, and had her ship burning hyperlanes before the morning was half over. She was looking forward to some downtime.

---

She was looking forward to that downtime even more after reporting to Garza turned into a meeting with the Supreme Chancellor.

Lucky I wore my good armor, Bry thought sardonically as Havoc followed Garza to the Chancellor’s office. Fortunately it wasn’t a long meeting, though still long enough to have her wanting a stiff drink. Or maybe that was simply due to Chancellor Saresh’s disappointment they hadn’t captured Rakton alive to use in trade for POWs. Stars, was it hard to even sort of swallow her retort to that. Either way, Bry was more than happy to bid farewell to the Senate Tower for the next month or so of leave. She tossed cursory farewells to the others and bolted for the speeder stand, thoughts already on the tantalizingly close hot shower and maybe a nice glass of juma juice.

Her plans were derailed in the best way possible, however, the second she opened her apartment door.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Jonas grinned from his slouched seat on her couch. 

“That was gonna be my line,” Bry shot back, grin of her own spreading as she dropped her bag. Looking around, he’d clearly been waiting at least long enough to settle in; jacket tossed over the back of a chair, boots kicked off, and sleeves pushed up. “Should I go with ‘Honey, I’m home’ instead?”

He laughed. “Go with whatever the hell you like, Bry, I’m just happy to see you.”

“Likewise. I thought you were s’pposed to be working. Don’t get up” --she held out one hand--”I’m comin’ to you.”

Jonas heeded the advice, relaxing back into the couch as she crossed to sit next to him. He half-turned to be facing her and rested one arm along the back of the couch. “So, you’re happy to be home, I’m guessing? Just... off the top of my head.”

She snorted a laugh and scooted closer. “Smart man.”

“You’ll find I’m more than a pretty face, Major,” he teased.

Bry grinned mischievously and bit her bottom lip. Wonder how far we can take this game... “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonas drawled, eyes gleaming with matching mischief as he started running his fingers in lazy trails up and down her arm. “I’m also a really good kisser.”

So that’s how we’re playing this, huh? She leaned in closer and whispered,  “Prove it.”

His hand, which had been on a slow trail up her arm, completed its journey and cupped her jaw as he obliged. After just the right interval to give her a taste but also leave her wanting more, he pulled back. Just far enough to breathe, his forehead resting against hers and his thumb rubbing against her cheek as he murmured, “Welcome home, hero.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Please don’t. I got enough of that hero pfassk from the higher ups.”

“Well, then,” Jonas leaned forward ever so slightly into their contact, “any special requests?”

“Just kiss me like that again,” Bry murmured back, wriggling out of her jacket.

“I can do that,” he chuckled quietly as he pulled her back in.

This kiss lingered and deepened, Bry’s hands sliding into Jonas’ hair as he braced against the back of the couch. She couldn’t completely swallow a small needy moan, which got another quiet chuckle out of him.

“You smell like smoke,” he mumbled, sounding more amused than bothered by the fact, a rough edge creeping into his voice.

She snorted, carding her fingers through his hair. “That’ll happen when you run around a warzone industrial planet for three days. You’re lucky I had time to take real showers b’fore getting home, or it would be worse.”

“Thank the stars, then,” Jonas grinned.

Bry rolled her eyes and playfully pushed his shoulder so he sat back. “Here’s a question for you,” she began as she shifted to follow, settling in straddled across his lap. “How come we almost always do this” --she dipped her head to steal a quick kiss, hands coming to rest on his shoulders--”here?”

He laughed, playful glint in his eyes as his hands settled on her hips. “Your couch is more comfortable than mine.”

As someone who had fallen asleep on both, she did have to concede that point. “Mm-hm.” One hand started to slide in toward his unbuttoned shirt collar, fingers ghosting along his collarbone.

His breath hitched, voice decidedly rougher even as he aimed to stay lighthearted. “Also, a few of my contacts know where I live. For emergencies. So the odds..” he caught a sharp breath as she lightly raked her nails against his chest, and she watched with a mischievous smile as he swallowed hard before continuing, “...the odds of interruption are higher....”

“As good a set of reasons as anY--” her voice pitched high and she instinctively curled toward him as his hands edged under the hem of her shirt in retaliation.

Jonas chuckled and pressed a kiss behind her ear as her forehead rested against his shoulder. “All’s fair-”

She kissed him to shut him up, felt him laugh into it, swallowed the quiet groan that followed, hummed in pleasure herself as his hands trailed their way up her sides.

And then he froze as his fingertips brushed the skin just below the edge of her bra.

Bry stilled as well, wincing internally. Aaand he found it...

Jonas broke the kiss, playful mischief vanished into concern, as he more deliberately traced the line of scar tissue. “Bry?” His brow furrowed as it kept going, wrapping around from her side toward the center of her chest. Under slightly different circumstances, the touch might’ve been erotic, but the worry plain on his face dismissed that possibility. “Where’d this come from?”

She sighed and aimed for a lighthearted tone as her hands curled against the back of his neck. “A souvenir from Corellia.” She ran her fingers through his hair as he reached the origin of the scar, dead-center over her sternum. “Didja think retaking the Bastion was easy, darling?”

He actually flinched a little at the endearment, gaze fixed on where his hand had stopped even though her shirt was in the way. “Bry.”

“Jonas.” She cupped his jaw with one hand and tilted his chin up to make him meet her gaze. “It was just an Imperial grunt with a vibroshiv.”

He snorted, expression easing slightly, though worry lingered in his eyes. “You say that like I don’t know what you can do with a vibroshiv.”

“It’s not that bad,” Bry assured him. Anymore, she added mentally as she peeled off her shirt so he could see for himself.

Jonas followed the line of the scar with his eyes, darker green against her skin, as his fingers traced back toward where he’d initially found it. “Not that bad,” he muttered in disbelief.

“Not as bad as it was intended to be, then,” she amended, then winced at the look on his face as the implications of that paired with where it started hit him. “Jonas. Jonas.” She tipped his chin up and kissed him softly as she promised, “I’m fine.”

Jonas let out a shuddery breath that was maybe intended as a laugh as his fingers traced lightly back and forth over the scar’s path. “Haven’t you ever heard of armor, gorgeous?”

“It gets in the way,” she said, only half-joking. And it didn’t help.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Yes, of incoming damage, that’s the point.”

“And also of my preferred fighting style,” Bry countered. “The faster I kill things, the less chance they have to do damage in the first place.”

“Fair,” Jonas conceded reluctantly. “Still...”

“I’m still fine,” she reiterated.

Jonas held her gaze for a moment, then looked down at the scar again before planting a deliberate kiss on the origin point. He rested his forehead against hers and gave her a smirk that was almost pure challenge.”Prove it.”

Bry laughed, slightly shaky with relief he’d let it go with relative ease. “If you’re hinting the way I think you are....” she wove her fingers into his hair, and her voice dropped to a rough whisper, “...we’re wearing way too many clothes.”

He closed the gap for a kiss before whispering back, just as rough, “That’s easily remedied, y’know.”

And it was.

---

“So,” Bry panted, resting her chin on his chest and biting her lower lip around a very satisfied grin, “Convinced?”

Jonas let out a breathless laugh, one arm loosely wrapped around her and fingers tracing random patterns on her shoulder blade.”Pretty thoroughly, yeah.”

She snickered and wiggled higher to steal a kiss, bracing one hand against the mattress when it lasted longer than anticipated. “Mm, gotta say, Balkar, if this” --she ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair--”is gonna be the reaction to me getting injured like this...” another kiss, then one in quick succession pressed to his jawline. “maybe I’ll stopped tryin’ so hard to avoid it.”

His hand, which had been sliding up her arm, froze near her elbow, and Jonas actually sat up. By nature of proximity, Bry went with him, the sheets pooling around them. 

“Please don’t,” he said, all trace of his usual humor and charm absent from his voice.

“Jonas...” She reached to rest one hand on his shoulder. “I was just joking, handsome.”

He took her hand and tugged her closer so he could kiss her temple. “Don’t, Briyoni.”

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, running her fingers back and forth along his collarbone. “I have no intention of letting some moof-milker do me in any time soon. I’ve got a war to win and a charming, ruggedly handsome SIS agent to marry, unfortunately in that order.”

Jonas chuckled, running his thumb over the back of her hand. “Big plans.”

“I’m that kind of girl,” she said breezily, which got an actual laugh.

“You certainly are,” he agreed, and kissed her temple again. “You also still smell like smoke.”

“And we both smell like sweat now on top of that,” Bry countered. “With that in mind...” she pulled back enough he could see her impish grin, “what would you say if I told you my initial plan--before being so thoroughly and wonderfully sidetracked--was to take a nice, hot shower?”

Jonas grinned and followed as she shimmied toward the edge of the bed. “I’d ask if you want company.”

“Depends,” she said coyly as her feet hit the floor. She turned to face him, fingers gently combing hair back from his forehead. “If you’re the one offering, then absolutely.” She kissed his forehead, then tangled her hands in his to pull him to his feet.

But he resisted, and instead pulled her back into bed, roughly toward the pillows.

“Jonas, this is the wrong direc-!”

He cut off her protest with a kiss, a good, deep one. “Bry?”

“Mm?” she mumbled through the heady daze of that kiss.

“Welcome home.”

It was, she had to admit, one of the better homecomings she’d had. Maybe it was alright if she smelled like smoke for a few more minutes.

-

(for anyone wondering, yes, yes Bry is majorly downplaying how badly she got hurt to leave that scar. he’s worried enough as it is.)

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ephemera Chapter Four

Ephemera: In art, transitory written and printed matter (receipts, notes, tickets, clippings, etc.) not originally intended to be kept or preserved.

Alternatively, things that exist or are used for only a short time.

Description: Nobody knows who Vante really is. Everything about the popular artist is shrouded in secrecy: from his face to his name to everything in between. After years of working for his art gallery, Y/N feels she may just be the closest thing he has to a friend. Between her success at work and her relationship with campus hot-shot Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s life has never been better. But is Jungkook truly who he says he is? And who will Y/N protect now that she knows Vante’s livelihood may be on the line?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (f) Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 5k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Gang!Au, Art History Student!Reader, Film Student!Jungkook, Art Student!Taehyung

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Hey! Lmao, I’m flip-flopping with this link thing. Last week I had to remove them whew. Anyway, this week I’ll add them later on. For now, if you want to catch up on the rest of the story, please head over to my masterlist! If you can’t find it, shoot me a message and I’ll send it to you. And on that note, please feel free to send me anything you’d like! Feedback, theories, critique, anything goes!

And in personal news, I’m having my short story published in a literary magazine!! PUBLISHED!!! I really can’t believe it. It feels so surreal. But it’s thanks to you guys that I had the confidence to submit my work to the magazine. Thank you for supporting me :’)

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Outside, I heard the computer room door open and shut. Two pairs of footsteps echoed down the hall. I blinked at the document before hastily shoving all the papers back in place. I threw the folder into its place in the drawer and shut off the light, rushing out into the hallway and dashing into the bathroom across the way. I turned on the water just long enough to be convincing and dried my hands on my pants before bracing myself in the mirror. I didn’t…quite look myself. The same purplish bags hung beneath my eyes that I’d begun growing accustomed to, but there was something else in my face that left me unsettled. Where once there was a girlish naiveté, now there was something harder, something with rougher edges lingering in the details of my expression. In the set of my jaw, in the hollows of my cheeks, in the shadows in my eyes. It was aged somehow, weary.

It was tired.

I sighed and shut off the light as I walked back out into the hallway. Again, the television rang out through the apartment. And this time, it wasn’t the news. Perhaps it was something about having my deepest fears confirmed that had me on edge, or perhaps it was the thrill of doing something I wasn’t supposed to, or perhaps even it was the alcohol in my veins, but it seemed a new feeling had replaced that deep-down ache that had persisted for weeks. And it felt…something like anger. Keeping documents that Vante had signed? Running intel on a man who wanted nothing more than to make the world brighter with his art? Spying on someone who supported and believed in people without expecting a single thing in return? I ran my fingers through my messy hair and entered the living room with a smile.

“Y/N!” called Jungkook, eyes wide.

I chuckled. “Sorry. I saw you guys weren’t out here when I got back and helped myself to your bathroom.” I met Jungkook’s eyes with a steeliness that felt foreign. If he could look me in the eye and lie without flinching, then I could too.

“We thought your call would take longer,” said Seokjin with a laugh. “Not much to talk about?”

I returned his laugh and nodded. “Ah, yeah. She was freaked out since she forgot to feed Hyunie,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve gotta go now and take care of it since she’s working on a paper.”

Jungkook groaned and approached me with a frown, placing his hands on my hips like they fit there perfectly. And, until recently, they did. “Baby, you gotta stop doing favors for everyone,” he said, drawing out his words.

Playing drunk? After all that?

I cocked a brow and let my hands roam his arms with a hum. A smile teased my lips, and I could feel the malice in it. A malice that had never been there before. I let my eyes follow my fingertips and, for the first time since we’d started dating, I noticed a shiver run up Jungkook’s body. Like I was affecting him.

How stupid could I have been? When he never so much as reacted to me? How many more months could I have gone in blissful ignorance? Seeing him now, with a faint flush to his face and eyes wide like saucers, I wondered just what I had been thinking all this time?

I chuckled and sighed a little. “What can I say?” I asked, meeting his eyes with a lazy smile. “I guess I’m just a really good person.”

Another shiver worked up to his chest from the base of his spine. Was this his type after all? “I-I guess so,” he said with a breathy laugh before clearing his throat and backing away with a smile. “So, should we continue Would You Rather?”

I pouted and gave his chest a little pat, letting my hand linger there for a beat too long. I could feel his heartbeat. It was racing. “Sorry,” I said, sighing as I began collecting my jacket and bag. “I’d better feed Hyun before Nara calls again. She’s…persistent,” I said with a laugh, squeezing his bicep before waving goodbye to Jin. I made my way quickly to the front door and swung it open to a waft of chilly air.

“Wait!” called Jungkook, stumbling slightly on a rogue pillow as he jogged after me. As I turned, I noticed that flush was still in his cheeks.

So he liked an assertive woman after all?

Really, how stupid could I have been, thinking he’d be interested in me at all?

“Hm?”

“W-We didn’t finish the beer,” he said, pointing behind him toward the coffee table.

“Or the game!” offered Seokjin with a grin.

I laughed and shook my head. “Hyun needs food,” I said, then glanced out into the hallway. “And I have class tomorrow anyway. Raincheck?” I asked, peering back inside the apartment with a smile.

Jungkook blinked at me for a moment before he coughed a little and rubbed his arms, leaning away from the blast of cold that slipped in from the door. “Promise?” he asked with a smirk. Ah, there he was.

I nodded, smiling wide. “Mhm! I’ll text you,” I said, waving as I slipped outside and shut the door behind me.

Nara always kept her spare key hidden in a potted plant outside her front door. I’d scolded her enough times to make her ears bleed that these sorts of hiding spots were too obvious, but nonetheless she persisted. As I entered, Hyun was already upon me, whining as I locked the door behind me. The sixty-pound Samoyed had these eyes that made my heart weep and a perpetually wagging tail. I ran my hands over the white fur on his head with a soft smile. At least Hyun was trustworthy. After filling Hyun’s bowl, I decided to simply stay and wait for Nara to return. There was lots to discuss anyway. I hadn’t anticipated she’d take all night, but by the time one o’clock rolled around I was exhausted and Nara’s plush couch called me like a siren. I quickly sent her a text that I’d be waiting for her when she came home, that I had a lot to tell her. Maybe then she’d hurry up. I told myself I wouldn’t rest for long. Ten minutes maximum. But the dim kitchen lights cast comforting shadows on the ceiling and the faux fur blanket Nara had draped over the back of the couch felt like a warm hug. Hyun joined me as I snuggled into the cushions and the two of us fell fast asleep.

I don’t think I even dreamed.

My cell phone’s alarm screeched at seven and I jumped up, Hyun still snoozing at my feet. My eyes flashed around the apartment, looking for anything and nothing. Before panic could settle in, I heard the familiar sound of Nara’s laugh from the open kitchen and turned over my shoulder to see her stirring a cup of coffee, a matching one sitting just beside her on the kitchen bar. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

“Shit,” I breathed.

She laughed and nodded. “I figured you needed the rest,” she said. “I would’ve waken you up, but I didn’t get home until three anyway.”

“Three?” I asked, standing and rubbing my forehead. I grabbed the coffee and took a sip. Ah, just like her dad’s. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe you were working on your essay until three in the morning,” I said, smirking at her as I met her eyes over the rim of my cup.

She chuckled, a nervous sound, and rubbed the back of her neck, glancing away. “Ah, well…”

“Don’t tell me you lied about the library-,”

“No!” she shouted, turning to me with wide eyes. “We did do that until midnight when the library closed…” She smiled sheepishly at her slippered feet, wiggling her toes.

I cocked a brow. “And then?”

“And then…we might have gone out for drinks…as a, you know…reward?” She turned a hopeful grin towards me.

Without a word, I flicked her forehead and she winced. As she rubbed her injury with two fingertips, I laughed lightly. “Did you have fun?” I asked, eyeing her.

She didn’t look quite as tired as before. Her skin was brighter and her smiles lasted longer. Perhaps a night out was what she needed after all. She giggled. “Mhm,” she said, pulling her phone from the pocket of her sweatpants. “I got a video of this girl in my class singing Eyes, Nose, Lips at the karaoke place and falling off the table.”

I placed a hand on her phone and smiled, guilty. “I’m sorry, Nara. But I really have to go. I’ve got class and I haven’t even changed clothes and-,”

“But it’s really short! It’s so funny. I promise it won’t take long,” she said, smiling wide with eyes that resembled Hyun’s.

I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Maybe, with the scant time I had to spare, I might have liked to talk about what happened with Jungkook. Maybe I might have liked hearing her advice. But with a defeated smile I simply nodded and leaned over her shoulder to watch the first of what was sure to be several videos from her night out.

Friday was long. I hadn’t even had so much a a free half hour to run home and change clothes, leaving me in the loungewear I wore to Jungkook’s all day. My classes seemed to drag on and my mind was spinning from one activity to the next. Each interaction left me tired, and I knew the day had only just begun when I finally collapsed on my bed at three. I fell onto my stomach, letting my eyes slip shut for only a moment as I sighed. Images of Jungkook’s flustered face repeated in my mind endlessly. That new, unfamiliar expression was haunting.

I’d really been a fool.

Before I could become too comfortable, I stood to my feet and got changed for work. As I wandered to my dresser half-dressed in search of a clean blouse, I found none in the drawer. Perplexed, I turned to my hamper and saw it was overflowing with used work shirts. I heaved a sigh and rubbed my forehead. I’d been neglecting my household chores lately. Even the houseplants were suffering. The devil’s ivy I kept in a hanging basket over my kitchen table was starting to brown at the leaves and the succulents in my terrarium weren’t looking very succulent at all.

I supposed these days I’d been neglecting a lot of important things.

I turned back to my dresser and scoured it. Nothing but sweaters and old shirts. I couldn’t very well show up to the Gallery in a Pink Floyd shirt that my dad gave me years ago. Nor could I show up in a dirty, wrinkled blouse that smelled like hamper.

I pursed my lips and opened my top drawer. I moved aside a few pairs of panties and some bras to reveal the only lingerie I owned. I’d bought it only a few days before finding out Jungkook wasn’t who I thought he was. I figured it might be nice for our first time.

But after last night, I realized it wasn’t his style anyway.

The white silk slip was nothing more than a sleeping dress when I really thought about it. Not once had I worn it, and after the last few weeks I assumed I never would. I ran my fingers along the thin straps and chewed on my cheek. Was it too risqué for work? Surely, patrons would notice I wasn’t following the dress code, and if they didn’t Mr. Kwon would. But what were my alternatives?

I sighed and pulled the thing up my legs from the bottom, sliding it over my tights and jimmying it up my waist from underneath my skirt. It felt odd to wear a whole dress beneath my skirt, but as I readjusted the hem it was perfectly unnoticeable. Quickly, I grabbed my blazer and straightened it along my shoulders, staring at my reflection with a furrow in my brow.

It didn’t look that bad, did it?

I just had to be careful not to bend down…

“Can you tell me about this photo?” asked a soft voice from behind me.

I smiled and turned. A young girl, maybe thirteen, stared in awe at the large photograph over my head. My smile eased and I nodded. “Certainly,” I said, watching her eyes glitter with wonder as I turned to face the picture. I gestured with two pointed fingers to the two silhouetted figures in the center of the shot. “Critics say these two pieces conjure the same feeling as photos taken by Diane Arbus.”

“Two?” she asked, looking at me with wide brown eyes.

I smiled. “Mhm,” I said, pointing to the photo’s companion beside it featuring the same two people now facing one another, hands interlocked. “It’s a candid shot of two lovers in an alleyway in Gangnam.”

“Ah,” she said, grinning at the black-and-white print. “Who’s Diane Bus?” she asked.

I suppressed a laugh and nodded. “Ah, Diane Arbus is a famous photographer who used to capture images of marginalized communities,” I said, crossing my arms as I scanned the photos. From far away, it was impossible to tell anything about the couple. “Drag queens, sex workers…people that society likes to hate.”

She raised her brows and looked at me. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling. “Do you notice anything about the couple in these photos?”

She blinked once before turning to the prints with squinted eyes. Her eyes flitted all around for a few moments before, having had enough, she shook her head with a frustrated sigh.

I grinned. “They’re both men,” I said.

Her eyes went round. “They are?”

“You couldn’t tell, right?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not at all.”

“Because in the end, they’re just people,” I said, nodding. “Diane Arbus wanted to dignify and humanize the disenfranchised.” I paused for a moment as I thought of what to say. With a sad smile I crossed my arms. “Once you understand that everyone is only human, it becomes much harder to hate them.”

She nodded, her smile still remaining, as she chuckled once. “I really never would’ve known.”

“Cool, right?”

She laughed. “Super cool.”

“Jia!” shouted a voice from across the gallery.

The girl and I both jumped, turning to the source of the commotion. The shock of the outburst left me a little shaken, but as I took in the scene before me my nerves settled. Standing with his legs set wide was a young man in a suit, hands balled into fists, face slightly red from exertion and eyes set staunchly on the girl at my side.

I leaned down close to her ear and whispered, “Is that you?”

She stiffened and looked up at me with pleading eyes. “Yeah,” she said, sighing. “It’s my brother.”

I watched the worry etch itself into her features and set my jaw. I patted her shoulder and smiled, leveling our eyes for a moment. “I’ll help you out.”

Jia stood behind me as I approached her fuming brother. I gave a small bow before meeting his eyes with a smile. “Hello, Sir. Is this your sister?” I asked, gesturing to Jia as she stayed close to my flank, scuffing the tip of her tennis shoe against the ground.

The young man exhaled loudly and gripped his nose bridge. “Jia, you were supposed to come directly to my office on the eighth floor! Can’t you count?” he shouted.

By then, a few patrons had stopped what they were doing to look at the commotion. Feeling their gazes burning holes through my back, I cleared my throat and maintained a smile. “Sir, I understand you’re upset, but she wasn’t causing any trouble-,”

“Did I ask you?” he asked, finally turning his angry eyes toward me, slowly scanning my body from head to toe. I stiffened underneath his scrutiny. “What kind of gallery lets their employees dress like this?” he asked with a scoff, eyeing the exposed skin of my clavicle where the blazer couldn’t quite reach. “Guess it’s true what they say about the benefits of being a woman getting a job.”

I swallowed hard and forced a tight smile. “If you could please lower your voice-,”

“Do you know what kind of day I’ve had?” he asked, then laughed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Of course you don’t. I bet you wouldn’t last a day in my office.”

I nodded. “Sir, I apologize for any inconvenience you’ve faced on our behalf, but-,” I began

He cut me off with a loud laugh and began wagging a finger in my face. “What?! Inconvenience? My twelve-year-old sister has been in here for who knows how long and you didn’t think once to ask where her guardian was? Inconvenience? This is borderline negligence!”

I nodded and offered what I hoped was a soothing smile. “I understand, Sir, but I must-,”

“Jia, let’s go,” he said, grabbing for the girl’s arm roughly.

She slid behind me, causing the young man to grab me instead. My eyes went wide and so did his. From the mortified look on his face, I could tell he wasn’t a dangerous man. Perhaps a bit strung out and more than a little frustrated, but no predator. I smiled gently and guided his hands off my forearm.

I turned to Jia and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You should go with your brother now, okay? You can come back and visit another time with your friends,” I said gently, leading her by the back to her brother.

The young man seemed stunned into silence by his own actions and, as if finally returning from some daze, he looked at me with apologetic eyes. “Thank you,” he said, his voice still slightly rough as he gnawed on his lower lip. He bowed curtly and walked toward the elevator with Jia in tow sending looks at me over her shoulder.

As he left, my body eased with relief. I patted my chest a few times before turning to Yuri at the front desk, her eyes wide as she watched me. I smiled and nodded my head, a silent cue that I was indeed okay, and she returned it before greeting two new patrons.

Carefully, I pulled the edges of my blazer closer to my chest, hoping to cover any indecently exposed flesh. I turned back to the patrons and bowed with a smile. “My apologies for that incident. Please don’t hesitate to ask me questions,” I announced, bowing.

But as I lifted my eyes, I didn’t see the floor of the gallery. Instead, I saw the stout suited legs of Mr. Kwon, and when my gaze reached his face I felt myself collapse a little. Disappointment was set in the deep brown of his eyes. Of course he’d been there to see everything. Every painful, mishandled second of it.

“Y/N,” he said. “May I see you in my office?”

I scanned the gallery for a moment, noticed each pair of eyes still settled on me, and cleared my throat, nodding as I followed Mr. Kwon down the hallway. He said nothing until the door clicked shut behind us and the silence became unbearable. Gruffly, he sat down at his scantly decorated desk and gestured with one large hand for me to sit opposite him.

I followed his directions and watched him, my heart pumping loud in my ears. “That was…unpleasant,” he said with a nod, lacing his fingers and peering out from over them.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“And it was not entirely your fault.”

My chest felt lighter at his words. I sighed and nodded. “I could have done much better.”

“You’re right,” he said, then sighed and rubbed his temples, his glasses clacking up and down with the motion. “And while that man was out of line, we do have an expected level of professionalism here at the gallery that we all have to uphold.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

“You didn’t deescalate the situation,” he said, meeting my eyes seriously. “You allowed things to get out of hand.”

“I know, Sir.”

“You need to be more firm, Y/N,” he said with a somber nod. “You surrendered to that man too easily and as such, things got out of control.”

“I apologize,” I said, my eyes pricking with tears. I kept my gaze on my hands, shaking as I held them clasped on my lap. The longer we spoke, the more this sounded like a total dismissal. What would I do without this job?

He sighed. “People only have the power you give them,” he said with a cough. “When you forfeit your power is when you truly lose.”

I nodded, the first tear slipping from my eyelid and tracking down my cheek to my chin. “I understand.” He was right anyway. Hadn’t I spent years doing that?

“And as much as I disliked the way he said it, he was right about your work attire.”

I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears. “I apologize for my lack of professionalism.”

He sighed. “Y/N, you’re not being fired,” he said, to which my head snapped up and my watering eyes went wide. He was simply watching me from over his fingers, thick brows set low. “You can relax.”

I sighed and nodded, wiping beneath my eyes. “Thank you, Sir.”

“But please…be mindful of your attire. It’s not right for a woman to be…so brazen with her appearance,” he said with a cough and a glance at my chest.

I stiffened and nodded. “Y-Yes, Sir,” I said, but the words tasted acrid on my tongue. Was this what life really was? Fighting tooth and nail to be belittled and looked down upon for something as simple as my attire? Wasn’t he the one who said I mustn’t forfeit my power?

Was I really okay being spoken to this way?

And if I was, then why was my heart racing not with fear but with something hotter?

“You’re dismissed,” he said with a nod. “Please, just try to do better.”

“I will,” I said, my tears having halted in their tracks.

I stood up and bowed before walking back out into the hallway. I stood out in the center of the corridor for a long moment, my arms crossed. Because I was a woman, I had to endure it. Because I was desperate for work, I had to endure it. Because I wanted to protect Vante any way I could, I had to endure it.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes to find the security camera positioned in the corner of the hallway. The blinking red light indicated that it was indeed working. I furrowed my brow as a few more stubborn tears collected on my chin. I let them fall to the ground, still locked in a gaze with the camera. Was Vante on the other side? Could I communicate with him with a look alone all the things I needed to tell him?

I wiped my eyes, adjusted my blazer, checked my reflection in the window facing the city, and pasted a smile on my lips before walking quickly back to the floor.

The shift was finished at long last and the nighttime cityscape stretched on forever outside the gallery windows. Yuri had taken off on her own for a date, leaving me to close the place on my own. With a sigh, I collapsed against one of the chairs in the break room, resting my head on the countertop. As I did, I noticed yet another security camera stationed by the doorway, trained on me. Was this how Vante moved around the gallery unnoticed? Was this how he knew when I needed bandaids or coffee or an encouraging note?

Gently, I pulled the purple pendant from my pocket and ran my fingers over its surface. Lately, I’d been bringing it with me everywhere, hoping for some luck. So far, ineffective. I sighed and shut my eyes, my fingers still working over the smooth stone. So much had happened lately and all of it had left me utterly exhausted. I wanted to sleep.

Or perhaps I wanted a drink.

I sighed against my arm as I rested my head atop it, eyes shut. The crying had done a number on my makeup already, so I wasn’t worried about a little rest. The light from the hallway turned the backs of my eyelids a translucent red and each moment that passed my breathing came more slowly. How many times had I taken quick naps right here during breaks? How many times had I put myself last so that everyone would like me? Everyone would respect me?

Hadn’t I told myself once I became an adult, I’d stop caring so much about what people thought of me?

It seemed some habits were harder to break than others.

I continued running the pads of my fingers along the fine carve marks of the pendant, eyes shut. At least Vante believed in me. At least he saw something worthwhile in me.

And what was I giving him in return?

Halfhearted protection from a boy I was most certainly still in love with.

I hated myself.

If I could only get a moment alone with Vante, I could tell him everything that had been going on. I could explain why I let a strange young boy into the gallery unsupervised. I could tell him my findings and we could figure out their scheme together, from the inside.

Maybe you should fake him out, echoed Jungkook’s voice in my head. Pretend you’re sleeping and catch him leaving you presents like Santa.

There was no guarantee he was even at the gallery today, or that he’d leave me something. But as I briefly considered gathering my things and heading home for the evening, something kept me rooted to my seat.

I’d be lying if I said I was never…a little curious. This man with whom I’d built a years-long companionship was still a complete mystery to me. I didn’t even know his real name, but oftentimes he felt like my closest friend. And besides, I needed to explain the situation to him somehow didn’t I?

But what stopped me from leaving, what kept me from opening my eyes despite being wide awake, was something more than curiosity or obligation. There was a desperation in my rapid heartbeat. Knowing Vante had likely seen me cavorting with Jungkook the other night through those many surveillance cameras made me anxious. His notes had stopped. So too had the gifts. We hadn’t corresponded at all.

And for some reason, it felt like I’d betrayed him.

After some minutes, I heard the door creak open slowly. Could this really be true? Was he truly going to fall right into my trap? I kept still, holding the pendant in my palm as it rested atop my thigh. I managed my breathing, trying to inhale and exhale with ease and heaviness.

The footfalls were soft and almost timid as they reverberated through the room. I didn’t move a muscle. The steps came closer, closer, closer, until-

A large, warm hand pressed softly to the side of my head, guiding my hair behind my ear. I heard him sigh: a deep, breathy exhale. His gentle fingers pressed against the skin of my cheek, touching me like I may break. My heart raced. His hand moved from my face to rummage through a pocket near my ear. I heard him shuffle things around before placing something in front of my nose. Again he sighed and placed his palm against the back of my head, smoothing my hair down.

“Take care of yourself,” he said in a whisper.

A voice I recognized.

Before he could disappear again, I snapped upright and turned to him with wide eyes. Matching my expression, he stood beside my chair with flushed cheeks and hair that looked unruly against his forehead. He was dressed like he was on his way out: a full-length brown coat and an expensive dress shirt. He blinked at me through his glasses and his lips parted as if to speak.

But I beat him to it.

“Taehyung?”

[angryboywonder]

my boy

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung

Summary: Jungkook is a beauty vlogger and wants to practice his next look on Taehyung.

Word Count: 1,727

Warnings: frottage if you SQUINT, flirting mostly from Taehyung, and some smooching.

I told myself I wouldn't be consumed by vkook but it HAPPENED.

 Everyone at this point knows that Jungkook loves makeup.

It’s not like he’s a part of the beauty guru community and has millions of followers, but he’s working his way. He’s had a YouTube channel for a few months and has only managed to gain a few hundred followers and it’s enough right now. There’s a few regulars on his channel, not including his friends, that leave sweet comments and make him remember what he’s creating these videos for.

He has a pretty well established schedule to begin with. Every Friday, he drops a video after he gets home from school. Last week he did a natural look, with some nude shades. The week before that it was a Spring look that had shades of pink and orange and he loved it. And before that it was all about the color blue.

This week he wants to try out the dollar makeup challenge as it’s what’s been requested by his few followers over the last couple of weeks. Jungkook broke down and decided it was time for a trip to the dollar store, and while he’s browsing through the feminine section, he’s texting Taehyung in hopes that he can experiment a winged look on him.

He thinks if he sends “please, Hyungie?” enough times, the older of the two will say yes.

It only takes three attempts and by the time Jungkook gets home from the market, his best friend is waiting for him. “I’m so excited!” He exclaims as he fishes for his key.

Taehyung chuckles, watching the boy struggle with all of his bags and he takes some of them, making it easier for him to unlock the door. They step inside, kick their shoes off, and Jungkook is making a break for it to his room. He excitedly, and thoroughly, goes through all the products he bought, showing them to his new test dummy, and even explaining the challenge to him.

“Are you going to do that ordering what the person in front of me orders challenge next?”

“Uh, I’m not that popular yet.” Jungkook shrugs, getting some of the packages opened as he sits at his makeup table. He has a vanity, but it’s not the most fancy or expensive one out there. He was planning on upgrading after he hits a certain amount of subscribers because he wants to feel like he well earned and deserved it. Right now, a small white table with string lights he hung himself around the mirror is quite suitable.

Taehyung takes a seat next to him and starts unboxing makeup as well, making himself useful. “Yeah? Maybe doing that challenge can make you popular. A cute boy eating in his car doing a mukbang? Perfect. I’d watch that.”

Jungkook giggles, watching Taehyung from the corner of his eye as his cheeks heat up. “You’re so funny, Hyungie.” He playfully shoves him.

“I’m being honest.” Taehyung smiles, and then it’s time for the experimentation to take place. Jungkook does his eyeliner often but he hasn’t recorded a look yet for his channel with the winged eyeliner. He’ll do a soft line, or a rounded point, or sometimes he doesn’t actually complete the look with eyeliner, and will substitute it with dramatic eyeshadow. He has only done a wing a handful of times but every time he’s had to take a wipe and do touch ups, or completely re-do the wing and ended up feeling as if he’s shredded the corner of his eye from how many times he’s had to wipe the makeup off. Having Taehyung here today to practice on is such a great help.

“Are you ready for me to do a wing on you?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Great!” Jungkook turns on the lights to his vanity and has Taehyung sit on his cushioned stool. He hasn’t actually done makeup on anyone other than himself so it takes him a second to decide if he needs to sit down to do Taehyung’s makeup or stand, and he eventually decides to go with standing where he can lean down.

For some reason, he’s suddenly nervous, even though he has no right to be. His hands keep shaking and he can’t find the correct hand placement. He’s feeling shy to actually rest the blade of his hand against the other boy’s cheek, he’s scared to do that, and goodness, what if he stabs Taehyung in the eye with the brush?

“You going to make it over here?” Taehyung chuckles as Jungkook’s discomfort is clearly visible.

“Hyung, what if I poke your eye out?”

Taehyung purses his lips, “That would suck.”

“Yeah, it would suck!” Jungkook takes a deep breath. He has to distract himself for a moment, and grabs some hair clips so that he can pin back Taehyung’s fringe away from his face. His hair is soft and Jungkook finds himself wanting to touch it, over and over again, but as soon as the hair is out of the way, he has to keep his hands back. He picks up the eyeliner again and gets ready for his next attempt. “I got this.”

“You got this, bunny!” His best friend encourages, and he has to let out another giggle. He tilts up Taehyung’s chin, and luckily the boy complies by closing his eyes. He quickly has to swipe a clear line along the top lid before his hands start shaking again. The thin line right above the lashes was actually easy, but he knows the wing might not be. It’s all in the flick of the wrist and he takes a deep breath before going for it.

The line is long, and he has to pause as soon as he looks it over. It’s not incorrect by any means. It makes Taehyung look very fierce, though it wasn’t the look Jungkook was initially going for.

The next eye doesn’t look the same and it gets to a point where Jungkook doesn’t know which eye to clean up because these eyes are not sisters, they are cousins. After contemplation, he takes a wipe to the first eye, as the wing ended up being much larger than he originally wanted. As Jungkook is rubbing away at Taehyung’s eye, Taehyung is groaning and swatting at his hand. “Are you trying to get rid of the whole eye?”

“No, I’m making sure the canvas has been cleared.”

As soon as Jungkook pulls away, Taehyung has to roll his eyes. The area is a bit red but it’s not severely abused by any means.

The younger of the two finds its easier to get through this process with his free hand holding the back of Taehyung’s head, which Taehyung can’t help making a joke about Jungkook being rougher on him, and Jungkook’s whole face goes red like he’s a tomato. He mutters under his breath in disapproval and starts his line again. He can’t focus so that line is bolder than on the other eye, so he has to fix the other eye and make that line thicker, and this is not getting any easier. He’s blushing, nervous, and he wants to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Am I teasing you too much?” Taehyung grins, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s waist and Jungkook lets out a gasp.

“Yes, you are!” Jungkook whines, pulling his hands away from the other’s face, but then he’s pulled into his lap. Luckily this is a stool and not a chair with arms, because he wouldn’t have even fit if that were the case. He’s completely straddling his best friend at this point and it can’t be getting any better. “Hyung, I need to do your makeup!”

“You can do it sitting in my lap.”

“No, I can’t…”

“I think you can.” He still has his arms wrapped tight around his waist. “I won’t let you fall.”

All Jungkook could do was nod. His can feel Taehyung’s breath on his face and he can’t stop looking back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Before the exchanges of looks between them can continue on any further, he slides his fingers through the hair on the back of Taehyung’s head and gets back to work. The wing turns out decently, not exactly quite as well as the other eye but he’s sure from a distance, they’d look almost identical. Up close, it’s debatable.

He quickly reaches for the mascara and applies it to Taehyung’s eyelashes ever so gently. Once he’s done, he cups the older boy’s cheeks with both hands, turning his face side to side and even examining it from the front. He wishes he can do the eyeliner skillfully, on camera, with zero mistakes. Today definitely took a few tries and took him longer than he wanted and he’s just going to have to blame his friend for that.

Before he knows it, Taehyung is reaching a hand up to fist in Jungkook’s hair, gripping but not in a harsh manner, and pulls him down to press their lips together. Jungkook is so shocked, breath hitching in his throat, eyes slightly widened as he doesn’t have a chance to react before the kiss happens. His hands immediately fly to Taehyung’s chest, grabbing at the front of his shirt as he feels fingers digging into his hips.

Jungkook always knew that his best friend was attractive, but never once did he imagine himself kissing him. It was always one of those things where when you know the two of you are the best friends that you can possibly be, romantic or perverted thoughts don’t really cross your mind if you’re that tight together.

The kiss gets more heated as Taehyung slides his tongue into his mouth, and the younger boy has to gasp at the contact. It sounds more erotic than he intends and his Hyung grinds up against him in response. Jungkook runs his hands up to Taehyung’s shoulders, looping his arms around his neck as he tilts his head to the side, allowing their tongues to dance together. He’s melting into the kiss, melting into the older boy’s lap.

Suddenly, he breaks for air, eyes wide. “Your lipstick! I forgot to put lipstick on you.”

“It would’ve gotten messed up anyways.” Taehyung stands up, arms folded tightly underneath Jungkook’s thighs as he carries him over to the bed.

[gojande]

NCT U - Baby Don’t Stop translation [+ songwriters’ comments]

I thought the official english translation of Baby Don’t Stop in the album booklet was subpar, and since this week the songwriters who did BDS’ lyrics posted a video explaining their writing process, it made me realize again how much I love this song and its beautifully poetic and lewd lyrics. 🤓

So here’s my entirely unsolicited (but imho 100% accurate) translation and analysis of the lyrics!! I put explanations for my translations and included the songwriters’ comments, since AFAIK they haven’t been translated?

Since I first saw you, I’ve been feeling That there’s no more need for trivial justifications. Every one-hundredth of a second can be felt in the magic of this one finely-detailed minute.

The songwriters paraphrased the above line as “one minute that seems like its every hundredth of a second could be felt.” So unlike other translations, I think “magic” is intended as an adjective for “minute” and not a standalone noun.

“섬세한 1 minute” seems best translated as “finely-detailed minute” b/c it means something delicate, subtle and detailed. In other words, it’s a minute that is delicate because it’s so fleeting, and detailed because it’s broken up into every 0.01s.

The songwriter said the opening beat to the song made her think of a clock ticking, and she wrote the lyrics with the themes of “moment, tremble, tension, clock, tick” in mind. The verse gives the sense of being hyper-aware of the present moment. This one minute feels much longer in the way time seems to slow down when you get an adrenaline rush.

Every one of my nerves is on edge; I want to know you. Everything is being communicated, Down to your strange and subtle quiver.

It’s unclear if the last two lines are about the singer or his partner. But I think it makes more sense if it’s the speaker perceiving his partner’s trembling? Because the speaker wants to know his partner and does that by reading the “signs” of their body, all the way down to their slightest quiver.

The last line can be less poetically translated as “your unfamiliar and subtle trembling” but I like the alliteration and ‘quiver’ sounds more erotic, doesn’t it? heh heh

Stop, baby don’t stop Don’t stop, baby don’t stop That special sign that only I would recognize Right now, it’s just the two of us

Baby don’t stop Stop, baby don’t stop The secret sign that only you and I know Every one of those perfect signs is beautiful So baby don’t stop

The songwriters said: “I don’t think there��s another company like SM for which you have to do so much research and study so much about the artists. To find out their ‘worldview’, you have to familiarize yourself with everything, search and read... because SM is a company that always produces things with particular detail... it’s impressive that the other songs also coming out [in NCT’s album?] capture that ‘worldview’ so well in the lyrics. Integrating that is really difficult. Respect!”

For BDS specifically, the songwriters said they worried about how to make the original demo lyrics less explicitly sexual and more refined, while matching NCT’s image. So what exactly are they not supposed to stop? That sign! “Don’t stop giving me that sign” is the less explicit sexual metaphor they chose to use.

(Uhh also I actually thought the “sign” was like a safeword or smth when I first heard it? so... it fits NCT’s ““worldview”” aka BDSM themed lyrics tbh, 10/10 research and writing effort by these women 👌👌)

Play play play play play I’ll play in the Paris Stay clay sketch dirt dough I’m gonna knead your body Rothko, Auguste Rodin, Claudel I’ll sculpt you in warm colours All day, holding Hold me tight, all day

Rothko was an abstract expressionist painter whose paintings conveyed emotion through large geometric blocks of color. Rodin and Claudel were sculptors that were famous for having a more dynamic, rougher style that emphasized physicality and sensuality. Claudel was also Rodin’s lover and muse -- meaning he sculpted her body, in a sense. Really on-point artistic references by Taeyong!

Taeyong’s verse references the process of sculpting (sketch, dirt, clay, dough) and then compares himself to a sculptor and his partner’s body to the sculpture he “kneads” into shape. But unlike Rodin and Claudel who didn’t use color in their work, he sculpts “in warm colors” like Rothko... thus infusing some sentimental tenderness into their, uh, carnal relations?

Also as an aside, I like that Taeyong expresses this consistent theme of being an artist/collector with his partner as his artwork. An NCT worldview that appears across many songs! Such as:

Baby Don’t Like It: “I’ll give you the role of a picture”

Whiplash: “My otaku tendencies are still alive / you are my pro model** / You adorn a part of my collection / When I work, I measure you in centimetres / Margin of error is only a few millimetres” 

[**pro model = pun on plastic model, which sounds the same in korean and refers to plastic model toys collected by otaku]

Baby don’t stop Come on, come on Come on, come on Baby don’t stop

The flame reviving even this withered flower is undeniably you. So surrender your body to your senses, Rely on your bleary vision and Come to me.

I wasn’t sure if the 2 lines before “come to me” are referring to the speaker or his partner since there’s no pronouns. But since the last line is a command, I assumed they're also commands to his partner rather than statements about himself? Although if they were first-person statements it would be Taeyong singing some super subspace-y shit which would also be qUITE ALRIGHT WITH ME.

Others interpreted 번져가는 눈빛 as “gaze that spreads out”, but it’s 번지다 as in liquid spilling/smearing across a surface; and a 눈빛 that’s smearing would be the glint in one’s own eye -- so it’s having blurry vision! (any scholars wanna fight me on this) Taeyong seems to be saying to trust your senses and come to him by relying on your blurring vision.

Ok also the songwriter claimed she was inspired to write the “withered flower” line b/c of her dying unwatered cactus... 🙃but I remain convinced that "you’re the flame that revives even a wilted flower” is CLEARLY meant to be a cheeky double entendre about erections. let’s be real

In the narrow distance between us, The tension only keeps rising. I feel so right; Sweeter and sweeter, ’til thoughts grow hazy.

아득하다 means being physically dim, hazy, distant. It also refers to having a disconnected, foggy, or light-headed mental state, such that it’s hard to think or act. The lyrics seem to suggest it’s getting harder to think as that sweetening tension climbs (to its climax, ya feel??).

I have no comments about the rest of the lyrics except the random Spanish is the highlight of the song:

Stop, baby don’t stop Don’t stop, baby don’t stop That special sign that only I would recognize Right now, it’s just the two of us

Gonna gonna gonna gonna get that I won’t ever lose you Gonna get that Gonna gonna gonna gonna get that I won’t ever stop Gonna get that

Cotton wind blow blouse Hair flower aroma scent Cold eyes ice dive Touch warm melt lips Baby baby I just feel so right Baby I just feel so nice That most perfect Sign Oh baby give it to me

Stop, baby don’t stop Don’t stop, baby don’t stop That special sign that only I would recognize Right now, it’s just the two of us Baby don’t stop

I’ll fly faster to reach you Mi amor Even if you’re on the other side of the sky, I’ll always look for you Just get yourself around it now yeah baby don’t stop and no Estoy loco mi dulce coco baby don’t stop today

[Repeat hook]

Stop baby don’t stop x5

Please let me know if you have questions or if I’ve made any mistakes!

[panoramicvacuum]

7, 37,38

7. Snippet time!  So to preface, I am a writer for Pokemon, and specifically for the Hoenn League characters.  This snip is from the unfinished WIP that is Sidney’s backstory (warning for coarse language):

"Goddamnit!"  A bloody fist slammed into the pavement as Sidney curled onto his side.  The throbbing from his wound was incessant.  A pit of fire stabbed through his gut. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It made him want to retch. The thought of retching made him not want to anymore.  

For some reason though, and Sidney would never know why, he felt a set of eyes watching his pathetic last moments. A presence at the opening of the alley, just watching, staring at his very soul. He hated it.

"Either help, or fuck off and let me die in peace," he growled, turning just enough to glare at the presence.  He didn't care if the shadow was the angel of death itself.  It sure as hell wasn't doing him any favors right now.

There, shadowed against the light spilling from the thoroughfare, was the unmistakable form of a pokemon.  A pokemon Sidney had seen but once before in his life.  And that one time, their roles were very much reversed.  No longer matted with blood and rain, the proud form of Absol stood silhouetted in light.  Wicked horn in contrast with the white fur of its coat, it was almost as if the angel and the devil couldn’t decide who to send for him, so they merged their messengers into one.

I really like this snip because writing for Sidney’s character is way different than writing for Steven.  Sidney is prickly and abrasive and rougher around the edges in general.  This part in particular is a call back to earlier in the fic when he finds (and subsequently rescues) Absol.  However, my favorite bit of this is Absol’s description, which I think is fitting given its fantastic yin-yang design, and also a small shout out to its Mega form which gets feathered wings not unlike an angel.

37.  Current WIPs.  Anon, how much time do you have? Lol  I’ll only touch on the big ones, I guess?  Aside from Sidney’s backstory fic from the snip above (which I’m intending to end up like “The Long Road” in terms of scope), I’ve got “Deal with the Devil” which I’m currently posting on FFN and AO3.  It’s a suspense/hurt/comfort fic that I’d been working on for about 2.5 years now.  Something is amiss in New Mauville, and Steven finds himself smack in the middle of a plot that could bring about the end of Hoenn itself.  It’s a set-up fic for the events of the RSE games.

Another piece in the works is also tragedy/hurt/comfort that will take a stab at writing a slightly different characterization for Steven.  Preliminary title is “The Harder They Fall” and it will be a rather drastic character growth fic after an accident befalls Steven in Meteor Falls.  (This is the fic I shared that NSFW art that anon asked for a little while back...)  This has a long way to go, though, before it’s ready to be posted.

The last big thing in the works is a fic which touches on Mega Evolution, and specifically when Steven and Metagross first learn how to use it.  It was originally written for a Big Bang that fizzled out.  It’s about halfway done, maybe a bit more, and I’m just waiting for inspiration to strike back up to work on it again.

There’s a few one-shot things going on on the side, too.  So plenty of WIPs for my writers block addled mind to jump between.

38.  A review that made my day.  Is it cheating to say all of them??  Really though, getting a review of any kind brightens my day.  Just knowing that someone read something I wrote and it made enough of an impression on them for them to tell me about it?  Yeah, just, that’s such a good feeling.  

A lot of times I’ll post a chapter with unspoken anxiety over certain things (plot decisions, the way a character behaves, etc) and a review will come in and say that the thing I had been so worried about (which they didn’t know I was worried about) was one of their favorite parts and, wow, what a feeling of relief and gratitude.  Just, any sort of feedback on your writing.  Reader feedback is the best way to know you you’ve done a good job with something you’ve put your time into.  It means the world.

Heck, even just getting fic asks like yours, anon, is rewarding.  You’ve given me an excuse to ramble about the stuff I do and not feel like it’ll just be ignored.  You *asked* me about it, and that’s a wonderful feeling.  So thank you :)

[cosmosfated]

Eazaric / The Language of Promises

It has held a lot of different names over the years. The Language of Dragons, the Language of Creation, The Artist's Tongue, Forgotten Tongue, Ancient Draconic, etc. Right now, it's called Eazaric. But, when it's used nowadays, the true purpose behind it is missing. It's no longer used as it should be. Because the truest title of them all when it comes to Eazaric, is the title "Language of Promises".

There is a reason why people in the old timeline insist on using common or the language set to the region they're in. Even though most people know how to understand and to some extent speak Eazaric, they actively avoid doing so if they can muster it. They all know the purpose behind the language. It sounds flowery and extravagant and easy on the ears, but that's because people love using the improper dialect of Eazaric.

Well, perhaps not so much improper rather than simply heavily informal.

Eazaric is a language that is based in respect, understanding, and formalities. It's that way because it was used mostly during a time where people had to be able to trust what was being spoken, and Eazaric had a strange way of bringing out the true intentions of people. They could not lie using Eazaric, and any ulterior motives could be felt. Though you spoke with your tongue and listened with your ears, you felt the words.

And if you made a promise in Eazaric, you were expected to uphold that promise or face consequences the likes of karmic retribution wouldn't compare to. It was superstition, on that extreme part, but it was to some extent true. To break a promise made using the Language of Promises was to mark yourself a traitor to your own tongue, which was considered one of the deepest brands you could give yourself. And it would indeed leave a scar on your voice that proper speakers of the language would be able to feel.

No one really knows how or why Eazaric acts the way that it does. Some speculate that the dragons who initially spoke it had given each and every word power in its own right. Others say that the stars live in the languages, and the stars do not like liars as they themselves don't lie. A scarce few joke that it is simply superstition made reality, like a mass hoax that eventually becomes public history.

Regardless of who says what, they all understand to respect the language and only use it when one is serious and proving themself to another via promise.

It was used to converse with dragons, as this was their way of ascertaining who meant well and who meant hell. People who learned directly from the dragons themselves, hold a distaste for any offshoots or changes to the language, but not enough to present themselves as better than those who speak that. The dragons insisted not to do so, as they understand that with time, languages adapt and change to fit the world around them.

In line with that thought process, those who speak it now speak the “modern” version of it. It’s shorter, easier on the tongue, but still holds the meaning of the language itself. The “slang” is tied in with the “modern” version, giving it a sense of informality to make it lighter and bouncier. It’s far more common with children and teenagers, sometimes childhood friends who stayed that way to adulthood, to use this type of Eazaric. This is where all the insults and playful jabs come from. In the original language, these things didn’t exist. If you tried to “lightly” insult someone in the language, it ran rougher and cut deeper than you would initially intend, as your intentions behind the words would come out. 

Fleur and Maribel use the “modern” and “slang” versions of it. Fleur can use the old dialect, but it’s clumsy and awkward on his tongue. Like when someone needlessly says ‘I am not’ instead of ‘I’m not’ or ‘I cannot’ instead of ‘I can’t’. Maribel can only understand the old dialect, but cannot speak it. She speaks in broken modern-formal when doing so.

This is precisely the reason why Fleur hated his Sans so much that he danced on his grave. Sans made him a promise in proper Eazaric oh so long ago, to never forget who they really are.

Sans did. Fleur did not.

Similarly, the language is meant to show your intent, how you’re truly feeling, and how you currently are. It is a lie detector as a language as well as a spoken safeguard against the world’s ways, be they wicked or simply rude. Speaking even a bit of Eazaric leaves a residual effect on one’s Soul or magical aura (either or) that makes them an open book with whatever language they speak for anywhere from one day to a full week, depending on how long you spoke the language and to whom you were speaking.

Examples:

“Aeoser'l evaal vie mêrro terrae.” is used in really close friendships or budding romantic settings, sometimes with those who have been together for a while and still feel the way they did when first falling in love. The tone shift on “evaal” and “mêrro” shows if it’s a friendship or a hidden romance. It translates to “You breathe vibrancy into this/my dark world.”

“Ota rel matse ka, ue'mux zajei.” is ofttimes shortened to “matse ka mu’zajei” and is used rather commonly between people who are close with one another no matter what type of bond they may have. Heavier emphasis on “ota” implies more enthusiasm (childlike, lighthearted) than seriousness, while heavier emphasis on “matse” or “zajei” implies the opposite. It translates to “If my heart could speak, it would sing.” or very simply, “My love is incomparable.”

“Ry aviirha tal, mahct san tei sajj maite'al ao.” is ofttimes shortened to “ry aviirha tal mait” and is used the most commonly when it comes to endearing expressions, holding no direct or implied tie to any specific relationship or desire. It translates to “I shall love you, until the dark side of the moon is seen.“ or very simply, “I love you, forever.”

Some words alone can be used as phrases if said with proper emphasis on the word itself or a specific syllable. Namely words like “Ai-tu’lae” and “Eriiktarul” which mean “see you later” (sometimes “goodnight”) and “you have outstayed your welcome” respectively.

[yourmusicquestions]

Sounding Together #31: L. van Beethoven, Symphony #3, “Eroica,” (1804)

So. We have finally arrived. This is the symphony that is touted as forever changing what the symphony was, for bridging the gap between classicism and romanticism in music, and for cementing Beethoven as a composer of great music, a new breed of musician, quite unlike Mozart or Haydn. This symphony has been examined and analyzed so many times, adding my own voice to the mix seems almost a futile gesture. And yet, I said I would look at the symphony over time . . . and I can’t very well do that and not look at the Eroica.

I was taught--as were many, I think--that this symphony was the beginning of the Romantic era of music. And while I think that’s a severe oversimplification, there’s no doubt that the symphony wouldn’t be the same after the Eroica. It should be noted, of course, that many of the so-called “revolutionary” elements of the symphony--the length, the strange harmonies, the early horn entrance--had been done before. Some of them we’ve already talked about. However, what Beethoven essentially does is take all of these odd elements from other symphonies, the little moments that stand out and briefly strike you as strange before the symphony continues on its merry way, and builds an entire work out of them.

One of the more famous stories associated with this symphony is the fact that Beethoven had originally intended to dedicate it to Napoleon Bonaparte, who Beethoven greatly admired, but upon hearing the Bonaparte had crowned himself Emperor, he was so enraged that he either tore the title page in two or scratched the dedication out so vigorously that he tore through the paper. (There are a couple different accounts of the incident.) Apocryphal or not, the story reveals Beethoven’s real passion. Napoleon was a figure of the French Revolution, wherein the monarchy was overthrown and, for a time, the people governed. (Relatively unsuccessfully, but never mind.) Beethoven was very much a champion of the human spirit and leadership by the people, and had little patience for titles or royalty, and in that sense, he was very much a romantic. And this symphony, regardless of its original intent, is very much a work of the people, intended not so much as an exercise in form and structure--though those elements are still present--but an exercise in expression and visceral emotion.

In spite of that, this symphony was not so easy to understand. Symphonies up to that point had a very predictable pattern to them, and analysis and interpretation were simply a matter of stating which theme started where and in what key. But this symphony was different, and audiences found it more than a little off-putting when they first heard it. (The second symphony got a similar, though far milder, reaction.) It wasn’t until the score was published and people could actually take time to study and analyze the symphony that it began to garner higher praise. Because there was more to this symphony than mere form and harmony. Music was passing from the Era of Stimulation to the Era of Expression, something which invited audience to ask the question: What is he trying to say? Because with this symphony, Beethoven was absolutely making a statement.

One of the elements of Romantic symphonies that became more prevalent was programmatic writing; that is music that represented some extra-musical element, an emotion or a story. Though we have seen some programmatic elements in some other symphonies, particularly Haydn’s, often these are assigned after the fact, and may or may not have been intentional by the composer. Though this work is not as programmatic in nature as later symphonies of the Romantic era, we can definitely see a more programmatic style of writing here. The name “Eroica,” or Heroic, was assigned by Beethoven himself, indicating a certain thoughtfulness in what this symphony was meant to represent. I’ve compared the structure of a sonata to the structure of a three-act story, and in the first movement of this symphony, we see another story: specifically, the Hero’s Journey.

In this symphony, Beethoven dispenses with the slow introduction and starts things off right away with two strong, loud chords in E-flat major. This gives way to the opening theme, which outlines an E-flat arpeggio, leaving utterly no doubt as to what the key is . . . before plunging down into the highly unusual C-sharp. So just seven measures in, Beethoven is already indicating to us that this is not going to be a typical symphony. Not only does C-sharp not belong in the key of E-flat, but with the high strings playing a tritone above, it creates an uncomfortable dissonance that takes a couple measures to resolve. Then the opening theme repeats in the winds, this time resolving in a far different manner, taking us to the third playing of the opening theme with the full orchestra and changing the key to the dominant B-flat. The transition to the second theme, then, occurs after the key has already changed, and contains in it three distinct motifs: a gentle lilting of descending notes, a pattering upward scale pattern, and a flurry of more descending notes, this time rougher and stormier. This transition gives us the fundamental conflict within this movement, which has a give and take between stormy and dramatic dissonance and a tone so gentle and spare, it almost sounds like it belongs in the second slow movement rather than the first. Perhaps that’s why Beethoven decided against a slow introduction: there’s already plenty of it within the movement proper.

The second theme is carried, as it often is, by the winds, and has an almost hymn-like quality to it. The forward movement almost stops here, and we’re given a brief moment to catch our breath before a few quiet, but gradually accelerating chords take us back into the excited flurry of the movement. As we move into the codetta, Beethoven plays with our expectations of the meter. This is a triple meter movement, but Beethoven puts orchestral hits on the off beats, finally using hemiola and putting a strong chord every two beats instead of three. As the movement ends with more dynamic and style contrast, we’re carried back to the key of E-flat and quieter opening, with one strong dominant chord finally pushing us the rest of the way into the repeat. Just in the exposition, Beethoven has already laid out much of what we can expect in the rest of this movement, as well as the symphony in general.

Strange though it may have sounded, the exposition was still easy enough to follow. Beethoven didn’t want to completely alienate his audiences, after all. He needed to make sure that no matter what experiments he performed on the symphony, it was still rooted in classical style and form, and those elements are still recognizable, if a little harder to pin down. It’s the development, though, which distinguishes this movement, as it is longer and far more intricate than any we’ve so far seen. Though Mozart’s Prague symphony may have had a longer first movement (if you observe all the repeats), with Beethoven, it’s the development section that lends most of the length, and it takes us on a ride through not only different keys and themes, but also vastly different styles. It begins very gently, and almost sounds as though it’s setting up an entirely different tempo, like the transition from the fast section of an overture to the slow section. The beat is very difficult to locate, even though the tempo has not actually changed. This eventually solidifies into the descending lyrical theme, still gentle, but with a feeling of the original tempo now. A little tension, and then the stormy theme returns again, followed by some of the hemiola patterns, similar to what we heard in the bridge before the full playing of the first theme. These rise chromatically, increasing the tension, and with a loud, blaring, and very dissonant chord, things quiet down again, bringing us to a completely new theme in the winds.

This new theme is gentle, another hymn-like passage, but more melodic than the second theme of the exposition. Indeed, it’s the most melodic passage in the entire movement. This serves as the midpoint of the development. Where the first half of the development mostly developed the transition themes, the second half deals almost exclusively with the opening theme. And here we see the advantage of having thematic material be more texture-based than melody-based. All Beethoven has to do is give us an ascending arpeggio--which he does, many times in many guises--and it has the feel of the opening theme. This texture alternates with the new theme, and then all this activity finally quiets down, and we have the infamous “early” entrance of the horns on the recapitulation, which, it should be noted, is a musical joke that already been employed by Haydn. And yet many listeners thought a mistake had been made, and that those silly horns had come in too early. (Silly horns . . .) A couple of loud chords later (an angry reaction to the early entrance, perhaps?) and the recapitulation proper begins.

We begin, of course, with the opening theme, but this time instead of resolving up, and C-sharp resolves down, giving us an entirely new take on the theme for the bridging passage, almost as if we’re not quite finished developing this particular theme yet. Then the orchestra comes through, we hear our three transition themes and the second theme, all in the tonic key of E-flat, and the recapitulation continues as normal . . . that is until the coda, which takes us on what could be considered to be a second development section, not nearly as extensive as the first, but one like might have seen in the days of Haydn or Mozart. The first theme is developed primarily, which could simply be the practice of playing the opening theme at the end of the movement except that the new theme introduced in the development section is also played here. The arpeggios build and build, resolving in the ascending pattern we heard in the transition of the exposition . . . but this time, it leads not to a storm, but to the final triumphant chords of the movement, ending the way it began. The Hero’s Journey is evident throughout the movement. The trials of a turbulent transition, the stormy development, the new lessons learned in a new theme, an impulsive early entrance, the return to the recapitulation, but with a stark difference even in the opening theme, and a final triumph over adversity. And that’s just the first movement.

The second movement changes the mood from one of triumph to one of grief with a funeral march, which has elements of rondo and even sonata in it as well. It begins as a typical march, with an opening theme in C minor. The theme is played again, this time ending in the relative E-flat major for the beginning of the second theme, which returns to minor relatively quickly, and then a repeat of the opening theme. This section is then also repeated, although in both cases, they are not literal repeats. That is, Beethoven doesn’t just throw in repeat markers, but rewrites the themes so that he can change certain things, like the color and tone. This opening section gives way to what would be the trio of the march, a gentle section in C major (actually marked “Major” in the music) with triplets in the accompaniment. It’s in the third section that things begin to get strange. Normally with a march, there would be a de capo and a return to the beginning of the movement, playing everything over literally. But again, Beethoven rewrites the opening . . . and then the third section becomes something else entirely. The opening theme gives way to a fugal passage built on an inversion of the second theme. The first theme returns, but is then interrupted by what can only be referred to as a mini-development section, featuring fragments of the opening theme interrupted by stormy textures. featuring a back and forth between the triplet accompaniment from the trio and the duple accompaniment of the rest of the march. Finally, the opening material returns, and we get the restatement of the opening section, eventually winding down to a fragmented playing the opening motif, as though theme was finally having an emotional breakdown over the grief of the music.

The third movement scherzo is at least easier to follow as far as form is concerned, though it does play with expectations of beat and meter. It opens with the strings alternating between two notes very quietly--in triple meter, remember, so the beat is almost impossible to find until the main melody comes in, which is really just a little flourish on the oboe. The entire opening section is basically built on that flourish, eventually bringing it in a different key, and then with the full orchestra. The second theme, if it can be called that, is a set of descending notes, written completely off the beat, making it necessary to throw a rest into the mix making it sound as though the music has tripped over itself, somehow. Then some back and forth between strings and winds brings us to the end of the opening section. The trio is carried almost entirely by a horn trio, with the other winds coming in on the secondary theme and the strings providing accompaniment. And again, Beethoven elects not to do a de capo, but instead to rewrite the opening section again, but with two major differences. First, at the descending pattern with the “trip” in the middle, he writes it differently the second time, switching to cut time and having the notes descend evenly, making it seem as though that was way those notes were always meant to be played. And second, he adds a coda to the end, with the orchestra giving the movement a grand ending that third movements don’t typically get. In that way, he has given more weight to what is typically a lighthearted, easy movement.

The finale of the symphony is a theme and variations, but much like the march and scherzo before, Beethoven takes what would ordinarily be a very simple musical structure and makes it into something much more. The main theme used here is actually a theme he had used in a previous work about Prometheus--a character who stole fire from the gods for humanity’s use, drawing something a parallel to humanity’s fight against monarchy at that time. Beethoven actually begins, not with the main theme itself, but the theme’s bass line, variations of which can actually be spotted in the previous three movements, lending evidence to the idea that this movement was actually composed first. Eventually, after a couple variations, the main melody make its appearance, and is also varied in numerous ways and moods. We see a fugal section in the middle, as well as a substantial slowing of tempo for a hymn-like section. And in the end, the movement ends as it began, with a flurry of notes and chords in E-flat major.

It’s easy to see why this movement was so difficult for audiences to understand upon first listening. They were used to music that was easy to follow, able to anticipate basic form, harmonies, and meters. But in this symphony, Beethoven plays with expectations on all three. Though the familiar forms, harmonies, and meters are there, they’re hidden, obscured by the thing that had taken precedence over all else: expression, the thing that would become the backbone of the Romantic era. Though it’s too soon to call the start of the Romantic era proper--classical form and harmony are still quite prominent after all--it’s easy to see why people call the Eroica the start of musical Romanticism. This is a piece of emotion.