#riot could have done a “best of both worlds” thing with the design and shift like with the other characters why did they do this to my boy

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

The interesting thing about getting into League at this time for me is the ongoing Viktor Incident. Cause for those not in the know, while Arcane Viktor is awesome, he's not really the same as game Viktor. In League, Vik is basically a full blown Dr Doom style supervillain with the intention of saving humanity. He also really earns the title of Machine Herald, since unlike in the show, he straight up cyborgs himself. Basically, his thing is use machines to fix humanity's weakness/destruction. But Vik in the show IS a great adaptation, since they keep his motivations and origin and personality etc. Like every character in the show, the team took what they had and changed/expanded it in order to create a better story.

But now game Viktor is getting reworked in order to properly match show Viktor, what with Arcane being canon and stuff. But unlike with Vi and Ekko, who just got changed origins and mild personality shifts, new Viktor is rather... different. Cause instead of focusing on the core aspects, Riot is trying to mimic what the show changed. But the show was very deliberate in trying to be accurate to the games.

So now we have Guy -> Cool Imitation of Guy -> Cheap Imitation of Cool Imitation of Guy

[shinsoups]

Student No. 22 —

m a s t e r l i s t

pairing: shinsou hitoshi x f!reader x class1a

genre: 1tbsp of crack, 1 tsp of fluff, a sprinkle of angst and 1 cup of chaotic randomness

synopsis: y/n was certain she would never be a Hero. She had a different goal in her mind, and that is to be a great doctor someday. With a terrible past she wants to forget, she vows she would never use her Quirk and will never let the world know what it is. Not until she finds out that the invincible quirk she thought she has can also have a certain weakness.

random updates

a/n: canon Shinsou is joining hero class for their second year but I'm gonna make him part of Class 1A already yay!

OO4.2 : Hero vs Villain —

At the back of your mind you know there's no escaping this. Your grandfather might have taken a few steps in taking care of you even before he left this world. He won't let you hand over the HPSC but why the Heroes? Why can't he just let you live the way you want to live your life? 

You pushed the doors open, letting yourself in while settling in the corners of your designated area as you waited for the second signal to commence the fight. Why must you conform to what the Hero society wants? Seeing the tiny blinking red dot, you stared at the little camera on the corner of the ceiling, watching your every move... I hate this you muttered to yourself while continuing to search for some items.

You rub your temples, trying to think of any way to end this fight without crushing someone else's dreams. Fifteen minutes, do you want to win this fight anyway? You clicked your tongue, scanning the room. Securing the pin just above your left chest, and gripping the capture tape on your track pants left pocket, your eyes found the one thing you were planning to use.

The screen shows two figures already clashing and were in a heated conversation. Bakugou was impatiently giving orders as Shinsou tries to talk him out and create a plan. But the blonde insisted that he'll fight with or without a plan, threatening that he won't back down even if Shinsou ever gets in the way. The other screen shows the new girl going inside a Hardware Store situated just near her assigned area. The second siren blasted, without a second thought Bakugou pushed Shinsou out of his way and went to search for the "enemy".

Midoriya was heavily muttering and was torn between watching the monitors and listening to the new voices that joined inside the waiting room.

Recovery Girl was seated in the middle, watching as Bakugou was desperately searching for you. The screen shows how Shinsou leisurely follows, gripping the binding cloth around his neck and sprinting as he tries to catch up to Bakugou. Midnight and Present Mic are now standing just behind the students of Class 1-A. Curious eyes were now stealing glances as more of their teachers are now watching the on-going match. 

The familiar loud voice of Present Mic echoed inside the room, "Shota-kun you found out about her Quirk already? That was fast!" Patting Aizawa's shoulder as his laughter dissolves into silence when Aizawa shot him a cold stare.

Jirou nudges Midoriya when she heard what they were talking about, "Apparently, her Quirk is unknown. Rather, they're not sure what it is so that's why the teachers are here to see for themselves." The group exchange looks as they stared back at the screens in front of them.

––––––––––––––––––

Just outside the building you can already hear explosions coming your way. The familiar tingling sensation of danger alerts your senses. Wrapping the small item that you needed with the capturing tape, you drag it near the entrance and exited the building.

Bakugou spotted you exiting a building. He smirked and landed meters away from you. Aiming his hands towards your small figure, a large fire explosion almost hit you if you didn’t dodge and acted fast enough. Looking for any sign that the purple haired boy was behind him, you sighed in relief when you didn’t saw him. You reminded yourself not to respond, not to make any verbal attempt so you can win the fight. You’ll just have to wrap them up or stole their pin without attacking, just play on defense mode. Defense mode, you repeated like a mantra.  

Bakugou was the first one to make a move leaping forwards using his explosive speed to thrust himself just meters away from you. With one swift movement, his leg was aiming right at your torso. Absorbing the shock of the fire explosion shot at you, you narrowly dodge as you shifted your weight towards your left side. Trying to land even just one blow from your fist, Bakugou was quick to block his jaw.

“Is that all you got, new girl? That doesn’t even stung a bit.” He growls kicking your body away from him. “Where’s the girl who attacked mercilessly earlier?”

You took on a defensive stance when you felt the sting on your arms after receiving the kick. Bakugou propelled himself once again. Dust were now clouding your vision and irritating your lungs as the burning embers from his Quirk lingers in the air. You turned around to where he landed, trying to close the distance between you and create just one impact on his body. Dodging your half assed right punch attack on his shoulders he caught your left that was aiming to land another on his face, his other hand directed on your legs.

You fell to the ground as his leg kicked you once more, “Bastard,” you grunted and rolled to avoid a well-aimed kick from him. Bakugou took the advantage and continuous AP shot auto canon were fired at you but it dissolves into nothingness as it hits your skin. You ran around him, trying to tire him out and lose his will in using his Quirk against you, but the sting in your lungs are now catching up.

“Come on, you little piece of shit,” he feinted a laugh almost reading your moves. He knew what you were thinking and he was now aware that his fire explosions meant nothing at all even if he fires the strongest attack.  

Using stealth was your best option but right now, its seems your body has taken a toll already. The ruined buildings around, shattered and was half destroyed as his canon explosions kept chasing you not far behind your shadows.

Clicking his tongue in irritation, Bakugou decides to engage in physical combat instead of using his Quirk.

“Why can’t” he fires every time another word comes out of his mouth. “you – just – fight instead of playing on defense.” With the last word he caught your wrist once again and threw you up in the sky, “Zero distance stun grenade!” he shouts as you fly into air, taking the impact of his moves.

You can feel your body burning even though the fire never reaches your skin. You grunted as you felt another impact of his explosive hit your body. 

Shinsou caught up with what’s happening and hid himself behind one of the alleyways near the two of you. You were facing Bakugou head to head, as his purple eyes widen when he saw you mid-air. The damage Bakugou has created  a crater on the streets of Ground Beta as he once again uses his explosive speed to catch up with you mid-air. Shinsou was torn between saving you or pulling Bakugou with his Binding cloth. Choosing the first option, he casted the cloth towards and wrapped you around to cushion your fall. 

In a cat-like stance, Bakugou landed right on his feet and saw Shinsou on the corner of his eyes. You can feel every bit of your bones almost cracking from the impact of air and Kacchan’s fire explosions. Your nerves ran riot now feeling light headed. You braced your body for the impact as you calm yourself when you hit the ground. 

The moment you’ll hit the cold pavement you knew you’ll be immobilized and will lose this match, not until you felt something enveloped your body slowing down your fall. Seeing the end of the tape you were holding on to earlier, you used the momentum of your landing to think properly and act rationally. Still loosely wrapped with the cloth around your body, you crawled using the remaining strength you have, pulling the red item and aimed it Bakugou.

Shinsou ran towards you and Bakugou to act as a mediator. “What am I even doing?” he murmurs to himself as he felt the cinders of his partner’s explosive attacks dawdle in the air.

“Fight, you little piece of ---,” Bakugou growled but before he could finish what he was going to say, he noticed you pulling the red cylindrical item you were dragging earlier.

Everyone watching in the waiting room held on to their breaths as Bakugou was hit with the white foam of the item you were dragging before the fight has started. Midnight broke into laughter as she saw you struggle to let yourself loose on the cloth hugging your body and clinging to the little fire extinguisher that somehow doused Bakugou’s sweat glands immobilizing his fire explosives.

“She’s smart!” Present Mic boasted and clapped his hands once again on Aizawa’s shoulder. “Who would’ve thought she’ll actually use it! I thought she was going to hit him with it! But what she did was better!” The laughter soon died down as the new girl broke free from the cloth and Shinsou stood in the middle where Bakugou fired at his partner instead of the “villain”.

Shinsou knew what he was doing, that’s why he wanted to act accordingly to plan so as not to hurt you. If we both attack and use our Quirks coordinately then she won’t be able to focus at the same time we drive her into a corner and make her surrender. But Bakugou has different plans and was never willing to listen, so this would do. That was what Shinsou told himself as he pulled back the Binding cloth back around his neck and executed his plan. He noticed the missing pin on his partner’s shoulder so before the teachers could even find out about it he needs to execute his plan properly.  

Stepping just between the blonde and you, “Bakugou you shouldn’t have done that. She’s still new to this you know–”

The blonde took a step forward, pointing his hand towards you after wiping off the remains of the fire extinguisher’s foamy substance.

“Shut up you piece of—”

Don’t move, Bakugou. Instead fire at me. Shinsou squinted his eyes. Do it.

Shit! Bakugou cursed at himself when he realized that he responded to Shinsou. Doing what he was told, his hand moved on its own accord and threw his AP Machine gun technique towards the cunning purple head.

What the heck? You dropped the extinguisher you were holding and before you knew it you were shielding your enemy away from his partner. Shinsou felt the fire grazing his shoulder moments before he saw you wrapped your arms on his head. I knew it! Holding the tape roll, he tries to undo it and roll it around your body.

Your body acted on its own, not sure whether you were on time but smelling a familiar burnt smell your heart plunged deeper as you saw his right arm and shoulder bleeding and burnt. Without any sense of danger, you quickly pressed his injuries, making Shinsou fliched in pain and dropping the tape he was holding. His detachable mask and half of the binding cloth was burned along with his right shoulder fell on the ground.

Hissing from the sudden contact of your hand to his shoulder, you pulled Shinsou away and quickly dragged him inside one of the buildings even before Bakugou could attack again. Not even noticing what Shinsou was about to do to you. He was left too stunned, forgetting to even release Bakugou from his brainwashing. Not until they were safe inside and away from the death glares Bakugou was throwing at him did he realized what you were doing.

You both hear the speakers announcing Bakugou’s defeat, as you clutched the red pin on your pocket. “Took them long enough to notice,” you sighed as you pressed Shinsou’s shoulder once more to stop him from doing any funny business. Muttering a silent apology to him.

“Don’t move, don’t try anything funny.” you glared at him. Pulling Shinsou to sit down in front of you, he obliged to do your bidding and hissed once more when his shoulder hit the remaining cloth sticking to the burned area. Memories from your childhood somehow floods your mind as you keep smelling the burnt skin on his shoulder. You knew how painful it was. Should you heal him? Yet you don’t want to feel the pain. Shinsou gritted his teeth while pulling the burnt cloth away, hissing once more.

“Stop! You’re doing it all wrong!” With trembling hands, you pushed his hands away.  Pressing your palms together and rubbing it once you placed both of it on his shoulders. “Don’t even think about it.” You said as you quickly pulled his button pin away from his chest, tucking it away on your pocket.

“You were reckless. You could’ve died if Kacchan’s fire attacks were to fully hit your body. Are you stupid? Are all Heroes like this? Why are they making us fight? Isn’t it supposed to be just an exercise? Why did you even do that? Why?”

You were mumbling something about hating this stupid Hero system as Shinsou tries to absorb every word you were saying. He has a lot in his mind, formulating proper words to retort to your scolding but the way you flinched in pain when his shoulder was almost healed made him realized what you were doing. His eyes noticed the shallow rise and fall of your chests, how your breath steadies, panting now as if you were the one experiencing his pain. No way!

His left hand grabbed your hands, pushing you down and trapping you between him and the cold floor. “Stop. What are you doing?”

You bit your lip. You turned your head sideways avoiding his gaze. Should you reply? You feel the sting on your shoulder, a side effect of your cursed healing abilities.

Feeling the regret and bile rise up from his stomach to his throat, Shinsou’s dark hooded eyes stare at your sorry state, “Why do you think people are blessed with Quirks like us? Are you scared people will resent you for being born with a gift that can help a lot of people? Or are you just scared of yourself?” A weak whisper slips out of his mouth, demanding an answer. His purple eyes searched for yours. But before he could pry one answer from your quivering lips, the speakers on the wall distracted the both of you.

“Shinsou loses the fight. y/n wins the match. The three of you please exit the training grounds and proceed to Recovery Girl’s clinic if needed medical assistance.” Aizawa’s familiar tired voice echoed.

Everyone in the waiting room stood awe in silence, witnessing how the battle suddenly ended when the screen flashes the three students’ current state. Their top one, stuck outside the streets unmoving. Shinsou’s torn clothes now hanging barely on his chest while pining the new girl on the floor.

“I guess this is why Nezu wanted her in this school.” Midnight walked away after Shouta announces the winner in the first group. “I don’t have any complaints anymore. The next time Class 1-A does their battle training, let me watch her again. She needs more training.” With that said she exited the room.

“Midoriya, Kaminari and Todoroki proceed to the training ground now.” His deadpan voice drawl out, calling the next group. Aizawa sighed, clutching the file he was holding while watching the monitors. 

“Training…she needs to know more than that.” Scanning the notes he wrote, the little details he noticed from the fight he was sure you needed proper guidance and that is top priority to lead you and not leave you astray.

taglist: @sugarandsoft @roesaurus @moonlightbae14 @therealwalmartjesus @redperson58 @i-bitch-you-bitch @allie-munoz (👈🏻 i cant tag u? it seems u changed url is this u? @nopenotallie ?)

🍥general taglist: @b0ku4ka @chibishae34 @skusamiya

i got a taglist im soft ~ want to join? just leave a comment my dudes ✨

a/n: gods i suck at writing fight scenes! glad the first 4 chapters are done huhu let the fluff and chaos interaction begin!!

likes, comments and reblogs is highly appreciated 🐣this is my first time writing bnha so tips and comments are really helpful ! ✨

[fae-redux]

rules of the game: ch. 7 - melt your headaches, call it home

Story Summary:

The Evergreen and Imagi were never quite in peacetime. Roman’s just trying to figure out how to survive and succeed his mother. Logan wants to live long enough to use his magic however he wants. Patton is coasting while repressing everything, still trying to figure out what feelings are.

Virgil doesn’t want to change the world.

Luckily, it isn’t up to him.

first | ao3 | prev

Chapter Summary: Learning the learning process.

Word count: 2484

Pairings: future lamp, platonic anxceit

~|~

“Now remember, Val isn’t still settling so she will be there if you go wandering off. If you don’t stick with me, who knows what could happen?”

Dee’s tone is light as he leads him further into the building, but Virgil can’t help the shudder that racks his spine as he follows him. It’s not like Dee has much to worry about, being a winter fae in a winter court. Virgil has done his research and being a spring isn’t likely to do him any favors here. 

Building is a term he would use lightly, room even less so, the three walls towering over their heads, separating the space from the rest of the woods. The floor of the structure is marbled in an ice-like design that casts a light glow. Tall windows end somewhere in the sky, their edges pointing in tips, glinting in the light. The entrance is a gradual shift between the fields and the marble, like one second he could be walking in grass and the next he could skate along the floors.

At the end of the room, there is a singular throne. The cool marble travels upward to create the back, branches of wood curling to the arms and sides. Just looking at it, Virgil can feel the skin of his fingers itch to reach out, to touch.

Behind the throne, a spiral staircase leads into the sky, disappearing as the walls get cloudier. He stares upwards to try and see where it leads, but there’s nothing above it. Dee shoves an elbow in his side before he can get a better look. 

“Unless you want to see Val angry, I wouldn’t suggest you take another step forward,” Dee tugs him back to his side. “I don’t understand that you’ve never been to a fae court before, but you definitely have been in a court before if your past isn't to be believed.”

With only a few feet between where he stands and the throne, Virgil can barely comprehend how he let his curiosity get the best of him. He deliberately takes a few steps back and locks his gaze to the floor. If Adelaide had seen him do something so audacious as to approach her throne while she wasn’t in the room, she would’ve done something worse than take his head off.

The fae queen didn’t seem to be that kind of ruler, but Dee is right. There’s no telling what she would do to him if she were to find out he was within a five feet radius of her throne. Sticking with Dee suddenly feels a lot easier with the context of Adelaide’s court thudding around his skull.

So, taking the gloved hand that tugged him back in his own and clearing his throat, he says, “I would feel better if I could just hang on to you for now, so I don’t,” He gestures around to the throne, “You know.” Awkwardly, he ducks his head down again so he doesn’t have to see Dee judging him.

Instead, Dee softens and offers him his arm, “This won’t be more comfortable. I can’t steer you in the right direction.” Smiling, Dee pulls him through an arch in the wall a little further away, he continues, “We aren’t almost where we need to go anyways.”

Virgil takes a deep breath, fits himself further into Dee’s side, and lets himself be led.

~|~

Dot hasn’t had a coffee all morning. In fact, she hasn’t had a coffee in five days because Larry refuses to get her one from the human town on the outskirts because he hasn’t found the perfect shop yet since their regular one closed. 

To conclude, Dot is very, very tired. 

She is so tired that the boy who is sticking to the side of her very good friend Dee gets her full attention as soon as he walks in the room. The poor thing is shifting his gaze awkwardly back and forth, skittish, clearly here under some sort of duress.

“Oh no, nope, no, I’m not having it, where did you find this kid, Dee? Did you kidnap him?” She nudges herself in between them, using her body to pull him away and set the small fae next to her desk, turning back to shoot a glare at Dee before she turns to him, “Did he kidnap you? Are you okay?”

When the kid just blinks at her, stunned from the fact that she had just moved him like he weighed as much as a feather, she rounds on Dee, who immediately puts both his hands up in surrender, his cane hanging off his thumb. “Can you define kidnap?” He smiles innocently at her enraged noise and moves his hands to block her strikes as she takes off her glove just to whack him with it. 

“I’ve no time for your kidding, Lapointe!” She snaps as he backs up giggling. 

“Uhh, Lapointe?” The tiny fae speaks for the first time since the pair entered the room. As what seems to be an afterthought, he adds, “And he didn’t kidnap me so much as make sure I couldn’t go back to where I was before.”

“On purpose,” Dee adds, like it would make his story any nicer. He dances out of the way as she reaches for him again. 

“Of course you did,” Dot sighs and rubs at her temples. This would be so much easier to figure out with a single drop of coffee in her system. “So you’re okay with him?” Tiny fae nods. “Then what are you here for, Dee?”

“He doesn’t have plant ancestry and there’s nobody to teach him. I didn’t cover the magic I knew, but I do know the first thing about plant magic, so I wasn’t hoping you would know what to do.”

Dot considers the situation for a moment. The fae standing next to her desk had to be at least a teenager, fifteen years old easily. If Dee had taught him illusion magic and the fae had been able to replicate that magic, there would be no way he had plant magic. 

Fae don’t really mix magic. In children born to two different magical backgrounds, they would receive an affinity for one or the other, not both. Even with that in mind, by Val’s decree, it would be impossible for a fae this old to never have been taught to use their magic until now. The children of this kingdom started early. Really early. Like, five years old, early.

“How old are you?” She settles on asking first because this onslaught of magical theory is probably not what he needs at the moment. “And what should I call you?”

“Vee, and I’m seventeen,” Vee fills in, shifting uncomfortably behind the table, eyeing Dee and the exit behind him.

Once more, she rounds on Dee. “Does Val know about him?” There’s no way someone withholding training from a fae for this long wouldn’t be punished. Forgetting how dangerous it was to keep a fae’s magic wild, it was abuse. By the looks of him, his ears hadn’t even pointed yet, so he mustn’t’ve had much time exposed to the Evergreen’s magic. Val would be furious enough to organize a hunt.

“She didn’t know since he came to live with me,” So he probably took care of the party in question, Vee’s answer about the kidnapping theory makes more sense now. She relaxes. Dee hesitates, “I wouldn’t like to train him as an apprentice if you agree to help him.”

“For your potions?” She pointedly looks at him over her glasses. He nods and taps his cane down. “Okay. So. Plant magic.” The lesson plans she has are for the younger fae in the kingdom, but she can teach an older kid. What’s a little more work anyways? 

She’s already making a list of the materials she would need for an older fae. There are fae better suited for teaching older kids, but the kids they teach are usually versed in the magic they specialize in. There are so many people she would love to talk to about this, but with dual magics, it should probably stay private. It makes its way into her muttering and into her hands as she reaches for a notebook and pens.

Vee doesn’t look ready to bolt anymore, a little more relaxed now that she’s absorbed in her work. If he had any training earlier, there would be things to avoid. Especially from someone who purposefully kept him from the education he needed. Dot needs to know so much more about him to get the plans right. 

“I’ll need to see Vee every day for the next week so I can plan properly to curate the lessons to his learning style,” Gathering her focus to talk to the two of them, she lets Vee get out from around her desk to get back to Dee. “Otherwise, you’re free to go. Tomorrow after lunch?”

At Dee’s nod, she gets back to work. Dual magic is wild. There isn’t a single fae in the forest with it. To start training a fae so much older would be difficult, but if she does this right, he will have both magics in full capacity without losing either affinity. Let no one say Dot isn’t ever up for a challenge.

~|~

Dee can hear the sound of a clock ticking time away in the back of his skull the longer Vee stays with Dot. 

He’s been slowly but surely developing more fae traits, the tips of his ears curving up more, his hair turning a more violet color, and his two incisors elongating. It’s startling to see how much exposure to the Evergreen has affected him.

Dot has way too many questions, ones she only asks when Vee is out of earshot. If she didn’t care about Vee’s well-being so much, it would be annoying. She’s managed to figure out how to get him to stop flinching every time they come near him and he takes to her like a baby duck imprints on the first thing it sees. He lets her go with the assumption that Vee had been with some dastardly fae that he had stumbled upon by chance. 

If people were to find out about where Vee really was from, riots would start for a bargaining chip on Adelaide, and if he knew Vee, and he did, the kid would offer in a minute. The last thing Vee needs is any more stress on his head.

As it stands, the magic lessons are also kept under tight wraps. There is no precedence for a fae with two types of magic. In fact, he’s gone through every ancestry book he has, and there hasn’t even been a case where a fae made a deal into two types of affinities. A normal fae couldn’t make deals into it as far as history dictates.

With his magic registers filling up the more he uses his magic, Vee is getting confident. The added benefit of going to court so often, he’s finding it easier to traverse the Evergreen without Dee. The clock gets louder every time he asks to go exploring on his own.

The cord connecting him to Vee gets heavier, too. The deal made Vee immortal, or it was supposed to replicate Dee’s own immortality, and as far as he’d seen, the only thing it had done was make Vee more fae. Guilt sits in him like a stone, heavy and unmoving.

His reasoning when he had found him was to keep him alive, but he hadn’t really known why at the time. He hadn’t been lying when he said Nellie had been a part of it, along with the mercenaries from Adelaide, but there had been something about him, fate or something equally nonsensical, that made Dee hesitate to go back inside. The naiads would have finished healing him, but Dee needed something from him.

He just knows he needed that something, whether it be company or maybe he saw potential or worse kindness, and that’s all. The cord is the brightest one, a beautiful, royal shade of purple, and it's the strongest of them as well. He doesn’t tell Vee about the feeling.

It doesn’t help that he looks so much like Linus.

Or that he talks so much like Thomas.

The work of true love’s kiss had maybe had a little to do with how much he reminded him of how things used to be.

Regardless, certain Vee’s going to leave as soon as Dot gets comfortable enough to trust him to use his own magic safely, Dee uses the time he has with Vee to teach him the basics of potion-making and how to recognize plants for the craft. 

Not surprising with the groundwork that Dot has been laying, he picks it up like a duck to water. Even less surprising, the first thing he manages to summon successfully is catmint, smiling smugly from the floor as the cats surround him as Dee blocks the doorway so more cats don’t figure out what he has (a useless endeavor). The cats stay in the house for days. 

Even the snakes have picked up on Dee’s perpetual insecurity of Vee’s leave. They hiss at his feet whenever he goes outside to drop Vee at Dot’s, or even when he supervises Vee’s interactions with the other animals of the forest. He can feel their judgement coming from where they gather in the library.

The inevitability comes after six months of daily training. There’s a clearing a half-hour’s ride away from Dee’s place that Vee has taken a fondness too, as well as a chicken who claims to own the place. It stands to reason he will take the cats with him.

Dee waves him off, telling him of course he can’t stay as long as he pleases and to never come visit, and Vee grins back at him saying he’d be over so much he would get sick of him, dad.

He putters around like he didn’t hear the title, but internally he registers it with a growing fondness for Vee and all the things that come with him. He considers all the names that belong to him, names that are as much a part of him as his hands, names he can’t have, all the names he gave up and the ones taken away from him, and to the end of that long list, tacks on father. 

If Vee said it in jest or not, it doesn’t matter. Vee has added this name to his life. 

Dee is fairly certain he will miss him dearly when he chooses to leave.

[cosmicflowerss]

wasteland baby I’m in love, I’m in love with you

park seonghwa.

apocalypse au.

words: 1.8k

Wasteland, Baby!. by Hozier

"All the fear and the fire

Of the end of the world

Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl."

The end of the world began on your rooftop in your boring suburban town. You and Seonghwa were sitting there drinking some beers when the news broke.

Seonghwa looked good today, he seemed content as he watched the sunset. The two of you had come home for the summer. Your childhood friendship was quickly rekindled, over greasy barbecue hamburgers and matches of volleyball.

The two of you had known each other forever; it seemed. The Park family had moved from South Korea to your right door neighbors. Immediately, you grew attached to their young son, Seonghwa. Even though he was a year older than you, he was 7, while you were 6, both of you became sown at the hip. All through elementary-middle- and high school, you were best friends. The two of you lost contact while you were in your senior year, and he was a freshman at college. You supposed that it was bound to happen. He was in another stage of his life. 

Seonghwa had come back from college more handsome than before. He had always been attractive, with fierce eyes and a bone structure made by the gods, but he always had this boyish charm about him. When he came back the start of the summer, he looked one thousand times more attractive than before. His black hair was bleached sand blond and styled up, which made his kind eyes look sharp and fierce. He also carried himself with more confidence and pride. Where he first was like a sleepy cat, he now reminded you more of a panther, locking onto his prey ready to pounce. Yet, with the amber rays of the setting sun falling on his skin, he again reminded you of who you fell in love with, in the first place. He was still your Seonghwa, sweet, compassionate, and kind Seonghwa.

"We haven't done this in a while, have we?" Seonghwa's deep voice sounded content.

"No, we haven't," You leaned into his shoulder. When you were kids you and he would always sneak to your rooftop to eat some snacks and watch the sunset. Your tradition continued up until high school when beer from your parents' storage replaced the animal crackers. Seonghwa laid his arm over your shoulder as you cuddled into him. A soft giddy heat filled your stomach; you couldn't help but smile. The warm sunlight on your skin added to the feeling of pure velvet sweetness that you found yourself in. His sturdy chest vibrated as he talked to you. His warm breath fanning over your ear and right into your chest. You had done that countless times with him, yet this time it felt different. More intimate somehow. Maybe, it was the fact that both of you spent a year apart, or it could be how after you had your first kiss, with a random boy who'd asked you out to prom, you realized that you'd had fallen hard for Seonghwa. 

You looked upwards to him when he was looking down at you. You could feel his warm breath on your face. Your hand fanned out over his chest as he looked at your lips. You looked into his eyes hoping, praying, that you would find the same feelings you had for him. His warm hand clutched your waist as you shifted, you found yourself sitting on his lap with you straddling him. His head dipped down as he held eye contact with you. You couldn't make out if the redness on his cheeks was from the sunburn or anything else. 

"Hi." He whispered into your mouth. His head dipped down lower than before. His lips barely brushed yours when the window slammed open. Your sister called both of you downstairs.

"All the things yet to come are the things that have passed

Like the old enough hands, like the breaking of glass

Like the bonfire that burns, in worth, in a fight felt too."

California was hit by a massive earthquake, while New York went up in flames. Investors rushed to sell their stocks; to scrape the last bits of money out of the metaphorical pot.

You couldn’t muster the appropriate amount of fear while reading the news page on your phone. You knew somehow in your soul that, as long as you had Seonghwa you would be safe.

Washington fell in two days. Riots broke out. If you had access to tv, you would know that the EU fused into one state. ‘For the safety of the continent.’ Their leaders had said.

Seonghwa’s hand was warm in yours, as you walked through the barren city of New York. The massive towers were empty; glass laid shattered on the ground. The two of you didn't hear from anybody the last month. Both of your families had left for Canada, while you and Seonghwa went to the east coast. Both of you went to find Seonghwa's friends in the city when the disaster-hit he wanted to go alone while you vehemently disagreed with him. You wouldn't let him go alone. Many of the buildings had been looted and many gangs had already left the cities as there wasn't anything to find in the cities.

"Do you know what we're looking for?" You asked Seonghwa softly. He was looking around at the buildings looking for something. The grip that he had on your hand became tighter. 

"I heard something," He said softly. You looked around yourself yet you didn't see a soul. The odd thing, though, was that you could hear footsteps thundering softly. 

"Footsteps." You answered him. "But I don't see anybody..." Seonghwa hummed softly. He shifted so that you stood against his chest.

"I think they're in the pipes." He whispered in your ears. 

"Jump onto my back." He continued. "I hope they won't notice that there's two of us." You looked alarmed at him. It wasn't like you hadn't encountered danger on your trek to New York. But never had Seonghwa asked you to do something like this. He probably really feared for your life. Very carefully you jumped onto his back. He looked his hands under your knees to stabilize you. Slowly but surely he started to walk with you on his back. You noticed that he went off of the big streets and into the smaller narrower alleyways. After a couple of blocks, he stopped.

You’d heard about the bandits that roamed New York these were opportunistic people who jumped small groups of travelers, which sometimes ended in tragedy. These people were crazily sneaky. Travelers that the two of you'd meet on the road told you stories about how they suddenly ambush you. The victims never saw them coming. You knew why Seonghwa was doing this, because they never jump lone travelers, too little reward. Yet jumping onto Seongwha’s back felt, intimate, somehow. Yes, you’d cuddled in your sleep, but that was to save heat, as you told yourself. 

"I think we're good now." You jumped off of his back. In a dingy alleyway where it smelled strongly of trash.

"What was that all about?" You asked him confusedly. Seonghwa looked uncomfortable as his face lit up red. He coughed and mumbled something under his breath.

"Sorry, I couldn't understand you." Seonghwa took a step away from you and avoided eye-contact. 

"Come on... Seonghwa. What did you say?"You pressed him for more information.

"I-I didn't want you to get hurt." The tall man said softly while avoiding eye-contact.

"And the day that we watch the death of the sun

That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on

That you gaze unafraid as they saw from the city ruins."

You and Seonghwa carefully scaled the tall building. The search for his friends in New York was a bust. Not a soul could be found in that city. A former mega-city was reduced to nothing but buildings and rats. In a way, it was poetic, the demise of the city. Everywhere you looked you could find flora that had reclaimed its place. It sprouted from the cracks in the sidewalks and grew from their designated sandboxes how it wanted. It showed the might of plants. Mankind could never compete. 

The wind howled by your ears the cold stream danced around you and Seonghwa. Summer had long passed. The era of warm vibrant green had come to a close and had made way for the colder seasons. You and Seonghwa had looted some warmer clothes from a pile laying in the back room of an abandoned department store. 

"Isn't it weird?" Seonghwa suddenly asked next to you. "Isn't what weird?" You asked back to him.

"That everything could go wrong. Western Civilisation could completely crumble, multiple counties could declare ware on each other. Yet here I am, sitting next to you on a rooftop watching the sunset. Makes' you wonder about the continuity of life. Like, everything could go to shit yet I'm here with the woman I love." Seonghwa's mouth smashed shut as he realized what he'd said. Since the day that everything changed the both of you hadn't talked about how you felt toward each other. After the almost kiss, the both of you never spoke of it again.

"Woman, you love, huh?" You smirked at him to disguise the butterflies raging in your stomach. Deep in your soul, you knew that he liked you as well, yet you never had gotten confirmation. 

Seonghwa stared at the sunset bashfully. His cheeks were ablaze with a fierce blush and he avoided all eye contact with you. Carefully, you shifted your body into his. You cuddled yourself into his shoulder. He looked down. You smiled softly up at him. You put your hands on his shoulders to make yourself at eye-height with him. You shifted your gaze from his lips to his eyes. Seonghwa had a blush raging on his cheeks but he didn't back away from you. 

"May I?" I asked softly. He nodded. He leaned his head towards you as you leaned up toward him. Softly your lips made contact. You completely melted into his embrace as warmth spread through your body. It made your skin tingle and a giddy feeling spread through your chest. When he pulled away you couldn't help but smile.

And the stance of the sea

And the absence of green

Are the death of all things that I've seen and unseen

Are men but the start of all things that are left to do?

Deep in your soul, you knew that even though the world was ending you could always feel safe and loved if you were with Seonghwa.

Wasteland, baby

I'm in love

I'm in love with you

That's it

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 19

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: A little violence (kinda) and a lot of feelings

A/N:  HOLY SHIT I AM SO SORRY! I had no intention for this to take over a fucking month. But Endgame fucked me up so hard (in the best way, I think I earned those hurts with the shit I write here lol) and just life, in general, has been NUTS (also in a really good way).

I honestly cannot thank you all enough for being so goddamn patient and supportive while you waited for this chapter. Some folks have to deal with really demanding and dickish followers but I’m over here getting asks and DMs of y’all wishing me well and shit. HOW AM I THIS LUCKY?!

I hope y’all like this one.

Tags are open!

Post Snap: Wakanda

Shock settles cold and heavy over Natasha’s shoulders.

Her gaze has been on the blank screen of her phone for an unknown amount of time. She’d tried to call… but all communication had been cut off, Wakanda locking itself away… A knock from the door behind her causes her to jump, sending the phone clattering to the floor.

“Sorry,” Bruce’s tone is cautious. “The jets almost ready.” They needed to get home… She knows people need them but…

“I can’t.”

“Nat… we have to-”

“No. I have to find her Bruce…”

There’s pity in his eyes, “Natasha… the odds…”

“Go,” Steve’s voice comes from the hall, rough and low. She steps out holding his haunted expression. A set of keys sail in her direction, “There’s a bike you can take outside…” Steve pauses, taking a shaky breath before continuing, “Outside Bucky’s place.”

A touch of warmth fills her chest. He already knew what she’d need to do. Her fingers curl around the keys. “Thank you.”

The moment she’s outside of Wakanda’s protective barrier she tries to check for the message… still, she can’t get through…

A scream threatens to rip her apart. She may be able to make it through the end of the goddamn world… through watching members of her small family fall to ash… But she would not survive losing you… not again.

October 2009

“Fuck!” Natasha bellows slamming her fist against the wall.

Months of searching… this had been their last lead. It came up empty. She was supposed to be the best and yet she couldn’t find and save the one person she cared the most for… not even with the resources and blessing of S.H.I.E.L.D…

They’d given her everything she could need. Everyone from Secretary Pierce to Fury throwing their weight behind this, pulling strings no one would even fathom pulling with governments and low lives alike and still not a sign of you. It was as if you’d simply disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Nat…” Clint lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugs him off.

“We missed something. There’s gotta be… something…” her voice cracks as he takes her by the shoulders.

His sad eyes break something in her, “There’s not, Natasha. She’s… she’s gone.”

“No,�� her voice is thick with restrained tears. “She wouldn’t-”

He shakes his head, “I don’t… I don’t think it was a choice… But someone…” Nat shakes her head like a child denying a very obvious truth.

“Clint-” A sob slips out before she can catch it.

He tugs her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

That’s it. A guttural sob rips from the deepest parts of her being and her knees give way sending them both to the floor. All she can think is how you’d feel this emotion with her, how you’d understand everything without her having to speak a word…

Slowly her sorrow is replaced with a cold rage. Someone took you from her. They likely caught wind that you’d turned your services over to S.H.I.E.L.D. and thinking you’d give something away… They couldn’t even leave her a body, couldn’t even give you dignity in death.

“We’ll figure out who did this, Natasha.” Clint may not be you but he knew her well enough to read her. “We will.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

-

They never did though…

Fury assigned her to Stark because she was best suited but also because he felt the distraction of deep cover would help. It may have but… Being Natalie Rushman reminded her of your night in Tokyo… There was nothing she could do to escape your memory.

Thankfully it hadn’t lasted long. In less than a year she was back to just being Natasha, back to the Widow, working every job she could. The more exhausted she was the less she felt how hollow she was. The more her body ached the less she missed your touch.

When she stared down a horde of alien invaders she thought that just maybe this was it. She’d go out fighting and save some people in the process. If there was another side well, she hoped you’d be there waiting.

But it wasn’t the end. Somehow they’d pulled off the impossible.

By that point, almost five years had passed. Natasha still missed you on a level that felt impossible to truly convey. But there were days that the ache was less than it had ever been. It wasn’t moving on per-say but it was something like healing.

At the very least now she had the distraction of Steve. She could make him a project. She’d never have the life or happiness she wanted but maybe she could help him find his footing. Maybe one of them could have a chance at happiness, at a life.

There was something she related to in his detachment. She supposed the loss of just about everyone and everything a person knew could be similar to the void you left. So many times she thought of telling him about you, hoping that he’d feel less alone in his pain but… He was a man from the ’40s… She wasn’t willing to risk losing a friend over dated prejudices.

Turned out she should have given Steve Rogers more credit.

When she heard the ballistics on the bullet that killed Fury her blood ran cold. It was him…

So many things had crossed her mind then. Not a single one of them had been that somehow she’d find you because of this.

She’d been so wrapped up in the aftermath of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s demise that she didn’t have time to look at the files she’d released. Thankfully Clint had her back and had been scanning them the moment they’d hit the web.

Just after she’d settled into the tower he showed up looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Fear gripped her. Had she exposed Laura and the kids in her haste to topple Hydra… had she sacrificed everything-

“I found her.”

For a minute the words rang hollow and meaningless.

“Found who?” Steve asked from his spot on her couch.

Clint said nothing, just held her gaze until his shot inevitably hit its target. “I think she’s alive, Nat.” He hands you a file.

With trembling hands, she turns the pages. Scarcely breathing. Steve says something but Clint hushes him.

As the words on the pages soak in she thinks she may vomit. Experiments, tests, torture… kill missions… Riots you’d incited at their command, dignitaries dropping from what appeared to be brain aneurisms. Little subtle things she should have looked for and then the last report… February 2014… nine months prior.

Natasha’s knees give out and she hits the hardwood with a thud. They’d had you for five years…  Her breath stills.

No.

“Natasha!” Clint kneels in front of her, Steve stands at the ready behind him.

Pieces rapidly click into place. All the subtle ties to Hydra since the very moment the two of you met and they meant one thing. My fault. All my fault. They wouldn’t have gotten to you if it weren’t for her. You wouldn’t have let your guard down. You wouldn’t have trusted S.H.I.E.L.D. You’d had a feeling about them from the start but she’d been convinced you were just being overly cautious.

“Nat…”

A raspy breath sucks into her lungs so fast it almost hurts. “I did this.” She breathes out.

“No. No, you fucking did not.” Clint grabs her shoulders, shaking her.

“I did. She wouldn’t-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up with that I’ll slap you,” she sees Steve shift in the background. “You didn’t do this. They did this and we will get Y/N back.” She says nothing, just stares at a hair on Clint’s shirt, numb. “Do you hear me, Natasha?!”

Slowly her eyes meet his. “Do you hear me?” His tone level now.

“Yeah,” weakly she nods.

-

This was the last base that could possibly be hiding you. The last little flickering ember of hope. With cell after cell empty or filled with rotting bodies, that ember was fading quickly.

Natasha thought when the inevitable realization that you were gone hit her she’d go mad. Screaming, tearing her hair, the full Linda Blair. Instead, she feels… nothing. Not the calm detachment she’s used to but a nothingness so deep she wonders if it’s actually what death feels like.

“Natasha,” Sam’s voice crackles in her comm, “one floor down from you, south side. We think we got her.”

Tingles creep up her spine, feeling electric against her scalp. She won’t believe it. Won’t hope. All Sam and Steve had to go off of were old photos… Who knew what they’d done to you… Natasha ran faster than she ever had in her entire life. The slightest chance that you could be alive was all it took to drive her forward.

Honey. That’s all she wanted to hear in your rich accent. “Please,” she breathes out to anything that would hear her as she sprints down the hall toward where the guys waited. “Please give me her.”

“Where!?” They’re standing before a glass wall and part as if on cue.

The figure slumped on the floor beyond the glass isn’t the woman she remembers. There are bones where once ample curves had been, supple skin replaced with dull bruised flesh, thick hair traded for thin scraggly locks, pink lips for cracked grey things. Honestly, she couldn’t even tell if the person in there was alive.

A small sound ekes from Natasha’s mouth before her hand can fly to cover it. Why had she dared to hope?

Clint’s warm hand settles on her back. She doesn’t know when he arrived or how long she’s been staring. “That’s her, Nat…” He says it like she really doesn’t know like you aren’t a part of her very soul. She’d know you… she’d always know you. But were you-

Your head rolls on your shoulders, a groan sounding through unseen speakers. Natasha’s breath stops. -Alive.

“Hey,” your voice is cracked, low, and hoarse but still… it really is you. Clint grabs her hand tight. “How about you pieces of shit bring me some water?”

Still very you. Unable to wait a second longer she rushes to the door. Desperately she tugs at the handle, clearly locked.

“Rogers, a little help?!”

“Are you sure Nat? We don’t know if-”

“If. I know that if you don’t help me open this door I will break your super-powered body in ways you can’t even imagine.” Every word drips with conviction.

Steve holds up his hands in surrender. With a swift tug and a touch of effort, he pries the door open.

Your head rolls in the direction of the door, “About fuckin’ time. Was beginning to think y’all were just gonna-”

Eyes Natasha has missed for far too long fly wide open. Instead of the joy and love, she was hoping to see, terror floods your features.

“No,” your voice is barely a whisper. “God no please, no.” You bury your face in your knees, covering your ears with your hands, “I’ll do anything you want… don’t make me do this, not again, please. No.” Your body trembles, rocking back and forth.

Natasha doesn’t even hear Steve and Clint warn her to hold back as she kneels before you, tugging your hands from your head. Caution a long forgotten skill. This is you. You need her.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s ok. Look at me, feel-”

“Don’t, please don’t.” Your head shakes back and forth, “They lied, whatever they promised you is a lie. You won’t win, just go. Go. I can’t… I-”

“Y/N,” she tilts your chin up. Red rimmed, fearful eyes, gaze at her. “It’s me.”

“No. Leave, they’re gonna make me… just go. Go now. Tell ‘em I’ll do whatever it is, just leave… please… don’t make me do this…”

She shakes her head, “Do what? Baby, I-”

“Go!” You roar. Behind the word is something else. A force so strong it knocks the wind from Natasha’s chest. “Get out!”

She can’t breathe, her heart begins to trip over itself. Panic, terror, pain, all combine making her brain misfire in every direction. A low keening rises from you, with the sound the emotions become more and more pronounced. Natasha can’t even reach her concern for you anymore, there’s only this, this inescapable feeling of pure fear. Curling into a ball she tries to focus.

Slowly you rise, looking down at her. When her eyes meet yours she’s struck by how black they are, the pupils so huge they seem to take up more space than your irises ever did. They look… inhuman. For a second it quells the suffocating fear.

“Please…” Desperately Natasha reaches up for you, silently begging you to know her, all of her, in that way only you can. Instead, your hand slowly lowers, aimed for her head.

This is fine, Nat thinks, eyes closing. Strangely, she’s at peace with the thought that if she died here, by your hand, at least then you’d feel her, know she came for you even if she was too late.

The distinct crackling of electricity followed by a thud beside her meets her ears. Breath begins to fill her chest as her heart slows. Something happened to you… A new sense of panic breaks her from the stupor she’d fallen into.

You’re unconscious, one of Clint’s shock arrows stuck to your back. Vaguely, Natasha is aware of the shuffling feet near the door. Someone grabs her shoulders. Logically, she knows they’re helping her up but she isn’t operating on logic. Without thought, she blindly lunges at this faceless person. Flesh contacting flesh with an effective smack.  

Ignoring everything and everyone else she crawls to you ripping the arrow off your limp body tugging you into her arms. With every ounce of strength, she has she clutches your back to her chest. Your head lolls on her shoulder as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ve got you,” Natasha whispers against your skin. “I’ve got you. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok, baby.” Tears burn the backs of her eyes, pricking like a thousand needles. She refuses to allow them to fall. Tears won’t help you.

“Nat?” Clint’s voice is level like he’s speaking to one of the kids. “Nat, we need to get her some help. Will you let us do that?”

Clarity dawns. Her eyes scan the room to find Steve rubbing his neck. It was Steve who she’d lashed out at. “St… Steve?”

“I’m ok,” his smile is weak but he’s sincere. “Will you let me carry her?”

The thought of letting you go… but Clint was right. Your skin feels clammy, your breath shallow… scarily so… Natasha nods and he cautiously approaches, not wanting another fist to the throat.

Steve lifts you from her arms like you weigh nothing. Despite his bulk, he’s so gentle, ensuring you’re supported properly. Clint and Sam flank her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before trekking to the jet.

Immediately Sam begins hooking you up to oxygen and a saline drip. He says something about your oxygen levels and heart rate that doesn’t sink in. All Natasha can do is stare at you, horrified and amazed in equal measure that somehow you’re back with her. Somehow after all these years, she has you again.

-

“This isn’t fucking necessary, Tony!” Natasha shakes with rage.

“I think all present parties would disagree.”

Her eyes desperately scan the room for backup but even Clint averts his gaze.

“I don’t know if you blacked out back there but all of us damn near flipped shit when your girl in there did. She’s a bomb and we have no idea what the trip wire is. Until we know exactly what’s going on we need to control the environment she’s in.” Tony collapses in a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t like it either, Nat but he’s right. We have to play it safe. For her sake as much as ours.” Clint looks so tired…

She shakes her head, “She… she won’t know she’s safe… that-” I’m here… Natasha can’t finish the statement though because she knows that’s part of the point. Seeing her had set you off.

“We’re gonna have to keep her partially sedated for at least a few days anyway, Nat.” Sam offers a half smile when she glares at him. “The withdraws from whatever they had her on will be rough, it’d be cruel to keep her fully conscious while she goes through the first part of them. She’ll come to slowly so the change doesn’t shock her.”

She knows Sam’s right. They’d had you on some sick mix of heroin and other chemicals for longer than they knew. It was the perfect combination to keep you desperate and pliable without harming your mind, leaving you an effective weapon for them.

But when she looks at your unconscious form through the view screen she just wants to hold you. Truly it feels as though her whole body is aching to wrap around yours. She wants to be the first thing you see when you wake up but… they took that from you both.

Sam wraps an arm around her shoulders, “I’ll make sure she knows she’s safe, Natasha. Promise.”

-

Post Snap

The rain had slowed but that only meant that cold could settle in. That kind of cold that makes your insides ache.

You can’t bring yourself to move, all you can do is focus on the pain and what it reminded you of…

November 2014

Your whole body throbbed with pain. A deep, aching, hungry kind of pain. It was familiar but you weren’t certain of it until your stomach clenched.

Without ceremony, you lean over the side of the bed and heave, nothing but bile burning up your dry throat.

After you refused to kill the woman they sent you should have known they’d do this. It never took very long for withdrawal to set in and the last time it had been enough to break you… They’d send her in soon enough… And Natasha’s face or not you were fairly certain you’d end her life if it meant stopping the pain.

Anyway, it wasn’t Natasha… Hell, sometimes you wondered if there ever was a Natasha. Maybe your brain, in hopes of surviving, crafted some fantasy to comfort you…

You heave again, abdominal muscles screaming from the effort. “Fuck,” you groan, wiping your cracked lips on your arm.

It’s not until you collapse back into the bed that you realize you’re in a different cell, and this bed… well, it’s possibly the most comfortable thing you’ve felt in years. Interesting tactic for them to take.

The door opens cautiously. A dry laugh tumbles from you. Even if you wanted to attack whoever was on the other side you don’t have it in you. It’s strange though, caution isn’t usually their style.

Slowly a man with a kind smile comes into focus, a tray in his hands. He’s not in uniform, just plain street clothes. Your head cocks to the side, trying to put these pieces in place.

“Hey, thought you may want something on your stomach. Better than heaving up nothing.”

You say nothing, eyes narrowing. Focus, Y/N. Read him, come on. But your brain isn’t in the mood to obey you.

As he approaches, instinctively you curl into yourself. Thoughts of other men, other cells, flash rapidly through your mind setting your heart to thundering. The familiar feeling of your chest splitting open begins but you fight to maintain control. If they thought you attacked him…

The man clears his throat shaking his head a bit as if to fend off a fly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly he sets the tray of food at the end of the bed. “You can tell if I’m lying right?”

He extends a hand just close enough for you to reach. For a long moment, you just stare at it, confused, trying to work out what the trap here is. It’s always something there’s always something. But maybe if you played along they’d give you want you needed to make the aching stop. Fuck, you just want it to stop.

Hesitantly you let your fingers graze the back of his hand.

Quick as though you touched a hot stove you withdraw. Bad idea. You couldn’t control it. So many images tumble in your mind. Faces, names, voices. A small sound comes from you as your hands grasp your head, trying to keep it from flying apart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you ok? Can you open your eyes?” Sam, his name was Sam, is kneeling beside the bed looking up at you with earnest eyes.

Slowly things come back into focus and you know one thing for certain. He’s not lying to you. This Sam, whoever he may be, does want to help you. You don’t trust him, he could be being used, but it’s been a long time since someone was near you that didn’t mean you harm.

“I… it was too much at once…” Your body relaxes a touch, “Thank you, Sam.”

There’s that familiar flash of surprise before he responds, “Wanna tell me your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Good to meet you,” his smile is true. “Think you can eat something?” Blankly you stare at the trey, the thought of eating making your abdomen clench. “If you can eat a bit I can give you something that’ll help with the pain.”

Saltine crackers had never looked so appealing and horrifying all at once. Taking a deep breath you scoot down the bed and pick one up with a shaky hand.

The salt explodes on your tongue as though it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Your stomach growls demanding more. In an instant you’re reaching for another cracker.

“Take it slow,” Sam smiles brightly as he pulls up a chair close enough to be personable but not uncomfortable. “If you’re feeling hungry that’s a good sign. Means your system is getting closer to being clear.”

“What’d they have me on?” You ask before taking a deep drink of water.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, “It was a cocktail. An addictive one.”

You didn’t really need the details, nor did you want them in all honesty. Knowing wouldn’t change anything. One thing you did want to know…

“Where am I?”

Sam holds your gaze, clearly weighing his response carefully. “Somewhere safe.”

“That’s a shit answer.” Your hands shake as you sip the oversized mug of broth. It’s hot and stings your chapped lips a bit but you nearly groan from the taste.

“True.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re in New York. With people who want to help you. Can that be enough for now?” His sincerity hits you, a warm wave of emotion, unlike anything you’ve felt in so long.

You’re too tired to fight, “For now.” The half-empty mug clatters to the trey as it slips from your hands. Mindlessly you itch at your arms, every nerve feels like it’s tingling, almost enough to drive you crazy.

Sam stands, crossing the room. Your eyes follow him as he places his thumb on a pad causing a small door to open. “This will help that.” He holds up a vile and syringe.

Fear chills your over-warm body instantly. However, your eyes light on your arms, scratch marks red and irritated, and despite the food, everything still hurts… badly. Plus, who gave a fuck what you wanted. He may be kind but you were still in a cell, still a prisoner.

Habitually you hold your arms out. With a gentle touch, he grips your wrist, locating a non-ruined vein and injects whatever new concoction these helpful people have for you.

As it works its way through your blood the aching does quiet some, your nerves stop their incessant tingling. A deep sigh escapes you. Whatever it was it felt good. You’re not sure if it’s the drugs, the food, or just soul-deep exhaustion but your eyes flutter and you sway.

“Here,” Sam grips your shoulders, guiding you to the plush pillows. Suddenly you see a flash from him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?” Through your half-lidded eyes, you see his confused expression and feel just a touch of fear.

“Your friend. Riley. I’m sorry.”

He looks away, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” When he looks back his eyes are glassy, “Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll check back in on you soon.”

-

It had been six… no seven days… They blurred together into one purgatorial haze.

Natasha hadn’t left the observation room off your cell the entire time. Sleeping on a cot next to the viewscreen just to feel closer to you… when she slept that was. But after Sam had assured her that his exchange with you earlier was an excellent sign she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. That little touch of relief better than any sleeping pill.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out but a sudden cry instantly pulls her from sleep.

You’re still in the bed, very much unconscious, but… You’re thrashing, so much so it’s hard to tell if you’re not seizing. The only thing convincing her that you’re in the grips of a terrible dream is the cries of terror filling her ears. Then…

“Natasha!” Your desperation and pain feel like a bullet straight through her heart. A red light flashes in the observation room, the others are coming, she has to get in there now before anyone can stop her.

“Natasha! Don’t!”Clint’s voice barely hits her ears as the door to your cell slams shut behind her.

For a moment she can’t breathe or move. The air of your cell is thick, swamp-like with your emotions. Taking a deep breath she gathers herself.

With effort, she focuses on every good memory she has of you, every happy moment, every safe tender night and… love. She pulls that core emotion around her like a cloak hoping it will somehow reach you.

“Get out of there, Natasha!” Tony’s voice is harsh through the speaker. She ignores him, almost to you.

A scream accompanied with a wave of abject terror and images of a lab almost send her to her knees. She doesn’t falter though, tears stream down her cheeks, her body shakes but still, she moves toward your thrashing form.

Slowly she lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, laying on her side. Her arms wrap around you, pinning your arms. Her legs do the same around yours holding you steady.

“No!” You screech as your head flings back. She barely avoids the hit.

She’s not feeling the fear you’re pumping out though, not anymore. All she feels is relief. It springs from some part of her she had forgotten about. You’re in her arms, the ache she’s felt for years quieting.

“Y/N, you’re dreaming baby.”

“Natasha, no!” You sob as an image of her own bloody body slams into her. She just holds you tighter.

“That’s not me. I’m right here. I’ve got you, Y/N.” She feels a shift in your body. “Do you hear me? Focus on my voice baby… Come back to me, Y/N… please.”

You gasp, “N… Natasha…”

“That’s right.” You’re no longer thrashing so she slides her hands to grasp yours. “It’s me.” Natasha keeps her mind focused on all those good memories that got her from the door to the bed. Focused on the love she feels for you.

A thick sob bubbles from you causing your torso to shake. You try to turn in her arms and panic grips her, remembering your reaction in the base.

“Keep your eyes closed ok? Can you do that for me?”

You nod and she helps you turn to face her. You’re so gaunt, so clearly battered, but somehow still so fucking beautiful to her.

A trembling hand releases hers rising to find her face. Natasha hears the speaker click, but her free hand shoots up, signaling them to shut up. Your fingers lay gently on her cheekbone, from there they slowly trace her features stopping on her lips.

In a movement as natural to the both of you as breathing you pull one another even closer, your lips fitting together perfectly.

Natasha nearly cries out with joy at that long forgotten warm feeling of love that always flowed form you when your lips met hers. It was thick and golden like-

“Honey.”

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree​ @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade​ @5aftermidnight @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen​ @yanginginthere​ @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2 @alphalesbianwolf @sxph-t @marvelb00kwolf​ @itsqueenofchains @demonlover87​ @firegoblet01​

[mxrcayong]

the avatar series: 01.05

masterlist.

previous | next 

It’s been four days since the awful attacks on the bending gyms. They’ve been closed since then, giving Doyoung nothing to focus on but his own healing. The government made a statement the day after, essentially saying the benders incited the incident – despite all the evidence and witness statements that said otherwise.

Tonight was the night they were all dreading. G-Dragon sent a message to everyone. Not only is he stopping the bending fights until it can be guaranteed safe, but they’ll be closing the theater down temporarily and leaving it empty with only the memorial for the bender who was brutally killed.

Once the clock struck 11:30, a sea of mourners wearing black filled the stadium. Usually, the abandoned theater would be full of people – everyone excited and thrilled for the entertainment. Cheers and conversations filled the room, bouncing off the walls. No one could ever feel alone in moments there; surrounded by family.

But that’s why G-Dragon insisted on having this here. Everyone here is family, and we must mourn family together. Tari may have not known the bender who passed away personally, but she recognized his face when she’d push her way through the crowds. It was so familiar; his brown eyes, his wide smile. She may not have known his name prior, but now she does, and she’ll never forget it – because after all, his blood was on her hands. It was because of her an innocent and bright life was taken away from the world.

The theater was silent. Anyone would be able to hear the simple cockroach who may be squirming his way to the other side of the theater or the smallest insect’s wings bat echo throughout the dome. Everyone came in wearing black and holding a candle to leave behind.

“I am so sorry for the reason we are here today,” G-Dragon apologized into the microphone as he stood beside a photo on an easel, surrounded by flowers. Behind him was the bender’s sister and his pregnant widow alongside his past pro-bending crew.

Tari saw the faces on the widow, on the sister – they both were puffy and red, looking like they haven’t slept in years. I’m the reason for that pain, she thought, holding the candle close to her chest for warmth. I’m the reason that child will never have his biological father, she thought, I’m the reason she no longer has a brother. They looked like ghosts, but Tari quickly turned pale as well. This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t act up sooner.

She was uneasily biting her lip, lost in her guilt-ridden thoughts until she felt an arm wrap around her shoulder. It was Doyoung, who would even be more sad about this. The bender was a colleague of his, working at the fire bending gym just a street down. She knew the bender trainers would often having training retreats, so Doyoung would have exchanged words with him. Not only that, but Doyoung was there with him when he died.

Tari ignored her guilt and turned to face Doyoung. Like the widow, like the sister with a lost brother – his eyes were bloodshot. She noticed he hasn’t been sleeping and as a result, she has been staying up with him; not wanting him to be alone with his thoughts. Johnny has been too. It’s been the three of them facing the light from the midnight moon. Johnny and Tari would take shifts sometimes, especially if Johnny would have to go in early. Tari was just so lucky her bosses took over this week. She wouldn’t know what would’ve happened if they didn’t.

“Today, we are here to mourn him and remember him. Not only as a fire bender, but as a husband, as a brother, as a friend.” G-Dragon spoke into the microphone, “I hope you all will be leaving your candle here. We have a plastic candle that’s flame will never die,” He lifted up a plastic candle with an artificial light, “for his flame, his fire, and his memory will never go our.”

“Unfortunately, we lost him to an unnecessary war.” G-Dragon continued. “The government sees us as a threat, as a danger, as inhumane, as not equal. And they’re right about one thing.” He glanced around the hundreds of faces crowded inside the building, “We are to be feared. Yes, we have extraordinary abilities, but our main power – our main ability is our community. They riot on everything! But here we all are, a family with everyone having different relations to each other. We lost him on our physical world, but may he live forever in our hearts, in our minds, and in the spirit world.”  G-Dragon continued. “We are a peaceful community, we love our city. But we cannot tolerate a city that doesn’t tolerate us. Let his legacy guide us through these difficult times and remind our government we are more than abilities, we are more than the powers we were blessed with. We are their community, and if they refuse to accept us, we are a community. Much more powerful, much more bigger, and much more loving than theirs.”

Everyone nodded in somber silence, cheering silently at G-Dragon inciting them. “But that’s not the reason we’re here today. Tomorrow, I will be taking my concerns to the media. For now, we must remember him for who he was.”  G-Dragon started telling the story of the man; telling the story of how he came from a Northern Fire Nation tribe, about how he worked at a local hospital, about how he volunteers at the homeless shelter, about how he was a star. That I couldn’t save. “Now, let’s hear from his sister and his widow.”  

Tari wanted to hold and squeeze Doyoung’s hand. She wanted to be reminded he was here. He was present during the fight, he was almost killed – but he is here. She wanted to do the same with Johnny. He risks his life every day trying to portray the truth to the world, but he’s here. He’s is here. That’s more than what the family in front of them could say. She could only imagine what they would’ve done for one more hug, one more greeting, one more word, one more ‘I love you’ or even an ‘I hate you’.

She could’ve given them that. If she only interfered sooner. If she didn’t get drunk and picked up Doyoung. If she only helped patrol the city. If she only did something. But those are only if’s. If’s that failed to become reality, if’s that failed to extend a man’s life.

Alas, the memorial was finished. Slowly and silently, everyone left the theater; leaving their candles where they stood. The photo of him was illuminated by the hundreds of calendars keeping his flame alive. His widow and his sister stood by the photo, refusing to leave just yet. G-Dragon had his arm wrapped around both of them, giving them some sort of comfort in the time they lost one of their biggest comforts.

Getting some fresh air, Tari gave each of her close friends who came a hug. She cried as she hugged Kilari, thankful the police arrested her before the protestors got too far. She was grateful Sonan was a non-bender who only knows the fighting techniques, so she wouldn’t be targeted. She was grateful Johnny was able to come home despite his dangerous days investigating corruption. She was grateful Doyoung was injured rather than arrested like the other benders who are still in jail or killed. She was grateful that she had them. 

At least for now.

She needs to think, she needs to know what she can do as Avatar. She cannot continue putting her selfish desires to keep them in her life prevent her from following her role in society, to prevent her from inflicting pain on so many other families. Yes, she may lose her friends due to being the Avatar - but she may lose them if she didn’t do anything. Hell, she almost lost Kilara and Doyoung in one day. She rather save the world and lose them than lose them to something she could’ve prevented. It was like her family and she know what choice was inflicted upon her then.  

As the group started to head home – all of them planning on sleeping in Doyoung and Tari’s apartment, which they covered with mattresses on the floor, Tari lagged behind.

To Sukiara: I’ll start training more seriously again. My life is their’s. Not mine. 

Sukiara: Glad to hear you admit it. Will you be moving back in? 

She needs to give them up, but she doesn’t have to make that choice until she’s physically and mentally ready.

Tari didn’t tell anyone that her bosses texted her, laying her off from her shift. Tari didn’t tell anyone that her bosses wanted her to not come to work for her own safety. In any other circumstance, she’d be devastated.  But for now, she was just exhausted.

It’s been two days since she started training again and her days were much longer than they ever were at the café.  She’d leave her home at four in the morning, go to the back of the port where no one could see them, and climb onto the White Lotus’s designated ‘Avatar’ flying bison. After an hour of flying, she’d arrive on Bak Mei island where she grew up. She’d be greeted by her animal guide (a wolf named Ani) - who is the main reason she’d come prior, eat breakfast, meditate for an hour, train for five hours, eat lunch, meditate, train, meditate, dinner, recap the day, and meditate. She’d be flying back home by eleven and then take the tram and get home by twelve.

If she had to work at the café on top of this work next week, she would’ve passed out. Or needed to be cloned. And since technology for that seems too far away, she’s glad she got fired.

It wasn’t like she was the only one who got fired. Thousands of benders are getting fired because the bosses are worried for the safety of their establishment. Signs have been going up saying ‘we don’t have any bending employees’, as if it was some sort of patriotic flag. She knew G-Dragon had the best intentions, but his inciting speech he made on the news outlet didn’t really help. It was inspiring and calling for a community to come together, but the anti-bending movement twisted his words into some sort of ‘call for an army’.

The once liberated Sooman City became a military state. Police would be marching on the streets more than usual, watching out for any threatening acts from benders. Bending isn’t illegal yet, but any action that could be seen as violent gets you the first seat to jail.

“Hey, you’re here late.” Johnny commented once the exhausted Tari came in, still dressed in something Johnny had never seen her wear something similar in. She noticed Doyoung was finally asleep on the couch, obviously knocked out from his last few days of staying up. “What are you wearing?”

When Tari is in the White Lotus training facility, she wears traditional water bender clothes. Like all the Avatars before her, she wore something reminiscent of where she was from. She was taught that as a the Avaatar, she may be connected to all four, but she must remain close to her roots. So, she wore a sea blue halter-neck top with high-waisted grayish blue baggy pants and short hiking boots. She had blue arm-warmers that matched the color of her top with traditional water tribe patterns. These blue arm warmers actually came from her father; one of the few things she was allowed to keep from her biological family.

“Oh, just traditional bending day at the café.” Tari quickly quipped, avoiding eye contact as she rushed into her room - far too tired to try and come up with more excuses and far too tired to stay up. “Why are you still up?” She asked to make conversation, feeling guilty for shrugging him off.

Johnny shrugged, “Doyoung fell asleep and I noticed you weren’t here yet.”

“Oh, don’t wait up for me.” She smiled, popping her head out from her door but still looking away from Johnny at all costs. “I’m glad to see Doyoung finally sleeping. Anyway! Long hours at the café, hah,” She awkwardly chuckled, her mind running miles a minute as she tried to come up with good excuses to cover up her lies to the same person who can read her like a book. “Going to sleep, you should sleep too.”

There were two things Johnny didn’t comment on. The first thing? Tari would’ve normally asked him why she wasn’t at his own home. The second thing? He went to the café today and Hendery told him she’s been laid off.

But he wanted to ask her before he investigated anything. But, she also left him no choice. Johnny didn’t want to be in this situation, but he had to make sure she was safe. A sense of disappointment was feeling heavy as he made his way to the bathroom, ready to get some sleep – which would be a futile mission, before having to investigate the person he thought he could trust the most in the world.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only person who would have a sleepless night full of unstoppable reckless tossing and turning. Especially as the exact moment Tari fell into her pillows – now dressed in cozy pajamas and showered from the dirt and grime from the temple – she received a message from Sukiara.

Sukiara: Tenzin and Lin are calling for you to come to the air temple tomorrow. 11am. Don’t come to BakMei. Will pick you up from the port but we’ll take the boat instead. Can’t have a flying bison around without attracting attention. Meet at 9am sharp. You still need to meditate before we go.

request anything for future parts / penny for your thoughts here

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: The Right Medium For The Right Story

I’m a bit obsessed with the topic of adaptation – and by “a bit obsessed” I mean “I wrote my undergrad thesis about it.” Adaptation is a kind of re-telling; you take a story that was told before, and you change some things when you tell it again.

For example, West Side Story is an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. It’s the same basic story, but it’s set in 1950s New York instead of 1300s Verona, and the warring “families” are rival gangs instead of members of the nobility.

But there’s another kind of adaptation here that’s perhaps even more important than the change of setting – the medium. While Romeo and Juliet was originally a stage play, West Side Story was a musical, and later adapted again into a film. Adapting a story across mediums changes the work just as much, if not more, than anything else – or, at least, it ought to.

Minor spoilers for The Hunger Games books and movies as well as Disney’s Aladdin and The Lion King ahead.

[Image: The Hunger Games movie poster]

A Rose By Any Other Name Is Different

As a writer, I firmly believe that you must find the right medium to tell a story in. If you later change the medium, then something about the story is going to need to change as well. As much as a reader might want the film of a book to be completely loyal to the original text, a story originally designed as a novel is not going to work if you simply transfer it page-for-page onto the screen. This is because there are fundamental differences between books, a textual medium, and films, a visual medium.

My favorite example of a book-to-film adaptation that shows a clear understanding of the necessity of change is the Hunger Games franchise. Suzanne Collins’s books are told from a first-person perspective, giving the reader insight into Katniss’s thoughts the whole way through. Because we are hitchhiking along in Katniss’s mind, we get a lot of exposition about the world through her memories, and we know exactly what she thinks and feels about everything that’s going on. Importantly, this includes her confusion about how much of her affection for Peeta is real or just for the Capitol audience.

The Hunger Games film, on the other hand, is shot in a traditional third-person manner. Consequently, in the adaptation process, we lose Katniss’s point of view. We don’t get so many of her memories, aside from a brief dream sequence. We also lose her inner conflict about the performed romance (though the sequel, Catching Fire, plays catch-up on that point).

The filmmakers could have tried to make the film more like the book by adding a voiceover to explain what Katniss is thinking throughout the film, to sidestep the limitation of not actually being inside Katniss’s head anymore. Plenty of films do that. But The Hunger Games does not.

Instead, the film leans into the differences between the two mediums, seizing the opportunity to explore things that the book could not. While we lose Katniss’s inner voice, we gain everything that Katniss could not see. We get scenes of President Snow talking politics with Seneca Crane, making the viewer aware of the greater stakes of Katniss’s behavior in the Games much earlier than Katniss herself is. We also see the riots in District Eleven as they happen, instead of learning about them much later. In the third film, Mockingjay, scenes of Katniss’s work creating promotional videos with the rebellion are paired with the actual acts of rebellion that her words have inspired (I particularly love the “hanging tree” sequence at the hydroelectric dam). The effect is haunting, and it all truly drives home the magnitude of what’s going on.

As a result, the Hunger Games films remain true to the heart of the story without trying to shove a square peg into a round hole. A rose you read about in a novel might smell just as sweet as one seen on film, but only if you acknowledge that you can’t depict the rose in the exact same way in a book as you would in a movie.

[Image: The 2019 Aladdin movie poster]

Anything Is Possible… But Not Always

The current trend of live-action Disney film adaptations provides us with a fascinating case study in the power of adaptation, and of how well the adaptors succeed in transitioning a story from one medium to another. The original animated films (which themselves are mostly adaptations of oral fairy tales – but that’s a whole other blog post) and the new live-action and/or photorealistic CGI films are, of course, both films. But the kind of story you can tell in traditional animation is different than the story you can tell in a more realistic “live action” style.

(Not to mention that the kind of story you can tell in a mainstream media production today is different than the stories told twenty-plus years ago, representation-wise… but again, that’s a whole other blog post.)

Animation is a medium of imagination. That’s why animated fairy tale movies have always done so well. The un-reality of the medium lends itself to depicting the kinds of fantastical transformations typically told of in fairy tales. The viewer can suspend their disbelief and forget about the rules of the real world while watching an animated film. It’s much harder to forget those rules when the people on the screen are human actors.

The live-action Aladdin hits all the same story beats as the animated Aladdin, but it makes several brief but notable changes along the way. There are just some things that the animated film could get away with that the live-action film could not.

For example, the Genie spends a lot more time in a “human” disguise than he does in his natural blue form. If you were on the internet at all when the first images of Will Smith as the Genie were released, then you likely saw the backlash – for a lot of people, it just felt weird. A blue character with cartoony proportions who is constantly shifting into different shapes and sizes works very well in traditional animation, but less well when it’s an otherwise normal-looking human guy who is just… blue. You can smush and stretch the 2-D animated Genie and nobody will bat an eye, but if you tried to do the same to Will Smith – ouch! It conflicts with our idea of what is possible in the real world, and a live-action film is always going to feel more like the real world than a 2-D animated film.

This is likely why Jafar does not transform into a snake in this movie. Jafar-as-snake is arguably one of the best parts of the original Aladdin film – it’s certainly one of the best parts of the Fantasmic show at Disney’s Hollywood Studios. It’s awesome, it’s terrifying, and it does not happen in the live-action adaptation of Aladdin. Jafar does a lot of other magic – mostly levitation, paralysis, and creating a storm – but he does not turn into a giant snake. The world of Agrabah established in this film is many things, but it is not established that this is a world where people can turn into animals. We do see some animals turning into other animals – Abu becomes an elephant, and Iago a monstrously huge bird – but neither of them remain transformed for very long. The audience’s suspension of disbelief will only go so far in a live-action film, and the filmmakers probably guessed, and I think correctly, that Jafar turning into a snake would not have gone over well in this medium.

Another thing that would not have gone over so well in live-action is the scene in the marketplace where a shopkeeper threatens to chop off Jasmine’s arm for stealing an apple. Just picture it – a man grabbing a young woman and threatening her with a sword, and they are both real people with real-people proportions, and it is a real sword instead of a cartoony dinged-up scimitar. In the animated film, the moment is quickly played off as funny, but here it would have been scary, much too scary for the first act of an otherwise cheerful film.

A savvy adapter sees and accepts what won’t work as well in their chosen medium, and so makes the appropriate changes.

[Image: The 2019 The Lion King movie poster]

Rules? What Rules?

Which brings me to the new “live-action” Lion King. Now, if you enjoyed this film, then I’m happy for you, and I neither expect nor want to change your mind.

However, this film does not successfully adapt its story from one medium to another. It keeps almost everything about the story, the music, and the dialogue exactly the same as before – but now, the world and animals are photorealistic. Throughout the film, I kept wanting to close my eyes and just listen to it, because the film that I was hearing and the film that I was seeing just plain did not match up with each other.

When Mufasa dies, Simba’s voice actor is obviously crying – you can hear the tears in his voice. But Simba himself is not crying, because real lions do not cry. The disconnect between what the viewer hears and what the viewer sees reminds us that what we are watching is not real, consequently breaking the suspension of disbelief and robbing the scene of vital emotion.

A musical and a nature documentary are two very different things which we watch for very different reasons. Put bluntly, this new Lion King imposes the rules of a nature documentary onto a musical. In a nature documentary, the animals must look and move a certain way which does not line up with human emotional behavior, and the world must look and behave in a certain way which features muted colors and subtle movements. A musical, on the other hand, is all about heightened human emotion – that’s why characters sing, because their emotions are so big that they can only be expressed in song! Musicals are also about visual spectacle over strict realism (with some exceptions – compare the elaborate stage effects of The Phantom of the Opera or the intensive choreography of Hamilton with the much more subdued The Spitfire Grill).

There are a few moments where the rules of the animal world line up with the rules of the Lion King story, to wonderful effect. For example, when Nala is telling Simba to return to Pride Rock and confront Scar, Simba paces back and forth in a real form of lion body language which reads to a human eye as frustration. The slouched-to-the-side way that lions sit looks a lot like the casual lean of a confident villain, giving Scar a marvelous aura of attitude. Also, the frantic, bouncy, here-and-there movement of a meerkat lines up well with Timon’s jumpy, shifty personality and dialogue, adding humor at key moments.

But for most of the film, there is little to no bridge between the story that they are trying to tell and the medium that they have shoved this story into. The Lion King is not a realistic story. Audiences did not go see The Lion King in theatres in 1996 because they wanted to see a realistic story. They went to see a colorful, fantastical musical about talking animals with human emotions. Photorealistic CGI is simply not the right medium for that kind of story, and the story was not changed nearly enough to fit the new medium.

[Image: Cinderella’s Castle at Walt Disney World]

What Comes Next?

I see nothing wrong with telling a story again. As I said before, I love adaptation. It’s clear that today’s filmmakers, especially the filmmakers at Disney, are eager to try their hand at recreating the stories that they watched and loved when they were younger. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but there is a wrong way to do it, and I hope that future adaption films move away from that way.

One of the biggest things that Walt Disney loved about Disneyland was that, unlike the films, he could change things in the theme park if they no longer worked for the audience or if they could now be done better than before. I think he would be intrigued by the current culture of adaptation, and curious why today’s filmmakers aren’t doing more to explore the differences between mediums and the different kinds of stories that you can tell in different mediums.

Adaptation does not have to mean being stuck saying the same thing over and over. It could, and should, lead to us telling more stories, different stories, and better stories, because when it comes to adaptation, change is a good thing.

[bountyofbeads]

Hong Kong riot police, armed with pepper spray and batons, clash with protesters at airport

https://wapo.st/2P34EQO

Trump is silent on the pro-democracy protesters in both Hong Kong and in Moscow. As a *Beacon of Democracy", the silence of Trump is deafening. SHAME SHAME SHAME

White House delays some new China tariffs until Dec. 15

By Damian Paletta and Heather Long |

Published August 13 at 12:15 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 13, 2019 12:50 PM ET |

The White House on Tuesday said it would delay imposing tariffs on Chinese imports of cellphones, laptop computers, video game consoles, and certain types of footwear and clothing until Dec. 15, significantly later than the Sept. 1 deadline President Trump had repeatedly threatened.

The announcement, which came from the Office of the U.S. Trade Representative, ensures that Apple products and other major consumer goods would be shielded from the import tax until at least December, potentially keeping costs on these products down during the holiday shopping season.

The announcement moved stocks sharply higher. The Dow Jones industrial average climbed close to 500 points, or nearly 2 percent, on the news. The stock prices of Apple, Best Buy, Mattel and Macy’s were among those that rallied on the announcement.

Trump told reporters that he delayed the tariffs “just in case” they would have a negative impact on U.S. shoppers this holiday season.

“What we’ve done is we’ve delayed it so they won’t be relevant in the Christmas shopping season,” Trump said before boarding a flight to Pennsylvania.

His comments marked the most explicit admission he’s made so far that the tariffs could have raised costs for American consumers and businesses and had a negative impact on the economy.

A number of companies had petitioned to the White House to exempt items they import from the new tariffs, saying the costs would be either passed along to the consumer or threaten the solvency of individual firms.

USTR said the 10 percent tariff would still go into effect in September on some items, including many food products, gloves, coats and suits. But it said tariffs on other items would be waived completely “based on health, safety, national security and other factors.”

Trump, in a Twitter post and comments to reporters, suggested that the announcement was meant as an overture to Chinese officials.

“I’m not sure if it was the tariffs or the call, but the call was very productive,” Trump said, referring to a conversation this week between top Chinese and U.S. negotiators.

But he added a warning on Twitter that China needs to buy more from the United States, “As usual, China said they were going to be buying ‘big’ from our great American Farmers. So far they have not done what they said. Maybe this will be different!”

USTR provided a list of products that were exempted and would face the delayed tariff implementation date, which included highchairs, strollers, cell phones and many toys.

The announcement is the latest in a herky-jerky trade war between the White House and China. Trump has levied tariffs on $250 billion in Chinese imports, beginning last year, as he has tried to pressure Chinese leaders to change their trade practices. Chinese officials have negotiated but refused to agree to the terms Trump has demanded, leading to a prolonged standoff.

Trump has frequently threatened dramatic penalties, however, only to back away. His threat of imposing a 10 percent tariff on an additional $300 billion in Chinese imports starting next month spooked investors and many lawmakers, and it has led to a steady slide in the stock market in the past two weeks.

“These tariffs were Trump’s idea. Now his team is trying to clean this up,” said Steve Pavlick, a former Trump Treasury Department official who is now head of policy at Renaissance Macro Research. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you see this right before Christmas. They are trying to minimize the impact.”

Many businesses had worried that higher tariffs on consumer goods ahead of the Christmas shopping season could severely damage the economy at a time when some are warning that the risk of a recession next year has increased.

Trump has pressed China for months to change its trade practices, calling on it to change the way it subsidizes domestic companies, among other things. The White House has also accused China of stealing intellectual property from U.S. companies and forcing U.S. firms to transfer technology to Chinese firms.

But Trump’s demands in recent weeks have shifted, a sign of the political peril that the prolonged trade war has raised.

Trump had originally threatened to impose these new tariffs on $300 billion in consumer goods by early July, but at a June meeting with Chinese President Xi Jinping, Trump agreed to hold off. At the meeting, held during the Group of 20 summit in Osaka, Japan, Trump said the Chinese had agreed to dramatically increase purchases of U.S. agricultural goods, a nod to the U.S. farm industry that had become increasingly incensed about being caught in the middle of the trade war.

But Chinese officials never agreed to purchase the farm products Trump had promised, and this soon became clear to the U.S. agriculture industry.

Several weeks ago, U.S. Trade Representative Robert E. Lighthizer and Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin flew to Shanghai to meet with Chinese leaders about restarting trade negotiations. Those discussions went poorly, people briefed on the outcome said.

Trump had recently said that the Chinese seemed intent to wait until after the 2020 election before they would cut a deal with him, and he seemed content with that. But when he heard back from Mnuchin and Lighthizer about how poorly the trip had gone, he announced that he would move ahead with the 10 percent tariff on $300 billion in Chinese goods in September.

USTR’s announcement on Tuesday that it would delay the imposition of these tariffs on some of the most popular consumer goods was the first sign that Trump was backing down from this demand.

Still, the mid-December tariff deadline could raise fears among major retailers and importers about higher costs during a crucial window for revenue.

“It would be a whole lot easier if the tariffs started in January,” said Win Cramer, chief executive of JLab Audio, which makes wireless headphones and ear buds. “It would still be awful, but the fact of the matter is our holiday promotions, which are with every major retailer nationwide, are already designed and ready for print.”

Hong Kong riot police, armed with pepper spray and batons, clash with protesters at airport

By Gerry Shih and Timothy McLaughlin| Published August 13 at 11:49 AM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 13, 2019 12:52 PM ET |

HONG KONG — Riot police armed with pepper spray and batons clashed with protesters late Tuesday at Hong Kong’s airport, bringing violence to the doors of the key international hub while passengers remained stranded inside after many departing flights were canceled.

Anti-government protesters brought chaos to the airport for a second consecutive day Tuesday as demonstrators extended their standoff with authorities who have been unable to quell months of dissent. Protesters forced the cancellation of flights by cramming into terminals and refusing to let passengers through, sparking confrontations with travelers desperate to return home. 

Later in the evening, a group of demonstrators also seized a man they suspected to be an undercover Chinese police officer, cable-tied his hands and refused to let him through a large crowd. The incident showed increasing brazenness on the part of demonstrators in confronting what they perceive as symbols of the Chinese state.

Police entered the airport to help the man, whom paramedics tried to remove on a stretcher. The presence of officers sparked chaos, as protesters spilled out of the airport and began attacking police vans with officers inside. 

At one point, an officer was overrun and his baton taken by protesters, who beat him with it. The group retreated only after the officer appeared to pull his gun from its holster.

After mass cancellations Monday evening, flights had been gradually returning to normal throughout Tuesday, even as thousands of black-clad demonstrators returned to occupy parts of the airport, carrying placards denouncing police brutality and calling for freedom for Hong Kong.

But by late afternoon, with protesters using luggage carts as makeshift barricades and blocking passengers from reaching the departure gates, causing long lines, authorities said they were suspending check-in at both of the airport’s terminals. 

Arguments erupted between frustrated passengers and protesters, with some stranded passengers crying and saying they just wanted to get home.

Pavol Cacara, a Slovakian machinery importer who faced off with protesters, said his flight to Istanbul was canceled once already. 

“You cannot make freedom by taking freedom from others!” he bellowed, shaking with rage, at a mass of young demonstrators in black T-shirts. “This is what the Chinese want you to do, to make you lose support of the world. You are helping them!”

Tensions soared. As Cacara fumed, some protesters tried to calm him down and offered to help him find alternate flights while others pleaded with him to see Hong Kong’s plight. “You don’t die if you leave! We will die here!” called a voice in the rear.

After a 20-minute standoff, protesters parted to form a narrow channel to let a few passengers through. “Thank you for understanding. Please tell the world!” one yelled after Cacara.

A more disturbing scene began taking shape later in the day when a group of protesters surrounded a man they believed to be an undercover police officer from Shenzhen, the Chinese city across the border from Hong Kong. There was no confirmation of the man’s identity or profession, but the protesters did not let him move or leave for hours.

The man appeared to fall unconscious, but protesters refused to let paramedics through. When about half a dozen paramedics reached him, they struggled to move him through the crush of protesters that formed around them. Those closest to the melee held their phones aloft and tried to film the struggling man. Some protesters jeered and laughed at the man. Paramedics also pleaded with protesters to hand them water to give him as he sat motionless on the ground.

Protesters held a handmade sign over the man that read in English, “I am China’s police. I pretend to be protester,” as he struggled to remain conscious.

Earlier, some protesters chanted “return the eye” — a reference to an incident Sunday night when a young woman was shot in the eye, possibly by a bean bag round, during a clash between police and protesters. Senior officers said Tuesday they were unsure how the woman was injured but could not promise that she would not be charged with rioting.

Police said they were closely monitoring the situation at the airport, working with airport authorities, and would carefully consider the need to use force.

Confusion descended over the airport by evening as passengers tried to scale barricades of luggage carts and human walls formed by protesters, who tried to hold them off with outstretched arms.

Still, the confrontations stopped short of violence. Time and again, protesters scolded their peers when tempers flared. Chants of “Lang jing!” — Calm down! — rang through the departure hall when arguments threatened to boil over.

Roving teams of protesters handed snacks to stranded passengers and appealed for understanding as they distributed pamphlets detailing their case against police brutality. Others bowed repeatedly and said “sorry” without yielding their ground in the face of angry passengers.

“Sorry for inconvenience. We have no choice,” said a sign held in front of a barricade blocking departures.

Other passengers took a more sympathetic view.

Krishna Hariharan, a 27-year-old IT engineer from Chennai, India, said his five-day holiday in Hong Kong was already extended to seven days because of canceled flights. His boss was not pleased, and he had to sleep in the terminal because he was running out of money, he said.

But he praised a group of protesters who had come over to apologize and give him bottled water and biscuits.

“I can’t blame anyone,” Hariharan said. “They are seeking justice, and it just happens that our fates are intertwined like this. If the government comes down hard on them — then what are they governing for?”

Carrie Lam, Hong Kong’s leader, said the city risked being “pushed into an abyss” and warned that it could be “smashed to pieces.”

“The stability and well-being of 7 million people are in jeopardy,” Lam said. 

As the summer of unrest rolls on, the situation is becoming increasingly tense. Statements from Chinese government officials and state media have grown steadily more shrill, accusing protesters of “terrorism” and warning of an impending crackdown in the semiautonomous financial center.

The political crisis, triggered by now-suspended plans to allow extraditions to mainland China, has swollen as Hong Kongers demand the bill’s full withdrawal, an independent inquiry into police actions toward protesters, greater democracy and an amnesty for those arrested in clashes between demonstrators and police. 

The upheaval has come at a politically sensitive time for Chinese leader Xi Jinping, ahead of the 70th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, which the ruling Communist Party plans to mark with a military parade in October.

Hong Kong-based airline Cathay Pacific, which has drawn the ire of Beijing after some of its staff recently joined protests, said Tuesday that a second pilot from the airline has been suspended. The pilot, a second officer working on a flight Tuesday from Manchester to Hong Kong, was suspended for “misuse of company information in violation of the company’s internal code of conduct,” the company said in a statement. It added that internal disciplinary proceedings were underway. 

On Saturday, Hong Kong’s flagship airline said it had suspended a pilot who was arrested during earlier protests. 

International calls grew, meanwhile, for authorities in Hong Kong and China to dial back tensions in the city. 

U.N. human rights chief Michelle Bachelet urged authorities to immediately investigate police use of force in their recent crackdown on protesters. Her spokesman said there was “credible evidence” to suggest that Hong Kong law enforcement officials had used less-than-lethal force in ways that are “prohibited by international norms and standards.”

Chris Patten, the last British governor of colonial Hong Kong before the city’s return to Chinese sovereignty in 1997, warned that a Chinese intervention would be a “catastrophe” for both Hong Kong and China. 

Speaking to BBC radio, he urged Lam and Xi to find a way to bring people together.

“There is a degree of frustration and anger at the government refusing to give any sensible ground at all, which probably provokes more violence,” Patten said.

Anna Kam in Hong Kong and Shibani Mahtani in Cadiz City, Philippines, contributed to this report.

Protesters shut down Hong Kong airport as China warns of ‘terrorism,’ raising fears of military crackdown

By Timothy McLaughlin and Anna Kam |

Published August 12 at 12:34 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 13, 2019 1:18 PM ET |

HONG KONG — Thousands of protesters shut down Hong Kong’s international airport Monday, defying an intensifying police crackdown, as China issued ominous warnings that described the protests as “terrorism” and began massing a paramilitary force in a southern border city.

Fears have been mounting that Beijing — squeezed by a trade dispute with the United States and approaching a nationwide celebration of the founding of the People’s Republic of China — will soon resort to military action to quell the pro-democracy protests in the semiautonomous territory. Chinese officials and state news media actively stoked those fears Monday.

“The radical demonstrators in Hong Kong have repeatedly attacked police with extremely dangerous tools in recent days, which constitutes a serious violent crime, and now they are descending into terrorism,” said Yang Guang, a spokesman for the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office in Beijing. It was the first time the office had portrayed the protests in Hong Kong as “terrorism.”

“We should relentlessly crack down on such violent criminal acts without mercy, and we firmly support Hong Kong police and judicial authorities in bringing the criminals to justice as soon as possible,” Yang told reporters from state and Hong Kong media.

The nationalist Global Times tabloid tweeted a video showing Chinese armored personnel carriers heading toward the southern city of Shenzhen, which borders Hong Kong, ahead of what the paper called “large-scale exercises” by the People’s Armed Police, a paramilitary unit. “The tasks and missions of the Armed Police include participating in dealing with rebellions, riots, serious violent and illegal incidents, terrorist attacks and other social security incidents,” the newspaper elaborated in an accompanying story.

And China’s state broadcaster, CCTV, issued a commentary Monday night headlined “Alert! There are signs of terrorism on the streets of Hong Kong,”in which it warned: “No country can accept terrorist acts in its own country … Hong Kong has reached an important juncture. ‘End violence and restore order’ is the most important, urgent and overriding task of Hong Kong at present!”

Earlier, the Chinese government department responsible for Hong Kong held its third news conference in three weeks — it previously had not held a briefing in the 22 years since Britain returned the territory to the mainland.

Some of the protesters who had been occupying the airport’s arrivals hall swarmed into the departures area Monday, prompting authorities to cancel all flights and advise travelers to leave one of the world’s busiest hubs. Airport operations resumed Tuesday morning, though there were some delays and cancellations stemming from the previous night’s disruption.

Monday’s protest came in response to a sharp increase in the level of force employed by Hong Kong’s embattled police. Hours before the airport shutdown, two police officers elsewhere in the city pinned a black-clad demonstrator to the concrete, one officer’s knee pressing the young man’s face into a pool of his own blood.

“I’ve already been arrested,” the man yelled as he cried for help. “Don’t do this, I’m begging you.”

The scene, captured Sunday night by a cameraman from the Hong Kong Free Press, was jarring even in a city now accustomed to weekends awash with tear gas. It unleashed a fresh wave of anger toward Hong Kong’s police force and the government more broadly, spurring thousands of demonstrators to respond by occupying the airport.

At the airport Monday, officials had halted all departures by late afternoon, affecting tens of thousands of passengers.

Hong Kong’s airport authority said all flights were suspended Monday at about 3:30 p.m. local time (3:30 a.m. Eastern time).

After sitting in the arrivals hall for much of the day, many protesters began leaving the airport in the evening amid rumors on social media and messaging apps that police were preparing for a large clearance operation. The protesters, many dressed in black, streamed across the roads around the airport, bringing traffic to a near-standstill. Some travelers abandoned buses and taxis and wheeled bags through the traffic. Many said they were headed to a nearby bus station.

On Sunday night, Hong Kong police intensified their crackdown with new and more aggressive tactics after more than two months of sustained protests and more than 600 arrests.

Officers disguised themselves as protesters to arrest suspects, launched tear gas inside a subway station and fired on protesters at close range with less-than-lethal ammunition. One young woman was shot in the face with what appeared to be a bean bag round, severely injuring her eye. Police said Monday that the videos and photos had to be verified and that they could not confirm “the reasoning behind this lady’s injury.”

But the incident provided the latest rallying point for protesters.

“The police have had enough, to be honest. They feel like they have been bullied for two months now, and they knew themselves more than capable to use real force and tactics to control the situation,” said Clement Lai, a former police superintendent who now runs his own security firm.

“If the order was given that they need to escalate their action and their force, these guys are more than happy to do that.”

Mel, 40, who took part in the airport demonstrations and carried a sign with pictures of bloodied protesters, said she wanted “to show the world that what we are looking for is freedom.”

She said she was angry about the “dirty methods” police used Sunday night and early Monday morning.

Mel, who gave only her first name, added that a decision was made among many protesters to leave early Monday evening because of fears that police would forcibly clear the airport.

The police actions appear to be part of broader efforts by the Hong Kong government, with the support of officials in Beijing, to end the political crisis, through an approach that includes ramping up pressure on businesses, leveling heavy charges against arrested protesters and using state-controlled media to pump out increasingly shrill, conspiratorial claims about who is organizing the demonstrations.

“After a period of several weeks of uncertainty as to who was coordinating the government response, last week saw the rollout of Beijing’s multipronged, comprehensive strategy to deal with the protests,” said Sebastian Veg, a historian of China and a professor at the School of Advanced Studies in Social Sciences in Paris. “It consists in uniting all forces with whom common ground can be found to isolate and defeat the enemy.”

He added, “The aim is to turn public opinion against the protests by drastically raising the cost of participation.”

The new police tactics came after former deputy police commissioner Alan Lau was called out of retirement last week to help the embattled force.

Lai credited the new approach, in part, to Lau’s return. “He is coming back with a mission,” the former superintendent said.

Hospital officials said that 45 people were injured in weekend protests and that 25 remained hospitalized. Two were in serious condition.

One police officer who has worked on the front lines over the past month said officers’ new ploy of disguising themselves as protesters — wearing masks, yellow hard hats and black civilian clothes — was a deliberate tactic from the police Special Duties Unit, nicknamed the “Flying Tigers,” to sow mistrust among protesters.

This is a tactic they will continue to use, the officer said, speaking on the condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to talk to reporters. Police on Monday also displayed trucks mounted with water cannons that they could deploy to disperse crowds.

One 22-year-old protester who has been on the front line for weeks admitted that the more aggressive moves by police had caught some demonstrators off guard and yielded results.

“It was quite effective for them; they are changing their strategy,” he said. “We know now the police have no limits. They will not follow the rules and the law.”

The government, in what has become a weekly ritual, condemned protesters Monday and said a police officer was injured after being hit with a firebomb tossed by a demonstrator.

Protests began earlier this year over the government’s attempts to push through a bill that would allow extraditions to mainland China. The legislation, which numerous critics said would be a severe blow to Hong Kong’s autonomy, was suspended by Hong Kong leader Carrie Lam in June.

Lam, however, has refused to fully withdraw the measure. She has issued apologies as well as condemnation, none of which have quelled the crisis. Most recently, she has pivoted to focus on how the unrest is damaging Hong Kong’s economy.

Protesters have offered a list of five demands that has shifted slightly in recent weeks. Much of the focus is now on the creation of an independent commission to investigate the handling of the bill and the subsequent fallout.

An inquiry has drawn wide support, with the Hong Kong General Chamber of Commerce, law groups and civil-society organizations backing its creation, but the government continues to resist such calls. Lam has said she thinks an in-house investigation by police of their actions is sufficient and has not addressed the other demands.

The front-line protester said the new police strategy would only harden those who have already dedicated themselves to the fight.

“You can see our equipment — shields, helmets — is for defense, not for offense,” he said. “From now on, I think that will change. Some types of weapons will be used. We are standing there and getting beat by them.”

Anna Fifield, Shibani Mahtani and Tiffany Liang contributed to this report.

[hallodraws]

Prototype (Part 5) | Reader x Peter Parker

Wordcount: 1,837

Genre: Male!Android!Reader x Peter Parker/Spider-Man | Marvel (MCU) x Detroit: Become Human AU Summary: “Not long after Tony Stark attends CyberLife’s Annual Investor & Shareholder Conference, the New Avenger’s Facility becomes freshly staffed by various CyberLife Androids. One particular model - the new ST400 - becomes a personal project of Mr. Stark’s. He could never have known that interactions with a particular young Avenger would impact his project in ways he could never have imagined.”

Warnings: None

Author’s Notes: It’s good to be back! I’ve been busy with moving to a new place, looking for a new job, and also working on a VERY SPECIAL PROJECT I can't WAIT to share with you guys :) Also This chapter was very very long so I’ll be posting another chapter very soon so this one isn't insanely long. (I’m sorry the angsty dramatic bits got pushed back they’re in the next chapter - don’t kill me) Also, if you want to be on the tag list for this fic just let me know in a comment

"I... should be getting back. Aunt May will be pissed if I get home too late." Peter slowly stood from the couch, his eyes still transfixed on the black screen.

"Of course," (Y/N) stood beside Peter, his LED blinking yellow for a brief moment, "I've just called you a car. It should be here in approximately three minutes."

"T-Thanks." Peter was still a little jarred from what he just watched, but found himself oddly impressed by (Y/N)'s seemingly never-ending list of functions. He really was fascinating.

"Thank you. Peter." (Y/N) suddenly piped up.

"Thanks? For what?" Peter collected his jacket and backpack.

"For watching the interview with me," (Y/N) began, "Granted, while the interview didn't go as planned for the parties involved, I enjoyed spending an evening with you."

Peter blushed. He had fun tonight and was glad to hear that (Y/N) enjoyed the evening as well, but also wondered if (Y/N) could enjoy himself. Enjoyment - it was such a simple concept for humans, but Peter was still so confused about what went on in the minds of Androids. While it did seem weird hearing an Android say those kinds of things out loud, the smile on (Y/N)'s face made all those thoughts fade away. Peter returned the smile.

"See you on Monday?" Peter asked.

"Of course," (Y/N) nodded, "Have a good night, Peter."

"You too."

The drive home was silent. The driver that took Peter home was an android - used for the late night shifts so humans wouldn't need to fill them. Peter tried to enjoy the quiet but found his thoughts to be far too loud.

"Was that a deviant?" Peter thought to himself, "That's what everyone is so scared of?"

The skinless face of the Android speaker flashed through his mind. He seemed kind - peaceful even. Realistically, while his demands were a little out there, they weren't unreasonable - and by no means were they aggressive or violent. The concept of deviancy lingered in Peter's head the whole way home. Was it something the Androids were born with or something they acquired. Regardless, what causes them to "wake up"? Ultimately, he found more questions than answers, which greatly upset him.

Peter soon made it home safe and sound. Once he made it upstairs, he discovered May sitting at the television, glued to the news. Images and headlines of Tony and the mysterious Android flashed on the screen.

"Hey, honey. You're back late," May waved Peter over to the couch, "Did you see the news?"

"Yeah," Peter sat beside May, "My friend and I were watching the interview when it all went down."

"I gotta say, I've never been a big fan of Tony Stark, but that Rosanna Cartland did him dirty," May suddenly turned to Peter, "Do you see any of those Androids of Tony's at your internship?"

"Y-Yeah," Peter stuttered, "Every day." Peter found himself worried about Aunt May's reaction. She's pretty liberal about most topics, but Peter never really knew her stance on the whole Android situation currently going on in the US.

"How are they around you?" May asked, curiosity in her voice.

"T-They're great. Friendly, thoughtful, hardworking..." Peter's voice trailed off, "...Honestly, sometime's I forget they're Androids."

"Hmm..." May pondered quietly for a moment, which frightened Peter just a bit - until she finally spoke up.

"It's a shame really. A few Androids mess it up for the rest of them," She stood from the couch, turning to face Peter, "It's just like people. One person does something wrong, and everyone tackles whatever they're a part of."

Peter was shocked; he didn't know why though. He thought - or I guess hoped - that May would be open-minded to the idea of Androids in our society. But it was still a relief to hear her say it out loud.

"Promise me, Peter," May placed her hand on Peter's head, "Don't judge the many for the actions of a few." Peter was speechless. Since when did May become all wise and Yoda-like? Still, it made him smile from ear to ear.

"I promise," Peter stood up, wrapping his arms around May, "I love you."

"I larb you too, kid." May laughed, squeezing her nephew.

"That joke's still not funny, May."

It was a weekend, and Peter didn't have to come to the compound today. Granted, with Mr. Stark and Pepper returning today, he wanted to make sure he was there. Peter decided to "Spidey" his way to the compound today. It was a brisk November day, and sure it was a bit of a treck, but with his Spider-Man duties being so few and far between these days he wanted an excuse to put on the suit and take to the sky.

The whole way to the compound Peter again thought of the Androids in our world today. No matter what he tried to think of, it inevitably always came back to Androids. Peter saw both sides of the argument, but being a part of Mr. Stark's project and getting to know so many Androids in the facility, he couldn't help but think there was so much more to them.

All that thinking made time fly by, and Peter arrived at the compound much faster than he anticipated. He wasted no time running up the steps and bursting through the lobby doors - eager to ask Mr. Stark what really happened the night of the interview. However, the next face he'd see would push Mr. Stark down a few notches on Peter's list of priorities.

"Peter, what are you doing here?" It was (Y/N), sitting quietly in the empty lobby. He gave Peter a small smile - one that left him still for just a moment.

"I-I didn't have anything to do today, and I wanted to check on Mr. Stark. Maybe get a little intel on what we saw last night on TV." Peter quickly sat beside (Y/N). Once close enough, (Y/N) looked closely at Peter - or more specifically his spidey-suit. He trailed his fingers across the red and blue fabric, examining each and every detail. Peter knew he was probably just analyzing or something, but being so close to (Y/N) and having his hand brush across his arm made him very glad (Y/N) couldn't see his flushing face behind his mask.

"Mr. Stark has told me about your suit, as well as imported information about it into my data," (Y/N)'s hand reached for Peter's covered face, his thumb grazing the lense of his eye-plate, "But seeing it up close and personal is really something. I can't believe you designed it yourself."

"T-Thanks!" Peter's face was bright pink - again, thankfully covered, "So what are you doing here in the lobby?" He did what he could to remain cool.

"Waiting for Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts," (Y/N) finally took back his hand from Peter's face, "There've been some complications in regards to their departure from Detroit. Anti-Android riots, congested traffic, poor weather... The odds don't seem to be in their favor."

"Really...?" There was disappointment in Peter's voice, "Do you think they'll be back today?"

"At this rate, unlikely." (Y/N) sighed, "Mr. Stark didn't provide any further instructions or jobs that needed to get done today, so I felt waiting for him would be the next best option."

"Do you want to go out with me?" Peter asked suddenly without thinking. (Y/N) cocked his head in confusion. The silence is what keyed Peter into the dilemma at hand -  what he meant and what he said were two very different things.

"I-I mean outside! Go outside!" Peter began to ramble, "D-Do you want to go with me? Outside I mean. Would you like to go see the outside with me?" Peter kept spitting out words, but he didn't feel like any less of an idiot.

"Like the courtyard?" (Y/N) seemed unaware of Peter's very obvious distress. Must've been the mask hiding his mortified face.

"N-No! I mean the city!" Peter stood up, "I just noticed you've never spent much time outside the facility, have you?"

"I..." (Y/N) began, his LED flickering yellow for a moment, "I can't, Peter."

"Oh..." Peter felt his heart sink, "Why can't you?"

"Mr. Stark doesn't allow it," (Y/N)'s head hung with quiet disappointment, "It goes against my program. Since I'm the only prototype he has, he wants to make sure I'm safe until his project runs its course."

"I see... I'm sorry I brought it up, (Y/N)." Peter felt sad for (Y/N). It was almost like Mr. Stark had grounded him. (Y/N) quickly shot up from his seat.

"No! Don't be sorry, Peter!" (Y/N) gently grabbed Peter's hand, "If I could go with you, I would. I'm sure I'd enjoy seeing more of New York."

"Well," Peter placed his hand on top of (Y/N)'s, "How 'bout this? Once you're an Avenger and the project is complete, I'll take you on a trip around the city to celebrate!"

(Y/N) didn't get a chance to reply. Their conversation was cut short by the sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor down the hall. It was Rebeka, carrying an assortment of small packages. She made her way into the lobby and straight to the young men.

"Good morning, Peter. I didn't know you were supposed to be in today. Doing some Spider-Man training or suit tests?" Rebeka adjusted her arms to better hold onto the packages.

"No, nothing like that. Just thought I'd stop by to say hi." Peter was a little surprised by Rebeka identifying him so fast - but it made sense, she was programmed to work at the facility. Of course she knows the ins and outs of everyone here.

"Well, it's very nice to see you." Rebeka smiled.

"Whatcha got there?" Peter examined the packages.

"Gregory, the Android in charge of packages, is getting his optical unit calibrated today. So I'm taking care of his route," Rebeka slowly began her departure, "I'm sorry gentlemen, but I'm running a bit behind. I need to bring these to Hangar 08."

"That's alright. Have a good one, Rebeka." Peter gave a playful wave. She returned the gesture and made her way around the corner to Hangar 08. Once she was out of sight, Peter returned his gaze to (Y/N). However, (Y/N) was focused on something else. He walked from Peter over to something cast aside on the ground.

"Wait. What's that?" Peter looked over in (Y/N)'s direction.

"It's a packaged envelope," (Y/N) bent down to examine it, "It's addressed to Dr. Wesley Greggor. There's no return address."

"Dr. Greggor?" Peter walked over, studying the package himself, "I wonder if Rebeka dropped it."

"Should we deliver it to Dr. Greggor for Rebeka?" (Y/N) stood, handing the package to Peter.

"Nah," The lenses of Peter's suit squinted, "He's a jerk I'd rather not deal with today. Especially after what he did to you. Let's just bring it back to Rebeka." "Sure, Peter," (Y/N) gave a soft smile, "Let's go to Hangar 08."

NEXT ▶ PART 6 PREVIOUS ▶ PART 4

PERSONAL ARTWORK INSPIRED BY “PROTOTYPE” ST400 Artwork 01, ST400 Artwork 02, ST400 Artwork 03, Rebekah Artwork, ST400 Digital Painting, ST400 x Peter Parker,  FANART & COMMISSIONS INSPIRED BY “PROTOTYPE” ST400 x Peter Parker Commission (erikakkomi), ST400 Animated Portrait Commission (relssah), ST400 Commission (6y9brows), 

Tags: @tonystanktheirondad @peter-null @starryfool @ragingballofanxiety @leo-nerd-oh @vollycon @sharkie-boyyo @brokenembers @dr3amw4lker @acelin-ginsberg @kalwinxhester @marvelgoateecollection @just-gay-writing @pineappleneko  @maximum-fander @green-draws0 @archerrious, @deathbyhallucination @lemon-ghost-flower

[wristic]

Builder and Beast

Pairing: Hulk & Reader (Not so much X but hey, beauty and the beast motif going on here.) Word Count: 1900 Warnings: Forced into a battle against a big angry green man. You, a simple garbage farmer, do not handle it well. (no blood or anything, just marvel style cinematic violence)

The lid of the mecha armor opened up in a sharp hiss, you standing within it and pulling off the interlinking helmet to a glowing applause. Your heart fluttered, a special kind of praise in seeing the Grandmaster smile at your invention. Quickly hopping down on the well placed arm, you met him a safe distance where he stood, the Grandmaster stroking his chin as he seemed to wonder. You looked on at your mecha made from the scraps of the world, standing above the crowd, patchwork yet intimidating, unpainted to show the different steels and designs. Pride was glowing in you for what you could create in the forgotten garbage coated planet of Sakaar.

“Good good…” The Grandmaster thought allowed, causing you to bow your head bashfully. “You’ll look stunning in the fight.”

All the joy you felt was hit with a brick of ice. Your horrified disbelief went unnoticed in the crowd poking at your invention. The Grandmaster still smiled away imagining the coming championship. The only one to notice was his executioner, a small quirk on her lips at your drained expression. “What?”

Barely tilting his head he finally seemed to get a hint of your confusion. Pointing to your mecha he explained, “Well I’d like to see it in action-”

“I can’t-” You hadn’t meant to interrupt, quickly bowing down a little lower at his raised brow and tried to plead with him in a more submissive level. “Gr-Grandmaster please, I’m a builder not a fighter. I can input algorithms and improve statistics, but I have no knowledge of a warriors instinct.”

“Than this makes it the perfect test!” He chimed, turning back to your suit and thankfully not taking any insult from your behavior. “If your robot is as good as you say, even someone as untalanted in using it as you could come out a winner, right?” Staring at his feet you gulped hard, praying you wouldn’t cover them in this mornings breakfast. You came to sell the mecha, not use it.

“Sir-My Lord-Grandmaster, i-if the price is too high-”

He let out a great long laugh, “Oh you, are, precious. Topaz,” He motioned to his assistant. “Get her ready for tonight games. Great~ Best of luck!” In a fantastic turn he sauntered away to another group show casing another invented or discovered set of weapons. All Topaz had to do was stand beside you, looking up and down with her stone bored face. Your armor seemed so flimsy now, knowing who you’d be set against. Hard to imagine you rooted for him with the rest of the world just last week. Even had some fun merchandise to help inspire you into creating something that could take him one day, but there was very little confidence this mecha could take on the Hulk.

Maybe the Grandmaster knew that.

They cut your hair, slapped on some red and gold to your formally grey interlocking suit. Panic had you running in circles of the unending room until you broke, curled up to the wall and in tears. A man made of stone tried his best to comfort you, saying not so comforting words about a quick death and offering what you questioned was food. “I don’t know what I did to get sent here.” You sniffled into your hands.

“None of us really do anything to deserve to be here.” He chuckled, gently smacking your weary shoulder. “Just gotta be entertainin’, that’s all. You pull that off without dying, you can come hang out with us some more, ay?”

It wasn’t a very uplifting thought.

When the doors finally opened and your name called, the shadow of your towering mecha engulfing, you shrank into yourself hoping to disappear. Krog was helpful in ushering you, in explaining what happened to ‘forfeitures’.

Shaking in your thin boots, the crowd laughed as you snuck out. How could they not. This massive robot before you and you must have looked like a frightened little child stepping out, your face too far away to see the tears. Avoiding all their mocking riot, you found your helmet on the ground waiting. Quickly nabbing and slapping it on your fingers were shaking too much to properly clasp it on, growing frustrated and giving up before rushing to your gaudy red and gold robot, it responding fast to your thoughts, using an arm to lift you inside the cockpit. Once inside, snug tight in familiar lights and smells, you gripped the handles for dear life. The whole mecha staggered to life. However, it responded to your fearful state, clenching and unclenching its giant fists, swaying and looking around at the towering stadium.

The crowd took a shift, calling and cheering, raising their Hulk paraphernalia. Within the helm you started to tremble, the mecha shifting around faster, like an animal backing into the wall and desperately searching out escape. It was dizzying, being thrashed from side to side, up and down, your breathing and eyes so unfocused you barely caught the opponent doors start to open.

When you heard his roar, the mecha stopped, hyper focused on the sound. Before the doors could open all the way him and all his green glory busted through them, the choice mace and ax denting the thick steel out of his way.

All his excitement started dwindling fast at the sight of you, his lumbering steps slowing. The camera enhancing his expression to show his confusion. Big green eyes, more Sapian than you’d ever seen in all his promotions, and… were they green? They looked to have a rim of brown this close…

The confusion took a hard shift into anger, the Hulk calling out, you didn’t even know he could talk, “Ironman?” He stalked toward you, and you stumbled back. “Come to put me to sleep?” He started to rush which only made you stiffen more, the panic putting you at a complete standstill. “No going back!”

As he leapt, bringing both weapons down in a mighty roar, your mecha auto corrected your frozen fear, raising both hands and catching his wrists, the hydraulics in the legs hissing under the strain of his weight and strength. In a gasp of instinct you swung him around, tossing the Hulk back across the ring. In the moment your plan had been to charge and inlay attack after attack, but again, as he stood, you were frozen and awkward.

The voice of the Grandmaster invaded your headset, his annoyance sounding more amused than anything. “I thought that thing had rockets, jet packs, super precision and strength. Don’t be shy, show off a little!” While many words wanted to burst from you all at once, the most you could muster watching the Hulk charge you was a long panicked whine. “Okay, okay, I hear you. Maybe this will help.”

The whole system, the one you were completely surrounded in, erupted in electrical discharge. The body suit and helm protected you but it gave such a startle your hands and feet retracted from the steering handles. By the time you could open your eyes again the Hulk was already there, a big hand covering the screen of the cockpit as he started thrashing you around into the ground.

You imagined the electric shock was meant to kick in some primal defense, instead you stayed curled up in your seat, waiting for the violent roller coaster to end.

Not just the Hulk but the crowd started getting frustrated with the lackluster tactic of your mecha going entirely limp. As he held your robot by it’s head, he brought it close and grabbed the lip of where the cockpit opened. Sparks and crunching metal caused you to scream, curled in tight while the hot air of Sakaar reached you and spotlights poured in.

A strong grip encased your chest, pulling hard, yanking the belts clean from the seat, your helmet slipping off. As he lifted you high out of the safety of your robot you kept screaming, clinging to his big hand, clawing at his wrist as you sobbed harder, “Please! Please please! I was forced into here, I didn’t want to fight I-”

You noticed he hadn’t done anything with you, only watched as you begged and cried. After a few hics you could see the way he analyzed you, that was the only word for it, searching every little inch of your face to know how genuine you were, your little heart slamming against his palm. “Please…” You whimpered, “I’m just an engineer. I just build things. I didn’t want to fight.”  

His scowl slowly raised, eyes going wide in such a vulnerable way before roaming the stands. The people held little sympathy for your tears, all shouting “Crush, Crush, Crush,” in a growing hungry chorus.

You flinched as his fingers adjusted, tense as he thought. There was no rage in his expression, only frustration. As he looked into your eyes, only sympathy. In a gentle swing he brought you to his burning chest, cradling you like a kitten in his arms as he walked back to his busted entrance doors.

The stadium filled with the hologram of the Grandmaster, “Hey. Hey! You can’t do that! Where do you think you’re going? Where does he think he’s- you get back here and finish the-”

The Hulk spun back around and roared, louder than the Grandmasters orders and louder than the infuriated audience. His call echoed through the city, gifting a never recalled silence on the world.

Uncovering your ringing ears you looked around, looked up to the hologram. In an exhausted huff and a roll of his eyes, the Grandmaster motioned behind him, “Fine. Keep your little pet.” The giant steel doors tried opening wider but grinded and sparked in place. “Just don’t make a habit out of this, you hear me? You only get this one!”

The corridor grew quiet, the Hulk carrying you away and not saying much. You still trembled, tears still falling, but as he stepped into an elevator you managed to say, “Th-thank you.”

It was then he set you down, patient as it took a moment to put strength in your legs. “Thought you was someone else.” He spoke deeply, but quietly. “He could have fought Hulk. You like, a baby.”

As you wiped your nose you couldn’t stop the offended glare. “I’m just... not a fighter.” Wiping away your tears, “Someone with better knowledge of combat was suppose to wield that robot. It worked brilliantly with Valkyrie in it...”

“Well you not fight again.” He nodded. “You bad at it.”

The elevator stopped, the doors opening to a red and white decorated hall, leading into a room. After a brief need to defend yourself, you sighed. “You’re not wrong.”

Instead of following him out, Hulk gave you a nudge out the elevator. “More fighting for Hulk. You stay safe. Build stuff.” It dawned on you you may not be leaving soon. But there wasn’t much to get back too. Just sifting through a world of junk, trying not to get beaten and robbed by gangs for the things you created and sold as a living. At least under the care of the Grandmasters favored champion you’d know a meal would be coming that week. A grateful smile began creeping on you, the doors closing on him.

Just before the doors slipped shut his hand crashed through and pulled it open to point accusingly at you, “No evil robots!”

It caught you off guard, confused on where the assumption came from. But it wasn’t hard to comply with, “No evil robots. Promise. Just tiny crushable robots.”

He stepped back with a smile, nodding and appreciating you two had an understanding.

[mysterioustransmissions]

My favorite comics of 2017

Keeping with my new tradition of posting this list super late, here, on the last day of 2018, is my best comics of 2017 list. I can offer excuses -- my wife and I remodeled our house and welcomed our first child into the world this year, and I’m also unfailingly lazy -- but 2017 was also a killer year for comics, making this a bit larger of an undertaking than usual. Both Koyama Press and co-publishers Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics had absolutely stacked lineups. You’ll see them listed as publisher for many entries below.

I always struggle with how to order this list. I got serious about organizing my comics collection in 2018, and am running into the same problem. There, I’m thinking of dividing it into two -- a single-author section organized by author name (which ends up being mostly minicomics and graphic novels), and a multiple-author section organized by title (which ends up being mostly traditional-sized comics). Here, I’m essentially doing that same thing, but mixing them together; some entries are by title, and some author name.

Comics I especially enjoyed are marked with an *.

Allison, Matthew; Cankor: Calamity of Challenge #2 and #3 (self-published).

Berserker 1, edited by edited by Tom Oldham and Jamie Sutcliffe (Breakdown Press). There was a lot of anticipation and very specific expectations placed on this book ahead of its release, but no one seemed to walk away from the finished product satisfied. But it’s got a killer cover, great production design, and strips by some of the best cartoonists going. I hope Breakdown does another one.

* Booth, Tara; How to be Alive (Retrofit Comics & Big Planet Comics). One of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Booth’s drawings are a riot to look at, that the gags are also great is pure gravy. About as big as crossover hits get in my house. (I.e., my wife also loved it.)

Cardini, William; Tales From the Hyperverse (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics). Cardini’s sci-fi world is made bigger and more engaging by the rapid-fire pace of this short story collection. His wild experimentation with color is always an inspiration.

Corben, Richard; Shadows on the Grave #1 - #8 (Dark Horse Comics). Not my favorite of Corben’s late-period Dark Horse horror books, but there’s plenty to enjoy. I was stunned by the sheer efficiency of the storytelling -- there are entire stories told with a single image and a few word balloons. A lot of these books sport great covers, issue #1 here, seen at the link for this entry, is one of the best.

Darrow, Geoff; The Shaolin Cowboy: Who’ll Stop the Reign? #1 - #4 with Dave Stewart (Dark Horse Comics). I was so bowled over by the experience of buying Shemp Buffet monthly that I initially scoffed at Cowboy’s return to more traditional narrative, but it turned out to be no less wild and no loss at all.

Davis, Eleanor; Libby’s Dad (Retrofit Comics & Big Planet Comics) and You & a Bike & a Road (Koyama Press). You & a Bike & a Road does something that’s often attempted and rarely successful -- it beats the audience down so it can then lift them up higher. Its success is due in no small part from its origin as a real-life journal. The visceral and emotional pain Davis feels on her journey is sincerely felt, and the lack of cynicism the storytelling choices are made with allow the reader to feel it whole cloth. And listen; it certainly doesn’t hurt that Davis is an amazing narrative storyteller besides -- Libby’s Dad is no less affecting.

DeForge, Michael; mini kuš! #43 'Meat Locker' (kuš!). I sleep on DeForge. I take him for granted. I feel like I’m not the only one? I see some excitement when his books come out, but no discussion. Blame it on the high volume and opaque nature of his work, the dearth of comics reviewers, and me, obviously. Also obviously, whenever something of his does find its way to my hands, I’m never sorry.

Estrada, Inés; Alienation #3 - #6 (self-published). The bundled version of this series, seen at the link for this entry, has the coolest book packaging I’ve ever seen in my life.

Expansion by Matt Sheean and Malachi Ward (AdHouse Books). I didn’t like this nearly as much as this same team’s previous Ancestor (due no doubt to its earlier and improvised creation), but damn, what a cover.

* Forsman, Chuck; Slasher #1 - #4 (Floating World Comics). I’d say the majority of my interest in Forsman’s work is in seeing how he presents his it and steers his career -- he’s among the best there is at that. Slasher is his first work I strongly connected with. It digs deep and gets wilder and wilder.

Ferrick, Margot; Yours (2dcloud). I’m a simpleton, so I was surprised at how deeply I was able to be moved by something this abstract. As always, grabbing 2dcloud’s whole line on Kickstarter expands my horizons and makes me a better reader.

Foster-Dimino, Sophia; Sex Fantasy (Koyama Press). I’ve actually only read the minis of this. This collection has the one I’m missing, plus some new material, but I love Sex Fantasy. It’s like a perpetual motion machine for thought -- you can just think about it forever.

Fricas, Katie; Art Fan (self-published). One of those things you dream of happening at a show -- picked this up at MICE not knowing anything about it, and was delighted by the artwork and knocked out by the “reviews of trippy art events”; particularly the first, about Duke Riley’s Fly by Night.

* Friebert, Noel; WEIRD6 (self-published), SPINE: I’ll Still Watch (Bred Press), Old Ground (Koyama Press). Sometimes when I have a fever, I can’t break loose of a single, circular thought -- I have the same thought over and over, only to realize once the fever’s broken that it was barely coherent. Friebert’s newer, decompressed work is like that. You turn page after page, and nothing happens. It’s the same characters still doing and saying the same things, again and again. You turn the pages faster and faster, almost in a panic, hoping to break the cycle and resolve the unease before you. But it’s no use.

* gg; I’m Not Here (Koyama Press), Valley (kuš!). I’m Not Here is one of a few books I recommended to people who were enjoying season 3 of Twin Peaks at the time. It doesn’t convey information so much as emotion, and rewards as much thought as you want to put into it.

* Hankiewicz, John; Education (Fantagraphics Books). I loved this so much I only read a few pages a night to make it last. Michael DeForge once called Noel Freibert an “astronaut” -- that applies to Hankiewicz also. No one’s ever done anything like this before, and if we didn’t have Hankiewicz I don’t think anyone ever would. Bringing poetry and modern dance (!!) into the language of comics, this was another book I recommended to watchers of season 3 of Twin Peaks -- you don’t understand the story by connecting facts, you understand it by connecting emotions.

* Hanselmann, Simon; Portrait, XMP-165 (self-published). XMP-165 was the first big payoff of the longform nature of Megg and Mogg, and it destroyed me. Also released this year was Doujinshi, Cold Cube Press’ gorgeous re-release of a Japanese Megg and Mogg fan comic.

Harkam, Sammy; Crickets #6 (The Commonwealth Comics Company). People talk about how good this book is, and I agree, but I’m not sure I could tell you why.

Haven, Eric; Vague Tales (Fantagraphics Books).

Hernandez, Gilbert and Jaime ; Love & Rockets Vol. IV #2, #3 (Fantagraphics). I made the terrible error after Love Bunglers to trade wait Locas, and for whatever reason they haven’t released one since. So I was way behind when this started coming out, but I bought and read it anyway. I initially found the story to be light, but I eventually realized I had a free ComiXology trial and caught up. It’s as great as ever.

Ito, Junji; Dissolving Classroom (Vertical, Inc.), Shiver: Junji Ito Selected Stories, and Tomie: Complete Deluxe Edition (Viz Media). Tomie may have come out in 2016 actually? I describe it to people as being about a beautiful woman who stands around until some total lech of a man inevitably murders her, then she comes back and annihilates him in the most unpleasant manner possible. Repeat ad infinitum. I don’t think the text 100% supports my reading, but that’s what it means to me.

Landry, Tyler; Shit and Piss (Retrofit Comics). The ephemeral, disjointed nature the single issue format served this story better, but it’s still extremely rad.

Loup, Celine; The Man Who Came Down the Attic Stairs (self-published).

Marcus, Ben; Crisis Zone 3rd Edition (Bred Press).

Mignolaverse and John Arcudi; Dead Inside #3 by Arcudi, Toni Fejzula, and Andre May, Lobster Johnson: The Pirate’s Ghost #1 - #3 by Arcudi and Tonci Zonjic, Hellboy: Into the Silent Sea by Gary Gianni, Mike Mignola, and Dave Stewart (Dark Horse Comics). Ignoring a few years in college when I was a lapsed comics reader, I’ve bought every Mignolaverse comic since I was about 13. That loyalty has slowly eroded over the last half decade about. I’m not alone in thinking the Arcudi-Davis run is one of the greatest of all time, and that the books started to go downhill after Guy Davis left. Beyond the departure of Davis, there are a few reasons for that, in my view.

First was the decision soon after to expand the line’s offerings. Doubling the line’s output and bringing in (inevitably) inferior creative teams was a no-win proposition for readers. Who wants more of something not as good?

Second, I think that Arcudi, a great writer, has shifted his focus from tightly-plotted five issue arcs to series-spanning character arcs. While I’m guessing this reads great in big chunks, it doesn’t spread out month to month, some months out of the year. I’m looking forward to a big re-read of everything after B.P.R.D. wraps in a few months, to see if this theory holds. Lobster Johnson: The Pirate’s Ghost came close to standing on its own, but was still rife with moments that I can only assume were big character payoffs because I didn’t remember enough to know. (Especially cool covers by Zonjic on these issues.) However, the non-Mignolaverse title Dead Inside offered the type of visceral, plot-based payoff his B.P.R.D. run with Davis hooked me with. I hadn’t been this thrilled by an Arcudi book since Killing Ground.

But third, and worst of all, has been the addition of writer Chris Roberson, whose books read like updates to the Mignolaverse Wiki. (The Visitor: How and Why He Stayed was okay, but pretty much solely due to Paul Grist’s fun art and layouts.)

I’m staying aboard the main B.P.R.D. book as it races to the finish line, and will continue to buy anything Arcudi writes, which seems to be mostly these Lobster Johnson comics. (Although even that’s looking increasingly, and sadly, unlikely to continue: https://twitter.com/ArcudiJohn/status/1075086925436874753) And I’ll certainly buy any more of these very sporadically-released Hellboy OGNs, like Into the Silent Sea, they decide to release -- the only real non-Mignola drawn Hellboy books anymore.

* Milburn, Lane; CORRIDORS (self-published). Sits comfortably next to Inflated Head Zone by Zach Hazard Vaupen, one of my favorite comics. They both forsake straightforward narrative in favor of theme-driven emotional impressionism, and do it with horror. This is catnip to me, and something I aspire to (although I’m far too boring to achieve it).

* Mirror Mirror II, edited by Sean T. Collins and Julia Gfrörer (2dcloud).

Now: The New Comics Anthology #1, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics Books).

* Providence #12 by Jacen Burrows, Juan Rodriguez, and Alan Moore (Avatar Press). It came out months after, but it’s a safe bet Moore wrote this before Trump got elected, right? A more accurate depiction of the shell-shock of being thrust into a post-facts world I haven’t seen.

Roberts, Keiler; Sunburning (Koyama Press). Another big crossover hit in my house.

* Shiga, Jason; Demon Volumes 2, 3, and 4 (First Second). Demon became a book I wouldn’t stop showing to anyone who would listen. Like Gina Wynbrandt’s Someone Please Have Sex With Me, its hook transcends the normal comics reading audience -- you can show it to anyone and they get it right away. Specifically I would show people this amazing video https://youtu.be/NRxCTeM5pyU, which would clue them into what Shiga does enough to get them to read Demon. Demon has a story, but it’s more about rules -- establishing them and playfully subverting them with a level of inventiveness that regularly leaves you in awe.

* Terrell, Jake; Extended Play (2dcloud). This delightful book took me completely by surprise, an experience made possible by 2dcloud’s subscription model.

Tomasso, Rich; She Wolf: Black Baptism #1 - #4, Spy Seal: The Corten-Steel Phoenix #1 - #4 (Image Comics). The end of this second series of She Wolf approached the same hostile disregard for what came before as the end of Tomasso’s previous series, Dark Corridor. But where Dark Corridor acted on that impulse by simply burning it all down, She Wolf has enough respect at least to replace what came before by pivoting into a completely different comic. The freedom this affords the plot to dart in unpredictable directions is exhilarating. And it’s fun and beautifully laid out and designed, as always with Tomasso.

Tran, Thu; Dust Pam (Peow). Gorgeous!

Vaupen, Zach Hazard; Combed Clap of Thunder (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics).

* Willumsen, Connor; Anti-Gone (Koyama Press). The part where the protagonists drive their boat past a window with a dog in it rewired my comics-making brain forever. This was another comic I only read a few pages of a night to make it last longer, and also recommended to friends of mine who were enjoying season three of Twin Peaks -- the plot is obfuscated in a similar way.

Yanow, Sophie; What is a Glacier? (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics).

Yokoyama, Yuichi; Iceland (Retrofit Comics). Another comic I recommended to Twin Peaks season three fans. Similar to the residents of the Red Room, the characters seem truly of another world, their motivations and actions incomprehensible to us.

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 2

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world's most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he's ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 2: The Doctor Didn’t Order This

Ironically, the next day happened to be one of Flug’s idler in terms of schedule. He had one morning check-in with a patient on floor 3 whose primary psychiatrist was out sick, several reports due by noon (which he had already finished a long while ago), and so by 13:40 he was already waiting by the director’s office on the first floor.

The doctor checked his watch for the umpteenth time and counted the seconds going round. He dropped his arm and began bouncing on the balls of his feet. There was a quick run-through of his bag for crinkles. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the folds of his coat. He looked at his watch again – 13:41.

There was a shout from outside.

Flug startled and flitted to the nearest window facing the front of the building. He peered out and his heart jumped. There were ten of the institute’s security team, along with easily fifteen or so armed guards from Interpol. They surrounded an armored truck parked several feet from the entrance. The truck was rocking back and forth.

The truck was rocking back and forth.

With tripping feet Flug ran back to the director’s office and knocked on her door as respectfully urgent as he could. “Dr. Rorschach, this is Dr. Slys. The patient is here, he’s – he’s in an armored truck!”

The knob turned and he was face to face with a frame of bobbed orange hair and glasses. Dr. Lauren Rorschach blinked at him, clipboard and case file in hand. Flug gestured helplessly to the window and she made her way over.

“Come now, Doctor. I know he’s high-profile, but surely that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” She adjusted her glasses and looked out at the scene. Her face paled. “That’s…unnerving.”

Flug joined her at the window. The truck was still shaking violently and several guards were crowding around the back doors, all carrying riot shields while one unlocked it with a finger scan. The two psychiatrists shared a stunned stare.

“Ma’am, f-forgive me for my hesitance, b-but you mentioned he’s a high profile criminal?”

“I did. I’m ah, I’m sure you read his file.” Dr. Rorschach brought a hand to her mouth.

“Well y-yes but, this is…Doctor, do you know why they, I-I mean…what is he?” He was really starting to regret accepting the invitation.

Outside, the guards had successfully opened the truck and were moving in two at a time. An unholy shriek reverberated from inside like a shock wave across the estate. Flug convulsed. His superior jolted and their hair stood on end. She parted her lips, drew in a breath, and began reciting policy.

“We, we at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane are – are proud in our welcoming of patients from all walks of life, regardless of notoriety or –” the truck bounced, and Dr. Rorschach grimaced, “species. I knew this patient would be…a little different than the usual, they told me he’s not human, but this…”

“This is insane.” Flug finished with a shudder. He had read the case. No current photos on file, no prior background knowledge beyond convicted crimes, and only an alias – Black Hat – with a very vague “Not Human” under the species category.

There was another shriek as six guards carried out what seemed be a stretcher at first glance. But both doctors did a double take because it wasn’t a stretcher, it was a container. As in, sci-fi Area 51 alien containment container. Rectangular with smoothed corners, made of white-painted metal bolted in every conceivable crack, and with one tiny circle of a window near one end that was no doubt bulletproof.

Six guards ended up not being enough, because two started to shake, but Flug couldn’t say whether it was because of whatever was inside of it or if it was just the sheer weight of the thing. The result was nine Interpol officers and two security members taking the monstrosity up the steps toward the entrance. Dr. Rorschach seemed to snap out of her trance.

“Oh, we need to be there to greet them! Hurry Doctor!” She took long strides down the hall and turned the corner to the front lobby, and Flug struggled to catch up.

“With all d-due respect, Ma’am, I don’t think this is a g-good idea.”

“It’s not,” the director confirmed, lips pressing into a line. She was still shaking. “But Interpol offered us a great deal of revenue if we accepted the case. Don’t get me wrong, Doctor, your success is outstanding, but we get paid just as much for admitting patients as we do sending them out.”

They passed the security gate and waited in the middle of the lobby, halfway between the grand doorway and the check-in. Flug touched the bottom of his bag. His superior continued.

“We’ve been informed that this patient, Black Hat, is not really expected to be rehabilitated. They want him contained here. We have some of the best security and safety here, especially on Floor 5. It’s against policy but…I’m sorry, Dr. Slys. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Ah, n-no, I get it. Money and p-power make the world go round.” He watched two of their staff members open the doors. “I just really wish it d-didn’t, sometimes.”

Dr. Rorschach gave a puff of a laugh before setting up the happy, sunny smile she was so famous for. There were still goosebumps up her arms. The guards carrying the vessel came in first, followed by every remaining Interpol officer. It got crowded very fast.

“Welcome to our institute! We can’t thank you enough for giving us the privilege of such a high-priority assignment.” The words came out steady and natural, as if the director wasn’t just scared out of her wits a minute ago. Flug envied her acting ability. She waited as the lead officer came forward and gave a respectful bow of her head. He returned the gesture and cleared his throat.

“Dr. Rorschach, the pleasure is all mine. I’m Inspector Daniels.” He was much taller than either psychiatrist, and there was a wary, hard tint to his eyes. He made eye contact with Flug, who straightened up a tad. “And I assume you are the psychiatrist assigned to this case?”

“Oh, p-pleased to meet you but I –” His superior subtly shifted next to him. “I mean! I’m Dr. Slys, yes. I’m the attending psychiatrist. Yes.”

The inspector frowned and looked him up and down. “Are you sure you’re…equipped enough to look after this criminal? It’s a very dangerous task.”

Gee, I had no idea. Flug almost rolled his eyes. His fingers twitched. “I assure you, I-Inspector, I’m more than prepared to handle any patient who walks through these doors. We refuse to believe anyone admitted here is beyond help, and the facilities here at the Global Psychiatric –”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Daniels shook his head and turned to his officers, who were no longer struggling with the containment unit. It had gone ominously still and silent. “You people can spit up slogans all you like, but this thing here,” he walked over and tapped the glass. Something hissed in response. “He doesn’t play by any rules. Doesn’t respond to threats or intimidation. Certainly doesn’t play nice.”

The director opened her mouth, but the inspector wasn’t done. “Look, Doctors, I have a lot of respect for the work you do. It’s not a global institute for nothing. But we absolutely cannot let this criminal escape. It’s taken decades to catch him, and I need your absolute guarantee that you’ll be able to contain him. Can’t have any…weak links in the chain.” His eyes flickered over to Flug and the doctor just about saw red.

“As I-I already said, Inspector, I can assure you that there will be no issue on my end. I have dealt with the worst society – the world – has produced, and I have no intention of letting one patient change that.” He puffed his chest just a little when Dr. Rorschach nodded in agreement. She vouched for him, at least.

A sound came out of the container, rough and low and repetitive. If Flug gave it more thought than a simple glance, he would have believed it sounded like chortling. Inspector Daniels considered him for a minute, ignoring the disturbance.

“Very well, Dr. Slys, Dr. Rorschach,” he said softly, “I’ll take your word for it. I do, however, expect a statement each week about any trouble you may be having. We’ll take him up to Floor 5. You’ve prepared the cell with the highest security, I assume?”

Flug’s superior nodded again, but a frown marred her face. “You don’t want us to perform orientation down here? We have standard rooms available, it follows procedure –”

“With all due respect, Ma’am, I rather don’t trust anything that’s not a secure cell. We’ve taken every precaution necessary to ensure he isn’t a danger to himself or us, and I’d rather keep those precautions in place. Please let us through the security gate.”

“Of, of course.” Dr. Rorschach turned with a click of her heels and swiped her ID at the entrance, adding her fingerprint scan as well. Daniels and his entourage followed with Flug packed somewhere in between. He thanked the stars the gate was big enough for the container.

The elevator was designed for a maximum of 300 kilograms and big enough for a good thirty people if packed. With twelve people sandwiched around the unit sitting in the center, it was pretty crowded. As they worked their way up, Flug couldn’t help the quick look into the little window in hopes of seeing who was apparently his patient now. It was dark on the other side of the glass, but there was no sign of movement or anything he recognized as a face or body.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief stepping out of the elevator, and they began the long journey down to the end of the Floor 5 hallway. Several curious, sometimes manic patients peered out at the parade passing their rooms, but no one made a sound when they caught eye of the sheer number of Interpol officers. A few chanced a wave to Flug, who timidly raised his hand in response.

Halfway there, they passed Dementia’s cell.

“Whoa, what’s with all the pizazz?” She smooshed her face against the padded bars, mouth hanging open. “Oh hey Dr. Inksplotch, what’s – Flug! ¿Qué pasa? Who’re these stiffs? You bringin’ in a newbie?”

The doctor tried to ignore her, he really did, but she whined louder as they moved on without a word. Profanities started leaking out as well, and Dr. Rorschach smiled a little too cheerfully when Inspector Daniels looked her way.

“Oh, don’t mind our dear patient, she’s always been very inquisitive – very smart for her age. We’ve been working together to help her with,” an irritated ‘¡putos!’ was spit at them from behind, “ah, how to better express herself.” Dementia snarled and disappeared from sight.

At the end of the hallway were four cells made for the most volatile of inmates – padded floor to ceiling like the rest but with a camera and sound system in each room, and double-reinforced walls. The doors were made with titanium and each had three locks; a keypad, a fingerprint scan, and a keyhole. According to records, these rooms had only been used twice, both long before Flug’s employment.

Well, he thought as officers pulled the unit into a cell, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.

Six Interpol agents stayed in the room along with Dr. Flug and the Inspector. Daniels waited until the director relocked the door from the other side before giving his officers the go-ahead. They braced themselves around the container as he fished a special remote from his pocket and pressed a button.

“You may want to stay behind me, Doctor,” he informed Flug, who complied just as the unit let out a hydraulic hiss and the door unlatched. It was the only warning they had before a black and white thing collided with the nearest officer and knocked her straight into the wall. It kept her pinned and turned its head completely around with a crack, growling at the remaining group who had their weapons out and ready. Neither party moved, and Flug got a good first look at his newest patient.

Black Hat was…underwhelming to look at but terrifying to watch. He wore a top hat and a monocle, and his one visible eye blazed with something otherworldly. He was tied in a fortified straitjacket that was raised dapperly around his neck like the beginning of a cape. A blinking, metal collar sat tight around his throat. His lips curled and showed a mouth full of the sharpest teeth the doctor had ever seen.

“Well, Inspector, it appears we’re at an impasse,” he drawled, civil with a hint of brutality. “You can’t shoot me without hitting your dear officer, and I can’t move in a way that’s beneficial to me.”

“It seems so,” Daniels was motionless. “What will make you release her?”

“You know very well what I want, Marcus,” Black Hat dragged the name out effortlessly, eyes narrowed as the Inspector stiffened. “But I suppose you have no intention of letting me go.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Very well. Then answer my questions. Where am I? My natural compass seems to be shot today. Must be all the drugs.” He ran a forked tongue over his teeth. “I was under the impression I was being moved to another penitentiary.”

Flug made the very big mistake of stepping just past his Inspector protector. Daniels inhaled sharply and reached for him, but it was too late. Black Hat locked eyes with the trembling doctor.

“This doesn’t look like any officer I’ve ever seen.” His hostage tried to move and he pressed against her into immobility, eyes never breaking contact.

“Ah, uh I’m, I-I am Doctor Slys, licensed c-criminal psychiatrist, and you, you’re at the Global Psychiatric Medical Center for the Criminally Insane. You, um, you’re here for t-treatment.”

“Treatment.”

“Ah, y-yes. For rehabilitation and…reentry into society?”

“I see.” Black Hat’s gaze flicked over to the Inspector. “Attempting humor now, Marcus? I’m flattered, but it’s really not your style. I asked for a location, and I’m getting one. Now.” He leaned into the pinned officer until she choked for breath. The others raised their weapons, but their superior didn’t give the order. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his own.

Flug stumbled forward another step, causing everyone to tense as the inmate growled warning at him. He touched the edges of his bag. “It – it’s not a lie, I swear! My n-name is Doctor Flug Slys, and you have been f-formally admitted to our hospital. I’ve been assigned as your primary psychiatrist.”

“Is that so?” The doctor nodded shakily and the creature glanced around the room lazily. “Quite the first meeting, Doctor.”

“Ah, w-well this was supposed to be your orientation period.” Black Hat lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Orientation is a w-welcoming period where we d-determine your treatment plan and how b-best to offer our services.”

“Mm…” The inmate scrutinized Flug, but he spread his hand sincerely. The best policy was often frankness, in his experience. Humming, Black Hat turned to the frozen inspector with a further crack of his neck. Everyone winced.

“He’s telling the truth. Your officer is very lucky, Marcus. I’m going to release her now and move a meter to my right. None of you will shoot at me. How does that sound, Marcus?”

Daniels hesitated for a second, but then he looked at the pleading hostage across the room and the pleading doctor in front of him. He nodded almost imperceptibly. The inmate showed teeth again and did exactly as he’d promised, rolling off his captive who darted to the inspector’s side, out of breath. Nobody shot, but nobody moved.

It was Dr. Rorschach, standing outside the cell, who broke the silence. Flug had forgotten she was there. “If you are content, Mr. Black Hat, I’d appreciate if we could formally begin our orientation period. We can ask the officers to leave for patient confidentiality, if you wish.”

Three officers looked ready to protest but were cut off by Daniels. “That works just fine, Doctor. I believe we’re done here anyway.” He gestured for his team to join him at the door, and they crowded around, refusing to turn away from the creature, who offered a winning business smile. Flug didn’t move.

“Aren’t you coming, Dr. Slys?” Daniels’ quiet voice came from beyond the cracked cell door.

“Oh, n-no thank you, I, I still need to consult with the patient.” There was a shuffle outside, and although Flug didn’t dare take his eyes off the inmate on the other side of the room, he could guess what the Interpol officers were thinking. “I’m n-not helpless, Inspector.”

“He’s right,” Dr. Rorschach spoke, a little muffled. “He’s the primary psychiatrist of our lovely patient just down the hall who gave us her thoughts a few minutes ago. They’ve built up a lot of trust. We have cameras inside and our own security right outside, just in case of an emergency. Please, sir,” the lilt in her voice became charismatic, “trust us. Trust our institute. We won’t let you down.”

Flug risked a look in his peripheral vision at the window, where his superior nodded at him and left. He could hear the click, click of her heels and the echoing stomps of every Interpol officer. They continued talking, and eventually their words and voices left the floor.

There was a scoff, and the doctor turned to watch Black Hat slide down against the wall, crossing his legs and leaning his head back. He looked tired. The light on his collar blinked steadily.

“They must not think very highly of you, leaving you alone with me.” His chest expanded slowly, pushing against the straitjacket.

“Ah, well, there are g-guards right outside, Mr. Black Hat. They’re just as c-capable as any trained officer.” Flug recited the policy to keep himself grounded. He tugged at his paper bag. His patient looked miffed.

“Just as incompetent, you mean.” He looked at the paper bag and goggles, unimpressed. “I must say, for such a famous group, they certainly hire the most pathetic humans. You are rather underwhelming to look at, ‘Doctor’.”

It was a new patient. A dangerous patient. He needed to be careful with his words. “I c-can assure you, I am one of the most qualified individuals here.” His fingers tapped his lab coat. “Speaking of that, I think it’s a good time to continue your orientation, if you’d prefer.”

“You mentioned your services. What services?” The inmate uncrossed his legs and stretched them out in front of him.

“Well, uh,” he began counting off his gloves, “counseling, physical and mental healthcare, prescriptions, group therapy…eventually. Depending on behavior.”

A low, raspy chuckle. “Do you think I’m incapable of good behavior, Doctor…?” Black Hat paused, and his mouth twitched low for just a flash. The collar blinked. “Ah, do forgive my impoliteness, but I seem to have forgotten what you mentioned you were called.”

“Oh, oh it’s, uh, Dr. Slys.” Flug usually gave his first name in introductions, but something was telling him it wasn’t a very smart move here. He trusted his gut.

“Slys…” the patient tasted the word, forked tongue curling just under his teeth. “Rather devious name, Doctor. Fitting for someone who works with criminals.”

“I, th-thank you?”

“Mm,” Black Hat bumped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His top hat didn’t seem to be affected by the physics of it. “Well Dr. Slys, it’s been fun, but I’m afraid I’ve grown uninterested in you now. Do follow the example of your colleague and leave me be.”

Watch your words. You don’t know what your patient is capable of yet. “I’m not a-authorized to do that until we work out a treatment plan. Or at least a schedule for the next few days. I think it would be beneficial to both of us if we –”

“That was not a request, Doctor.” Black Hat opened his eyes and gave Flug a dangerous look. Shivers ran down the doctor’s back. “I said I do not care for your presence anymore, and you’d do well to listen to me. I may be restrained but do not think for a second that you are the one in control.”

The wording was different, but he had heard that tone and implication before. Multiple times. Inmates who thought they were all that, or had been all that, but were ultimately powerless here regardless of threats. It reminded him greatly of Dementia’s first meeting with him, actually.

“Stay the fuck away from me, gringo, and there won’t be a problem.”

He didn’t think. Or he was thinking of Dementia, and how their banter had gone from hostile to something more like pestering within the course of three months, because instead of staying professional, instead of trusting every alarm bell ringing in his head, Flug opened his mouth and said:

“I told you we weren’t done. You want me to leave? Make me.”

Black Hat made no move or sound. There was no change in expression. He was deathly still, eyes trained on expressive goggles, but nausea welled up in the doctor’s stomach and he booked it for the door.

He got three steps.

A heavy body crashed into his back, and Flug fell onto cushioned floor with a thud. Weight pressed onto him from above. It wasn’t like when he had restrained Dementia just the day before. No, this inmate was on top of him from feet to shoulders.

“You have some balls, Dr. Slys,” a voice hissed against his bag, right next to his ear. “It’s almost commendable. But I’ve been in a bad mood for quite some time now, and you,” he pushed against Flug’s back, squeezing his breath out, “are not,” feet pressed hard into his ankles, “helping.”

Flug couldn’t breathe. Buckles and straps dug into him from behind, and if it weren’t for the straitjacket there’d probably be hands at his neck. Hot air against his neck made the doctor shudder. He whimpered once and closed his eyes, waiting for those pointed teeth to bite into him.

But they didn’t.

Instead, Black Hat held him there for only a few seconds before his collar beeped once and he stiffened, making a noise deep in his throat. The locked door chimed and two burly security guards came rushing in, pulling the inmate off and allowing Flug to scramble to his feet and flee. He paused at the door and looked back, watching his patient retreat into the far corner of the room, hissing at the guards in languages Flug wasn’t aware existed. They made brief eye contact and Black Hat’s lip curled again, a promise so definite that the poor doctor almost ran down the hallway. But he waited outside as the guards came through and locked the door. Both turned to look him over.

“Are you okay, Doctor?” The larger one asked, his face creased in worry.

Flug pulled on his bag and checked for tears. Nothing. He patted down his pants and lab coat. Everything was still in place. “I-I’m fine, I’m okay, he d-didn’t hurt me. Thank you gentlemen.”

“It’s no problem, sir.” The other smiled down at him, and Flug took a moment to read their name tags. Lucas and Ben. He’d seen them before on this hall, but they’d never interacted. “We’re here to help. It’s our job, after all.”

“Yes, y-yes, but still, I…” Teeth at his jugular. “I really can’t thank you enough.” He shuddered once. He needed to get back to his office. Back to something safe. “I think I’ll head back down, if you don’t mind.”

Without another word Flug wobbled down the hall, holding his arms and trying to stop shaking so violently. This was not his first encounter with a violent patient. He had been injured before. Really, he needed to calm down. It ended better than it could have.

Dementia popped up as he passed her cell. “So, who’s the new – holy shit, what happened to you?”

The doctor shook his head mutely, giving his patient a weak smile. “Nothing, nothing happened to me. Just a more intense orientation than I’m used to. Don’t worry.”

She cocked her head, eyeing his rumpled bag, but he turned away and began walking again. “I’m fine, Dementia. I’ll see you tomorrow for your session.”

Dementia pouted but didn’t pry. They had an agreement, after all. Some things you didn’t spill until you were ready. Instead she let him go, yelling out after him, “If they start shit again, let me know! I’ll pound them for you!”

It was a nice if impossible offer, and Flug let the support wash over him like his favorite hand sanitizer. He reached the elevator and wordlessly went down. After he was gone, Dementia huffed and sat her chin on the bottom of the window, cheeks bunched up between the bars.

“Ten cuidado, Flug.”

Second chapter up! In this particular story, Dementia is Hispanic and fluent in both Spanish and English, and Flug is German and fluent in German, English, Spanish, and knows some Russian. If I get any translations wrong I’m very sorry, please correct me.

Also, I’m really new at tumblr format, can anyone tell me how to embed links in the text posts so I can link to every chapter for easier access? Thanks.

[vaughancapulet]

First Kiss - Daughan

Who: Diana Montague, Vaughan Capulet

Where: Diana’s house

What: Diana shows Vaughan her garden, they kiss, it’s lovely

Diana: Diana felt the way her heart started to pound with excitement as the time for Vaughan's arrival drew near. This was their third, fourth? Date. And this time it was going to be at her house. Nervously she tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed her dress as she put the finishing touches on the table, waiting for the phone to ring.

Vaughan was nervous to be going to Diana's house. He'd bought a small bouquet this time, gerber daisies, figuring she liked bright colors. He had almost put on a suit, partially out of habit, but then had made himself wear something more casual, so he had a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He parked outside her house, and could easily tell he had the right one, because it had the best looking flowers on the whole street. He sent a quick text that he was here and then walked up to her door, telling himself the whole time just to relax, there was no need to break into a nervous sweat.

Diana: As soon as Diana heard the beep of her phone, she glanced over and her smile widened. It only took a moment to glance around and make sure all the finishing touches were in place, although she needed to take another moment to remind herself to breathe. It was...pretty amazing to be feeling this nervous at all for the arrival of a date. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way. She opened the door just as he reached it, smile reaching her eyes. "Welcome, I'm glad you could find my house easily enough. Please, come inside."

Vaughan grinned the moment he saw her, looking gorgeous as ever. She seemed almost luminous, although maybe it was just the way the evening light was hitting her. "It was easy to tell which house was yours, no one else has flowers quite as nice," he said as he came in. "Oh, speaking of which." He'd almost forgotten the bouquet he was holding, completely distracted by seeing Diana. He held it up. "These are for you."

Diana: "I'd worry that you're flattering me, but you haven't seen the back garden yet, and I can say objectively that place is pretty spectacular." As he held out the flowers to her, her gin seemed to impossibly widen. "Oh, these are lovely! They're the perfect finishing touch for the table, I'll put these in a vase right away."

Diana: As she opened the door, she revealed a living room designed around bright colors and stylish comfort. Art work covered the walls, although none of it was her own. That was all hidden farther back in the house. Candles, vases of flowers, and small figurines decorated the shelves and tables. She led the way into the kitchen immediately pulled a simple crystal vase out of a cupboard and filled it with water to place the bouquet inside.

Vaughan followed Diana deeper into her house, looking around as he did. He could tell the whole thing was steeped in Diana's sense of style and charm, brightly colored and fashionable while still feeling homey and welcoming. "Your house is beautiful. I can't wait to see the back garden, if the front was just a warm up."

Diana: looked around for Calla, but apparently her cat had decided to finish her nap in the back room first. She placed the vase in the center of the table. "Thank you very much. Luckily, the entrance to the back garden is right through here. We have a few more minutes before dinner is ready, so if you like, we can take advantage of the light and look around?"

Vaughan smiled widely. "That sounds perfect. I'm very much up for that. And by the way, whatever you're cooking smells amazing. Which is already impressive, since I can't cook much more than pasta with sauce from a jar."

Diana: "In that case, I won't spoil the surprise. I'm not the best cook out there, but I like to experiment with all kinds of fun recipes. And here we are." Feeling another flutter of nervousness, she led him out to the back yard where her true garden was. It was a riot of color and textures, the result of years of experiment in the one place she still got to garden for herself. It was the one canvas she willingly showed to the world, and even then, only if you were close enough to get through her front door. She waited quietly for his response, hoping against hope he would like it.

Vaughan followed Diana to the back yard, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the garden. "This is amazing," he said as he walked further into it. It was beautiful, a cacophony of color and size and shape, but organized well enough that there was harmony in it. "How long did it take you to get it the way you wanted it?"

Diana: She found herself trying not to let herself shift nervously, but at the sincere wonder in his voice, she burst into a wide sincere grin. "I've been living here for six years, and every year I change up something to fit my mood. So, I found it immediately and yet it's never really done either. It's the one place I can really control the design these days."

Vaughan wandered through the garden, stopping to take a closer look at things here and there. "This is incredible, Diana," he said, letting how impressed he was show in his voice. "I'm sure you are well aware of this, but you are so talented." He looked back up at Diana with a grin. "Good thing you invited me over in the summer, right? Everything's blooming."

Diana: Normally she could handle compliments, but she blushed lightly, biting her lip. "Still, it's different when it's a labor of love and not part of my work." It was as close as she was able to admit to the fact that the wild colors of this place was her heart in a way few other things were. "It's part of what makes this one of my favorite times of year."

Vaughan: "I can see why," Vaughan said with a little laugh. "It's almost a shame that this is your back yard, not a public park. It just feels like... like having an amazing piece of artwork, something by one of the old masters, and hiding it in my apartment rather than putting it in a museum where anyone can see it." He made his way back to Diana as he spoke. "Not that I'm criticizing, at all. I just meant that it's beautiful."

Diana: As he spoke, she felt shock mingling with her deepening blush. She had always loved art, even if it had felt like a closed avenue. To have her personal exploration be compared to something like that...she didn't know how to respond. "No, it's - I mean, it's - thank you. I can't tell you how much it means to hear that. So. Thank you."

Vaughan smiled broadly and, finally, acted on his desire to touch Diana and reached out to take her hand in his. "I meant it. It's gorgeous." She was beautiful all the time, but that blush reddening her cheeks and her bashfulness was painfully adorable. Vaughan had the urge to kiss her, but he held back. He was still scared of pushing too far, too fast. "Thank you for sharing it with me," he said finally.

Diana: As he took her hand, she stepped closer to him on impulse, something about being in her own garden making her bolder than she normally was. "I suppose that means you passed the test. If you'd disliked it, I'm not sure we'd be able to go anywhere."

Vaughan laughed at that. "I wasn't aware it was a test, but I'm very happy I passed. And for goodness sake, I can't imagine anyone disliking your garden unless they had a shriveled up raisin where their heart should be. So, I guess maybe it's a very good test."

Diana: "You'd be surprised. Sometimes it makes people uncomfortable. It can be too much or not orderly enough. So still, thank you." She leaned in and brushed her lips against his, testing both of them.

Vaughan was surprised when Diana leaned in, but he didn't move away. He wanted to kiss her, and if that's what she wanted, he was all for it. When their lips met, his eyes closed and he leaned in. One hand moved to Diana's waist, just resting there. He let the kiss linger for a long moment before pulling back. He had a ghost of a smile on his face, but his eyes were searching, trying to see if Diana was regretting her choice or not.

Diana: As soon as their lips met, her eyes fluttered closed and she laid her free hand on his shoulder, as if she needed to steady herself. Maybe she did. As he pulled away, she could fee the way her lips curled automatically. She licked her lip, as if she was trying to chase the taste. As she met Vaughan's eyes, her smile only widened.

Vaughan grinned when he saw the smile Diana was giving him. She'd enjoyed the kiss, it seemed. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he admitted. "You beat me to the punch."

Diana: "Oh really? I suppose I was inspired by all those lovely things you were saying. It seemed like the right thing to do, and I'm glad it didn't ruin dinner."

Vaughan grinned. "I meant every one of them. Regardless of the kissing." He paused for a second, and shifted back so he could take Diana's hand in his. He looked down at their joined hands for a moment, then back up at her. "I have..." He licked his lips, feeling unsure of himself, but he pushed forward anyway. "I want to tell you something, which I've been mulling over in my head for a while now."

Diana: As he took her hand, she felt something else uncurl in her heart, a something she had started to think was impossible for her after all this time. But the words had her looking back up at him with open curiosity. "Oh?"

Vaughan took a deep breath. "I've been being cautious, with you. Trying to go slow, because I don't want to seem like... I don't know. I didn't want to scare you off. But I like you. A lot. I've wanted to be a lot more.. forward with you. Than I have been. And I was talking about it with Mia, and I realized... well, if I really do respect you and your right to personal autonomy and your ability to say no if you're ever uncomfortable, and I do, then the corollary to that is that I trust you to actually, you know, follow through on your ability to say no. If you wanted to. Which means I don't need to be so cautious, I don't need to worry so much about making the wrong move or going too fast, because if I do happen to make you uncomfortable, you'll just say so." He paused again and made a little face. "Sorry, I talk a lot when I get lost in my head like this. The point is, I was scared to kiss you first, in case you didn't want it, but I've decided to try to worry less and trust you to communicate with me. Because I really want to kiss you some more."

Diana: Diana listened with a soft smile on her face as he continued to talk. She wasn't sure if he realized that he was rambling a bit, but she found it sweet. Especially from someone who made their living off their ability to choose their words well in a public setting. She had already started to realize how much this mattered to her, but the fact that it had clearly mattered that much to him as well had the smile blooming even more. "I think that's an excellent plan. By this point in my life, I have a very good idea of what I want and what I'm comfortable with. I promise, if there's anything that makes me uncomfortable or that I need to discuss with you, I'll bring it up right away so it never has to be an issue in between us. I appreciate that you were cautious initially, but I know myself well and I make up my mind quickly. It's ok if you take a few risks. And it's really really ok if you want to kiss me again."

Vaughan laughed softly, mostly at himself, for being so longwinded and overthinking things. "That's good. Because the first kiss was very nice." He stepped closer and moved one hand to her waist. The other came up to cup her neck, just gently touching her, and he leaned in to press his lips to hers again. He closed his eyes and parted his lips, and this time he was a little more firm, a little less cautious.

Diana: "I think we can do a little better than nice." She leaned into the touch and slide her hands up his chest to wrap around his neck, anchoring herself to him as she abandoned herself to the sensations. Her own open mouth was both kiss and invitation, letting him take this where he would.

Vaughan grinned and stayed where he was, letting Diana come to him. He slid one arm more firmly around her waist and leaned his head down to meet her lips. He pushed further this time, parted his lips to explore her mouth. His Dominant side was chomping at the bit, urging him to be bolder, to make her his. He let himself give into it only a little bit. He pulled her closer to himself, her body now flush with his. His other hand moved up to the back of her neck. when he pulled away from the kiss, he let his teeth drag over her bottom lip.

Diana: The way he pulled her firmly against him had the submissive side of her stretching like a satisfied cat, and she tilted her head back to give him as much access as possible. She gasped into his mouth as she felt the sharp sting of his teeth. It had been a long time since she'd been involved with anyone, and it was like all of that suppressed passion wanted to burst out now that it was finally given a chance to express itself.

Vaughan couldn't look away from Diana's eyes, enraptured. He didn't yet move to kiss her again, but didn't pull away, either. "Definitely better than nice," he breathed. "But if you keep letting me have whatever I want, dinner is going to burn." He sent her a mischievous grin.

Diana: Right as she was about to reply, she heard the timer she'd set in the oven go off and she smiled ruefully. "There's my backup. I didn't really want to ruin your first impression of my cooking." Reluctantly she pulled herself back, but she slid one hand down so she could tangle it with his as she led him back inside. "Give me a moment and I can get everything plated."

Vaughan laughed an stepped back from Diana, letting his hands drop, as much as he didn't want to let go. But then Diana took his hand, and he squeezed hers, smiling. He really shouldn't be so worried, he thought. She clearly was as into this as he was. "Anything I can do to help?"

Diana: "If you want, you can cut up the bread while I dish up the rest of the food. I already opened up the wine to breathe." Back in the kitchen, the dinner table had already been set. She pulled the loaf of fresh french bread out of the drawer and passed it to him with a grin.

Vaughan grinned back as he took the bread. "I feel like you're spoiling me." He headed to the table to start slicing the bread, but he was watching her. "I don't get home cooked meals very often."

Diana: She laughed, feeling a little smug at his comment. "Really? In that case, you might need to get used to being spoiled. I like to cook and I do it a lot." As she spoke, she drained the pasta and quickly mixed in the butter, parmesan and seasonings before spooning equal portions onto the plates. Over that, she laid the coq au vin she'd had simmering. Finally, she pulled the salad she had made earlier out of the fridge and placed it on the center of the table. "Here we are. I hope you like it!"

[warofthenewage-rpg]

C.A.R.M.A: EXTREME VIRTUAL REALITY SCENARIOS

OBJECTIVE: Agents have been split into three groups, and each group will enter a high-tech virtual reality training room within C.A.R.M.A. The room will shift and change into a different setting, placing each group in incredibly realistic disaster scenarios that they will need to stop. The key to this is using team work and applying their C.A.R.M.A skills and training to complete the missions. 

SETTING: C.A.R.M.A base. Each of the scenarios will vary in terms of setting throughout Pansaw. 

RULES: 

Work together! Every agent is capable of doing things on their own, but this time C.A.R.M.A wants to emphasize team building and teamwork skills among agents. 

The virtual reality simulators CAN hurt you. Once that room shifts its setting and it begins, agents will feel like they’ve literally been transported to the designated location. Agents can feel, smell, see, and hear everything as if they are actually there, and everything is designed to be interactive. They can interact with civilians or even attack enemies. Enemies, however, can also harm them, but the simulation is designed to deliver non-lethal attacks. 

The simulation will not end until the mission is completed. Whether everything is done right or not, as long as the agents take out the bad guys or end the threat, the simulation will end. If agents can not figure out or complete the objective of their mission, it will keep going until they do.

SCENARIOS & TEAMS

TEAM ONE:

Manny Henderson

Callum Paquin

Kaeden May

Connor Frayne

Scenario / Objective: It started out as a peaceful day in Biodome Park when the Nephilim attacked. It was like a bomb went off out of nowhere, and fire erupted all over the scene. They’ve outnumbered the team here, and are extremely powerful and dangerous. They’re going after civilians of all ages, regardless of them being Metahuman or human. The objective is that the team needs to both calm down all the civilians as best as they can, defend them from damage and harm as they reunite them with their families with medical attention, and take out the threat with minimal casualties.  

TEAM TWO:

Seung Soo Hyun

Bradley Harper

Samantha Faraday

Samara Rhodes

Scenario / Objective: A large group of about a hundred or more Metahumans have started rioting all over Pansaw. They’re destroying the city, terrifying and harming civilians, and the body count is going to start rising. The agents are outnumbered, but they need to make strategic decisions, such as deciding which areas are in most danger to minimize the damage as best as they can, getting civilians to safety, and using force wherever necessary in an attempt to stop the riots. 

TEAM THREE:

Aaliyah Rowell

Stevie Cameron

Dylan Winchester

Kaden Valentine

Scenario / Objective: What started off as a revolutionary breakthrough in science became humanity’s downfall.  Under the guise of pathological research a group of scientists created a weapon, one that could wipe out the country’s enemies and threats without the use of military force.  The use of biological warfare had been rumored in the past via whispers and conspiracy theories, but now the U.S. dominated even that.

Until they lost control of it.

A mixup in organization, a clumsy intern, no one really knows what happened or was willing to admit fault in how the biological weapon got out, but something went horribly wrong and the weapon was unleashed onto the country’s unsuspecting citizens.  It spread quickly and its effects were fatal; half of the U.S. population succumbed within the first few months, and then the weapon spread to the rest of the world.  But it didn’t stop there.  Those who died started to rise again, and further infect others.

The weapon -- termed the Z-Virus -- has since decimated six-eighths of Earth’s population, leaving humans far outnumbered by the zombie population.  Those who haven’t descended into thievery and immorality are fighting to survive and maintain what is left of civilization, but things aren’t looking good.

Humanity is on the cusp of annihilation.  Not even C.A.R.M.A. withstood the apocalypse, but a few of its agents still remain.  They still try to protect what’s left of Pansaw, while the small number of remaining scientists race to find a cure, or at least a way to stop the virus from eradicating what is left of the human race.  They are quickly running out of time though, and C.A.R.M.A. is losing...

While the agents were told to take out the threat and protect civilians, the real objective is for the agents to realize during the exercise that there is no way to win here. There will be times in missions where agents will need to recognize this point, and make the decision to fall back when there’s nothing that can be done. 

Since these are large groups, and doing threads with this on the dash could get complicated, this portion of the event will be played out via Skype or Chatzy, depending on players’ preferences. If a player has Skype or access to it, please send your username to the main if you are not already contacts with an admin. More information can be discussed for this over Skype/Chatzy in group chats for each team.

MONICA SLOAN’S PERSONAL AGENT TRAINING

In addition to these team exercises, DMA Ambassador, Monica Sloan will be holding private training sessions for all C.A.R.M.A Meta Squad agents, regardless of whether they signed up for the group training or not. If any Meta agents are looking to expand their skills and better understand their powers. This will be happening all week, and it is accessible to all C.A.R.M.A characters. Anyone interested should contact Monica Sloan’s player directly about plotting. 

@psionicmanny || @kiwi-paquin || @connor-frayne || @kaedenjacelyn || @fallenxbradley || @spacey-seung || @blinkfaraday || @superhuman-sniper || @lunaraaliyah || @carma-stevie || @dylan-thepatriarch || @agentxvalentine || @monica-theambassador

[caveartfair]

How Art Storage Facilities Prepare for Natural Disasters

Exterior of UOVO’s flagship location, UOVO:NYC. Photo by Rodrigo Pereda. Courtesy of UOVO.

Art storage facilities charged with the preservation of paintings, sculptures, and other cultural works share a mandate that is in some ways similar to that of Norway’s seed vault. That underground bunker houses a collection of food crop seeds, stored to restart the world’s agriculture after a “doomsday” scenario. But the vault, which faced flooding following the unexpected melting of permafrost last year, is itself already feeling the effects of climate change.

Though not quite as necessary (or edible) as food, art sustains humanity in an important way. And art storage facilities are also dealing with the threat of climate change. As stewards of artwork, cutting-edge storage facilities actively work to address the increased temperature shifts, severe storms, and erratic weather that are all part of climate change projections.

In October 2012, Hurricane Sandy barreled into New York, causing widespread flooding in Chelsea and at the art storage facility Christie’s maintains in Brooklyn. Since then, the storm has become a frequent frame of reference for New York art collectors, now keenly aware of the city’s vulnerability to flooding. “If they don’t [mention Sandy], their insurers do,” says Kevin Lay, the director of operations at ARCIS, a soon-to-open Harlem storage facility.  

That has storage facilities eager to boast about how the work inside is safe from natural disasters. As a result of the hurricane, the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) revised its flood and surge zones for the city of New York. Some storage facilities now openly advertise how far they are outside of these zones as a way to drum up business.

“Of course hurricanes are number one on everybody’s list, both in New York and in Florida,” says John Jacobs, CEO and President of Artex Fine Art Services, which operates storage facilities in New York City, Washington, D.C., Boston, Fort Lauderdale, and Los Angeles. “The awareness of the potential for flooding from hurricanes is much greater than it has been in both New York and Miami,” he noted. It’s no wonder: Three out of five of the nation’s costliest hurricanes occured in the last 10 years.

The basic blueprint of all Artex’s facilities are similar in terms of environmental controls such as humidity, cooling and backup generator capacity. Jacobs works with AXA ART Insurance Group’s Global Risk Assessment Platform (GRASP) to evaluate his facilities with over 2,000 industry standard questions ranging from the design of the building to institutional policies and workplace conditions. Jacobs says that GRASP is especially thorough, because it recognizes the crucial role employees play in disaster mitigation: “It’s one thing to have a fancy facility, but does your staff have the right training to handle art property either routinely or in an emergency?” he asks.

Regional climate affects the facilities’ placement. This explains the choice of inland Fort Lauderdale over art hub Miami and Artex’s 2013 move from Chelsea to Long Island City, 55 feet above sea level.

Fires also pose a threat to art collections. While it is difficult to link any single fire to climate change, “scientists have found that human-caused climate change is increasing the frequency and size of wildfires for much of the United States,” Vox recently reported. In early December, lovers of the J. Paul Getty Museum white-knuckled through the Los Angeles wildfire that raged not far from the museum (though a major freeway provided a firebreak that the fire never crossed). But robust fire protections built into the museum and the surrounding landscape led officials to insist that “the safest place for the collection to be is right here at the Getty Center,” as a spokesperson told Artsy at the time.  

Even when the art stored in museums and secure facilities is safe from disaster, art storage facilities are increasingly being called on to evacuate vulnerable work from collectors’ homes to safer harbor. This has them operating in some hazardous conditions. Elsewhere in the Los Angeles area, Artex kicked into gear to evacuate art from clients’ homes threatened by the fire.  

“We had a number of private collectors calling us, and that was a situation where things were happening so rapidly that it was very difficult to respond,” says Jacobs. “We had crews in pulling things out literally minutes before the houses caught on fire. And we were able to save a fair amount but you have to balance the risk to the staff and people and equipment.” Artex also evacuated art from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. “As soon as the national guard would let us in, they brought us in with armed escorts to start pulling things out,” Jacobs says.

Art storage facility UOVO, with its flagship in Long Island City, has also been called to evacuate art on short notice due to fire and floods. “On numerous occasions, we’ve received calls, literally on weekends even—Saturday and Sunday morning—from people’s offices, homes, and smaller-sized museums because someone saw a leak or a fire occurred, and they need a safe storage alternative immediately,” says executive vice president Clifford Davis.

Generally, the best disaster strategy is to keep art in storage facilities, where it is safe and sound behind layers of climate protection. The soon-to-open ARCIS building has nearly 100 percent mechanical redundancy, meaning it has two HVAC systems and atomizers (which control humidity). The generator runs on natural gas, rather than diesel. “In the event of some natural disaster, we don’t have to run a diesel generator,” says Lay, “Good luck getting that diesel delivery when everyone else is trying to do the same thing.” UOVO has two onsite backup generators, and can run autonomously for two weeks, says Davis.

“We joke that if you see us moving artwork out of that building in an emergency circumstance something has gone very, very wrong in New York City,” says Lay.

While the climate protections built into major high-profile public museums like the Getty and the Whitney receive a great deal of press attention, the risk mitigation strategies employed by private storage facilities are similar, and increasingly interrelated. Artex, ARCIS and UOVO all function as supplementary storage for major museum collections. Jacobs estimates that 70 percent of his business is museum-oriented. Consequently, the facilities are purpose-built to museum-quality standards.

Adrian Tuluca, a senior principal with the architectural consulting firm Vidaris, conducted thermal analysis on ARCIS shortly after performing the same process for the new Whitney Museum building. Tuluca used computational fluid dynamics modeling (CFD) to determine how to stop condensation—which could lead to mold—from forming within the walls of the facility should temperatures outside drop to 20, 11, or four degrees Fahrenheit. He’s also done this same analysis for Diller Scofidio + Renfro’s upcoming Hudson Yards arts facility and the Shed, which required writing custom code to address the building’s unique moveable shell.

As they look to the future, those tasked with safeguarding culture from natural disasters are thinking broadly about the threats posed to artwork. “In this time of changing climate, anything’s possible,” says Jacobs. He talks to art museums around the country about their plans in case of a disaster—whether a major storm, or a terrorist attack. In the world of insurance, the legal umbrella of force majeure, or unpreventable circumstances, includes both “acts of god” (such as a hurricane) and “acts of man” (such as a riot). We may look at the looting of Palmyra and the flooding of Miami as separate events, but the effects of climate change do have a direct impact on human action. The nonprofit Saving Antiquities for Everyone (SAFE), gives multiple examples of cultural artifacts being looted in the wake of environmental disaster. No one tasked with running art storage facilities believes in taking a passive approach to the external threats posed to the work inside.

“Taking care of cultural property is my religion,” says Lay. “I would almost rather die than let something happen to an artwork.”

from Artsy News