#most of the outrage is played up for theatrical purpose

[the-sailing-snail]

Fuck it, I'm gonna say it: Wasps are so fucking cool. They are awesome and beautiful and important and they deserve more hype.

This post is NOT for wasp haters and cowards! "Bohoo a wasp once stung me :( a wasp flew around me while I sat in a cafe :( I stepped on a wasp once :(((( " I DON'T CARE!!!!! I drank a headless wasp on accident once and I got over it, stop whining.

Anytime I say I like wasps someone goes "nooooooo they are evil evil bastards!" I DIDNT ASK. You are affronted that nature persists in a way thats inconvenient to you and take the easy hanging fruit of dunking on wasps.

Only love for wasps on this post! Pls tell me your favourite wasp funfacts! I'll start!!!!

Wasps get pretty used to the presence of onlookers! They just keep carrying out their VERY (!) important tasks uwu I once spent like 20 minutes looking at wasps fortifying their little rooms in a wall against the oncoming winter! They were very smart and pretty and very sweet about me standing there <3

[juukai]

DCAtober day 6: Hue

moon/sun x reader, ~3k words, fluff

plz be kind I haven't posted my writing in years

The question was innocent enough and asked extremely casually. Somehow it still threw you off just enough to have you looking up from tying Jamie's shoes for her so that she could leave.

"Huh?"

"Your favorite color, star! Somehow we don't have that information yet. Which is weird, I could have sworn we would have asked as part of your first introduction day..." Sun tapped his chin and gave the impression that he wasn't quite looking at you, though without pupils it was hard to tell. He seemed to be muttering that last part to himself- or to the both of them in there- at any rate.

You shrugged and tightened the last of the bows for Jamie and sent her off to her waiting guardian. An early pick-up today, it hadn't even been nap time yet. You hoped that she was going to get to do something fun at home with her family.

"Well, I suppose if you ask again reeeally nicely this time, I'll let you in on the secret."

Sun huffed in obvious play outrage. "I asked you nicely the first time! My manners are impeccable!" You grinned at the lack of the plural there- it was no secret that Sun thought Moon was slacking on manners. The two of you watched each other for a few moments before his shoulders dropped and he gave you a simulated sigh.

Ha! Point to you.

He must have seen the smugness creeping in, because just as suddenly he had his hand clasped to his chest and another outstretched in your direction as he swept into a bow. Point lost, now he was going into full thespian mode.

It was really hard to not either push at him to get him to stop or to start laughing before he could even speak.

"Please, my dearest and most precious friend!" Oh, he was really leaning into it. He had a little accent going and everything. "We cannot continue like this. Will you not gift us with the knowledge of the hue held closest, the most cherished, in your heart?"

You were doing a terrible job of not laughing at him. Some of the children were giving the two of you strange looks, while a couple others were giggling at the theatrics.

"Oh my god, please stop."

His grin hadn't changed and yet somehow it looked so self-satisfied. If there weren't a bunch of kids around to set a good example for, you'd definitely be pushing him now. It was still very tempting anyways.

He rolled his wrist, reminding you that he was waiting for you to answer him. Between chuckles you finally gave him the response that he was waiting for and dipped lower in his bow before standing up straight with a flourish.

"You're so dramatic." You didn't give him a shove, but you did purposely bump into him once he was completely upright again. He let you and swayed with the motion to give you the effect that you were looking for, and probably also to soften your thunk against his hard frame a little for your benefit.

His rays spun merrily as he looked out over the daycare to get a beat on what the kids were all doing, then returned his attention to you. "Why thank you! We do try our best."

For a while the two of you just stood near one another, the both of you watching different zones to make sure that everyone was following the rules and playing nice. Sun didn't always seem to prefer when there wasn't a guided activity going, but naptime was coming up before too long and you knew Moon harped in their headspace that the kids needed a little wearing out before they were expected to sleep. There was only so much the moondrops could do to help them get to sleep, and the kids always settled for a story better if they were tuckered out.

"Why'd you want to know my favorite color, anyway?" you asked after a while.

"Hmm?" Sun perked up at your question, though he kept looking out across the room. "Oh, one of the little ones wanted to give you a star sticker earlier, for being such a good helper and since we usually call you star! But it seems like they might have forgotten now. I can still give you a sticker, though, if you'd like."

You laughed and waved one hand vaguely. "No, that's okay. Now you know for next time. I guess that got missed somewhere in our introductions." You looked at him and then thought about it for a moment. "... Y'know, I don't know yours either. What's your favorite color, Sunny?"

"Yellow!" He answered so quickly that you had to wonder if that was what he legitimately preferred or if it was a scripted like- sometimes the animatronics, for all that you forgot that they were programmed to be the way that they were sometimes and that they weren't just really weird looking people, couldn't escape a coded response.

"Uh huh. Not sure if I expected that or not." It seemed like too obvious an answer, since he was yellow. But then, it still would have been fitting, you supposed.

The two of you went your separate ways for a while a little later, Sun going to return to taking a hands-on approach to playtime when one of the kids came up and asked to go to the bathroom. It wasn't too long once you came back that it was time to start clearing the softer area of toys and foam shapes to drag out the nap mats and blankets, You helped to get them all set up with the children while Sun made his way to the light switch.

The music shifted to a version of the normal song that was much calmer and quieter, and lacked the goofy sound effects sprinkled in, as the lights dimmed. You stayed off to the side as Moon came back to the area and passed out little wrapped candies to everyone who sat nicely for story time. He gave you a rather impish little look as he made a big show of skipping over you with the distribution of the drops, which earned an echo of amused little giggles. You didn't really want one anyway but you still put one hand on your hip and wagged a chastising finger at him.

You collected all of the wrappers from the candies while Moon took a poll on what story everyone wanted to hear and then started to recite from his internal library. Sometimes he used physical books just so that he would have pictures to share with the kiddos, but today he recited it without one while the kids hunkered down. Most of them were asleep before the story ended and you watched from a good distance away as Moon checked on the remaining few stragglers to make sure that they didn't need anything, then he left their immediate area so as not to disturb them.

You knew that his sensors had picked up that they'd fallen asleep when he approached you. He only put so much distance between him and them when everyone was out and he wouldn't be needed for a while.

"Finished hovering?"

His chuckled softly. "Brat. Are you going to go take your break?"

You shrugged. "In a bit. Thought I'd keep you company first, I'm sure Sun won't mind if my break bleeds over into his time a little."

Moon's faceplate ticked to the side once, twice, and then a full spin in delight. "Oh, he minds. But Mr. Manners needs to learn to share." You laughed, though you were mindful of your volume. You'd gotten plenty of scolding in the past from the naptime attendant, who took his job of making sure sleep happened very seriously. It and security were about the only things he seemed to take seriously.

"You two bickering again? Over lil' ol' me?" You snickered. "You see me almost every day, I don't believe for a minute that either of you actually mind me going on break."

Without having pupils to make it visible, Moon was forced to roll his eyes with his whole head. "Of course we don't, we want you to take your breaks." You could see him pause to give his programming time to work through not needing to tell you to rest. It was a process, he had explained once, bypassing certain triggers to his protocols since adults weren't people that he was in charge of unless it was for security. "That doesn't mean," he continued, "that we like missing time with you."

You were not getting flustered by the robot. "Aw, shucks," you joked as a distraction. "You two are going to make me blush."

He made an amused sound before a comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a couple moments. He watched the children for some of that time, on the look out for any signs that someone was stirring, but luckily most naptimes went very smoothly and stayed dull. You made your way over to one of the craft tables after a while and Moon shadowed you all too quietly for a tall animatronic covered in bells.

You started to clear the table and get things organized again when you came across a sheet of stickers that reminded you of earlier. "Hey, Moon Man?"

"Yes, Starling," he answered in a sickly-sweet tone. You might have deserved that teasing, you know that he doesn't like 'Moon Man', you just used it anyway to annoy him.

"What's your favorite color?"

He hesitated, tilting his head at you before he looked down at the stickers in your hand. You saw the lightbulb in his brain go on. "I am obligated to tell you blue or purple."

You wrinkled your nose at that. "Okay, gross. They really don't let you guys pick your own favorites? Is Sun's actually yellow?"

He stared at you for a moment that felt like it stretched on a little too long. Was he trying to think of something to say? Was he talking to Sun? There couldn't have been something in his programming that kept him from talking bad about the rest of his programming, right?

You only noticed that he'd been slowly leaning in close to you when he stopped. "No."

"No..?"

He didn't move back at all. "No, it's not his favorite."

"Oh." The atmosphere between the two of you was starting to feel slightly heavy but at the same time you didn't move to put any extra space there. "What... are your actual favorite colors? Can you even answer that?" Hopefully they could.

It took some time for Moon to respond but this time you really did get the feeling that he was having some sort of communication with his counterpart. It was a loaded silence.

"Yours."

Huh? "Mine? What, you both like my favorite one?"

He shook his head slightly and the bell on the end of his nightcap jingled softly. "No." He seemed to hesitate and you let him have time to give you an actual answer, just like you'd let him have time to get around the knee-jerk reaction to tell you to nap. "Your color is our favorite."

You started to open your mouth to express your confusion about that, but stopped short when his cool, clawed fingers met your cheek with extremely gentle tenderness. "The color of your skin, your hair, your eyes." His hand cupped your face and tilted it a little further up towards his. "The colors of the clothes you wear aside from your uniform, the ones you pick the most often during crafts time, the one of your phone case."

You were pretty sure that your brain was short circuiting. Was he really saying these things, holding onto you like this? Sure, you and the both of them had gotten pretty close over the time that you'd been working inside the daycare, especially recently, but nothing like this. Was he joking? This wasn't the way that he had ever messed with you before, you had no reason to believe that he would be now, but him being serious made just about as little sense. Your lips parted like you were going to say something, though you had no idea what it could have been. Nothing actually came out.

"The color of your lips," he continued as if your floundering had drawn his attention there and you felt the pointed tip of his thumb just barely brush underneath your bottom lip, which made you squeak. "Your blush."

And now you could feel that you were blushing. Your cheek felt hot against the contrasting temperature of his hand.

"I..." You didn't actually know what to say. You stared up at him, still pole-axed, for a moment before his intensity came down by a few degrees. The way that he held you and looked at you was still achingly gentle, but the pressure of it lessened enough that you could feel some of your higher thought processes rebooting. "You... You both?"

His free hand came up to hold your other cheek and he used that to hold you still as he pressed the teeth of his faceplate against your forehead. "Both of us, I assure you, starlight." He stayed there for a moment before pulling back with a soft chuckle. "Did you not notice?"

You shook your head, dumbfounded and wide-eyed.

"Sun thought he was being so obvious. He's losing his mind that I was right and we just needed to be a little more... forward." He practically purred the word and you felt your face heat even further.

"Was he? Being obvious?" You didn't have any idea that this was coming. Were there signs that you had missed? You thought that he was just being friendly! That they were both just friendly! For as much as you found yourself forgetting that they weren't actually just sentient and independent beings also performing a job every day it had never once occurred to you that they could develop feelings like this. That felt like it was doing them a massive disservice now while Moon held you in place and stared at you.

Another chuckle. "A little, but obviously not enough." He backed a little more out of your space, and took in the look of surprise still on your face. A hesitation came over him then, though he didn't release you. "Is this okay? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, no! It's okay!" You reached up and held onto his wrists over the ribbons and bells on each. "I just... can't believe..."

He snickered and you could see the way that his constant smile strained at the edges into something so mischievous and smug but with the hold that you had on him and him on you, you could also feel the way that he seemed to be nearly vibrating with energy. He didn't look it, he always outwardly seemed so much calmer and nonchalant than Sun, but you could feel the slight tremor against your skin and you could hear the muffled way that his internal cooling system was working hard to keep his temperature even.

"Then we have your permission to pursue this?"

The answer was out of your mouth before you even had a chance to think about it. "Yes. Both of you." It didn't strike you as something strange until after you'd said it. You had never really considered how logistics with one of the highly advanced animatronics would go, let alone with two separate AI. But this didn't seem strange to them, or at least to Moon. And Sun had never brought anything up before, though he had obviously spoken with Moon about it if there had been this supposed conversation about the tactic that they should take for their approach. He'd chastised Sun teasingly to you for needing to learn to share, but it seemed like there must have already been some sort of discussion about doing just that.

Moon's expression was downright devilish. "Good. In that case, would you mind staying a little late tonight? I think I might need some help once the daycare's closed..." He laughed at your spluttered response and leaned to press his mouth against your forehead one more time before letting you go with visible reluctance. "Don't worry, I'll put in a note to your manager for an overtime request. Now, naptime's over."

You felt very much like a mouse being cornered by a cat as he looked at you for another few seconds before he took a couple steps backwards. "Have fun with Sun, little star."

Oh. He was making his way to the light switch. "Wait-!"

He cackled at you before he lunged for the light and slapped the button.

You missed the change between the naptime and the daytime appearance as you blinked to adjust your eyes to the light. There was a moment where no one made a sound while Sun completely took over and the standard daycare music started back up. A couple of the children started to rouse but there'd still be a small window of peace until you went and got them up for lunchtime and whatever other activities Sun had on the docket for the day.

That quiet was shattered when Sun's eyes landed on you just before he started marching your way. "Moon got to kiss you first?!"

Oh, so that was what he'd been doing to your forehead? "Oh boy," you breathed as seven feet of excited and agitated robot burst your personal bubble.

[padfootagain]

How to Make Sport Fun

Hello! Here I come with a new request! This came from @thenerdysimp : “where reader and Ben is that cute gym-couple. Like they are working out for Shadow and bone or something and they are doing pull-ups together. (Like she has her legs around his waist while they are holding the bar together) When he is doing push-ups she is laying on the floor under him to give him a kiss every time he comes down and when she is doing sit-ups he is holding her feet to giver her a kiss every time she comes up. The cast is just teasing them about it all the time but they couldn’t care less😌

I just see Ben as a big simp😂”

I completely agree with you about Ben being a simp, he is an absolute softie like… zejzeijroiejrzijrezi!!!

(Also, know that I hate sport, and know nothing about working out, so sorry if some details don’t make sense, I had to google these things).

I hope you all like this fic! Please, tell me what you think about it.

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: Extreeeeeeme fluffiness!! Tooth-rotting fluff!! Just lots of disgustingly sweet cuteness!! It also got very very flirtatious for some reason, I don’t know why… *glances over at a picture of Ben working out* yeah, I know why…

Summary: You hate working out. Ben hates working out. Lucky for the two of you, like most things in life, it’s more fun when you do it with someone you love.

Word count: 3048

Ben Barnes's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Working out is (almost) never fun.

Muscles aching, sweat sticking to your skin, breathing hard like a bloody buffalo… All traces of sexiness gone for good. And the need to focus, the whole seriousness of it.

Many disadvantages in workouts, but then it keeps you healthy, so it’s not that bad. And it is needed for this role of yours you’re going to play in a couple of months in Shadow and Bone, so you don’t exactly have a choice.

And then… well, there’s the fact that your husband is training with you these days. And that brings a lot of fun to the whole exercise.

Goodbye to the stern sessions, the focused frowns. Instead, you’re getting a very goofy husband currently improvising a karaoke session in the empty training room rented by the studio for the cast and crew to use.

It’s early still, most people are still in bed, but that’s why you’ve come now. You and Ben have the room only for the two of you. You train with a coach as well, but only twice a week, the rest of your sessions are spent laughing at your husband’s silly choreographies more than actually working out.

Although… that’s not exactly true. After all, laughing does train your abs. That’s why your stomach is painful right now…

“IIIIII WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY!” Ben is singing at the top of his lungs next to you while dancing, bringing out his most ridiculous moves on purpose just to make you laugh.

He sings along with the radio, turning fully to you for the next verse.

“IIIII WANNA FEEL THE HEAT FOR SOMEBODY!” he points at you as he sings, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he insists on the word ‘heat’, making you double with laughter.

He can’t go on as you lean on him for support, laughing too much to stay upright. His laughter soon joins yours.

“Are you laughing at my singing?” he asks, faking outrage, still struggling to speak.

You shake your head, unable to speak at all. You choke on your laughter, making his grin double in size and a wave of giggles bubble on his lips.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you finally answer.

You brush your tears away, and he does the same.

“I love you,” you sigh, holding your painful stomach. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And now you’re insulting the artist…”

He gives you a dramatic pout, puppy eyes and a theatrical sniffle for good measure. You giggle at him, but it works all the same, his evil plan. Because now you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to kiss his lips, the radio still blurting the old hit song.

“Awwww, poor Benjamin…”

“Don’t call me that!” he protests, but he lets you kiss his cheek anyway, his beard tickling your skin. “I hate it!”

“What should I call you then? Thomas?”

He lets out a disgusted growl.

“Barnes?”

“Oh, stop it! Call me a real name?”

“A real name?”

“What you usually call me.”

“What do I call you again? I don’t remember…”

He rolls his eyes, pouting again.

“You’re so mean!” he complains.

You giggle into his beard, but give in anyway.

“Aww, my sweetheart!”

“Better…”

“My love.”

“Hmmm…”

“My darling.”

“Keep going…”

“Baby.”

“Yes?”

“My husband. My man. Handsome. Lovely. Honey…”

“Yeah, these are very good,” he nods in approval, before leaning in to kiss you, passionate and yet tender still.

When he moves his lips to your neck, you gently push him away, shaking your head.

“Oh, I see what you’re trying to do here, mister!” you warn him. “And you’re not getting away with it!”

“Getting away with what?” he asks back, faking innocence, but he’s got this mischievous glint in his eyes and smile, and you’re not fooled.

You wave a finger at him.

“Do not distract me with your charm and your kisses! You’re due for some pull-ups.”

“You think I’m charming?” he shoots you a flirtatious smile, and you roll your eyes despite the heat that spreads across your whole body because of how his voice is deeper than usual, sulkier, huskier…

“Why do you think I’ve married you?”

“My money?”

“I wish. It would have caused me less trouble. I wouldn’t be here sweating my ass off if I did. I’d be drinking cocktails by a disgustingly expensive pool then, like any real gold digger.”

“’Sweating your ass off?’ Can you be less romantic?”

“I can’t. But, my love…”

“Hmm?”

“Pull-ups!”

He groans, mumbling something about his tyrant of a wife, but walks over to the bars anyway.

“Come on, get to work,” you tease him some more, just for good measure, landing a playful slap on his butt that makes him chuckle. “These muscles of yours won’t grow by themselves.”

“Are you saying that that’s what you want? More muscles? I didn’t know you did. Want me to sign you up at the bodybuilder fan club?”

“Our director wants you to grow some muscles. Me? I mean… I don’t mind the muscles. But your pretty eyes are enough to woo me.”

He grins at that, bright and genuine, before dropping a sweet peck to your lips. Your cheeks hurt a little after smiling so much.

“Part of my charms, I’m sure,” he jokes, but you nod in all seriousness.

“Absolutely. You have very pretty eyes.”

“Well, thank you. But they aren’t as pretty as yours, my love.”

“Sweet-talking your way out of training, I see…”

“I’m not!” he defends himself, and as to prove a point, he stands under the bar, getting ready.

“Come on! You can do it!” you encourage him, and he winks at you before getting to work.

Yes, these sessions with your goofy husband are a laugh. But then again, you can’t deny that he’s redefining other disadvantages of these sessions too…

You mentioned the loss of sexiness? That doesn’t seem to apply to your husband. Not at all. Quite the opposite.

You struggle a little to swallow as you stare at Ben, pulling up his weight until his chin goes all the way above the steel bar. Muscles flexing, tensing, bulging under his black t-shirt. His face strained by the effort, and the veins on his forehead and his neck pulsing as he struggles. His cheeks have reddened, and he heaves a loud breath at the next climb. He’s sweaty, beads rolling down the side of his face, but you find that sexy. You’ve stopped encouraging him altogether, merely admiring your husband. You can’t find anything to say at all, anyway. Your brain has stopped functioning as soon as your eyes have landed on his tensed biceps, pale skin glimmering with the thin layer of sweat under the white neon lights…

Only when you hear him letting out a grunt, and that he remains suspended above the ground but not moving up anymore do you finally bring yourself back to earth.

“Come on! You can do one more!” you encourage him.

“How many did I do?”

“Huh…”

“You counted, right?”

“Yes…?”

“What were you doing, then?”

He’s still out of breath, voice a little strained because of the effort, and you decide to definitely scratch that argument against training.

It can definitely be hot…

“Come on, I lost count, but you can do one more!”

But Ben shakes his head.

“Too tired.”

He’s about to let go, but you press him on.

“Come on! One more! For me!”

He grunts.

“Why do you want to torture me so much anyway?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

“Honestly?”

“Yes…” he answers, raising up an eyebrow, surprised by your tone.

“Your biceps look amazing when you do pull-ups. It’s super hot.”

He explodes with laughter, and has to let go of the bar, laughing too hard.

“What?” you ask, amused and trying to shy away.

But Ben shakes his head.

“I’m sweaty and disgusting right now,” he argues, but you shake your head.

And there’s something terribly hungry in your eyes, even if you try to hide it. It makes him grow serious in the blink of an eye, while his heart misses a few beats.

Damn, you’re really something else…

“I think you look hot,” you answer earnestly.

He shakes his head, still amused, but grabs the bar again anyway.

“Yes! Go on! Go on!” you cheer on, your eyes glued to his arms as he pulls himself up above the bar.

He lets go, exhausted, as soon as he is done. He rubs the painful muscle of his right arm with a small wince.

“I hate you,” he claims as you approach.

“Awww, my poor baby.”

Your fingers replace his as you massage his weary arm, and he heaves a relieved sigh at the feeling. Soon, a playful smirk is back on his lips.

“So… sexy enough for you?” he asks with a wink.

“Not bad,” you answer, but the grin on your lips betrays your thoughts.

“The other arm is very painful too, you know?”

“Fishing for attention, now?”

“Only massages for my sore muscles.”

“Oh… well, I wanted to give you a kiss, but as you just need some massage…”

“I won’t pass on a kiss, though.”

“Too late! Lost your chance.”

But the next second, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close as you rest your hands on his upper arms, still rubbing his skin.

“Never too late for a kiss,” he grins, leaning in and kissing you for a rather long while.

“You’re sweaty,” you point out after he finally frees you from his tight embrace.

“And? Disgusting?”

“Weirdly enough, not really.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Sexy?”

“Rather, yes.”

“You have to stop all this… flirtation. Innuendo. Temptation… or we’ll never finish our training session.”

You laugh at that, replacing Ben under the bar to do pull-ups too. He helps you by holding your legs for the last couple of tractions, and rewards you with some water and a couple of pecks in your hair.

“You’re sweaty too,” it’s his turn to point it out.

“And? Disgusting?” you ask, playing a long.

“Not gonna lie… it’s kinda gross.”

You swat him playfully on the shoulder, both of you laughing at the teasing.

“I’m obviously kidding. You are always gorgeous,” he corrects himself, and you roll your eyes.

“Sweet-talking your way out of trouble, as always…”

“Absolutely not. Just stating facts. We should do sit-ups now, let our arms rest a bit before we do push-ups.”

You nod in agreement, putting your bottle away.

You hold Ben’s feet when he lies down, knees bent. When he sits up, his face coming to your level again, you lean to press a kiss to his lips, making him giggle in surprise.

You’re too adorable, he can’t help it. Because he can’t say he enjoys this kind of workout sessions, but you make them unbearably more fun…

“Nice reward,” he grins, stealing another kiss before lying back down.

“I think so too. You’ll have to give me those too…” you’re interrupted by his lips as he comes up again, “…when it’s my turn.”

“Deal,” he smiles, pecking your lips once more.

And he does. Once it’s your time to get to work, he gives you kisses every time. You do a few more just to steal kisses, and he notices, but he doesn’t complain.

You’re the one to start with the push-ups next, and Ben would be lying if he claimed to have kept a perfect count throughout the exercise. Because he didn’t think seeing you sweaty and huffing and exhausted could look sexy… outside of a bedroom, that is. But it is, one thousand percent. And he kind of gets why you wanted to see one more pull-up before. Because now your muscles are flexing, and your hair clings to your temples, and you have that determined look on your face he finds absolutely endearing…

“How many do I have left?” you ask, struggling to breathe, your forearms shaking slightly as you hold yourself up.

“Two,” he claims, giving a random number as his brain has stopped functioning long minutes ago.

“Right…”

He counts with you to cheer you up, and he can’t help but laugh when you let yourself crash on the mat when you’re done.

You let out a dramatic moan, making his laughter double.

“Poor baby!” he coos, kneeling next to you and running his fingers through your hair. “Come on, my turn, and then we’re done for today.”

You turn your head towards him, just enough to look at him.

“Can we get a coffee afterwards?” you ask in a shy tone.

“Sure, I’ll get you coffee,” Ben nods, smiling, voice tender.

“And my shoulders hurt a lot,” you complain in a baby voice.

“Awww…”

“Can I get a massage afterwards?”

“Yes, you can.”

“And a shower with you?”

“Yes, we can take a shower together.”

“And sex in the shower?”

He explods with laughter, while you chuckle, a mischievous smile on your lips.

“You’re unbelievable,” he answers with fondness, shaking his head.

“Is that a yes?”

“Undoubtedly. Have I ever said no to that kind of offer?”

“Don’t know… seeing me like this could kill my sex-appeal for good.”

“Actually, you doing these push-ups was rather hot.”

“Really?”

He nods, standing again.

“Come on! My turn! Hurry up, we have many things to do after this. And some I’m very excited about.”

There’s flirt in his crooked smile, it oozes charms and his voice grows huskier as he speaks. You can’t help the way your heart skips a beat.

But you don’t move just yet, groaning at your painful muscles.

Ben chuckles, standing over you, his arms crossed before his chest.

“I do have a very nice view of your ass from up here, so I can’t say that I’m willing to complain about you lying down like this a little longer… but you have to move if you want this session to end.”

You smile while Ben bends to pinch your thigh through your leggings, making you squeal and let out a bright wave of laughter.

“I knew you loved my arse,” you answer proudly, wriggling happily on the floor as you turn to lay on your back.

Ben rolls his eyes.

“I do tell you every single day how beautiful you are, my darling,” he reminds you, shaking his head with a tender smile.

“You do,” you nod, your smile matching his. “But it never gets old.”

“Why do you think I married you in the first place?”

“My money?”

“I wish. It would have gotten me in less trouble than your pretty arse.”

“When did I get you into trouble?”

“Every single day since we met.”

“Fair enough…”

You laugh, and finally sit up, until an idea crosses your mind, and you choose to lie back down.

You have a mischievous on your lips, and Ben looks at you warily.

“I’ve got an idea!”

“Hmm… and a terrible one, judging by that smirk on your face. What did I just say about trouble, again?”

“Come on! In position!” you order, ignoring him. “You’re gonna do your push-ups above me.”

His eyes grow round.

“What?”

“Come on! In position!”

He hesitates for a second, but he’s too used to your antics to argue. He knows you’ll end up convincing him anyway, so he rolls his eyes again, for good measure, but complies. He holds himself up above you.

“Like that?” he asks, frowning a little.

But you nod.

“Now, do a push-up!”

“I’m going to crush you, darling,” he argues, an amused smile on his lips.

“Of course not! Come on! Do a push-up!”

“It won’t work…”

“Stop arguing! And do it! Trust me!”

“You? You’re a mischief maker, I don’t trust you one bit.”

“Ouch, that hurts! To your own wife!”

“You heard me.”

But he bends down anyway, bringing his body against you, and as you kiss him when he gets down, right before he would pull himself up again. He chuckles, struggling to keep his balance as his body shakes with laughter, and you soon join him.

“So, that was your evil plan, huh?” he asks, still laughing.

“Devilish, right?”

“Outrageously so!”

“Good plan, huh?”

“Great plan. Might want to test it again.”

“Please, do.”

And he does, leaning down to reach your lips before pulling up. He has a precise number to follow for his routine, but he’s lost count, too busy staring at your beautiful eyes, and longing for your lips everytime he has to pull away, and his muscles are sore anyway, and he’s tired, and he just wants you close…

You let out a surprised huffing noise when he lets himself fall on top of you, before you both explode with laughter.

“Now, you’re crushing me, lovely!”

He lets out a dramatic grunt, shifting to get more comfortable, resting his cheek on your chest. You merely chuckle in response, holding him close.

“That was a good session.”

He hums in agreement, holding you tight.

“Yeah… I’m very sweaty and very sore. Apparently, it’s a good sign.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“It was fun though. You make these things fun.”

“Yeah, you do too.”

“What time is it? I could easily take a nap like this.”

“No idea. But you can’t fall asleep, you’ve promised me lots of things after the gym!”

“Really? I have no memory of that whatsoever.”

“You’ve promised some coffee…”

“Hmm…”

“Some massage…”

“Ha, did I?”

“You did. And also some sex.”

“Ha, yes,” he looks up at you at that, mischief back on his ridiculously handsome features. “In the shower, I think…”

“Yes, precisely.”

“Well, can’t keep my wife waiting for that.”

“You can’t indeed.”

You’re about to kiss when you hear the door of the gym open, and you turn to find Freddy, Calahan and Patrick staring at you with wide-eyes.

“We were doing push-ups,” you explain with a grin, but even Ben laughs at that.

Freddy puts down his bottle on a bench while you and Ben get back to your feet.

“I swear, if you’ve done anything sexual in this room, I will channel my inner Crow to kill you both.”

But as a response, you merely laugh, wishing for your three colleagues a good training session, while you gather your things and head for home.

Busy schedule ahead, after all…

***********************************

Taglist: @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic

[irlarcadegannon]

Thoughts on Vulpes ? be as detailed as you’d like I love hearing ppl brainrot about him

Oh, you've asked the right person, because I have a LOT to say. I mean, a lot. This post is long and it doesn't even scratch the surface.

hbomberguy put it best in his Fallout New Vegas video when he referred to Vulpes as an "imposing weirdo". It may be the most concise and simultaneously descriptive summary of him I've ever heard.

He's such a vague character that so much is open to interpretation. Ask a hundred people and not once will you get the same answer on who he is. I think that's a fantastic thing for the sake of variety and creativity in the fandom.

So what do I think of him?

I hate him, I love him, he needs to get himself together, I can't take him seriously, I can take him way too seriously..

He's one of the most volatile members of the Legion. He's walking a tightrope line between two extremes: being the Legion's poster boy, or abandoning it entirely—here's why I say that:

Vulpes is standoffish and dramatic. He has some, er, theatrical passion to him that other Legionaries do not. He runs up to you at Nipton to give you his evil monologue you just know he was rehearsing in the mirror for days, anxiously waiting for someone to come along so he can put on a show.

It's comically evil. And he knows that. He wants to be the big bad, because that means it's his chance to shine, and prove to the Legion that he is useful, he serves a purpose, see, you guys, I did it all in the name of the Legion!

It's childish. And I don't say that to absolve him of any guilt, no, this is a direct criticism of him. He's so out of touch and so entrenched in what the Legion has taught him that he fails to recognize the world around him as anything other than a stage for his performances.

If anything breaks that mirage, it's going to completely shatter him.

Talk to Caesar and he'll tell you that Vulpes has been saved from the brink of execution (at least once, I think multiple times) by his word alone. He's too stubborn, too independent. That tells me that Caesar is the one thing keeping Vulpes alive, let alone in the Legion.

He's young, and yet he's somehow the top frumentari? (Reeks of Caesar's interference.) Listen to the way he talks to you, he's so earnest that it's almost laughable. He'll do whatever it takes to give himself a name and credibility, and most importantly, to get the attention of Caesar. That is the foundation of his existence.

I think the rest of the Legion hates him. They can't stand him. He's Caesar's favorite so suddenly he gets to run everything? The man can't even stay incognito on the Strip, that's his one job!

If you took the Legion away from him, he would be nothing. And that would challenge his entire world view.

He tries so hard, yet everyone remains so unimpressed (you know who's the legend among soldiers? Joshua Graham. It's never Vulpes they mention). He's outrageous and horrible, and yet, you can't take him seriously. I've heard so many players say they shoot him on sight. They don't fear him. And if you kill him, guess what? He gets replaced! Nothing changes! The game demonstrates as blatantly as possible that he is replaceable (and will not be missed)!

His ego is so fragile that if it takes a single hit, it will result in the most catastrophic critical failure ego death imaginable.

That's why I like him. Because I'd really like to see that ego death happen. My first few times playing the game, I honestly thought he was meant to be a companion, because he seems so perfectly set up for a character arc that you as a player to influence for better or for worse.

Would you enable him and let him stay in his fantasy land where he gets to play the starring role? Holding his hand through more violence and slaughter? Would you show him (or let him figure out on his own) that the Legion doesn't care about him and watch him fail when he doesn't know what to do without them? Would you give him a reality check and tell him to change or die? That to change he's got to accept that he's caused a whole lot of pain to a whole lot of people that he can never undo and no one will ever owe him forgiveness?

He's a very important character in my fan works, arguably a main character in some of them. I think his symbolic status sets him up for some really interesting dynamics with other main characters, particularly the companions that represent their factions. I assure you I have PLENTY to say about those, too, but I'm cutting the post off here before it reaches novel length.

Vulpes is such a blank slate, with details that are so telling. He is fascinating.

[likealittleheartbeat]

The Queer Platonic Love of Aang & Zuko

Friend. What a weighty and intimate word in Avatar The Last Airbender. The series’ “found family” is iconic at this point, and is literally established as a “family” by Katara in the third episode. She pulls Aang back from the outrage of the Avatar state, saying “Monk Gyatso and the other monks may be gone, but you still have a family. Sokka and I, we’re your family now.”

 As I’ve said before, establishing this central safety net of trusted people is essential to Aang’s healing. Still, it’s interesting to me that they insist on this group as a “family” rather than something that might emphasize “friendship.” Something along the lines of ‘we’re your friends and we’re here with you.’ I can think of several animated shows that have done as much successfully. The show withholds the word “friend” for another purpose. I’ll happily admit that Aang and the others describe each other as “friends” throughout the series, but rarely is the use of the word (through pacing, repetition, or emotional context) given a sense of gravity in those moments. 

However, three scenes in the series rely heavily on the word “friend,” and each scene connects Aang more and more profoundly with Zuko, eventually revealing that the show’s entire plot hinges on the friendship between these two boys. In a series so latent with symbolism, what do we make of these star-crossed friends? The relationship between Aang and Zuko, I want to suggest, is meant to explore Platonic Love in all its depth, especially within a masculine culture that not only devalues it, but views its queer implications as inherently dangerous to the dominant power structures of an empire.

Get ready zukaang fans for a long-ass atla meta analysis...

“If we knew each other back then, do you think we could’ve been friends, too?”

The first time the word “friend” is uttered between them, Aang is perched on a branch, waiting for Zuko (who is laid out on a bed of leaves the Avatar made for him) to wake up after his blue spirit rescue. “You know what the worst part about being born over a hundred years ago is?” Aang waxes, “I miss all the friends I used to hang out with. Before the war started I used to always visit my friend Kuzon. The two of us, we'd get in and out of so much trouble together. He was one of the best friends I ever had...and he was from the Fire Nation, just like you. If we knew each other back then do you think we could have been friends too?” The scene stood out for me when I first watched it for the melancholy and stillness. We are not given a flashback like we did when Aang talked about Bumi or Gyatso in earlier episodes. We have to sit with Aang’s loss of a male friend. It echoes a veteran’s loss of a war buddy more than anything a western audience would expect in a children’s show about the power of friendship. Instead of simply mourning, Aang invites Zuko into the past with him. He invites Zuko to imagine a time before the war, a land of innocence, where they could live together. And between them there is a moment of reflection given to this invitation (...until Zuko shoots a fucking fire blast at Aang). 

The wistful mood returns when the two boys arrive back to their respective beds. Aang is asked by a loopy fevered Sokka if he made any “friends” on his trip, to which Aang sadly replies, “No, I don’t think I did” before tucking away to sleep. Aang’s mournful moments often stand out against his bubbly personality, but this moment stands out moreso because its the final moment for Aang in the episode. For the first time, he doesn’t receive comfort in his dejection. He doesn’t even confide in his peers. The solemnity and secrecy of this failed “friendship” is remarkable. 

It’s in the next symbolic gesture that I think Avatar reveals what’s at stake in the concept of “friendship.” Zuko, in the next scene, lays down to rest after his adventurous night, looks pensively at the fire nation flag in his room, and then turns his back on it. We realize, especially after the previous revelations in “The Storm,” that Aang’s gestures of “friendship” have caused Zuko to doubt the authority of the Fire Nation.

Now all three remaining nations have misogynistic tendencies, but the Fire Nation celebrates a specific brand of toxic masculinity, and Zuko longs to emulate it even after it has rejected and scarred him. In the episode, “The Storm,” which directly precedes “The Blue Spirit,” we see how Zuko failed to replicate masculinity’s demands. In a room of men, he disregards honorifics to speak out in the name of care and concern for people’s well-being over strategy. Though the war room was all men, we later see that The Fire Nation does not exclude women from participating in this form of toxic masculinity. (Shoutout to Azula, one of the best tragic villains of all time!) This gender parity prevents disgraced men, like Zuko, from retaining pride of place above women. So Zuko’s loving act and refusal to fight his father puts him at the lowest of the low in the social hierarchy of the Fire Nation, completely emasculated and unworthy of respect.

Since then, Zuko has been seeking to restore himself by imitating the unfeeling men of the war room and his unfeeling sister, barking orders and demands at his crew. The final redemptive act for this purpose, of course, is to capture the Avatar, who’s very being seems to counteract the violent masculinity at the heart of the Fire Nation. In most contemporary Euro-American understandings, Aang is by no means masculine. He’s openly affectionate, emotional, giggly, and supportive of everyone in his life, regardless of gender. He practices pacifism and vegetarianism, and his hobbies include dancing and jewelry-making. And, foremost, he has no interest in wielding power. (@rickthaniel has an awesome piece about Aang’s relationship to gender norms and feminism). 

In addition to the perceived femininity of Aang’s behavior, he’s equally aligned with immaturity. Aang’s childishness is emphasized in the title of the first episode, “The Boy in the Iceberg,” and then in the second episode when Zuko remarks, “you’re just a kid.” Aang, as a flying boy literally preserved against adulthood, also draws a comparison to another eternally boyish imp in the western canon: Peter Pan. This comparison becomes more explicit in “The Ember Island Players.” His theatrical parallel is a self-described “incurable trickster” played by a woman hoisted on wires mimicking theatrical productions of Peter Pan. The comparison draws together the conjunction of femininity and immaturity Aang represents to the Fire Nation.

When Zuko is offered friendship and affection by Aang, then, he faces a paradigm-shifting internal conflict. To choose this person, regardless of his spiritual status, as a “friend,” Zuko must relate himself to what he perceives as Aang’s femininity and immaturity, further demeaning himself in the eyes of his father and Fire Nation culture. The banished prince would need to submit to the softness for which he’s been abused and banished. This narrative of abuse and banishment for perceived effeminate qualities lends itself easily enough to parallels with a specific queer narrative, that of a young person kicked out of their house for their sexuality and/or gender deviance. 

I want to point out that Aang’s backstory, too, can be read through a queer lens. Although the genocide of the air nomads more explicitly parallels the experiences of victims to imperial and colonial violence, I can also see how the loss of culture, history, friends, and mentors for a young effiminate boy can evoke the experience of queer men after the AIDs pandemic and the government’s damning indifference. In fact, colonial violence and the enforcement of rigid gender roles have historically travelled hand-in-hand. Power structures at home echo the power structures of a government. Deviance from the dominant norms disrupt the rigid structures of the empire. Aang’s background highlights how cultures based in something besides hierarchy and dominance, whether they be queer cultures or indigenous societies, threaten the logic of imperialism, and thus become targets of reform, neglect, and aggression by the expanding empire and its citizens. Survivors are left, as Aang was, shuffling through the remnants, searching for some ravaged piece of history to cling to.

We begin the series, then, with two queer-coded boys, one a survivor of broad political violence, the other a survivor of more intimate domestic abuse, and both reeling from the ways the Fire Nation has stigmatized sensitivity. But the queer narrative extends beyond the tragic backstories toward possibility and hope. The concept of platonic love proposed here, though it does not manifest until later, is a prospect that will bring peace to the two boys' grief-stricken hearts and to the whole world.

“Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

“Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?” Toph asks before the four members of the group hold hands. Since Toph previously mourned her friendless childhood, it’s easy to appreciate this line for its hopefulness regarding the four central members of the Gaang. They long to appreciate that they’re all connected. As touching as this is, the soul-mated ‘friendship’ concept is actually uniquely applicable to Aang and Zuko.

When does Toph ask the question specifically? It’s after hearing the story of Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin: how their once intimate friendship fell apart; how Fire Lord Sozin began, undaunted, the genocidal attack on Airbenders. After recounting the tale, Aang, the reincarnation of Avatar Roku, excitedly explains to the group the moral that every person is capable of great good and evil. While that moral could easily be ascribed to many people in the series, the connective tissue is stretched directly to Zuko in a parallel storyline. Reading a secret history composed by his grandfather Sozin, Zuko discovers that he is not only the grandson of the empirical firelord but of Avatar Roku, as well. We see how the rift between the Sozin and Roku echoed down across history to separate the airbending culture from the fire nation, and, on a more human level, to separate Aang from Zuko. The two boys find themselves divided by their ancestors’ choices— and connected by Avatar Roku’s legacy. 

This is what takes their “friendship” from simply a matter of the character’s preferences to something fated, something unique from the other friendships. The rest of the found family is positioned as circumstantial in their relationship to Aang and one another. Yeah, it’d be cool if they were all connected in past and future lives, but the audience receives no indicators in the series that it’s necessarily true. Only faith holds them together, which allows room for an appreciation that your “found family” friendships might simply be the trusted people you discovered along the way. 

Zuko’s friendship is characterized differently. Both his struggle to befriend Aang and his eventual “friendship” are explicitly destined by the story of Roku and Sozin. After this episode, the series depends upon Zuko’s ability to mend the divide inside himself, which can only be done by mending the divide between him and Aang. Their inheritance symbolizes this dynamic exactly. As the reincarnation of Avatar Roku, Aang can be understood as the beneficiary of Avatar Roku’s wisdom (he should not, as many jokingly suggest, be considered as any kind of biological relation of Roku or Zuko).  Zuko, on the other hand, has inherited Roku’s genealogy in the Fire Nation. These two pieces of Roku must be brought together in order to revive Roku’s legacy of firebending founded on something besides aggression. 

In addition to making the ideals of Roku whole again, the two boys must tend to the broken “friendship” between the two men. As the Avatar and the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, Aang and Zuko parallel Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin precisely. The narrative of the latter pair places destiny precisely in the hands of the former. And since both Aang and Roku expressed the desire for “friendship,” it falls in the lap of the corresponding royal to give up their imperial dreams so they can gain something more peaceful and intimate. For Zuko, this now can only be accomplished when he heals the rift within himself. 

Importantly, both the previous friendship and the destined friendship between Zuko and Aang are between two men. The coming-of-age genre has proliferated the trope of homosociality (friendship between individuals of the same sex) and its eventual decline brought on by maturity and heterosexual romance. (Check out the beautiful and quick rundown of classic examples, from Anne of Green Gables to Dead Poet’s Society, made by @greetingsprophet ). The story of Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin replicates this established narrative. 

We see them playing, sparring, and joking intimately with one another. The two as young adults were intimately connected, the series explains, “sharing many things including a birthday.” Eventually their intimacy is interrupted by their worldly responsibilities and the spectre of heterosexual romance on Roku’s part.

Now, It’s not a huge leap for one to wonder if Sozin longed for something stronger in their “friendship.” We see no female romantic interests for Sozin. Instead, he continues to demonstrate his platonic allegiance to Roku. When Roku prepares to leave for his Avatar training, Sozin walks into his room and gives him his crown prince headpiece, a gesture of unique devotion that positions his friendship above his politics (which harkens to Plato and EM Forster’s ideas about platonic love that I’ll discuss in Part 3). 

One might note, too, how the wedding between Roku and his childhood sweetheart provides the setting for the escalation of Sozin’s violence. “On wedding days,” Sozin writes, “we look to the future with optimism and joy. I had my own vision for a brighter future...” He then pulls Roku away from his bride for a personal conversation, briefly recapturing the earlier homosocial dynamic with his friend. Sozin describes his affection for their intertwined lives. Then he links their shared happiness to the current prosperity of the Fire Nation. He imagines the expansion of the Fire Nation, which would also expand on the relationship between him and Roku. But the Avatar refuses the offer and returns to his wife, insisting on the value of traditional boundaries (both the pact of marriage and the strict division of the four nations). The abandonment of the homosocial relationship by Roku sets the site for the unmitigated empirical ambitions of Sozin. One wonders how history might’ve been altered had the two men’s relationship been sanctified and upheld. How might’ve Roku persuaded Sozin in his empirical ambitions if he had remained in a closer relationship to his friend? In their final encounter, Sozin reacts vengefully to his former platonic love: he lets Roku die protecting the home the Avatar shared with his wife. Sozin’s choice solidifies the divide between them, and makes the grief he’s experienced since Roku left him into actual death.

Instead of Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin finding a resolution, Aang and Zuko are ordained to reverse their friendship’s disintegration. Yes, they must heal the rift in the world created by the Fire Nation’s aggression, but Aang and Zuko must also reverse the tradition of lost homosociality within a culture of unrelenting machismo. Despite Avatar: the Last Airbender’s ties to the coming-of-age genre, the arc of Aang and Zuko’s “friendship” counters one of its most prominent tropes. “Some friendships are so strong they can transcend lifetimes,” Roku says, and it’s precisely this platonic ideal that draws Zuko and Aang towards one another in ways that are revolutionary both in their world and in the traditions of our’s. To come together, as two matured boys, to form an adult platonic love that can persist into adulthood.

“And now we’re friends.”

Which brings us to the consummation of Aang and Zuko’s “friendship.” Having resolved their previous hostilities and having neutralized the outside forces that would rather them dead than together, Aang and Zuko can finally embrace and define their relationship as “friendship.” Now, if we look closely at Zuko’s expression, we’ll notice a pause, before he smiles and reiterates Aang’s comment. My initial response, with my zukaang shipping goggles on extra tightly, was that Zuko just got friend-zoned and was a little disappointed before accepting Aang’s friendship. When I took a step back, I considered that we are given this moment of reflection to recognize Zuko’s journey, his initial belligerent response to the idea of befriending the Avatar. When he accepts the term of ‘friend,’ he reveals the growth he’s undergone that’s brought peace to the world. With these two possibilities laid out, I want to offer that they might coexist. That the word ‘friend’ might feel to Zuko and the audience so small and limited and yet simultaneously powerful. The pause can hint at the importance of “friendship” and signal something more. This reading emboldens the queer concept of “friendship” that undergirds their relationship. That the hug that follows might be meant to define the depth of the platonic love that is at the very heart of the series.

Saving a hugging declaration of “friendship” for the announcement of peace in the series is quietly revolutionary. In the twentieth century, male characters could connect in battle, on competitive teams, and through crime. “In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy — as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh — as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege — as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover — as long as he is riddled with bullets,” writes Kent Brintnall. Aang and Zuko’s hug starkly contrasts this kind of masculine intimacy. The show suggests that environments shaped by dominance, conflict, coercion, or harm, though seemingly productive in drawing people and especially men together, actually desecrate “friendships.” Only in a climate of humility, diplomacy, and peace can one make a true ‘friend.’

In situating the’ “friendship” between two matured males in a time of peace, the writers hearken back to older concepts of homosocial relationships in our fiction. As Hanya Yanagihara has described the Romantic concepts of friendship that pervaded fiction before the 1900s. In her book, A Little Life, Yanagihara renews this concept for the twenty-first century with a special appreciation for the queerness that one must accept in order for platonic love to thrive into adulthood. She writes, “Why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship? Why wasn’t it even better? It was two people who remained together day after day bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.” Aang and Zuko’s relationship, despite a history that would keep them apart, reclaims this kind of friendship. Their hearts, bound together by an empyrean platonic love, are protected from the political and familial loyalties that would otherwise embroil them. 

In addition to Yanagihara, another author that coats the word ‘friend’ with similar gravity and longing to Avatar is E.M. Forster, who braids platonic friendship in his writing with homoeroticism and political revolution. In Forster’s novel Maurice (originally written in 1914 but published posthumously in 1971 due to Britain’s criminalization of male homsexuality), the titular character asks a lower class male lover lying in bed with him,  “Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Someone to last your whole life and you his? I suppose such a thing can’t happen outside of sleep.” The confession, tinged with grief and providence as it is, could easily reside in Aang’s first monologue to Zuko in “The Blue Spirit.”

 Platonic love as a topic is at the heart of Maurice. Plato’s “Symposium,” from which the term platonic love derives, is even directly referenced in the book and connected with “the unspeakable vice of the Greeks”— slang for homosexual acts. For Forster, the sanction of platonic love, both the homosocial aspect and the latent homosexuality, reveals a culture’s liberation. “If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend,” Forster wrote in his essay “What I Believe,”, “I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.” This echoes a sentiment of philial love described by Plato. 

Rather than revolutionary ideals, for Forster friendships, and specifically friendships that disregard homophobia, provide the foundation for peace, equality, and democratic proliferation. When Aang and Zuko embrace, they are embodying this ideal.  Platonic love and the word “friend” have a history intertwined with queer romantic love, and, while I won’t argue that Avatar attempts to directly evoke this, I will suggest that the series consciously leaves room for this association. Now, the show certainly makes no attempt to imply anything romantic between Zuko and Aang within the timeline we witness (nor any same sex characters, which reflects cultural expectations in the 2000s). And for good reason, the age gap would be notably icky, to use the technical term. (You might note, however, that the show actually allows for crushes to extend upwardly across the same age gap, when Toph accidentally reveals her affection for Sokka to Suki in “The Serpent’s Pass.”) Despite connecting queer friendships to the history of ‘platonic love,’ Avatar provides two critiques to platonic love for audiences to absorb. One is the pederasty with which Plato defined his ultimate form of love in his Symposium. Fans rightfully comment on the age gap between Aang and Zuko as something preventative to shipping them together. And beyond the fact of their ages, Aang’s youthfulness is emphatic, as I remarked earlier. Aang and Zuko are prevented from consummating their platonic love until both are deemed mature in the last moments of the series. And even then, their relationship is directed toward future development rather than conclusion. Instead of cutting away, they are allowed to exit their scene together toward a speech about hope and peace. This stands in stark opposition to the permanence of Aang and Katara’s kiss. The platonic love in Avatar, the kind EM Forster cherishes, is relegated to adulthood as opposed to other kinds of boyish friendships. The conclusion of Avatar, at least for me, actually feels especially satisfying because it settles our characters in the “new era of love and peace.” It is a beginning, and it feels more expansive than the actions the characters choose to take in the episode. Even as our characters conclude three seasons of narrative tension as the sun sets and “The End” appears on the screen, it feels instead as if their stories can finally begin. The characters are allowed to simply exist for the first time. Yes, Aang and Katara or Zuko and Mai are allowed to embrace and kiss, but it’s because the pressures of empiricism have finally been banished. They are now allowed to try things and fail and make mistakes and explore. Things don’t feel rigid or permanent, whether that be one’s identity or one’s relationships.

Ideally, within the morality of the series (at least as it appears to us with no regard for whatever limits or self-censorship occurred due to its era of production and child-friendly requirements), “friends'' are maintained alongside romantic partnerships. Both Zuko and Aang’s separate romantic relationships blossom within the same episode that they declare their “friendship.” In fact, a vital plotline is the development of Zuko’s relationship with Aang’s romantic interest. While anyone in the fandom is well aware of the popular interpretation of romantic affection between Zuko and Katara because of their shared narrative, I have to point out that romantic feelings across the series are made extremely explicit through statements, blushes, and kisses. Zuko’s relationship with Katara can be better understood in the light of the coming-of-age counternarrative. While the love interest often serves as a catalyst for separation for a homosocial relationship, the friendly relationship with Aang’s love interest—seeking her forgiveness, respecting her power, calling on her support, etc—is vital for Zuko to ultimately create an environment of peace in which he and Aang can fulfill their destined “friendship.” In fact, we can look at Katara’s femininity as the most important device for manifesting Aang and Zuko’s eventual union. It’s her rage against misogyny that frees Aang from his iceberg, midwifing him into the world again after his arrested development, the complete opposite of a Wendy figure. It’s her arms that hold Aang in the pieta after his death in the Crossroads of Destiny, positioning her as a divine God-bearer. Afterwards, its her hands that resurrect Aang so that they together can fulfill his destiny. It will be these same hands with this same holy water that resurrect Zuko in the finale. Only through Katara’s decided blessing could Aang and Zuko proceed toward the fated reunion of their souls.

The importance of this critical relationship to femininity becomes relevant to a scene in “Emerald Island Players” that one might note as an outstanding moment of gay panic. Zuko and Aang, watching their counterparts on stage, cringe and shrink when, upon being saved by The Blue Spirit character in the play, Aang’s performer declares “My hero!” Instead of the assumption of homophobia, I wonder whether we might read Aang and Zuko’s responses as discomfort with the misogynistic heterosexual dynamics the declaration represents. Across the board, Avatar subverted the damsel in distress trope. There’s a-whole-nother essay to be written on all the ways it goes about this work, but the events in “The Blue Spirit” certainly speak to this subversion. It’s quite explicit that Zuko, after breaking Aang’s chains, is equally dependent on Aang for their escape. And, by the end of the actual episode, the savior role is reversed as Aang drags an unconscious Zuko away from certain death. To depict these events within the simplistic “damsel in distress” scenario, as The Ember Island Players do, positions Aang as a subordinately feminized colonial subject, denies him his agency, and depicts the relationship as something merely romantic, devoid of the equalizing platonic force that actually empowers them. The moment in the play is uncomfortable for Aang and Zuko because it makes Zuko the hero and Aang the helpless object. Aang is explicit about his embarrassment over his feminized and infantilized depiction in the play. And Zuko, newly reformed, is embarrassed to see, on one hand, his villainy throughout the play and, on the other hand, see how his character is positioned as made out as a savior to the person who has actually saved him.

At the heart of the series is not the idea of a chosen one or savior. Instead, we are saved by the ability for one person to see themselves in another person and to feel that same person equally understands their own soul. This is the ideal of platonic love. Platonic love between two matured boys—two boys with whose memories and bodies bare the scars of their queer sensitivities—is an essential part of the future of peace. Many fans have a sense of this, labeling the relationship as “brotp” and “platonic soulmates.” I simply encourage people to acknowledge that platonic love, especially in this context, is not a limit. There is no “no homo” joke here. When we remark on the platonic love between Zuko and Aang (and across media more generally) we are precisely making room for friendship, romance, and whatever else it could mean, whatever else it might become. While I find Legend of Korra lacking and in some ways detrimental to appreciating the original series, it’s finale interestingly parallels and extends this reading of platonic love in a sapphic vein. And most recently, She ra Princess of Power was able to even more explicitly realize these dynamics in the relationship between Adora and Catra. Let’s simply acknowledge that Aang and Zuko’s relationship blazed the trail: that peace, happiness, hope, and freedom could all hinge on a “friendship,” because a “friend” was never supposed to be set apart from or less than other kinds of relationships. For the ways it disregards gender, disregards individualism, disregards dominion, platonic love is the foundation of any meaningful relationship. And a meaningful relationship is the foundation for a more peaceful world.  *Author’s note: I’m just tired of sitting on this and trying to edit it. It’s not perfect. I don’t touch on all the symbolism and nuances in the show and in the character’s relationships. And this is not meant to negate any ships. It’s actually, quite the opposite. This is a show about growth and change and mistakes and complexity. Hopefully you can at least appreciate this angle even if you don’t vibe with every piece of analysis here. I just have no chill and need to put this out there so I can let my obsession cool down a bit. Enjoy <3

[vex-bittys]

Master of Disaster: A Swapfell Drabble

Sweat beaded on Blackberry’s skull; he hated the visible sign of nerves. Thankfully, he had the house to himself. His brother and their human roommate (a.k.a. you) would be out and about for another half an hour at least. He stared at the source of his agitation. The innocent looking locked journal that belonged to you, laying unattended on the kitchen counter. You must have dropped it, leaving an almost suspicious opportunity for Blackberry to snoop. So why did he hesitate?

Back in the dark days of living in the Underground, Blackberry boasted the coveted position of Her Majesty’s Master of Espionage, yet his power of perception failed him when it came to you and your flirtatious comments. He mulled over every interaction with you, trying to decide if you were simply a flirtatious person, if you were teasing him, or if you were showing genuine interest. Every time he thought he had you all figured out, doubt crept in. He had never doubted himself before, but when it came to you, every bit of confidence that he possessed fell by the wayside.

Now an opportunity presented itself for Blackberry to gather some intelligence and level the playing field. Surely the answers to all of his questions were contained within that slim book. Did he dare to look? Of course. A Master Spy never passed up such an unexpected boon. He needed to exercise caution though. Journals were forbidden ground, and reading someone’s journal violated a sacred trust. He would have to proceed carefully.

Before laying a single phalange on the journal, Blackberry inspected it, taking in every minute detail. A piece of pressed cardboard covered in a thin layer of synthetic leather covered the book. A thin strip of the faux leather slipped through a clasp with a simple lock on it. Blackberry prodded the clasp. It could be pried off, but the flimsy cover material would surely be damaged. Fortunately, Blackberry happened to have a lock picking set that would suffice.

Manipulating the locking mechanism was almost embarrassingly easy, and Blackberry now had complete access to your inner thoughts… except the pages were all blank! Blackberry flipped through page after page, checking for indentations in the paper or rough edges to indicate something had been written and removed.

Nothing.

No erasure marks, no telltale discoloration from disappearing ink, no sign at all that this journal had ever been used!

Blackberry almost discarded the journal in frustration, but he was nothing if not thorough. The journal had been opened; he might as well take his time and check every page. His persistence paid off when he found your handwriting on the very last lined page of the book. He stared at the words, unable to process them at first. Realization finally dawned on him.

He’d been set up!

I knew you couldn’t resist opening this, the entry read, and I want you to know that yes, I do like you. Unfortunately, you can’t do anything with this information without admitting that you read my private journal. Your move, Master of Espionage!

Blackberry didn’t know whether to give a celebratory shout for receiving your affection or seethe in outrage at having been so easily and obviously tricked. Still mulling over these thoughts, he shoved the faux leather strap back into the clasp with a bit too much vigor, and the clasp broke. The skeleton stood in front of the counter with the gold-painted plastic in one hand and the damaged journal in the other for a long moment, gathering his thoughts.

Now was not the time to panic. You said it yourself. He was a Master of Espionage, and a Master of Espionage kept his cool at all times to avoid being caught. He simply needed to reaffix the clasp to the journal. Surely the knickknack drawer held an adhesive that he could use for the task. Nothing to worry about.

Blackberry opened the catch all drawer in the kitchen. He rifled around, discarding various useless items and handfuls of faded receipts until he found a tube labeled Super Glue. Super glue would suffice, he decided though he’d never used the product before. He opened the small tube, intending to apply a small amount to the journal… and dropped it. Clear adhesive ran out of the small nozzle onto the journal cover. Blackberry cursed under his breath and attempted to wipe away the excess. 

The glue smeared across the cover of the journal, and if his skull hadn’t already been a glistening ivory, he would’ve gone pale. Once again, he fought down the rising panic. Quickly, he stuck the clasp to the rapidly drying glue. With the missing piece in place, he turned his attention to the glue bottle to read the instructions for removal. Apparently products for super glue removal existed, but he didn’t have time to shop for one.

Further down the label, Blackberry read that super glue could be loosened by applying heat. A smug sharp-toothed smile spread across the skeleton’s scarred face; his Queen had trained him in the use of fire magic. Heating the super glue to remove it would be no obstacle for a talented monster like himself.

Calling forth a small ball of flames, Blackberry guided the magic towards the smudges of glue… which caught fire almost immediately. Blackberry yelped in surprise. Throwing the journal into the sink, he turned on the faucet and drenched the entire journal in a deluge of cold water. Once he felt sure that the flames were extinguished, Blackberry picked up the sodden book. How did one dry a book? Certainly not with flames this time, Blackberry thought, carrying the book to the laundry room and placing it in the dryer.

Blackberry never did the laundry, but if his brother could use this machine, surely a clever Master of Espionage could figure it out too. Concerned about the possibility of more spontaneous combustion, Blackberry set the temperature to low, set the timer to 15 minutes, and pressed the start button. Too easy, he told himself, chalking up the strange thumping sounds to typical dryer noises. He would have time to clean up the mess in the kitchen and replace the journal on the counter before you got home and discovered his nefarious activities.

A cheerful ding alerted Blackberry that the dryer had finished its work. He opened the dryer door, feeling rather pleased with himself until he saw the journal. The rapid drying process had caused the cover and pages to wrinkle. The disfigured paper was the least of Blackberry’s worries though because most of the aforementioned pages were no longer attached to the journal. The combination of heat and tumbling that dryers used to dry clothing did not work well at all on flimsily bound books. Worse, Blackberry could hear your footsteps approaching the front door. 

With no time left to fix the journal properly, Blackberry scooped up the pages and found, to his dismay, that they were still damp! He crammed the disappointingly not-dry pages into the journal as neatly as he could in the dwindling seconds he had left before you caught him red-handed.

Dashing into the kitchen, he tossed the journal onto the counter just as you came through the door. Unfortunately, that meant that you arrived to find the skeleton standing in the middle of the kitchen like a deer caught in the headlights instead of lounging nonchalantly somewhere far away from the scene of the crime.

Your eyes slid from your skeleton roommate to the counter, where your waterlogged, scorched, and extremely disheveled journal sat. There was no way to avoid noticing it. The culprit was equally obvious, being the only other living thing in the room. Still, Blackberry tried to salvage a small victory by pretending not to see anything amiss.

You stared at the journal, then looked at Blackberry. Blackberry averted his eyelights to various other made-up points of interest in the kitchen. Neither of you said anything. You opened and closed your mouth several times, not even sure how to address the issue. Finally, you gestured at the journal.

Blackberry let out an overly theatrical cry of shock and offered no explanation. The two of you stood in the kitchen with the ruined journal between you. You waited. Blackberry waited. After a long silence, the skeleton finally spoke, but he didn’t admit to anything.

“SO… WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO OUT TO DINNER WITH ME TONIGHT?” he asked tentatively.

You resigned yourself to pretending that the destroyed journal did not exist. It had served its purpose after all, and you’d probably never know what exactly Blackberry had done to it… or why. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Master of Espionage,” you replied with some sass.

“I AM A MASTER OF ESPIONAGE, AREN’T I?” Blackberry murmured to himself, completely missing the sarcasm as he congratulated himself on a mission accomplished.

More Drabbles | INDEX | Read on AO3 

[cpw-nyc]

Flâneur

Flâneur (/flæˈnjʊər/; French: [flɑˈnœʁ]) is a French noun referring to a person, literally meaning 'stroller', 'lounger', 'saunterer', or 'loafer', but with some nuanced additional meanings (including as a loanword into English). Flânerie is the act of strolling, with all of its accompanying associations. A near-synonym of the noun is boulevardier. Traditionally depicted as male, a flâneur is an ambivalent figure of urban affluence and modernity, representing the ability to wander detached from society with no other purpose than to be an acute observer of industrialized, contemporary life.

The flâneur was, first of all, a literary type from 19th-century France, essential to any picture of the streets of Paris. The word carried a set of rich associations: the man of leisure, the idler, the urban explorer, the connoisseur of the street. It was Walter Benjamin, drawing on the poetry of Charles Baudelaire, who made this figure the object of scholarly interest in the 20th century, as an emblematic archetype of urban, modern (even modernist) experience. Following Benjamin, the flâneur has become an important symbol for scholars, artists, and writers.  The classic French female counterpart is the passante, dating to the works of Marcel Proust, though a 21st-century academic coinage is flâneuse, and some English-language writers simply apply the masculine flâneur also to women.  The term has acquired an additional architecture and urban planning sense, referring to passers-by who experience incidental or intentional psychological effects from the design of a structure.

While Baudelaire characterized the flâneur as a "gentleman stroller of city streets", he saw the flâneur as having a key role in understanding, participating in, and portraying the city. A flâneur thus played a double role in city life and in theory, that is, while remaining a detached observer. This stance, simultaneously part of and apart from, combines sociological, anthropological, literary, and historical notions of the relationship between the individual and the greater populace.

In the period after the French Revolution of 1848, during which the Empire was reestablished with clearly bourgeois pretensions of "order" and "morals", Baudelaire began asserting that traditional art was inadequate for the new dynamic complications of modern life. Social and economic changes brought by industrialization demanded that the artist immerse himself in the metropolis and become, in Baudelaire's phrase, "a botanist of the sidewalk".David Harvey asserts that "Baudelaire would be torn the rest of his life between the stances of flâneur and dandy, a disengaged and cynical voyeur on the one hand, and man of the people who enters into the life of his subjects with passion on the other".

The observer–participant dialectic is evidenced in part by the dandy culture. Highly self-aware, and to a certain degree flamboyant and theatrical, dandies of the mid-nineteenth century created scenes through self-consciously outrageous acts like walking turtles on leashes down the streets of Paris. Such acts exemplify a flâneur's active participation in and fascination with street life while displaying a critical attitude towards the uniformity, speed, and anonymity of modern life in the city.

The concept of the flâneur is important in academic discussions of the phenomenon of modernity. While Baudelaire's aesthetic and critical visions helped open up the modern city as a space for investigation, theorists such as Georg Simmel began to codify the urban experience in more sociological and psychological terms. In his essay "The Metropolis and Mental Life", Simmel theorized that the complexities of the modern city create new social bonds and new attitudes towards others. The modern city was transforming humans, giving them a new relationship to time and space, inculcating in them a "blasé attitude", and altering fundamental notions of freedom and being:

The deepest problems of modern life derive from the claim of the individual to preserve the autonomy and individuality of his existence in the face of overwhelming social forces, of historical heritage, of external culture, and of the technique of life. The fight with nature which primitive man has to wage for his bodily existence attains in this modern form its latest transformation. The eighteenth century called upon man to free himself of all the historical bonds in the state and in religion, in morals and in economics. Man's nature, originally good and common to all, should develop unhampered. In addition to more liberty, the nineteenth century demanded the functional specialization of man and his work; this specialization makes one individual incomparable to another, and each of them indispensable to the highest possible extent. However, this specialization makes each man the more directly dependent upon the supplementary activities of all others. Nietzsche sees the full development of the individual conditioned by the most ruthless struggle of individuals; socialism believes in the suppression of all competition for the same reason. Be that as it may, in all these positions the same basic motive is at work: the person resists being leveled down and worn out by a social-technological mechanism. An inquiry into the inner meaning of specifically modern life and its products, into the soul of the cultural body, so to speak, must seek to solve the equation which structures like the metropolis set up between the individual and the super-individual contents of life.

Writing in 1962, Cornelia Otis Skinner suggested that there was no English equivalent of the term: "there is no Anglo-Saxon counterpart of that essentially Gallic individual, the deliberately aimless pedestrian, unencumbered by any obligation or sense of urgency, who, being French and therefore frugal, wastes nothing, including his time which he spends with the leisurely discrimination of a gourmet, savoring the multiple flavors of his city."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fl%C3%A2neur

[tackypies]

the great pastiche: sherlock holmes (alter)

Where the original Sherlock is the personification of the concept of detective, this Sherlock is born of his ever-mutating legacy. Dynamic, hungry, and erratic of temperament, he can be described as the crystallization of conflicting "truths" regarding Sherlock Holmes.

In other words: a runaway character study who blames the original for his state.

---

My take on what a Holmes (Alter) would look like! Also mirrored on AO3. Check out more beneath the cut.

BASICS Class: Archer Alignment: Chaotic Evil Canon Source: ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

PARAMETERS Deck: QAABB Strength: C Magic: A+ Agility: A++ Endurance: C Luck: E Noble Phantasm: EX

CLASS SKILLS Independent Action (A+) - Increases Critical Strength by 12%. Magic Resistance (E-) - Increases Debuff Resistance by 5%. Mad Enhancement (EX) - Increases Buster Card performance by 12%.

SERVANT SKILLS Innocent Monster (EX) - Gain Critical Stars each turn (3 turns) (6-12). Incr. party's Critical Strength (3 turns) (20%-40%). Reduces own Defense by 20% [Demerit] (3 turns).

... if the Master looks carefully, they will catch a glimpse of innumerable eyes blinking from the shadows of his coat.

A Seven Percent Solution (EX) - Apply Guts (1 time, 5 turns) (3000-5000). Increase NP Gauge (30%-50%).

The readers refused to accept the outcome of Reichenbach Falls. Their outcry was powerful enough to usher in Holmes' return, even though survival should have been an impossibility. Throughout the ages the great detective would be "reborn" time and time again. Time travel, cybernetics, witchcraft, inexplicable forces, sheer luck: all these were acceptable "truths" of Sherlock Holmes' life, for Watson's biographies cannot be confirmed as an absolute, accurate account.

Although Holmes' endurance and strength is remarkably average for a Servant, he is extremely tenacious and difficult to kill.

Illusion (False) (B+) - Apply Invincible to all allies (1 turn). Incr. party's star generation rate (3 turns) (30%-50%).

By its strictest definition, illusion is a form of magecraft that manipulates the mind's perception. Holmes accomplishes this feat through his mere existence. The passion stirred by his adventures created a simple mass delusion: "Sherlock Holmes was a real person." Whether or not such a man existed was a non-issue, for fervent fans sought the character they fell in love with - not a true human being. Even as Holmes pastiches continued to be churned out, entire organizations piously combed Doyle's stories to piece together the "real man's" life.

For Holmes, this skill acts as a form of mental persuasion. For example, he can trick Servants with lower-ranked Magic Resistance to believe that a building or person before them has vanished into thin air. He is limited to a city block with his illusions, as he cannot force others to believe in the fantastical and outrageously impossible.

NOBLE PHANTASM The Great Hunt: No Matter How Improbable the Truth Is Rank: EX Type: Anti-Unit/Anti-Unit (Self) Effects: Reduces all enemies' defense for 3 turns. Party-wide NP Gain up for 3 turns. Party-wide damage up for 3 turns. Overcharge grants stars.

The fanatical hunt for "truth" in the midst of fiction, actualized as a level of magecraft capable of altering the properties of its subjects. Regardless of whether the proof is present in the actual World - whether it was forged or whether it existed at all - Archer is capable of proclaiming "This is true for Sherlock Holmes," so long as he can elucidate on the connection. By a verbal declaration, he is able to modify his parameters and that of his allies.

He can likewise create weaknesses in his opponents through this manner of conspiracy, though the process becomes insanely complicated and difficult if the targeted Heroic Spirit is close to the Age of Gods. The reach of his Noble Phantasm is most effective past the 1700s. Those prior to that era have an easier time of rejecting his claims and maintaining their integrity, for their ties to Doyle's works are even more tenuous.

In short: even pastiches have their limits.

PROFILE Where the original Sherlock is the personification of the concept of detective, this Sherlock is born of his ever-mutating legacy. Dynamic, hungry, and erratic of temperament, he can be described as the crystallization of conflicting "truths" regarding Sherlock Holmes.

In other words: a runaway character study who blames the original for his state.

Bond 1 Prone to quoting the pastiches he's comprised of. Unbearably theatrical. His mannerisms reminds one of a first year drama student desperate to pass.

Bond 2 "Sherlock Holmes" is a concept belonging to the people. Regardless of who or what the detective was, the masses' love for him overrode even Doyle's canon. A secret serial killer, a deluded drug addict, a modern day police officer, and so on - Archer is the vessel of these endless possibilities and wears the appropriate mask after carefully assessing the situation.

The original Sherlock stripped away the darkness of uncertainty while Archer only deepens it. Though he remains a detective, his obsession is with himself.

Bond 3 ○ Independent Action: A+ Though Arthur Conan Doyle was the creator of the great detective, his work's "life" continued and evolved beyond his death. The concept of "Sherlock Holmes" adapts to any place, time, or genre. ○ Madness Enhancement: EX Archer should not exist. He is the manifestation of contradictory lives that cannot coexist. In exchange for serenity of mind, his NP and magic parameters have increased considerably. The Master can have a rational conversation with him but must tread carefully. This Holmes is driven first and foremost by fanciful "what ifs" and is desirous of a wonderful detective drama. As a Servant, he is inherently unreliable. ○ Magic Resistance: E- “It's unusually low, you say? Well, I am entirely at the writer's mercy.” “... of course I can't change it!”

Bond 4 Sherlock Holmes was not a villain. He was written with his faults, but those made him all the more charming to the target audience. Still, Archer regards the original canon with bitterness. “The carelessness of Doyle and Watson made me what I am now."

The contradictory details regarding Watson's war wound and wives, the mention of cases never elaborated upon, the shroud of secrecy surrounding Holmes' personal life... all of these excited the imaginations of Doyle's readers and established a rampant following devoted to deconstructing, rewriting, analyzing, critiquing, theorizing, and adapting the detective. At some point, the entity Sherlock Holmes ceased to become a single story and exploded into a plethora of wild tales.

Archer will valiantly play the part of the hero if it suits the story and will just as gleefully play the part of a monster. For a character to be loved by the readers, he must fulfill their fantasies.

Bond 5 Ultimately, he is an anti-hero born of love and fascination. A story that lives beyond its pages and continues to grow is one that resonates deeply with the people. Archer is aware of this fact and, though he will lament his condition, he refuses to berate the readers. Satisfying them is his purpose as a fictional character. In that, he has wildly succeeded.

... still...

Extra (Unlocked After Interlude) The fact that he is an imitation matters little. A pastiche's purpose is to deceive and entertain its audience. This "Sherlock Holmes" will strive to do both until his end.

MAX BOND CRAFT ESSENCE: SUSSEX DOWNS Effects: When equipped on Sherlock Holmes (Alter), increase all allies' Critical Damage by 10% and NP Gain Rate by 10%, as long as he is on the field.

When you have no past, you are permitted to be everyone and everything. A genius detective. The product of an affair. Jack the Ripper. A demented cocaine addict. An ego-maniacal doctor. And so the list goes on.

There is little I can call mine. Regardless of who I become or where I am placed, those inconsequential pieces are the constants of my existence. The companionship of John Watson. The love for a Stradivarius. The comfortable hearth of Baker Street 221B. The admiration of bees.

Yes. "Sherlock Holmes" lived peacefully in Sussex Downs, tending to his hive. That is one of the few indisputable truths I can cherish.

INTERACTIONS Sherlock Holmes (Ruler) ▓▓▓▓. In other words, he wants nothing to do with him. James Moriarty The fated rival. Though, it appears he's going by the name "Mr. Dandy," now? Which pastiche was this? ... he came up with it himself? Ah. He really hasn't aged well. Henry Jekyll Hyde is much more fun. Helena Blavatsky She's still pretending to be young, huh? Mash Kyrielight An ardent brown-noser of the original. ... even so. He treats her as if she's a higher-ranking employee in a corporate workplace. Scheherazade She is the same as him. Nobody knows the truth of those nights, save for her. He genuinely wishes to speak with her, but... It seems his wild nature terrifies her. As a result, he looks but can never find her. It is a bit like a dog chasing a cat. Hessian Lobo Reminds him of Toby. Even if he is a little more bitey. He doesn't care for the rider, only the wolf.

[fierce-little-miana]

Some translated extracts from “Medea” by Nancy Peña and Blandine le Callet

For @irleughlivelyatalanteangodfan

Médée is a French comic book series following Medea’s story from her childhood in Colchis to her very probable death since an old (apparently believing she is at the end of her life) Medea is the narrator.

Here are the cover or the first three volumes:

- 1) The shadow of Hecate: deals with Medea’s childhood in Colchis and closes on her watching the Argonauts’ boat approaching her kingdom’s shores. 

- 2) The knife in the wound: concentrates entirely on the Jason and Medea’s encounter, the theft of the Golden Fleece, and their escape from Colchis. The last scene of this volume is Apsyrtus’ murder/death.

- 3) The Barbaric bride: deals with Medea and Jason’s ‘proper’ wedding and the events of Iolcus. The volume closes on Medea and Jason running away from their failed coup, Medea discovering she is pregnant, and them deciding to go to Corinth.

(sorry in advance for the quality of the pictures - nevertheless clic on the pictures for better quality) 

This is the genealogy the authors chose for Medea:

Volume 1:

This is literally the second page of the comic and this how a beaten-down old Medea is presented

1 - Chloé (Medea’s servant - apparently dying): A bit more water Mistress please.

2 - Medea: No, it would serve no purpose.

3 - Chloé: I am afraid.

4 - Medea: It will be over soon.

5 - Chloé: Mistress please stay with me a bit more.

6 - Medea: You know this isn’t possible. I still have a long road to travel.

7 - Chloé: Goodbye Mistress.

8 - Medea: Goodbye Chloé 

9 - Medea* thinking: ... and forgive me to not have the strength to bury you.

In the following pages Medea is playing with her nephews (who are her ages) and brother. Then she is embroidering with her mother and sister while her brother is getting cuddles from their mother. As a bit of context: Medea’s father, Aeëtes, is a tyran who resents his son-in-law and grandsons. Medea doesn’t consciously knows it but I really read it as her unconsciously knowing it. Apsyrtus has a mental disability and also suffers from epilepsy. 

(Here I only translated the dialogues that really show Medea’s personality)

1 - Medea: We are giants. We are climbing the tree to reach the gods and kick their asses!

2 - Phrixus, her brother-in-law: Well this is a way of speaking that doesn't suit a princess. I am not sure your father would like it.

3 - Medea: In any case we are gods too.

4 - Phrixus* commenting on Medea’s fall: Ah ah! Gods too must be careful.

5 - Phrixus to his sons: Boys, would you like some archery lesson. It’s been a long time since you last practiced.

6 - Medea’s nephew: Yeah!

7 - Medea: And me, can I come?

8 - Medea’s nephew: You, you are a girl. Archery is not for girls.

9 - Medea: And why couldn’t I use a bow?

10 - Phrixus: Argos is right Medea. Archery is not for girls.

11 - Phrixus to Apsyrtus who grabbed his sleeves:  No, not you Apsyrtus. You might hurt yourself... or someone else.

(the non-translated bubbles on the second pages are Medea’s sister, Chalciope, giving her embroidery advise and king Aeëtes criticizing his wife for cuddling their sons who should be acting and treated like the other boys.)

12 - Aeëtes to Chalciope: Where are your sons?

13 - Chalciope: With their father...

14 - Medea: They went to practice archery. And they didn’t want to bring me with them.

15 - Aeëtes: This is normal daughter.

16 - Medea: They didn’t want to bring Apsyrtus either.

The horror on the faces of Chalciope and Queen Idyia tells us that Aeëtes hearing of the exclusion of Apsyrtus by Phrixus will be of consequences. Medea only mentioned her brother’s exclusion to her father after her own failed to create any outrage in him.

At this point in the story Medea is the only person who isn’t terrified of Aeëtes mainly because she is his favorite child that he calls “his ray of sunshine”. 

In the following scene a teenage Medea invited her nephew Argos (who has never been there) to come with her to her father library. They discovered a map.

1 - Argos: “This map has been drawn as precisely as possible by Sesostris, King of Egypt, great traveler and conqueror of the world, founder of the kingdom of Colchis, builder of the city of Aea.” What is this? I thought it was your father who founded Aea?

2 - Medea: I thought that too.

3 - Argos: If you want my opinion the King cultivates a lot of legends about his person.

4 - Medea: If you want my opinion you will keep that for yourself.  

By asking her nephew to keep quiet about this document that proves that her father is lying Medea is of course trying to protect him from her father’s tyranny that she is starting to see, but also trying to protect her father’s reign and her own divine ancestry. 

I am not putting any extract from volume two, for length reason, but it is very intense. We have Medea doing some badass magic/chemist stuff to get the fleece. We also have her going against her father while in the first volume she let him murder her brother-in-law and stand by watching even if her sister had made her swear to help Phrixus. This is supported by her mother in a hidden-manner who doesn’t want that Medea to have her life ruin like her brother and sister did. There is of course Jason and Medea’s meeting and alliance. Medea is taking a definitively non-Greek non-womanly approach to it and Jason is liking it and respecting it. And of course Apsyrtus’ murder which is absolutely horrible to read.

Volume 3:

Here Jason, Orpheus and another Argonaut are discussing what to do with Medea just after their escape from Colchis

1 - Orpheus: The Colchians are still on our tracks. There are hundred of them heavily armed. Do you realize what would happen if they caught us?

2 - Orpheus: We should give them the girl.

3 - Other Argonaut: Yes, we should leave her here, running away discreetly and unseen, while she is asleep.

4 - Jason: Abandoning Medea wouldn’t change anything... What the Colchians want back his the Golden Fleece.

5 - Orpheus: You don't know that. Maybe it would appease them if we give them back their princess... What do we have to lose from this?

6 - Jason: I made a promise.

7 - Other Argonaut: She made you promise, it is very different! Jason let’s leave this girl here and go back to Greece. She is a barbarian, we owe her nothing.

8 - Jason: She helped us.

9 - Orpheus: Maybe but she now puts us in danger. Most of the men agree on this: we must hand her over.

10 - Jason: This is out of question.

11 - Orpheus: What is the issue with this girl? If she was beautiful at least I would understand, but she is a real savage!

12 - Other Argonaut: It is as if she has bewitched you.

13 - Jason: Enough! Medea will stay with us. This discussion is over. Now go to sleep, I will keep the watch alone. 

I think it is interesting to show Jason as something else than a coward and an opportunist. This volume also doesn’t forget that he is a pupil of Chiron and that he is a healer. Medea is really interested in learning from him too.

I found this scene on internet without the text so you will have to believe me on the translations. But, since it is one of my favorite pages, I am happy it is in good quality. Here Medea feels trapped living the life of a Greek woman in Iolcus an start talking to her consciousness which takes the shape of her snake bracelet. For extra creepy factor, she is lying next to an asleep Jason here:

1 - Snake: Good news? It is not likely to happen! Pelias will always find a reason to not hand over power to Jason.

2 - Medea: He was supposed to officially proclame him king two days ago, but someone found a crow on a statue in the throne room and this bad omen prevented the assembly to be in session.

3 - Snake: Before that it was a black dog which spilled the content of a stall in the market! Then it will be some bees deciding to live on the roof of a temple. Pelias is laughing at you.

4 - Medea: He will never give his power away. By pretending to not understand and by staying passive Jason is ridiculing himself.

5 - Snake: That’s true!

6 - Medea: Every time I try discussing this with him, he rebuffs me by saying that I do no understand anything about politic and that we must be patient.

7 - Snake: He is wrong.

8 - Medea: I can’t stand it anymore. I feel like I am going mad.

9 - Snake: No, you just feel a bit lonely.

10 - Snake: But don’t worry.

11 - Snake: I am going to stay with you to keep you company.

I really like how Medea’s own darkness is visually slowly strangulating her and taking over her. And how her loneliness and confinement makes her more ruthless, but slowly so very slowly.

Finally this is the final page of the third volume. Medea remembers how Jason made her promise to throw away all her poisons and potions to avoid a new epic failure like in Iolcus and also because she is pregnant and that it is time for her to accept to live like a ‘proper’ Greek wife. Medea promises and throw most of her stuff in the sea very theatrically. We cut back to old Medea narrating:

1 - Medea: Yes I was pregnant, the only reason why I wielded to his demands...

2 - Medea: ... Or rather made him believed I did.

3 - Medea: The only thing I sacrificed for him this night was the heavy crown I put in the casket he saw me throw in the sea.

4 - Medea: My drugs stayed carefully hidden in my luggages, ready to be used again, if the need was to arise.

So yeah I really like the take of these comic books on Medea’s story and Medea’s personality, her family and Jason. If you read French I really advise you to pick it up, or if you like looking at pretty pictures it works too.

The next and final volume is coming out in 8 days and it looks fantastic!

Volume 4: Flesh and Blood

[tisthenightofthewitch]

Grammy-nominated metal band Ghost addresses ‘satanic’ accusations: ‘There are other music styles that promote a way worse lifestyle’

Bombastic, theatric, operatic metal Swedes have become unlikely Grammy darlings, winning Best Metal Performance in 2016 and scoring two nominations at this year’s upcoming 61st Annual Grammy Awards for Best Rock Album and Best Rock Song. But not everyone’s a fan. “We obviously are a polarizing band,” Ghost’s fearless leader Tobias Forge — alternately known as the diabolical priest character Papa Emeritus or Papa’s panda-eyed successor, Cardinal Copia — tells Yahoo Entertainment.

Though Ghost’s over-the-top, presumably tongue-in-greasepainted-cheek satanic imagery has always drawn detractors, the band has finally started to gain widespread acceptance. Aside from its multiple Grammy nods, its fourth album, Prequelle, went to No. 3 on the Billboard album chart and made Yahoo Entertainment’s list of the top 10 albums of 2018, and that album’s monster single, “Rats,” spent an incredible seven weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Mainstream Rock Songs chart. However, as Ghost’s fame has grown, so have some of the protests targeting the band — including a bizarre one that took place last year in Midland, Texas, during Ghost’s “A Pale Tour Named Death” U.S. arena trek.

Last November, Larry Long, the pastor of the Fellowship Community Church, said Midland needed to be protected from the supposedly devil-worshiping group, warning a local CBS affiliate, “This kind of band will bring spiritual influences into this area. We’re concerned about it, because we believe the devil is real, just as we believe God is real. … I think if [young fans are] singing along to those lyrics, who knows what in the world they’re opening their hearts and lives up to?”

Ghost’s Midland show went on as planned, of course. “At the end of the day, what [the Fellowship Community Church] caused was more tickets sold — so thank you very much,” Forge chuckles.

Still, although Forge says such outrage is “to an extent, amusing,” he adds, “To a greater extent, I think it’s sad. … I find it saddening thinking that there are people who don’t know f***ing bad from good and s*** from Shinola. I find it saddening that people would choose to stand out in the cold [protesting Ghost], thinking that they’re making a difference. I think it’s sad that people are wasting their time thinking that we’re bad for people, when actually what we’re really trying to do is make people happy and make people feel good about themselves when they come to our show and have a good time.”

Although certain PMRC-baiting shock-rockers that paved the way for Ghost — Ozzy Osbourne, AC/DC, Judas Priest, Marilyn Manson — have been accused of encouraging suicidal or homicidal tendencies among impressionable fans, Forge believes that “dark music, everything from gothic to death metal and black metal and hardcore” can, on the contrary, be a source of celebration and even salvation. “There are definitely rock fans over the years that have done negative things toward each other and or towards themselves, but I don’t think that’s because of the music. That’s because they were in a bad place in their lives,” he stresses. “Actually, it might have even been the music that made them live so long, that kept them going. Hard rock, in general, does not promote that you should harm anyone.

“I definitely think there are other music styles that promote a way worse lifestyle, that you could look upon as being more negative,” Forge says. “Other music styles that promote a way of living that their fans will never have — when music is all about ‘making it’ and wearing ‘bling-bling’ and ‘all them bitches,’ and the idea that without that stuff you’re nothing — that is a bad influence for your fans. At least with most gothic or hard rock music, it’s about feeling good about yourself.”

Forge instead sees Ghost as following in tradition of “the big shock-rock bands of 1984” that his much older, punk-rocker brother introduced him to when he was growing up in a liberal, pop-culture-savvy home in Linköping, Sweden. “The artists I immediately grasped onto were when I was 3 years old,” Forge recalls. “[Motley Crue’s] Shout at the Devil, [Twisted Sister’s] Stay Hungry, KISS, stuff like that. My brother was so nice and just passed those records on to me, like, ‘Here, you’ll like this more.’ I played them all the time. Then it just blossomed from there.”

Now Ghost is being heralded as the imagination-sparking band that will serve the same purpose for today’s rock-starved youth. “I do believe that there is a glimmer of hope in what we do with regards to the fact that there are a lot of kids coming to our shows. We are the first band that they see live. That is a really good thing, thinking long-term,” Forge muses. “I don’t mind being that glimmer of hope. I do believe that the more exposure we get, the more time that we spend in people’s ears, I hope that the interest in analog rock will be kept alive or awoken or might find a way into kids of today. I guess we could be a little bit [for today’s young fans] what KISS was in the ’70s.”

That being said, Forge is reluctant to accept the pro-Ghost media’s proclamations that Ghost are the new saviors of rock ‘n’ roll. “I’d love for the mainstream music climate to steer back towards rock, and I’m sure it will at some point. But does that mean there will be image-driven shock-rock bands, as far as a movement? I don’t know,” he says. “I do believe that the rock bands that will be big in the future are the ones that are being formed by kids, the 18-year-olds, today, right now. They are the ones that will rock the future, because that’s how it always is. The bands that will be big in five or 10 years, when there might be a big domination of rock again, will be bands that we most likely don’t know as of right now.”

But those bands, as Forge hints, may very well be Ghost disciples, because today’s kids, despite the handwringing of concerned conservatives like Long, are loving Ghost’s epic live shows — in which a Pope-robed Papa Emeritus, flanked by horn-headed and occasionally keytar-wielding Nameless Ghouls, perform anti-authority anthems like “Satan Prayer,” “Depth of Satan’s Eyes,” “Death Knell,” “From the Pinnacle to the Pit,” “Witch Image Life Eternal” and the undeniably earwormy “Dance Macabre” in a rock ‘n’ roll church bedecked with inverted crosses. Such imagery and song titles may be alarming to some, but it seems the little kids understand.

“The biggest misconception [about Ghost] is that the lyrical content is being provocative because it’s about God. And it’s not. It’s not about God at all,” insists Forge. “It’s about man, mankind. I use language and analogy to make it seem that it is about other things, but the songs are usually, they are about very real things. Sometimes I think it’s almost laughable to the point of annoying that protesters are just picking up on the literal meaning.

“There are many misconceptions about who I am or how I think, and of course it’s annoying. But that is just part of being in a band nowadays. If I didn’t want any of this, I shouldn’t be in a band. But I want to do this. I want to rock.”

Yahoo.com

[nitrateglow]

Thoughts on Limelight (1952)

I really hope this doesn’t come off as a rant. If it does, I apologize in advance.

Limelight is considered by many to be Chaplin’s last great movie. I had been meaning to see it for years now, ever since I became a silent film fan, ever since I saw the scene with Chaplin and Keaton on the same stage clowning it up together, ever since I read these incandescent notices of how tragic and beautiful it is.

Let me just say, if Limelight is considered Chaplin’s true swansong, then I dread watching A King in New York and A Countess from Hong Kong.

I was frustrated like crazy by this movie. I was relieved when its two-hour-plus runtime rumbled to the inevitable tragic conclusion. I have NEVER felt that way about a Chaplin movie ever. Even his more minor efforts like The Circus are still well-made, entertaining, and moving works.

I admit, I’ve never been as taken with Chaplin’s talkies as with his silent work, but I think The Great Dictator is a fine humanist classic (if not up to bar with his finest silent films) and Monsieur Verdoux is a well-made dark comedy with moments of true genius. Even if these films represent an artist who’s gone beyond his peak, they’re still worthy of attention and very enjoyable.

Chaplin is often criticized as being overly maudlin, but his work rarely, if ever, strikes me as such. He is an emotional filmmaker, sure, one who isn’t afraid to go for tears, but generally, he knows how to tug at those heartstrings in ways that aren’t forced or cheap. At least, that’s what I thought until Limelight, which has a melodramatic, sad-sack conga line of a narrative.

Chaplin plays Calvero, an aging, alcoholic musical hall comedian who rescues young dancer Terry (played by Bloom) from an attempted suicide. Discouraged and suffering from hysterical paralysis, Terry believes life sucks. Calvero delivers sermons about human consciousness and willpower, then gets her back into the theatrical life.

There’s a romantic subplot with a musician (played by Chaplin’s son Sydney) that never goes anywhere interesting, mainly because Terry is too besotted with Calvero to give the musician the time of day. Then Calvero’s acts grow more and more unfunny. We get a rather pretentious ballet sequence. Calvero gets one last shot at the big time, succeeds, then tragedy strikes.

I have a myriad of problems with Limelight, but the one word that best encapsulates how I feel is “self-indulgent.” Half of the movie is dedicated to Chaplin trying to sound poetic and profound, delivering these overdone philosophical speeches to a one-note Claire Bloom.

Claire Bloom’s Terry is such a one-dimensional presence, wholly dependent upon Calvero to do just about anything. I feel she exists just to hear Chaplin’s long-winded pseudo-philosophical pep talks about consciousness and Freud and the sun. Bloom’s performance has two registers: weepy and shrill, and twinkle-eyed schoolgirl gentleness. It might be Bloom’s youth, since I have enjoyed her later performances in Richard III and The Outrage, but I think the writing itself may be more to blame. 

Terry just isn’t allowed to be her own person. Calvero proclaims her a great artist, but her own artistic impulses and style aren’t given nearly the same attention as Calvero’s—and even if this is Calvero’s tragedy, Terry’s rise to fame should still be given proper development and attention. The opening intertitles do say this is the story of “a ballerina AND a clown” (emphasis mine).

I cannot believe I’m actually agreeing with Pauline Kael on something, but I totally get what she meant when she said in her own critical piece on the movie that the film is more interested in showing how sensitive Calvero is about art than showing Terry as an artist in her own right.

One of my most common complaints about Chaplin’s talkies is that sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop talking. Most are aware of Roger Ebert’s criticism of the last speech in The Great Dictator and I myself have some issues with Chaplin’s speeches in Verdoux, but those movies had so much better stories that such problems are just blips, nitpicks.

Ohhhh, but not here. Here, Chaplin never knows when to just shut up. Far too many are the sections where he just rambles on and on, most of the speeches being high-flown and literary in style, but rather trite in substance. Take his proclamation, “Desire is what makes a rose want to be a rose.” It’s something that sounds profound until you actually think about it. And when you actually think about it, it doesn’t mean a damn thing at all.

Calvero is off-putting and often comes off as full of crap. Now, the full of crap part might be intentional—toward the mid-point of the film when Terry and Calvero’s fortunes begin to take opposite trajectories, Terry does bring up that the despondent clown isn’t taking his own advice about enjoying life despite hardships. But I’m not sure… so much of his “wisdom” is played off as profound truth and the movie practically begs you to feel sorry for the aging clown, the scorned genius.

Or should I say, “genius,” because the comedy routines we see are pretty dismal, with the exception of the ending skit with Buster Keaton. Aside from the decent chemistry between the two men (Keaton’s droll character provides an interesting foil to the melancholy Calvero and could have been an interesting character in his own right, had he been developed), here the comic business is a thousand times more inspiring than the flea circus or the comic “banter” with Bloom. It comes in like a breath of fresh air after all the weepy pathos and dreary philosophical wanking have set your brain to dead.

Calvero says at one point, “I lost touch with my audience.” Limelight doesn’t really go into why this is so, though the prominence of WWI in the background does suggest the ending of an age, but I know why I think this is the case. Calvero does not go onstage to cheer people or express himself or for any aesthetic purpose. He does not serve the audience or seek to give them anything. The audience is there to gratify his ego and when they aren’t doing that, it’s THEY that are the unfeeling monsters. How dare they not be amused by Calvero scratching at imaginary fleas!

Oh Lord, I don’t mean to be this snarky or mean. I’m just so… SAD. I don’t want to dislike a Chaplin movie. The man is really worth all the hype and a true master, but this is definitely not him at his best. I just do not get the praise for it AT ALL.

There are fleeting moments of interest, sure, and occasional moments of wit (I like when Terry asks why he enjoys theater if the sight of the theater itself depresses him, Calvero responds, “I don’t like the sight of blood, but it’s in my veins”), but they don’t add up to a masterpiece.

I’d call this movie his worst feature film to that point—which, once again, has me terrified for the two movies which followed this. I get it’s a personal film for him. I like some of what it’s trying to do. But it feels like a very messy, undisciplined film driven more by ego than by any desire to talk about death or youth in an honest way.

Anyway, forgive me. Maybe one day I’ll rewatch it and it will all click. But after this initial viewing, this is how I feel.

[kirby30b73848-blog]

The History Of Jamaican Rocksteady Music

Few music genres carry as much romanticism and nostalgia as Sixties surf rock. He also drew some opposition. Darling Nikki," a track on the album that refers to masturbation, shocked Tipper Gore, the spouse of Al Gore, who was then a United States senator, when she heard her daughter listening to it, serving to result in the formation of the Parents' Music Resource Heart, which finally pressured report firms into labeling albums to warn of express content." Prince himself would later, popular music genres today in a more spiritual section, decide not to use profanities onstage, but his songs — like his 2013 single Breakfast Can Wait" — never renounced carnal delights. "Few bands in rock history have had a more immediate and tangible impression on their contemporary pop musical panorama than Nirvana did in the early Nineties. When the Seattle trio hit the scene in 1991, mainstream radio was awash in the hair metal of Poison and Def Leppard. However seemingly within hours of the discharge of Nirvana's anarchic, offended single "Smells Like Teen Spirit" - and its twisted anti-pep-rally video-the foundations had modified. Artifice was devalued; pure, raw emotion was king," Rolling Stone writes in the official Audio Transcoder blog of the band. Malaysian-Chinese language producer Tzusing, who splits his time between Shanghai and Taipei, was a force in 2017. He released two lauded information: an album that mixed techno with industrial and EBM textures and In A Second A Thousand Hits , an EP that wove in frenetic elements of experimental membership music. You would combine these tracks into techno, positive, however the restless martial drumming and twangy melodies of, say, " 日出東方 唯我不敗 ," perhaps have extra in common with Nine Inch Nails and Skinny Puppy. And on prime of these drums, Tzusing added the spoken-phrase vocals, ominous wails and hectic drums that defined late '80s industrial music. Tzusing's DJing was equally spectacular, and he toured more than he ever has, bringing his sound to new frontiers. At large events like ADE and small techno parties like Non-public Choice in Los Angeles, he broke up techno's steady circulate not solely along with his own tracks, but with hip-hop and pop.

Efficiency is the physical expression of music, which happens when a music is sung or when a piano piece, electrical guitar melody, symphony, drum beat or other musical part is performed by musicians. In classical music, a musical work is written in music notation by a composer and then it is performed once the composer is satisfied with its structure and instrumentation. Nevertheless, as it will get carried out, the interpretation of a tune or piece can evolve and change. In classical music, instrumental performers, singers or conductors might gradually make adjustments to the phrasing or tempo of a chunk. In widespread and traditional music, the performers have a lot more freedom to make modifications to the type of a track or piece. As such, in well-liked and conventional music kinds, even when a band performs a cover track , they will make modifications to it akin to including a guitar solo to or inserting an introduction.

What are the widespread financial, organizational, ideological, and aesthetic traits amongst contemporary genres? Do genres follow patterns in their improvement? Lena discovers 4 dominant kinds-Avant-garde, Scene-based, Industry-primarily based, and Traditionalist-and two dominant trajectories that describe how American pop music genres develop. Outdoors the United States there exists a fifth form: the Authorities-purposed style, which she examines in the music of China, Serbia, Nigeria, and Chile. Offering a rare evaluation of how music communities operate, she appears to be like on the shared obstacles and opportunities artistic individuals face and reveals the methods wherein folks collaborate round ideas, artworks, individuals, and organizations that assist their work. The creation, efficiency, significance, and even the definition of music vary based on tradition and social context. Certainly, throughout history, some new types or styles of music have been criticized as "not being music", including Beethoven 's Grosse Fuge string quartet in 1825, 3 early jazz to start with of the 1900s four and hardcore punk in the Eighties. 5 There are lots of varieties of music, including well-liked music , conventional music , artwork music , music written for non secular ceremonies and work songs akin to chanteys Music ranges from strictly organized compositions-such as Classical music symphonies from the 1700s and 1800s, through to spontaneously played improvisational music akin to jazz , and avant-garde kinds of chance-primarily based modern music from the twentieth and twenty first centuries.

With help from Elevate wrist-primarily based coronary heart price technology3, vívoactive 3 Music permits you to monitor key aspects of your fitness and stress to indicate how your body responds underneath numerous circumstances. For example, it is in a position to estimate your VO2 max and health age, necessary indicators of your bodily fitness that may usually enhance over time with common train. It also tracks your coronary heart charge variability (HRV), which is used to calculate and observe your stress stage. vívoactive 3 Music can make you conscious when physical or emotional sources trigger your stress level to rise so you can find a approach to relieve the stress.Second, another look at the "simplistic" explanations: It's true that the music trade has all the time sought to make the artists right into a controllable commodity they can promote not only to the public but to different businesses. The trade is concentrated on the underside line they usually do want a winning formula. Rock groups (from the Sixties on) have historically been a counter-tradition and anti-corporate drive in our society. From the Rolling Stones to Led Zeppelin to Rush, the rock artists wanted success but not at the expense of compromising their art. They bought into the music as a result of they love the music and the Album-Oriented-Radio rock artist appeared as a result of singles took an excessive amount of of their attention away from playing and writing the music they truly cared about.Kylie Minogue first single, " Locomotion " grew to become a huge hit in Minogue's native Australia, spending seven weeks at number one on the Australian singles chart. The single ultimately turned the very best promoting Australian single of the last decade. Throughout Europe and Asia the song additionally carried out properly on the music charts, reaching number one in Belgium , Finland , Ireland , Israel , Japan , and South Africa The Australian rock band Men at Work achieved success in 1981 with the single " Down Under " topping Australian charts for 2 consecutive weeks.Within the 1980's music was dramatically modified by the introduction of MTV (Music Tv). This meant that music movies grew to become an increasing number of of a necessity in order for artists to achieve reputation (especially with the youth) and sell data. A higher significance was positioned on the looks of musicians and gimmicks turned commonplace. Michael Jackson emerged as one of the most dominant artists of the decade and was helped by his artistic music movies and pure talent, with his Thriller album and video setting pop music requirements. New Wave and Synth-Pop had been fashionable genres and their digital sounds match completely with the beginnings of the computer age. Hair Metallic bands additionally grew to become well-liked during the decade with their theatrical and outrageous music movies and performances. Hip-Hop additionally came into the mainstream through the decade.

[svtntntn]

theatrics

college!wonwoo (also actor!wonwoo)

JEON WONWOO, THE JEON WONWOO

okay, let’s get started

this bookworm’s an english major with a minor in theatre

bc he's also a thespian!!

in high school, he was required to fulfill a performing arts credit to graduate and chose drama class

his teacher thought his acting, his body language, his tone of voice, and facial expressions were undeniably good for someone who never tried acting before

so he suggested that wonwoo try out for the school play

and so he did and he slowly developed a love for theatre

he enjoyed the complexity of becoming a completely different person, getting lost in the character he was playing, taking on their struggles and conveying their emotions and feelings, creating his own narrative

it was something that intrigued him and challenged him so he chose to join a theatre club in college

they usually put on small performances in their black box theatre or if they do large scale productions, it's something leading up the entire semester

when he's not acting or doing things with the theatre club, he's spending time on a mixtape with seungcheol, mingyu, and vernon 

or he's reading 

taking on different characters helps him write lyrics, giving him new perspectives on things

it's always one of those three things

this boy is hella busy but always finds time for himself

if the guys ask him out to hang out, they always know to wait after wonwoo's theatre practices

or they just linger by the building he's in and kidnap him afterwards for food and stuff

he always has a book or script in his bag

wonwoo is known as the smart and silent type, the guy who keeps his head down, but asks some questions here and there and gets an A on the exam

a pretty straightforward guy tbh

when you meet wonwoo, he's your TA for your theatre studies class

but the very first time you see him see him, he's on stage

for this theatre studies class as an extra credit assignment, you have to attend a showing of the theatre club’s newest production and write a short report on it

it's this story about this boy and this girl and how their lives interweave together

spoiler alert: the boy gets into a tragic accident and the girl turns out to be dying from a terminal illness!!

and so at the very end, the girl decides to sacrifice her heart for the boy to live on

and you're just a bawling mess in the middle row of the dark theatre

after the show ends, you take a couple minutes to wipe away your tears when going to the restroom, you accidentally run into a tall ass person

it's the male lead from the play!!

you're lowkey starstruck and nothing but incoherent words come out of your mouth, "you—good at a-acting" 

"uh, thank you" he nods and continues past you to the restroom

when he leaves, you realize how awkward that was and how much of a mess you must look with tear tracks on your face

tbh wonwoo didn't even notice how much of a mess you looked

he just vaguely remembers seeing you in the theatre class, that one cute person in the back who fell asleep during the video

later when you stroll into class and your professor asks who attended the play, you and couple others raise their hands

your professor calls on them and they just say the production was good, giving generic answers

when she calls on you, you praise the whole production, from the writing to the directing to the lighting to the actors

you could go on and on about the acting, especially the male lead's performance

and your professor is smirking to herself and raises an eyebrow at wonwoo

and wonwoo, who has a black hat over his head and a mask on (he's lowkey hungover bc the cast threw a small drinking party), immediately perks up at the abundance of praise coming at him

"thank you (y/n) for those kind words, and speaking of this play," she turns to her TA, "wonwoo! congratulations on opening night, for those who don't know—wonwoo is the male lead of the theatre club's production!"

you blush and immediately duck your head down and sink down in your seat, embarrassment flushing your cheeks

wow, your professor gotta expose you like this rippp

at the end of class, you bolt from your seat and leave the classroom asap

wonwoo's actually looking for you, but he can't seem to find you once class is over

the next class, you keep your head down and try to stay inconspicuous but when your professor takes attendance, wonwoo takes note of you raising your hand in the back

you bolt out of the class but wonwoo manages to catch you before you run away again

and when you're hiding in the student commons, guess who spots you in the corner of the room?

WONWOO!! 

he actually stops by your table and thanks you for complimenting on the theatre production

as he re-introduces himself, wonwoo asks if he could sit down with you for a bit before his theatre practice

he makes nice conversation as you take notes on a powerpoint for another class, letting you focus on writing every so often before starting a new conversation with you

but you can definitely tell he's really quiet, but when he talks, he's a really humble and kind guy

your stomach growls and so does his, so you two walk together to the food court, getting something to eat and talk over before you offer to walk him to practice

you end up lingering by practice and meeting some of the other people in the club like the tall and bubbly girl named sooyoung, the equally quiet kyungsoo, theatre club president yoona, and the mysteriously handsome junhui

you stay and watch their rehearsal, admiring everyone's skills and talents as they do warm up exercises and ad-libs games and such

you debate on when to leave the practice, but you end up staying the whole time

and wonwoo's kinda surprised you're still there at the end of the night, so he walks you home to your car and calls it a night, wishing you a safe drive

it’s a nice surprise that you stayed the whole practice, having knowing him for such a short time

when you have theatre class the next day, wonwoo waves at you and catches up next to you after class ends

you two end up getting food and going to the theatre practice together

this becomes your new routine, allowing you two to get closer and closer as the semester continues on;)

if someone needs to find wonwoo, they’ll usually find you with him in the library or in the student commons area

he barely texts you, but when he does he texts you paragraphs after paragraphs

they’re usually complaints of novels and essays he needs to write for his class

and then they usually end with ‘food?’ or ‘I’m outside your apartment’ and then wow there he is

wonwoo also asks you to run lines with him, bringing a smile to your face as you get to comment on his outrageous character or the way the storyline goes

you two even go to a cat cafe together!! 

you’ve never seen wonwoo so happy before;’)

mingyu meets you when he runs into you after another one of wonwoo's practices, immediately blurting out, "(y/n)? oh! you're the person wonwoo's been telling me about! you are pretty cute! wow!"

wonwoo's glaring at mingyu while his best friend has this wide innocent smile at you bc he's happy to finally meet you (and to scope out the person stealing away wonwoo everyday)

you all get food together after practice and mingyu purposely sits in the front with wonwoo

he’s just jealous and wonwoo-deprived

wonwoo enjoys spending time with you in the library most of all

when you're typing away on your laptop or writing out your homework, he peeks behind his book and tries to make you laugh out loud

from changing his expression behind his book, to miming out his lines to you with exaggerated mouthing and hand gestures, he always tries to get you to crack in the silent space

you always slap him on the arm once you two leave the library doors, a small fond smile on his face as he catches up to your retreating figure

wonwoo isn't the type to fall for someone so fast, but he definitely cannot deny that he feels an attraction towards you

the same goes for you too

and bc you and wonwoo are both not the type to confess your feelings so suddenly, you both hold it all in

for theatre, your final project is to act out a scene written by students from a screenwriting class your professor teaches 

your assigned scene is about an argument between two exes, where one person is trying to get the other person back, but they have moved on and don't want to rekindle the past

it's really intense and it sounds straight out of a drama

and of course with your luck, you're paired with this one guy who barely shows up to class

you set up practice sessions and your partner does show up, but he's not really putting in the effort to make these scene the best it could be

wonwoo offers to run the scene with you several times and he even gives you tips and pointers on projecting your voice, conveying emotions, and how to memorize what comes next

you practice way more with wonwoo than your actual partner at this point

when you visit the theatre club meetings, you definitely pay closer attention to everything junhui, kyungsoo, sooyoung, and yoona do, even asking them for tips 

but on the day of your scene, your partner is nowhere to be seen

you've been texting him every other minute since before class started to see if he actually shows up

your professor then suggests that you do the scene yourself, but with someone else as your partner

and oF COURSE, guess who she volunteers as your partner

the one and only JEON WONWOO

you hand wonwoo the script and he reads over it

he's pretending that he hasn't already memorized it, bc let's be honest he totally has 

before you two start, wonwoo mutters in your ear that you can do it and you're gonna do positively amazing

you're too busy getting into character when you don't notice the way wonwoo squeezes your hand as a sign of affection

everyone else notices to it thooo;)

wonwoo starts the scene with you and you can't help it but feel completely at ease opposite him in this

the scene is flowing so well and everyone is in such awe of you two, your professor is avidly watching you in the front row of the room with popcorn in her hands

you're playing the ex whose moved on and wonwoo's the guy who wants you back

the scene is playing out almost exactly how you've practiced it with him

you sound v stubborn, unwilling to change your mind and wonwoo's trying so hard to get you to change your mind 

his voice softens when he gets closer to you, when he gently takes your hands in his

but you pull from his touch like it's an all-consuming fire, like it's going to burn you again

the body language between you two is electric, everyone can see you as a split couple with a messy ending

when your argument is getting to its peak and both of your voices are getting louder and it becomes a shouting match, and wonwoo leans in to kiss you, you slap wonwoo

the slap echos in the room and wonwoo's just as shocked as you are

bc the slap was something you suggested with your original partner but he didn't want to do it bc let's be honest, he didn't want to get slapped in the face

and when you told wonwoo about it during a practice session, he was like 'yeah do it' but everytime you were about to slap him you chickened out and never did it

so you agreed not to do it, even though it'd be great for the scene

but DAMN you really went for it rn!!

your eyes widen slightly with worry, but wonwoo continues on, gritting his teeth and touching his red cheek

you finish the scene with your final lines and walk away from him, letting the silence end the scene for you

one slow clap in the back of the room causes a whole wave of applause for you and wonwoo

but you immediately go back to wonwoo, who is still frozen in his spot

"wonwoo! I'm so sorry! I totally forgot and I just went for it, is your cheek okay? are you okay?" you check his face and there's a giant red handprint on his face

your professor lets you go to the health services wing to get some ice for his face (after giving y'all an A+ bc duh)

you apologize for slapping so hard and wonwoo waves it off, saying that it was perfect for the scene

he instead compliments you on your acting and how well you did

but you're still upset that you caught wonwoo off-guard and slapped him so hard

"hey, we just had our first fake fight and you got an A, now's not the time to be so upset"

you're still not budging, "but I am, I feel really bad"

without missing a beat, wonwoo says, "then take me out to dinner"

you just reply, "okay, okay fine" but you pause as you realize what you just agreed to, "wait—what?"

"you're paying" wonwoo smirks

when you make a face about paying, he just points at the red hand on his cheek

after wonwoo gets his ice, he feigns being dizzy from the slap (prompting you to almost slap him again) and he gets to lay down on a cot in the health services wing with you next to him

"you know pretending to be sick is an abuse of your talents"

"it got me you, didn't it?"

;)

[505ollie]

17th May: Bauhaus.

Founded by Architect Walter Gropius in Weimer (Germany) 1919.

Gropius fought in war and came out wanting to change the world for the better.

Influenced by William Morris' socialist principles, accessibility of quality and the unification of art + design.

After WW1 - Germany became democratic Weimer Republic - opportunity to rebuild society but national morale and economy low.

Manifesto:

Bauhaus; build + house. The ultimate goal of the house was to improve life.

There is no essential difference between the artist and the artisan.

Spirit:

Progressive: rebelled against societal norms.

Wild theatrical parties and performances.

Playing with gender identity, women cut hair short, dressed androgynously.

Relationships: students+staff.

For the time it was considered outrageous to the general public.

Curricular structure:

Everyone was to start at a preliminary course (6 months) de-learn/re-learn. Forget rules leant at traditional academies.

Progress to workshop (3 years).

haus (at centre) only for those most talented - post grad after workshops. Only here study architecture (from 1927) and work in Gropius' office as assistant.

Students could eventually become workshop assistant

Workshop assistance could progress to masters/teachers.

The preliminary course wanted the student to de-learn and relearn for the purpose of putting all the students back to the same skill level. Forgetting rule leant at traditional academies & abandoning old habits.

Women:

At start 51% students were women.

For all his progressive beliefs Gropius believed womens' minds were created differently.

Women only allowed to advance to workshops in textiles and weaving.

Annie Albers - weaving workshop student, met Josef Albers (m.1925) progressed to head of weaving in 1930.

Marianne Brandt - wouldn't accept limitations. Eventually managed to get accepted into metalwork. She was badly treated but didnt give up - Progressed workshop assistant. She was one of the Bauhaus' most successful students.

[mulechurchyard-blog]

What I mean when I say Ex-Gay

“Because you see we boys are like that. We are more afraid of the medicine than of the illness”

                                                                                   Pinocchio,Carlo Collodi

Over the 2015/16 festive period I had two epiphanies: (i) I wasn’t gay and (ii) there is a God.

There was a gap of around a month between the two. During that month, I unpicked my former identity, and I realised that I had been had: the concept of homosexual identity is lie, and the way that the lie is maintained is incredibly complex and damaging. At first, I wondered how I could become a secular voice who could help people see what I had seen, but God had other plans. In a few short weeks he had saved me for Himself, and now I knew that my message would be so outrageous there was no chance of being listened to. I knew what I was like before, and there was no way I would have listened… or maybe I would have listened a little bit, secretly. I might therefore have read on, if just to be outraged.

Having crossed the boundaries between the two worlds, I realised there is a problem to which there are four parts:

(i)            LGBT people do not understand Christianity

(ii)           Christians do not understand LGBT people

(iii)         LGBT people do not understand themselves

(iv)          Christians do not understand Christianity

So, as far debate and dialogue between LGBT people and Christians are concerned, things were never going to go well. As someone who has now experienced both, this blog sets out to address that a bit.

First, to state what I do not support. A couple of weeks back, there was an episode ofRupaul’s Drag Race (which I find fascinating) where one of the competitors broke down crying as he described his Christian parents subjecting him to an exorcism to rid him of a gay demon. That is spiritual abuse. No one can change for the sake of someone else. We each have a cross to bear, and it is our choice in how to bear it. It must be acknowledged that once a child is an adult, then they are on their own journey. Whilst love and guidance remain essential, that guidance must not be authoritarian (in fact authoritarian parenting may have been part of the problem in the first place). It goes without saying that verbal, physical, spiritual and emotional abuse (including shunning) play no part at all. I will write about parenting fully, later on.

However, there are a number of videos doing the rounds on YouTube, where people speak of amazing hole-on-one spiritual experiences where some charismatic preacher lays their hands on them, and they receive the holy spirit and “over-come” their sexuality all the same moment. If that is true, that’s great for them, I suppose, but it lies well beyond the bounds of realism for most. Maybe there is a leap of faith so profound that these people do just change their sexuality through belief, but as Rosario Champagne Butterfield, a Christian writer who also came through homosexuality, says, expecting it to happen is really prosperity gospel territory (the heretical and blatantly untrue belief that becoming a Christian is going to make you well, and bring financial prosperity because God knows you deserve it). What if these individuals discover that still struggle with same-sex desire? Who will they talk to about it? What if they don’t talk about it, and then act on it secretly? Either way, I am afraid to say that the euphoria of discovering God wears off overtime. You discover that you still do get ill, you still make terrible mistakes, your loved ones still die unsaved and you do still experience same-sex desire after all. Relying on Him and trusting Him can become harder. God doesn’t remove us from Earthly reality, he shows us what it truly is and if we understand what He is seeking in us, rather than us just expecting things of Him, He will help us to bear its challenges. That is why the prosperity gospel is absolute pap. There needs to be more credible and accessible explanations and courses of action, for the sake of everybody including charismatics.

It seems to be me, that most LGBT people who come to faith in Jesus, certainly within the UK evangelical culture in which I exist, still talk about experiencing same-sex attraction and choose to be celibate (Those who say that they are following Jesus and actively pursuing an LGBT lifestyle at that same time, aren’t Christians and I am not going to discuss that particular issue here). So, we have the two basic Christian views that seem to float around in culture and imagination:

I)              Over-the-top, all encompassing, instantaneous, spiritual theatrics/histrionics

II)            Celibacy

Celibacy is problematic though as it just says, “This is me and don’t ask question.” Although the way of dealing with it is different, this is basically the same thing as that that mainstream LGBT community says, often with extreme defensiveness, and there is a big reason for that. The thing that LGBT people fear above all other things is self-knowledge.

Self-knowledge is terrifying, because through self-knowledge an LGBT person will see that the person who is hurting them, the person who is humiliating them, who is filling their body with drink and drugs at the weekend (if they are that way inclined), who is causing their mental anxiety, who is generating these feelings of exclusion and who is preventing them from taking their role in God’s created order, is themselves. The sinful world has told them a lie about themselves, and they have believed it. They have not only believed it, they have run with it and through forging community with other LGBT people they have created a self-perpetuating social force that tells them that change is impossible, and any attempt to change is extremely damaging or laughable.

As these communities have sucked men and women in to them, grown ever larger and gained influence, they have taken it upon themselves to proclaim all science and psychology that suggest that homosexual or trans identity is even remotely changeable, linked to other mental health/personality disorders or liable to damage the individual further, have been irrefutably debunked. But they haven’t. My own lived experience show there is profound truths in much of the psychological writings of the pre-“liberation” era that have been excluded from contemporary discourse with such vehemence, it is almost impossible to access them, let alone hear them be discussed with any seriousness. There has been such a force of will and pressure from the LGBT community that they have managed to suppress the thought that these theories could have any truth in them at all. That is because discovering the truth in them is terrifying as it shows them that they are far less in control of their own bodies and minds than they think they are. This terror is as real for Christian LGBT people and those within the mainstream.

We can see this process happening just now with the gender-neutral debate. Previously, no one believed this thing existed as anything other than attention seeking linked in with certain pathologies, but slowly the debate is being crushed. Maintaining the idea that there even is a debate to be had, is portrayed as morally abhorrent. People become afraid to speak out. This is “not even up for debate” stance inevitably seeps in and affects the Christian world just as much as mainstream culture. Hence, I am not satisfied with the celibacy answer, because I think those who pursue it remain within the lie when greater and deeper recognition of your God-created reality is possible. And if full change proves elusive, at least there can come a greater ability to understand same-sex desire/LGBT-identity better and struggle with it less. To all intents and purposes, I am still celibate, and I don’t see that changing in the near future. But it’s not because I am resisting same-sex attraction, but because I am still beset with emotional issues from the past and I don’t feel able to cope with a relationship with a woman (again I will discuss this further later on). But more importantly I am saved, and I am not living within a lie that places a barrier between me and the true nature of reality anymore. In some ways, it is exactly like The Matrix. The world Neo wakes up can seem one hell of a lot harder to deal with than existing within the Matrix, but it is real, and that is profoundly more meaningful that living within the safe confines of a lie. And in reality, the lie is not safe at all. It cleverly disguises it dangers. Addiction issues, mental health issues, suicide, domestic violence, loneliness, anxiety, sexual promiscuity and narcissism are all far more prevalent in LGBT people than they are in the non-LGBT population. Their unacknowledged realties are screaming out against the lie that is being forced on to them, and this is without even going into the more metaphysical realms of damnation and exclusion from God’s Eternal Kingdom that lie will breed in time.

Christian celibacy is better, but it is not yet forceful enough to bring about the culture change that needs to happen. Ed Shaw has written a book called The Plausibility Problem, in which he discusses the problem of presenting celibacy as a plausible lifestyle choice for LGBT people as they seek Jesus. I think it is a huge problem, and it will always remain a minority choice. I think there is a more radical solution that even the church is now too afraid of. God create man and woman to be together. LGBT-identity is a lie, and we need to stop contributing to that lie. We need to undo it. Same-sex attraction is an issue deeply related to LGBT-identity, but it is also separate as it can exist independent of the LGBT-identity. Likewise, same-sex attraction is a lie. It is not part of God’s created order.  We need to undo that too, rather than preach repression. The solution to both lie in language and how people and feelings are described. This process of re-description is deeply disturbing, often very upsetting and above all, terrifying. The road down which I have travelled in the few years has often been hard to bare; and I have found myself gasping with desperation “but who am I then?” To endure such mental turmoil and chaos, the individual must have security in something larger than themselves. Therefore, whilst I believe that coming to faith and overcoming LGBT-identity/same-sex desire are separate things that require separate processes, I doubt that the latter transformation is possible without a total reliance and trust in the peace, love and purpose that God has provided for us.

God and the goodness of his created order are the medicine, but Pinocchio is right, they do seem more terrifying than the illness, even when the illness promises death. That is especially the case when that illness is sin of our own making. So, my last word is this; do not be afraid of the medicine. Although it may seem bitter thing to swallow at first, it is very good indeed.

[dat-town]

Heartbleed Rhapsody

Characters: Namjoon & You

Setting: witch hunter au

Genre: angst

Warnings: character death, blood, swearing, hint of torture and a bit of madness just like how Connie likes it

Summary: You get caught up in an endless circle of revenge but you, witches has always been vengeful creatures so it tastes sweet like death on your tongue.

Words: 9.1k

For @lthyl​. Not at all Christmas-y but I sincerely hope you like it. Thank you for being an inspiration, an amazing, supportive friend and bless you for being a unique, creative and super talented writer. Not to be cheesy but getting to know you (& the rest of the squad) is one of the things I’m eternally grateful for in 2017. Have a merry Christmas, Connie! ♥

Witches are told to be vicious creatures and you certainly don’t help to prove the rumours wrong.

“You know tying me up leads you nowhere, right? I can still make you cry blood and take your pretty head without my hands,” you sneer at the man tousling you around roughly as if you were merely a ragdoll for his entertainment.

His arrogant behaviour makes your blood boil with anger and turns you into a ticking bomb waiting to go off. Provoking your kind is a dangerous game just like playing with fire and you’re seriously pondering on the methods of death he deserves: suffocation, heart attack, a knife aimed straight at his heart? So bad he can only die once, you would like to watch him bleed out in agony in front of you, begging for forgiveness again and again. A sad pout creeps onto your cold features realizing that the blood would make the job messy and you hate everything that’s not neat.

“Then why don’t you?” the hunter challenges you, a satisfied grin spreading onto his unfairly handsome face as he tugs on the metal chain around your wrist. No matter how hard you press your mouth together, a hiss escapes your throat as your skin is sizzling when the touch of iron burns it.

You turn your head away, the offence tasting bitter in your mouth. Arrogant witch hunters, they act so all-knowing but they know nothing about how magic actually works. But you won’t give this man the advantage to use it against you by enlightening him, so you choose to ignore his remark and raise an eyebrow ever so elegantly at him.

“How do you want me to take you to the Queen without magic though?” you snicker pleased that you found a loophole in his perfect little plan.

As he shoves you against a tree instead of answering, the tree bark against your back scrapes your skin through the flimsy dress you wear and your long, dishevelled hair full of dead leaves falls into your face darkening the world around you.

The witch trap carved deep into the ground you’re standing on keeps you there, at the mercy of the hunter who chased you across the deepest pits of the forest where no sane person dares to step in.  So apparently, this silver-haired man towering over you with a triumphant smirk is just as lunatic as you are.

“Well I have my ways,” his lips twitch in amusement as he takes out a long object with a circular end from his backpack and your eyes unceremoniously widen at the sight.

“No way in hell! You won’t put me on leash,” the protest falls off your lips fiercely and shame is bubbling up in your insides. You are not an animal.

“Did I ask?” the man laughs raucously but his frivolous giggles die abruptly in the air as the rope in his hands transforms into a snake.

“I said no,” you are making your point once again, greatly piqued but this time with more edge in your otherwise light voice and fire in your eyes as dark as the nights of new moon. Your gaze follows the shiny green scaled reptile fondly as it hisses at the hunter and slips out of his hands to disappear in the wildness where it belongs.

“Shit, you crazy witch,” the startled man jumps back, pure shock and panic on his face that conjure light-hearted chuckles out of you.

“I’ve been called way worse,” you shrug nonchalantly because these words have long lost their meaning to you. Humans and their stupid habit of calling you and your kind names.

It all comes down to a pause. It starts with silence, the woods inhaling the essence of life present and everything stands still. No chilly wind, no leaves rumbling, no whispers of forgotten spirits. You feel goosebumps forming on your forearms while the man in front of you doesn’t seem to notice the change. Oh how stupid of him to be so careless and naive. These forests are not for magicless beings like him.

Yet, only when everything else is muted around, this is the first time when you actually pay attention to his rigid pose, his slump shoulders, the hollow of his face and the circles around his eyes. He looks sad like the moon on those nights when it can be heard crying. Melancholy hugs him close like a cloak and the blood on his hands is not just from witches.

“She took my brother. I just want him back,” he mutters into the stillness, more to himself than you, but you hear him and can’t help but wonder:

“You must be pretty bad if you pissed off the Queen like that,” you snort not quite lady-like and then suddenly, it clicks: all that whispering among your fellow witches, the mourning that took over everything like dark clouds on the baby blue sky and the rumours about a man who did the impossible. “Oh don’t tell me! You were the one you killed the princess?”

At first you gasp, almost comically but then a snarky laughter bubbles up in you. It’s quite improper and tactless taken the circumstances but you have never been one to fawn upon the royal court of your kind. You have better things to deal with but look at how funnily the world works: intertwining your string of fate with the hunter’s who is wanted by many in and outside of the witch-ruled areas too.

When the man himself doesn’t even bother to deny the accusation that can cost his head - or even better: his heart ripped out of his chest and planted on a silver planet as a gift to the Queen – you sigh. How can one be so stupid to think they can get away with that? Breaking into the Castle and killing the princess who has just turned eighteen and tasted the first bites of human flesh? A sprout of respect springs into life in your lungs silently that the man is even alive after pulling such an outrageous act. Killing witches for living is one thing but threatening and attacking the royal family? He has surely lost his sane mind.

“Kim Namjoon…” you taste the infamous name on your tongue sweetly, playing with the vowels and consonants like chords on an instruments. You have heard it whispered between the walls enough, it almost feels like a half-forgotten dream. Hearing them rolling off your tongue, the man looks up at you, surprised you heard of him and that’s when you throw a knife at him. Figuratively. “Your brother might not even be alive by now.”

It might sound cruel and insensitive but it’s the truth. Witches are born vengeful, revenge boiling up in their system and turning their blood black to spill. No wonder why the Queen took Namjoon’s younger brother. An eye for an eye, a sibling for a sibling. It’s simple math.

“I don’t care. I have to know,” the hunter insists, determination set in his eyes like gemstones in the cold harsh ground, deep enough to evolve into something beautiful. A purpose, that’s what it is for him, you realize and he won’t change his mind no matter what. Stubborn, stupid human running into the arms of death so carelessly. You almost feel sorry for him but you don’t. Not an ounce especially when he traps you between the tree branches and his body again, the puffs of his heavy breathing dancing on your skin.

“So you either help me or I kill you because you are no use for me otherwise. I guess they would pay hundreds for your pretty head only,” he says through gritted teeth, so cold you shiver.

“You will kill me anyway, don’t cha?” you look straight into his eyes, searching for the deepest pits of his soul but you only see different shades of black: anger, sorrow, pain.

He only needs you to help him get beyond the Castle Gates, to make sure he has a safe in and out but then he will get rid of you like he probably did with that traitor witch who helped him get in the first time. Otherwise he wouldn’t need you now.

“Okay… okay, I will help you,” you sigh theatrically as if you had the upper-hand in this situation even with your wrists tied and your body trapped.

Namjoon lets out a dry laugh.

“I didn’t really give you any other option.”

“But I can make your life hard… or easy. Your choice,” you are acting all charming now, fluttering lashes, sweet smiles but the hunter snorts dismissively mumbling something about being all bark but no bite.

Witches are basically elementals of nature, they can control most natural phenomenons and some are even gifted with special abilities like transforming into a certain animal. Any more than that requires years of practice so Namjoon isn’t really concerned about what a girl like you could do to him but like a wise man said once it’s better to be safe than sorry. He would rather not worry about you killing him in his sleep during your journey.

“Where’s the catch?” he furrows his eyebrows well aware of the tricks of cunning witches so he refuses to let his guards down.

“No catch, I only wish to walk without having to wear a leash, I’m not some animal for fuck’s sake,” you snarl raising your chin high, narrowing your eyes at him daring him to say no, to say something derogative so you can prove him how much it hurts when you really bite.

However, Kim Namjoon isn’t just another stupid huntsman and he knows better than to provoke somebody who bears magic. What a proud womenfolk you are, he muses and sighs.

“But if you are trying with anything…”

“Yeah-yeah, I know the drill: you kill me,” you grimace, voice dripping sarcasm as you watch his practiced fingers unloose a hook and let the metal fall to the floor. It leaves bloody spots behind where it rubbed against your skin but at least, you won’t feel the burn of it. Namjoon still ties your hands together but this time it’s a simple rope, one you can easily get rid of so you don’t complain, just roll your eyes and wait until he erases the witch trap from the ground around you.

The forest is watching, you can tell.

The deeper you go, the more aware you are. It’s warning you, urging you to turn back and leave if you only bring bad luck onto sacred ground. It’s getting angry, you can feel it in your bones, see in the leaves swirling and the weather changing. It’s cold, nearly frosty as dark falls upon you and Namjoon decides it’s time to pitch a camp for the night.

Neither of you talked much while walking except a few bitten back swear words and you don’t intend to change that, yet something has been bugging you for a while and you just have to blurt out:

“Why did you kill the princess? Was it a bet? A deal? Or just challenge?” you acquire further deep into the reasons of a mundane being’s life you have always found so fragile and pitiful. What could have possibly made him want to do such a stupid and dangerous thing?

It’s meant to be an innocent, curious question, however from the way Namjoon’s shoulders tense and the way he spits the words, it must be much more serious than a silly bet.

“You know nothing. Mind your own business,” he snaps at you and turns back to make a fire with the wood he collected from nearby.

You mock him behind his back by imitating his words back to him soundlessly and watch with your back to a tree and a raised eyebrow as he clumsily tries to light a fire. The air is dry, the wind is chilly and wild so the flame keeps flickering and he fails repeatedly. You don’t strain yourself to help him out; you don’t need the warmth anyway.

Your gaze shifts to the moon looming over you and listen to the secrets it tells you. Only a relieved sigh directs your attention back to the blazing fire in front of the hunter. You act like you don’t care but when he pulls out some canned food from his bag, your mouth waters. You haven’t eaten yet that day. However, you are more stubborn than to beg him for some left-overs so you stay quiet, nails marking crescents into your own palms.

It’s your stomach’s grumbling that gives you away at the smell of chicken soup boiling but it surprises you that the man cares at all. You’re prepping yourself for snarky remarks of your magic not helping you out now that you need it but instead the look on Namjoon’s face is simple disdain. He throws a can of vegetable tuna at your feet and you scoff.

“I am still not a dog for you to throw me a piece of bone.”

“Fine then leave it there, I don’t care,” Namjoon shrugs. Something dark flashing in his eyes and his nonchalant behaviour just makes your insides coil in fury.

“My hands,” you protest bringing your tied wrist in front of his face but you only get a headshake.

“Not a chance. Be creative,” he says firmly but you are not willing to dig your face into food like some animal would and you know exactly what can be a good exchange for this small favour.

“If you untie me, I can track your brother down and tell you if he’s still alive at all,” you are bargaining quite fairly in your opinion and the shift in the man’s eyes tells you that he’s also thinking about your offer.

“Can you really?” he suspiciously furrows his brows. “How can I know you won’t lie to me and take me into a trap?”

“You can’t but what place can possibly be more dangerous than the Castle itself where you were originally planning to go?” you remind him and he seems to agree as he gives you a short nod of approval.

“Okay, you can have it off for meals if you can tell me where he is. But if I catch you using any other magic, I will slice your throat,” his threat falls on deaf ears and you can’t fight the satisfied smile setting onto your face.

“Deal,” you consent to his condition and move your hands around a bit after he frees them. “I need something that was your brother’s and your blood. Since you are brothers, it will make the spell work more efficiently.”

Blood magic is one of a kind, really powerful and you are taken aback that the hunter doesn’t even protest or questions your motives. You could use his blood basically for everything, even to control him, yet he puts a little tiger pendant in your outstretched hand so carefully as if it was his most treasured property.

“If he’s dead, just tell me. Don’t play mind games with me,” he orders, or at least he means it as an order but it sounds more like a plea and when you nod, he nods back. You don’t ask what will happen to you if his brother really is dead and not because you’re afraid of the answer but because you know the Queen that much. She likes to play with her victims, to prolong the torment as much as she can.

“How much blood do you need?” Namjoon asks so driven by the need to know, so eager to get over with it, it leaves you a bit astonished.

“Just a drop is enough,” you tell him honest to the truth and watch with hungry eyes as he cuts his palm ever so slightly. You hear his sharp intake as carmine blood is pooling in his palm. “Alright, and now, hold your breath,” you give him a quick warning before putting your free hand palm-to-palm to his while your fist clenches around the medal in the other. Some spells need words, the powerful ones, but this is a fairly simple one, so you only have to concentrate, closing your eyes and finding that string in your mind that leads you to this boy.

Out of nowhere, the dark swallows you down.

You feel the dizziness overtaking you and your vision gets blurry as you search for his soul out there. You feel like running through the wildness bare-foot, the branches hurting your legs but you don’t stop, not until you reach your goal and then it’s getting faster and faster, an impossible speed you’re not able to keep up with and then it feels like falling and colliding into something solid like a wall or the rock bottom of your mind. When everything calms down, the darkness welcomes you and choking, you gasp for air.

“Hey, what is it? What’s happening?” the hunter shakes your shoulder desperately when after panting and mumbling to yourself, you just stop, your eyes popping open, facing the sky. Yet, there aren’t your eyes, there’s nothing from the universe he saw in them there anymore. They are completely white, lacking the rainbow or your iris and the black of your eye. No matter how hard he shakes you or what he tells you it doesn’t seem to reach you wherever you are. He can’t seem to pull you out of the trance that painted pure hurt all over your features. He has never seen anything like that before and it scares him.

“He’s alive but in a lot of pain,” you speak up, voice raw and hoarse, not really yours. The place you see is familiar like you have been there before. You look around but you realize you are not in your own body anymore. It’s a young boy, hands bloody and coughing. He shivers from the cold.

“He… is in a dungeon of some sort. It’s cold and wet. He can hear the water running. He…” your voice cracks at the sound of footsteps and the fear that rushes through the boy and then something pulls your stomach down and your lungs are hurting as if you have been kicked when the spell breaks.

You blink a few times before the haziness dissolves before your eyes and you can see again. The first thing that comes into your view is Namjoon’s worried face in front of you, so mature yet still has the lightest touch of boy-ish features that shouldn’t be possible for a coldblooded killer.

“He what?” he asks, almost begs to fill him out on details but you have nothing more, eyes back to just as normal as it was.

“I lost connection.”

“Then try again,” he demands spitefully, disappointed and desperate which makes you want to punch him or do something worse to him now that your hands are free but instead you just grit your teeth.

“I can’t. If I drain my powers with this I won’t have enough to get you there.”

Maybe it’s the hint in your voice or how confident you sound but the man before you falters a little.

“Do- do you know where he is?”

“Yeah. I know that place. It’s the canal beneath the Castle,” you tell him recalling why the dungeon was so familiar to you. The wet walls, the icy ground, the overbearing pain in the bones and the draining energy that keeps you there. No wonder why you know that place so well. You have been there too many times to count. “Where the Queen keeps the sacrifices.”

The night falls silence after that, both of you eating mindlessly, lost in your thoughts. When it’s time to sleep, the hunter ties your hands once again and you are ready to snicker but the look in his eyes, so out of it, makes you swallow back those words.

Each day you are getting closer to the Castle, crossing enchanted gardens, poisoned valleys on the way. Humans get easily distracted in these darker, magical parts of the forest, they tend to get lost and die out of starvation or dehydration as they are walking around in a circle. Some even go crazy in this labyrinth. That’s why Namjoon needs you: to be his compass, his eyes and ears in a place where nothing is as it seems. Lucky for him, the source of your own witch blood is calling you home to demean yourself before the Queen.

Most days are the same, silent and gloomy. But sometimes, like now, it’s full of laughter, at least on your part.

“It just pissed on me,” the hunter complains in a high voice just like a school girl would.

“You deserve it,” you tell him sharp-fanged as you watch him wiping off the bird poop off his coat in disgust.

“I swear these birds hate me,” he mutters and you almost laugh out loud. Well, he isn’t entirely wrong about that.

“Come on, don’t whine! They are just birds,” you tease and smile sweetly when a sparrow sits on your shoulder in such a calm manner no normal bird would. It even takes the fruits you offer from your hands.

Namjoon watches the scene unfold before him and suddenly, all his unfortunate encounters with the animals and why they picked up on him makes more sense. He doesn’t comments on it and scrunches his nose persuading himself that he is not whiny, not at all. But it can be irritating when a dozens of birds fly by just past his head or even poop on him. Nothing serious, just bad pranks as if they were merely projection of the chaotic emotions of the witch whose name he still doesn’t know of and neither cares for.

You walk further into the right direction, only one more day trip away from the Castle, when suddenly, passing by a calm river, your steps halt abruptly and frantic you turn back to grab Namjoon’s jacket’s collar.

“Let me go!” you scream at him but in that moment, he doesn’t hear the panic in your voice, nor feels the ground shaking beneath his boots or the clouds darkening the sky.

“What? No! You just pissed an hour ag…” he huffs and this time you actually slap him right in the face which successfully makes him shut up.

“Not that, you stupid human. Something is coming for us, can’t you tell? It will kill us both if you won’t untie me… like right now,” you only add the last words urgently when both of you hear the unearthly wailing coming from the dirty water.

“What the fuck is this?” Namjoon gapes as the sounds of hooves clattering echoes through the area.

“A kelpie or maybe there’s more. And in case you can’t tell, I hate them,” you enlighten him as you both struggle to get that damn rope off around your wrists. “Oh come on!”

The hunter, finally understanding the seriousness of your situation, pulls out his jack-knife to cut the rope off of you while you look beneath his shoulders and see a horse-form emerging from the water.

“Hurry up,” you urge him a bit hysterically which doesn’t make you proud at all but you have quite a bit of history with these malevolent spirits and you don’t want the past to repeat itself. A kelpie’s bite takes months to heal and it hurts like hell in the meantime.

Before the knife could cut through the rope, you feel the full-force attack that sends both of you flying in the air before falling to the ground with a loud, painful thud. You stumble to your feet but the beautiful silver horse kicks you so hard, you can’t breathe for a second and there’s no way you can get a hold of its bridle to control it without the proper use of your hands.

Think, think, you groan, tasting grass and mud in your mouth as the kelpie keeps shoving you away with its body until you feel overly exhausted and your whole body is sore. It’s only then when this monster turns around setting its attention to the next victim being Namjoon with his knife pulled out ready for fight.

However, to his great surprise, the magnificent horse transforms into an overly gorgeous, completely naked woman right in front of him. His jaw drops and his grip on the weapon falters while the blonde beauty walks towards him so enthralling and captivating. He’s not against hurting the other gender, taken his job as a witch hunter, he also needs to be like that but there’s something about this woman that makes him speechless and unable to raise his hand to strike down when she steps in front of him.

“Brave human, you have come so far in the witches’ land. I haven’t seen a man in so long,” she whispers coyly, eyelashes flattering and with a soft hand, she caresses his face ever so gently.

“Who are you exactly?” Namjoon blurts out struggling to even speak with the lump forming in your throat.

“My name is Simona and I’m the spirit of this river, the guard of this border,” a spirit that seems to be absolutely shameless about the fact that she’s walking around naked, Namjoon almost chokes on his spit.

“What border?” he blinks not quite understanding what they are talking about or even why. It feels like every clearheaded and reasonable thoughts flew out of his mind leaving him dumbstruck and silly to stare at the stunning creature.

“The border of the Witch Queen’s Castle,” she answers with a lovely smile, stroking his jawline with a feather-like touch and adds a bit suggestive: “Do you want to cross the river?”

“Yeah, I…” the man blurts out clearly remembering his purpose of reaching the Castle for some reason. There must have been a reason why but he seems to forget that, it must have been important though, if he had come such a long way. Yet, his answer is quite uncertain as he faintly recalls he had a companion on this journey. But who? Gosh, his memories are so foggy.

“Let me,” Simona smiles lovely as ever and takes his hand leading him into the dark waters of the river.

Watching Namjoon, a most likely skilled witch hunter being hypnotized by another spirit leaves you in disbelief and if it wasn’t a life or death situation you might laugh but your throat feels dry as you still struggle with your handcuffs. You might have promised him not to use your power when he doesn’t allow you explicitly but you won’t die because of his stupidity.

“Oh screw it,” you mutter giving up on stupid, useless mundane methods and gather enough willpower to burn the rope into ashes. The flames only tickle your skin, it doesn’t hurt at all, the fire you create never hurts you. However, kelpies are a whole different story.

You act on impulse, not giving space for changing your mind, pondering over options, you simply lunge forward shooting fireballs to the woman’s form waist-deep in the water already. She howls as it burns her skin and flashes her sharp teeth turning around to face you. Her pretty features turn into something hideous, monster-like but you are not scared, not at all.

“Come on! Come and get me,” you provoke her sending a bunch of sparrows at her to peck her skin until she doesn’t have any other choice than to transform back into a horse. Just what you wanted.

“Namjoon, get the bridle,” you shout at the man you stands with one leg into the water, still dazed and utterly confused. You sigh, it seems you have to do anything yourself, nothing new.

The horse gallops towards you so fast, you jump out of its way in the very last moment. You giggle out loud at the sound of the animal’s annoyed huff. You repeat the same trick twice but the next time when it attacks, you use your levitation skills to helps you get on its back and grab the handle.

“Never mess with a witch,” you growl as the horse calm under you, unwillingly but giving you full control. Just like stories tell: a kelpie’s only weak point is its bridle, and if you can catch that, you can control the creature on your own accord.

You trot slowly towards the shocked hunter and pat the horse’s butt. “Get up big boy before I leave your ass here.”

“What happened? I think I totally blacked out,” he utters confused.

“The kelpie seduced you and she was going to lure you into the water to kill you,” you explain patiently because you know that the first meeting with a kelpie can be overwhelming. “Don’t worry, she means no danger anymore.”

Namjoon nods, trying to process what happened while he climbs up to sit on the horse behind you. His broad, solid chest presses against you back and his breath brushes your ear.

“Thanks. You could have just let me die,” you feel vibrations through his body as he speaks and when the horse crosses the river climbing out of the ditch, his strong hands grab on your waist to keep himself from falling.

"I’m not heartless, you know,” you bite the words tasting iron in your mouth. You would like to believe you really aren’t. Sure, you have killed before, you have hexed people, you didn’t care for what purposes others used your potions. This is what you are, a witch, and this is how you are expected to behave. Humans don’t expect more or anything better from you, they have already concluded that your kind is nothing but monsters. Why would you do anything to prove that? Why can’t you just live with it: not going against their prejudices, doing the monstrous things they will blame on you anyway?

The witch hunter hums from behind you as the horse sets a nice tempo towards the coldest and darkest part of the enchanted forest lacking natural sunlight filtered through the leaves.

"That’s why you are helping me?” he asks in a soft voice that almost pains your heart.

Trust, you recall the name of this stupid mundane thing, this mistake he’s making right now. People tend to see the good even in the devil himself if they showed they are capable of that. They foolishly think it will change anything but here’s the trick: the evil chooses to not be good. It’s a decision, not some aftermath of a series of events with unpredictable consequences. The evil chooses to not be good because they are selfish and always look out for themselves first.

“You didn’t give me much choice, remember?” you snort remembering his own words, using them against him. Yet, it doesn’t work the way you wanted. Namjoon doesn’t tease you about being so helpless completely at his mercy but contemplating on the chances.

“We both know you can easily find a way-out,” he says, so confident in his remark it surprises you. Yes, you really could have run away a long time ago if you really wanted to but chose not to because the outcome interests you and you have always been there for good drama.

However, it means Namjoon is well aware that you are a good liar and he sees right through it. He sees the ugliest parts of you, yet chooses to trust you with his life just because you saved him from an even meaner monster than yourself.

“Well maybe I don’t really fancy the court’s stupid traditions or the Queen herself for that matter,” you shrug nonchalantly, not caring whether he believes you or not. To avoid any further misunderstanding, you add: “You are not special, I would help anyone to piss off the Queen.”

It’s not necessarily true but he doesn’t need to know that. Even so you have that stinky feeling in the back of your throat telling you that he already knows you are lying, that there’s something else, something more behind your words, this confident facade you wear. Still, he doesn’t say anything, just gently holds onto your waist while you ride the kelpie through the forest.

The moon shines bright above by the time you reach a lake on the periphery of the ramous trees. The silver rays glimmer in the water as you sink down from the horse carefully tying its bridle to one of the strongest trees in your surroundings to make sure it doesn’t run away or attack you again. From here, if you look hard, you can see the grandiose tower of the Castle overlooking the whole neighbourhood. From here, it doesn’t take much to get there, and you know, by tomorrow noon, you will arrive.

"Wanna get cleaned first?” a rough voice jolts you out of your deep thought and when you turn around, you are faced with the messy haired, dirty handed but considerate eyed man. After thrown into the dirt, neither of you is the epitome of cleanness, although you’re sure you look worse than the hunter. After all, it was you who was kicked all over the ground.

“Uh… sure. Don’t look,” you clear your throat but only when you’ve checked everything, searching for traces of magic activity and that Namjoon is with his back to you, that’s when you begin to cast off your dirty clothes one by one: the corset over your ruined white shirt and leather pants tugged into worn boots.

You let out a pleased sigh as the fresh, clear water touches your bare skin and you have fun producing bubbles with your power in the river’s dead end when you’ve sunk neck-deep. You feel like a child playing in the pool at ease, forgotten about tomorrow when death can come for you.

“You can turn back,” you tell Namjoon quietly, admiring his gorgeous bodyline as he leans over a tree resting his head on his own shoulder. He looks taken aback by the offered opportunity but doesn’t make it a bigger deal than it is so he takes a hundred-eighty turn. However, what he sees, takes his breath away. You dark hair sprawling around you on the water’s surface like a grown completely embracing you. Only your shoulders and head stick out of the dark waters, everything else is hidden by the bubbling liquid yet the man can’t help but gulp, desperately and hopelessly trying to calm his suddenly racing heart.

What is this wicked game you are playing with his heart and mind? Why are being so gorgeous and irresistible even without trying? Why does he have to be attracted to you so much that he has to grab the tree for support? Why can’t he see you as the scratchy witch you were in his eyes only a few days ago? Why is it that when he looks at you, now he hears your giggles, the dulcet melody of your voice and sees deep secrets in chestnut brown eyes instead of the blood he used to associate with you? Maybe it’s because you are undeniable beautiful which is a siren skill of witches, so he swore he wouldn’t fall for that. And yet…

Yet, there’s something lurking in his heavy chest telling him you are different. But how so? He doesn’t quite know.

“What’s your name?” he takes a few tentative step towards the pool, towards you as you prop yourself on your elbows, resting your chin on the back of your hand, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

“My name?” you echo as if have never heard this question before which Namjoon finds ridiculous. You do have to have a name. He doesn’t want to call you ‘The Witch’ in his head anymore.

“Yeah. What do they call you?” he specifies as he sits down on a rock next to the water only two arm-lengths away from you.

For someone who is said to be one of the bests of his field and must have seen enough about witches to fill a book with his experience, but he doesn’t even know this simple thing. Maybe because he’s more like a ‘first act and then ask’ kind of hunter and he’s never had a chance before to ask the question.

“Don’t you know that witches’ names are powerful things? We don’t give them out to anyone,” you tell him truthfully. The thing about witches’ names, knowing the proper spell everybody could summon them whenever they wanted which could be quite inconvenient and you would like to avoid that.

“Oh,” he breathes as you find yourself wishing to hear him say your name even if you know it’s stupid.

So silence follows, a void lacking heartbeats, the music of the night and a confession stolen from your lips.

“You asked me why I killed the princess…” Namjoon starts, his gaze fixated on the silver reflection of the moon on the lake. The haunting grief and sadness in his eyes makes your throat close up so your interrupt him:

“And you were right: it’s none of my business. I don’t even really care about our royalty,” you rush to stop him from talking because you’re not sure you’re ready for the explanation. You suddenly don’t want him to tell you his reasons, fearing they would you feel things, giving your cold heart even more trouble.

“The coming-of-age ceremony. The first time when you spill blood. How was it?” he asks out of nowhere, catching you off guard with the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you.

Guilt trapped in your throat, you look away with piercing eyes. Murder poisons the mind, they say and this is exactly what you need. Witches are not necessarily born evil, but they can’t reach their full potential if they don’t kill. That’s why all of you have this morbid celebration on your 18th birthday.

“I… I don’t remember much.” The words stumble out of your mouth in a twisted way.

A lie.

You remember all too clearly. On wild nights you still have nightmares about it, about faceless people all screaming. The more you kill, the easier it is but it doesn’t make sleeping at night easier.

Namjoon nods seemingly believing you but the bitter edge remains in his voice as he continues:

“She did. She told me she enjoyed ripping my older brother’s heart out, that it smelled just as deliciously as he tasted,” he says and ah, so it has been a never-ending circle of bloodshed and revenge all along…

You want to say something but words die in your mouth. Sorry would taste sour on your tongue and like a white lie anyway. Killing is in your nature and you refuse to be sorry for what you are even if it means you are no better than the princess he killed.

So in the end you say nothing but it seems good enough. You stay as you are until you feel numb from the cold water. This time you don’t tell him to turn around when you emerge to the surface and you feel his eyes on you burning holes in your skin, deep to the core. You shiver and blame it on the chilly wind.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night because lying down by the campfire, you realize he hasn’t even mentioned that you should have your hands tied together again.

The difference about the next morning isn’t the silence, isn’t the thick and tangible tension in the air between you, it’s the feeling of the beginning of the end. Something will definitely change for good once yoou reach the Castle’s gates. There will be no more reason to stick together, it’s an every man for himself situation after all and you shouldn’t have joined this rescue anyway.

Namjoon was right, you could have easily left, you could have continued on living your ordinary life as a town witch casting spells and brewing potions. You could have left him alone to dive into the canal searching for his kidnapped younger brother. You had literally no reason to stay but you did.

Why? The question stuck in the hunter’s mind without any reasonable answer. Do you pity him? Do you want your own revenge on the Queen? Do you… ? He keeps asking himself without end but the thing is: he doesn’t know you, not at all.

"Namjoon…” you call his name softly and your voice resonates in the long canal along with your footsteps’ wet splashes.

“Yeah?” he says non-committedly, not even looking back until the next ambiguous words leave your mouth:

“Remember when I warned you that you can’t tell apart the truth and the lies I tell?”

“Whaa-”

The moment the hunter turns to you, he’s blown in the face with some glittering substance that makes him dizzy in the head and wobbly on the legs. He slowly blinks as the grounds sinks under his feet.

His head is pounding, all pain and stars on a cement ceiling, when he opens his eyes next. He feels like his head is swimming, body heavy, almost drowning and it takes a while to realize his position seated on a chair, head fallen back staring at the chandelier. The candles’ lights are flickering but there’s something else strange about them although the man can’t really put his finger on it. Until the very moment he feels blood drops dripping down and covering his face in crimson.

Then it all clicks and the hysterical laughter wakes him up completely.

“Well-well, Kim Namjoon, back into my Castle, just like how I wanted,” the Queen breaks into a fit of giggles flashing her sharp teeth between her Bordeaux wine coloured lips. The ginger of her hair falls onto her pale shoulders unhidden by her flaunting dress and her nails are ruby red like the blood she spilled and the apple she holds in one hand.

They are in the throne room of the Witch Castle, made of bones and blood, and Namjoon clenches his hands into fists but can’t move any further. He’s immobile, can’t even nudge an inch as if he was glued to the chair but he knows he’s under a spell, one he isn’t able to break out of, not if the Queen herself casted it on him.

“You wanted to see me here? Then why dragging my brother into this?” he growled putting all his hatred into the spoken words while his insides wanted to fight, to break everything in this damn place.

“Oh but you know why very well. Don’t act silly. I just wanted you to suffer like I did,” the witch replies tongue darting out to wet her lips that are pulled into a knowing smirk next, one that sends shivers down the now powerless hunter’s back.

“You don’t have a heart to suffer like this,” he spits and gulps back his questions about Taehyung and the girl that brought him here. What happened to her? Did they get her too? Or… wait! Was she the one behind this all the way long?

“Then should I say: I don’t like losing?” the Queen chuckles, crossing her legs in an elegant and lazy manner like she had all the time in the world. Maybe she does or she’s just enjoying the show he’s putting up. “You have no idea how much fun I had watching your pathetic attempts of finding a witch stupid enough to betray me. What did you think when all of them rather killed themselves than to help you?”

“They fear you,” the hunter rasps remembering all the agony he saw on the witches’ faces that willingly set themselves on fire just so he can’t force them to this impossible heist. You were actually the first one he caught who went along with his plan after putting up a bit of a fight.

“Right they do. I despise traitors especially after what happened. But you were so cute trying and not giving up, I sent somebody to lead you here, so we can finally meet.”

“Why didn’t you just come to meet me then? Why all the fuss about it?” Namjoon grunts, arms hurting from the force he puts into moving them without any result.

The Queen is madness itself as she claps her hands dramatically.

“Oh honey but I loved the show! Watching you falling in love with one of my kind, oh I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

The forest has eyes and ears, villagers warned him before he set a foot onto the unholy ground of the off-spring of seven devils, the Kingdom of Witches.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the man mumbles, throat dry and lips chapped but the quickening in his heartbeat gives him away. You can’t lie to a witch. They are the best liars out there, they will know as soon as you open your mouth to speak.

“Ah of course, you don’t,” the Queen shakes her head kindly like an elementary teacher would react to a child’s naive answer. However, the lovely smile just like the sparks in her eyes disappear in a blink of an eye and dark shadows arise on the wall as the royal witch steps down from her throne. Her pupils are blown black with intent and her approaching steps are rigid as the coldest winter while a beautiful dagger with gilded grip forms in her hands.

“You have called, your Majesty?”

A door suddenly opens before she could make her way in front of Namjoon and his head falls forward at the familiar voice. He can’t believe his ears though, you of all people calling the Queen so formally, so polite? Where is the girl from the woods who said she didn’t care about their royals?

“Yes, I did. Bring the boy, too,” the elder witch commands with a knowing grin and the hunter’s heart clenches at the sight of his baby brother with ugly bruises over his face, teeth marks on his neck and bloodspots all over his torn, white shirt.

“Taehyung!” He cries out but his sibling doesn’t pay him much attention, he probably doesn’t even hear him or he thinks it’s another just hallucination, a mind game of these witches. He seems overly fatigue as he rests most of his weight on you next to him. Namjoon is getting angrier every minute, thinking about your betrayal and what your kind had done to his brother. And maybe this is exactly what the Queen craved.

“I have a proposal for you, little hunter, and I’m very, very curious of your decision,” she whispers in a voice like silk and velvet as she places the knife into the man’s awaiting hands. Then she steps behind his chair, her fingers playing on his tense, sore shoulders, her tongue drawing a wet slide across his neck and her teeth tugging at his earlobe. “Kill her and I set your brother free. You two can walk away unharmed.”

“What? We haven’t agreed on this,” you shriek your ears catching onto the muttered words wide-eyed. You haven’t put up with all the trouble for this. “You told me if I bring him here, all charges against my family will be dropped.”

A handful of rebels, that’s your family, a few of them sitting down, in the canal cells waiting for their deathbed. You are their only hope and the solemn reason why you are doing this is to get them out of the trouble they caused. But looking face-to-face with death in the form of Kim Namjoon isn’t something you planned. Sure, you were ready for a cocky witch hunter with a desire to kill anything like you but being a freaking dartboard in the throne room is a whole other story. You didn’t sign up for this.

“And it will be done. However, we never discussed anything about your well-being,” the Queen answers in a honeyed voice, too sweet, too fake. You are just about to drop Taehyung’s faint body and run for your life because you can’t fight both the Witch Queen and a witch hunter but the crazy royal freezes you at your place with an elegant wave of her hand.  "Ah-ah, nope. Don’t do anything stupid.“

You feel her magic draining yours making it absolutely impossible to fight back. You can only press your lips into a straight line and wait for your destiny to come and get you.

"Why are you hesitating, little hunter? Isn’t she just another one on your long list? Kill her,” the Queen provokes Namjoon nudging him out of his seat and you watch in fear mixed with awe as he’s approaching you with confident steps and an iron dagger in his right hand. His expression is unreadable but the way he tightens his hold around the weapon tells it all. He’s mad, he has every right but you can’t tear your gaze apart from him.

“So it was all a set-up, a plan to lure me here while I thought it’s my doing?” he asks coldly, looking straight into your dark eyes and his words are daggers the just hit the bullseye of the target.

“Sorry,” you mumble the only thing you can think of and even this taste like acid in your mouth.

“Yeah, me too,“ Namjoon simply sighs when he stops merely a step away from you. He spares a glance at his almost unconscious brother and then raises the knife face-level ready to strike.

The next thing you know is falling.

The pain only registers when your knees hit the granite ground, hard.

You watch with mouth open as the dagger thrown by Namjoon sinks deep in the Queen’s chest, burning her skin, making her scream. The shock of the attack makes her lose the intensity and control over her power and you feel your limbs moving again. The Queen is screaming and you can no longer tell apart her hysterical laughs and painful sobs as she tears the knife out of her burnt skin. The whole room shakes by her rage and you don’t hesitate to shove her against a wall with your will-power before she could do anything else.

The Queen is supposed to be the strongest out of all witches but she has her weaknesses: she’s arrogant, she thinks she’s better than anybody and she doesn’t like to share her victory hence the empty throne room except her, two hunters and a rebel girls. Too bad that the chances are not on her sides now.

"I will kill you all,” she sneers bleeding black onto the carpet crawling towards you and Namjoon cries out and doubles over as if he was in pain. It’s all in his mind but you know that’s the hardest to fight.

“Try better, bitch,” you snap at her sending a wildfire her way but to your surprise she blocks it easily. You expected her to be weakened more but the change of plans has you gulping nervously as she shoots shurikens at you. Luckily only one of them scrapes your arm leaving a sharp burn behind but the rest of the weapons stand still in the wall. You levitate them back to her at the same time Namjoon succeeds in overcoming the manipulation and stabs the Queen from behind, right in the heart or at least where it’s supposed to be.

You watch her crumbling onto the floor, rattling, eyes rolling back until nothing but dust is left behind and gasping you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?” the hunter rushes towards you, squatting before you, taking your face into his hands so gentle like you were made of the finest porcelain. The worry in his eyes and the cut on his face makes you feel unworthy of such a special treatment. No matter how lunatic the Queen was, she was right about one thing: you are just another witch. What makes you so different in Namjoon’s eyes?

“Yeah I’m…” you reply but the word ’fine’ is stuck in your throat and instead blood bubbles up from your mouth weeping down to the dirty floor as you feel your lungs collapse in your chest and it burns, the sudden lack of oxygen. The darkness dotted with white spots envelopes you and you can’t breathe.

“Tae, no!”

You hear Namjoon shouting but it all happens so fast. The iron pierced through your cold, old heart and as soon as the dagger is pulled out, your body is wearing away. Just like all witches, who lived longer than they deserve, do.

Taehyung, who is standing behind your lifeless remains, grey ashes, with the deadly weapon still in his hands and blood and sweat all over his clothes, blinks in confusion.

“She’s just a witch.”

“No, she…” Namjoon opens his mouth to speak, too shocked from the sudden turns of events but he can’t. How could he explain this to Taehyung? That you were so much more than just another evil witch of the town? “I didn’t even know her name.”

It’s sad, aching like the grief he shouldn’t feel but he doesn’t let it weight him down. He hauls Taehyung into his arms in a tight hug, glad he found him alive but they both know they have to go before other witches arrive and discover the mess they made.

As they flee, Namjoon fights the urge to turn back, conquering the useless hope of seeing you alive and he refuses to shed tears for the girl who saved his life in more than one sense.

Three months later

It’s been a while since the last time Namjoon walked around so freely in a forest. But this one is nothing like back there under the gloomy sky surrounding the pits of Hell. This one is calm, cheerful, the birds are chirping and squirrels run up and down the trees. This one is far and far away from that dark place he used to know as his home and now he’s building a new one here. He’s trying to lead a normal life, taking his brother to university every day and working in a bookstore, warning children who are fascinated by fantasy novels that those stories might turn out to be real so better be careful.

There’s nobody around, just him yet Namjoon doesn’t feel alone. It’s that phantom feeling of being watched but for once, it’s not creeping him out, he rather welcomes the odd sensation. He sits down on a bench covered by autumn leaves with a book in his lap and looking up he sees the sparrows that follow him everywhere, settling down on a tree. He smiles fondly at the tiny birds and turns back to his reading about a love that never happened.