#like i think it would be a great excuse to showcase my massive collection of toys AND clean my room at the same time

[glitterhoof]

uhm okay IF i had a YouTube channel would u guys watch me maybe. im thinking of showcasing my ponies and / or toy rescues and giving general info on them AND cleaning them up or just maybe i dont know, playing with it!???

[theunholygrails]

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

[180abroad]

Day 186: Last Day in Amsterdam (Rijksmuseum and Sweets. Lots and lots of Sweets.)

Our week in Amsterdam had flown by, and today was our last chance to cross any items off our must-see list. The biggest line item was the Rijksmuseum, the Netherlands' answer to the Louvre in Paris and the National Gallery in London. We also had a canal boat tour to cash in, as well as some more edible works of art to enjoy.

Our first stop of the day came at the recommendation of one of Jessica's friends, who had insisted that we absolutely had to try some Dutch poffertjes from a food cart at the Alberg Cuyp Street Market. A sort of fluffy miniature pancake, poffertjes can be popped out hot and fresh by the dozen thanks to a clever contraption that pours the batter into a specialized pan

We got them with sea salt and caramel sauce, and they were the creamiest, fluffiest, most delicious things we could remember tasting on the entire trip.

As we walked over from the street market to the Rijksmuseum, we stopped for coffee at an espresso bar that one reviewer claimed to be the best in Europe outside of Italy. It was just okay, at best.

The Rijksmuseum is beautiful and massive. It resembles a cathedral from the front, with its twin spires, tall arched windows, and engraved images---not of saints and martyrs, but of artists and scholars.

Inside, we ran yet again into our old friend Laocoön one last time. Note how in this depiction,  Laocoön's right arm is extended horizontally outward instead of bent back at the elbow. As we'd learned back in the Vatican archives, that means that this statue (or possibly the copy that it was a copy of) was made before 1906, when the original statue's missing right arm was finally discovered. Before then, most experts believed that Laocoön's arm had been extended in the way we see here. Given the aesthetic principles of Greek and Roman sculpture, it seemed obvious.

But Michelangelo had known better.

Four hundred years earlier, when tasked by the Vatican to reassemble the recently unearthed statue, Michelangelo could tell that the right arm was supposed to be bent. Just by looking at the musculature of the one-armed statue, he deduced that, 1) the original Greek sculptor was as much a master of human anatomy as he was himself, and 2) that the way the muscles in the sculpture's back were flexed meant that the model posing for the statue had to have had his arm bent back at the elbow. And he was right. It's like something out of Sherlock.

Bypassing the rest of the museum for now, we headed straight upstairs to the main event: the Gallery of Honor, a purpose-built grand hall exhibiting the best of the best of the Dutch Golden Age.

The museum's cathedralesque motif resumed at the top of the stairs. Light poured into the gallery's antechamber through stained glass windows venerating the great artists and thinkers of Western civilization.

The Rijksmuseum's Gallery of Honor is a brilliant idea that I think more museums should embrace. It consists of a long, vaulted corridor lined with alcoves dedicated to the greatest works of the greatest Dutch artists from the Golden Age. Even if you only had one hour to visit the museum, you could spend the entire hour here and leave contented that you made good use of your time.

The previous day, we'd been so impressed by the Mauritshuis in The Hague for its impressively manageable collection. In a way, the Gallery of Honor does an admirable job of creating the same effect in a much larger museum---it makes the unmanageable manageable.

Rather than rushing around trying to see all the most important stuff---our visit to the Louvre in a nutshell---the Rijksmuseum brings all the most important stuff to you in one easy room. Then, if you have more time, you can relax and explore the rest of the museum's fantastic collections at your leisure, free to guiltlessly explore whichever exhibits happen to tickle your curiosity.

But enough about design theory; let's get to the art.

One of our favorite artists featured in the room was Jan Steen. A natural comedian and storyteller among the Golden Age artists, Steen made paintings that were colorful, fun, and lowbrow with a snarky undercurrent of social commentary.

Many of Steen's paintings feature large families or groups of revelers, and the level of detail is amazing. His faces are brilliantly emotive, and every person exudes a sense of story. One of my favorites is Prince's Day, which shows a raucous tavern scene. There are over twenty characters in the picture, and every one of them feels fully alive and engaged with what's happening---even the barely visible couple whispering to each other in the background.

But the real punchline is a barely-there portrait of the prince hanging in the murky recesses of the ceiling. These people couldn't care less that they're supposedly celebrating the prince's birthday; they're just happy for any excuse to drink and be merry. And the primly dressed little girl looking straight out at you from the middle of the scene seems to know it, too.

It's no surprise that Jessica and I both loved the work of Van Ruisdael, the Golden Age's master landscape artist. I was particularly struck by his painting of The Windmill at Wijk bij Duurstede. It shows a picturesque windmill standing near a river. The nearby town is just discernible by the roofs of the local church and castle peeking up in the distance. Late afternoon sunlight beautifully illuminates the windmill at a dramatic angle, and at first the scene seems idyllic. Looking closer, however, you can see the clouds are becoming ominously dark, and the surface of the river is marked by a noticeable chop.

I may be overthinking it, but with the way the windmill dominates the scene while the castle and church fade into the background, it seems as though Ruisdael had something to say about the relative positions of industry, government, and religion in Golden Age Dutch society. Perhaps even about which way the winds were blowing, so to speak.

Another of the honored greats was Frans Hals, with his ability to create portraits that are remarkably heartwarming and instantly likeable.

And of course, there was Vermeer---the once-nearly-forgotten master of light and color whose slow and fastidious technique (along with his relatively early death) left him with remarkably few paintings to his name. As we'd learned the day before at the Mauritshuis, the Rijksmuseum has the largest collection of paintings by Vermeer in the world: four. And while the Mauritshuis has the iconic Girl With a Pearl Earring, the Rijksmuseum has some classics, too, including The Love Letter, The Milkmaid, and Woman Reading a Letter.

At least, usually. When we visited, however, Woman Reading a Letter was on loan to the Alte Pinakothek in Munich. Luckily, Jessica and I had already been there and seen that.

Another particularly interesting canvas came in the unlikely form of an angrily defecating swan. The life-size Threatened Swan was painted by Jan Asselijn as a straightforward nature scene, showing the drama of a swan defending its nest from a curious dog. But that's just the beginning of its story.

Over a hundred years later, simple nature paintings had gone out of style. People wanted art to be rich with symbolism---whether or not the artist actually intended it. The Threatened Swan was therefore "improved" by the addition of allegorical labels, effectively turning it into a glorified nationalist political cartoon. The swan's eggs were labelled "Holland," the dog was labelled "enemies of the state," and the swan was the Dutch government defending the people of Holland from their enemies.

Last but not least was Rembrandt, the big daddy of the Golden Age painters. Rembrandt was a master of pretty much every genre of painting, but his trademark was large-scale group portraits. It was a mark of pride during the Golden Age for professional organizations to commission group portraits of their members. And Rembrandt had a unique talent for turning what would normally have been a dull lineup of doctors or lawyers into a lively and interesting scene.

The ultimate room at the end of the Gallery is dedicated to Rembrandt's massive Night Watch. The room was designed specifically to showcase it, and the rest of the Gallery grew from there.

Today, at least, the painting is considered a spectacular masterpiece. But as soon as he finished it, Rembrandt’s group portrait commissions immediately dried up. Whether this was the result of dissatisfaction with the painting or an unfortunate coincidence caused by an economic downturn is a matter of speculation. In any case, this painting represents the high-water mark of Rembrandt's career.

Another funny story about The Night Watch is that the name is a total misnomer. The painting's actual name is the more accurate but less catchy Militia Company of District II under the Command of Captain Frans Banninck Cocq. Due to the improper use of a dark varnish, the image became so dark that people mistook it for a night scene.

It was only in the 1940s that the varnish was finally removed to reveal the truth. And just over a month after we saw it, the Rijksmuseum began a new restoration project that will hopefully reveal even more lost details. The painting is still on display, though---it is being worked on in public, behind a glass wall that has taken over the center of the room. You can even livestream it on the Rijksmuseum's website.

Having finished our tour of the Gallery of Honor, we were free to wander the rest of the museum to see what we could see.

A nearby room on the same floor was dedicated to Dutch naval art and history. Above the door hangs a trophy that we found as hilarious as it was interesting. For everyone else, it will take a bit of explaining.

Thanks to our travels in the UK, Jessica and I were able to immediately recognize the emblem on this ship’s stern carving as the British royal crest. So, what was a piece of a royal British ship doing hanging in a Dutch museum? The bulk of the room is dedicated to explaining the story.

 In a daring raid, Dutch captain Michiel de Ruyter sailed his fleet up the English River Medway and captured over a dozen English warships, including the English flagship HMS Royal Charles. He towed the Royal Charles back to Amsterdam, where it was put on display as a tourist attraction---to the great annoyance of its namesake King Charles II of England.

The ship was eventually broken up for scrap, and this stern piece was kept as a trophy of the catastrophic embarrassment they had wrought upon the British navy.

That was what Jessica and I found so hilarious.

De Ruyter became a national hero in the Netherlands, and even King Louis XIV of France---with whom the Dutch were not on particularly good terms---honored De Ruyter just for sticking it to the English.

Another nearby room was filled with landscape paintings, including one that Jessica and I recognized instantly for its style as the work of our favorite artistic discovery of the trip: Claude Lorrain. A nearby plaque explained that, much like Claude, many of the great Dutch landscape artists honed their skills while studying abroad in Rome.

We also saw some truly insane dollhouses. Apparently, it was popular among a certain class of wealthy Dutch merchants to show off buy commissioning absurdly opulent dollhouses. The houses were incredibly detailed, with miniature recreations of real paintings on the walls. One of these dollhouses on display was as tall as a person and cost more than an actual house in its day.

And of course, once a merchant had spent a considerable fortune on completing their dollhouse, it was only natural for them to then commission an artist to do a painting of it.

One of the larger rooms was dedicated to the famous ceramic pottery made in the Dutch city of Delft.

We learned that the tremendous success of "Delft Blue" pottery industry is partly due to Queen Mary II of England, wife of William of Orange. Mary loved the blue-and-white ceramics that the Dutch were importing from China and Japan. Naturally, this started a craze among well-to-do Dutch and English women who wanted to copy her style. There were only so many imported ceramics to go around, however, so it was only a matter of time before a group of Dutch artisans cracked the secret and began making their own domestic versions.

Delft Blue pottery ended up becoming so renowned that it was even exported back to China and Japan.

There's even an artistic offshoot dedicated to creating illustrated Delft Blue tiles as an alternative to canvas paintings.

Downstairs, we saw some impressive Post-Impressionist paintings, including self-portraits by Van Gogh and his friend Emile Bernard.

Before leaving the museum, we made sure to see one last highlight of the museum---a massive floor-to-ceiling painting by Jan Willem Pieneman of the victorious Dutch and British forces after the battle of Waterloo. The painting was commissioned by the Duke of Wellington to celebrate his victory, and he can be seen in the center of the painting, illuminated with a shaft of light as if by God. But the Dutch King William I saw the painting and liked it so much that it bought it out from under Wellington and gave it to his son Prince William II. The prince is also featured in the painting, in the lower left corner, being carried off the battlefield on a stretcher.

After leaving the museum, we took another stroll through Vondelpark, which we'd visited before after seeing the Van Gogh Museum. It's a big park, but trees and canals do a nice job of dividing it into cozy-feeling sections where you can almost feel alone with nature.

It was beautiful and serene, except for one mildly horrifying sight we came upon when we had to cross under an overpass.

Our next goal of the day was to find some oliebol, a sort of Dutch doughnut hole that Nic was determined to try. We found a highly rated bakery, but we were sadly informed that oliebols are only really made around Christmas. So instead, we made do with some raspberry-redcurrant tarts that were to die for.

(Don’t ask about the potato…)

The tarts had an unusually thick, cookie-like crust. Jessica tried to wheedle the secret out of the man behind the counter, but he either didn’t know or just played dumb.

With nothing better left to do, it was finally time to cash in the canal boat tour vouchers that we'd gotten in a package deal with our Van Gogh Museum tickets and the windmill countryside tour. It's no less touristy than any of the big City Sightseeing bus tours, but we still had fun and learned a bit.

We learned that the three U-shaped canals that belt the center of Amsterdam were dug during the Golden Age, when Amsterdam’s population quadrupled in size and necessitated a major city expansion. The inner ring was for royals and nobility, the middle ring was for wealthy merchants, and the outer ring was for the working class and warehouses.

Today, even the outer ring is such valuable property that only things like banks and high-end boutiques can afford it.

As much as any of the other amazing sights, we were also impressed by how daringly close the drivers of Amsterdam park their cars to the edge of canals.

We also learned the story behind Amsterdam’s city crest---a red shield with a vertical black bar and three white X's (more formally known as crosses of St. Andrew). The red shield symbolizes the city, the black line symbolizes the Amstel river that runs through the city, and the three crosses of St. Andrew represent divine protection from fires, floods, and plagues.

The use of red and black to represent the city and the river seemed odd at first, but as we talked about it after the cruise, we soon realized that we were walking on red brick streets and looking out at a shimmering river that looked like glinting obsidian in the sunlight.

We decided to end the day with a meal at Europe’s oldest floating Chinese restaurant. Another thing we'd learned on the canal tour was that Amsterdam has the oldest Chinatown in continental Europe. (Jessica and I had already learned that Liverpool has the oldest Chinatown in all of Europe.)

Well, we almost ended the day there.

Nicolas wouldn’t be satisfied with our stay in Amsterdam until we'd had some of the churros we’d seen in bakeries and chip shops around town all week.

Venturing back into the streets, we found a hole-in-the-wall ice cream joint near the Red Light District called Sweetness. We ducked inside and soon found ourselves ordering something called the Red Light Special, which looked like a sort of churro sundae in the pictures on the overhead menu.

It wasn’t until the server turned out the lights and shouted “Are you ready?!” that we began to wonder whether we had ordered something we hadn’t intended to.

It was a churro and ice cream extravaganza, complete with red sparklers and a powdered-sugar fireball.

As ridiculous as it was, it was also delicious and just the right size for the three of us.

With our stomachs full of sweets, it was finally time for us to head home and start packing up. Tomorrow we would be flying to Iceland for a 48-hour cherry to cap off our six-month adventure. It’s been an amazing ride, and it’s hard to believe it’s already almost over.

[recentanimenews]

Bookshelf Briefs 4/10/19

Akashic Records of Bastard Magica Instructor, Vol. 6 | By Hitsuji Tarou, Tsunemi Aosa and Kurone Mishima | Seven Seas – I was sort of hoping that Rumia would do something other than hang around and get saved, but alas. Most of the character work in this goes to Re=L, whose past turns out to be not quite her own, and the brother she’s so devoted to also turns out to be not what he seems. It’s filled with tragedy and manipulation, but fortunately Glenn is able to see her through it. And thus we move on to the next arc, which seems to be introducing a dead past love for Glenn… who happens to be a dead ringer for Sisti! Who is pretending Glenn is the man she’s going to marry. This remains middle-of-the-road manga, but it’s still interesting enough to make me get the next book. – Sean Gaffney

Berserk: Deluxe Edition, Vol. 1 | By Kentaro Miura | Dark Horse – Due to the price point, Dark Horse’s deluxe treatment of Berserk will likely appeal most to already established fans of the series (a group to which I belong), but it is a striking release nonetheless. The first deluxe omnibus collects the first three volumes of the manga in a single, massive, hardcover tome with a large trim size that showcases Miura’s artwork. There isn’t really any new or added content, although the covers of the individual volumes are included as color pages. It’s been a while since I’ve read Berserk from the beginning. The initial chapters feel a little directionless at times, nothing more than an excuse to have an astonishingly badass swordsman with a mysterious but obviously tragic backstory taking out demons, but soon the manga builds and coalesces into something truly epic. What remains constant is that Berserk is a violent, brutal, horrifying, and frequently disturbing dark fantasy. – Ash Brown

My Hero Academia, Vol. 18 | By Kohei Horikoshi | Viz Media – This is definitely a manga of two halves. The first is serious as can be—we have a major hero death, Mirio does NOT magically get his powers back, and Eri is saved but traumatized. Our main cast are changed as well… Ochaco now wants to save people as a main goal, and Kirishima also notes he’s shaken up. Fortunately for the reader, we have the back half of the manga, which introduces the REAL Camie (whom Toga had impersonated) and has the Remedial Hero License Exam… which involves winning over a class of spoiled kindergarten brats. It’s pretty hilarious all round, with some great gags and also showing us that Bakugo CAN learn and grow as well. An excellent volume of an outstanding series. – Sean Gaffney

My Hero Academia: School Briefs, Vol. 1: Parents’ Day | By Kohei Horikoshi and Anri Yoshi | VIZ Media – The things the cretinous Mineta says in this prose spinoff are so vile that they eclipse the things he says and does in the manga/anime, and that’s really saying something. I appreciate the reactions from some classmates, like Tokoyami glaring at him with “utter contempt” and Kaminari getting a chance to show that his own horniness has limits, but I must remind the author… Mineta didn’t have to get this much of the spotlight, you know? Anyway, Parents’ Day is at hand (which makes for some drama at the end of the volume) but first several of the boys rescue a girl at an amusement park while three of the girls go to a supermarket. The latter story was promising until was revealed that the shoplifter they caught had crapped himself. So puerile. I wanted to like this but in the end it just pissed me off. – Michelle Smith

My Monster Secret, Vol. 15 | By Eiji Masuda | Seven Seas – This mostly expands on the new plot twists from last time. Shiho is still trying to find a way to avoid fate, which doesn’t work, but she, Mikan and Nagisa all reveal their secrets to each other at the same time, which is probably the funniest scene in the book, and leads to a lot of “yeah, so, most of us are supernatural in some way” scene. There’s also a summer beach chapters, which leads (chanks to Akane) our main couple getting left behind and stranded. They grow closer, there’s a kiss…. and then there’s a bite. Now it’s time for Akane to point out that biting for vampires isn’t just kissing, it’s a lot more serious. And finally, a reminder—again—that Youko is a vampire. Are we finally going to dark places? – Sean Gaffney

Otherworldly Izakaya Nobu, Vol. 3 | By Natsuya Semikawa and Virginia Nitouhei | Udon Entertainment – The “cute food manga” is still there, but things get a lot more dramatic in this third volume. We actually get some backstory for Shinobu, the heir to a restaurateur who is fleeing and arranged marriage, and Nobuyuki, her restaurant’s cook who had just quit. In the fantasy world, the asshole villain from last time is back, and trying to get the izakaya shut down—and its owners executed—for the beer they’re selling, as it’s actually lager, which is illegal in this world. This is one of those “every minor character who had loved their food comes together to help” plots that I really love, and it makes this volume the best of the series to date. – Sean Gaffney

That Blue Sky Feeling, Vol. 2 | By Okura and Coma Hashii | Viz Media – Noshiro may be a giant bundle of extrovert, but that’s not always a good thing, as this volume demonstrates. Whether Noshiro is gay or not is still up in the air—certainly Sanada thinks he’s straight—but his attempts to solve Sanada’s problems just lead to more problems, as Ayumi and Sanada cannot go back to what they were before, and underclassman Makoto (who has a giant crush on Noshiro) is another spanner in the works. Noshiro has to be reminded that “Oh, he’s gay!” is not just something you can say in a modern Japanese high-school environment… and Sanada has to be shown that it’s not the end of the world. Still surprisingly sweet. – Sean Gaffney

UQ Holder, Vol. 16 | By Ken Akamatsu | Kodansha Comics – After a Vol. 15 that I gave a full review to as it wrapped up Negima properly, we’re back to the actual main cast of UQ Holder, who have been shown how to abuse time travel by Negi and company and are now abusing that for their own ends. It’s a good philosophical argument held here—we can’t save everyone vs. can we just let everyone die? We also get some insight into Jinbei and Gengoro and what kind of immortality they have, as well as the type of person they are—though honestly, Akamatsu tends to lean towards “battle crazy” a whole lot. One other thing I want to note is that, now that UQ Holder comes out in a monthly magazine rather than weekly, and the chapters are longer, it’s much better paced. – Sean Gaffney

Yona of the Dawn, Vol. 17 | By Mizuho Kusanagi | VIZ Media – A new arc begins in this volume, as the five-tribe council agrees to war with South Kai in order to reclaim Kin Province, lost in a previous war. Yona and company have befriended a kid from Kai and, after helping him get back home, witness firsthand the atrocities committed by the Kai soldiers after their defeat by Kohka. Meanwhile, several of the dragons have fallen ill and there is ominous talk (and, later, a bonus story about) what happens to the existing dragon when a new one is born. They decide to hide the fact that they are short-lived from Yona, and it’s perhaps because this put the idea of their demise into my head that I completely fell for a fakeout that ensues. I appreciate the opportunity to learn more about the mysterious Zeno, and continue to love this series very much. – Michelle Smith

By: Ash Brown

[kmtapman-blog]

London Crow (Chapter 3)

“I look stupid.” I said to my reflection. She didn’t answer. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t like what I saw, it was more that I felt foolish dressing so formally for something so seemingly trivial. I needed to be at the Vine Ridge Art Impressions Gallery in thirty minutes and I had no shoes to wear.  “...and Nana! No boots.” I sighed. No boots indeed. After six pairs of very different colored and styled boots, the only other shoes I owned were sneakers. Possibly a pair of absolute emergency flipflops. But nothing to go with a blood red dress. Perhaps I should have thought of that when I was shopping in Starting Sun. I sighed and fluffed my long curls in frustration. My necklace and card key were in a wide black wallet I intended to pass for a clutch, along with a natural orange lipgloss, brown mascara and eyeliner; the only makeup I’d chosen to wear. I snatched it up and stuffed my bare feet into a pair of high brown boots without lacing them. I locked my door tightly and paused at the knob, thinking of Dominick’s comment about “having ways to get in”. I ran down the stairs and out into the crisp evening air, across the field to the campus drugstore. The air was alive with young college students heading to class, talking with lovers and friends, making plans for parties, running in packs to train for athletic competitions or just sitting around, reading and gobbling down an evening meal. It was barely dark, but the streetlights were already on in full glaring force. No one seemed to notice it wasn’t high noon. I tried to look and act natural. To feel like I was a part of them, but, I never had. I’d played nice with all my classmates. I knew their names and some of their stories, but never really stuck around to make friends outside of town. There was an exhaustion in me that reared it’s head every time I was thrust into a social situation. And I had a feeling I was going to be more than exhausted when I returned home this evening. I made to put my hand on the handle of the drugstore door when an echoing whisper penetrated my ears. Do you have it yet? I gasped and whipped my head around, but no one was even glancing in my general direction. I scanned the street crowd desperately, searching for the source of the sound, but no one stood out to me. Panicked, I ran into the store and tried to feel safer under the harsh buzzing and florescence of the overhead lighting. I made my way to the back and found what I was looking for. Pliable black flats intended for emergencies after a long night out dancing. For a fraction of a second the light blinked. I stood completely still, waiting. When nothing happened, I hurried to the counter and paid for my shoes, heart still pounding. Once outside, I walked at an accelerated pace down the street until I caught up with a group of elegantly dressed students from Professor Winthrope’s class. “Hi.” I said rather breathlessly. A boy named Sen, who sat several rows from her was the first to turn around. “Oh, hey Nana! Woah, you weren’t kidding right? You look amazing.” He nudged his buddy Tyrone and the two girls Sylvia and Ellie turned to greet her as well. “We were just discussing whether or not this new book was going to be on the reading list for the second half of the semester now that it’s been released, you think?” I smiled tightly and shrugged, looking down and walking fast to keep up with them. Ellie was short, thin, talented, and most importantly, kind. If I had ever wanted for a female friend I would have pursued her first, but apart from this very evening I had never had much need. I’d felt a modicum of jealousy for her short and sleek obsidian hair, and the way she pulled off her thick glasses. Sylvia, on the other hand, was by comparison in a constant daze, and only seemed to say strange or philosophical things in her soft low voice. She normally had long red waves cascading down her back, but both she and Ellie had twisted their hair into neat knots at the bases of their necks. It looked as though Sylvia were with Tyrone and Ellie with Sen. I tried hard not to stand out any more than I already did, and listened politely to their conversations without offering much dialogue in return. I was searching. Searching the sky, the ground, and the crowds for a pair of bright yellow eyes. When we got to the pillars of the Art Impressions Gallery, towering overhead with different colored lights cast upon them, Sylvia stopped me gently, pulling me awkwardly to the side. The others didn’t seemed to notice, as they were showing their ID’s at the door for Stamps. “Nana... didn’t you say you weren’t gonna wear boots?” She said quietly. I gasped and looked down. Sure enough, I’d been in such a panic that I’d forgotten to change. Thanking her, I walked down the side of the building and pulled off my boots, hiding them behind a darkened column. The stone was cold on my bare feet, and I took care not to fall into the narrow strip of grass between this building and the next wall as I slipped on my shoes, and as a finishing touch, the necklace my father had given me. I took a deep breath and made my way back up to the front, holding the wall for support. Heart pounding for some unknown reason, I showed my ID at the door and received a black, leaf-shaped stamp on my hand. Once inside, I realized that this gallery was much higher and larger that I’d originally thought. There were intricate marble statues surrounding the various works of art from alumni and current students. Among them were carvings, statues, clay, paintings, abstract work, charity pieces and awareness showcases for various causes. I swallowed hard and began to search for a floating tray of some kind of booze. Right on cue, I caught sight of a tray of Champagne coming from another corridor and made a b-line for it. Showing my stamp, I grabbed two off the tray and downed them both in under thirty seconds. I wasn’t very big on drinking, but tonight, I decided, I needed to. After a few minutes of laughter and overhearing conversation from the other students, I began to calm down. I caught sight of my professor in between conversations and pro-offered my congratulations. “I’m glad you could make it, Nana. You look excellent. Nice choice.” He shook my offered hand and excused himself to speak with another professor. I took a third glass of champagne from a different tray and offed it in about the same time. It burned in my throat and stomach, but it was sweet, and it calmed my nerves. I made my way through the hall, just as the professor was making his way up a set of marble steps masquerading as a stage. There was a soft clanging of dessert fork on glass and the conversation dulled to a hum. I took the opportunity to make my way into another room and examine the statues within. Many of the pieces in this room were some of the oldest of the university’s collection. There were dates with eighteen hundreds preceding them, and paintings with worn edges hanging from the walls. I could hear Professor Winthrope’s voice trailing though the halls. He’d apparently told a great joke, because the front hall erupted with laughter. I didn’t feel too left out.   I caught sight of something shining out of the corner of my eye and felt a sharp pain in my chest. Realizing it was just the hand of a statue, I cursed myself for my chicken-hearted emotions. I walked carefully over to it and discovered that something sparkling had been shoved into the fist of the woman statue. she looked like a naked warrior, decorated only in beads and jewels with an elaborate headdress. Perhaps an Egyptian queen? I stood on my tiptoes and reached into her fist, coming up with a fine silver chain, much like the one my father had bought me, only on the end of this chain was an oval shaped emerald with silver vines and leaves twined around it. You do have it. I would have loved to have had the good fortune of turning around to nothing a third time. After all, the voice was definitely inside my head. But he was there. He was standing right in front of me, hovering over me calmly, exuding power. Clothed only in dark and indiscriminate colors. Facing me like an enemy. The man with the Amber eyes. I chanced a glance down to my fist, housing the emerald. I looked back up at him, unsure.  Give it to me. His lips never moved, but I was certain it was him who spoke, his voice threatening, rumbling and deep. His gaze bored into me, and he stood completely still, but for a hand held out in between us. Fumbling for a moment, I held out the emerald necklace in front of me, turning my palm face up and opening my fingers. “H-here, you can take it. I didn’t mean to steal or anything, I didn’t know this was yours, I-” He was on me in a second, forcing me to bend backwards away from his solid chest. My wrist was viced in the grip of his one hand, my throat tightly in the other. My arm was stretched behind us as though we were frozen in the middle of some sort of bizarre waltz. I couldn’t scream. There was no air in my lungs. A heavy dark scent like thunderstorms penetrated what little breath tried to enter. I heard thunder in my ears. I tried to struggle, but so little of my body was free, and what parts were refused to move. Refused to save me. Suddenly something popped loudly in between us and a tiny bolt of electricity crackled through his hand. His amber eyes flashed red and he let go on the spot, cursing, and took a confused step back, his Amber eyes flashing. “Hey, what’s going on in there?” I barely made out the words, but a few others began to whisper behind them. The amber eyed man directed his eyes to the door without moving a muscle. A swirling whirlwind of black feathers Burst forward from his chest and he disappeared, flying out of the room as a massive raven.  I stood there with my mouth gaped open as Sen came running into the room, a clatter of footsteps behind him. Still staring after the bird, I dropped the emerald and it shattered on the stone floor like thin ice, a sharp green vapor escaping, and shooting straight through Sen’s heart.