#there’s a lot man. meanwhile there’s like. a few blue/red. but red/green is more prominent and more symbolic in the context of the series

[the-somwthing]

I like how most fandom ships are like “red and blue” but in the life series it’s all “red and green”

[seamsterspell]

Of War and Theatrical Play

Summary:

In the height of European Theatre of World War II, Hange Zoë is stationed as a nurse in a field hospital. She sees first-hand the horror of the war and how it affects the soldiers. However, amidst of the chaos of the war, she gets the chance to meet a particular soldier, Levi Ackerman.

[LH World War II AU]

Chapter: 1 / 2

Rating: Mature

Link: AO3 / FFNET

A/N: Inspired by SNK S4 OST: Memory Lane! This is nothing but angst, baby (with a dash of fluff and romance, of course)

IMPORTANT: This is a story about the horror of a war, so expect some mild gore and tragedy. So please, be mindful of what might happen to this story! Thank you ❤

DISCLAIMER: Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan belongs to Hajime Isayama.

Chapter I: A Nurse and A Soldier

It has been five years since the start of the war in 1939. A year longer than the previous war who lasted for four years, from 1914-1918. Because of that, people begin to wonder whether the war will end at all, especially with so many people lost their life during the process to obtain this peace. The war itself is split into two main theatres, The European Theatre and The Pacific Theatre.

Theatre is oddly a fitting name for the war, where a bunch of actors are playing their part in the battlefield while the directors are staying behind the stage as the puppet master. The war is a play and the whole world is the audience, no one knows the ending or knows who wrote the script, not even God or the universe knows it. However, despite that, the show must go on.

After the struggles that the allies experienced throughout the earlier years of the war, by 1944 they are finally able to confine the Germany by pushing them from the east and the west. However, it comes with a price. The high mortality of the soldiers forced the medical practitioners to be near the frontlines of the war, serving in tents they called field hospital as healer and helper for the fallen body, mind, and soul of the soldiers.

A bespectacled nurse with knee length light blue dress is wearing her white apron—with a big red cross sign on the chest area—in a hurry. After that, she put her hair up in a bun and pinned a white cap on the top of her head, securing it with pins.

She glances at her reflection at the small mirror that she puts on top of a suitcase. She readjusts her glasses before finally leaving her small tent. Her steps fast and wide as she walks through the maze of dark green tents toward the biggest tent in the area, the hospital ward. A big red cross symbol can be seen right on the roof. She sees the influx of soldiers being carried in stretchers around the tent; some are still conscious, but some appears to be dying.

From what she knows, the troops are currently in the middle of the fight in the South of Ardennes, which started back in September. It is a battle where the American forces are trying to push the Germans out of Lorraine. However, due to the high numbers of fallen and injured soldiers, the American forces decide to retreat from the battle in October. They intend to let the soldiers rest and heal while the leaders revise the plan of the battle. They built a temporary station near the field hospital, located near the western front of the European war.

She immediately goes inside the tent, and she is welcomed by the stench of blood and sweat. She takes a deep breath as she walks toward the head nurse who is seen talking with a soldier who is crying.

“Hange Zoë is reporting for duty, Ma’am.” She greets the head nurse.

After a few exchanges between them, she is dismissed to do her duty. Hange looks around the tent to search for patient that she can treat. She spots two soldiers who have just arrived at the tent. The taller man with ash blond hair is leaning toward the shorter man with disheveled black hair.

“What’s the matter?” Hange approaches them as she inspects their bodies. The raven-haired soldier seems to be alright while the ash blond soldier is wincing in pain. She immediately leads them toward the empty bed, and she helps the blond-haired soldier to lay on the bed.

“He said that his whole body is in pain, and he also has a fever.” The other soldier tells her with a flat voice. However, she does catch a hint of worry on his expression. “He’s been like this since we retreated from the battlefield a few days ago.”

Hange hums as her brain begins to work, trying to understand his symptoms. “What’s his name?”

“Furlan Church.” The other soldier replies.

Hange looks over to Furlan Church and sees that he is sweating. “It’s okay, Mr. Church. I’m going to help you.” She tells him in a soft and clear voice.

The man nods and Hange takes it as a good sign, as he is still responding to the surrounding. Hange then grabs a slender case from a pocket in her apron, she opens it and gives a small glass stick to him. “Mr. Church I need you to put this thermometer under your tongue for a few minutes.”

Hange then unbuttons his tattered and dirty brown uniform and examines his torso. She finds a bunch of red rashes on the skin of his torso and arms. Hange bites her bottom lip, she has an inkling about his sickness. She returns to him and takes the thermometer from his mouth, the number in the thermometer indicates that he has a high fever.

Hange immediately grabs his hand and bends the joint gently, “Is it hurt?”

Mr. Church grunts in pain and nods at her. “I can’t move my joints without experiencing pain.”

“How about your chest? Do you experience chest pain?”

“A little bit.”

Hange nods before looking around her and notices that other nurses are busy treating other patients, so there is no one that she can ask for help. She glances at the other soldier and asks, “I’m sorry, but can you stay with him? I have to fetch something from the pharmacy.”

The soldier obliges and goes to his comrade’s side. Meanwhile, Hange walks toward the other tent, the smaller one, to asks for penicillin and morphine. After getting what she needs, she returns to Mr. Church. She notices that the raven-haired soldier is giving Mr. Church a glass of water.

“What is it?” The other soldier asks on behalf of his comrade, his gaze stares intensely at her. “What happens to him?”

Hange takes the liquid morphine into the needle, preparing to give Mr. Church a shot. “Rheumatic fever, I’m afraid. It’s quite common for soldier to get it. If we didn’t treat him soon, it can develop into more serious illness.”

The soldier pauses and looks at the weak body of his comrade. “Is he going to be okay?”

Hange cleans the area of his forearm and injects the solution through his vein. “I’m trying my best.” She says before putting away the needle.

Mr. Church seems to be calmer after the shot. Hange smiles and gives him the tablet that she takes from her other pocket. He swallows it with water in one big gulp.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him again.

“A lot better.” Mr. Church replies weakly, almost like a whisper. “Thank you.”

She let out a relieved sigh, “You’re welcome. As long as you are resting and drink your medicine, you should be fine. If you need anything, just call me.”

Mr. Church hums while the other soldier nods at her. Hange is about to leave them, but she notices something from the corner of her eyes. She approaches the other soldier and grabs his right hand.

“What—”

“You are wounded.” Hange exclaims when she sees a bandage wrapped around his palm.

He takes his hand away from her, voice latches with danger. “This is nothing.”

“Nothing for you, but not for me. Even a small wound can be dangerous if it wasn’t treated properly.” She puts her hands on the side of her waist. “I’m a nurse, you have to listen to me.”

He raises his brows at her. He looks curious as well a little bit surprised at her, and it oddly makes him appear more amiable than before. Hange cannot help but to loosen herself around him. She gently takes his hand again; her brown eyes stare deeply into his grey eyes. “Please, let me treat it.”

His eyes widen and he quickly glances away from her. “Fine,” he muttered.

Hange leads him to an empty bed next to Mr. Church—who already fall deep into his slumber. Hange gestures him to sit on the bed while she grabs a bandage and a bottle of antiseptic from her apron. She sits next to him and begins to unwrap his red and dirty bandage. She sees a gash on his palm, it is not alarming, but it still can lead into an infection.

As she cleans the cut, the soldier remains unmoved on his seat. He does not wince or hiss in pain. She takes the time to study him. He has youthful face that seem to be stuck in perpetual frown. His eyes are void with prominent dark bags underneath. Well, it is a well-known fact that most soldiers are sleep deprived. Hange also shares her fair share of sleepless night as her head is filled with worries and irrational fears.

Despite that, he is still a handsome man. He has a very strong jaw, and she imagines how well-built he is from all the training he endured. She wonders—

Hange scoffs as she brushes away her thought. She must remember that they are currently in war, where a lot of life is on the stakes. The life of the soldiers, of the volunteers, and of the innocent civilians.

“What the hell are you doing.”

Hange looks at him and tilts her head, “What am I doing?”

“You are grinning like an idiot.” He tells her. Even though his words are a little bit crude, she cannot detect any mockery in his tone.

Hange laughs as she realizes that she has just make a fool of herself. She shakes her head as she feels a subtle flush on her cheeks, “Nothing.”

He raises one of his eyebrows, “You are weird.”

She shrugs as she grabs the clean bandage, “I get that a lot, trust me.” Hange carefully wraps his palm. He does not give her any respond, but Hange knows that he is watching her.

After making sure that there are no other wounds on him, she puts the rest of the bandage and bottle to her apron while she collects the dirty bandage. “You should try to take care of yourself more.” She mutters without even looking at him.

“We are in a war. There are a lot of more important things to consider, there are a lot of comrades to protect.”

Hange turns to look at him, “Well, but you couldn’t save someone when you’re dead, right?”

He stares at her, folding his hands on his chest. “Maybe I can.”

“I agree to disagree.” She mutters as she checks on Mr. Church for the last time before looking back at him. “Please look after him. If you need anything, just call me or any of the nurses here.”

She walks away from their bed, there are other soldiers that she needs to take care of. However, that does not change the fact that she can not stop glancing into their direction, especially to the nameless soldier.

•──────✦──────•

It has been almost two weeks since the first time Hange met Mr. Church and the nameless soldier. She sees the nameless soldier a few times when he is visiting Mr. Church, who is slowly but surely recovering from his illness. Unfortunately, no matter how much she wants to try to have a conversation with him, she knows how important her duty is. Thus, every time they meet; he usually nods at her while she can only responds with a small smile.

When she first volunteered to the American Red Cross as a nurse, she knows that it will not be an easy job. Treating a wounded soldier is different than treating a patient in a hospital. There is a hidden more complex nature of their mental who is also injured alongside their physical body. Thus, she found herself not only treating external wound, but also their mind.

There is a young man, a soldier, who got shot in the arm. Hange remembers him due to the snake tattoo that he has on his forearm. One day, when Hange is trying to change his bandage, the young man suddenly become furious. He refuses to be touched by her, he even shouts at her and throws the bandage to her.

Other nurses are trying to calm him, but it comes to no avail. As if the young man is possessed, his eyes empty but burning. Hange comes forward, trying to soothe him, but he immediately raises his hand toward her. Hange is about to react, but the movement of his hand is already come into a halt by another hand.

“Is that how you show your gratitude toward the people who treats you?” Hange notices that the nameless soldier is holding the arm of the young man. There is a fury in his expression as he mutters to the young man, “Don’t do something that you will regret later.”

The young man stares at him before glancing toward the nurses who are surrounding his bed. He begins to sniffle as he brings his hands to his face. “I’m sorry...” He whispers before his voice slowly turns into a cry.

Hange glances toward the nameless soldier and smiles, “Thank you.”

He nods at her before leaving to return to Mr. Church who witnesses the whole event from his bed.

Later, Hange and another nurse, Nanaba, gently approach the young man. They learn that his name is Daniel. It turns out, he is the only son of a single mother who lives in Florida.

“I don’t want to come home.” He tells them as he let Hange to change his bandage. “I don’t know what to say when I meet her.”

“Is there a reason why?” Nanaba asks, sitting on a stool next to the bed.

“She didn’t want me to fight in the war while I see this as my duty. She’s always like that, telling me to do this, to do that. Can’t she just see that I want to choose my own path? I got mad at her, so we ended up fighting the day before I was deployed. I haven’t talk to her ever since… She must hate me.”

“I don’t think so.” Hange remarks. “The fact that she forbids you to go to the war really indicate how much she loves you. She doesn’t want to lose you, Daniel.”

“You think so?” There is a hopeful tone on his voice.

“Of course, there’s nothing that she wants other than to welcome you back.” Hange says as she wraps the new bandage on his arm. “I think you two misunderstood each other’s intention.”

“Really?”

Nanaba nods in agreement, “Yes. That’s why you have to stay healthy, Daniel. So, you can meet her again. Hopefully, you two can have heart to heart conversation.”

He smiles, “Right. I will do that.”

“In the meantime, why don’t you tell us about your mother? She seems to be an interesting lady.” Hange adds as she finishes bandaging his hand.

The young man’s face lightens up from the mention. He then spends the rest of the night talking to Hange and Nanaba about his mother.

•──────✦──────•

The American troops returns to the battle in the South of Ardennes after three weeks of retreating from the battle. Mr. Furlan is still too weak to join the battle, so he does not participate on the battle. During the time, Hange speaks to him a few of times. Through him, she learns that the name of the mysterious soldier. Levi Ackerman is his name.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Miss Nurse.” Mr. Furlan tells her when she comes to give his medicine. “But I just want to say that you are really pretty.”

Hange raises one of her brows and glances at him in confusion. She then let out a giggle. It is not uncommon for the nurses to receive compliment or even proposal during their service. Which is actually a sad thing, showing how lonely the soldiers are during the war.

“What do you want, Mr. Furlan?” Hange teases as she prepares to inject the needles.

“Nothing. I was just stating my observation.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Furlan. From my observation, you are a handsome man yourself.”

He hisses in pain as Hange gives him a compliment as well as the needle injection. “Uh, I never thought you would return it back.”

“That’s just how I was raised.” Hange smiles before giving him a tablet and a glass of water.

He laughs before swallowing his medicine. “Hey, do you have a boyfriend, Miss?”

Hange grins and folds her hands, “You are quite a talker, Mr. Furlan.”

He puts the glass away and raises both of his hands in surrender. “I’m asking for a friend, not for me.”

She narrows her eyes and mutter in playful tone, “A friend?”

“Yeah, for a friend. I think he is interested in you. But he’s a shy, quite hopeless to be honest. That’s why, as his best friend, I want to help him.”

She pauses before letting out a chuckle, “If that is true, then tell your friend to ask me directly, Mr. Furlan.” Hange answers as she walks away from him. In her head, she tries to think about which friend he is talking about. A figure appears on her head, but she quickly dismisses it. In the end, she concludes that Mr. Furlan was only teasing her out of boredom.

•──────✦──────•

After two months of battle, the American forces are finally able to push Germany from the South of Ardennes. The battle finishes just a week before Christmas. However, the Germany immediately plans for a counteroffensive in the dense forest of the Ardennes itself. The American decides to retreat again to the field hospital, to revise their plan and to let the soldiers receive treatment. They plan to return to the battlefield the day after Christmas.

During Christmas, both sides are having ceasefire. The troops hold a party for the soldiers, the medical practitioners, and for the supporting staff of the war. For a day, they are allowed to forget about the state of the world that they are currently living in. They sing carols, they pray together, and they dance around the fireplace.

As much as Hange wants to join the party, she volunteers to stay in the medical tent with other soldiers who cannot join the party due to their sickness and injury. She is not alone though, she is with Nanaba. They think that they ought to give the older nurses and doctors a chance to unwind themselves from their duty.

“Do you want to listen to a story, Miss Nanaba, Miss Hange?” A man with brown hair inquires as Nanaba apply a new compress to his forehead. Meanwhile, Hange is a few beds away from them, currently taking the sheet off the empty bed to put it on the basket.

“Is it a story about your wife and your daughter, Mr. John?” Nanaba replies with a playful tease.

The man shows his left hand, a golden wedding band can be seen circling around his ring finger. “Yes, look at this, isn’t this beautiful? Every time I see this ring, I remember my beloved. She is the most beautiful, kindest, and intelligent person I’ve ever met.”

“Yes, Mr. John. It’s beautiful.” Nanaba replies, genuinely. Hange shares the same sentiment. If she ends up with someone who loves her the same way Mr. John gushes over his wife, Hange would become the happiest person ever.

“Ah, wait until you meet my daughter.” He grabs something from under his pillow, it is a photo. He shows the photo to Nanaba. “Look at her, isn’t she precious? The last time I met her, she could barely stand on her own… I wonder how big she has gotten? I bet she has grown into a cheerful and energetic child. I’m sure she’s currently running around the house, tiring her mother to no end.”

Hange puts the sheet to the basket before approaching him and Nanaba. “We know, Mr. John. You miss them, right?”

The man let out a sad smile as he stares at the photo, “Yes. It’s been four years since the last time I spent Christmas with them…”

Hange shares a look of understanding with Nanaba. The blonde nurse gives a pill to the man, “Let’s wish that we are finally able to celebrate the next Christmas in the warmness of our homes.”

The man nods, his eyes bright with hopes. After taking his pill, it does not take him long to finally sleep. Nanaba tucks him into the blanket before helping Hange to take off the dirty sheets, blankets, and pillowcases.

However, suddenly, two men come into the tent. Hange recognizes them, they are Mr. Furlan and Mr. Ackerman. Hange and Nanaba ask them about their visit to the tent. Mr. Furlan informs them that a soldier was injured in the party, he broke his ankle.

“Well, I guess someone is getting a little too excited for the party.” Nanaba remarks, her voice latches in worry but also amusement.

“I know.” Mr. Furlan chuckles. “There are a bunch of nurses and doctors at the party, so we come here to ask for first aid bag.”

“Oh, it’s on the pharmacy tent. Let me get—” Hange’s speech is cut short by Nanaba.

“No, Hans. You stay here. If there’s an emergency, you are the best we got.”

Hange furrows her brows, “Huh? Alright.”

“Good idea!” Mr. Furlan exclaims before gesturing toward the other soldier. “I will go to the pharmacy with her while you stay here, just in case Miss Nurse needs your help.”

Neither Hange or Mr. Ackerman are able to reply or object, because both Mr. Furlan and Nanaba vanish in a blink of an eye. Hange glances toward him and as usual, he has that frown on his face. Suddenly, he looks at her and it catches her off guard. He seems to be surprised too, but he hides it quickly. “What can I do to help?”

“Ah—Uhm, you can help me to change the bedsheets.” Hange explains, gesturing toward the empty beds inside the tent.

He nods and walks toward a bed on the corner while Hange choose the bed across him. She keeps looking at him, not so subtly because he realizes it.

“What?” He asks when they both go toward the basket at the same time, putting the old bedsheet inside.

Hange smiles sheepishly, “Ah, I just realize. I never catch your name.” She says, which is obviously a lie.

He shrugs, “Well, I never throw it to you.”

She chuckles, it is probably not something he says to amuse her. It is probably not even that funny, but she still laughs anyway. There is just something about him that attract her right from the start.

“But I can throw it if you want.” He says with a little hint of humor that is hidden underneath his blank stare.

“I don’t want you to throw it.” She replies with a grin. “I want you to lay it to me gently.”

He raises one of his eyebrows before giving her a subtle smirk, “Levi Ackerman. Just call me Levi.”

“Hange Zoë, pleasure to meet you.” She nods at him, “I let the soldiers call me anything, but they mostly call me Miss Nurse.”

“That’s a bit of mouthful.”

“Well, what do you want to call me, then?”

He smirks at her before returning to another bed, “Enough chatting, there’s a lot of stinky bedsheets that we need to change, four-eyes.”

Hange raises her eyebrows, intrigued by the nickname that he gives her. She laughs and answers, “Yes, yes, Mr. Soldier.”

After taking off all the bedsheets, they replace it with a brand new one. At first, she thinks that he helps her out of politeness, but it seems he really enjoys the task. He makes sure that the surface of the sheets and pillowcases are smooth, he even folds the blankets very neatly. Hange smiles the whole time as she observes him and the subtle joy that appear on his expression.

“How long since they’d been gone?” Levi asks as he sits on the chair while Hange sits across the table, his hand holding a cup with steaming liquid inside.

“Too long.” Hange answers before she sips a cup of warm instant tea that she made.

He hums, taking the cup to his mouth. “Maybe your friend gets caught up in the party.”

“Maybe.” She giggles, putting the cup on the table. Hange scans his face and snickers, “Speaking of, I heard that you are the best soldier that we got in here.”

He scoffs at her remark, “Nonsense.”

“They say you are so strong, it almost like you are invincible in battle.”

He clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes at her. “I never thought you like to gossip.”

“Well, sometimes I do.” Hange replies as she looks at his posture. This is her first time seeing him without his uniform. He still wears his uniform pants and shoes, but this time he wears a white shirt that shows his muscles. She returns her gaze to his cup as she tries to keep herself from smiling.

“You know, I’ve never seen you before.” Levi suddenly asks her. Hange is pleasantly surprised by his question, he never thinks that he is interested to get to know her.

She giggles, “Of course,this is my first time being a nurse in field hospital. Before this, I acted as a nurse aide for a year in the big hospital. However, as the war stretch all the way into years, the demand of medic in the front lines are high as ever. That’s why I began my work here last October.”

“I see.” He acknowledges. “That explains why you look so young.”

Hange tilts her head in amusement, “You speak like you are an old man.”

“Maybe I am.”

“I don’t believe it. How old are you?”

Levi looks at her for a few seconds before glancing away. “Today I turn 26.”

Hange blinks as she stares at him. Suddenly, her eyes widen when she understands the implication. “OH MY GOD!”

“Hey, quiet!” Levi reprimands as he looks at the surrounding. Fortunately, the patients are still sleeping soundly on their bed.

“Oh my God.” Hange repeats with reduces volume, smiling joyfully at him. “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Levi!”

“Thanks.” He murmurs before sipping his tea again.

They sit together in silence as they wait for their respective friends to return from whatever journey they are having. But then, as the night goes even more late, Hange feels herself to be in a talkative mood. Thus, she decides to break their silence by asking the question that she has been wanting to ask. “What do you think about the war?”

He does not immediately answer nor even spare her a glance. However, he looks like he is in a deep thought. Hange realizes that they are not that close for her to ask such question.

“You don’t have to answer it—”

“It’s a lot of things, you can ask one soldier to another, and they would probably give you different answers.”

“…Well, how about you, then?” She speaks her words slowly and softly.

He let out a sigh. “It feels like a nightmare that you can’t wake up from. It went on and on, constantly. In the end, you have no fucking idea which one is a reality, and which one is a dream.”

She notices the veins that appear on his temple, and she also notices how he grips his cup tighter. “I’m sorry. That must be hard and confusing for you.” Hange utters gently and carefully.

“Yeah, it’s very shitty.” He adds as he looks at her. “It changes people too, you know. Not only the soldiers.”

She nods weakly, “Yeah. This is a world war. I’m sure that by the end of this, the world will change too.”

“True… and I don’t think I want to change.” He remarks. “That’s why sometimes I wonder if it would be better for me to just run toward the bullets.”

Hange’s body freezes as she holds her breath, “What—”

“It’s a joke.” He immediately reiterates, his lips grinning as if he is emphasizing his words.

Hange narrows her eyes at him, not in every ounce believing his words. She bites her bottom lips before asking, “Don’t you have someone waiting for you back home?”

“No.”

Hange’s heart sinks when she heard that. Then, without even thinking about what she is about to say. With a clear voice she declares, “Well, you have it now.”

He stares at her with uncertainty, “Huh?”

She returns his intense stare with a softer and gentler one, “You heard me.”

There are a lot of emotions passing through his face. His eyes widen at her, while his mouth left slightly agape. He seems like he wants to reply, but no voice is heard.

“That’s why you have to promise me that you will survive.” She smiles at him. “Because I’ll be waiting here for you.”

It takes her a few more minutes to realizes what she was implying. A heat crawling onto her cheeks, she tries to open her mouth to save them from the impending awkwardness.

“Sorry we took so long.” A cheery deep voice comes into the tent, it is Nanaba’s voice. “Ah, Mr. Ackerman. Your friend said that if you need him, you can meet him at the party.”

Levi leaves his seat walks toward Nanaba. “I see, thank you for the information.”

“No, I should be the one who thank you for helping, right Hange?”

Hange immediately stands up from his seat, “Yes… thank you, sir.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She hears the hoarseness of his voice, but she does not have the courage to take a look at his face. Even when he bids his farewell to them, she still chooses to keep her head low, purposely avoiding his face.

However, that does not mean she did not wonder about what expression that he made when she told him that.

—Chapter I End—

[askroahmmythril]

Reference List for amiibo Fighter Names (Set 4)

37) Pichu : Zap Nezumi - Those who have been with my channel for awhile might remember a cute and charming Mega Man style game called Nezumiman.  I love that game so much and would love to see a sequel.  Squeakuel?...  Anyway.  Most of the bosses were dubbed (Element) Nezumi, depending on their power.  So Pichu gets to fill in as Zap Nezumi!  Up top we have all the various stage bosses, and Pichu is dressed in all the fashion items Nezumiman gets for beating them.  He’s got Perfect Fashion!  Which according to Nezumiman, also involves having Dr. Gyoniku’s butt in the background.

38) Pikachu : Agent 25 - Actually a self reference, this one.  Agent 25 is a “character” that has appeared in some of my silly bits I’ve done for past videos.  Theoretically his real name is Conduit, my Lv. 100 Pikachu, but he serves as an agent for me, going by the codename Agent 25 (his Pokédex number), protecting me from annoying talent agents trying to zap me with a dragon prod for taking time off.  We went with a full-on James Bond style for this one.  A minor detail, the display of PokéBalls in the nameplate having five empty circles before it is supposed to reference the display showing how many Pokémon a trainer has in a battle, thus, he’s the only one here.

39) Pit : Icarusicus - What can I say, I grew up with Captain N as a kid.  Back then, as a gamer, you took whatever media you could get.  Captain N was cheesy as heck, and got a lot of source details WAY wrong, but it was still fun in its own weird way.  In that cartoon, Pit was instead simply named Kid Icarus, and had a habit of inserting “-icus” at the end of everything he said.  So here the more modern Pit is faced with a blast from the past, his cartoony old weapons and contact from Kevin and Princess Lana.  Neo added more details, like some Mega Man sprites recolored and restyled to look like characters in Captain N.  Including a Simon Belmont sprite given his look from the cartoon, blue bomber jacket and blond hair and all.  The building shown is the Palace of Power, Princess Lana’s base of operations.

40) Pokémon Trainer : RedVersion - Again a self contained reference to Pokémon.  The trainer he’s based on is Red as he appears in Fire Red and Leaf Green.  Thus, RedVersion, in reference to the original Red Version of Pokémon.  Neo and I both had the idea to try to pose the Pokemon and Red himself like how they’re posed in the original game sprites.  Neo also went an extra step, using minimalist colors to mimic how the sprites looked on a Game Boy Color or Super Game Boy.  While I do like the idea, I might ask to stick with full color just to mimic the amiibo itself if we do indeed redo these.  The overall look of the card was designed to look somewhat like the original Pokédex.

41) Robin : ShipREKT - Again, Fire Emblem is not exactly my area of expertise.  But this silly idea came to mind, knowing Robin’s game has a lot of “pairing people up to increase bonds” mechanics.  Sooooo Shipping : The Game.  So I just had the silly idea of drawing him in super charming anime style.  Of all things, I think I was largely influenced by a scene from the Unova episodes of Pokémon where a male Minccino was using Charm.  I suppose this is a good time to mention that, in cases where only one figure was released for a character, I go with that style for them, so for instance, there’s only a male Robin card, only a female Wii Fit Trainer card, no wireframe Little Mac, no Koopalings, etc.

42) ROB : Spin Cycle - I mean, ROB’s all about spinning his gyros, that’s really all there is to this one.  The colored swirl in the background was supposed to mimic the red and blue colors of the gates from Gyromite that he’d help you move.  However, it also kinda looks like the colors of those infamous Tide pods.  Which... I mean, spin cycle IS a laundry term, so yay accidental references?...

43) Rosalina : Cosmic Mama - I love Katamari!  Seriously given that was a Namco game, I would have loved it if some Katamari music got in on the Pac-Man stage.  Ah well.  This was one of those where I just couldn’t resist the reference and sneaking the Half Inch Prince into the picture.  Neo further personalized some of the Lumas, as well as adding the famous “I feel it!  I feel the cosmos!” quote.

44) Samus : Chozen One - A self contained Metroid reference, and a silly pun.  Samus is the “Chosen One” in the sense that a lot of Chozo prophecies as seen in the Prime series seem to center around her actions.  So just a combination of Chosen and Chozo.  I had worried that Samus would be hard to draw in Visio Home, but it turned out to be really good for drawing the defined lines of her suit.

45) Sheik : HARP HERO - While I’ve never actually played any of the Guitar Hero games, the fact that Sheik generally just follows you around to teach you new songs via her harp made this idea stick with me.  A shame she doesn’t use her harp for anything in Smash...  Seriously feels weird that she doesn’t.  Anyway, I had the track display the notation for Bolero of Fire.  For some reason, the scene of her teaching you this one just stuck with me as a kid as one of the most iconic scenes with her.  This was also drawn before we started putting character icons in the nameplates.  In his version, Neo added the Sheikah eye symbol to the nameplate.

46) Shulk : RA1NFALL - This is a reference to Project Rainfall, a community effort to coax publishers into localizing a few select games in the US.  If memory serves, Xenoblade Chronicles was the first and perhaps most prominent game to have been part of this effort, hence my putting a 1 in the name.  I didn’t really have a good solid way of drawing rain in Visio Home, so Neo added that on his end.  Really this one probably saw the most changes between versions, as I really had very limited info on Xenoblade.  My frame as such is.... really clunky looking.  Neo was able to make something far better looking on his version.  The symbol on Shulk’s Monado here means “rain,” so, uh.... umbrella utility!

47) Sonic : SpeedRacer - A reference to the anime of the same name.  Sonic here is posed like Speed after he jumps out of the Mach Five during the Speed Racer title sequence.  Meanwhile Sonic’s car here is the one he drives in Sonic All Stars Racing Transformed, as well as being on the game’s Starlight Carnival track.  Neo gave me the idea to have a Coconuts peeking out of the trunk of the car to mimic Chim-Chim, the monkey mascot of the Speed Racer team that had a habit of stowing away in Speed’s trunk while he was racing.

48) King Dedede : ThreeDeDe - A joke on 3D imagery, such as that found on the Nintendo 3DS.  The first Kirby game for the 3DS, Triple Deluxe, even had a mode where you played as King Dedede on his own adventure, so hey, him celebrating this moment of glory does not seem out of character for him.

[creativerogues]

Player’s Guide: Meet The Archmages of Capitol!

Well the Player’s Guide is coming together really well, and thanks to @dnd-chamyra-studies, as well as @paradigmanomaly and @nickle-snatcher for providing so much help on building the City of Capitol.

But without any further delay, let’s get into the details...

Archmage of Illusion, The Archmage Indefinable

The Archmage of Illusion never shares his actual name, and often creates elaborate illusions and personas to hide himself.

He’s a High-Level Wizard (obviously) with the magical capabilities to create up to 8 Illusory Duplicates thanks to his ability to cast Mirror Image at-will, and he’s almost accompanied by his Simulacrum, who can do the same...

He’s used many fancy names and personas to hide his identity: Example names include Salem, Owahl, Zakalis and Morgan.

The Archmage of Illusion became famous for being so powerful that when the rival Kingdom of Rassumurait attempted to sail to the shores of Capitol, he disguised the stars they used to navigate so that they ended up lost at sea and where forced to retreat...

What does he look like?

He’s an older Halfling Man, lightly hunched in posture with wild curly grey hair with an arrow through it like a makeshift hairpin. He’s well over 3-foot-tall, even while hunched over, with gross old barefoot hobbit feet with excessive foot hair, his toenails have clearly never been trimmed, and he seems to have some sort of exotic fungal disease on his feet, even starting to develop small mushrooms...

Because when you literally always have a disguise or illusion on you, you don’t really need to look good or wash at all...

He carries a small wooden staff like a cane, and in his other hand he often holds a pipe.

The Archmage of Illusion is known for levitating in conversations with the other Archmages, so they can speak eye-to-eye rather than top-of-head to crotch; and he has a nervous habit of letting out a little giggle whenever he tells the truth.

He’s also recently become addicted to the Laumadorian Plant known as ‘Weeping Flak’, smoking it and adding it like spice and sugar to everything they consume, since Weeping Flak (also known as Bluegrass) is also known to increase one’s arcane powers for a short time after consumption.

Archmage of Enchantment, Father Jack

Father Jack? Well this handsome dwarven wizard used to get every girl he wanted into bed since his beard started to grow. You may be asking why the Archmages call him Father Jack, better pose that question to his 122 Sons and 99 Daughters...

He’s short, stocky, and very clearly dwarven to anyone that looks at him. His skin is slightly tanned from his days on the coast, and his face carries a big bulbous red nose at its center.

His beard seems quite magnificent, with ornate brass and bronze bands adorning their beard. Their beard is also very obviously dyed. There are streaks of grey that have been colored to match their original shade, but don’t quite match.

Another odd feature is his left eye, since he’s missing it, and it appears he’s had a chunk of solid gold carved to look like an eye implanted in the place of his left eye.

He wears a copper ring on one finger, a ring with intricate carvings on its surface, and this Archmage always seems to be followed by a smell of rum and alcohol on his breath...

Archmage of Conjuration, Archmage Butterfly

Her full name is ‘Clawed Butterfly’. A Conjuration Wizard who is always accompanied by her Faithful Hound and her Unseen Servant. She often chooses to use Misty Step rather than walking...

She’s feline and cat-like in appearance, she often wears an ombre-dyed hood that reminds you of a hunting cat. Meanwhile the feline tail of the Archmage winds and flickers with a mind of its own.

She has cat-like slits for eyes, and just to confirm; Yes, she’s a Tabaxi Wizard.

She has tattoos across her face, starting from the corner of her mouth to the edge of her eye, but barely visible under her tabaxi hair.

Her right arm is bizarre and unnatural: One of her arms is a slightly different tone, and slightly shorter in length than the other one, her right-hand having steel claws that appear to be artificially attached to her fingertips.

Her left arm is even more bizarre: She has an extra hand coming out of her left wrist. This extra hand is as small as a child’s and is blackened and seems to be of no use: A failed conjuration experiment perhaps?

She also has an eye on the palm of her left hand, something she hides behind her back in her always regal-looking pose while speaking.

Archmage of Evocation, Archmage Damascus Iados

A Tiefling Evocation Wizard with bright flames that flicker across the back of their hands, and smaller, heatless flames seem to flicker across their skin while the earth seems to tremor slightly while he walks.

In charge of the Tower of Evocation, Archmage Iados is a Tiefling Man with bright red skin, a bald head and two curling horns atop his head like those of a wild ram.

He wears blue and green robes that flow down to his feet, and every so often has heatless flames flickering across his skin before sputtering out on their own.

His left hand has three fingers, while his right hand has seven, and both hands seem to glow very faintly with a low white flame...

Archmage of Abjuration, Archmage Neskul Nyultin

Urban legends say that there used to be a Silver Dragonborn Wizard so skilled in the magics of Abjuration, yet so paranoid, that he stayed deep underground within his Tower, surrounded by a bubble of powerful magics, though when forced to go outside in-person, he sits cross-legged on a Tenser’s Floating Disk, with a globe of protective magics around him at all times...

Archmage Neskul Nyultin is a Dragonborn Wizard with glimmering silver scales, as is usually seen cross-legged on a small disk of force that floats above the ground. His legs seem withered from atrophy, and his body seems very thin for a Dragonborn...

A shimmering globe of arcane wards almost always surrounds him, as he’s almost always seen with his hands inwards, his fingers intertwined and seemingly always concentrating on the many spells that protect his being.

This Dragonborn Archmage has several scales missing and a long deep gash running along his face. He has two long, spiny and membranous ears, and a slightly off-center snout, akin to a poorly reset broken nose.

Upon his head sit two overly curled horns, and in his chest glows a dragonborn heart, a heart that glows bright enough to be seen beneath his scales and through the sphere of arcane wards that surround him.

 After an encounter with a Red Dagger Assassin as a young Archmage, Neskul has become paranoid, as he knows the Red Daggers are master assassins that always get their target, one way or another. 

This paranoia has caused him to become shut-off and shut-in, though he still teaches the students of his Tower through the use of Simulacrums, Projected Images and various other methods of magic, all while hiding himself away deep within the underground of his Tower of Abjuration...

Archmage of War, Archmage Leowynn Wynanthal

A High Elf War Wizard and Bladesinger, Archmage Leowynn is probably the most prominent figure in Capitol aside Archmage Iados.

An elf with pearl-colored hair that seems to glow in the light, with long and curved ears and incredibly long eyebrows with a small pointed nose. He has pale skin, his face having splotches the color of red wine, with exotic runes carved onto his forearms and a long thin rapier by his side.

He wears flowing robes that looks as if they’re made from specks of starlight, he also wears elven ear clasps made of spun silver and an engraved leather archery bracer on his left wrist.

He has many scars and callouses along his forearms, perhaps formed over many brutal sparring sessions.

But his hands can sometimes be the most fascinating thing about him. He has a recessive finger on each hand, and a Holy Symbol of the Black Hand of Bane branded onto his right hand.

Leowynn is maybe my favorite Archmage out of the lot. He’s the Archmage in charge of both the Tower of War that trains War Wizards, and the War College that trains up the regular infantrymen and soldiers.

He’s probably the most publicly seen figure, and his whole host of magic items, from Bracers of Archery to his Robe of Stars to everything else he carries, also makes him look the part of an Archmage (he’s also the only Archmage to travel to another Plane of existence...)

He’s also known for his spats and arguments with the other Archmages, since the War College has always had an uneasy alliance with the Edhel Halls Library, and with Archmage Leowynn being one of the few Archmages to of taken part in the War Underground between the Elves of the West and the Drow of the East over 50 Years ago, he’s probably the oldest Archmage in the King’s Council, but he seems to favor Archmage Iados and students from the Tower of Evocation especially...

Archmage of Necromancy, Archmage Froja Dundrek

Ya haven’t heard of the old tale of Froja’s head? Well let me tell ya!

There was once a Wizard called Froja who got sentenced to death for using Necromancy and black magics back when it was still a crime, before the War Underground basically. She managed to break free and sneak into the Archives of the Edhel Halls, the place that holds all the scrolls with the old magics in ‘em. She found a spell in those forbidden pages, one that granted her eternal life.

After she cast the Spell, she went in-front of the King himself and asked for forgiveness before demanding her freedom, he refused. Put her in Jail and chopped off her head the next day.

Well as it turns out, she’s still alive! And she now teaches other Wizards. But they still keep her head as a training object for young students...

The best way to describe Froja’s apperance is that of a headless corpse.

She’s a shadowy and shrouded figure, wearing boots and thick black leather straps around the ankles. She also wears grey patterned pants and a slender thin belt made of the same black leather.

A shimmering feathered shawl drapes from her shoulders like a pair of dark wings, and a brooch that seems to be made of woven strands of pure silver hangs from her left breast.

And above her shoulders is a collar made of woven tree twigs, the twigs and sticks thorny and withered black. 

And finally, above this collar, where a head would be, there’s nothing at all! No head, and yet the body lives on...

Archmage Neskul has been at odds with Archmage Froja since the beginning, with Archmage Neskul begging Froja time and time again to reveal whatever magics and spells she used to maintain this life (or un-life) for eternity, never being able to truly die. And time and time again Froja had refused his advances, never revealing even a single detail about the spell she used to gain this eternal life...

Archmage of Transmutation, Drasaaria Argal

There once was a Transmutation Wizard so prolific that eventually any gold coming into her city was treated like scrap metal to her...

Archmage Argal is a Half-Drow Transmutation Wizard, and probably the only figure with a dark elf bloodline that’s tolerated by most people in the Capitol. When she joined the King’s Council, the uproar was tremendous, as the War Underground between the Elves of the West and the Drow had ended not a decade before...

But you wouldn’t think she’s a half-drow if you looked at her, because her skin isn’t dark... It’s metallic!

Her skin has a shine to it like a fine polished metal, and some might even mistake her for a statue standing in the room if you didn’t know her...

She wears very little actual clothing, but hold onto your thirst because she still wears clothes, specifically a pair of white gloves woven from the finest spider silk, while an ornate ear-cuff in the fashion of an orchid spirals around her left ear.

Her leggings have an opalescent sheen, and she’s also one of the many Archmages that likes to stand and walk barefoot...

Argal is another one of my favorites, and I knew I wanted to put a Drow on the Council because I just wanted to see what would happen...

And trust me when I say she’s no pushover, as my Players have found out time and time again.

That shiny skin she has: That’s Adamantine. Yep, she transmuted her skin to become living adamantine, so you try facing down a 20th Level Archmage with 23 AC...

 And she’s also been known to horribly torture people the Council wants dead, or wants answers from. She’s turned a guy’s brains into mercury, polymorphed a guy into a robin before turning said bird into a tiny solid gold statue, she’s even wiped a Player’s memory clean using Programmed Amnesia... She’s a mean one...

She’s also one of the Wizards (alongside Archmage Froja) who’s at odds with Archmage Neskul, since he keeps asking her how she got her adamantine skin and she keeps refusing to answer him.

And due to most of the other Archmages just barely tolerating the presence of a Drow on their Council, that just means she trains up her students in the Tower of Transmutation even harder, which often results in the Tower of Transmutation producing some of the most powerful Mages...

Archmage of Divination, Archmage Ofyne Yuvidet

There used to be a Wizard so skilled in divination magics that she never bothered having a conversation, because she already knew how it was going to end...

Ofyne is a Human Wizard and the Archmage of Divination. She wears old dull blur robes over tattered clothing. She has long and frizzy graying-brown hair that falls just below her shoulders, with what looks like small woodland critters wriggling around in her hair...

Her body seems incredibly damaged. Her hands are stained multiple colors of brown and green, and acid burns that run along both hands.

On her right hand is a small blackened sixth finger that twitches of its own volition. She also possesses what’s left of a still-attached left hand. It looks like it was crushed but was never amputated. She also has a horrid burn mark running down from her left elbow to her crushed hand.

One leg seems severely deformed: Ofyne uses a set of double crutches to walk, but more often floats and flies around as she finds it far easier on her body. She’s also one of the Wizards that walks barefoot, and smells of burnt tea leaves!

She seems blind, her eyes pale and clouded over with cataracts in her old age, with bags under her eyes that suggests she probably hasn’t slept comfortably in many years...

She has no nose, instead having a big hole where her nose would be, and her mouth is permanently crooked, giving her a cocky smirk and almost wicked grin. However, Ofyne wears a prosthetic nose and mask made of silvery-blue mithral, which keeps the prosthetic in place while partially obscuring her face to prying eyes.

Small mushrooms emerge and grow from her neck and shoulders, she also has several scars around her neck, some apparently self-inflicted, almost like she’s had her throat slit multiple times and healed from every wound...

Ofyne (or Archmage Yuvidet if you want to call her that) is probably the most interesting Archmage. She hasn’t cut or groomed her hair in over 8 Years, and her eyes seem to glow when near poison or fresh blood.

She’s in charge of the Library of Saturnity in Fostin, ans she’s also one of the very few Archmages that’s actually allied with Archmage Neskul.

However, the Archmage of Divination is currently missing and has been missing for some number of months now, but this has yet to become public knowledge...

Ofyne is probably the oldest Human on the Council (aside from Archmage Froja and that eternal life thing she has going on...) and Ofyne’s seen a lot.

You’d think for a Divination Wizard she’d be fine right, no scratches at all because she knows the future...

Well when you have to take orders from the King, the Hand of the King, and a bunch of Archmages (lest you be straight up murdered), you’re forced into situations where you know you’re going to get messed up. (Google ‘The Seven Against Thebes’ if you want to see where I got some inspiration...)

And that’s all the Archmages!

And yes, I know there’s other Wizard Schools like the School of Invention and the School of Onomancy, but since those aren’t Official Subclasses yet, I’m yet to make them canon in my world, so no, there is no Archmage of Onomancy or Archmage of Invention... Yet!

But tell me what you think of the Archmages of Capitol, what are your first impression, are they to be trusted?

Let me know in the Comments with your Replys and Reblogs!

[airquietworks]

Expecting! (IzuOcha)(Part 4)

Summary: The world may never be the same. Izuku and Ochako have to answer for their choice to have a child. Navigating pregnancy and heroics is no small task, but together, they are determined to succeed. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

"Wow! What do you think Dad used this for?"

Hiroaki watched, bored, as his sister hauled up an oversized gauntlet. It was sleek and stylish, emblazoned in a familiar shade of green. It also appeared rather weighty; he noticed she was huffing as she held it.

"Punching stuff, I guess," he muttered in reply from his place sitting against the wall. He let out a yawn and adjusted himself. He chased a sense of comfort, and perhaps a nap, though he knew it would be a struggle in this dusty space.

"But why would he need this to punch stuff?" The green-haired girl clumsily deposited the gauntlet on the ground, staring intently at it with a wide-eyed look. "He already punches stuff hard without it!"

The girl gleefully mimicked her father, flailing her fists out in the air toward some unseen opponent.

"I dunno, Reiko. You'd have to ask him."

———————————————————————————————————–

Epilogue: Memories, storms and wonder

———————————————————————————————————–

The nine-year-old did not heed him at all, excitedly wandering into another corner of the room in search of new treasures. He had to admit she looked rather cute, her freckled face wide with excitement as she trotted around in a play-friendly set of blue overalls over a red shirt. Hiroaki smiled at her carefree exuberance. He could remember a time when he too could look at this room and feel that unbridled sense of wonder.

He could remember a time where he dreamed of being a hero.

Hiroaki kept a careful watch over her as she explored her parents' trove of all things heroic. Boxes full of memorabilia littered the floor, stacked into disorderly piles that were difficult to navigate. Greens and pinks dotted the space; their parents' old memorabilia hung on the walls and sprawled across the floor.

One wall stood out from the chaos of the rest. While much of the room was in disarray – a product of their parents' busy lives and an overwhelming amount of stuff – the far wall was more meticulously maintained. The wide grin of the visage of All Might bombarded the eyes. Figures, posters, books, clippings, and a few special family photos. His dad had quietly worked to maintain that wall, at least.

Hiroaki suddenly felt a compelling force tugging at him. He rose from his position, stretching out his muscles. The boy carefully walked forward, keeping his eyes locked on the same image which always transfixed him. Sitting on one of the shelves was a photo in a faded frame. His parents were there, beaming brightly. His eyes instead focused on the thin, frail man between them. His face was weathered and absolutely covered in tears, but he wore a massive grin.

The old man held up a small bundle. The baby's face within was hard to make out, but he could see a little tuft of brown hair peeking from the folds.

Hiroaki's namesake holding him.

"Look, Toshi, it's that cool red cape Dad stopped using!"

"Hang on," Hiroaki Toshinori Midoriya muttered, turning to try and find his sister amidst the room's debris. "And would you stop calling me that? Stick to 'Aki.'"

"But why? You go by 'Toshi' all the time!" Her disembodied voice came from the far end of the room. She had disappeared amidst the space's overwhelming amount of objects. He tried to peek past piles of boxes, searching for her between the cracks he could find.

He breathed out a tired sigh. It could be a pain trying to explain things to her. "Yeah, well, I don't want to go by that now."

"But it's so cool! You're named after All Might! I wish I was!"

"You're named after All Might? But you're so…lame!"

"Betchya Deku hoped it would help a scrawny kid like you. Didn't work, Half-Quirk."

He winced as the echoes of his bullies' taunts rang through his mind. He looked down at the enlarged pads of his left fingertips, which housed the same gravity-defying Quirk of his mother. But it was a pale mimicry, hardly as powerful as she was. His right hand, meanwhile, bore no such power. He shook his head, trying to banish the memories that so often plagued him.

He had to focus on the now. He needed to banish the name from the past, which no longer felt right.

"I just don't think it really suits me. And would you peek out? I can't see-"

His fervent search caused him to miss a small box at his feet. He tripped over the dense object, yelping as he landed on his side with a soft thud.

"Toshi! I mean…Aki? You okay?"

Hiroaki gave an answering groan, his shoulder sore from the point of impact as he rubbed it gingerly. He winced at the small throb of pain, but he could tell it was not too bad. He had to be tougher.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Just tripped on something." He eyed the box which had caused him to fall, shifting over to it. It looked pretty small; just what was inside it to make it so solid?

Without much thought, he put his fingers atop the dusty cardboard, opening up the loose flaps to see what mysteries lay inside.

His eyes were bombarded with naked flesh, glossy text, and a familiar pair of serene faces. A nude, bulging stomach stood out prominently in the centre of the page.

"AAAAAAAAH!"

"Toshi! What's wrong? Are you okay?" Reiko's voice sounded a lot closer. But he dared not turn around as he hurriedly stashed the magazine deeper into the box and out of sight, gross as it felt to even touch the thing.

But despite his best efforts, the flash of the image firmly imprinted itself in his mind. His parents, cuddling, eyes closed and absolutely, completely, disgustingly naked. Naked on a magazine cover.

It would haunt him to the end of his days.

He had to save his sister from that fate.

"Toshi! What's wrong?" Reiko's joyous energy was completely gone. She was battle-ready, or at least a child's imitation of it, with her fists out in front of her and her eyes frantically scanning the room for the assailant. She pursed her lips, ready to spit out bursts of flame. She sported what was once their father's red cape. It was bigger than she was, wrapping around her like a cloak and leaving a train of cloth behind.

Hiroaki frantically flipped himself around to try and hide the box from Reiko's gaze. He scrambled in place awkwardly, nearly stumbling over himself. "I'm fine, I'm fine! I just got startled by a…by a spider! Yeah, and it ran off somewhere."

The awkward pause was terrifying.

"A spider?" Reiko quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Do you need me to smash it?"

"No, no, no, it's already gone off somewhere. No need to worry!" He laughed nervously while adjusting himself to try and better hide the box. It occurred to him how lame it must sound to have screamed about a spider. "It was, uh, really close, like right next to my face when I fell!"

Hiroaki knew his attempt at bravado was poor, and there are few people it would fool. Indeed, Reiko squinted at him. He did his best to remain even-keeled under her scrutiny.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He nodded and gave her the best reassuring smile he could manage. "Yeah, I'll be fine. You can go keep digging around."

Content that her brother no longer needed saving, Reiko returned to her merriment, searching for the next cool treasure she could gawk at and try on.

Hiroaki breathed a sigh of relief.

With his sister out of the way, he turned to examine the cursed box behind him. He did not get a good look at it in his earlier shock. Careful to avoid the side he had stuffed the mind-scarring magazine, he rummaged through the rest of the material.

The box was piled with a lot of magazines and newspaper covers. He carefully flipped through them. Each one was emblazoned with a recognizable hero on the cover. Most of them were of either Dad or Mom, but there were a few of their classmates too: Kacchan, Aunt Tsu, even the Todoroki family on one.

It was a treasure trove of information about the heroes from his parents' class. It was a little bit fascinating, seeing the history of it all compressed into one space. His father must have hoarded them as mementos. Many of the magazines dated back at least 10 years.

Hiroaki gasped when he saw himself.

The entire Midoriya family was there. Him, smiling gingerly up at the camera, with Dad's mighty arm firmly around him. Mom holding up a baby Reiko, beaming forward, her pink cheeks lifted in a wild smile. He could not remember this photo – he must have been three or four at the time – but it was a pleasant picture nonetheless.

"Deku-Uravity – Double Trouble!" The lifestyle magazine declared boldly. The smaller font made the pointed statement: 'Heroes spill secrets on second child.'

He stroked his fingers across the page. It was a strange window to the past. He looked so young there, with hardly a care in the world.

Curiosity piqued, he flipped through to the central article promised in the front. He suddenly wanted to know exactly what his parents had to say about their growing family.

The article was engaging – quick, punchy, and interspersed with colorful commentary. He hung on to every word his parents said, the echoes of their voices ringing whenever he read a quote.

"It's hard to balance being a hero and being a parent." Dad's words stood out on the page, pulled out with a larger font.

The article warmed his heart, but it made more than a few suggestions about the difficulty of balancing hero life and parenting. He furrowed his brows as his eyes lost focus on the page.

His parents never talked much about the challenge, but he knew it was there. It was a natural part of life that they were very busy. It was incredible growing up watching their feats, but he spent many nights without them around.

They were there when he needed them. He had to remind himself of that constantly. But these days, that need seemed all too great.

He was the only person in his grade with heroes for parents. It made him stand out. Once, he thought it was great. Now, it seemed like a curse.

Hiroaki had not put much thought into how his parents decided to have children, despite their jobs. It was a weird thing to think about your parents' choice to conceive you.

"We live to protect the world. But we also live for our children." The great hero Deku's words stood out in the page, shaded with his signature green colour. Hiroaki frowned at them as he finished the article.

He placed the magazine down onto the pile. He carefully checked his blind spots, making sure Reiko was nowhere near. With the coast clear, he reached into the side of the box and pulled out the forbidden nude cover he wished he could cast aside.

But as he checked it carefully – trying his best not to focus on the whole image of his naked parents – his curiosity was confirmed. He had only glanced at the image previously, but a closer inspection yielded more intrigue. They weren't just nude; they were expecting. Expecting him. The bulge of his mother's belly was unmistakable as the text tugged the reader to explore the pregnancy of one of the world's most famous couples.

"It's a frightening concept, being parents, especially in this field of work where we risk and put our lives on the line every day."

His father's words stood out on the cover, teasing the rest of the story. He frowned again at those words, struggling to understand. His parents were unbeatable. There was no doubt in his heart that they would overcome anything thrown at them.

But why would they be so frightened about having a child? Having him?

He furrowed his brows and flipped through the pages, desperately tearing past every ad and article to get to his parents' story. He finally found the page and wasted no time digging in.

"Deku and Uravity are conquering the world of heroism. They are two of the youngest pros to make Japan's Top 20. They have saved countless lives and are now one of the most famous power couples on the planet.

But the two are about to face a whole new challenge, one that no amount of villains beaten will prepare them for: parenting.

"It wasn't an easy decision to make," admitted the expectant mother, Ochako "Uravity" Midoriya. One look at her belly revealed why she had been out of the field for weeks. She regularly touched her abdomen as she spoke, swollen in her pregnancy.

"Neither of us had really imagined being parents growing up." Izuku "Deku" Midoriya spoke with his right hand intertwined with his partner. He had always said being a hero was everything he ever dreamed of. But having a child was a new dream, one which only emerged more recently. "We were both set on being heroes from when we were young."

Hiroaki tried to comprehend the words flowing on the page. He had never really thought about what it was like for his parents to decide to have kids. They had always been his parents; surely it was something they had always wanted?

Apparently not.

His eyes focused on the page again, his heart plunging into the sinking feeling in his gut.

"Once again, the heroic couple is doing something unprecedented. They are the highest-ranked pro hero couple in Japan's history. Now, they are one of the first pro couples to ever have a child. Although they said they will take time once their child is born, both are planning to stay pro afterward.

So what drove them to have a child?

Deku's eyes lit up as he answered.

"Kids can be a lot of work. But they have this incredible spark in them. Every child I've met has given me hope for the future. I-"

"Whatchya reading?"

"Woah!" Hiroaki jumped slightly in place from his sitting position, the magazine hanging loosely in his hand. He looked over to his sister, who eyed the dangling pages.

"Nothing! Nothing…" Hiroaki stopped himself as Reiko crossed her arms and pouted at the obvious lie. "It's, uh…an old magazine with an article about Mom and Dad."

"Really? Can I see?" Her demeanour changed on a dime, the fangirl instantly coming to the fore.

Hiroaki bit his lip in thought. The article was…not a pleasant read. But she might have a hard time reading it, anyway.

She definitely should not bear witness to the cover. But if he hovered over her shoulder, he should be able to prevent her from seeing it.

"Suuure," he spoke with a nervous drawl as he extended the pages out toward her. He kept his hands firmly on it as she scooched over to sit next to him. He pulled her in close and hesitated before letting the magazine go so she could hold it. He pushed the fabric of her cape away, not daring to try and separate her from her impromptu costume.

Reiko cackled at the artful layout, eyes going wide at the photos. "They look so cool!"

Hiroaki watched carefully as she started on the text of the article. He helped on occasion, reading to her whenever she stumbled on the letters. The slow pace let his mind hover more carefully over the words.

His parents had defied history when they had him. He had not really understood that before, but he could see it now. They had not originally imagined having him. They had different dreams before him. Had been afraid to even give birth to him.

He squinted at his father's words when he got the chance. Every child had given him hope for the future? He read on.

"I just…I wanted the chance to raise my own."

Was it just that simple? They just liked kids? Enough to take all the risks this article talked about?

He frowned, glancing down at his left hand again. At the sad half-Quirk his mother had passed on to him, his mastery of which did not hold a candle to hers. At his bony arms, so far removed from his father's godlike strength.

Their sad faces swam in his mind.

"It's getting worse, Deku."

"What did they do to you?"

"Cheer up, honey. Let's go do something fun, okay?"

"I'm going to have a talk with your teacher."

"You'll get through this. I promise it will get better."

He could see their disappointment whenever he walked home with an ugly bruise or a split lip, whenever he gave away he had been bullied again, something he had forced himself to get better at disguising. When they saw he was not strong enough to fend for himself.

Those eyes were full of pity. He could not stand them. He could not stand how beneath them he was.

"Every child I've ever met has given me hope for the future."

What hope could his dad see in him?

"Aki?" His sister once again burst his thoughts apart. He shook his head, trying to stay focused on the moment and help his sister read.

"Sorry. Where were we?"

But the words of his own article and his own doubts kept tugging away at his mind. Fear kept clouding over him, twisting and turning into an all-consuming storm. It was enough to choke his thinking. Flashes of lightning penetrated the rest of thoughts, making the bundle of nerves within him all but impossible to ignore.

When Reiko finally got bored and left, he pored over the rest of the piece. But he found no solace in his parents raving about the idea of having him. The words seemed empty, hollow, a lifetime away from the reality they now faced.

Still, the article was bizarre enough to pique his curiosity more. He wanted to hear from his parents about it. If he could summon up the courage, he wanted to confront them about his own conception.

He looked over to his sister ogling the various figures of All Might, eyes still starry at the thrill of it all. Although he could not share her enthusiasm, he could grin at her, at least. She could still spark that in him.

"You about done? I want to go talk to Dad and Mom about something."

Reiko's face fell and she turned to regard him with a pout and crossed arms. Her attempt to look indignant came off as more cute than anything. It was a far cry from the firecracker she could be on the playground. "You don't have to look after me here. I'll be fine."

The last time she had said that, she ended up with a busted finger and he had gotten a stern scolding from Mom and Dad. The room was fairly safe, but in enough disarray to be a little risky to leave a child unattended.

But getting into an argument with Reiko would do little good. Fortunately, he knew well how to nudge her in other directions. He pushed down his stormy feelings and regarded her with a grin.

"Don'tchya want to show off something you found in here?" He suggested it with an enthused flourish, walking over to grab her hand through the massive cape she was still sporting. "I'm sure they'd love to see you decked out in this."

With those simple words, her face was alight again as she swung the fabric back and forth with her arms. She beamed while looking down at it, striking a pose completely lost within the folds. "I do look cool in this."

"The coolest," Hiroaki quickly confirmed.

"Alright, let's go! Here comes Spitfire!" She zoomed forward with a flourish, shouting out one of her ideas for a future hero name. It was certainly one of her better ones, compared to when she tried to mash up her name with "Deku" or "Uravity."

He followed along behind her, clenching his hand around the folds of the magazine.

Their living room was spacious but fairly ordinary. It was a contradiction to the modest wealth his parents had accumulated. The wooden floors, white walls, floor table, and a large television tucked away in the corner made the room inviting, but far from extravagant. Their house was definitely not large; he could recall his mother talking about keeping a home "cozy" when Uncle Todoroki confronted her about it.

There was a wall with an open window into a small kitchen area, allowing for ease of conversation between the family and whoever was making dinner.

It was there he saw his father: tall, muscular, and imposing, rapidly cutting up vegetables for the evening meal. He was dressed up, wearing a bright white dress shirt with a loosened collar and nice slacks. His wild green hair was slicker than usual, although no force on Earth that Hiroaki knew could completely tame those locks.

Reiko surged ahead of him. "Daddy! Daddy! How do I look?"

She twirled and struck a dramatic pose, her hands on her hips and her chin jutting upward. Dad peered around the doorway, eyeing her over with a smile.

"Oh, is that the amazing Spitfire saving the day?" He chuckled, flashing her a thumbs-up. "Looking sharp! You fish that out of the storage room?"

"Yup! We found so much stuff!" Reiko hopped in place, beaming up at their father.

"I can remember wearing that as part of my first pro costume." He looked upwards wistfully towards a memory Hiroaki could not hope to see. "Good times. Didn't end up keeping it, though."

"Aww, you shoulda!" Reiko pouted, swinging the cape around some more. "Capes are the best!"

"Not when they get caught. Or destroyed," Dad chuckled softly to himself before returning to meal preparation. "Your dinner will be ready in a half-hour."

The pleasant banter seemed a world away from Hiroaki at the moment. The home they had built was one filled with laughter and love. But these days, he often felt like it was at the periphery of it all.

He shook his head, trying to chase away the ridiculous thoughts. He stepped forward to speak but was cut off again.

"…And then we'll be off for the night." Hiroaki blinked when his Mom walked into the room, done up in a form-fitting black dress. Her face was artfully crafted in a layer of makeup, making her look substantially younger. The brown locks were done up in an elegant knot, a few stray strands loose to frame her face.

"Wow, Mom," Hiroaki couldn't help but pipe up. "You look really pretty."

She beamed at him, walking over to ruffle his head affectionately. Her hand was warm against his scalp and instantly made him more at ease. "Thanks, sweetie."

Tonight was date night, a rather rare occasion in the Midoriya household. Mom and Dad would make dinner for them and head out alone, leaving a babysitter behind. He always felt a little sad when they spent one of their few free nights away from him, but it was somehow comforting to see his parents together, doing something safe. Even if they could get…icky.

Besides, it usually meant a visit from the world's greatest babysitter.

"Is Eri coming soon, Mom?" Reiko uttered the question on his own mind, leaping forward to capture the room's attention.

Ochako smiled and leaned down slightly to answer. "She should be here by dinner time."

"Yay!" Reiko cheered, cocking a fist. "I can show her all my new Quirk tricks!"

The girl pursed her lips, preparing to breathe fire. Ochako got a slightly panicked look before pressing a finger to the girl's lips to halt her.

"Now, Reiko, what did we say about your Quirk?"

Reiko's shoulders sagged. "Not inside," she said underneath her mother's finger.

"That's right," Ochako said brightly, withdrawing the appendage. She breathed a sigh of relief at preventing another Quirk-induced accident. Reiko had damaged a lot of furniture before she got a better handle on her powers. Hiroaki eyed a fire extinguisher hung up next to the television – one of many spread throughout the house.

"I'm going to go practice out back, then!" Reiko proclaimed, running off in excitement. She paused, directing her attention to her brother. "Can you come and practice with me, Aki? Pretty please?"

She put on her best adorable pout, one that rarely failed to win her father over. But Hiroaki was made of harder stuff, and Quirk practice was not something that interested him these days.

Besides, he had more pressing matters to address. It would be best if Reiko was not in the room for that.

"Not this time, sorry," Hiroaki replied coldly, eyes intent on his parents.

The response was much to Reiko's chagrin. "Hmph," she breathed out, nostrils flaring, before she ran outside to let out some steam.

Hiroaki took a deep breath before he took the plunge. He had to act quickly. His parents would be leaving soon. The storm raging inside him thrummed angrily, thunder crackling loudly.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Hmm? What is it, sweetie?" She turned to regard him with a gentle smile.

Hiroaki thrust the cursed magazine forward, pointedly aiming the cover away from himself. "Could you-"

"AAAH! WHAT?!"

The loud exclamation was enough to make Hiroaki jump. The magazine was out of his hands before he knew what was happening. His mother's eyes bulged comically at the page, her hand shaking as she held it.

"What is it?!" Izuku sprung into action, leaping forward from the kitchen doorway and scanning the room. He paused and gasped as he saw the magazine cover.

"Oh." He blinked a few times at the sight, Ochako pointedly inclining the image more towards him. "OH!"

Ochako smacked her palm against her face. "Where did you find this, Aki?"

"In the storage room," he answered quickly, eyes moving rapidly between his parents. He didn't imagine they'd be this alarmed, even if the photo was awful. "Umm…are you two alright?"

His mother took a bracing breath. She removed her hand from her eyes to regard the image again, holding it out in front of her. "We're fine. Just a…a little surprised, is all. Gosh, I had forgotten about this. I kinda wanted to forget about it."

Hiroaki's mind spun at the words. She wanted to forget about it? Why? Was it a bad memory?

"I don't know." His father stepped closer to properly appraise the cover, grasping it in his right hand. His lips tilted upward into a small smile, which confused Hiroaki all the more. "I'm still fond of it."

"Easy for you to say. You got to hide behind me," Ochako grumbled with crossed arms. "I'm surprised you kept it around…but I guess I shoulda figured you would."

"It was a pretty big moment in our careers." Izuku fluttered through the pages toward the article within. "I still remember what happened when the photo was taken. And it's a moment I'll treasure forever."

His mother's face softened at his father's words. She leaned slightly to glance at the cover, a grin ghosting on our lips. She idly traced a hand down to her stomach.

"I suppose so…" she murmured. "Still mad about all that happened afterward. Ryuko was about ready to stomp on me after all the press calls she had to deal with."

"It could have been so cool to take on a dragon though," Izuku replied with a toothy grin. His mother laughed at him.

Hiroaki watched the conversation play out, his eyes flinging between them as if viewing a tennis match. Without realizing it, he had quickly become a third wheel. He did not like it.

It was all so confusing. He had to know more. He had to understand.

His patience wore thin. He approached his mother, reaching up to grasp the ends of two fingers. She turned to look down on him with a calming smile.

"What happened when the picture was taken? Why would you even take a picture like this?"

The two glanced at one another, searching faces for answers.

"It's a…bit of a weird story," his father began after a moment, scratching the back of his head. "We knew we needed to get the word out about…well, you. And we wanted to try to control the message."

"We were worried about what might happen if people found out I was pregnant." Ochako shifted herself to lean against the wall, her hand idly stroking her belly again. "When you're a hero, the press can be a scary thing."

Hiroaki frowned, eyes scanning between them again. Once more, their choice to have a kid seemed to be such a bother for them. If there was so much to worry about, why did they go through with it? Was it really worth it?

Was he really worth it?

"We got in touch with the magazine to try and get ahead of things," Izuku continued, passing the magazine back to Ochako and moving to the kitchen to continue making their meal. Hiroaki shifted himself closer, leaning hard on every word. He needed answers.

His mother idly thumbed at the pages. "We did the interview. One thing led to another. We got a really…bombastic photographer." She looked skyward and leaned on her finger.

"She kind of convinced us," Deku replied with enthusiasm, as the light sizzle of meat cooking started to permeate the room. Hiroaki sniffed, the pleasant aroma of chicken and spices filling his nostrils. "I know, it's shocking. It shocked us. But it's tasteful. It's artful."

At those words, Hiroaki carefully inclined his head to glance at the cover again. It was hard to look at; there were some things which would always look unpleasant with parents involved. But at a second glance, he could see what they meant. No private bits were showing. His mother was covered, her modesty preserved. No, the most prominent part of the photo was…him.

"I…I guess so," Hiroaki replied, averting his eyes as soon as he could. "It's…it's still weird to me."

"A lot of people thought so," Ochako muttered, pouting behind the magazine. "We got so much flak for even daring to have a child in our circumstance, too…"

Hiroaki's ears perked up. His heart sank at the thought of it. "You did?"

Ochako's mouth quirked up. "We got plenty of support and well-wishers. But you should have seen the columns. 'Deku throws his career away.' 'Uravity letting her child down.' 'Pro heroes should not become parents.' Gosh, it was ridiculous."

Ridiculous. Yes, it certainly seemed that way.

But they beat the odds. Dad somehow balanced family life and became the number one hero, albeit with close contenders. Mom yo-yoed inside the Top 10.

Even if they were busy, Hiroaki did not often want for his parents' love. He knew what kids looked like when they did.

"We managed pretty well in the end," his father said softly as he moved about the kitchen. "Wouldn't you say so, Aki?"

He wanted to say yes. Of course they did. He was forever respectful of just how much time and dedication his parents put into managing a stable home and work life.

They had built this home. This home of love and laughter and heroes.

But his anxieties started to storm through his mind again. His tongue froze in place as he tried to spit out the easy answer he knew he should. Could he really count himself as part of such a home?

Should he have been?

They sacrificed so much, going against the grain, to have him. They boldly announced him to the slings and arrows of the world at large. They gave up so much time to care for him, back then and even now, with their struggles to even get a regular night out for themselves.

"Something wrong, sweetie?" His mother leaned down toward him, her warm chocolate eyes drawing him in. He blinked, realizing his own were starting to water. He quickly wiped a hand across them and took a breath, trying to control his own emotions.

He had to ask the question. He needed to, more than anything.

"Do you ever-"

A familiar pair of loud blares pierced through the room. The noise rang hard against the ears, but was mercifully brief. Once. Twice. Three times, all in perfect unison.

His parents both pulled out their phones, typing into them with practiced ease. A video projection sprung to life in front of each of them, but the footage was too grainy to make out clearly.

"Uravity!"

"Deku!"

Any trace of humour drained instantly from their faces. It was a transformation Hiroaki had sadly grown accustomed to. They tensed, their eyes sparking to a new kind of life, focus intently on their communicators. His parents were gone; only heroes remained.

"What's the situation?" They said it in perfect harmony. Hiroaki knew it was not a rehearsed thing; he did not even think they realized when they did it. But as heroes, they were in sync, maintaining the same cadence.

Already, they both moved quickly out of the room, walking perfectly side-by-side. They hurried forward toward their bedroom, where they would get suited up in a flash. The blares were only for emergencies, and they treated it as such.

"There's been a villain attack."

"We have a collapsing building."

"We need your strength-"

"The rubble is bad. People are trapped-"

The communications were not nearly as in-sync. The disembodied voices dissipated as the heroes moved out of earshot. He could gather it was a really bad situation from those scarce details. They were needed and might be gone for quite a while.

Which meant his question would have to wait.

Hiroaki clenched his fists. He let out a tired sigh and tried to rein himself in. His eyes suddenly felt heavier, a weight pressing down hard on him. He loved his family and he was proud of his parents. But their jobs could get in the way far too often.

It was hard for them to balance. But it was hard for him, too.

The scent of burning meat awoke him from his light stupor. His father had left the meal unattended. Without another thought, Hiroaki leaped into action, plunging himself into the kitchen to try and rescue dinner.

He yanked the chicken pot off the stovetop and quickly went to work carrying on preparation. With oft-absentee parents, he had gotten plenty used to cooking. It was not much, but it was the help his parents needed right now. He would do it.

"Toshi, Toshi, Toshi!" Reiko burst back into the room, face alight with pure joy. "I heard! Have they got a mission?"

His sister had become much more enthusiastic about their heroics than he was. What was a sobering moment for the rest of the family was cause for pure excitement in the child. In its own way, it was heartening to see someone could smile in the situation. But Reiko could get a little testy when emergencies happened.

"Sounds like it," he confirmed as he busied himself with plating. "They're getting ready now. Make sure you stay out of their way."

Reiko pouted at him. "But I want to see if they'll finally take me to watch!"

Hiroaki froze at the proclamation. Reiko was always eager to see their parents in action in person, after they had calmly knocked a villain out when the family was out shopping one day. Since then, she had tried to convince them to take her out on patrol, or to a scene, or to the office. Anywhere she could witness her parents kicking butt again.

The answer, of course, was always no. Reiko was far too young, their work too dangerous and demanding. But the denials did little to curb her enthusiasm.

Their parents had taught him even a few minutes delay could make the difference between someone living and dying.

Which meant he had to act to control his sister.

He carefully placed a plate he was holding onto the table and stepped quickly to intercept Reiko. She was eyeing to make a beeline toward the front of the house. He kneeled down to meet her at eye level.

Reiko stopped in place, eyes going wide in surprise at the sudden face-to-face appearance of her brother. She instinctively tried to move around him, but he extended an arm, making it clear he was not budging.

"Toshiiiiii," Reiko whined, cheeks puffing up in rage. "Move!"

He remained steadfast. "I'm not budging. You can't bug them right now."

"You're the one bugging!" She glared at him, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

"I promise, we can watch it on TV. It's big. There'll be a live broadcast." When it came to fighting Reiko's fire, negotiation tended to work best. "And I'm sure Eri will let us stay up late…if we ask nicely."

Far from a guarantee. But he was willing to fib if he had to.

"It's not the same as being there," she grumbled, crossing her arms. "Dad said he used to chase heroes around all the time."

"When he was older than you. Plus, Dad said he nearly got killed doing it, remember?"

Her face fell at that. "I wouldn't."

Hiroaki scratched his head. He made progress, but she still looked intent on bursting through him.

He groaned aloud. He would have to bring out the big guns in this negotiation.

"I'll Quirk train with you all day tomorrow."

"Really?!" She jumped up slightly at that, her face exploding into unadulterated joy. "But you never want to practice Quirks anymore!"

That was still accurate.

"I'll make an exception." He winced as his head conjured up images of the burns he would be subjected to tomorrow.

"Okay, I'll be good!" She beamed up at him, before casually lifting up his arm to proceed forward. "I'm still saying bye, though!"

"Deal's off if you bug 'em!" Aki called out as she walked away. She turned quick, sticking out her tongue, before continuing on toward the front of their house.

He groaned, shaking his head at the promise he had just delivered. He no longer got any enjoyment out of Quirk practice, and the lifts Reiko demanded of him were absurdly draining. If Eri stuck around, it would help, but it was still not something he looked forward to.

Especially when he was bound to watch his mother perform incredible feats with her Quirk on the news tonight. Feats he could only ever dream of.

He stared down at his frail right hand again. It shook slightly, anxiety setting his muscles alight for a moment. He balled the Quirkless appendage into a fist, regaining control.

Hiroaki made his way to the kitchen to continue dinner preparations. His hands were good for that much, at least. The question attaching itself to his head would assuredly haunt him amidst the quiet work, but he would just have to deal with it. It was the least he could do for his heroes.

He glanced down the hallway to see his parents dash quickly through it toward the exit of their house, donned in full uniform. Their speed was impressive, but their costumes helped them stand out, the green and pink blurs unmistakable.

Hiroaki bit his lip. In spite of himself, he pursued, wanting to see them off as they ran to save the day. He burst through to the main entrance of the building to the outside world, hoping to catch them before they jumped off.

He saw the two heroes pausing in the large open yard in front of their home, doing one last check-up on equipment. He saw his mother typing rapidly into her phone. The two were faster on foot than they were in a car, but jumping from place to place usually required some advanced navigational help from custom technology.

Reiko eagerly moved around the pair, sizing them up and jumping up a storm. But she was keeping her end of the bargain, staying far enough away so as to not interfere with them.

The two heroes nodded to one another, seeming ready to take off. But to his surprise, his mother instead crouched down to embrace Reiko in a tight hug, an unusual gesture in an emergency situation.

Before Hiroaki could blink, Deku was before him, standing tall and imposing. The boy let out a small breath, his head fogging up at the sight.

Deku wore an aura that was hard to describe; it was awe-inspiring, as if staring up at the face of a god. But there was a safety and surety that came with Deku's smile, which had its way of worming into you. It made one feel as if everything would be alright, no matter what challenges lay ahead. Deku had an everlasting flame, and he was more than generous in sharing it with others.

Deku crouched down quickly, meeting him at eye level. "You seemed a little troubled earlier. What's the matter?"

With the simple question, his dad was in front of him again. The smile he regarded him with was…gentler, somehow. It was more familiar, burning less hot than Deku's, but no less intensely. It was the blanket after the worst was over and you needed comfort. Deku's smile was for the whole world. But his dad's smile was meant for the world he had built inside his home.

The storm within Hiroaki crackled. He tried to keep his composure, but he could already feel the tears starting to well up at the bold confrontation.

He did not have much time to think. Time was of the essence. If he wanted to do the selfish thing and ask the question rolling atop his tongue, he could not dawdle.

He could not rein in the impulse. The words burst out from him like lightning.

"Do you ever regret having kids? Having…having me?"

The words were ugly, terrible things when said aloud. His father's face broke apart in shock, the pleasant smile disappearing. It made Hiroaki's heart tremble, his chest constricting painfully at his father's face.

The boy's head spun. His muscles tensed. It was a stupid thing to ask. He had made a grave mistake. He wanted to run away, but his legs were frozen to the ground under his father's astonished stare.

He had to control the situation.

"Sorry, never mind, you have to get going. Don't worry, we can – we can talk later, or something, you should just-"

A hand on his shoulder cut off his mumble-storm. He looked up again. Dad was there, smiling at him gently.

But those green eyes – passionate, confident – those were the eyes of Deku.

"Not once. Not ever. You mean the world to me. And I never would have learned to be the world's greatest hero without you."

Izuku wrapped him up in a tight embrace, radiating the warmth and comfort Hiroaki did not know he needed.

All of his fears and anxieties dissipated, for just a moment. These arms could make the worst of the world seem small. Was there anything to fear from a 12-year-old magazine article? Did he imagine it all? Was it all in his head?

Rays of light broke through the storm clouds which shrouded his mind. He breathed in the fresh air and found himself powerless as the rain began to fall.

Hiroaki hugged his father tightly, indulging himself for a moment. He wiped his wet cheeks into his father's shoulder. He wanted nothing more than to keep hold, to grab on to him forever. It was the fleeting wish which could never be granted, but he could not stop the aching of his heart. A long-buried part of him wished he did not have to share his father with the rest of the world.

But that was impossible. He could agonize over it, or he could make peace with it. He chose the latter.

"Love you, dad. Stay safe."

"Love you too." The words soothed Hiroaki to his very core. "We'll talk more after this is over, I promise. I'll always come back to you."

Deku disengaged for him. The moment did not last long, barely more than a minute, but it was enough. With no more time to lose, the two heroes leaped into the skies. In the distance, he could see their first hops off of the roofs of faraway buildings. They disappeared from view, and already his heart longed for them again.

"They're so cool!" Reiko shouted as she lifted her tiny fists into the air. She sighed dreamily, twisting her oversized cape around her. "We have the world's best parents."

Hiroaki cracked a small smile at that. He gently touched his chest, the warmth his father imparted on him still lingering.

The world shifted slightly. He felt his feet leave the ground, but for once, it did not bother him at all.

"We do."

———————————————————————————————————–

AN: With that, we bring this to a close.

Special thank you to Mika for allowing me to use her designs and backstory for the IzuOcha children. I thought it fitting, giving her artwork inspired this piece. Plus, I adore their design inside and out. You can read more about them, and see some excellent art, here: green-tea-is-love.tumblr.com/post/167860545778/izuocha-week-day-3-quirks.

Thank you to Neon Pixel for commissioning the original artwork which inspired this fic.

Thank you to Deadliest Sin Bin for all the work editing this fic and making it a much better, and cleaner piece of writing.

And thank you, dear readers, for all your support on this one and the rest of my work.

As for what's next for me, I am unsure. I am in the midst of a fallow period and although I have some stray ideas, many of them seem too grandiose. Writing IzuOcha for two years (I can't believe it's been that long) and burning so intensely for My Hero Academia, my interest has admittedly waned. But I'll always be a fan and perhaps the next anime season will help spark more.

So for now, so long, but not goodbye.

Please, leave a like and a reblog. I'd love to hear what you thought of this story. ^_^

[unhealthy-gif-addiction]

My friend’s firsthand Charlottesville experience

One of my friends who wished to remain nameless posted this on facebook today and because they doesn’t have a tumblr I got their permission to post it here. All names of people associated with them personally are fake.

So begins their post:

Content and trigger warning: Charlottesville, Nazism, severe violence, terrorism, white supremacy.

**** So here's my very lengthy piece (roughly 6 pages) of writing describing what I experienced in Charlottesville. This piece was tough for me to write at times but I feel like it's necessary both for my own mental health and for others to get at least a glimpse at what I experienced. I am sharing this with everyone as a way to try and dispel some of the myths and unknowns about what happened as well as allow myself to fully process what happened. Please note I used the term Nazis sparingly but keep in mind that the right wing protesters, whether they openly support Nazis and/or National Socialism, they were standing with those who openly do call themselves Nazis, wave Nazi flags, wear Swastikas, and give the Nazi salute. Included with this post I've added some images to help give people an idea of how and where things happened. The first is a google earth look at where the main protest/counter protest occurred. For reference, the terrorist attack occurred past point A, away from the park by about 4-5 blocks. I would really appreciate it if everyone was respectful of this post as sharing this experience and getting it all out means a lot to me. Thanks.****

At about 8:30am Frank and I arrived in Charlottesville to the sight of police on nearly every street corner. Traffic was being rerouted, streets were shut down and there were hundreds of people everywhere. We drove around a bit, trying to get our bearings in the city as well as get an idea of where counter protesters were meeting. We parked a few blocks away, napped for a short amount of time as we had driven through the night, loaded up our backpacks with water and medical supplies and left to join the counter protesters. We arrived in the park to the welcome of the Socialist Gun Club and Redneck Revolt. Despite whatever your preconceived notions of these groups I assure you these men and women are heroes. Not even 20 minutes after we arrived about 30-40 men dressed in khakis and white polos (later Identified at Identity Europa) were marching down the street in our direction. They were carrying long metal flag poles, pipes, and picket signs. They clearly looked like they were ready to stir up trouble but after seeing the SGC and RR guarding each entrance to the park, they quickly turned around and left. Inside the park there was a lot going on. There were about three tents set up with people passing out free water, snacks, basic medical supplies, and giving medics red tape crosses to designate them to others. My friend and I began to mingle with the various groups, asking where they were from, what their beliefs were on various issues facing the world, and generally getting to know the other people that had gathered here for the same cause. During this mingling time, Frank and I talked with members of IWW (Industrial Workers of the World) and shook hands with a few of the members, not knowing we would be attending the vigil of one of them before the day was over.

At about 10am shouts were heard to gather up into a group and begin moving towards Emancipation Park (formally Lee park, where the statue of General E Lee was being stood up for). When our group of counter protester approached the park where protesters were camped out, we peacefully (but certainly not quietly) gathered around the block. The protesters standing in the park had formed a line of people with homemade and DIY shields (this can be seen by the red line on the map). Protesters were only allowed into about half of the park as the rest of the park and surrounding areas were blocked off and guarded by Virginia State Police (marked as the green on the map).

Our shouts and chants were returned with mostly equal shouting. This went on for about 20 to 30 minutes with both sides shouting obscenities and chants towards the other. “Go home f*******” was responded with “We're here. We're gay. We fight the KKK”. Other popular chants were “Follow your leader, kill yourselves!” and “No Trump. No Pence. No KKK. No fascist USA”. All the while the right-wing protesters attempted to stir up violence by pushing, and pepper spraying or blowing airhorns into the faces of those who got too close to their lines. Cheap plastic water bottles, tomatoes, and water balloons filled with bright paint (mostly pink, light blue-green, and other colors typically regarded as “girly” colors) were thrown from the counter protesters, but nothing that would be able to cause any real harm. The aim was to humiliate.

After a while of this going on I heard shouts from throughout the crowd that TWP (Traditionalist Workers Party) was arriving. There began to be calls and shouts to form a line to block off the street. Rushing over, we quickly formed 3-4 rows of people, locked arms, and refused to move (marked as point A on the map). We did this to show that we were, first and foremost, standing in a non-violent way. Local clergy men and women joined in our show on non-violence but unfortunately our attempt at non-violence was quickly met with violence. Approximately 10-12 members of the TWP and Southern Nationalists armed with "civilian" riot shields grouped together, charged their way through our lines of locked arms, and in the instants following, sprayed mace, knocked people to the ground and grouped up on them to beat them, broke flag poles, and in general pushed their way through the lines of counter protesters with complete disregard for the fact we stood non-violently. I, along with others, responded to this quickly escalating violence by jabbing flag poles and picket signs into the gaps of their shields towards the individuals who were actively assaulting other counter protesters. Other protesters used pepper spray, threw loose objects, and used other personal defense items. The riot shield wielding demonstrators spread out, pushing people to the ground and beat our people with their shields attempting to scatter us. This tactic proved successful in allowing their group to pass into the park where the rest of the right-wing demonstrators were. While this went on, large unarmed men filled in their gaps pushing people to the ground, kicking and punching their way through the crowd. Meanwhile, during all of this violence, VSP stood behind nearby metal barricades and watched, already armed with their own riot gear, without even reacting to the violence unfolding in front of them. I believe VSP's failure to act here set the precedent for the rest of this rally. Seeing that they could get away with this initial level of violence, the demonstrators kept pushing their limits on what would be allowed by law enforcement, eventually leading to the violence of Alex Field's attack.

In the following hour, the now unified right wingers would gather up behind a line of both DYI shields and "civilian" riot shields, throw water bottles, broken cups and mugs, glass bottles, and eventually rocks, broken pieces of pavement, and tear gas canisters. All of the above, except for the rocks and broken pavement, were thrown back by counter protesters. I was given and handful of water balloons by a counter protester and was told they had "Mostly paint but also a little bit of a Jewish Comrade's piss in them". Meanwhile, again, VSP stands idly by. Small exchanges of pepper spray from both sides were present throughout all of this.

After dozens of counter protesters had to fall back to get help from medics and 2 having to be carried back by groups, one of which I helped to drag back to medics, counter protesters started to call for moving into the park. As we did Nazis began ripping up newspaper stands and trashcans from the ground and pushing them down the steps at us. One counter protester responded by picking up the nearest newspaper stand and hurling it back. This didn't deter most, as counter protesters advanced. But here's the best part; as soon as our front line made it actually into the park, the VSP began firing blanks into the air and announced that it was no longer a legal assembly and that everyone had to vacate the park. “This has now been deemed an unlawful assembly by the state of Virginia. Please leave the park and surrounding streets immediately or you will be arrested” was blasted from a megaphone from behind the line of riot police. As soon as this announcement was made, without a moment of hesitation or a moment to clear out, VSP fired cannisters of tear gas into the surrounding streets. While counter protesters were being tear gassed, KKK and TSP leaders, David Duke Grand Wizard included, along with a handful of others who were not on the front lines, were safely escorted out by VSP officers in riot gear using streets that police had shut down.

The right wingers that chose to stay in the park we're eventually pushed to a back corner of the park by undeterred counter protester. This was when I witnessed a man in a suit coat embroidered with a Trump Pepe and crying Bernie Wojack meme as well as a MAGA colonial style hat get in the face of counter protesters by shouting and pushing. One counter protester attempted to steal his hat but was pushed back. This gave an opportunity to a counter protester with pepper spray to spray him from less than 2 feet away. With one of the more prominent protesters having to be helped out of the park to receive medical attention, most of the other right wing demonstrators left the park. The remaining demonstrators formed lines to push back on the now advancing riot police. After about ten minutes of attempted push back and scattered attempts at reasoning and bargaining with riot police, the remaining right wingers let loose onto the streets. I, along with a handful of other counter protesters, followed the last handful of demonstrators as the left the park and followed them up until they entered a street that was guarded by BOTH a group of armed right wing protesters and police (marked as point B on the map). This is where the cooperation between demonstrators and police became absolutely obvious.

It was about this time that the officer manning the loud speaker announced that a state of emergency had been declared. I left the area surrounding the park and headed into the downtown area to join the main crowd of counter protesters. Roughly 40 local police officers had begun lining up in front of a nearby Wells Fargo leaving VSP and riot police to hold down Emancipation Park (the park where the demonstrators were defending the statue of General E. Lee). With all of law enforcement preoccupied, and the Wells Fargo secure, the angry right wingers who just had their rally broken up flooded onto the streets, forming small groups harassing and assaulting lone counter protesters. This was when I witnessed a black man being beaten on the ground by two twenty-something white males in khakis, white polos, and white construction hats. A fellow counter protester rushed up, wielding a black collapsible baton and shouted “Get out of here!” They stopped attacking the man on the ground but didn't leave. At this time 2 officers entered the alleyway from behind the men in white. They rushed over, got in between the two grounds and ushered the two now cooperative men in white into a nearby business. As witnesses to the crime we stayed around waiting to see the men be arrested (it's all about small victories). About 5 minutes later the doors of the business were opened and the two men were walking out, without handcuffs, and without police. They were very obviously let to go free. With this lack of oversight by law enforcement and counter protesters leaving, this allowed the crowd of counter protesters to be an easy target while crossing the street. Not only did this chaos in the streets give way to the attack by James Fields, about 3-4 blocks from where I was at the time, but there was also a pick up truck driving dangerously close to counter protesters on the sidewalk with 5 right wingers wearing white construction helmets, swinging metal poles and a board of plywood at anyone who got too close. Since then I have seen that 2 people were eventually hospitalized by these individuals.

The majority of counter protesters at this point regrouped at our original meeting place to seek medical attention for those who needed it and warn everyone that people had been struck by the vehicle. Everyone was asked to leave the main gathering only in groups and not to loiter on sidewalks.

From there I heard a rumor that they had gathered at a different park across town. I walked roughly 2 ½ miles to where they were with a small group for safety, realized there was no counter protest presence and immediately left as I did not want to be in a place where we were severely outnumbered. There I met up with a group of locals also checking out their gathering and headed back.

A few hours later we were attending the vigil service for the woman killed. This was an extremely moving experience knowing that any one of us could have been targeted. Dozens of people brought flowers, lit candles and laid them on a picture of Heather Heyer. While this emotional service was going on and individuals were speaking, 3 Nazis made their way into the crowd trying to stir up issues at a vigil service for a woman their side had killed. If I haven't made my disdain for these groups clear enough already, FUCK NAZIS! I knew that these people clearly had no conscience from their use of extreme violence on protesters that clearly were not acting aggressively, but to show up at a vigil service for someone not even 3 hours dead was a new level of low that I've never experienced from another human being. I typically regard myself as someone who has faith in other humans, that at our core we are all good people and if given the choice, the majority will do the right thing, but this experience really and truly has truly shaken this part of my world view. I will not say fully broken or truly made me loose hope that people can and will do the right thing. I say this solely because in the face of true fascists organizing and killing people in our position, I heard words like “I didn't come all the way from New York to be safe!” and “As a member of this community I have to stand up and show these people these people are not welcome here”.

Through my time on the internet I thought I knew how despicable and hateful humans could be, from the pictures and videos of the worst of the worst of humanity, the praising of such despicable figures like Hitler, and the insensitive attacks based solely on someone's race or background; but to have this level of outright inhuman disrespect stare me straight in the eyes and not falter, was a completely new experience to me. I will never be able to fully convey what it felt like to stand up against the extermination of races and sexual orientations and have someone so violently oppose you to the point of literal murder. Part of me hopes that most of you never have to go through something like this, but the other half of me thinks that if you never have had this experience, you will never understand why I would absolutely go back to another rally like this. We tried non-violence, but in order for non-violence to work, your enemy must have a conscience. These people do not.

As for who is to blame and how do we handle things going forward? Firstly I will absolutely point the finger for Heather Heyer's death at VSP. Their unwillingness or choosing not to step in to control the violence from the right wing protesters, that they knew would be coming, allowed the violence to keep escalating which eventually led to the death of Heather. I have heard claims that they choose not to step in because they were not armed well enough, to which I call BS. Not only were they equipped with riot gear but there were people without any form of self defense in the middle trying to stop it. Cops are trained to handle these kinds of situations but normal citizens were acting more bravely than cops if that statement is true. As for moving forward, I hope that this violence is not repeated but my gut tells me that this is only the beginning. Multiple nazis have been recorded on camera saying that this is not the end of the violence and that they are just getting started. Intolerance can not be fought with tolerance as much as I wish it was true. I think we need a variety of tactics from civilians to both publicly humiliate, shame, and out these people. However, if you believe that these forms of non-violence alone will work, try using your glitter or paint to stop nazis with riot shields from charging at you. We need individuals who are prepared to stand up to violence AND we need people who are there to help identify and shame these people. Through this combination, I feel like we can both stand up to their violence and also make sure these people don't have jobs.

In all, to fully sum up my experience in Charlottesville, I feel like the most appropriate summation is something that a speaker and activist said at Heather Heyer's vigil.

"The police are paid for with our tax dollars. They are here to serve and protect the public and the only thing they've done today for the public was to knock on someone's door and tell them that their child isn't coming home tonight. I know that you and I are on the right side of history and I ask you to stand proud for being here and standing up for what you believe is right. As many have said before me: 'Mourn for the dead, and fight like hell for the living.'"

[caveartfair]

The Strange and Stunning Results of Artist-Directed Music Videos

Music videos, of course, have always involved artistry, from Michael Jackson’s epic mini-movie for “Thriller” in 1983 to Björk’s 2004 video for “Triumph of a Heart,” which famously features a love affair with a human-sized cat.

But something undeniably odd and inspiring can happen when visual artists who don’t normally work within the medium try their hands at it. Here, we look at 15 clips that showcase the beauty, inventiveness, and occasional disaster that can result when artists step outside of their comfort zones and collaborate with musicians.  

Jon Rafman for Oneohtrix Point Never’s “Sticky Drama” (2015)

This clip for Oneohtrix Point Never opens slow and strange—imagine the gravitas of the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan transposed onto a lo-fi battle between cosplaying adolescents—and it only gets wilder from there. Jon Rafman is an artist known for his mastery of digital animation effects, creating grotesque universes that bend the rules of logic and physics (and traverse the uncanny valley). For one series, he creates creepy CGI renditions of his own dreams—consider him a 21st-century Surrealist with superior software.

“Sticky Drama,” from the 2015 Oneohtrix Point Never album Garden of Delete, is a viciously attention-deficit mix of robotic pop and sheer electronic noise. To accompany it, Rafman chose to go mostly live-action. A vast army of child actors stage their own brutal war, replete with ultra-violent battle scenes and a surplus of green slime (a mood board for this video would likely include both Game of Thrones and Nickelodeon’s Double Dare). A feature film’s worth of epic drama is crammed into less than six frenetic minutes.

David LaChapelle for Blink-182’s “Feeling This” (2003)

How best to conjure the snotty, rebellious energy that made Blink-182 one of the enduring names of pop-punk? David LaChapelle chose to film in a defunct L.A. jail, but don’t expect a treatise on the importance of prison reform here. Instead, the photographer (who has also directed clips for Christina Aguilera, Mariah Carey, and many others) presents a sort of horny penitentiary stocked with nubile young things who are sick and tired of institutional conformity. As in Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall,” these oppressed prisoners don’t need no education—but in this case, they will fight for their right to hump each other during visiting hours.

We see a classroom full of fed-up boys and girls overtaking their fascistic teacher, climbing on their desks in what reads like a punk-rock riff on that climactic scene in Dead Poets Society. That turns into a full-blown riot; a jailbreak; what might be an outtake from a Victoria’s Secret commercial; and a rowdy concert on the roof, where Blink-182 gets anthemic within the safety of a barbed-wire enclosure.

Marco Brambilla for Kanye West’s “Power” (2010)

Clocking in at under two minutes, this slim, supremely dramatic video feels more like the trailer for an action movie starring Kanye West. We see the rapper draped in chains, standing still as a painterly scene comes to life (with half-naked women featured prominently). The general mood—epic surrealism with a dash of kitsch—is in keeping with Marco Brambilla’s other video work. Anyone who has ever stayed at The Standard in New York, or visited its bars, has likely seen his Civilisation (Megaplex) (2008), a Boschian dream that screens in the hotel’s elevators.

But if the video for “Power” manages to jam a lot of bombast into a short space, West’s 2010 short film for “Runaway” (with art direction from artist Vanessa Beecroft) would prove as expansive as his ego. Stretching to nearly 35 minutes, it includes a massive explosion, a fireworks display, a marching band, and an extended ballet performance, among other things.

Alex Da Corte for St. Vincent’s “New York” (2017)

This lush video is a decadent indulgence in color and pattern, from baby-blue blinds to leopard-print tights, a cherry-red shoe telephone, and acres of bodega flowers. St. Vincent’s Annie Clark deadpans through an ode to lost romance in New York City, with cameos from some famous city sculptures—Tony Rosenthal’s Alamo cube in Astor Place; Forrest Myers’s The Wall on West Houston at Broadway—as well as studio installations that recall Alex Da Corte’s own irreverent, Instagram-friendly practice. Despite various absurdities—a random swan; a microphone stand surmounted by what appears to be burning kale—the overall effect is both seductive and eerily moving.    

Ryan McGinley for Sigur Rós’s “Varúð” (2012)

Atmospheric Icelandic band Sigur Rós—famous for singing in a made-up language—tapped 12 creatives to direct short films to accompany their 2012 album Valtari. Ryan McGinley has earned well-deserved acclaim for a photographic practice that celebrates the nostalgic glow of youth; here, he crafts what he called his “poem to New York City.”

The camera tracks a young woman—wearing nothing more than a gold wig, an oversized T-shirt, and underwear—as she skips barefoot through the metropolis. (Editor’s note: Always wear shoes when skipping in Lower Manhattan.) The footage is shot from a great distance, as if captured by an eye-in-the-sky satellite. At certain points, the woman keeps dreamily moving, even though her surroundings—pedestrians on the High Line, yellow cabs—have frozen in place. The video is something of a woozier, romantic counterpart to James Nares’s short film Street (2011), which likewise skewed the way we see New York’s everyday foot traffic.  

Damien Hirst for Blur’s “Country House” (1995)

Damien Hirst won the Turner Prize in 1995, another step on the ladder to international fame for the British artist. But that same year, he also directed this doozy of a music video for the pop quartet Blur, which truly needs to be seen to be believed. It opens with four blokes in a shabby apartment playing a board game called Escape from the Rat Race; the game soon explodes into a surreal reality, one that is decorated with giant skulls and populated by people riding pigs and taking cheeky bubble baths.

The cheeseball factor is off the charts here—Hirst would have made a stellar mid-’90s maestro of beer commercials. Rather than waxing poetic, the artist also shows himself to be a shockingly literal thinker, directly illustrating many of the lyrics: When Damon Albarn sings “He’s reading Balzac and knocking back Prozac,” we get a demonstration of…exactly that. The video’s protagonist is a rich everyman who seems plucked from one of René Magritte’s bowler-hat paintings, and there’s enough cleavage and sophomoric sexual hijinks to satisfy even the most avid fan of the Naked Gun franchise.    

Pipilotti Rist’s “I’m a Victim of This Song” (1995)

Swiss artist Pipilotti Rist is known for her immersive video environments celebrating color and nature, offsetting any earnest New Age vibes with a healthy dose of irreverence. (Her work indirectly entered the popular imagination after the motifs in a 1997 piece were liberally borrowed by Beyonce in 2016.) The original video for this Chris Isaak song “Wicked Game” was directed by David Lynch in 1990; Rist completely altered the effect with her version, which is almost painfully vulnerable, with helium-high missed notes that devolve into a sort of desperate shrieking.

Meanwhile, the grainy video itself seems almost entirely arbitrary, with scenes of rolling clouds, vintage photographs, and random strangers sitting in a restaurant. Rist’s brittle rendition of “Wicked Game” poses a thorny question: Is the song itself the thing plucking brutally at our heartstrings? And would any random collage of footage have the same effects, given the proper soundtrack?

Robert Longo for Megadeth’s “Peace Sells” (1986)

Robert Longo, a member of the “Pictures Generation” who is best known for his hyperrealistic graphite drawings, teamed up with Megadeth for this clip in 1986, and what a hot metal mess it is. Full of flickering, strobe-like cuts and found footage of war and riots, it hiccups between the goofy and the graphic. Fist-pumping fans are interspersed with images of bombed buildings; a man falling down the stairs; a burning Constitution; statues of the Buddha; and several extreme close-ups of singer Dave Mustaine’s oral cavity. (Things slow down around the two-minute mark, when Longo himself seems to grow bored of yet another interminable, noodling guitar solo.)

Fast forward three decades, and everyone involved with this has aged quite differently. Longo is still a sought-after artist dedicated to capturing our fraught political moment; Megadeth’s Mustaine has been a guest on Infowars and has fondly trafficked in any number of conspiracy theories.

Tony Oursler for David Bowie’s “Where Are We Now?” (2013)

American artist Tony Oursler brings his video-sculpture techniques to bear on this bittersweet anthem from his friend, the late David Bowie. “There’s a theme of looking back and moving forward to ‘Where Are We Now?’, of abandoning things and carrying things forward,” Oursler said at the time. Watching this clip now, in the wake of Bowie’s 2016 death, is almost pleasantly crushing; if your eyes aren’t watering at the 3:30 mark, there might be something wrong with you.

The video is also a marvel in terms of how it achieved heightened emotional effects with limited means. We see a static tableaux in the artist’s studio: a few props (an empty wine bottle; a giant sculptural ear) along with a large screen, upon which grainy footage from Berlin and elsewhere is projected. The focal point is a lumpy doll with two projected faces of Bowie and the painter Jacqueline Humphries, Oursler’s wife. Bowie sings while Humphries stares placidly ahead—at one point, she licks her lips, poised as if to sing, but that moment never comes. “As long as there’s sun,” Bowie intones, his words floating before him. “As long as there’s me. As long as there’s you.”

Harmony Korine for Sonic Youth’s “Sunday” (1998)

Harmony Korine got his start in 1995 as the screenwriter for Larry Clark’s brutal teen drama Kids, and has since gone on to produce an unpredictable oeuvre, from Julien Donkey-Boy (1999) to Spring Breakers (2012). He’s also a visual artist, showing on occasion with blue-chip powerhouse Gagosian—and despite any urge to accuse him of dilettantism, Korine’s painting practice is both sincere and impressive.  

This video for a track off Sonic Youth’s 1998 album A Thousand Leaves puts the viewer in an aggressively uncomfortable place. As it opens, we see a young Macaulay Culkin staring drowsily into a mirror, redolent of an Elizabeth Peyton painting. Wearing Hugh Hefner-worthy pajamas, he begins making out, in slo-mo, with a young woman.

Korine cuts to equally slow, dreamy footage of a young ballerina practicing her moves in a dingy apartment, and then cuts to a scene of the Home Alone child star headbanging over dueling banjos with Sonic Youth frontman Thurston Moore. Culkin pulls off the rockstar vibe better here than he would in the later phase of his career, when he earned internet disbelief for The Pizza Underground, a cover band that repurposed Velvet Underground songs with lyrics about…pizza.

Ebony Hoorn for Lost Under Heaven’s “Bunny’s Blues” (2018)

This sinister, P.J. Harvey-inflected track comes with a seductive, lurid video directed by the band’s frontwoman, Ebony Hoorn—a recent art-school graduate from Amsterdam. Incorporating both a striptease, a magic ritual, and a murder, the clip nods to director David Lynch, the 1976 film Carrie, and the saturated color palette of Italian horror icon Dario Argento (an admitted influence of the artist-musician).

The germ of “Bunny’s Blues” came from a performance project Hoorn launched in the Netherlands in 2015. “I created this character Bunny Blue while writing my thesis,” she told Artsy. “I started dressing up and going to empty bars and cafés in Amsterdam, exploring the tremendous amount of freedom experienced without the mundane expectations regarding your identity.” That led her to explore virtual reality and online identities as presenting other sides of the self. “Bunny, for me, is like a research tool,” she continued. “It allows me to look with fresh, new eyes. It sets me apart from myself.”

Make sure to keep watching until the bitter end, where a blood-drenched Bunny flaunts the head of a man she’s just decapitated with a scythe—a visual rhyme with any number of paintings of Judith and Holofernes.

Jimmy Joe Roche for Dan Deacon’s “The Crystal Cat” (2007)

Jimmy Joe Roche and Dan Deacon both cut their teeth as part of the Baltimore-based art collective Wham City. They’ve collaborated on longer, more conceptual projects—like Ultimate Reality, a 2007 film that appropriates footage from Arnold Schwarzenegger films—but this bite-sized video is an easier place to start.

Roche’s aesthetic for this clip mirrors motifs that reappear in his own drawings, paintings, and sculptures, with endless Rorschach-like patterns in psychedelic colors. Deacon, clad in an unglamorous grey sweatshirt, presides over a cast of characters seemingly plucked from amateur public-access television. The parade of flickering neon mandalas builds to an almost unbearable climax that might permanently alter your brain chemistry.

Allison Schulnik for Grizzly Bear’s “Ready, Able” (2009)

Allison Schulnik, a Los Angeles-based artist, goes overboard when she paints, applying impossibly thick layers of oil to create her depictions of cats, clowns, flowers, and landscapes. That handmade tactility carries over into her claymation work for the indie band Grizzly Bear.

In this video, creatures with gaping eyes and mouths are constantly evolving, melting, turning inside out, or being sucked into ominous spacecrafts. The aesthetic is purposefully rough and lovingly handmade. “You go into this zone, there’s nothing like it,” Schulnik toldL.A. Weekly, discussing her very labor-intensive process. “You’re in a little black room all by yourself…alone in the dark for hours and hours in this little mini-world that you created and have complete control over. It’s complete escapism. I love it. And when you see the result, it’s magic.”

Wolfgang Tillmans for Powell’s “Freezer” (2017)

Wolfgang Tillmans loves to buck convention—he’s notorious for installing his gorgeous and poetic images of male anatomy, fruit, landscapes, and countless other subjects in inventive, unprecious ways. It makes sense that Powell tapped the photographer to direct one of his videos: “Oscar Powell’s music is often deemed difficult,” Pitchfork once surmised, and Tillmans accompanied this track with an equally difficult, occasionally maddening video.

Scenes of exceedingly mundane things—a pot threatening to boil over; leaves gently blowing in a breeze—are intercut with a slideshow of still photographs of military members and riot cops. The quiet, restrained pace of the clip is at odds with the electronic song’s insistent, thumping beat, and the video itself almost seems like a parody of a stereotypical art film in which nothing of substance occurs. Still, one can’t help but appreciate the brazen disregard for the clichés and conventions of the form. Don’t expect to see it on MTV anytime soon.

Kara Walker and Ari Marcopoulos for Santigold’s “Banshee” (2016)

Ari Marcopoulos, a photographer known for his casually evocative portraits, teamed up with Kara Walker for this hard-to-classify video. While Walker is synonymous with cut-paper silhouette works that spotlight the horrors of America’s racist past, here, she contributed shadow puppets that gyrate and cavort in a comparatively lighthearted way. This freewheeling dance party is preceded by an incongruous black-and-white segment, in which we see Santigold sitting on a city sidewalk holding a sign that reads “Will Work For Blood.”

It might not add up into one cohesive whole, but the energy and enthusiasm that went into the shoot is palpable. “We decided to just all get together in the studio with the puppets, a bunch of lights, and just have a good time and made decisions as we went,” Marcopoulos told the New York Times. “It was a total team effort. My son Ethan was the cameraman and Kara’s daughter [was] the stills photographer.”

from Artsy News