#my personal pick would be fleece of the fates but I think its also one of the least likely

[arolesbianism]

If nothing else Im just begging dst to not do the easy but lame idea of adding the fleece of the lamb and making it increase follower time. I get it. It makes sense. It's simple to implement. But it's also boring and useless. In begging yall add a fleece that does smth cool

[hectabdr]

Dragon Raja IV - Chapters 13 - 15 + epilogue (Abridged)

Hi everyone, sorry for taking so long to post the last part, I had a lot of work this week.

BTW, since it's over, I put the whole novel summary on a PDF document, which you can download from here.

Previous Chapters

Chapter 13

The nurse at the mental hospital couldn't believe her eyes when Luminous came back and requested to be admitted in his old room. He asked for his usual injection and went back to his not-so-favorite video game level.

In his vision, he kept accelerating far away form the swarm of death servitors, everything went according to plan and they still had lots of time to spare. He made many excuses to Nono in an attempt to justify his incredible performance, in the radio, there was a very strange song, Luminous recognized it, the name was "Daily Growing" by the folk group Altan, it was the same song that Johann and his father heard before they ran into Odin.

Nono was confused, Luminous just seemed to know way too many things. He knew about the damaged tire, about every safe route, the reach of the Nibelungen and the presence of a small, strange building hiding in the distance. It was the Media Asia Group building, according to Finger, this is the place where Nono found Chu Tianjiao's home. If this was a Nibelungen, an exact copy of the room should be there as well, still intact.

There was nothing surprising about the small place, but that was intentional. A person like Tianjiao was probably trained against people with skills like Nono's, so there had to be a secret compartment or a hidden door. He lifted the bed and there it was!

Mr Chu managed to create an underground bunker for himself. There was a bigger, more comfortable bed, a record player with Elvis Presley's discs and leather jackets. Luminous wanted to be more like this stylish man every second he spent there.

He noticed a bunch of pictures hanging from a string. Tianjiao spend a lot of time making copies of photographs from his family, but he wasn't in them, there was another man next to his wife and his son, but he used chemicals to erase him from the images. He also wrote small phrases dedicated to his wife in the back of the photos, like:

"This is the first year since you left me, you look good"

"This is the third year, you're getting fat"

"Fifth year, I don't have time to think of you anymore"

"Sixth year. ...but I still miss you".

The rest of the walls were filled with images and documents connected by red strings. Multiple events were listed in them, including the fall of Black Swan Bay in 1991 and the Greenland incident from November 7, 2002. These events related to dragon sightings and awakenings all led to a specific incident: The resurrection of the Black king Nidhogg. Even to the other dragon overlords, Nidhogg is a god-like existence, and its words are taken as prophecies. Chu Tianjiao was the city's watchman, he came to that place with a special purpose, but he mistakenly fell in love with a young dancer. They got married and had a child, they were happy, but he knew very well that he couldn't give them a peaceful life, so he signed the divorce papers and watched her take Johann away and marry a different man. While that family went to amusement parks and movie theaters, Tianjiao stayed on his underground room thinking about the fate of mankind.

Luminous memorized as much as he could from Tianjiao's investigation and went back with Nono, he kept driving and they entered the empty city, the lights were still on and the amusement park shined like a neon show.

- I always wanted to be in a Nibelungen, but I didn't expect it to be like this.

- How did you think it would be?

- Distorted, scary, definitely not this beautiful.

They looked up and they saw Odin, standing on top of the clock tower, Nono raised a gun and pointed at him but Luminous held it down, telling her not to disturb him, they kept driving silently and the god didn't notice their presence.

Luminous took her to a shopping mall, where they entered a department store and he gave her a dry change of clothes. This was still strange to her, he already knew her size, he never stopped looking at his watch and somehow he also picked an outfit that she liked (a pair of burgundy sports trousers and a fleece hoodie).

He gave her a cup of hot coffee and he suggested they waited on an empty movie theater while they waited for help.

Nono waited uncomfortable in front of the screen, Luminous picked up a random movie from the projector room, it was Wall·E, the second film roll to be exact, so the film started from the halfway point. The movie slowly relaxed her and she started chewing popcorn while they waited.

- I've been here before, haven't I?.

This was the theater where she rescued him from a failed love confession to Wenwen, before taking him to sign his Cassell admission papers. Actually, Luminous was watching Wall·E with his fellow literature club members. All of these were deliberate choices, he only picked the second half of the movie because they didn't have enough time to watch it from the start.

- You have been here, you have experienced all the things we are experiencing now and I have lived this moment many times.

Nono was a profiler, it wasn't that easy to trick her, so he admitted the truth. At 12:00am, Nono was going to die, like every other time.

- This dream will become a reality. I have repeatedly entered this dream just to find a way to save you, but I couldn't find it.

- If you can't find a way to save me, why don't you save yourself instead?

- My senior brother said that he always regretted leaving his father here alone, that feeling of regret is so terrible, it made him want to go back and die right there.

- Don't say such disgusting things, if this is really my end I will accept it.

The answer became obvious, the only way to escape this Nibelungen was for one person to stay behind and die. As the movie reached its climax, a spear broke through the screen, Nono didn't move, Luminous didn't move.

- No, senior sister, this will not be you end, it will be mine.

Chapter 14

Luminous opened his eyes, it was still a quiet summer night, he slid a small knife that he bought at the convenience store and ripped the straitjacket open. The hospital personnel were resting in different rooms so he sneaked out with ease.

His last attempt was the 108th, none of them managed to give him the perfect ending that he desperately chased. The old man with the tricycle was waiting for him outside, Luminous got on the small bike and drove away. The security guard couldn't believe it when he saw the same tricycle pass by for a third time that night, straight into the elevated road.

Luminous reached the old Asia Group building, now flooded and filled with rubble and mud. He managed to find the secret door and found the insides half-submerged as well, but not everything was ruined, he located a small metal suitcase in the corner that was filled with multiple weapons, including a revolver, a tactical shotgun and a Uzi submachine gun.

All seemed to indicate that this equipment came directly from Cassell College, an academy that never bothered to mention Tianjiao's existence.

In his way out, he picked one of the photographs that managed to survive the flood, it portrayed a family of three. Johann was probably five years old and his expression was as emotionless as usual, his robot face wasn't the result of some traumatic event after all, it came with him from the moment he was born. In the corner, Tianjiao wrote some words as well: "Stay like this, not crying, just looking into the distance".

This arsenal was strong, but insignificant in front of a being like Odin. Ming·Z·Lu showed up to offer one last gift.

Something for nothing, 50% fusion.

Luminous was familiar with that sensation, his nerves burned and the depths of his mind seemed to be cracked open, the pain was bigger than any human can endure, but once it was over, there was a feeling of euphoria, a need to fight. His senses increased immensely, he could now distinguish every single drop in the middle of the rainfall. This usually costed him a full quarter of his life but now it was... Free?

He finally heard the distorted noises of the death servitors, it sounded like the crying of babies. The wall of water and wind that protected Odin became visible, the black figure mounted an eight legged horse. He was in the Nibelungen again, this time he didn't plan to turn around.

Luminous approached them and parked the tricycle next to the Maybach, he stood in front of Odin and the god stayed silent. The words "You are finally here" were not uttered this time, he was right, Odin was waiting for Nono, but he didn't bring her this time, Luminous's presence was meaningless to his rival.

Odin kept staring at the end of the road, waiting for Chen Motong to appear and show her face.

- This is the right way to start the game, my senior sister is not here, only you and me, only one of us can leave this place alive!

He was vey happy, he finally played the god. He slowly grabbed a spear rocket launcher from the tricycle, the little devil was as reliable as always. The servitors immediately recognized the destructive potential of the weapon and tried to disperse, but Luminous opened fire first and scattered their shadowy remains on the road.

He saw his face in a puddle, the crazy expression of Ming·Z was now his own, like every other time they fused, it felt like this was his true nature. Weapon after weapon he ran out of ammo, some servitors sneaked behind him and sliced his torso with their claws, if it wasn't for the bulletproof vest that Tianjiao left in his suitcase, Mingfei would have died already.

A shot of his last gun, a M500 revolver finally broke one of the servitor's masks. He hadn't seen one of those faces since his mission in Japan, their skin was covered in scales and their teeth were long and alien-shaped. Odin gave them black robes and masks to use them as his personal servants. Odin was definitely different to every other dragon king he had faced before, they were all savage and aggressive, but this one was stoic and dressed like a figure of mythology, unless...

That was it! Odin wasn't a dragon disguised as a mythical character, Odin, the myth himself has been a dragon all along. The secret party had misread norse mythology, now it was clear that it narrated the history of the dragon clan and it was written by the dragons themselves. Every god was in fact a dragon king, in those myths, the main antagonist of Nidhogg was Odin. This god had already foreseen the coming of the end of the world, the so-called twilight of the gods, where the world tree would wither.

The suppressed Nidhogg will rise in the air, ready for revenge, it will destroy everything and ruin the kingdom of the gods. Therefore, Odin prepared himself for this battle, ordering the Valkyrie goddesses to gather the heroes's souls and place them in the Hall of Valor to assist him in resisting the black dragon. If the norse myths are indeed dragon history, the hall of valor must represent a place filled with countless dragon cocoons and embryos waiting to be awakened.

This information, this great secret was about to be buried there with him if he didn't survive this battle. Nono was probably packing, ready to leave with Finger and go back to Cassell, for whatever reason Odin needed her, she would be out of his reach, he just needed to endure and Odin was still as invincible as ever. Making a deal with Ming·Z was inadmissible, giving the little devil enough power to materialize could bring an immeasurable catastrophe. The boy appeared in front of him.

- Brother, you finally asked to see me, do you want to... Shake my hand?

The multitude of servitors overwhelmed him, he contemplated dying there, it wouldn't be so bad, just very lonely. With a loud bang! the strongest servitor flew out and fell motionless on the mud.

A red BYD car swiftly parked next to him, a hand came out of the window and shot the three closest servitors, that was Finger, of course it was him!

- Drive faster! Why the fuck are you here?

- What do I know? I was eating dumplings with your aunt and the hospital called to tell me you were gone!

Finger placed a tracking device on Luminous just like he did with Nono and saw his trace disappearing in the highway, so he went to investigate and entered the Nibelungen by accident.

- Don't get confused by my F-Rank rating, I started as an A-rank, remember?

Flammel tasked Finger with helping Luminous to prove Johann's existence, he didn't remember the young hybrid either, but he trusted Anjou, and Anjou believed in the importance of Luminous more than anyone. Not everyone on Cassell gave up on him after all.

- Don't drive away, we can't escape!

- I thought you told me to drive faster!

- Yes I did, but I meant towards Odin!

The servitors quickly realized what they were intending to do, so they formed a barrier in front of their master. Finger pressed a button on the car and one mini-gun came out of each side of the vehicle.

- The equipment department makes phones that double as grenades, you think they can't make 007's car?

The gatling guns opened fire on the crowd of servitors, effectively cleaning the way. Finger put the car on self destruct mode and got ready to jump out, Luminous got on the roof, aiming his knife at Odin. The car hit Odin's water barrier and exploded, the shockwave soared into the sky, filled with flames. Luminous jumped and managed to pass through, and with a swift move, he pierced through Odin with the blade, just like Tianjiao attempted to do many years before.

Every servitor stopped their movements, Odin's scores started dropping down immediately and his body got split in two. There had to be something wrong with that, there's no way he would fall to his death so easily. Luminous took the god's skull and removed the mask, under it, the face of a death servitor greeted him instead, the others started crying and laughing at them. Odin's only goal is Nono, it had always been Nono, this was a trap and he was already on his way to get her.

Chapter 15

Nono was sitting next to Su Xiaoyan's bed, peeling an apple. The woman happily ate the bonbons that Nono brought for her as a gift.

- Nono, how is your mother doing?

- She's fine, she's still working and always asks me when I'll get married but I just don't tell her.

Nono had to make up that story, but at that moment she really felt like Xiaoyan's niece. She checked the woman's medical records, apparently the doctors thought she was schizophrenic and amnesiac, as long as Nono played her role well, the medical personnel would think Xiaoyan's amnesia made her forget about her relative.

Because Nono brought Bonbons, Xiaoyan recognized her immediately and happily accepted her gift.

She had been there since her son's death, she lost track of time, to the point where she felt like she had been there for three or four months, when in reality, seven years had passed. Not many people visited her in that time, her husband would take her home for a few days every now and then, but those events became less and less usual. Of course, Nono was there for a reason, without Tianjiao's apartment, her only remaining clue was Johann's mother, but the woman wasn't very open about her life. Nono's ability allowed her to put puzzles together, but Xiaojiao kept messing up the pieces.

- Did your former husband treat you well?

- He couldn't make enough money and he was very unmotivated, playing foolish all day long, I had enough of him!

- But he's handsome, and he's probably still breaking hearts.

- How do you know that he's handsome? You haven't seen him before.

- Of course I have, I remember hugging my uncle!

- Come on, do you really think I'm that broken? I know I don't have a niece.

- Then why didn't you tell the doctor?

- Because you're so pretty, and I like to chat with pretty girls, there's no one else here to chat with me, and you don't look like a bad person either.

Nono was genuinely surprised, so she declared her intentions straight on, she wanted to know more about Chu Tianjiao, but his ex-wife didn't seem to know a lot about him either, he would constantly lie about his past and alternate between multiple versions of the story.

- Sometimes he told me that he was a great spy, and that he came here to complete a task, and I believed him, without a clue of his salesman-like nature!

- And you still married him?

- He was handsome, and I was young.

Xiaoyan didn't express any regret in divorcing him, she'd rather be with someone she could rely on, but there was something else she could not explain.

- But he seems to have left something behind with me, a very important thing, I just can't remember it.

- What is it?

- I said I can't remember it, I've been thinking about it for a very long time.

- What kind of thing?

- A very important thing, I must find it, it would be very bad if I didn't.

A burst of cold wind opened the windows and made them shiver, Nono stood up and went to close them but she noticed something strange, the flowers on the outside were all withered, black petals flew through the room, she closed the window as fast as she could, something bad had happened and the air outside smelled of death.

She took out a desert eagle from her bag and stopped Xiaoyan from screaming, the woman relied on her intuition to understand that Nono wasn't going to hurt her. The place was silent and the lights flickered, the instinctive feeling of being alert that came from true isolation soon got a hold of her. She and Xiaoyan got out of the room, door after door, every doctor and every patient had disappeared.

The rain and the wind rapidly eroded the building. The day was finally here, she had never been in a Nibelungen before, she once regretted not being able to experience it, now Nibelungen came to see her. She didn't knew wether to be nervous or excited.

- Someone, someone is coming. Su Xiaoyan's voice trembled slightly.

The sound of footsteps made an echo in the building, those weren't human steps, that sounded like a few horses were coming their way. The storm, the Nibelungen, the steed, the rider, it seemed to be an ancient king who came with a strong breath of death, and the flowers in the garden withered in front of him. Nono remembered him, she saw his silhouette in the reflection of the glass when she went to Tianjiao's apartment.

The rider didn't seem to know where Xiaoyan's room was and he was checking them one by one. They ran towards the elevator, the rider was on the first floor so they needed to get to the top as fast as they could without the sound of their steps giving away their position. Behind them, the fluorescent lights went out one by one. Nono finally saw the reflection of the elevator's door in a mirror, but when its doors opened, the light of Odin's flames came out.

They ran in the other direction and soon reached the stairs, they ran down but it didn't matter, they were trapped on an endless loop. She shot at the creature but the bullets melted before touching the god's armor. They kept running and Nono kept shooting back but it wasn't buying them any more time, temperatures were rising and there was no way out.

Odin wasn't even in a hurry to reach them, Nono took Xiaoyan in her arms and ran across a hallway, enduring the terrible heat of the floor. She tried to get out through a window, but after opening the curtains she noticed that the whole world outside had changed and she was greeted by the sight of a roman pantheon.

Nono suddenly fell silent, she helped Xiaoyan to sit down on a bench and put her boots on the woman's feet. She noticed something, she was crying, she was remembering.

- There might be a way for you to get out of here by yourself, now tell me, what did Tianjiao left for you exactly?

- It's... A child. I had a son with him, his name is Johann Chu, I can't find my son... I can't find my son!

Xiaoyan was holding a pillow in her arms, the doctor said that she would put this pillow in her belly every morning and happily declare that she was pregnant. Nono took it from her hands and threw it away.

- Since you have a clear memory of him, you don't need this anymore, you will find your son, although I don't know where.

In this world, those who are not lunatics are the ones who were deceived. Luminous and Su Xiaoyan were the craziest because of their link to Johann Chu, to the truth. His mother's mental disorder was not there because she had lost a son seven years ago, a certain god wanted to modify her memory of him and she was resisting. She tied the little pillow to her back because a child is only safe in his mother's body, she sensed that someone was going to hurt her boy, so she wanted to feel like she could protect him.

Nono pushed Xiaoyan into a cubicle next to the ward and told her to keep the door closed until someone came to rescue her. She took Finger's GPS device out of her bag and broke it, expecting Luminous and Finger to arrive there after seeing her signal disappear. Odin arrived, his flames evaporated the strong currents of water and stood in front of her, Nono kept two knives on her back and a desert eagle in each hand.

- Odin!

The creature and his lance were impossible not to identify, the god actually exists.

- You are finally here.

He slowly raised Gungir and a faint white thread appeared, connecting the tip of the spear and Nono's heart. She thought his goal was Xiaoyan, due to her connection to Johann, but she was wrong, Odin's goal was her and only her. No wonder Luminous threw her down in the library, he probably had a foreboding of her death for some reason and tried to save her, his eyes showed a constant state of panic.

She didn't believe him and they put him on a psychiatric institution. She really wanted to tell him that she was sorry, because she had underestimated him.

She had always tried to be there for Luminous, she couldn't deny that she saw a lot of herself in him, this obsession with taking care of her sidekick was so prevalent because she knew how it was like to be powerless, lost and defenseless, but in the most critical moment, she had failed him.

Nono vaguely heard a song, a duet about a father and his daughter, it was coming from somewhere, along with the noise of a car engine. Luminous was coming, that song came from the radio, but how could she hear him? It didn't matter, she felt him presence and she believed it.

- Luminous! Don't you fucking dare to come here!

Nono shot every bullet she had left and they melted on Odin's presence. The lance was thrown and suddenly, the Maybach smashed through the wall, its lights illuminated Nono's eyes. She smiled, the moment she saw him, the cartridge of her gun was empty. The lance had already started its course and Luminous could only see her lips moving:

- I'm sorry

- Ming·Z·Lu! Luminous roared, time slowed down in his eyes

- The little one is here! Ming·Z smiled, Since I promised my brother that I'd try everything!

Come out! Golden saint cloth of the zodiac!, Phase shift armor!, Fierce fist! Seven-fold ring of the blazing sky!, Absolute domain AT Field!.

Every time he yelled a strange name, Luminous froze for a moment, these strange spells were taken directly from anime shows, they were weapons that lined up in front of Odin's lance, even a nuclear explosion could be rejected by them.

- What are you doing?

- I don't really know what tricks would work so I'm doing all of them!

Ming·Z kept casting spells, the speed of the lance was indeed affected but it never stopped nor it changed its trajectory.

- Hurry up brother, run!

Nono tried to yell, telling Luminous to stay away, but her mouth moved too slowly. Luminous ran past Odin and past the lance. The seven-fold ring was the strongest defense against projectiles, every time the Gungir lance pierced through a layer, it made a loud noise. Nono dropped the empty gun, she didn't have the strength to wield her knives. The spear hadn't arrived yet, and she was already like a lamb crucified on an altar.

Gungir hit the final defense, the sound was almost glass shattering.

- I couldn't stop it, even with the last layer. Give her a hug, kiss her! This is going to be your last chance! I'll buy as much time as possible for you!

Ming·Z made another barrier but the lance broke it, the little devil's hands were splashed with blood and they stained his bow tie, but he didn't care and looked at his side as an indifferent Luminous passed by and stood in front of Nono. He never managed to change the events, just the scenery. Gungir pierced through Ming·Z's chest.

- Brother, I tried my best

- It's ok, I'm here as well.

Luminous wasn't going to hug or kiss Nono, he was there to take her place. He could clearly feel his heart being cut open. The spear hadn't even touched his skin and his body had begun to carbonize and turn black, showing a rare struggle, burning it inch by inch.

- No! No! No! Nono struggled to stand up and pull the lance away from him.

- Don't come near me!

The lance tried to go through him, but it only managed to pin him against the wall. Nono shivered slightly and tears slowly ran down her face, but she didn't realize that she was crying. She always wanted him to grow up and go his own way, to use any advantage she might have over him to push him forward, but now the person who was crying on the floor was her.

- Senior sister, are you okay? It's okay.

Luminous raised his head, half of his head and body were carbonized, the cracks at the end of his lips extended all the way to the roots of his ears. He was really happy, because he finally managed to achieve his goal. He didn't want to live with the regret of losing her, he had seen Johann's own regret already.

Odin wasn't pleased, the god roared as he realized he had missed his chance. Luminous whispered:

- Ming·Z·Lu...

- Brother, I am here, you really found a method to stop the lance!

- In this world, only a monster can stop a monster, and I am the biggest monster in the world...

- Yes, you are the biggest monster in the world, brother! You are awesome! Then, are you ready to make the last deal? I can't do much against the lance, but I can take care of the monster behind it, the little devil is good at this dirty work!

Luminous stared at him and asked for two conditions:

- Kill Odin, but also take Nono back to safety.

- Alright but hurry up! That guy is almost here!

Sleipnir's eight legs made a thunderous sound, the dragon subspecies that Odin mounted carried its master into the room. Luminous raised his blood-soaked hand and gave the little devil a high-five. Ming·Z's figure suddenly appeared in the night sky, this time he stopped laughing and opened his arms. He looked like a suspended cross.

- Something for nothing, 100% fusion.

He breathed deeply, as if he wanted to inhale all of the world's air into his lungs. Sharp bone spurs protruded from his body and he was covered in black scales. Huge black wings sprung from his back and he took flight, diving down, his image poured into Luminous's body.

The carbonized skin quickly peeled off, he experienced musculoskeletal growth and deformation and the sound of a glacier cracking was heard across the hospital.

The black wings were opened and Gungir was ejected from his chest. Sleipnir couldn't move a single inch closer to them, because Luminous placed his hand on the horse's chest. Nono stared blankly at him, because she couldn't tell if the monster in front of her was a friend or an enemy, but Luminous stared back at her.

- Sister, don't be afraid, as long as I live, you'll be fine.

After two years, Chen Motong saw the devil that rescued her from the bottom of the Three Gorges Dam once again. She remembered how he held her, his childlike fear and his voice.

Don't die, don't die, don't die... Don't Die!

- So it was you...

But Luminous didn't hear those words at all, he rushed to Odin, at the flash of lightning, the monsters that had been in conflict with each other so many times, leaving countless disasters, clashed once again, and the claws and the sword stained the place red and black.

They roared, they fought, a war between kings that can only be ended by death.

Epilogue

On the elevated road, Finger stopped for a moment to catch his breath. This guy is usually slacking and his posture is erratic. The death servitors are struggling to even reach his clothes.

There should be half a marathon left before he can lose them, however, the physical strength of those things is almost unlimited.

Seeing him stop, a group of servitors suddenly became excited and the baby-like cries they made reached the heavens. A girl in a black outfit and a gauze mask appeared in front of him, a ninja.

- How did you know I was here?

- I have a radar for pretty girls... Can you handle that many servitors?

Mai Sakatoku drew two small blades.

- Those are too many, I'm specialized in assassination, not group combat. It's a pity that the other two girls are not here...

- Then I hope I can help.

He had a sword in his hand, the mirror-like Murasame suddenly turned black, the black blade light soon extended all the way to his body and the rain around it evaporated. Mai was surprised by the brutality of the sword, but Finger remained indifferent.

- What kind of sword is that?

- Murasame, have you never heard of the Dragon Slayer of Fire? Then you are really kind, but a bit ignorant, my friend!

After saying that, he jumped and cut off the elevated road.

[quant-um-fizzx]

Relenting

Synopsis: James Barnes had always been sweet, until he wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, your mutual attraction took a turn. Now, you can’t tell if he’s playing with you or playing you. Then, fate forces some honesty.

Warnings:  Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader. Smut, Dub-Con (Sex Pollen, my friends), Language, (some) Angst, elements of stalking & emotional manipulation. Explicit, rough sex, slight anal play. Literally the most dirty talk I’ve ever written.

Word Count:  5900

If you’ve come here expecting the comedy erotica or angst I write elsewhere, this is not for you. 

This is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s writing challenge from the prompt: “Just a little more, baby.” (How we got here from there, I’ll never know.) 

I’ve labeled this Dark!Bucky, but he’s probably more gray than dark. But not the soft, uses-all-the-bath-salts-when-you’re-out-of-town Bucky I’d consider more canon.  

 *****

No one can pinpoint when, nobody’s ready to say it out loud, but Barnes came back different. Off. 

Wrong.

Might’ve been that mission in the Midwest (of all places to find that kind of cult) or when someone got it in their fool head to send him to verify exactly what the stone status was on Vormir. Your money’s on the veiled gateway rift that sucked him in but spit two out; he’d beaten his wild-eyed spare and flung it back into the void the moment it’d lunged for you. 

Chances are it’s not a solitary event, but the culmination of everything. One could hardly blame him if it were. 

Whatever, whenever, he’s not the same. Speech now often sly, maneuvering. Manners slipping into predatory where they’d always been soft.

Sometimes, you think you’re imagining it - cold glint like metal chips in ice eyes - that maybe you only see him differently because of failed romance. 

Now, he delights in flustering you. Taunting and near cruel one moment. Playful, protective the next.  Makes it nearly impossible to get a read on him. 

You find, in spite of your better judgement, uncertainty is its own kind of clever seduction. 

“Hey, I know this isn’t really my business, but whatever happened there?” Bruce inclines his head toward where Barnes stalks by outside the lab windows. His second pass since you started to prepping vials for transport. Dark, rough strides. He slips out of view and the lab seems colder. Sleek, sterile.  Your mind conjures up memories of sandalwood on fleece, in stark contrast to the lab’s xylene and bitter almond air. “Everyone thought you two were a good match.”

You smile, wistful. Mourning. “I had hoped so, too. But,” you sigh, “what makes good theory does not necessarily work in practical execution.”

Banner tsks. “Shame. Ever since you came on board, you both used to get along so well. Even now, he still looks at you like you ought to be picking out curtains.”

You scoff. “‘Used to get along’ until he...never mind. Whatever Sergeant Barnes might really want, it’s not that. And definitely not that with me.” He’d made that perfectly clear.

Suddenly, as if he’d heard you - but he shouldn't have, couldn’t have - Barnes pauses outside. His glance locks on your eyes. You fumble and clink the glass against the tray’s edge. 

Bruce shakes his head, gently using a tremendously large, green hand to steady the tongs you hold. “Careful there. Breaking that in here? Could’ve been ugly.”

“Doctor Banner,” you say, placing the final vial in its slot and trying to shift your attention from the man outside, “your report indicated that universal precautions were sufficient for international transport of these ‘classified contagion’ samples. As I have committed to hand-carrying them, despite possessing insufficient clearance to be privileged with details, if it would be best to utilize hazmat gear and airborne pathogen protocols, not only would I appreciate a full disclosure I would consider it your due diligence to do so.”

He nods. “You’re right. You’re right. It’s really an unknown at this point. I’m just being cautious. Using any iteration of the Hulk as a guinea pig is a scenario I strive to avoid.”

“Fair enough.” You click the lid closed, the half dozen tubes of churning red haze goo nestled securely inside. “Do I wait there for test results?”

“Nah,” Bruce says, already on the way back to his microscope. “Thorough runs could take longer than we can spare you here.”  

Smiling, you return your lab coat to it’s hook, smooth your hair, and give the station a once-over, making sure everything has been completed properly. This also serves as a welcome delay to going out those doors and encountering the long-haired enigma who has plagued your thoughts for longer than you care to admit.

“On second thought,” Banner says, peering up over the eyepiece. “She could have a prelim synthesis to send back in no time. Their tech is so different.” 

Taking a deep breath, you gather your gear and subtly check if Barnes is still nearby. Being off-kilter around him, while handling what you suspect is more dangerous than Bruce is letting on, is the last thing you need. 

Being around Barnes doesn’t feel cordial the way it used to. Warm banter that had felt safe.  

You can’t get a read on him, aren’t sure how you feel around him, about him. 

You don’t love him. Probably easily could.

You might fear him. Probably, definitely should. 

You do...care.

Lately, day in, day out, he’s there. Stalking along the periphery, a shuck peering out from woodlands.

He’s charming, affable enough for everyone else’s comfort. He used to be with you, too. 

Even in a crowded room, he  - sullen growl of a man - used to seem alone. The kind of alone that oozes off a person, rolls out from his shoulders. Used to it. Accustomed to it.

Trust only it. 

When you first tried - heart in your throat and skin gooseflesh - when you first stepped up to that guy, part matinee idol, part drive-in backseat rogue, he’d turned in on himself. Tried to force his large frame to disappear. Behind his barriers, he’d just watched you. Wary. Accessing.

But the next time he’d been holding the wall up, ale bottle in loose metal grip, you didn’t have to look for an opening. He’d lifted his chin and inclined his head toward chairs.

After that, the pair of you could be found engaged in long, private conversations. Content to let whatever ruckus go on around you. Foreheads nearly touching. Fingers not-so-casually brushing together. Your stomach flutters at the memory.

Now, his attention makes the hair on your neck stand up at least as much as it travels down your belly, between your thighs. Puts you on edge, mouse batted between paws. 

When you exit the lab, he’s waiting. Leans his back against a column, arms folded. Legs crossed at the ankles, pants taunt were they wrap around his thighs. His eyes flick to you, his only perceived movement. “Whatcha got there, Red?”  He draws each word out as if puffing smoke.

Your eyes go wide before you can stop them. Left corner of his mouth ticks up, goal met. 

The nickname startles you for a moment. It always does. He dusts the name off, digs it out once in awhile, just when you’ve almost forgotten. When you’ve let your mind scab over that single, awkward date. Forgotten how once upon a time, even his team thought you’d “be good together” and made that final push to fix you up. 

It had been right after the rift clone incident. If you’d not been so caught up in him - that red warmth that unfurled in your chest - you should’ve known. Paid attention to his shift, his change. The tragedy of it all.

You’d worn a crimson silk column dress, French twist, Replique dotted on pulse points. 

He’d worn black jeans and blood-dirt under his nails.

Peering at you over his menu, he’d dropped it down and motioned between you both. “You took this seriously, huh?”

Only just enough to have waxed everything reasonably prudent. 

Crestfallen, your shoulders dropped. Clearly, you thought, you’d misread the prior conversations, his lingering looks, mistakenly thought he returned your interest.

Cheeks on fire, you’d started to fold your napkin and push your chair back. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. I won’t take up any more of your time. You may return to the Olympic-level brooding of which you are so fond and I will retire for the evening.”

He’d thrown his head back, barked what might’ve been a laugh. “You’ll ‘retire for the evening?’“ Shook his head. “Red, you’re too much.” He grabbed a waiter - not ours, but Barnes didn’t let that stop him - “Bring us that special and a bottle of whatever makes uptight dames spread their legs these days.”

You sat still, mouth open, staring at your fork. 

He reached out, took your hand in his. Seemed to apologize with his eyes. They held yours, sky fading into sapphire. Held you without touching you. 

You look up behind lashes. “Dinner is just...we can have a good time. Talk.”  

“Yeah, let’s have the Blue Plate. See how it goes.,” he said. 

Then, the air had shifted, when he seemed...vulnerable...he pulled away. 

By the end of the night, the pulse pounds in your ears. You’d talked and laughed and when he walked you home, you knew you’d invite him in. You’d always known.  

He’d walked you to your door, eight-to-ten now-uncharacteristically chivalrous inches between your bodies on the way up the steps. Single bulb buzzing overhead. The key had proven elusive. Always on its ring and placed in the back pocket of your purse, your shaking fingers had let it slip down somewhere in your bag. 

He stepped in closer behind you, looking over your shoulder, breath passing over the shell of your ear. “You need a hand there?”

You jolted up straight, back bumping into his chest. “Thank you,” your voice cracked, “but I think I can manage unlocking my own stupid door.”  You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Excuse me,” you said, sounding mousy even to your own ears. “I didn't mean for that to sound so rude.”

“You didn’t, hmm?” He hums, breath slipping down your neck and he wrapped his right hand low around your waist.

“No,” you swallowed hard. Your skin on fire under his palm. 

“So, you’re saying you would like a hand...” He whispered, smoothing cool fingers down along the space between your hip and thigh. 

Limbs shaking, desire and curiosity and confusion swirling in your veins. You tried to find your voice, leaned against his chest’s blister strum. Shuddered as another warm breath huffed over your skin. 

“Y-yes.”

He spun you and you found your back suddenly against the cold, wooden door. His face hovered, lips barely an inch above your own. 

“As much as I think you think you want this.” He traced your collarbone, eyes burrowing into yours. “As much as I enjoy hearing your heart race.” His finger dipped inside your neckline, under the edge of your bra, skimming pebbled flesh. You shuddered, worried some neighbor might be looking, but unable to tear your gaze away from his. 

“Today’s your lucky day, Red. I am gonna leave ya jus’ the way I found ya.” He pressed himself against you, thigh wedged between yours. “‘Cause, if I stay here on this porch one more minute, with you an’ your wide eyes, smelling like sins you don’t begin to understand…” Stubble grazed your cheek. He hummed, words hot and heavy in your ear. “I think I’d ruin you.”

You wanted to grab his hand and hold it there. To ask him in and show what he did to you, to prove to him...to yourself...that this could be good. Special. Right.     

“You wouldn’t ruin me. I - I trust you, ” you squeaked, instead. Tentatively closed that fractional space, brushed your lips against his. 

He didn’t let it become a kiss. “You misunderstand me.” He moved back a bit, pulled his arm free and ran knuckles down between you, tracing your chest and then grabbing tightly around your waist. Pushed you, a quick snap, deeper into the door.

“I want to.”

Then, he’d bound off the porch and down the steps before the night air had even cooled your skin. Calling out behind him as he cut across the grass, “You aren’t ready, little girl.”

His words play back every night as you fall into fitful sleep.

Now, he looks at you knowingly. Like he knows where your mind was, that shared flickering old film reel memory.

You hold up the vials and manage a small laugh. It’s short. Belies your nerves. 

“Oh, I - I have some things to deliver to Shuri. To Shuri’s lab.” 

“Shuri’s lab.” He says, mouth moving as if rolling around an invisible hay straw. He still leans, unblinking, trained on you. 

A moment of silence as he considers you. Electricity buzzes across your skin. Words rush out of you to fill the void. “Shuri’s lab. In Wakanda. Shuri’s lab.”

His eyes crinkle, pleased as you stumble over your words. “Yeah, I’m familiar.” 

Of course he is. You’re supposed to be smarter than this. 

**

Across the hanger, Clint performs his pre-flight checklist. 

“Change of plans,” he calls out, back still turned to you. “Laura’s got me roped into filming a play tonight.”

“Okay,” you say, unable to fault her for wanting to keep Clint as retired as possible. “I need to put these samples back on ice then.” You start to head back when a shadow emerges from inside the jet. 

Clint says, dryly, “You’re going. Looks like I'm still the only one around here who doesn’t have a Wakanda stamp on my passport.”

Barnes peers down from the quinjet ramp, takes the checklist, and winks. Your stomach drops. 

Clint claps him on the shoulder. “Say ‘hi’ to those damn goats for me.”

Once inside the jet, Barnes gestures toward the insulated box you carry. “That it there? What did Barton call it? Funky Cold Medina?”

Of course. Yes, naturally. That’s exactly what it would be. Aphrodisiac Pheromones. Sex Pollen. 

The mystery of why evil organizations frequently leave a cache of screw-or-die juice sitting around abandoned complexes for wandering bands of Do-Gooders to uncover is as baffling as why they consider rampant libido to be a great offensive strategy in the first place. 

Nodding curtly, acting unruffled by the news, you brush past him and secure it in the cooler. 

**

The plane is at cruising altitude before either of you speak again.

“How long has it been since you’ve been to Wakanda?” You venture, throat tight.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, never looking away from the sky, then answers, “Haven’t been back since Strange showed up.”  He pauses, then continues, “Used to have a nice place there. Best view. Sunsets over still water.” Leans slightly out of his seat in your direction. “I think I wanna take you there.”

A smile comes over you, wide and almost hurting your cheeks. This glimpse of how he’d been, hope tingles along your arms. 

“I’d love that.” And you would. Have him let you in, return to where he’d been and who he was.

“Sure thing,” he says, voice lilting out on a devil smirk. “I could take you there. It’s...secluded. Make you scream.”

“Why do you do that?” The tingles take on a different tenor. 

“Do what?” He sounds believably innocent in the way a prostitute dresses up like a nun. 

You fidget, nails scratching a foreign itch on your palms, and chastise yourself, reminded again why it’s better when you don’t get your hopes up. Don’t act on your urge to spend time with him.  Your once almost more-than-friend...your wishful thinking...seems gone for good. Now, when he comes around, it feels like finding yourself suddenly teetering on a high ledge when you’d expected grass between your toes. 

“Why must you be so...so, crude?” 

“It is. I am. That’s the point though, isn’t it?  You like it,” he says matter-of-factly, looking you up and down, “Hell, you crave it. And that’s what’s got you confused, all tied up in knots.” He turns in his chair, arms bent and leaning on his knees, casual, is if he was discussing new coffee in the common room or a cell phone plan. “Because you’re stuck thinking the goal is a fella wife-ing you up,” he snorts.

“Hell, Red, you’re still stuck thinking you want a guy grunting on top of you Tuesdays from 9 to 9:10 with a meatloaf pan soaking in the sink.” He shakes his head. ”You have hangs-ups and I’m not gonna play along with them like that boring ass agent you wasted time on.”

“Stop,” you whisper. “Please, stop trying to scare me.”

He blows out a lungful of air. “It doesn’t scare you. That I could just take it. That I could have you - have you in all the ways that you won’t let yourself think you want. The thoughts you kill before you can admit them in the back of that beautiful mind of yours. I could have you every one of those ways. But, that’s not how I want it. Not how I want you. What scares you,” he says, leaning in. “What scares you is, that I won’t. I won’t let you keep fooling yourself about what you really want. 

“You know, deep down you know, that’s not how it’s gonna happen. You gotta admit what you need.”

He inches a little closer. “You’re gonna have to beg.”

Your heart stops, eyes unblinking. “You’re wrong.”

“No,’ he says, returning to the controls and beginning your descent. “No, you’re wrong - and I’m a different kind of wrong. I’m so wrong that I’m the only thing right.”

Your head pounds. Stomach lurches as the plane breaks beneath the clouds. “You used to be my friend,” you half-mumble, staring down at your knees. “Sweetheart,” he punches the word out, saccharine-sweet, “I was never meant to be your friend.”

**

Silence stretches out for several more minutes. Only the engine’s hum, lull and dense, barely bats at the thoughts raging in your mind. Barnes’ words, his presence, suffocates you. Even strapped securely in his pilot seat, it feels like he’s crushing your lungs.

The plane lands in an outlying region. 

“I should be back by four,” you spit, container swinging wildly from your fist. The walk is probably twenty minutes from here and you relish the idea of having the quiet to process things.

“Orders are I make sure you’re safe.” He falls in step.

You spin and push a single finger into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Your services are not needed, Barnes.”

“Don’t be like that,” he snaps, serious. “Just because you’re pissed at me for saying shit you don’t wanna hear, don’t put yourself in danger.”

“Danger? I think I’m infinitely safer out here. It’s Wakanda, the most advanced place on the planet!” You sweep your arms wide toward the city in the distance, towers like exclamation points jutting out of fields. “I’ll be fine. Besides, the plane could have flown directly to the palace but you’re the one who elected to land way out here.”

He pushes his hair out of his face, holding it up and off his neck. You notice the curve, the warm, inviting color of his skin. He looks out toward the trees, calm as anything, like your outburst never happened. “Guess I can check out the old stomping ground.”

Fighting the urge to flip him off, you march down the ramp, leaving him standing there. “By all means. Go have congress with a goat for all I care.”

**

Mid afternoon, as soon as you break the tree line on your return, he emerges from the woods. Appears freshly bathed in the river, mane wet and loose, shirt clinging to his frame. 

“After you,” he smiles, wolfish, and bows exaggeratedly, inviting you to go first up the ramp. 

Your eyes narrow, but you climb inside anyway. 

Suddenly, coming around from behind you, his hand reaches for the biohazard bag containing the single tube Shuri had sent back.

“What are you doing?” You snatch the bag away, crushing it to your body.

He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Begging your pardon. Just trying to be a gentleman and carry your bag.”

“Knock it off, Barnes. If you’ve got a predilection for hearing every woman throw themselves at your feet, you can satiate it someplace else.” 

“Oh, I can. Just don’t wanna.” His eyes narrow on the bag and he wrenches it out of your grasp, tosses it unceremoniously into the cooler and slams the door 

You watch the cooler as if the door might burst open and the horny wrath of Hell take flight about the cabin.  When it remains undisturbed until Barnes completes the pre flight rituals, you finally allow yourself to breathe a little deeper and turn away from it.  

“And you wound me,” he croons, spinning his seat into position. “It’s not every woman.”

You roll your eyes, strap in, and swear you’re never giving him the satisfaction of hearing you speak again. 

That resolve, among other things, breaks over the Atlantic.

The air fills, flowery. Like a florist’s shoppe - oh. Oh, god no -  so many scents it feels fake. Cloying and sweet. 

“Wha-What is- we need to land!”

He holds his hand up toward the windshield, water as far as the eye can see. “No problem. Just shout ‘ahoy’ when you spot some dirt.”

You fling aside the belt and run toward the cooler.  Viscous sludge flows slick as mercury on the floor around it. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barnes yells from the cockpit. 

You start rummaging through cabinets, looking for something, anything. “Maybe I can dilute it, cut the effects.” You open the cooler and pull the bag out. It’s ruptured, the vial broken and plastic cut, or eaten away by the chemical, it’s hard to tell at this point. 

“By touching it?!” He punches in codes hard enough the key clanks echo. “Stop, just - just wait. Wait two seconds until I can find out what’s what.”

You fling the near empty bag at the back of the plane. “You! You did this on purpose!” The plastic thumps, hollow against the metal door. A roaring, mute thing.

Barnes shakes his head once, hisses between clenched teeth, “You’re the one who smashed it against their chest.” 

Then, he cleanly switches tone - deep and clear - speaking into his earpiece. “Banner. Yeah, we have a situation here.

“The package Shuri sent back has been compromised. We’re mid flight, no safe place to put her down. Need to mitigate effects. Please advise.”  He pauses, presumably listening to Bruce, then purses his lips. “Nothing? Banner, are you sure?” Turns again, gives you a gauging look.

This can’t be happening. Can’t. You start to shake, knees going out from under you.

He keeps his eyes on you, touches the earpiece. “Nothing. Understood. Barnes out.” Then rips it off and throws it hard enough to shatter.

A thousand thoughts swirl at once. Is it really going to work? How long do you have? What if you go at it like rabbits who just got out of prison and then have to face him day-after-day? What if it works on you both but he resists? 

Preemptive humiliation, clawing feral behind your ribs, the terror of possibly being rejected if you, if you...finally admit...

Then, Barnes is there, crouched down beside you, offers you his hand. You wave it away. 

“Doll,” he says, soft, like one might coax a fawn to take berries. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sniffling, you shake your head. 

“C’mon,” he says softer yet and backing up, giving you space. “Get out of that. Come, sit.” 

You look down and realize the liquid is seeping toward you. Some on your leg. Scrambling past him you make it to the other side of the cabin and slump back down to the floor. He moves away from the spill, but keeps his distance, placing himself on the other side of the aisle. 

“Why?” Betrayal pours out of you.

He sits down on the floor opposite you. Legs bent and knees up, hands clasped and hanging between. “You gotta believe me, the very last thing I want is something happening between us that’s not real.”

You stare at him. He seems so genuine in this moment. But, you force focus, because this is how he always is, right before he pulls the rug out from under you.

When you don’t reply, he breaks the silence again. “Besides, maybe it doesn’t even work. Hasn’t kicked in already. That’s a good sign. I’ve been around that type of shit before,” he pauses, looking off to the right, unfocused on something that isn’t really there, remembering some horror you don’t want to contemplate. “It’s not always so bad.” He shrugs, picks a string off his pants. “Even if it is, if it is...bad, I know I can hold off.”

You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is soft and his words are kind and he reminds you so much of the man you fell...the man you...

dammit.

He gets up slowly. Checks the autopilot. Eases back down where he was. Boots scuffing out in front of him along the metal floor.

“Did you mean what you said?” You venture. He just raises his eyebrows. “When you said you wanted something real with me-with us?” You elaborate, barely audible. 

He clears his throat, rearranges himself on the floor. Stares off at nothing. “Why else would I hold off all this time? At first, sure, I thought you were interesting enough. Probably good for letting off steam.” He looks to you for a moment, then away again. “Then, you just sorta snuck in. Took over. You and your little button up sweaters.” Gives a little chuckle. “Fucking seduced me with your cardigans and ‘Nova’ recaps.” 

Mulling it over, you start to ask, “Then, why do you-”

“You know why.”

He blows out a lungful of air.  “Because I’m not settling for half-ass. Never had much. But they always find a way to take even more.” 

So torn up in your own stupid fears - selfish, petty girl - you never thought about his lot in this. A sob punches out of you. Made and unmade. So many times. Here’s another time, one more damned time, he faces control of himself being torn away.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into your hand. Eventually, he swipes a tear from your face. 

He scoots back away. But his touch...lingers. He watches you trace where he’d been, little lightning strikes that turn and shift, then burn. Burns past your skin, thrums in your veins.

“It’s happening.”

“Nah, Doll. We’re halfway home, we’re not gonna do anything we don’t want to do.” 

His voice, coffee rich and smoke, settles in your belly. Your hips clench, rock. You think, this must be the cusp, there’s more to come, but you want to tell him, show him...feel him before you’re so far gone it’s a blur.

Hazy want swirls around him, poppies and violets and jet fuel in the air. Your hand sneaks up under your shirt, the rough outline of it juts out over your breast. He’s sitting up now. Licks his lips. 

“I can’t - noooo,” you say, breathless. It’s scorching now. Boiling, latent want bubbling up. You pull your shirt off, burning.

“I can’t wait,” you plead. He looks so good, always looks so damned good. “I don’t want to wait.”

His back goes straight. Muscles tense. Ready to pounce. 

“Not like this.” His breath has picked up. “Not if you think you can tell yourself later that it was chemicals talking.”

“You want real, Barnes? I’ll give you real,” you purr. Stretch out lythe before him. It’s not so bad, but you know it will be. “I do want this. I want you. Always have.”

He smiles, crooked, but doesn’t move. “That’s nice. Real nice to hear.” Watches your hand go under your clothes, between your legs. “That’s not enough. I could’ve had you back then. Back on your porch. Had you a couple times. Taken the edge off. Maybe gotten it outta our systems. But,” he stops for a moment, seeming to reconsider when you moan as you slip between your folds. He palms the hard length of him. “that’s not enough. I want all of you.”

Electric yearning rolls your shoulders, pressure between your legs frustrating. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” He shifts again, watching you, sweat forming on his brow. Fists clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to date you, Red. Don’t wanna be your boyfriend or any fucking trivial thing like marriage.” Stares you down, blue boring into your soul. “I want more than that meaningless shit.”

Your mind is nothing but the want of him - broad shoulders, his gravel-tired voice, the thick of him. 

Skin on fire with tremors. “Anything you want, Bucky. Everything. Please. I just, just-” you moan, a twisted mess on the floor before him. Voice a shuddered breath.  “You’re right. I want you everywhere. Mark me up. Show me - show me you own me.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Then, he’s there. Hands holding your jaw, angling you open, tongue a deep slide. He breaks free, swallows your breaths, presses his head to yours. 

He’s out of his clothes while you fumble with what’s left of your own. They start to rip. “Shush. Let me.” Deftly, he undoes them, sets you free. “You need to wear these later. No one gets to see but me.” His eyes sparkle mischief until the thin sky edge gives way to black.

Cool fingers slide inside you. One, then two. Curl and pump, wet and obscene. Moments and, you’re there. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna come.”

He doesn't let up. “Yeah you are. Give it to me.”  Your head falls forward, clinging, hanging on through a silent scream, wet rushes past his wrist.

“My turn,” he snarls. Towers over your, pushes a finger past your lips, hooks it around you cheek, and pulls you to his cock. Pressure and he angles your face up, finger replaced by thumbs at each side pulling your mouth wide - drool pooling - and pushes the tip onto your tongue. 

You give a tentative lick. Try to work the girth of him while he holds you open. “Look at me,” he says, hair a veil framing his face. “You can do better than that. Don’t hold back.”

You keep your eyes on him, nudge his hands away, work him halfway down, salty musk on the back of your tongue. 

“This ain’t about you being passive, Sugar. Come on. Show me what I do to you. Fucking treat me right,” he growls, grabs your head and shoves as you gag. “I didn’t spend months coming in my own hand, thinking about you, biding my time - waiting to do this right - for you to barely-” 

Fast, determined, almost angry, you swallow him down as far as possible, eyes wet and blurred.  Find the spot behind him, between his legs, warm, heavy, and rub in tight ovals. “Fuuuck - yesssss.” He twists your hair in his hands - holding you in your place. 

“That’s it. Oh god, Sugar, you didn’t just come up with that. What else you got hiding, waiting to show me? So fuckin -“ he shudders as you massage him more, pinky brushing farther back. 

He laughs, surprised. “Dirty girl.” He pulls out, then wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing himself there as he pushes back in. “You got the sweetest goddamn throat.” Thrusts while you run your circuits until he empties himself, head thrown back and thighs straining.

He moves faster than should be humanly possible, unfurls his jacket over the floor grid, and pulls you over it. Wads his shirt under your knees.

“Floor’s hard,” he says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I only want you feelin’ me.”

“Spread.” He smacks your ass with a sting.

You obey, arch your back, offer yourself. He dives in with his mouth, tongue in deep. When he starts to thumb your clit, constellations bursting behind your eyes, you stop him. “In me. I want to come with you inside me. Only with you inside me.”

He smiles, face slick with you. Straightens, grabs your hips and pulls you to him as he starts his slide in. 

You mewl, palms flat and fingers splayed. Try to relax through the stretch and drag, strain to take the rest of him.

He runs his hand over your spine. “Just a little more, baby,” he coos. “Fuck. Look at you. Takin’ me so good.

“You’re mine. The moment I heard your heart race, you were mine. When I made you wait, you were still mine. When I told you to beg for it and you did, you were mine. When I told you to spread your legs and you did it, you were mine.” He makes a final push, fully seated, sharp spark at your end. Holds you there, pulsing. Then, pulls out long, begins again. 

It’s everything you ever wanted. He was so right. So, so right and you can’t believe you waited for so long and you really need to thank Shuri for not inventing vibranium test tubes. 

“When that bastard wearing my face looked at you, looked at you like he had the right, that’s when-”  He moans long and low, makes a particularly full stroke, air sucking through his teeth. 

“That’s when I knew. No other man could have you. Even if that man was me.”

His hands dig into your hips. Anchoring you. He holds you open, watching. Cold thumb follows the line down the center of you. Stops above where you meet. Pad runs over where you’re tight and untested. 

“Pleeeease,” you keen. You need him. Need him everywhere. 

His hips falter, finesse sacrificed to curious need. 

“Has anyone been in here before?”

“No,” you mewl, debauched, wanton. 

His pace picks up. Harder, slamming, sting against cervix. “I need in there. Fuck. Sugar, let me in.”

Beyond words, you tilt your hips and push back, forcing him in knuckle deep.

“Only me,” he roars. “Promise me. Swear.” He angles over you, spreads you out, chest crushing to the floor. His free hand finds your neck. Pins your down. Breath harsh beside your ear.

“You. Only you.” You come, crying and clenching around him in all the places he is within. 

He pulls out. Kisses your face as he lifts you, turns you to him.

He settles between your waiting thighs - surrounds, nuzzles in, taking in your scent - until there’s nothing you can see, or feel, think, that isn’t him. 

Then he stills. Then watches. Then breathes.

Brushes his warm hand along the curve of your face. Presses a kiss, pillow soft. Weight pinning you down. He pushes fully back in, his head breaking skyward as you take him. 

Hips rolling full - the drag and curve brings him to your chest. His tongue slips along you breast, seeks and teases. Licks and pulls you in. 

His hands wrap around your thighs, anchors you, opens you up. Kisses deep and pushes in, until you’ve run out of you and he’s run out of him.

“Fuuuck, you feel so good. I knew you would. Thought about you every fu- every fucking day.” 

He stops for a moment, beaming down at you. You realize you were the one talking.   

“That’s my girl.” 

Then, he’s moves, ruts, whispers faint praise into your skin. Low. Can’t quite hear.

And you want to hear.

You want to taste his secrets and feel his sounds and listen to his mouth on you.

You push up into him, hard, matching him. You explode again, suddenly. 

“Fuuuuck.  He swells. Rhythm falters. Marks your walls. 

After, you tuck into his side, both of you curled up on the floor. His face is finally relaxed, serene. You press your lips above his heart.

“Bucky, I want you to know, I wanted this, I will always want this. I am yours. It wasn’t just the chemicals.”

He kisses the sweat and tears from your face. Tucks your hair behind your ear. “I know, Red, I know,” he says, eyes sparkling, voice sincere, “Bruce said there was ‘nothing’ to worry about. That wasn’t the pollen - that was just the antidote.”

[therkalexander]

The Good Counselor - Chapter 3

Seventy years have passed since Elysion was created, and Persephone’s efforts to conceive a child with Hades have been in vain.  But a secret rite on Samothrace might bend the Fates and give them all that they have ever dreamed of, or pave a path of untold suffering.

**partial chapter** 

Please visit The Good Counselor on AO3 to read in full.

Chapter 3

The ether rushed around her in a twist of silver and crimson and she emerged in the great atrium of her villa in Thesprotia. It had been abandoned for generations when Persephone had found it, and was said to be filled with the ghosts of the extinguished House of Aeolus.

Persephone knew better.

If any spirits remained, she would have wrenched them from this world already. She herself had sentenced three of that wicked family to Tartarus,  Sisyphus chief among them.

Willows overhung the entire house, shielding it from the main road that led to the sea. It was modest, a short ways from the city of Cichyrus. A copse of bedraggled cypresses marked the path leading to the entrance, and thistles grew thick around the door. To the idly  passing eyes of the outside world, this place was as uninhabited as it was foreboding.

But inside, it was paradise. Roses climbed the walls of the atrium garden and crocus blanketed the floor, growing through every crack in its deteriorating mosaic. A pomegranate tree— planted by Aidoneus on his first visit to their home in the world above— grew in the very center, shading a large oak stump beneath it. It was here that she found him turning a fruit over in his palm. It hadn’t come from this tree— it was only starting to blossom. This fruit came from the lands below,  from their sacred grove at the entrance to Elysion. He set it down and stood.

Persephone picked up her skirts and rushed to him. He gripped her waist and she felt her feet tilt off the ground as he lifted her level with his face. Their lips met, and she sighed, melting into him. His joy and eagerness flooded into her, mellowed by tenderness and spiked with lust, warmed with relief.

And a metallic undertone of trepidation.

She eased back. “Is something troubling you?”

“No.  Not yet,” he said, setting her down. “Did you take care of it?”

“He’s gone. His court is dispersed, and Minthe is by her mother’s side.” He scowled at the mention of her name. Placing the remains of the annihilated nymph by her mother’s grave had been Persephone’s idea. Hades had been less forgiving when they’d discussed it. “How is everything back home?”

“Empty as ever when you aren’t there, sweet one. How was this year’s planting?”

“The same as ever.” She hooked her arm into his and leaned in as they walked the walled garden paths. She quivered at the contact. It had been two months since her fingers had been upon his skin. She could feel his pulse and the warmth of his flesh. He smelled of raw earth, of cypress, and the cool waters— everything she missed about Chthonia. The Underworld. Her true home. Persephone glanced up and caught  him chewing the inside of his lip. His mind was distant, but she knew he would eventually reveal where. She let him ruminate while she spoke. “A bit less grain to sow this year, though. She was so anxious last harvest, it affected everything.”

“Your mother needs to stop worrying after her paramour.”

“I’ve told her as much. But can you even call Triptolemus that anymore? They share the Telesterion, but more as friends than lovers. They haven’t shared a bed since—”

“I regret mentioning it,” he muttered hastily.

“Ah.” She fidgeted. “Hermes may have picked up Minoan.”

“What?”

“Unless you told him that Bellerophon broke his family’s curse and was granted a place in Elysion.”

Aidoneus gritted his teeth. “Damn him and his meddling…”

“I knew it! I knew he was lying. He denied reading your last letter to me, but how else would he know?”

“I’ll have a word with him.”

“What if that’s not the extent of it? What if he tells them about this place?”

“He won’t. I made him swear on the Styx.”

Persephone turned to him. “If the mortals know that you— that we spend time here, there will be endless interruptions. They’ll stop sowing crops. Some will leave, and the rest will build a gaudy temple. And the favors and quests of the rustic gods and hemitheoi—”

“They’ll do no such thing because Hermes will keep his mouth shut.”

“Will he?”

“He will. He takes Stygian oaths seriously.”

“How will we send letters and parcels to each other now?” A shiver rolled through her as he cupped her face with his hand.

“Perhaps I should hand-deliver them.” Aidon leaned down and gave her the lightest, slowest of kisses. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he pulled back. “Though there’s something else I’m intent on giving you presently.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She threw her arms around his neck and collided with him, kissing him gracelessly in return, their teeth clicking together. He chuckled low and traced her spine with his fingertips.

“Eager, are we?”

“Come,” Persephone whispered. “Let me show you what I’ve been up to this season.”

Aidoneus picked up the half pomegranate and followed her up the stairs. “A full season of sowing and still you found the time?”

“Barely enough. I vanished just after Thesmophoria to spend a few hours here alone, and I think Mother is starting to suspect—”

Aidon kissed away the name. The last person he wanted to think about right now was Demeter. He inhaled Persephone’s scent of roses and lilac, larkspur and irises. “This is my time with you. And no one else. Not Hermes, not your mother…”

Not Orpheus? Her voice rang through his head.

Aidon stopped. Did she knew where he had been? That he had spoken to the hymnist?

“His name was in your mind. Were you thinking about what Eumolpus said? Do you think…”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed again, sweet one,” he interrupted sharply. “I can’t bear it. Not after last time.”

She nodded.

He needed to distract her, or his visit to Samothrace would come pouring out unbidden. And going further down that road would only raise her hopes fruitlessly. Especially if she knew he was motivated enough to speak to Orpheus himself. “I practiced a flower while I waited for you.”

Persephone smiled. “You did?”

Their hieros gamos had not only created Elysion, but— to their mutual delight— had conferred upon each other some of their unique talents. Persephone had even called up iron from the earth seven winters ago. “Watch, sweet one.”

Aidoneus concentrated on the ground before him, and felt the beating warm life rush through him, from his feet upward. Each time he tried it he marveled. This must be what she had felt throughout her lifetime each time she created a new living thing. At first he’d worried that he would taint life itself if he tried to imitate her— that his efforts would result in a blight simply because of who he was. But they were the Gods of the Earth, he remembered, one and the same, infinitely bound and part of each other. He closed his eyes, feeling the telltale pulse in first his abdomen and rising through his chest as a bulb grew, opened, and split the ground. The stalk shot upright, bursting at the tip into a purple iris. He heard clapping and opened his eyes. Persephone exhaled softly, her hand gripping her hips. “My favorite part,” she said, “is feeling it move through you.”

“‘It’?”

“The earth, everything I have ever called up in— it’s hard to give it a name. More of a feeling. But it moves so… differently through you.”

“And you can sense every bit of… it.” He already knew the answer.

Of course I can, her voice rang, stronger this time. She turned and started strolling through the palace, showing him a centuries-old tapestry she’d found in the collapsed storage room, the vibrant ochres and deep blues sealed away and saved from the ravages of sun and wind. She picked up her skirts and climbed the stairs to the gynaikeion, giving him a glimpse of her ankles and mud stained feet. Aidon followed, listening to her describe how she’d made  it into a place fit for them to sleep, to make love…

“Aidon?”

He smiled. “I was distracted. Forgive me.”

She  bit coyly at her lip. “It’s similar, but just a single room. I thought black fleeces would work, but they’re hard to find in the world above. Used for sacrifices too often to…”

“To me.”

“So they seldom sell them to anyone but priests. It took me a bit of searching, but I eventually found what I needed.”

“How?”

“An agora in Locri. They were guarded at first, especially since I’m a woman. But no one asked questions after the gold came out. I suppose it helps when your husband is the richest being in the cosmos,” she said.

Aidon laughed. He looked up, and instead of the familiar dome patterned with stars, this flat ceiling was covered with tiny jasmine blooms— their growth carefully trained and arranged to reflect the summer sky. One vine wound toward the center, marking the tail of the Scorpion, and another the bow of the Lyre.

The Lyre… had she chosen this grouping of stars for a reason? He pushed it from his wandering mind. Aidon wanted to peel Persephone’s clothes off and press skin to skin, to seat himself as deeply within her as he could. But he also wanted to give her due respect as she showed him the work she’d done  since they last met here.

This, he realized, was why he was creating these nervous distractions. But her breath was hitching, and he could feel her skin warming and prickling every time she glanced at him, could feel the flutter in her abdomen as though it were his own, and hear the slight tremble in her voice. His wife was being coy. Stalling. She wanted him to make the first move, the first touch. He would torture her a moment longer.

As Persephone drew closer to the fleece covered divan, his gaze rested on her hips, the pins that held her peplos taut over her skin, and the ornate girdle he had timidly left as a gift in her chamber on the fifth day he’d known her. How different it was now. Her back was turned. He plucked a seed from the pomegranate and held it under his tongue. He was as impatient for her touch as she was for his.

Aidoneus flicked his wrist, and fibulae scattered to all corners of the room. The girdle fell muffled in the heap of fabric, and Persephone gave startled gasp. He chuckled, ambling toward her as the rest of the peplum slinked from her breasts, her only adornment the flowery crown she wore in the spring and summer. Her blue-grey eyes were wide with shock and her hands instinctively covered her breasts and mons.

“It is good to know,” he said, stepping free of his own clothes, “that after all these years I can still surprise you.”

“I-I…” The blush creeping up her neck told him all he needed to know.

One piece of cloth remained, the only one not held by pins. Aidon reached behind and untied his loincloth by hand and let it drop to the floor. He gripped the half pomegranate in one hand and lifted the crown from her head with the other, then casually tossed the woven flowers aside. Aidon could feel the heat of her even through the half a pace between them. Her heels and chin lifted up so she was level with him, her eyes were lidded and her lips neared his. She relished in his guttural groan as she brushed her hand up his hip, his stomach and chest. “You’ll have to put that down.”

“Oh, will I?” He smiled and lifted the ripe fruit between them.

“What else do you plan to do with it?” She took a step back.

“Kiss me, wife, and find out.”

* * * * * *

Author's Note: Due to site Terms of Service and FOSTA-SESTA, I am no longer able to publish unabridged mature content here. To read the full scene, please continue reading The Good Counselor on AO3.

[moczothe1st]

Let’s Play Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War, Part 8: The Great Agustrian Depression Epidemic

Part 7

Against my better judgement, welcome back to Fire Emblem IV: Genealogy of the Holy War. Last time, Agustria just… just kicked me in the teeth over and over and over. I swear to Loptyr I remember being better at this game.  

Well. Let’s see how I do this week. Maybe I just had bad luck. Repeatedly.

Honoring his promise to Eldigan, Sigurd allows Chagall his freedom and does not interfere.

(Neither his first mistake nor his last!)

Sigurd adopts Agusty as his headquarters, and while his troops there recuperate, he persists in negotiating Agustria’s return to governance by its own king. Despite his determination to restore Chagall’s rule

(Which I cannot stress enough, is a terrible idea.)

his orders from Belhalla never change: remain in Agusty and govern its citizens.  Scarcely six months have passed, and yet Grannvale’s ruling administrators have already grown arrogant and taken to abusing their power over Agustria for their own gain.

(Well, considering what their lords were like, this should honestly be pretty familiar to the Agustrians. So that’s nice.)

Day by day, the Agustrian people grow ever wearier of Grannvale’s actions. Before long, as he feared, Sigurd finds himself yet again caught in a new conflict. Reports abound of Chagall raising his army anew at Madino Castle, vying to reclaim his lost capital from Sigurd.

to sweep in and profit from the land’s chaos. Belhalla’s orders demand that Sigurd must maintain control of Agusty above all else. Sigurd’s heart lies heavy in the face of the impending crisis.

Southwest of Madino, Eldigan’s forces hold the defenses of Fort SIlvail.  The looming battle for Agustria… a trial between friendship and loyalty.  Before Sigurd looms a final battle in Agustria’s north… a showdown fated to shape the course of Jugdral’s history.

Chagall, Unaware the chapter opening narration told us he was coming: This is our final chance to return Agusty to our control. Just look at them… lingering in my kingdom, oh-so-carefree.  I grow weary of them. They will pay dearly for this! Jacoban! Where’s that lousy sellsword gotten to this time?

Jacoban: Yeah, I know. Might be a boring job, but you’re payin’ awfully well for it. Let’s see ‘em learn to fear my Bolt Sword.

Chagall: That’s what I like to hear. Don’t fail me. Now, Eldigan’s still at Silvail, is he? Hm… how will he take this? I wonder…

Eldigan: Gah… I couldn’t possibly fight Sigurd. What in the world can I do now…

(Prior events suggest what you do will be ‘whatever would be most stupid’.)

Large Haired Pirate: This is our chance, I reckon, with nuthin’ stopping us from fleecing the villages.  Both them armies will be at each other’s throats, so there’ll be nobody interested in gettin’ between us an’ the villages.  

Captain Jill Sparrow: Shut it, Duvall! I won’t allow any petty thefts under my watch. I refuse to let us sink so low. Don’t forget, we’re heroic thieves. That’s what the name of Orgahil now means to the world!

Generic Idiot: That wench struts aroun’ like the boss, but she ain’t really the ol’ capn’s sprog.

(…………… Sprog?)

Definitely Going to Die: The cap’n just found her lost when she was a tiny thing, an’ raised her as ‘is own. She still took over when ‘e died, but little she knows she ain’t really his brat. She ain’t the real boss, so there’s nuffin’ t’worry bout.  

(Oh, you have no idea.)

Doomed and With Bad Hair: Now, let’s go ‘elp ourselves to treasure!

(“And Chagall has been so reasonable up until now!”)

Sigurd: Where in the blazes is Eldigan…

Oifey: That isn’t all, sire. It appears that pirates from Orgahil are attacking amidst the confusion.

Sigurd: Is that so… I suppose we’ve no choice, then. Ready everyone for battle.  

Sigurd: Seliph is but a newborn, and he needs you.

(Yes, they had a baby in the last six months. Yes, that means Deirdre was three months pregnant during the last chapter. Yes, nobody mentioned that. Moving on!)

Deirdre, Mother of All Demons: Yes, dear…

Sigurd:  You needn’t look so anxious, Deirdre. I’ll be back before long, I promise. Shanan, I’ve a favor to ask of you. Would you look after Deirdre and Seliph, please?

Sigurd: At the very least, Deirdre, he ought to keep you in good cheer.

(“His parents and grandfather were slaughtered in a senseless border war, which always turns kids into a barrel of laughs.”)

Sigurd: Don’t worry about a thing, Deirdre. I’ll be back for you. I promise.

Deirdre-of-the-End: Milord…

So there’s our setup. We’re surrounded by Agustria’s army that they probably should have used last week, and Deirdre and Sigurd have a child. Also, Shanan is still hanging around! Raise your hand if you forgot about him.

*raises hand*

By now, you know the drill.  First, the store; it is now fully stocked with bitchin’ silver weapons! I don’t buy a lot yet, for reasons, but I do pick up a Silver Sword for Holyn. Squeeee!  SQUEEEEEE! I also have Deirdre sell her Silence staff and give it to Aideen, who shall now be Deirdre 2, and her Magic Ring goes to Azel who will be Deirdre 3.

…

I’m told that Azel has protested this announcement, so I think we’ll just stick to their real names.

And now, the Arena:

Sigurd:  Seven wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Strength, +2 Luck, +2 Defense.

Quan: Six wins, Gained two levels: +2HP, +1 Strength. +1 Magic, +1 Defense

Ethlyn: Five wins, gained one level: +1 HP.  Why.  

Arden: Four wins, gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Defense

Noish: Dead to me. He knows what he did.

Alec: Three wins, Gained one level, +1 HP, +1 Luck.

Finn: Six wins, gained two levels: +1 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +1 Speed, +1 Luck

Lex:  Gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Skill, +1 Strength, +1 Luck, +1 Defense

Azel: Six wins, Gained two levels: +1 HP, +2 Speed, +1 Magic, +1 Resistance

Midir: Six wins, gained two levels: +2 HP, +1 Speed, +1 Defense, +1 Resistance

Holyn: Seven wins, gained two levels: +3 HP, +2 Skill, +1 Speed, +1 Luck, +2 Defense

Ayra: Seven wins, gained three levels: +2 HP, +2 Skill, +1 Speed, +1 Strength, +2 Magic, +1 Luck

Jamke: Seven wins, Gained four levels: +3 HP, +1 Skill, +2 Speed, +1 Luck

Dew: Three wins, gained two levels: +1 HP, +1 Skill, +2 Strength, +1 Resistance

Lewyn: Seven wins, Gained three levels: +3 HP, +1 Skill, +3 Speed, +2 Magic

Lachesis: Five wins, Gained two levels: +2 Strength, +1 Speed, +2 Defense

Beowulf: Five wins, Gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Strength

Erin: Four wins, Gained one level: +1 HP, +1 Skill. That perfect performance didn’t last long, huh.

Well, that was a mixed goddamn bag. Still, more of them succeeded than failed and that’s what really matters. Poor Quan wasn’t able to finish for the first time; the last rank is a Great Knight with a brave axe, and his weapon triangle disadvantage was just too much to overcome.  Azel will be finishing up before the end of the chapter; he literally just needs to dodge once to win the final round, and the only reason he can’t do it now is bad RNG.

So here’s our map.  Three castles, total; Silvail to the west, Madino to the north, and Orgahil to the far north, but at the moment only Madino is available.  The red x’s mark the location of enemy squads; as Oifey said, we start the map off surrounded. Further, there are Orgahil pirates all over the map moving in on the various villages.  We’ll need to split up if we want to reach them all in time.  But first…

Lex: Sheesh! Courteous as ever, aren’t you?

Ayra: Look, get to your point, whatever it may be. I’ve better things to do than waste time on you.

Lex: Hold on, I’ve got a little gift here. I thought of you the moment I saw it.  

Ayra: You can foist it on some other woman. I’ve no use for such trinkets.

Lex: Heh… not even something like this?

Ayra: Oh? … Wait! That’s-

Lex: Ah, good! You’re well acquainted with the famous Brave Sword, then.

Ayra: I never thought I’d see a real one! Never have I seen a blade so beautiful…

Lex: Glad you like it! It’s yours. I guess I’ll see you around, Ayra.  

Ayra: Er, Lex! Wait a moment…

*Lex leaves*

Ayra: … Oh…

Remember, kids. Don’t be rude, because sometimes a person you thought was a loser will give you a free weapon.  

… Wait.

Anyway, that conversation only happens if Ayra is not in a romance with anyone as of Chapter 3, so remember to keep her far away from dudes. She can also have the same conversation with Holyn instead of Lex, but I’d prefer she marry Lex or Jamke, so I went with him instead.  

And yes, she can use Astra with the Brave Sword, and yes it does hit ten times. Hehehehehehehhe…

Now, splitting up. To the west, I send Quan, Ethlyn, Lachesis, and Beowulf. To the north, the biggest squad: Sigurd (needed to take the castle), Lewyn, Dew, Erin, Holyn, Arden, Aideen, and Azel.  To the east, Ayra, Jamke, Finn, Alec, and Midir. This group will spilt up again after dealing with the eastern front; the cavalry units will head west to prepare for the inevitable attack on Silvail, and the infantry will go north.   Lex, who definitely doesn’t need any more experience, will be guarding the castle.  Sylvia will be mostly sitting this map out, because I don’t want her to accidentally marry someone.  She’s tricky.  

The first few turns are just spent moving, because this map is huge and empty. Only Midir meets an enemy, this javelin dude who inexplicably rushed out ahead.

He is taught not to talk to strangers.  The rest of the eastern front begins to split already; Alex and Midir running up toward a village that a pirate has already reached, the rest getting ready to wreck shop on some fools.

… Like 90% success?

Anyway, by this point, the northern and western fronts have also made some friends. Everyone, be friends!

It’s so nice to be friendly.  Meanwhile, on the enemy phase, the loss of their capital fills the Agustrian Army with intense depression, and they begin a series of elaborate ritual suicides.

Yes, that is seriously like five enemy units in a row choosing to go after the only enemy nearby who could not merely hit them back but handily win such an encounter.  I… I don’t even know.  I really don’t.   It’s so brutal that when my turn comes back around, I’m really down to just mopping up.  

Or, you know, what would be mopping up if Dew had any killing power at all. At least Aideen puts her new long-range healing staff to good use.

That’s the stuff. And on the western front, we’re in a similar position, so I have Quan clean up the only surviving threat after the others did their stuff.

Not so much fun when the Horseslayer’s in my hands, huh jackass? Beowulf Beowfulfs his last surviving minion, and the ladies do some healing.  To end my turn, I rush Finn, Midir, and Alec up to the villages they are nearest before they start heading west, and move Azel alone into the range of the last enemy squad on the map.  

They’re all fire mages and he’s got a thunder tome for weapon triangle advantage, plus being parked on a forest. This should be fun.  End turn.

… Why, though?!

This at least makes sense. They had no other targets. But seriously, this is just screwing with my head. Last week the AI was running rings around me, and this week it seems to have just given up. My turn begins with just a little more cleanup; Azel starts mangling the stragglers of his unit, while Midir and Finn clear the first village of vile piracy.  

A few little heals to round things out, and I move Sigurd and Arden up to start drawing out Madino’s defenders, while Erin swoops up toward a pirate going for the villages; there’s ballistae, so she can’t engage at the main battle right now anyway. This is going pretty smoothly, so I’m a little worried. What can go wrong?

N… nothing. Nothing went… wrong.  

Huh. Well.  The enemy army has some mages in it, which Arden cannot handle, so I do pull back slightly and have Aideen cap up his health.  Erin strikes a blow against piracy, and gains a level.  

Midir clears another village, and Azel and Ethlyn both start moving to the main conflict.  The only one in range of a large number of enemies right now is Sigurd, who the AI usually doesn’t prioritize because he’s a damn killing machine.  End turn.  

… I did say usually. Luckily, he survives, though it was damn close.  Fortunately, we have an app for that now.  

Even more fortunately, the tide has well and truly turned.  Holyn assassinates the remaining mage, and the eastern front catches up to the center.

Other than Alec being his old self at the end there, pretty optimal! And yes, I do realize Sigurd is past level 20; he can’t promote. Or rather, he starts the game already promoted. Same with Quan. They’re so badass because they have that +5 stat boost when the game starts, instead of picking it up along the way 

The only thing I’m worried about is Finn being more hurt than I remembered. I don’t think they’ll go for him, with Jamke and Aideen both in range, but… end turn.

Fuuuuuuck…

Oh, you magnificent son of a bitch, I could kiss you.

The enemy ends it phase by having their healer move down, for some reason; he has a long range healing staff, but maybe he missed his friends. Anyway, he has low defense and no ability to attack, so he’s all yours, Dew!  

Oooh, and he was pretty loaded too! After that, it’s a matter of clean-up once again…

While Ethlyn and Aideen do some healing to patch up the horses for the long ride over toward Silvail, and Sigurd, Lewyn, Holyn, and Arden go north to neutralize the ballistae around the castle and stop the final two pirates. End turn!

The enemy phase is honestly kinda sad. All the ballistae shoot. All of them miss. And then on my turn…

Dew, you are being much less reliable than usual this run. I’m taking risks on you, you know.  Lachesis would do great things with that Paragon Band. End turn; there’s not really any enemies left to have an enemy phase, so it’s just dodging some ballista bolts while Dew bullies a priest.  On my phase, Arden smacks the last pirate, while Azel frees a village.  

Man Who Doesn’t Know What ‘Pirate’ Means: We could’ve sworn that boss of theirs was a good lass… Bridget or something, was it?

Do you remember Bridget being mentioned before? Think baaaaaaaack~

Anyway, I think it’s time to take Midano.  The ballista falls;

And the war machine rolls to life.  

Tastes pretty good. Ayra gets the bolt sword, which isn’t great but gives her a distance option.  Dew continues to pick on a monk.  The healers do some healin’.

And other than Aideen, continue to gain levels that make one forget they are healers.  We pause here for a moment to get some ducks in a row; the cavalry group up on Silvail.  Azel gets warped home to finish the arena.

Much better. I also pull Lex and Sylvia out of Agusty and send them to Silvail too; it’s all hands on deck for this motherfucker. Dew finally finishes murdering a priest, as well:

See, if you got that sort of thing every level, you wouldn’t even need to promote. You could just kill people with your burning stare.  

And with that, time to seize Midano.

(I would say ‘poor Eldigan, having to share a house with Chagall’, but honestly he’s kind of earned this.)

Sigurd: His Cross Knights are the last remains of Agustria’s army. At this rate, all should be well if we can subdue them, but…

(Shit, neutral units.)

Oifey: Sire, we have a visitor. Father Claude of Edda has just arrived.

Sigurd: Father Claude!  See him in, please.  

(If you don’t remember him, and I don’t blame you since he was only mentioned once in the prologue, Father Claude is the Duke of Edda. And, as the name implies, a priest. Don’t worry, they aren’t celibate in this universe, so he’s not gonna be starting a war or anything over succession. Just ask Aideen and her sexy green-haired man-candy.)  

Claude: Prince Kurth is dead. He was murdered en route from Isaach.  

Sigurd: What?! This can’t be… who could have done this?!

Claude: Lord Byron was once constantly by His Higness’s side… yet, ever since the murder, he is nowhere to be found. I regret to say this, but… as it stands, Lord Byron… your father… is the prime suspect.

Sigurd: Wh-what?! That’s impossible!

Claude: I am sorry to say there’s been nothing but horrid rumors in Grannvale lately. Among them are those which say you and your father worked in concert to assassinate the prince… alas, His Majesty’s anguish over the affair has rendered him dreadfully ill.

Sigurd: My father was already the prince’s closest confidante! What could he have possibly gained from the prince’s demise?! Surely, wouldn’t Reptor, Langbalt, and the others who opposed the prince be the likely culprits?

(… Holy Shit, Sigurd, you used your brain to make a statement of logic! Keep that up!)

Claude: I am of the same mind, but we’ve no evidence tying either to the crime.  And Reptor and his minions currently hold a great sway over the royal court.  

Sigurd: What about Lord Arvis, his Majesty’s aide? Do you know where he stands on this?

Claude: I cannot say for sure. He seems to hold no enmity toward you, but I am loath to consider him an ally…

Sigurd: Hm… I worry for my father. If I could, I’d head home now and do what I can to heal, but my orders haven’t changed. I still need to hold Agustria. Please, Your Grace… do you have any idea what I should do?

(No! No, dammit, Sigurd, you were doing so well!)

Claude: I am on my way to the Tower of Bragi, on the island to the north-west of here. As an heir to the great Saint Bragi, if I pray at our sacred tower, the truth shall be revealed to me.

Sigurd: Hm? Aren’t you Taillte of House Freege? What are you doing with Father Claude?

Taillte: Wouldn’t you worry if I left him to wander all his lonesome? Somebody’s got to protect him.

(Her name is actually supposed to be Tailtiu, but you know what, I don’t mind Taillte and Lachesis is hard enough to keep this constantly going.)

Sigurd: But you’re Duke Reptor’s daughter…

Taillte: I just can’t wrap my head around father’s schemes, you know? Besides, I love the priest!

Claude: Gods, give me strength to cope with this child…

(You’re okay, Claude.)

Claude: Anyway, I’ll rendezvous with your group once I’ve learned the truth. I pray we’ll both return home this day.

Sigurd: As do I, Father Claude. I can’t thank you enough.

And with that, Father Claude and his slightly dippy helper head off to talk to the gods, and we cut off here. See you next-

(DEIRDRE, THE SMALL CHILD SHOULD NOT BE ACTING MORE LOGICAL THAN YOU)

Deirdre: I know. I want you to look after Seliph while I’m gone.

Shanan: No way! I’m just a kid. I can’t look after a baby all by myself.  

Deirdre: I won’t be long. I promise. Please, Shanan… I implore you…

(SERIOUSLY, DEIRDRE, I KNOW WE’VE BEEN JOKING ABOUT HOW DEADLY YOU ARE BUT THERE’S LITERALLY NO SITUATION WHERE SIGURD COULD EVER NEED YOUR HELP. STAY HOME.)

Shanan: Okay, fine. I’ll look after him. Just be careful out there and get back here as soon as you can, okay?

Deirdre: Thank you, Shanan. I’m sorry, Seliph, I’ll be back for you right away.  

(FUCK)

Deirdre: Oh? Who are you? … Wait, how do you know my mother?

Manfroy: Kehehehehe… the day of your rebirth is upon us. Through my black magic, the slate of your life will be cleansed, paving the way for your true husband… your fate was written the day you were born. There’s no use in fighting destiny.  

Deirdre: Wh-what are you doing?! Stop it!  No!  … … Aaaah… Sig… u…r…

……………….

………………………………….

………………………………………………….

WELL THANKS FOR HELPING OUT THERE, AZEL AND ERIN.

[ank-fan]

The name Iason means Healer do you think there is a meaning behind it or was just a random pick from Rieko Yoshihara?

Thank you so much for the question Anon. I love ranting speculatively about this kind of questions!

I do think there are several reasons why Yoshihara-sensei chose the name “Iason”, still I’m pretty sure that they have little to do with literal, physical healing. Iason is definitely more apt at, and keen on, breaking people rather than healing them.  It should also be noted that the name Ιάσων, if derived from the verb ἰάομαι, could also mean (figuratively): to remedy, repair, make whole (or redeem if we take into account Biblical usage). Which is, in my opinion, much more significant to the role Iason ends up playing in the novels.There also is another meaning of ἰάομαι that is: strong, powerful. Thus Iason could be named so because he is objectively very powerful, but this is a very immediate interpretation, that leaves very little room for speculation.  

Truth to be told the mythical Ιάσων (whom I will refer to as Jason for clarity) has not much to do with the medical act of healing either, his main “healing power” is about bringing the golden fleece back to Greece and thus grant a proper “burial” to Phrixus and break the curse plaguing Pelias and the city of Iolcus rather than any medical healing. Of course: the golden fleece has incredible healing abilities, but in my opinion, that is not the crux of the myth. The myth is about a purification rite, thus Jason can be perceived as a shaman of sorts leading the rite and, in that optic, his figure was used as a symbol by alchemists, but I will say more about that later in this rant. 

A good way to begin this analysis is by listing the more immediate parallels between the mythical Jason and Iason. 

Both Iason and Jason are blond, beautiful and the leader of a group of exceptional individuals at the top of their society which they manage to control and lead up to a certain point

Both are exceptional individuals destined for greatness, and both want power for themselves.

Both can be incredibly charming (Iason is deviously so, and Jason, seduction of Medea aside, manages to talk Aeëtes down from his paroxysm of ire and convince the king to grant him the possibility to try and earn the golden fleece, albeit through impossible feats only thanks to his polite conersation) 

Both spend some time in disguise (Jason is recognised by Pelias only because he is “the man with one sandal”, and in the novels we see that Iason, when outside of Eos or Riki’s apartment in Apatia, almost always changes the colour of his hair and wears a visor not to be recognised). 

Depending on the version of the myth you take into consideration both can be seen as deeply emotionally immature and struggling to form and handle interpersonal relationship because they never were part of a familial unit (Jason is smuggled away as an infant by his mother to be saved from death and raised by Chiron, while Iason is an artificial being who was taught to look down on humanity). 

Both manipulate people, and both can be ruthless (Jason, among other things, leaves Heracles behind despite his companions’ protests and abandons Medea, while Iason is pretty much the definition of ruthless).

The might and value of both characters is symbolised by a golden fleece (Iason’s hair and Chrysomallus’ skin). 

Both die ignored by their society (Tanagura in the novels is very careful about not saying a single word about the destruction of Dana Bahn and Raoul makes sure to keep Iason’s name out of the whole mess) and in a way that is as pathetic as it is dramatic (Jason is crushed as an old man by the mast of his rotting ship Argo as he is trying to relieve old lost glories, and Iason looses his legs and dies in a rotting old ruin by the action of someone who he saw as infinitely below himself). 

Both have the favour of a god-like being that they later loose through their actions (Jupiter for Iason and Hera for Jason, here we start to see an interesting pattern).

And, most importantly, the fate of both is defined by one act of kindness and several horrific ones (even though Jason is usually framed by the narrative as an accomplice in them rather than the main perpetrator).

In the last two similarities, in my opinion, we see a beautiful subversion of the myth and the reason why Jason’s and Iason’s two “acts of healing” are so dramatically different and similar at the same time.Because I do think that both characters are linked to one “healing”, still the object of each healing, its methods, and the reasons behind it are very different. In my opinion is pretty apparent that Yoshihara-sensei took at least some inspiration from the Greco-Roman world while writing Ai no Kusabi. From the title of one novel (Petere, a Latin verb that means “to ask”) to the name of Lambda 300 (Jupiter, like the latin name of Zeus),Apatia, Eos, Kirie, and Tanagura itself (that might be inspired by the old Tanagra), to the whole issue with slavery, oligarchy, and the treatment of strangers. So it makes sense that she would choose the name of the deuteragonist from Greco-Roman tradition too, and with good reasons. 

Jason’s one act of kindness, that wins him the favours of Hera, is to help an old lady cross one stream by carrying her. That is how he looses one sandal before entering the usurper’s court and is recognised. Still, unbeknownst to Jason, the old lady is not an old lady at all, but the goddess Hera in disguise who, impressed by the youth’s act of piety that reflects the values she embodies (respect for the family and traditions), decides to favour him from that moment onward, granting him a place in society through her influence.On the other hand Iason’s one act of kindness proves to be his undoing. By choosing to save Guy and sacrifice himself to save Riki Iason is abandoning everything that grants him power and life. He is knowingly leaving behind all the values and precepts he followed for his whole existence. By that action Iason is loosing the last dreg of Jupiter’s favour he still held by rejecting its dictated laws to follow his (new and still very shaky) “ethics”. In that moment he explicitly acknowledges not only Riki’s importance to him, but Riki’s dignity and pride, going as far as endangering himself to protect them. That action, though, is depriving the system and Jupiter of an important instrument, thus it becomes a senseless waste of resources for it, and (if we leave behind all of our ethics and judge that act of kindness purely from Jupiter’s point of view) Iason’s actions in Dana Bahn are actually detrimental for the order and stability of his society. Which could lead to another interesting addendum about how Amoi’s code of morals is twisted to the point that good becomes evil and evil becomes good, but that is a whole other issue that here I do not have space to explore properly. 

Here lies the first subversion. Jason’s act of kindness starts his story, it is the first clue we are given of his value, in a way that act saves his life and allows him to pursue his destiny as a hero since it is Hera herself that puts in his mind the idea to suggest Pelias to send him on the quest for the golden fleece.Meanwhile Iason’s act of kindness is the one that closes his story, that leads him to his death and that would, if known, irreparably damage his reputation in the eyes of his society. Iason’s act of kindness makes him loose the “golden fleece”.Thus, while Jason’s act of kindness is what makes him, Iason’s act of kindness is the one that breaks him. Not just that, but while Jason helps the old lady without thinking too much about it, because that course of action is the one that he was raised to perceive as “right, Iason is quite clearly torn about what to do, his act of kindness would have costed him much even if he had not died as a consequence of it. I think the old anime is much better than the books in showing that. Iason sees Riki’s plea to save Guy as the ultimate proof that he has failed in the one thing that (for worse or worse, there isn’t much better in Amoi if we do not consider Norris’ love for his geezer XD) he truly cared for. There is nothing spontaneous in Iason’s actions there. 

This is no serene evil cyborg acting spontaneously. He is hurting.Not to mention: this is the most emotional vulnerability we see Iason show in front of anyone ever, let alone Riki whom he purposefully tries to keep guessing about the “true value” he sees in him for fear of loosing control. So, while Jason is torn about his evil deeds and acts kindly without thinking, for Iason the opposite is true.

Jason ends up redeeming a kingdom that he shall never rule because of his evil deeds, he gains the fleece but immediately looses his rights to glory because of the way he escapes Pelias’plan to kill him. In contrast Iason rules a kingdom from the beginning (albeit under Jupiter) precisely because of his evil deeds while his redemption, his act of healing, is private, personal. That has also to do with the fact Amoi is an unescapable dystopia though.Both Iason’s and Jason’s stories are a diminuendo, two downward spirals, but, while Jason is able to redeem his people but not himself, Iason is only able to redeem himself in the end, damaging his society, and his one good action is a suffered one, something he has to force himself to do. 

Which leads us directly to what Iason hasn’t to force himself to do, namely: being a horrible person (GlaDOS wasn’t even testing for that! XD).Iason, from the beginning of the novels almost all through them, has no qualms about using and abusing people, which is why Katze is so surprised by the way Riki has managed to change him into someone able to see the reason why Judd Kuger might still love his son despite the fact that Manon is only a nuisance. Here lies the second subversion. In all the versions of Jason’s myth I know of Jason is always shown to have several qualms about Medea’s ruthless plans. Jason is not vicious by nature, Iason, even at his best, is a sadist. 

Both Jason and Iason are controlled by forces higher than them that they cannot escape or defy (it is very telling how Iason has to make a whole convoluted plan just to be able to leave for Dana Bahn without alerting his peers and Jupiter), but while Iason is the one moving the pieces on the chessboard, Jason is much more dependant on others. To use a chess metaphor: Jason is the king, Iason is  the queen. Jason might be the semi-shamanic guide that leads his peers toward the golden fleece, still most of the heroic acts and plans along the way are made by others. Jason depends on Medea for getting the fleece, escaping Colchis, and surviving Pelias. Jason depends on Orpheus (hi there Orphe Zavi), on Heracles, on all his companions to be frank, for most of his adventures. The one moment Jason is truly alone and desperate is when he dies, having lost all those that might have loved him.On the other hand Iason is incredibly self reliant, he has pawns and a grand total of one friend, but he plays his cards close to the chest; he is very good at working with and in a group, still his plans are his own, he relies on his own strength even when he should not do so. Even when his fellow Blondies have lost respect for him and would gladly trod on his carcass he can still force them to grant him permission to move Riki to Apatia. During his life Iason is almost a monad, despite the wealth of people that would gladly offer him company, still, in the moment when he dies, he is not alone. Iason dies during a deep bonding moment, I think as happy as he ever was, and with the one person he, in his scary twisted and dangerously obsessive way, loved, by his side. Not just that, but Riki comes back of his own accord when he could have walked away free, proving that there was something more than hate and fear that he felt towards Iason.Jason dies desperate trying to relive old glories and leave in search of something, what he doesn’t know himself, while Iason dies happy after having left all of his glory behind (along with a couple of legs), but having gained the one thing he truly wanted. Which could be interpreted as creepy total control, but I do not think it was for several reasons, authorial intent first and foremost. 

Another element worth mentioning, in my opinion, is the rite of purification that allows the hero back into society. Jason and Medea go through one right after having escaped the Colchis. In most version of the myth the Argonauts leave in secret since Aeëtes, the king that held the golden fleece and father to Medea, went back on his word once Jason overcame the impossible proves he had set (thanks to Medea) and threatened to kill all the Argonauts. So Jason and Medea stole the fleece and, in the most common version of the myth, Medea also kidnapped her young half-brother. This way, when Aeëtes pursued them, she cut the boy to pieces and threw the pieces overboard, forcing her father to stop and recover the remains of his son in order to give him a proper burial. This act saved the mission, yet was so horribly inconceivable for the Greek sensibilities to force both Jason and Medea to seek purification in Circe’s domain. Circe, Medea’s aunt, purified them allowing the couple to travel back in Greece and re-join the “civilised society”. Still, ultimately, despite Jason’s and Medea’s efforts, they were unable to do so. Partially because of the fact that they committed another awful crime to enter the city of Iolcus, convincing the daughters of Pelias to cut their father to pieces in the hope of rejuvenating him. Thus, what should have been Jason’s triumph turns into him relinquishing all rights on the crown or the fleece and escaping like a disgraced exile with his wife. 

This, in my opinion, can be compared with Iason’s attempt at re-normalising the situation after Riki’s year and a half of freedom. Iason tries quite desperately to make Riki fit in his old life, in the Amoian system, going as far as submitting to almost all of Orphe’s rules , but there he ultimately fails, because not only Riki is not a person, or a pet, that can live in Eos, but also because Riki’s presence and influence has changed him to the point of making him unfit for his society. He cannot accept to show Riki, he fights against the house arrest Orphe decrees, he actually cares about Riki’s mental wellbeing (up to a certain point and in his twisted way that doesn’t stop him from abusing Riki, but he does). Besides, soon enough, Riki becomes involved in another crime in Eos, like Jason and Medea did in Corinth. So Iason’s attempt at “cleaning his name” in the eyes of his society fails as much as Jason’s and Medea’s does. 

This leads us to two interesting observations.

The first is wether we can read the Jason/Iason parallelism in the light of Seneca’s interpretation of the mythical Jason.Seneca wrote a tragedy about Jason and Medea called “Medea” in which he explored the classical theme of “civilised hero is dragged down by a barbarian woman” under the light of Stoicism. The tragedy is set, like all of the tragedies by the same name, after the exile of Medea and Jason from Iolcus, when they are living in Corinth. There the king offers his daughter in marriage to Jason and the hero, for reasons that vary from tragedy to tragedy, accepts the offer, abandoning his wife Medea to yet another exile and planning to separate her from their two children. As a result Medea, chooses to make him pay and sends his soon to be new wife a dress that burns her alive before killing the children she had with Jason and fleeing Corinth. In Seneca’s tragedy Jason becomes the mouthpiece of stoicism and is a positive character (which is why I much prefer Eurypides’ Medea, where he is a fool). He is forced into the new marriage by political reasons and acts as he does because the wise man endures stoically the hardships that life throws in his path, choosing based on intellect rather than passions, while his wife is the villain, choosing to destroy everything when life denies her what she wants rather than trying to make the best out of it. So there is this dichotomy of passions and rationality.This theme of passions versus reason is present in the Ai no Kusabi novels too, still there the role of Iason is similar yet completely different. Like Seneca’s Jason Iason is a creature of cold rationality at first, faced with a being of irrational passions. Both this Jason and Iason’s attempt at controlling that irrationality ultimately fails, yet they fail in completely different ways. Seneca’s Jason is not conflicted as Iason is. He knows his path, but doesn’t allow himself to suffer too much because of its cruelty, while Iason’s development is exactly about starting to feel something. His path is the exact opposite of the stoic hero’s one, he must learn how to feel, how to let go of the odd, twisted, form of stoicism that his nature and environment imposes upon him. Both Seneca’s Jason and Iason must overcome their nature, but in opposite directions. Jason’s act of healing is to overcome passions and his suffering, while Iason’s act of healing is about accepting, acknowledging that he has a human side able to suffer. 

This ties back into the elephant in the room that constitutes the second interesting observation. 

Jason’s myth is heavily dpendant on Medea. Is there a Medea in Ank? and, if there is one, who is our dystopian Medea? The most immediate answer would be to say that Medea is Riki. After all both are strangers in a strange place, both are despised for what they are, considered barbarian, savages, both are ruthless and cruel, both are determined, both follow their feelings far more than any logic, both bring forth the demise of Jason/Iason. Still I think that is a false parallelism. Riki is not Medea. Medea is powerful, divine, far more ruthless than Riki ever was, her power is even superior to Jason’s and while she and Riki might fill somehow similar narrative roles, their characters are completely different. Medea is far more divine than Jason, Riki is incredibly human in his virtues and flaws. Riki is not stupid, not by a long shot, still his impulsiveness and ignorance end up thwarting his plans, even the best laid ones, while Medea’s might and knowledge is so great that even her suicidal plan ends with her leaving in triumph on the sun’s chariot. Her very name derives from μῆδος, that means “cunning”. Riki is smart, but he has no chance of being cunning, not faced with a “monster of cunning” like Iason.My pet theory is that Iason is both Jason and Medea. Let’s analyse the possibility: Jason, in his interpretation as the “civilised hero”, the stoic, the “guide”, is Iason’s at the beginning, the dominant side of his personality, what he was moulded into being. All of his actions are carefully planned, he is more than able to use and then throw people away to fit a “greater good”, his master plan. Jason can be, in some interpretations of the myth, seen as some kind of fool manipulated by greater forces and, in some ways Iason is too and, at the beginning, is actually clueless about it, since he is so “indoctrinated” by the system as he can be. To the point that he cannot see how the system could harm him too, since he never felt any desire to go against it in a significant way. Even as he does, to keep Katze alive, he is still operating inside of a strict amoian logic. Keeping Katze alive is a means to an end. Curiosity indeed plays a part, but Iason’s ultimate goal is to benefit his own, and thus Jupiter’s power. 

Now let’s analyse Jason’s evil act, the one that looses him Hera’s favour. That act is abandoning Medea, breaking his family to save himself and his legacy in the “civilised” world. This is the complete opposite of what Iason does in the end of AnK. Iason there chooses his obsession for Riki over his own good, over what is socially acceptable. This way Iason makes Medea’s choice rather than Iason’s. To save Jason, to have him succeed, Medea betrays her family and country, so does Iason.Not just that, but Iason’s obsessive, possessive, twisted, brand of love for Riki very closely resembles what Medea feels for Jason. To have him she is willing to use all of her powers, to defy the most sacred laws and, when he wants to abandon her she is willing to destroy him, even if it hurts her in the deepest most intimate way (the killing of her own children). Still there we see a fundamental difference. By the end of book 6, after the one and only time Iason is forced to show Riki at a Bacchanalia, Iason has a very similar, horribly immature, reaction. He takes his frustration with the situation out on Riki, hurting him in quite an awful way. The abusive mechanism is the same “since I have sacrificed so much for you, if I cannot have you as I want, I’d rather destroy you”. Still Iason, unlike Medea, does not go through with it. Which doesn’t make his actions any less horrible, mind you, but shows a fundamental difference and highlights what, in my opinion, is Iason’s private “act of healing” that only comes as he dies: managing to make his Medea and his Jason coexist. Iason’s redemption is to accept his nature as part-human and act accordingly, granting the object of his twisted brand of “love” a choice, to recognise that a feeling, when not mutual, cannot be enforced and, through this, reconcile his rational and his instinctive side. And, this way, reconciling his rational and his irrational sides. 

Now, as promised at the beginning, I will explore a bit the “alchemical” symbolic interpretations of Jason.In Rome there is a famous landmark, the “Porta Alchemica”, (alchemical door), which references Jason in two of its incisions and in both cases the meaning given to him and his name was not the one of “healer”, but the one of “the discoverer”. This is aligned with the theories and interpretations of the myth that see the Argonauts voyage as a mythical recounting of the first commercial travels of Greek merchants towards unknown riches and knowledges. The golden fleece there is a symbol of redemption and knowledge rather than healing per se. Its gold is the alchemic gold, the philosopher’s stone able to turn “vile metals” into gold, heal every ailment, and grant eternal life. What I like about Ai no Kusabi is how that search is turned on its head. Iason starts the story by having a high-tech version of the philosopher’s stone/golden fleece. He is immortal, eternally young, has incredible power, he knows more than any other being, yet precisely because of that he is blind to everything he does not understand, he is prejudiced to think that everything “below” himself is unworthy. He frequently refers to Riki as a “gem in the rough”, but ultimately, his path leads him to the conclusion that the “rough” is exactly what makes Riki so appealing to him. He never ceases to want to dominate Riki, that is his nature, still he doesn’t want to “break him” anymore. Only by loosing his “golden fleece” Iason is able to recognise what he ultimately is and wants, and thanks to this realisation, redeem himself and gain one thing of true value.Iason, at the beginning, doesn’t truly care for anything because his own golden fleece blinds him. Both Riki and Iason loose the people they were before meeting each other and, through the books, search for a new identity, a rebirth (another theme that appears again and again in Jason’s and Medea’s tale). Pelias being tricked into thinking he can be rejuvenated, reborn, and then killed by Medea could be accosted to Kirie’s fate. A false rebirth that only means death. In fact Kirie’s name itself means “Lord���, like Pelias is the lord of Iolcus. 

The most meaningful inscription, in the optic of the reconciliation of Jason’s and Medea’s figures, is the one where it was written “Passing by opening the door of the villa, Iason obtained the rich fleece of Medea”. In that context one could argue that Iason’s travel “through the door” symbolises a form of acceptance of Medea’s rules and values, and that true knowledge and redemption from human limitations can only be achieved when rationality and passion are both taken into account and given their own space in a human’s life. In that inscription the treasure, the fleece is Medea’s.

In conclusion: yes, I do think the meaning of Ιάσων is important to the plot of Ai no Kusabi, and I also think that there are several interesting parallelisms that could be made between the characters of the myth in some of its interpretations and Iason.Still I also think that the meaning of “healer”, should not be taken literally, but interpreted in the context to signify a sort of “spiritual healing”, a conciliation between opposite positions and pulls. As I said in previous posts I think that Elites, Blondies in particular, can be seen as “failed projects” since they are supposed to serve as a bridge between men and machine, yet they are taught to look down on mankind rather than try to understand the humanity in them and “embrace it”. This way they are made ultimately ineffective at presenting the human position before Jupiter and Iason’s only “healing” act comes at the end of the novels and is about accepting his “human” side and acting upon it not for evil but, once in his life, for good. Thus “healing” that flaw of his whole specie. Besides, in such an optic, death, rather than the eternal life granted by the fleece, becomes the one way to freedom from Amoi’s society, the great equaliser. 

Are many of these speculations of mine pretty wild? Absolutely. After all the cultural context Yoshihara-sensei lives in is very different from the one I am speaking from, and there are issues of Japanese society explored in the books that I only tangentially know and which can be appreciated and spoken of far better by people who are part of, or know well, Japanese society.Still I think that Yoshihara-sensei did a kind of “syncretic effort”, to present a far-future culture that stemmed from many different roots (the Vila of slavic folklore are mentioned and subtly likened to the Elites, the reliefs on Midas’ gates are described as very similar to Indian reliefs, an angel is the symbol of the Guardians, one of Riki’s nicknames is Vajira and so on), thus I think that some of the observations I made might have indeed occurred to her while choosing the name for Iason. 

Thank you so much for the question again, and sorry for this humongous rant. I hope it could interest you, Anon! 

[kadobeclothing]

The Best Winter Gloves For Men You Can Buy In 2019

The weather outside is frightful. Which means that aside from it now being socially acceptable (encouraged, even) to drink hot wine at 11am, it’s also time to make sure you’ve got a quality pair of gloves to hand.There’s nothing stylish about frostbite, so the quicker you rummage through your knitwear drawer, remember that, “oh yeah, I lost one of my gloves at that hideously overpriced winter-themed pop-up,” and buy a new pair, the better.While we can’t help you avoid suffering the same fate this year – only mitten string can assist with that – we can help you pick out the best pair possible for the chilly months ahead.Winter Gloves Buying ConsiderationsStyleLike that other cold-weather essential, the winter scarf, there aren’t a great deal of definitive rights or wrongs when it comes to picking a style of gloves. For the most part, it comes down to personal preference.It does, however, make sense to buy a pair of gloves that go with the rest of your wardrobe. So, if you’re all about that black tracksuit, then go for more of a technical style. See out the 9-5 in a suit? A smart leather pair is likely the wisest purchase.Tommy Hilfiger FabricWhen it comes to the hand-warming properties of gloves, it turns out you can have too much of a good thing. “For everyday wear in the city, I would avoid cashmere-lined or shearling gloves as they can give too much insulation,” says Mr Porter style director Olie Arnold.As a general rule, the fabric that your gloves are made of will largely be dictated by the style. Even if you wanted to, you’d struggle to find a pair of kitted driving gloves. It’s almost as though designers know what they’re doing.ColourHear the words coloured gloves and you likely think of Ronald McDonald or the guy who did your prostate exam. Neither are particular strong style icons, so the expert advice in unsurprising. “I would suggest choosing classic colourways such as navy or grey so they can be worn with a variety of outfits,” says Arnold.If you do want to venture away from the usual shades, pick something from the autumnal leaves palette (think dark greens or browns) and you won’t go wrong.6 Winter Gloves Styles To ConsiderDriving GlovesUnless your ride is a classic car, power steering means you don’t need the extra grip which driving gloves were created to provide. With that in mind, there are two important principles to remember when considering a pair. Firstly, avoid anything fingerless at all costs. And secondly, if they follow the classic style with cut-out knuckles, only wear them in the car – it’s called a ‘glove box’ for a reason.MittensNo longer just for snotty-faced six-year-olds, mittens are all grown up, and are now even the style of choice for streetwear brands like Virgil Abloh’s Off-White. Go for a technical fabric like hi-loft fleece or a chunky ribbed knit and wear them with more relaxed pieces. Suit + mittens = man child whose mum dressed him for his first day in the office.Technical GlovesIf your look leans towards the athletic end of the scale, you can get away with sporting a proper pair of technical gloves, even off the slopes. Often crafted from weather-resistant materials like Gore-Tex, stick to dark, muted colourways if you’re worried about them looking like they’re part of your ‘super-wacky, you guys’ ski season look.Knitted GlovesWhen it comes to knitted gloves, your main concern should be the fabric composition. Because gloves are such a small item, there isn’t much difference in price between the natural and man-made fibres, but there is in terms of function and sustainability. Wool is warm, breathable, sustainable and biodegradable (so when you lose one in the hedgerow, you don’t have to feel as guilty about it). Acrylic, wool’s main competitor, will keep your hands moderately warm, but it will also make them sweat.Touchscreen GlovesWhat was once the preserve of full-scale tech nerds and the phone addicted has become mainstream. Although, admittedly, with wildly varying levels of attractiveness or ability to actually work. As well as fingertips that let you carry on tapping at your tech, look out for gripper palms. That way, you can stay stylish while swiping through Spotify’s misguided song suggestions on the walk to work.Leather GlovesThe smartest of all hand-warmers, leather gloves are the ideal winter investment (providing you remember to not leave them in the back of a taxi). Suede, on the other hand, might not the best for throwing snowballs, but is as warm as leather and has the added benefit of working on the casual side of smart-casual.How To Wear Winter GlovesYou don’t have to wear gloves during the winter, but it seems daft not to. The question, of course, is what you wear them with.“Gloves are one of the basic requirements of a winter wardrobe that can be frequently overlooked,” says Arnold. “You may not shape an outfit around them, but nothing elevates a look quite like a pair of quality leather gloves.”Though they won’t ever form the foundation of an outfit, be mindful that they can change how one looks. Take black leather gloves: worn solo with a black suit, you’d like either a hitman for hire or the sort of man who has an armoured basement and resides in an area where there has been a spate of women going missing. Neither is a particularly desirable look. So, do not, for the love of anything you hold dear, wear them without an overcoat.Best Winter Gloves BrandsDentsBritish heritage brand Dents is so into gloves that it has even has a museum dedicated to them. Crafted in Wiltshire, where the company was founded in 1777, and using traditional methods, each pair of Dents leather gloves is cut by hand. For smart or driving gloves, there is no better place to go.UniqloWinter accessories from Uniqlo, the unofficial masters of brilliant basics, are predictably great. Along with the Japanese brand’s reasonably priced cashmere styles, many of its winter gloves feature its famous Heattech fabric that works with your body to generate heat and retain it.HestraSwedish label Hestra, named after the small town in which the family-run brand is based, has been making gloves since 1936. In fact, it only makes gloves. Which means you can guarantee a pair that are sleek enough for the city but warm enough for the slopes.The North FaceAfter collaborations with the likes of Supreme and Junya Watanabe successfully positioned it as a fashion-y brand, it can be easy to forget that The North Face is a bonafide outdoors label. Pick up a pair of the US brand’s Thermo Ball Mittens which, sartorially, do the same thing as Off-White’s for half the price.William LockieCraftsmanship and quality reign supreme at heritage mill William Lockie. Dating back to 1874, the brand’s super-soft gloves are knitted in Hawick, a town in Scotland famed for its knitwear industry. Grab a pair spun from the finest Mongolian cashmere and that mitten string will soon start to look like a good idea.66 NorthBased in Gardabaer, Iceland, it’s little wonder 66 North has excelled at making outdoor clothing since 1926. The brand has a strong selection of handsome mittens (no, that is not an oxymoron). And because they’re designed to be worn in minus temperatures, you can guarantee they’re going to be cosy.WeekdayFrom its sleek technical-inspired gloves to its timeless designs made from premium leather and organic cotton, high street hero Weekday has pretty much all of the gloves. A good place to pop into if you’re trying to decide on a style.Wood WoodScandi brand Wood Wood has more than a few pairs of smart-looking technical gloves in its rotation. But it’s the inspired use of insulating and sustainable recycled wool for its ribbed mittens which earns the Danes a spot on this list. Source link

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