#we just refine sketches until its good enough

[exculis]

in my mind my art has not improved much since 2018 (when i stopped drawing regularly due to a wrist injury) but then i look at

2018 Kym -> 2024 Kym

[witch-hazels-musings]

It’s 🍪!

You have this ‘My Sunshine’ (?) fic where the reader is an absolute ball of sunshine and I LOVE it! Could you do a part two with Zhongli, Childe and Albedo please?

Mwah!

My Sunshine

( what an incredible choice of characters! Thank you for adding to one of my favorite fics!! ) 

Warning -> SFW, Fluff

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Albedo, Childe, Zhongli 

Albedo 

It was the way you greeted the world around you - with pleasant smiles, patient hands, caring and compassionate eyes. You saw the world for what it could be, the beauty of it and while Albedo searched for the answer in the universe, you already seemed to have found them 

He noticed you on his wanderings through the city. His hands were already moving to draw your expressions in a hope to capture everything that he possibly could - how could he capture the intensity of the sun itself, of a flower basking in the afternoon glow, or a firefly so vibrant that it burned orange and beautiful 

You were bouncing on your toes, smiling kindly at the people who walked by while you patiently waited for anyone to stop by. Not many people purchased flowers every single day, but you found it wasn’t hard to proposition people with your generous smile and pin-point compliments. 

“My! I have never seen something so beautiful in all my life.” You began, bending to rest your hands on your knees while catching the attention of a small young girl who had been glancing at the array of flowers at your side. She looked at you confused, a bit nervous but didn’t back away. 

Reaching for a small white flower, you trimmed the leaves and hummed a little tune before turning back to her. “A lovely flower like you must attract so much goodness. Even this daisy is impressed by your radiance!" She giggled and you continued, "Would you do me a favor?” You smiled at her, eyes showing only the purest of shine. The little girl nodded her head and you began again, “Could you carry this flower and help it grow? If it's you, I'm sure it'll turn just as beautiful?” 

The little girl wrapped her small fingers around the stem, her smile and giggle so powerful that Albedo was sure you cast a magic spell because as he watched her gallop away back to her parents, the flowers near you began to glisten and the sketch on his page came to life. 

He was unsure how to make a connection with you, so more often than not he would find himself purchasing flowers he didn’t really have the necessity for - but perhaps if he gathered enough up, he’d have a bouquet glorious enough to equal your soul 

“Mr. Albedo, pleasure seeing you again.” You brushed off your apron and turned to him. Your eyes closing and head tilting, a standard greeting of yours. “I have some rather rare flowers in stock today if you’d like to take a look.” 

“I am actually here to inquire if you had any Asters; the research institute has just run out.” 

“Hmm, let me check for you.” You bowed slightly before disappearing behind the many stalls and carriers of your wares. He scanned the flowers as he waited for your return. Gloved fingers inspecting the petals of flowers and, in his wandering thoughts, he began to investigate which one reminded him the most of you. “Mr. Albedo, I am sorry, it seems we are fresh out.” 

“I see …” 

“Ah! However, I needed to gather several other plants today. If you come back tomorrow I will set them aside for you.” You waved at the other worker as if to inform them of your intentions and quickly reached for the basket near the stall. 

“Actually, would it be too much of a bother if I were to travel with you?” 

You paused, staring at him with eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. What was this feeling in his chest, it hurt. “I would never pass up an opportunity to share in your company! What a splendid day this is turning out to be.” 

“Thank you, I will keep out of your way.” 

“Not too much I hope. So, Mr. Albedo, are you ready?” You turned to head toward the front gate and he followed after you. 

“Yes, and please, just Albedo is fine.” 

“Alrighty then, Albedo.” Ah, yes, that’s why his heart hurt. 

There you were, the wind wrapping around you as you stood in a field of flowers - the reflection of light difficult to pinpoint for as bright as the sun shined down onto the plane below, you were just as intense and, in fact, you may be the most luminous creature to ever exist -- how could he possibly reach something like you 

Childe

His world had never been bright -- from the snowy landscape that threatened every day to freeze the warm hearts that beat on its surface, to the dark void that he fought through as an adolescent, to the harsh and demanding ladder he climbed in service to his cause -- he’d never known the light … his had been seized so long ago 

So when he found a flicking candle, a small flame in his dark corridor, he walked to it - ran for it - and to see the glory reflected on the other side was something he fixated on until he could hold the candle safe in his arms 

He clenched his jaw and sighed. These boring briefings were never something he cared to participate in. He was more for action rather than words, so instead of listening to the updates from the short, purple-haired harbinger, he instead gazed out the open window at the city below. 

Liyue had shifted from a temporary destination into a permanent one as the tasks and duties continued to lengthen his stay. At least he didn’t mind the city, not like some of the other places he’d stay at. Just as he was about to drift back to the boring discussion, he heard a voice drift up to him. A lively, giddy voice that stole all of his attention and focus, but as soon as you entered into view his minimal interest piqued into desperation. 

“Wait up! You can’t tell me that this isn’t a beautiful day, just take it all in!” You spread your arms wide and spun with so much energy that the inertia made you stumble, luckily you caught yourself before running into some poor passerby. Childe smiled and rested his chin on his palm as he looked down at the loveliness that was your everything. 

You laughed, and the way your hands flew to your lips to cover the sound made him jealous of those fingers. You spoke, words falling off of your tongue like sugar and he grew antsy at the thought of not tasting it. You existed, and he needed a piece of it. 

Waving to his subordinate, he spoke in a hushed whisper, and while the meeting continued to drone on, he made his first step at capturing a star. 

The more information he gathered, the more interactions he had with you - the more he fell into your luster, the richer his feelings grew for you 

His actions were that of a child just looking for a comforting glow in their endless darkness, hands cupped to keep it alive, breathing held for fear of accidentally blowing it out - stay, please stay 

He called your name, the sound of his voice dissipating in the open space as he searched for any sign of you. 

“Hey there!” You called out to him, and when he looked up toward your voice, he smiled. Your legs dangled off the tree limb, your hands wrapping around the bark as you balanced there. 

“How is the view?” He asked, crossing his arms and staring at you from below. How did you get up there, he wondered. 

“Beautiful, I can see so much from up here. It’s like a whole different perspective.” You breathed in deeply and lifted your arms to reach for the sky above you. “How about you join me?” 

“I’m not sure I can, I don’t even know how you got up there.” 

“Sheer will and determination!” Giggling, he thought maybe you were actually a mythical creature in the fairytales he used to read as a kid. There was no way you could live in this world and be so positive, it had to be you were something beyond this world. “I’ll come down to you.” Twisting, you wiggled onto your stomach before letting yourself drop onto the ground below. It was further than you thought and as soon as your feet hit the earth, your body became off balance and tumbled backward. 

Childe easily caught you, his sturdy chest supporting you and arms extended so your hands could have something to grab onto. 

“Ooh, that was exhilarating.” Tilting your head, you turned to look at him and for a moment he felt his lips scream for yours. He wanted to let you go, but how could you when you fit so perfectly in his arms. “Childe?” 

“You’re something else.” This was dangerous, you were dangerous, and now that he knew what it was like to feel the brightness of the light, he would never let the dark creep back in. 

He needed you - it was apparent - and he hoped one day you’d realize you needed him too. A light like yours truly needed to shine in the darkness of places, so choose his, please choose his 

Zhongli 

There is no one in this world that would understand luster better than he - no one who could see the shine inside a being as clearly as one with eyes who’ve witnessed the birth and eventual death of the universe. The great Morax, the ruthless Rex Lapis, the gentle and patient Zhongli are one and the same, and the visions they’ve witnessed cannot be forgotten 

So, to see a person with purity so refined, that even the dullest observers could clearly recognize, he found it nearly impossible to look away 

He heard tell of a new performer joining the Pearl, someone who had shown great elegance and glorious promise at wowing the crowds. As a man who fancied the arts of all kinds, he was intrigued by the rumors and whispers. So, when the schedule showed the name of this new performer, he made his way to the boat drifting on the sea. 

His lips tasted the sweet flavor of tea but his eyes soaked in the delectable movements of your body. The graceful bow of your spin, the bending and twisting of your limbs as you moved just enough to tell your story on the swaying stage. He felt the history in your dance, the pride in your fluttering fan as you moved it across your face, the snap of truth as you forced it up toward the sky. He was transfixed, as he was sure all were. 

When you finished, you began to greet the many interested patrons eager to hear the sound of your voice. There was no way he could have known how transfixing you would be when he heard it. 

“What a stunning performance.” Zhongli mused, his head bowing, a mirror of your own gesture. 

“That is great praise from someone such as yourself.” You smiled and he was reminded of glaze lilies. 

“Pray tell, what was the inspiration for your dance?” 

“Ah, an insightful question, not unexpected I must say.” You laughed and moved your hands to your chest, elegant fingers resting over your heart as you answered his question. “The light of a soul has so much insight, don’t you think? If the soul is radiant, the vessel's beauty is so easily seen, and if there is beauty shining so brightly that it can communicate out to those who look, it may shift just the tides of the future.” You laughed again, a bit more unreserved than the last, and somehow more telling to your honesty. “I’m sorry, I hope that answered your question.” 

“Splendidly, and then some.” He found himself transfixed, captivated by a spirit shining before him. 

Spending time with you was as refreshing as standing in a mountain stream, as filling as a warm meal, as bright as the basking stars that littered the sky above and reflected in your eyes even in darkness 

“Zhongli, hello again.” He wandered into the garden, the gentle bubbling of the water as it fell along the rocks provided a lovely background to your visage. Carefully, you rested your fingers against the pages of your book as you looked up at him. The shadows of the shifting trees let highlights of the sun dance across your face and he couldn’t help but capture this image in his mind. 

“Good afternoon, you seem to be enjoying the day.” 

“As I always am. Nature has provided such elegant and lovely conditions that it would be a waste to not thank it, don’t you agree?” 

“Wholeheartedly.” He smiled, his hands gripping tighter around each other as they rested against the small of his back. It was incredible how nervous you made him; for a man who was a powerful as the mountains that looked down over the city, you made him feel like a tiny pebble in the stream begging to be touched by you. “May I join you?” 

“Absolutely, anything in this world can be improved by good company, and yours is always my favorite.”

“As yours is mine.” He sat on the stone bench next to you, his hands resting on his lap as he looked out across the scenery. You moved closer to him, your arms touching as you shared in the company of each other and, while his eyes drifted to your face, he watched how your smile and good nature made the flowers bloom. 

You were a compliment to his life. A perfect addition to the drift of time and as he looked at the future that stretched before him, he found your red wrapping perfectly around his amber 

--

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[druid-for-hire]

new hadestown au: BIKER ! EURYDICE, in which she’s a rogue lone-wolf biker dwelling in the urban jungle of a Neo Tokyo-type city called Hadestown, wracked with biker gangs, violence, poverty, corruption, and civil unrest, still recovering and rebuilding from an apocalyptic event many years ago. Heavy-handed with the AKIRA inspirations here, haha.

She fights for herself on the dangerous streets, an illegal racer with a consistent top-three placement and a reputation for ferocity that earns her the money she needs to scrape by. And then she meets Orpheus: a dopey bartender who has no place being in her business.

okay okay okay i’m gonna be jumping around a lot here. be warned. thanks @supercantaloupe, @regzillas, @birdmanlyss for your contributions! (sorry if i missed someone it’s been a while)

she's a lone wolf in a city infested with biker gangs and it's brutal

she's run over plenty of limbs in her day

then there's orpheus, this gentle, kind-hearted soul, an indie musician and shes like. fuck. now i gotta keep this bastard safe

puts a long pipe with a mess of bolts and metal on the end in his hands and tells him he'd better buckle up and learn to fight the road

this sort of thing is common among biker gangs to cause destruction and knock people off their bikes onto the road. other types include mallets, hammers, baseball bats, etc

shes small but knows a lot of self defense and is very good at handling herself on the road

besides teaching orpheus to steel himself and yes use that pipe on people, push them off and jam it in their wheels and let it break if it does, she's gotta teach him to hold on while she pulls all this crazy shit on her bike

she avoids taking him on the road because having to fight people gives him so much stress but he also stresses about her so it's all weird

the first time orpheus sees her run over someones arm hes like ""???????????????????!!!!!!!!"

"Don't worry it doesn't happen often" "WHAT IS 'OFTEN'"

she has a red songbird on her helmet and flowers on her jacket

and flowers painted on her bike too probably

or patterns like on the album cover

orpheus thinks it’s the prettiest shit he’s ever seen

so eurydice races, right? everyones like “who is this tiny little upstart” and then she takes off her helmet and shakes out her hair and everyone loses it

somethingsomething ig hades (who is something of a crime boss here, similar to Tombstone from the Spectacular Spider-Man cartoon, but not so unambiguously villainous in nature) becomes a contractor and he catches her in like, a bad contract that's hard to get out of without some kind of consequence

and now orpheus has to topple a capitalist again

anyway she like, meets orpheus in this little bar he works at

it's about lower middle class, so it's not too bad but it's still mostly populated by like, poorer people and bikers, etc.

they meet and it's cool and fun blah blah Come Home With Me shit

also this is a scene:

biker!eury: we gotta cross through downtown orpheus: what???? but there's a riot going on there! right now! eury: that's too bad, it's the fastest way! that's why you get this! (tosses him her pipe weapon) orpheus, barely catching it: sajskhsfdfs ???? eury: and i am gonna take this. (kicks open a trunk and takes out a rifle) orpheus: ???????!!!!???!?? WHERE DID YOU GET THAT AND DO WE REALLY NEED IT eury: Yes we do now come on orpheus: H-HOW did you get it eury: (loads gun) no worries orpheus: No i have many worries HOW DID YOU--

actually, on this emergency ride, orpheus proves surprisingly competent with her pole weapon—ruthless even, and eurydice wonders just where and how the hell he learned that

the conversation she has with him about that is the same one where he shows her his old, old scars

(besides ruthless—orph has apparently learned how to pose and intimidate. he does stuff like putting the tip of the pole-pipe to the asphalt as they’re riding, skipping on the road and creating sparks)

eurydice loves her bike more than certain relatives 

certain complications lead to it being destroyed by hades as punishment for doing him wrong. and it destroys her. that is her most trusted sacred bike, that thing has been with her since she was a teenager

once she repurposes that devastation into white-hot anger orph has to physically restrain her from hunting hades down and breaking his kneecaps with a thick lead pipe

he's never seen her this absolutely devastated and furious

he goes to persephone for more work because he wants to buy eurydice a new bike

he keeps it a secret from her until he leads her out to a garage, hands over her eyes

(some of these bits are copypasted from my friend @regzillas​)

orpheus takes his hands off and says Tada!!! it's just like the old one, there's no painted birds but she can do that. She just stands there in total silence mouth open, and orpheus goes 'so? do you like it?' before she bursts into tears. and at first orpheus is like :O!!!!! oh no!!! do you not like it? and eurydice through sobs just says 'nobody's ever done something like this for me’

it's... beautiful, it's touching, it's deep and it's love and she's so in love and she loves him so much, and she cries and holds him close and takes him in and she's so overwhelmed by her emotions, full of the care that orpheus so freely gives to her; and it's a breath of newness, fresh air in the cycle of dread and bitter anger that haunts the city (but she's still going to find hades and shoot him in the foot)

he just holds her and kisses her head

they spend the day painting it, the day after he buys the bike

hand-painted. and they both leave their handprints in paint on it, like carl and ellie do on their mailbox in the beginning of Up

a significant amount of time is spent thinking of a good name

theres lots of joking and eurydice playfully shoves orpheus and he falls over into paint

okay i wrote something like. Obnoxiously long for orpheus. i sort of have his backstory in this down, but i don’t have anything for eurydice unfortunately :( suggestions are welcome! but first: Hermes

biker!au hermes owns a chain of bars, several of which find their patronage among the ruffian youth, several of which are more refined and serve the middle class, and another several of which serve the upper crust hermes has a hand in every world and it serves him pretty well, and his chain is a bit of a channel of communication and its unspoken rule that whatever socioeconomic class or gang or organization you're a part of, hermes' chain is neutral territory no fighting allowed

eurydice walks in and hermes just gives her a Look and taps the 'no fighting' sign and she huffs

hes >:( if anyone does try to start shit. the honor system is strong enough that usually the other patrons will just throw them out, and if there are really problems, they'll hear from hermes personally

he maintains a very strict "no bitching in my fucking kitchen" atmosphere

and now, Orpheus

this really is kind of akira but without the government conspiracies; the city is a neon corrupt hellscape that’s still struggling to rebuild after an apocalyptic event that wiped it all through. the city is wracked with frustration and violence and anger, there are still urban ruins everywhere and the scars of rebuilding and struggle are plain in every corner of life; plain to see are the shells of ruined buildings, gigantic boats levelled from the sea and left in the middle of inland sectors.

orpheus was abandoned by his mother at an early age—kind and timid, he had to learn fast how to be suspicious and cautious in cruel ways. he couldn’t land himself a spot in any of the groups that other ragtag raging folks had eked out for themselves, still too hesitant or ungraceful or young for any of them. sure, he made friends, sitting and talking with lots of people, but never got to really team up—all he could do was just fight for himself in the blown out corners of the city. weapons made from whatever he had. a young child already spitting blood and teeth in hadestown’s vicious ground-floor landscape.

hermes is his mother’s close old friend, though the times they see each other are few and far between. when he saw him, hermes hardly recognized her son, wild-eyed and clawed and alone in one of the city’s more dangerous neighborhoods, with a pole full of screws slung over his back. how did she lose track of her kid for so long? he thinks. and takes him in.

hermes eventually realizes that his mother didn’t lose him. meanwhile, tiny orpheus, kind-hearted orpheus, despises hermes at first. he’s full of suspicion and desperately wants to lean into hermes’ kindness, but the streets have taught him to hold back. he spits curses at him, though the words slide right off hermes’ shoulders. it’s not genuine.  just frustrated. and picked off of the delinquents that were his friends, just like most everything else about him.

(hermes knows he’s gotten his trust when orpheus starts getting soft, when he’s crying over littler things; it means he’s been deemed safe to be vulnerable around, and he damn near starts crying himself.)

orpheus owns a little vespa! it’s covered in stickers, some of them worn out and old, some places with just the adhesive and the fuzzy white paper from where he tried to pull them off. some of them aren’t even proper stickers and just shit he peeled off from places while he was wandering around and stuck onto the vespa

even in canon i see him as the kind of guy who like. you look at him and think jesus how is this guy still alive he’s so noodly and soft, but he’s unexpectedly sort of street smart

anyway i mentioned this before but didn’t elaborate. biker au orph, to eury's surprise, does have his collection of scars, since he had a bit of a rough go at life

also he’s just ungainly and runs into shit

you can see em on his sketch page. he has a bit more than what’s shown, but what’s visible is a little slash across the bridge of his nose onto his cheek, and two on his left forearm. he probably has a stab scar in his side from just getting fucking knifed. the ones on his left forearm are from when a drunk coming out of a bar charged him with a fork

eurydice also has scars. kind of hard not to with the kind of life she lives

ok thats it. For Now. i don’t know how persephone or the fates or the workers factor in, if at all. I barely know how Hades factors in, mostly what i’ve said so far and that he does what he does to support himself and persephone. ah well! just have this

as this is extremely based off of AKIRA, i verily recommend listening to the movie’s soundtrack. besides the fact that it slaps hard as hell, the opening song, Kaneda’s Theme, has the perfect vibes for the city and the tone of eurydice and orpheus riding at night through it

[thestrangeprophet-blog]

The Muse and the Soldier

The Muse and the Soldier

·       f/reader x Levi Ackerman  

·       No NSFW

·       HC storyline

·       I do not own the rights to any of the characters

·       PLS support the actual Attack on Titan anime

 You open your eyes and take pleasure in the feel of the morning breeze coming from the window. Breathing in the air which carried the aroma of those special blue flowers potted downstairs in front of your tea shop. Seems you have left all your pencils across the desk and the drawings plastered to the walls from the night before had fallen again. You pick up the drawings and admire the one yet to be finished. It is of a regular customer you normally see when they come back from a scouting mission. Piercing grey eyes in contrast to his fancy dark undercut. Levi Ackerman. You always wonder how he has the time and will to keep up with his hair. After laying his portrait neatly on your desk, you ready yourself for another day brewing the finest tea you can in hopes of seeing Levi for another bout of his favorite tea.

The Captain and Commander Erwin were frequent visitors to your tea shop because Levi had always recommended it. For one reason or another, the tea you brewed satisfied him beyond what he would brew himself with what he had. Erwin had thought the same as well and it brought you enjoy your tea could be held to such standards. As a fellow tea lover, the subject of tea was never a boring conversation with Levi, no matter how short or blunt it was with him. Sure, most people see it as something more along the lines of hot leaf juice. It’s more than that and Levi understood it though it went unspoken.

Captain Levi came alone today and took his usual seat. It was rather unusual but you carry on and bring his favorite. The teapot whistles and steams like Titan smoke with the lingering scent of black tea that trails through the wind. As you set his cup in front of him and pour his tea, you notice he seems lost further in thought than normal. You finish pouring his tea and hesitantly ask if there is anything else you can do for him. He takes a second to come back to this moment and raises his head ever so slightly. His hair still covering those captivating grey eyes. Releasing an exhausted breath, he asks of one thing of you.

Levi: I- If it’s no trouble to you… will you sit with me Y/N? Even just for a moment?

Y/N: That’s a bit of an odd request, Captain. I’m surprised you even remembered my name. But sure! Anything for my best customer.

Levi: You don’t have to address me as Captain. J-just Levi will do… and thank you.

You sit in the chair across from Levi where Erwin is normally seated discussing the next expedition and plans you have for Eren and the cadets of the 104th Cadet Corps. As of in this moment, this is simply two human beings sitting together enjoying tea. Just sounds of the breeze against your ears and the softened sips coming from across the table at the lips of the man before you. Levi’s cheeks are flushed with a gorgeous rosy blush. It seems he wants to start a conversation but has no idea where to start. Its adorable how a man with a reputation for being such stone cold badass could be flustered over tea. You strike a smile in his direction and find your own way to start a conversation he could initiate. Call it encouragement if you will. The sketchpad and pencil you keep handy finally get put to use. The pencil scratching against the paper caught Levi’s attention though he kept to his tea. He watched as he appeared on the paper before him in awe.

           Levi: Hey Y/N, is that supposed to be me?

Y/N: Oh, uh yeah haha! I figured you weren’t much in the mood to talk so I didn’t want to bother you while you were enjoying your tea.

Levi: You are a woman of many talents I see.

Y/N: I wouldn’t say that much.

Levi: N-nonsense. I come here to enjoy the tea you brew perfectly and the singing you think I can’t hear. Didn’t know you were so skilled with a pencil as well.

Y/N: I usually never have the time to draw during the day Levi.

Levi: Can I request something? I’ll pay for it.

Y/N: No need to pay me. What can I do for you?

Levi: I need you to draw someone for me. I don’t really know them too well, but they have a face I could never forget.

Y/N: Oh I wonder who this special person is! Could you describe them for me?

Levi: Well, they’re around the same height as me maybe a bit taller. They have long black curly hair that glistened as though it was a fire at sunset. Brown eyes like fresh honey in the morning and glistened with a hopeful shine I envy. They wear some rather dark clothing year round even when its hot outside. Their nose is slightly hooked and cheeks soft and red. Their lips glistened and they look soft to the touch. And even though they don’t think it looks very nice, they have a scar across their left eyebrow. I’m not exactly sure how they got, but they always try to cover it behind their hair yet it still finds a way to see the light. Their jawline is soft and looks like it could rest perfectly in the cups of your hands.

Y/N: Wow Levi, I didn’t realize you had a way with words.

As the form you forge is refined from guidelines to distinctive features, the person he is describing truly is a sight to behold. You may not have the colors to use but you understand the value of what those colors are which are just as powerful. Levi sits across from you amazed at your skill for a second time until you’ve finished your work. You hand him the final sketch and you already know he just asked you to draw yourself but play it off. He takes the drawing into his hand and holds it up so you and the drawing are in view with each other.

Levi: As beautiful on paper as you are in person. Tsk, your hands are even a work of art on their own.

Y/N: If I may say I’m rather flattered you’d ask me to draw myself just for you but you aren’t very good at making your flirtations subtle. Unless you weren’t trying to be subtle in the first place.

Levi: Oi its not my fault you decided to pull a journal out of nowhere while we’re drinking tea together!

Y/N: You are one hundred percent correct Levi. Really for a man who exudes such confidence, I’ve never seen you even stutter let alone get flustered over tea. Its cute.

Levi blushes even more and looks away trying to play it off. He already knows you’ve got at least one finger wrapped around him. No one really talks to him like that besides this Hange person he mentions. They sound like an interesting character from the way he describes them. You would love to meet them one day when they aren’t experimenting on Titans. For now, your gaze remains fixed on Levi’s profile as he tries to regain his composure. You would not have assumed he was even interested in such trivial things other than being a clean freak.

You are aware of Levi’s reputation but just getting to sit with him in such an intimate setting gives you a next level view of him. The clean undercut and soft flowing hair was just asking to have someone’s fingers run through it and embrace the feeling of each strand even if it meant making his hair just a little messy. Each group of strands followed the path of the wind as leaves blew from the vines. His jawline was as sharp as the blades he carried to cut down titans like butter. His hands, though they bore the weight his fallen comrades and the destined purpose to eliminate and survive, seemed delicate under the rough calluses of combat. But his eyes. Those damn grey eyes. They pierced right through me whenever you got the chance to see them yourself. All of the things they saw, and the feelings kept behind them like a locked door. There is so much pain rage behind those you wonder when the last time Levi got to see something outside the realm of horror outside and within the walls.

           Y/N: Levi?

           Levi: Yeah Y/N?

Y/N: When was the last time you’ve ever had a chance to relax and just lay low for awhile?

Levi: Can’t say. I don’t think I’ve given myself a damn break but I can’t afford to. I don’t exactly have anything else to do.

Y/N: Hmmm. Let’s change that. Make sure you make yourself available tomorrow at sundown. Come back to the shop and dress casual. I know somewhere we can go. I’ll even grab an extra book so you can out those hands to work other than killing Titans and jotting down whatever it is you do write for your paperwork.

Levi: B-but I c-can’t just abandon my po-

Y/N: Shush. In case you haven’t noticed you don’t have any missions scheduled for at least another week. Plus business around here is slow. We could both use a little time for ourselves. Even if its just a moment.

Levi: *blushing even more* uh- ok. I guess it wouldn’t hurt. You didn’t have to act like such a brat about it.

Y/N: If you weren’t Levi I would throw this lukewarm teapot of tea all over you

Levi: *Smiling ever so slightly* hmp I uh… I guess I could see you doing something like that. Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up. I’m curious as to where this place is anyway.

Y/N: Alrighty then it’s a date! No ifs ands or buts. You got that Levi?

Levi: Loud and clear.

You’re leaning over the table to make sure Levi knows where he needs to be. You’re close enough to him you can smell the scent of the tea you made him mixed with just the scent of him. You’d kiss him right then and there if you really wanted to. Looks like he had the same idea but you pull away because you weren’t in that much of a rush. His lips were parted as they awaited your lips to meet his. It was thrilling seeing him even a little desperate for you but making him wait was even better. As much as Levi felt he couldn’t abandon his post, he couldn’t say no to you. He’d been working up the courage to talk to you for as long as he has been coming to your shop. Though he wasn’t the one to ask, Levi appreciated that you were the one to take the lead in making plans to accompany each other on a date. You’d been waiting for the opportunity to even be in this position. Now that it’s here, you make plans to make the date an enjoyable one that Levi would also like. Good first impressions are still pretty important. Especially if you want to make a good impression for Levi.

           Levi: Tsk, its almost sundown. Id better get back to the brats at HQ.

You grab his hands and ask him to wait just a little while longer.

Y/N:  Well if you’re going to be leaving, at least let me give you some extra tea and a meal to take back with you. It’s the least I can do for agreeing to going on a date with me on such short notice.

Levi: Tsk make it quick please.

Y/N: Don’t rush me. I’m being nice to you. I usually don’t just give out free tea and meals to anyone you know.

Levi: I’m sorry. Thank you. I- I uh really appreciate your generosity.

You hand Levi the tea and meal you made just for him. You touch hands for a moment and get goosebumps for the first time in a long time. You blush just enough that Levi notices as well and gives a small smirk. You exchange that smirk with one of your own.

           Levi: Thank you again Y/N. I guess I’ll see you soon.

           Y/N: You guess?

           Levi: I will see you soon.

Y/N: Much better. And by the way, you have a very charming smile. I wish I could see it more often. It suits you almost as much as that cold gaze you’ve always got equipped.

Levi: I never really gave it much thought what that looked like. I’ll pick you tomorrow. I promise.

Y/N: You’d better if you know what’s good for ya hahaha! I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.

END

Comment if you’d like a Pt. 2!

[tact-and-impulse]

Shinkane Week 2021 Day 6

A crossover with the light novel series Sugar Apple Fairytale! The first 2 volumes were already translated but I hope someday that it’ll be picked up again or licensed.

Fairytale

Initially, he thought he could take advantage of her naïveté. She was obviously a traveler, alone and with wide eyes surveying the surroundings. And in need of a warrior fairy like himself, for protection on the road. After all, that was why she bought him.

His left wing, long separated from the rest of his body, was now in her possession, and he braced himself for the inevitable squeezing, for his will to be bent to her liking. But she never did. Instead, she offered her other hand, like he was another human.

“I’m Akane. Nice to meet you.”

“…Hello.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Call me whatever you like. You’re my owner.”

She frowned. “Don’t fairies have names?”

“We do, but people don’t really care.”

“I care.” She looked terribly earnest. She really was on her first trip away from whatever small town she hailed from.

“‘Kougami’ is fine.” A part of his full name would do.

“Alright, Kougami-san.” She smiled, and he dragged his stare to the gray sheen of his wing, to remind himself that he was under her control.

***

His new owner was far too defenseless.

As their wagon headed for the capital city, she tried to ward off the silence with conversation. She had been trained in sugarcraft by her late grandmother and this was her first competition. Silver sugar was blessed by the gods, but also inherently difficult to work with. With her skills, she hoped to do well enough to be promoted.

“Not to win the grand prize?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“As long as I make something that only I could have, something that I’m proud of, even years from now, I’ll be happy enough. And I’ll give you your wing back, once we get there.”

“Sure, you will. Until you decide you like having someone follow all your orders and don’t want to release me.” It had happened before, multiple times.

“I’m not changing my mind, Kougami-san. And I won’t give you an order either. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Then, why don’t you hand over my wing now?” There was a flicker of hesitation, and he leaned back, his suspicions confirmed. Despite her doe eyes, she was just like the others. “As I thought.”

Unable to reply, she focused on driving the horses. It was supposed to be a scenic road. Then, in his periphery, he spotted four silhouettes on their own mounts, deliberately swerving towards them.

“We have company.” He warned her. “Probably heard crafters like you would be traveling this way.”

Akane snapped the reins, but with the sugar-laden wagon, they could only travel so fast. She glanced behind. “Are they armed?”

“Looks like it.” His elbow nudged her side. “Order me.”

“What?!”

“I can’t do anything unless you give me an order. Go ahead, twist my wing.”

“I won’t do that. I said I wouldn’t.” Stubborn, even when her life was at stake. The horses continued on, but their pursuers were catching up. Their rough, weather-worn faces slowly became visible.

“If you won’t, then we may not make it to your destination.”

The bandits rode closer. Their eyes traveled hungrily, not only upon the sugar barrels, but his owner as well.

Finally, she relented. “I’m not ordering you, I’m asking you to protect me.”

“Close enough.” Flaring out his right wing, he jumped off. He summoned his sword, black and electric blue, and went to work. Too easily, the enemies were rendered to crimson smears. It wasn’t much of a fight, but after so long, his skin was buzzing. The thrill of battle. He almost missed the wagon turning around.

“…stop…”

But her voice was too far away.

“I said, stop!”

And she must have twisted his wing because he spasmed and fell to the blood-soaked ground.

***

When he came to, he was curled on his side, and Akane was leaning over him.

“You’re awake! Thank goodness. Here, drink this.” She held a cup to his mouth, and he tentatively sipped. Coffee, but the sweetness was refined silver sugar. At the taste, it was as if a moonbeam was cast upon him, closing his wounds and rejuvenating with pure divine essence.

“…You didn’t leave me behind.”

“I wouldn’t have. I still have something that’s yours.”

In another life, he might have accused her of eating too much of her own supplies. But he looked directly at her, saying. “I feel better. You still have enough to compete?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”

They reached the capital by noon, and once they passed the main gate, she held out his wing. “Thank you so much, Kougami-san. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”

He eyed her. “You’re really giving it back?”

“I meant what I said.”

He reached for his wing, afraid she’d pull away, but at the gossamer feel, energy surged through him. It glowed and flew to his back, fitting in its rightful place. After years of forced servitude, he was finally free. He slid off the wagon, stretching as he hadn’t in a long time. He felt like he could take a deep breath. “Thanks.”

She beamed and pressed a wrapped handkerchief into his hands. “Before I go, this is just a little gift from me. I wish you well.” Then, she bowed and headed further into the city.

After he watched her disappear, he opened the fabric. Sparkling in the midday light, there was a tiny silver sugar wolf. Its ears were bent towards a sound only it could hear; the paws were poised in mid-step, the tail in a perfect curl.

“Damn it.” Pocketing the sculpture, he followed the signs to the competition, but the area was closed to participants only. Public viewing would be at dusk, with final judging at the end of the hour. Reluctantly, he left but even before the sun went down, he was loitering outside.

His intuition told him what her handiwork was, a spiraling arrangement of delicate flowers and leaves, studded with dewdrops. It reminded him of his early days of existence in the wildwoods, oddly nostalgic. However, the adjacent sculpture was very similar. Had the crafter cheated? The promotions were announced first, and he spotted her, flushed with joy as her name was called. In her wake, there was another girl, with long black hair and cold eyes. Then, the prizes were delegated but at the first runner-up, there was a snag. Two sculptures had caught the judges’ eyes, but there could only be one winner, who would be granted permission to tour the country and learn from the other masters to hone their craft. A tiebreaker round would decide the victor.

There might have been trepidation in the other girl’s face, but Akane shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve used up my supplies.” An automatic forfeit. But he didn’t want her to stop here, she deserved more. And he was partially responsible for the decrease.

He gritted his teeth and stepped forward. “Not all of it.” Ignoring the stunned looks of the crowd, he held up the sugar wolf. “You made this for me. You can break it down and recreate it. With your skills, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Her lips parted, surprised at his presence, but she determinedly took back the sculpture. “I can.”

The girls were given fifteen minutes, which seemed to drag on. The other had copied the wolf with great detail given that she’d only seen it once, but Akane had altered hers. Instead, it was leaping, balanced on one front foot and with a prouder demeanor than before. The judges’ eyes didn’t betray them, and Akane was rightfully declared this year’s master sugarcrafter, as the other girl was dragged away by officials. The extra round had been twofold, to uncover foul play too.

As the city descended into celebration, he hung in the growing shadows, but she still found him. “Kougami-san! Thank you, for helping me.”

“It would’ve been a shame if your hard work was put to waste.” He evasively replied. “Are you still planning to go home?”

“That was what I first thought, but…” She was thoughtful. “I wonder if there’s more I can learn, if I visit other sugarcrafting workshops.”

“Then, go. You can send a letter home and continue your journey.”

“What about you? I thought you would have left already. You’re free, you don’t have to follow humans’ orders anymore.”

“No, but I can do what I like. And right now, I think I’d like to see other sugarcrafting workshops.” At his answer, her smile was radiant.

In the morning, they bought fresh supplies and filled the sugar barrels. Settling into the wagon, he took the reins as she began sketching new ideas for sculptures. And so, they traveled on, past the horizon’s edge.

[folderolsfollies]

Sangyao Arranged Marriage ... Part 2

[Part 1]

Word Count: 2.5k Rating: t Warnings: None to date (there is discussion of canon events)

The Unclean Realm was a home first, and then a fortress, and then a home again, and it stands in stark, punishing angles against the mountains that enfold it. The expansions made by Nie Huaisang’s fathers and grandfather’s were hewn by descendants grimly aware of their oncoming death, who built the rooms and wrought the gates as much to keep demons locked inside as to rout the demons at their door.

But the private chambers for the family were fashioned as delicately as any Lan parlor room. These were commissioned by the butchers who founded the clan, anxious to be seen as refined as any other gentry, despite their rough origins, and so the architects were held to the highest standards of taste. And so they remain, gleaming like a pearl in the heart of the realm, embedded within its harsh grey oyster shell.

Nie Huaisang flits through its shining corridors, wrapped in grey robes woven so finely that in the moonlight they glow a pale, iridescent white.

“Da-ge, I’ve come to manipulate you”, he announces, barging into Da-ge’s private office late at night. Better to be upfront about these things with Da-ge, rather than suffer the consequences that come from him finding out about it later.

Nie Huaisang’s brother doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. His desk, a recent addition, is sturdy Qinghe steel, dominating against the elegant background. “No, you cannot get out of saber practice to go to some art show,” he grinds out, implacable as a knife on a whetstone.

Nie Huaisang, seeing that his brother isn’t going to pay any attention to his bravura performance, doesn’t bother to bristle. He just exhales noisily and says, dropping to his knees on the other side of the desk, “No, not about that,” and dutifully picks up a sheaf of letters from one of the stacks on Nie Mingjue’s desk. Stage one in his plan: here comes the filial child, helping with sect duties.

The first letter on the pile is a report of a horde of fierce corpses in a minor provincial town to the south-west of Qinghe. Nie Huaisang frowns, temporarily distracted, and reaches for one of the blank maps and ink sticks that Nie Mingjue keeps permanently on his desk.

“Do you have a map of just the fierce corpse sightings from oh, since the last new moon?” he says, absently, and wets his quill in Nie Mingjue’s inkwell.

“Decorum, Huaisang,” says Nie Mingjue roughly, and so he rolls his eyes around the flicker of annoyance, and starts grinding a fresh pot of ink for himself. Meng Yao would have let him. “And no. Why, do you see a pattern?”

“No-ot yet,” Nie Huaisang says, “No talking for ten minutes, let me draw it out.”

He’s thinking about what he’ll say if Nie Mingjue complains about being silenced in his own office, but his brother just grunts and returns to the accounts. He takes some bright red fresh ink as well as the black, and the thick sheaf of cultivator requests from the outlying counties, and places it all on his side of the large desk.

Maybe it’s just that Jin Guangyao was here, earlier, to draw out the comparison, but the office feels vaster and emptier than it did when Meng Yao’s steady presence at his own writing table anchored the other side of the room. There was something about his fine-boned face that came into focus when seen in candlelight, although it may have just been the proximity to gold.

“Look at this,” Nie Huaisang says finally, fanning at the paper to let the ink dry, “Red is the older reports, black are the corpse sightings from the past few weeks. We’ve been assuming that these corpses are all remnants of Wen casualties from the Sunshot campaign because of their robes, but Qishan is almost entirely volcanic terrain, so for a horde of mindless puppets there are only a few real possible routes of egress without being destroyed- here, here, and here.” He sketches rough circles around wide valleys. “But there’s a different pattern to these reports. If you draw a line,” and he places the ink stick down to draw out the path, “they all seem to be coming from one area in the south-west, and recently, since the older reports are clustered more south.” There’s a warm, pleased flush in his chest. Maybe he lacks cultivation skills, but there are other ways to be useful, he thinks.

Nie Mingjue glowers, and points to where the end of the ink stick lies with gathering anger. Baxia, ever responsive to his brother’s moods, lets out a warning growl in the corner. “Yiling? So this Wei Wuxian’s work?”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “I don’t know! I just don’t know, something about all of this doesn’t sit right.” He drags his fan over his lower lip, waiting for his logic to catch up with the conclusion. “Oh! It’s the frequency. Maybe he’s been slaughtering whole towns to get these numbers, but they would still have to pass through Jiang and Jin territory to get to us, at least, you’d expect it to be more thinned out. ”

Nie Mingjue slams his hand against the desk, but it’s his thinking rap, easily dismissed. “And we can’t overlook any non-related cause - a haunted amulet half-destroyed a town last year and caused a swarm, and that was never linked to any one sect.”

Nie Huaisang hums, flicking his fan open to cover his whole face while he thinks. “Also, Yunmeng is also pretty close to Yiling - it could be that Jiang Wanyin has decided to dip his toes into demonic cultivation.” He drags the fan down his face until it bumps against the bridge of his nose.

Over it, he looks at Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue looks at him. They burst into laughter as one.

“Did you hear him at the last cultivation conference when he pledged to break the legs of any demonic cultivator that crossed his border? He threatened me the exact same way when we were all at Gusu together,” Nie Huaisang wheezes. “Turns out falling asleep in class and raising the dead merit the same punishment.”

Nie Mingjue sobers suddenly at that, and says, “Sect Leader Jiang had to take on responsibilities too young, and now he’s lost his brother, and his sister has married out.” Baxia shrieks mournfully in her holder. “He’s shouldering his burdens admirably given the circumstances.”

Nie Huaisang feels his soft insides twist. There’s a cliff here waiting, and at the base is everything the two of them can’t - don’t - talk about. He tells himself in a familiar refrain that one day they will, just - not today. Instead he says, “Well, now that the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng are out of the running, maybe we can be a brother duo to rival the Twin Jades of Gusu! What do you think the two of us could be, Da-ge - the Mountain and the Small Plum?”

Nie Mingjue just looks at  Nie Huaisang for a long moment, solemn and worn, and Nie Huaisang can see the edge of the cliff in his eyes. Are you dying? Nie Huaisang thinks. Would you tell me if you thought you were? “I’d be a bad plum. I don’t wear purple,” Nie Mingjue says finally, primly.

“I will tell the matchmakers you’re funny,” says Nie Huaisang, because he can’t help it.

“Brat!” says Nie Mingjue, not unfondly.

“And sensitive.” he continues, threateningly, wagging a warning finger in his face.

“Put the map away, properly,” Nie Mingjue orders, apparently electing to ignore him. “I’m putting you in charge of following up with this, including coordinating with the cultivators for more information if necessary.”

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang whines, slumping in his seat and pouting outrageously. “I came up with the idea, why can’t we put one of the deputies on it?”

“Nie Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue yells back immediately, not as loud as he can get, but loud enough to ring through the enclosed room. “You’re going to be sect leader! You have to start taking this seriously!”

Nie cultivators die early and violently as a rule, but not, as Nie Mingjue seems to be resigned to, in their 20s. Nie Huaisang’s father, who was strong, died when he was 48, and that after he was murdered. Nie Mingjue is 27, and stronger, and the world is at a tenuous version of peace. And yet he has this constant paranoia that Nie Huaisang cannot understand, as if the smoke and gore from the battlefield never washed clean from his robes. As if he knows something that Nie Huaisang does not. Nie Huaisang whips his head around, fully prepared to yell back at him, when his eyes fall on Meng Yao’s old seat. Pick your battles, second young master, he used to say, or you’ll find you’ve lost the war. He deflates. Okay, then. Okay.

“Fine, I will,” he says, a little mulishly, and starts putting away the papers and ink.

Nie Mingjue looks a little surprised. Then he puts his head in his hands like it’s an immense burden. “I never wanted us to have a title like that, you know,” he says hoarsely. “Not like the Twin Jades, or the Heroes… it boxes you in. It boxed Xichen in, him and Wangji.” When he looks up, his eyes are glassy. “I wish you could do whatever you want, Huaisang, I wish I could—“

“Oh Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, feeling the sting of matching tears well up in his eyes, and clasps his forearms across the table. “You’re a good brother. I know. I know.” A smaller part of him, the cold little whisper in his ear that he can never quell, tells him: this is your moment. You can use this.

Nie Mingjue smiles painfully through his tears. “Now what are you really here for?” he says, thinly.

Nie Huaisang stays silent and rolls the name of Jin Guangyao experimentally across his mind. It’s a powder-keg that will erupt the conversation when Nie Huaisang deploys it, but on the other hand, will allow his brother to wrap anger around his grief like a blanket. Da-ge is not a man inclined to accept comfort, except in the depths of despair, which he has not quite reached, yet. Anger is better. Nie Huaisang makes his choice.

“I saw Jin Guangyao today,” he says mildly, and braces himself for the explosion.

Da-ge starts ranting, of course, like an afternoon Yunmeng thunderstorm - suddenly, all at once, and just as quickly over. It is such a familiar chant that were it not for the volume, Nie Huaisang could be lulled to sleep by it. Jin Guangyao is a traitor, a murderer, a spy, vindictive and narcissistic, liable to stab you in the back, liable to stab you in the heart. The last one, of course, is not said out loud, Nie Mingjue, loudly and publicly, and perhaps even in the thoughts that he tells himself, detests his sworn brother. Really, it is no wonder that Nie Huaisang got on so well with Jiang Wanyin when they were younger. His bluster was nearly the same.

He occupies himself with thinking about his brother’s complaints. They are, of course, strictly true. And of course Da-ge can’t understand. If their places were switched, if Da-ge had grown up in a brothel and Meng Yao been a sect leader’s son, Da-ge would have striven and worked inexorably until he earned his place through merit alone. And he would have died in obscurity. At best.

As a torturer, Jin Guangyao tortured. As a deputy, he handled the accounts efficiently and well. He was the blade to be wielded, with the blade's cold pragmatism. It was love that would cut you with Meng Yao, that was the irregularity that would swing his quick, efficient strikes off target.

When Nie Mingjue finishes up, Nie Huaisang tugs at the two strands of hair hanging in front of his face. “So, will you execute him?” he asks. “You could get a tribunal.”

Over Nie Mingjue’s sputters, he sighs and says, “Manipulation, Da-ge, I told you.” Really, what would his older brother ever do without him? “But you either have to leave the war behind you or step into the future. Why would you ally with him?”

It’s a leading question, to which everyone and their sect siblings know the answer. “To lead him back to the path of righteousness.” Nie Mingjue says, dutifully as a prize pupil.

“And why would Meng Yao ally with you?” Nie Huaisang asks rudely, raising his eyebrows. “You can’t assume that it’s because he’s overjoyed to receive your lectures.” This line of questioning is dangerous, which is why it’s quite lucky that his brother has already burnt his temper out earlier.

Nie Mingjue, as expected, darkens but doesn’t explode. As a righteous and self-flagellating man, he automatically rejects the premise entirely, even as Nie Huaisang, used to chasing for expressions in Meng Yao’s ink-dark eyes, suspects it might not be entirely false. Nie Mingue says, “To ally the Jin with one of the two strongest clans.”  

“Then be his ally, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang argues. “Reprimand him in private, if you must, but in public let everyone know that the might of the Nie are behind him, or he’ll have no choice but to lean even more heavily on his father.”

Nie Mingjue sighs heavily. “You’re growing up, aren’t you, Huaisang? You almost sounded like-” He pauses awkwardly. “Well, why this sudden interest in Jin Guangyao’s welfare now?”

Who did he sound like? His father - his mother? He’s so caught up in thinking about it that when he opens his mouth the truth slips out almost unbidden. “I’ve always been interested in Jin Guangyao’s welfare.” He hastily temporizes. “You know that he always helped me establish my claim as a true Nie, even when others thought I was too weak.”

This was one of the many duties that Nie Mingjue had not thought to ask for, but which Meng Yao had anticipated. When Nie Huaisang played at giving orders to adults older and stronger than him, feeling a fool, Meng Yao would stand, properly deferential, until the soldiers relented and only Nie Huaisang could see the shadow of a smile playing around his mouth.

Rudely, Nie Mingjue looks doubtful. But the truth Nie Huaisang senses in himself is as scattered and hard to grasp as motes in the air - Meng Yao stepping in front of him automatically when the Wen attacked Cloud Recesses, the fans that appeared in his room, the way that Meng Yao looks at him, solemn and a little empty, more real than any of his daubed on smiles and thus infinitely treasured by Nie Huaisang. When his smiles reach his eyes, then I’ll have lost him, he thinks, and tucks the thought away.

Nie Huaisang sees his brother giving in on the line of his brow before he even opens his mouth. It has the weight of inevitability: his brother is constantly searching for justifications to forgive Meng Yao; to forgive Nie Huaisang.

“In public,” Nie Mingjue says. “In private, I intend to keep impressing upon him the virtue of the righteous path.” Of course he agreed, and of course he never thought to leverage the favor in order to extract any promises from Nie Huaisang about training. Nie Huaisang feels so much love for his brother suddenly that it is briefly hard to breathe.

“Of course, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says. “And… one more thing.” He smiles a little anxiously and taps his wrist with his fan. 

“Spit it out,” Nie Mingjue says resignedly.

“Well, I was hoping that we could host a party?”

-----------

Small note on ages - I’m assuming that Nie Huaisang is 21, Meng Yao 23, and Nie Mingjue 27 at this point.

And here’s the poem NHS is referencing when he’s discussing a potenial title for the two of them!

Small Plum in a Mountain Garden

Among withered flowers plum trees brightly bloom, Dominating garden with beauty unsurpassed;

In clear and shallow water sparse branches loom, Floating in moonlit air with delicate fragrance; Eager are the winter birds who come to look, Spring butterflies they must equally enchant; To enjoy such beauty writing these few lines I have luck, Want of wine and song these blooms supplant.

—Wu Li, 2017

For a very in-depth breakdown of this poem (and why I think it fits Nie Huaisang particularly well), I really recommend Anne Lu’s essay!  Essentially the plum blossom is a winter plant - delicate, fragile, and blooming best after other plants have succumbed to the harsh terrain. I like it for our Headshaker! :) 

[davidmann95]

So... Morrison’s 10 part interview on All-Star Superman, along with all other older Newsarama articles, just seem to have ceased to exist. One does not simply live without having those interviews available to reread... Can I find them anywhere else?

Rejoice! I finally borrowed a computer I could put my flash drive into, and emailed myself my copy of the Morrison interview. Here it is below the cut, copied and pasted direct from the source way back when, available again at last:

Three years, 12 issues, Eisners and countless accolades later, All Star Superman is finally finished. The out-of-continuity look at Superman’s struggle with his inevitable death was widely embraced by fans and pros as one of the best stories to feature the Man of Steel, and was a showcase for the talents of the creative team of Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely and Jamie Grant.

Now, Newsarama is proud to present an exclusive look back with Morrison at the series that took Superman to, pun intended, new heights. We had a lot of questions about the series...and Morrison delivered with an in-depth look into the themes, characters and ideas throughout the 12 issues. In fact, there was so much that we’re running this as an unprecedented 10-part series over the next two weeks – sort of an unofficial All Star Superman companion. It’s everything about All Star Superman you ever wanted to know, but were afraid to ask.

And of course there’s plenty of SPOILERS, so back away if you haven’t read the entire series.

Newsarama: Grant, tell us a little about the origin of the project.

Grant Morrison: Some of it has its roots in the DC One Million project from 1999. So much so, that some readers have come to consider this a prequel to DC One Million, which is fine if it shifts a few more copies! I’ve tried to give my own DC books an overarching continuity intended to make them all read as a more coherent body of work when I’m done.

Luthor’s “enlightenment” – when he peaks on super–senses and sees the world as it appears through Superman’s eyes – was an element I’d included in the Superman Now pitch I prepared along with Mark Millar, Tom Peyer and Mark Waid back in 1999. There were one or two of ideas of mine that I wanted to preserve from Superman Now and Luthor’s heart–stopping moment of understanding was a favorite part of the original ending for that story, so I decided to use it again here.

My specific take on Superman’s physicality was inspired by the “shamanic” meeting my JLA editor Dan Raspler and I had in the wee hours of the morning outside the San Diego comic book convention in whenever it was, ‘98 or ‘99.

I’ve told this story in more detail elsewhere but basically, we were trying to figure out how to “reboot” Superman without splitting up his marriage to Lois, which seemed like a cop–out. It was the beginning of the conversations which ultimately led to Superman Now, with Dan and I restlessly pacing around trying to figure out a new way into the character of Superman and coming up short...

Until we looked up to see a guy dressed as Superman crossing the train tracks. Not just any skinny convention guy in an ill–fitting suit, this guy actually looked like Superman. It was too good a moment to let pass, so I ran over to him, told him what we’d been trying to do and asked if he wouldn’t mind indulging us by answering some questions about Superman, which he did...in the persona and voice of Superman!

We talked for an hour and a half and he walked off into the night with his friend (no, it wasn’t Jimmy Olsen, sadly). I sat up the rest of the night, scribbling page after page of Superman notes as the sun came up over the naval yards.

My entire approach to Superman had come from the way that guy had been sitting; so easy, so confident, as if, invulnerable to all physical harm, he could relax completely and be spontaneous and warm. That pose, sitting hunched on the bollard, with one knee up, the cape just hanging there, talking to us seemed to me to be the opposite of the clenched, muscle-bound look the character sometimes sports and that was the key to Superman for me.

I met the same Superman a couple of times afterwards but he wasn’t Superman, just a nice guy dressed as Superman, whose name I didn’t save but who has entered into my own personal mythology (a picture has from that time has survived showing me and Mark Waid posing alongside this guy and a couple of young readers dressed as Superboy and Supergirl – it’s in the “Gallery” section at my website for anybody who can be bothered looking. This is the guy who lit the fuse that led to All Star Superman).

After the 1999 pitch was rejected, I didn’t expect to be doing any further work on Superman but sometime in 2002, while I was going into my last year on New X–Men, Dan DiDio called and asked if I wanted to come back to DC to work on a Superman book with Jim Lee.

Jim was flexing his artistic muscles again to great effect, and he wanted to do 12 issues on Superman to complement the work he was doing with Jeph Loeb on “Batman: Hush.” At the time, I wasn’t able to make my own commitments dovetail with Jim’s availability, but by then I’d become obsessed with the idea of doing a big Superman story and I’d already started working out the details.

Jim, of course, went on to do his 12 Superman issues as “For Tomorrow” with Brian Azzarello, so I found myself looking for an artist for what was rapidly turning into my own Man of Steel magnum opus, and I already knew the book had to be drawn by my friend and collaborator, Frank Quitely.

We were already talking about We3 and Superman seemed like a good meaty project to get our teeth into when that was done. I completely scaled up my expectations of what might be possible once Frank was on board and decided to make this thing as ambitious as possible.

Usually, I prefer to write poppy, throwaway “live performance” type superhero books, but this time, I felt compelled to make something for the ages – a big definitive statement about superheroes and life and all that, not only drawn by my favorite artist but starring the first and greatest superhero of them all.

The fact that it could be a non–continuity recreation made the idea even more attractive and more achievable. I also felt ready for it, in a way I don’t think I would have been in 1999; I finally felt “grown–up” enough to do Superman justice.

I plotted the whole story in 2002 and drew tiny colored sketches for all 12 covers. The entire book was very tightly constructed before we started – except that I’d left the ending open for the inevitable better and more focused ideas I knew would arise as the project grew into its own shape...and I left an empty space for issue 10. That one was intended from the start to be the single issue of the 12–issue run that would condense and amplify the themes of all the others. #10 was set aside to be the one–off story that would sum up anything anyone needed to know about Superman in 22 pages.

Not quite as concise an origin as Superman’s, but that’s how we got started.

NRAMA: When you were devising the series, what challenges did you have in building up this version of the Superman universe?

GM: I couldn’t say there were any particular challenges. It was fun. Nobody was telling me what I could or couldn’t do with the characters. I didn’t have to worry about upsetting continuity or annoying people who care about stuff like that.

I don’t have a lot of old comics, so my knowledge of Superman was based on memory, some tattered “70s books from the remains of my teenage collection, a bunch of DC “Best Of...” reprint editions and two brilliant little handbooks – “Superman in Action Comics” Volumes 1 and 2 – which reprint every single Action Comics cover from 1938 to 1988.

I read various accounts of Superman’s creation and development as a brand. I read every Superman story and watched every Superman movie I could lay my hands on, from the Golden Age to the present day. From the Socialist scrapper Superman of the Depression years, through the Super–Cop of the 40s, the mythic Hyper–Dad of the 50s and 60s, the questioning, liberal Superman of the early 70s, the bland “superhero” of the late 70s, the confident yuppie of the 80s, the over–compensating Chippendale Superman of the 90s etc. I read takes on Superman by Mark Waid, Mark Millar, Geoff Johns, Denny O’Neil, Jeph Loeb, Alan Moore, Paul Dini and Alex Ross, Joe Casey, Steve Seagle, Garth Ennis, Jim Steranko and many others.

I looked at the Fleischer cartoons, the Chris Reeve movies and the animated series, and read Alvin Schwartz’s (he wrote the first ever Bizarro story among many others) fascinating book – “An Unlikely Prophet” – where he talks about his notion of Superman as a tulpa, (a Tibetan word for a living thought form which has an independent existence beyond its creator) and claims he actually met the Man of Steel in the back of a taxi.

I immersed myself in Superman and I tried to find in all of these very diverse approaches the essential “Superman–ness” that powered the engine. I then extracted, purified and refined that essence and drained it into All Star’s tank, recreating characters as my own dream versions, without the baggage of strict continuity.

In the end, I saw Superman not as a superhero or even a science fiction character, but as a story of Everyman. We’re all Superman in our own adventures. We have our own Fortresses of Solitude we retreat to, with our own special collections of valued stuff, our own super–pets, our own “Bottle Cities” that we feel guilty for neglecting. We have our own peers and rivals and bizarre emotional or moral tangles to deal with.

I felt I’d really grasped the concept when I saw him as Everyman, or rather as the dreamself of Everyman. That “S” is the radiant emblem of divinity we reveal when we rip off our stuffy shirts, our social masks, our neuroses, our constructed selves, and become who we truly are.

Batman is obviously much cooler, but that’s because he’s a very energetic and adolescent fantasy character: a handsome billionaire playboy in black leather with a butler at this beck and call, better cars and gadgetry than James Bond, a horde of fetish femme fatales baying around his heels and no boss. That guy’s Superman day and night.

Superman grew up baling hay on a farm. He goes to work, for a boss, in an office. He pines after a hard–working gal. Only when he tears off his shirt does that heroic, ideal inner self come to life. That’s actually a much more adult fantasy than the one Batman’s peddling but it also makes Superman a little harder to sell. He’s much more of a working class superhero, which is why we ended the whole book with the image of a laboring Superman.

He’s Everyman operating on a sci–fi Paul Bunyan scale. His worries and emotional problems are the same as ours... except that when he falls out with his girlfriend, the world trembles.

Newsarama: Grant, what are some of your favorite moments from the 12 issues?

Grant Morrison: The first shot of Superman flying over the sun. The Cosmic Anvil. Samson and Atlas. The kiss on the moon. The first three pages of the Olsen story which, I think, add up to the best character intro I’ve ever written.

Everything Lex Luthor says in issue #5. Everything Clark does. The whole says/does Luthor/Superman dynamic as played out through Frank Quitely’s absolute mastery and understanding of how space, movement and expression combine to tell a story.

Superboy and his dog on the moon – that perfect teenage moment of infinite possibility, introspection and hope for the future. He’s every young man on the verge of adulthood, Krypto is every dog with his boy (it seemed a shame to us that Krypto’s most memorable moment prior to this was his death scene in “Whatever Happened To The Man of Tomorrow.” Quitely’s scampering, leaping, eager and alive little creature is how I’d prefer to imagine Krypto the Superdog and conjures finer and more subtle emotions).

Bizarro–Home, with all of Earth’s continental and ocean shapes but reversed. The page with the first appearance of Zibarro that Frank has designed so the eye is pulled down in a swirling motion into the drain at the heart of the image, to make us feel that we’re being flushed in a cloacal spiral down into a nihilistic, existential sink. Frank gave me that page as a gift, and it became weirdly emblematic of a strange, dark time in both our lives.

The story with Bar–El and Lilo has a genuine chill off ammonia and antiseptic off it, which makes it my least favorite issue of the series, although I know a lot of people who love it. It’s about dying relatives, obligations, the overlit overheated corridors between terminal wards, the thin metallic odors of chemicals, bad food and fear. Preparation for the Phantom Zone.

Superman hugging the poor, hopeless girl on the roof and telling us all we’re stronger than we think we are.

Joe Shuster drawing us all into the story forever and never–ending.

Nasthalthia Luthor. Frank and Jamie’s final tour of the Fortress, referencing every previous issue on the way, in two pages.

All of issue #10 (there’s a single typo in there where the time on the last page was screwed up – but when we fix that detail for the trade I’ll be able to regard this as the most perfectly composed superhero story I’ve ever written).

I don’t think I’ve ever had a smoother, more seamless collaborative process.

NRAMA: The story is very complete unto itself, but are there any new or classic characters you’d like to explore further? If so, which ones and why?

GM: I’d happily write more Atlas and Samson. I really like Krull, the Dino��Czar’s wayward son, and his Stalinist underground empire of “Subterranosauri.” I could write a Superman Squad comic forever. I’d love to write the “Son of Superman” sequel about Lois and Clark’s super test tube baby.

But...I think All Star is already complete, without sequels. You read that last issue and it works because you know you’re never going to see All Star Superman again. You’ll be able to pick up Superman books, but they won’t be about this guy and they won’t feel the same. He really is going away. Our Superman is actually “dying” in that sense, and that adds the whole series a deeper poignancy.

NRAMA: Aside from the Bizarro League, you never really introduce other DC superheroes into the story. Why did you make this choice?

GM: I wanted the story to be about the mythic Superman at the end of his time. It’s clear from the references that he has or more likely has had a few super–powered allies, but that they’re no longer around or relevant any more.

For the context of this story I wanted the super–friends to be peripheral, like they were in the old comics. The Flash? Green Lantern? They represent Superman’s “old army buddies,” or your dad’s school friends. Guys you’ve sort of heard of, who used to be more important in the old man’s life than they are now.

NRAMA: Some readers were confused as to how the “Twelve Labors” broke down, though others have pointed out that Superman’s actions are more reflective of the Stations of the Cross (I note there’s a “Station Café” in the background of issue #12). Could you break down the Twelve Labors, or, if the cross theory is true, how the storyline reflects the Stations?

GM: The 12 Labors of Superman were never intended as an isomorphic mapping onto the 12 Labors of Hercules, or for that matter, the specific Stations of the Cross, of which there are 14, I believe. I didn’t even want to do one Labor per issue, so it deliberately breaks down quite erratically through the series for reasons I’ll go into (later).

Yes, there are correspondences, but that’s mostly because we tried to create for our Superman the contemporary “superhero” version of an archetypal solar hero journey, which naturally echoes numerous myths, legends and religious parables.

At the same time, we didn’t want to do an update or a direct copy of any myth you’d seen before, so it won’t work if you try to find one specific mythological or religious “plan” to hang the series on; James Joyce’s honorable and heroic refutation of the rule aside, there’s nothing more dead and dull than an attempt to retell the Odyssey or the Norse sagas scene by scene, but in a modern and/or superhero setting.

For future historians and mythologizers, however, the 12 Labors of Superman may be enumerated as follows:

1. Superman saves the first manned mission to the sun.
2. Superman brews the Super–Elixir.
3. Superman answers the Unanswerable Question.
4. Superman chains the Chronovore. 
5. Superman saves Earth from Bizarro–Home.
6. Superman returns from the Underverse.
7. Superman creates Life.
8. Superman liberates Kandor/cures cancer.
9. Superman defeats Solaris.
10. Superman conquers Death.
11. Superman builds an artificial Heart for the Sun.
12.Superman leaves the recipe/formula to make Superman 2.

And one final feat, which typically no–one really notices, is that Lex Luthor delivers his own version of the unified field haiku – explaining the underlying principles of the universe in fourteen syllables – which the P.R.O.J.E.C.T. G–Type philosopher from issue 4 had dedicated his entire life to composing!

You may notice also that the Labors take place over a year – with the solar hero’s descent into the darkness and cold of the Underverse occurring at midwinter/Christmas time (that’s also the only point in the story where we ever see Metropolis at night).

It can also be seen as the sun’s journey over the course of a day – we open in blazing sunshine but halfway through the book, at the end of issue #5, in fact, the solar hero dips below the horizon and begins the night–journey through the hours of darkness and death, before his triumphant resurrection at dawn. That’s why issue 5 ends with the boat to the Underworld and 6 begins with the moon. Clark Kent is crossing the threshold into the subconscious world of memory, shadows, death and deep emotions.

Although they can often have bizarre resonances, specific elements, like the Station Café, are usually put there by Frank Quitely, and are not necessarily secret Dan Brown–style keys to unlocking the mysteries. I think there might be a Station Café opposite the studio where Frank Quitely works and the “SAPIEN” sign on another storefront is a reference to Frank’s studio mate, Dave Sapien. At least he’s not filling the background with dirty words like he used to, given any opportunity

NRAMA: For that matter, do the Twelve Labors matter at all? They seem so purposely ill–defined. They seem more like misdirection or a MacGuffin than anything that needs to be clearly delineated.

GM: They matter, of course, but the 12 Labors idea is there to show that, as with all myth, the systematic ordering of current events into stories, tales, or legends occurs after the fact.

I’m trying to suggest that only in the future will these particular 12 feats, out of all the others ever, be mythologized as 12 Labors. I suppose I was trying to say something about how people impose meaning upon events in retrospect, and that’s how myth is born. It’s hindsight that provides narrative, structure, meaning and significance to the simple unfolding of events. It’s the backward glance that adds all the capital letters to the list above.

Even Superman isn”t sure how many Labors he’s performed when we see him mulling it over in issue 10. 
When you watched it happening, it seemed to be Superman just doing his thing. In the future it’s become THE 12 LABORS OF SUPERMAN!

NRAMA: And on a completely ridiculous note: All–Star Superman is perhaps the most difficult–to–abbreviate comic title since Preacher: Tall in the Saddle. Did you realize this going in?

GM: Going into what? Going into ASS itself? In the sense of how did I feel as I slowly entered ASS for the first time?

It never crossed my mind...

Newsarama: I’d like to know a little more about Leo Quintum and his role in the story. He seems like a bit of an outgrowth of the likes of Project Cadmus and Emil Hamilton, but in a more fantastical, Willy Wonka sense.

Grant Morrison: Yeah, he was exactly as you say, my attempt to create an updated take on the character of “Superman’s scientist friend” – in the vein of Emil Hamilton from the animated show and the ‘90s stories. Science so often goes wrong in Superman stories, and I thought it was important to show the potential for science to go right or to be elevated by contact with Superman’s shining positive spirit.

I was thinking of Quintum as a kind of “Man Who Fell To Earth” character with a mysterious unearthly background. For a while I toyed with the notion that he was some kind of avatar of Lightray of the New Gods, but as All Star developed, that didn’t fit the tone, and he was allowed to simply be himself.

Eventually it just came down to simplicity. Leo Quintum represents the “good” scientific spirit – the rational, enlightened, progressive, utopian kind of scientist I figured Superman might inspire to greatness. It was interesting to me how so many people expected Quintum to turn out bad at the end. It shows how conditioned we are in our miserable, self–loathing, suspicious society to expect the worst of everyone, rather than hope for the best. Or maybe it’s just what we expect from stories.

Having said that, there is indeed a necessary whiff of Lucifer about Quintum. His name, Leo Quintum, conjures images of solar force, lions and lightbringers and he has elements of the classic Trickster figure about him. He even refers to himself as “The Devil Himself” in issue #10.

What he’s doing at the end of the story should, for all its gee–whiz futurity, feel slightly ambiguous, slightly fake, slightly “Hollywood.” Yes, he’s fulfilling Superman’s wishes by cloning an heir to Superman and Lois and inaugurating a Superman dynasty that will last until the end of time – but he’s also commodifying Superman, figuring out how it’s done, turning him into a brand, a franchise, a bigger–and–better “revamp,” the ultimate coming attraction, fresher than fresh, newer than new but familiar too. Quintum has figured out the “formula” for Superman and improved upon it.

And then you can go back to the start of All Star Superman issue #1 and read the “formula” for yourself, condensed into eight words on the first page and then expanded upon throughout the story! The solar journey is an endless circle naturally. A perfect puzzle that is its own solution.

In one way, Quintum could be seen to represent the creative team, simultaneously re–empowering a pure myth with the honest fire of Art...while at the same time shooting a jolt of juice through a concept that sells more “S” logo underpants and towels than it does comic books. All tastes catered!

I have to say that the Willy Wonka thing never crossed my mind until I saw people online make the comparison, which seems quite obvious now. Quintum dresses how I would dress if I was the world’s coolest super–scientist. What’s up with that?

NRAMA: Was Zibarro inspired by the Bizarro World story where the Bizarro–Neanderthal becomes this unappreciated Casanova–type?

GM: Don’t know that one, but it sounds like a scenario I could definitely endorse!

Zibarro started out as a daft name sicked–up by my subconscious mind, which flowered within moments into the must–write idea of an Imperfect Bizarro. What would an imperfect version of an already imperfect being be like?

Zibarro.

NRAMA: I’d like to know more about Zibarro – what’s the significance of his chronicling Bizarro World through poetry?

GM: It’s up to you. I see Zibarro partly as the sensitive teenager inside us all. He’s moody, horribly self–aware and uncomfortable, yet filled with thoughts of omnipotence and agency. He’s the absolute center of his tiny, disorganized universe. He’s playing the role of sensitive, empathic poet but at the same time, he’s completely self–absorbed.

When he says to Superman “Can you even imagine what it’s like to be so different. So unique. So unlike everyone else?” he doesn’t even wait for Superman’s reply. He doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own, ultimately.

NRAMA: The character is very close to Superman, so what does it say that a nonpowered version on a savage world would focus his energy through that medium? Also, does Zibarro’s existence show how Superman is able to elevate even the backwards Bizarros through his very nature?

GM: All of the above. And maybe he writes his totally subjective poetry as a reflection of Clark Kent’s objective reporter role. The suppressed, lyrical, wounded side of Superman perhaps? The Super–Morrissey? Bizarro With The Thorn In His Side?

But he’s also Bizarro–Home’s “mistake” (or so it seems to him, even though he’s as natural an expression of the place as any of the other Bizarro creatures who grow like mold across the surface of their living planet). He feels excluded, a despised outsider, and yet that position is what defines his cherished self–image. He expresses himself through poetry because to him the regular Bizarro language is barbaric, barely articulate and guttural. And they all think he’s talking crap anyway.

It seemed to make sense that an interesting opposite of Bizarro speech might be flowery “woe is me” school Poetry Society odes to the sunset in a misunderstood heart. He’s still a Bizarro though, which makes him ineffectual. His tragedy is that he knows he’s fated to be useless and pointless but craves so much more.

NRAMA: Zibarro also represents a recurrent theme in the story, of Superman constantly facing alternate versions of himself – Bar–El, Samson and Atlas, the Superman Squad, even Luthor by the end. Notably, Hercules is absent, though Superman’s doing his Twelve Labors. With the mythological adventurers in particular, was this designed to equate Superman with their legend, to show how his character is greater than theirs, or both?

GM: In a way, I suppose. He did arm–wrestle them both, proving once and for all Superman’s stronger than anybody! And remember, these characters, along with Hercules, used to appear regularly in Superman books as his rivals. I thought they made better rivals than, say, Majestic or Ultraman because people who don’t read comics have heard of Hercules, Samson and Atlas and understand what they represent.

For that particular story, I wanted to see Superman doing tough guy shit again, like he did in the early days and then again in the 70s, when he was written as a supremely cocky macho bastard for a while. I thought a little bit of that would be an antidote to the slightly soppy, Super–Christ portrayal that was starting to gain ground.

Hence Samson’s broken arm, twisted in two directions beyond all repair. And Atlas in the hospital. And then Superman’s got his hot girlfriend dressed like a girl from Krypton and they’re making out on the moon (the original panel description was of something more like the famous shot of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr kissing in the surf from “From Here To Eternity.” Frank’s final choice of composition is much more classically pulp–romantic and iconic than my down and dirty rumble in the moondirt would have been, I’m glad to say).

Newsarama: Tell us about some of the thinking behind the new antagonists you created for this series (at least the ones you want to talk about...): First up: Krull and the Subterranosaurs...

Grant Morrison: We wanted to create some throwaway new characters which would be designed to look as if they were convincing long–term elements of the Superman legend.

We were trying to create a few foes who had a classic feel and a solid backstory that could be explored again or in depth. Even if we never went back to these characters, we wanted them to seem rich enough to carry their own stories.

With Krull, we figured a superhuman character like Superman can always use a powerful “sub–human” opponent: a beast, a monster, a savage with the power to destroy civilization. For years I’ve had the idea that the familiar “gray aliens” might “actually” be evolved biped dinosaur descendants, the offspring of smart–thinking lizards which made their way to the warm regions at the Earth’s core.

I imagined these brutes developing their own technology, their own civilization, and then finally coming to the surface to declare bloody war on the mammalian usurpers! It seemed like we could develop this idea into the Krull backstory and suggest a whole epic conflict in a few panels.

Dom Regan, the Glasgow artist and DC colorist, saw the original green skin Jamie Grant had done for Krull, and suggested we make him red instead. Jamie reset his color filters and that was the moment Krull suddenly looked like a real Superman foe.

The red skin marked him out as unique, different and dangerous, even among his own species. It had echoes of Jack Kirby’s Devil Dinosaur that played right into the heart of the concept. A good design became a great design and the whole story of who Krull was – his twisted relationship with his father the Dino–Czar, his monstrous ambitions – came together in that first picture.

The society was fleshed out in the script even though we see only one panel of it – a gloomy, heavy, “Soviet” underworld of walled iron cities, cold blood and deadly intrigue. War–Barges that could sail on the oceans of heated steam at the center of the Earth. A Stalinist authoritarian lizard world where missing person cases were being taken to work and die as slaves in hellish underworld conditions.

NRAMA: Mechano–Man?

GM: An attempt to pre–imagine a classic, archetypal Superman foe, which started with another simple premise – how about a giant robot villain? But not just any giant robot – this is a rampaging machine with a raging little man inside.

Giving him a bitter, angry, scrawny loser as a pilot turned Mechano–Man into a much more extreme and pathological expression of the Man of Steel/Mild–Mannered Reporter dynamic, and added a few interesting layers onto an 8–panel appearance.

NRAMA: The Chronovore – a very disturbing creation, that one.

GM: The Chronovore was mentioned in passing in DC 1,000,000 and would have been the monster in my aborted Hypercrisis series idea. It took a long time to get the right design for the beast because it’s meant to be a 5–D being that we only ever see in 4–D sections. It had to work as a convincing representation of something much bigger that we’re seeing only where it interpenetrates our 4–D space-time continuum.

Imagine you’re walking along with a song in your teenage heart, then suddenly the Chronovore appears, takes bite out of your life, and you arrive at your girlfriend’s house aged 76, clutching a cell phone and a wilted bouquet.

NRAMA: One more obscure run that I was happy to see referenced in this was the use of Nasty from the old Mike Sekowsky Supergirl stories. What made you want to use this character?

GM: I remembered her from the old comics, and felt her fashion–y look could be updated very easily into the kind of fetish club thing I’ve always been partial to.

She seemed a cool and sexy addition to the Luthor plot. The set–up, where Lex has a fairly normal sister who hates how her wayward brother is such a bad influence on her brilliant daughter, is explosive with character potential.

They need to bring Nasty back to mainstream continuity. Geoff! They all want it and you know you never let them down!

NRAMA: Speaking of Mike Sekowsky, I’m curious about his influence on your work. I have an odd fascination with all the ideas and stories he was tossing around in the late 1960s and early 1970s – Jason’s Quest, Manhunter 2070, the I–Ching tales – and many of the characters he worked on, from the B”Wana Beast to the Inferior Five to Yankee Doodle (in Doom Patrol), have shown up in your work. The Bizarro Zoo in issue #10 is even slightly reminiscent of the Beast’s merged animals.

GM: Those were all comics that were around when I was a normal kid, prior to the obsessive collecting fan phase of my isolated teenage years. They clearly inspired me in some way, as you say, but certainly not consciously. I’d never have considered myself a particular fan of Mike Sekowsky’s work, but as you say, I’ve incorporated a lot of his ideas into the DC Universe work I’ve done. Hmm. Interesting.

While I’m at it, I should also say something about Samson and Atlas, halfway between old characters and new.

Samson, Atlas and Hercules were classical mainstays of old Superman covers, tangling with Superman in all those Silver Age stories that happened before he learned from his friends at Marvel that it was possible to fight other superheroes for fun and profit, so I decided to completely “re–vamp” the characters in the manner of superhero franchises. Marvel has the definitive Hercules for me, so I left him out of the mix and concentrated on Atlas and Samson.

Atlas was re–imagined as a mighty but restless and reckless young prince of the New Mythos – a society of mega–beings playing out their archetypal dramas between New Elysium and Hadia, with ordinary people caught in the middle – and Superman.

Essentially good–hearted, Atlas would have been the newbie in a “team” with Skyfather Xaoz!, Heroina, Marzak and the others. He has a bullish, adolescent approach to life. He drinks and plunges himself into ill–advised adventures to ease his naturally gloomy “weighed down by the world” temperament.

You can see it all now. The backstory suggested an unseen, Empyrean New Gods–type series from a parallel universe. What if, when Jack Kirby came to DC from Marvel in 1971, he’d followed up his sci–fi Viking Gods saga at Marvel, with a dimension–spanning epic rooted in Greek mythology? New Gods meets Eternals drawn by Curt Swan/Murphy Anderson? That was Atlas.

Samson, I decided would be a callback to the British newspaper strip “Garth.” Although you may already be imagining a daily strip about the exploits of time–tossed The Boys writer, Garth Ennis, it was actually about a blonde Adonis type who bounced around the ages having mildly horny, racy adventures.

(Go look him up then return the wiser before reading on, so I don’t have to explain anymore about this bastard – he’s often described as “the British Superman,” but oh...my arse! I hated meathead, personality–singularity Garth...but we all grew up with his meandering, inexplicable yet incredibly–drawn adventures and some of it was quite good when you were a little lad because he was always shagging ON PANEL with the likes of a bare–breasted cave girl or gauze–draped Helen of Troy.

(Unlike Superman, you see, the top British strongman liked to get naked. Lots naked. Naked in every time period he could get naked in, which was all of them thanks to the miracle of his bullshit powers.

(Imagine Doctor Who buff, dumb and naked all the time – Russell, I’ve had an idea!!!! – and that’s Garth in a nutshell.

(Sorry, I know I’m going on and the average attention span of anyone reading stuff on the Internet amounts to no more than a few paragraphs, but basically, Garth was always getting naked. In public, in family newspapers. Bollock naked. Let’s face it, patriotic Americans, have you ever seen Superman’s arse?

Newsarama Note: Well, there was Baby Kal-El in the 1978 film...

(Brits, hands up who still remember the man, and have you ever not seen Garth’s arse? Do you not, in fact, have a very clear image of it in your head, as drawn by Martin Asbury perhaps? In mine, Garth’s pulling aside a flimsy curtain to gaze at the pyramids with Cleopatra buck naked in foreground ogling his rock hard glutes...).

Anyway, Samson, I decided, was the Hebrew version of Garth and he would have his own mad comic that was like an American version of Garth. I saw the Bible hero plucked from the desert sands by time–travelling buffoons in search of a savior. Introduced to all the worst aspects of future culture and, using his stolen, erratic Chrono–Mobile, Samson became a time–(and space) traveling Soldier of Fortune, writing wrongs, humping princesses, accumulating and losing treasure etc. Like a science fiction Conan. Meets Garth.

Fortunately, you’ll never see any of these men ever again.

Newsarama: How have your perceptions of Superman and his supporting characters evolved since the Superman 2000 pitch you did with Mark Waid, Mark Millar and Tom Peyer? The Superman notions seem almost identical, but Luthor is very different here than in that pitch, and so is Clark Kent. Did you use some aspects of your original pitch, or have you just changed his mind on how to portray these characters since?

Grant Morrison: A little of both. I wanted to approach All Star Superman as something new, but there were a couple of specific aspects from the Superman 2000 pitch (as I mentioned earlier, it was actually called Superman Now, at least in my notebooks, which is where the bulk of the material came from) that I felt were definitely worth keeping and exploring.

I can’t remember much about Luthor from Superman Now, except for the ending. By the time I got to All Star Superman, I’d developed a few new insights into Luthor’s character that seemed to flesh him out more. Luthor’s really human and charismatic and hateful all the same time. He’s the brilliant, deluded egotist in all of us. The key for me was the idea that he draws his eyebrows on. The weird vanity of that told me everything I needed to know about Luthor.

I thought the real key to him was the fact that, brilliant as he is, Luthor is nowhere near as brilliant as he wants to be or thinks he is. For Luthor, no praise, no success, no achievement is ever enough, because there’s a big hungry hole in his soul. His need for acknowledgement and validation is superhuman in scale. Superman needs no thanks; he does what he does because he’s made that way. Luthor constantly rails against his own sense of failure and inadequacy...and Superman’s to blame, of course.

I’ve recently been re–thinking Luthor again for a different project, and there’s always a new aspect of the character to unearth and develop.

NRAMA: This story makes Superman and Lois’ relationship seem much more romantic and epic than usual, but this one also makes Superman more of the pursuer. Lois seems like more of an equal, but also more wary of his affections, particularly in the black–and–white sequence in issue #2.

She becomes this great beacon of support for him over the course of the series, but there is a sense that she’s a bit jaded from years of trickery and uncomfortable with letting him in now that he’s being honest. How, overall, do you see the relationship between Superman and Lois?

GM: The black-and-white panels shows Lois paranoid and under the influence of an alien chemical, but yes, she’s articulating many of her very real concerns in that scene.

I wanted her to finally respond to all those years of being tricked and duped and led to believe Superman and Clark Kent were two different people. I wanted her to get her revenge by finally refusing to accept the truth.

It also exposed that brilliant central paradox in the Superman/Lois relationship. The perfect man who never tells a lie has to lie to the woman he loves to keep her safe. And he lives with that every day. It’s that little human kink that really drives their relationship.

NRAMA: Jimmy Olsen is extremely cool in this series – it’s the old “Mr. Action” idea taken to a new level. It’s often easy to write Jimmy as a victim or sycophant, but in this series, he comes off as someone worthy of being “Superman’s Pal” – he implicitly trusts Superman, and will take any risk to get his story. Do you see this version of Jimmy as sort of a natural evolution of the version often seen in the comics?

GM: It was a total rethink based on the aspects of Olsen I liked, and playing down the whole wet–behind–the–ears “cub reporter” thing. I borrowed a little from the “Mr. Action” idea of a more daredevil, pro–active Jimmy, added a little bit of Nathan Barley, some Abercrombie & Fitch style, a bit of Tintin, and a cool Quitely haircut.

Jimmy was renowned for his “disguises” and bizarre transformations (my favorite is the transvestite Olsen epic “Miss Jimmy Olsen” from Jimmy Olsen #95, which gets a nod on the first page of our Jimmy story we did), so I wanted to take that aspect of his appeal and make it part of his job.

I don’t like victim Jimmy or dumb Jimmy, because those takes on the character don’t make any sense in their context. It seemed more interesting see what a young man would be like who could convincingly be Superman’s “pal.” Someone whose company a Superman might actually enjoy. That meant making Jimmy a much bigger character: swaggering but ingenuous. Innocent yet worldly. Enthusiastic but not stupid.

My favorite Jimmy moment is in issue #7 when he comes up with the way to defeat the Bizarro invasion by using the seas of the Bizarro planet itself as giant mirrors to reflect toxic – to Bizarros – sunlight onto the night side of the Earth. He knows Superman can actually take crazy lateral thinking like this and put it into practice.

NRAMA: Perry White has a few small–but–key scenes, particularly his address to his staff in issue #1 and standing up to Luthor in issue #12. I’d like to hear more about your thoughts on this character.

GM: As with the others, my feelings are there on the page. Perry is Clark’s boss and need only be that and not much more to play his role perfectly well within the stories. He’s a good reminder that Superman has a job and a boss, unlike that good–for–nothing work-shy bastard Batman. Perry’s another of the series’ older male role models of integrity and steadfastness, like Pa Kent.

NRAMA: There’s a sense in the Daily Planet scenes and with Lois’s spotlight issues that everyone knows Clark is Superman, but they play along to humor him. The Clark disguise comes off as very obvious in this story. Do you feel that the Planet staff knows the truth, or are just in a very deep case of denial, like Lex?

GM: If I had to say for sure, I think Jimmy Olsen worked it out a long time ago, and simply presumes that if Superman has a good reason for what he’s doing, that’s good enough for Jimmy.

Lois has guessed, but refuses to acknowledge it because it exposes her darkest flaw – she could never love Clark Kent the way she loves Superman.

NRAMA: Also, the Planet staff seems awfully nonchalant at Luthor’s threats. Are they simply used to being attacked by now?

GM: Yes. They’re a tough group. They also know that Superman makes a point of looking out for them, so they naturally try to keep Luthor talking. They know he loves to talk about himself and about Superman. In that scene, he’s almost forgotten he even has powers, he’s so busy arguing and making points. He keeps doing ordinary things instead of extraordinary things.

NRAMA: The running gag of Clark subtly using his powers to protect unknowing people is well done, but I have to admit I was confused by the sequence near the end of issue #1. Was that an el–train, and if so, why was it so close to the ground?

GM: It’s a MagLev hover–train. Look again, and you’ll see it’s not supported by anything. Hover–trains help ease congestion in busy city streets! Metropolis is the City of Tomorrow, after all.

NRAMA: And there’s the death of Pa Kent. Why do you feel it’s particularly important to have Pa and not both of the Kents pass away?

GM: I imagined they had both passed away fairly early in Superman’s career, but Ma went a few years after Pa. Also, because the book was about men or man, it seemed important to stress the father/son relationships. That circle of life, the king is dead, long live the king thing that Superman is ultimately too big and too timeless to succumb to.

NRAMA: There is a real touch of Elliott S! Maggin’s novels in your depiction of Luthor – someone who is just so obsessive–compulsive about showing up Superman that he accomplishes nothing in his own life. He comes across as a showman, from his rehearsed speech in issue #1 to his garish costume in the last two issues, and it becomes painfully apparent that he wants to usurp Superman because he just can’t be happy with himself. What defeats him is actually a beautiful gift, getting to see the world as Superman does, and finally understanding his enemy.

That’s all a lead–in to: What previous stories that defined Luthor for you, and how did you define his character? What appeals to you about writing him?

GM: The Marks Waid and Millar were big fans of the Maggin books, and may have persuaded me to read at least the first one but I’m ashamed to say can’t remember anything about it, other than the vague recollection of a very humane, humanist take on Superman that seemed in general accord with the pacifist, hedonistic, between–the–wars spirit of the ‘90s when I read it. It was the ‘90s; I had other things on my mind and in my mind.

I like Maggin’s “Must There Be A Superman?” from Superman #247, which ultimately poses questions traditional superhero comic books are not equipped to answer and is one of the first paving stones in the Yellow Brick Road that leads to Watchmen and beyond, to The Authority, The Ultimates etc. Everyone still awake, still reading this, should make themselves familiar with “Must There Be A Superman?” – it’s a milestone in the development of the superhero concept.

However, the story that most defines Luthor for me turns out to be, as usual, a Len Wein piece with Curt Swan/Murphy Anderson– Superman #248. This blew me away when I was a kid. Lex Luthor cares about humanity? He’s sorry we all got blown up? The villain loves us too? It’s only Superman he really hates? Genius. Big, cool adult stuff.

The divine Len makes Lex almost too human, but it was amazing to see this kind of depth in a character I’d taken for granted as a music hall villain.

I also love the brutish Satanic, Crowley–esque, Golden Age Luthor in the brilliant “Powerstone” Action Comics #47 (the opening of All Star #11 is a shameless lift from “Powerstone”, as I soon realised when I went back to look. Blame my...er...photographic memory...cough).

And I like the Silver Age Luthor who only hates Superman because he thinks it’s Superboy’s fault he went bald. That was the most genuinely human motivation for Luthor’s career of villainy of all; it was Superman’s fault he went bald! I can get behind that.

In the Silver Age, baldness, like obesity, old age and poverty, was seen quite rightly as a crippling disease and a challenge which Superman and his supporting cast would be compelled to overcome at every opportunity! Suburban “50s America versus Communist degeneracy? You tell me.

I like elements of the Marv Wolfman/John Byrne ultra–cruel and rapacious businessman, although he somewhat lacks the human dimension (ultimately there’s something brilliant about Luthor being a failed inventor, a product of Smallville/Dullsville – the genius who went unnoticed in his lifetime, and resorted to death robots in chilly basements and cellars. Luthor as geek versus world). I thought Alan Moore’s ruthlessly self–assured “consultant” Luthor in Swamp Thing was an inspired take on the character as was Mark Waid’s rage–driven prodigy from Birthright.

I tried to fold them all into one portrayal. I see him as a very human character – Superman is us at our best, Luthor is us when we’re being mean, vindictive, petty, deluded and angry. Among other things. It’s like a bipolar manic/depressive personality – with optimistic, loving Superman smiling at one end of the scale and paranoid, petty Luthor cringing on the other.

I think any writer of Superman has to love these two enemies equally. We have to recognize them both as potentials within ourselves. I think it’s important to find yourself agreeing with Luthor a bit about Superman’s “smug superiority” – we all of us, except for Superman, know what it’s like to have mean–spirited thoughts like that about someone else’s happiness. It’s essential to find yourself rooting for Lex, at least a little bit, when he goes up against a man–god armed only with his bloody–minded arrogance and cleverness.

Even if you just wish you could just give him a hug and help him channel his energies in the right direction, Luthor speaks for something in all of us, I like to think.

However he’s played, Luthor is the male power fantasy gone wrong and turned sour. You’ve got everything you want but it’s not enough because someone has more, someone is better, someone is cleverer or more handsome.

 Newsarama: Grant, a recurring theme throughout the book is the effect of small kindness – how even the likes of Steve Lombard are capable of decency. And Superman gets the key to saving himself by doing something that any human being could do, offering sympathy to a person about to end it all.

Grant Morrison: Completely...the person you help today could be the person who saves your life tomorrow.

NRAMA: The character actions that make the biggest difference, from Zibarro’s sacrifice to Pa’s influence on Superman, are really things that any normal, non-powered person could do if they embrace the best part of their humanity. The last page of issue #12 teases the idea that Superman’s powers could be given to all mankind, but it seems as though the greatest gift he has given them is his humanity. How do you view Superman’s fate in the context of where humanity could go as a species?

GM: I see Superman in this series as an Enlightenment figure, a Renaissance idea of the ideal man, perfect in mind, body and intention.

A key text in all of this is Pico’s ‘Oration On The Dignity of Man’ (15c), generally regarded as the ‘manifesto’ of Renaissance thought, in which Giovanni Pico Della Mirandola laid out the fundamentals of what we tend to refer to as ’Humanist’ thinking.

(The ‘Oratorio’ also turns up in my British superhero series Zenith from 1987, which may indicate how long I’ve been working towards a Pico/Superman team-up!)

At its most basic, the ‘Oratorio’ is telling us that human beings have the unique ability, even the responsibility, to live up to their ‘ideals’. It would be unusual for a dog to aspire to be a horse, a bird to bark like a dog, or a horse to want to wear a diving suit and explore the Barrier Reef, but people have a particular gift for and inclination towards imitation, mimicry and self-transformation. We fly by watching birds and then making metal carriers that can outdo birds, we travel underwater by imitating fish, we constantly look to role models and behavioral templates for guidance, even when those role models are fictional TV or, comic, novel or movie heroes, just like the soft, quick, shapeshifty little things we are. We can alter the clothes we wear, the temperature around us, and change even our own bodies, in order to colonize or occupy previously hostile environments. We are, in short, a distinctively malleable and adaptable bunch.

So, Pico is saying, if we live by imitation, does it not make sense that we might choose to imitate the angels, the gods, the very highest form of being that we can imagine? Instead of indulging the most brutish, vicious, greedy and ignorant aspects of the human experience, we can, with a little applied effort, elevate the better part of our natures and work to express those elements through our behavior. To do so would probably make us all feel a whole lot better too. Doing good deeds and making other people happy makes you feel totally brilliant, let’s face it.

So we can choose to the astronaut or the gangster. The superhero or the super villain. The angel or the devil. It’s entirely up to us, particularly in the privileged West, how we choose to imagine ourselves and conduct our lives.

We live in the stories we tell ourselves. It’s really simple. We can continue to tell ourselves and our children that the species we belong to is a crawling, diseased, viral cancer smear, only fit for extinction, and let’s see where that leads us.

We can continue to project our self-loathing and narcissistic terror of personal mortality onto our culture, our civilization, our planet, until we wreck the promise of the world for future generations in a fit of sheer self-induced panic...

...or we can own up to the scientific fact that we are all physically connected as parts of a single giant organism, imagine better ways to live and grow...and then put them into practice. We can stop pissing about, start building starships, and get on with the business of being adults.

The ’Oratorio’ is nothing less than the Shazam!, the Kimota! for Western Culture and we would do well to remember it in our currently trying times.

The key theme of the ‘Dark Age’ of comics was loss and recovery of wonder - McGregor’s Killraven trawling through the apocalyptic wreckage of culture in his search for poetry, meaning and fellowship, Captain Mantra, amnesiac in Robert Mayer’s Superfolks, Alan Moore’s Mike Maxwell trudging through the black and white streets of Thatcher’s Britain, with the magic word of transformation burning on the tip of his tongue.

My own work has been an ongoing attempt to repeat the magic word over and over until we all become the kind of superheroes we’d all like to be. Ha hah ha.

 Newsarama: The structure of the 12 issues involves both Superman’s 12 labors and his impending death. Do you feel the threat of his demise brings out the best in Superman’s already–high character, or did you intend it more as a window for the audience to understand how he sees the world?

Grant Morrison: In trying to do the “big,” ultimate Superman story, we wanted to hit on all the major beats that define the character – the “death of Superman” story has been told again and again and had to be incorporated into any definitive take. Superman’s death and rebirth fit the sun god myth we were establishing, and, as you say, it added a very terminal ticking clock to the story.

NRAMA: When we talked earlier this year, we discussed the neurotic quality of the Silver Age stories. Looking at the series as a whole, you consistently invert this formula. Superman is faced with all these crises that could be seen as personifying his neuroses, but for the most part he handles them with a level head and comes across as being very at peace with himself. You talked about your discussion with an in–character Superman fan at a convention years ago, but I am curious as to how you determined Superman’s mindset.

GM: I felt we had to live up to the big ideas behind Superman. I don’t take my daft job lightly. It’s all I’ve got.

As the project got going, I wasn’t thinking about Silver Ages or Dark Ages or anything about the comics I’d read, so much as the big shared idea of “Superman” and that “S” logo I see on T–shirts everywhere I go, on girls and boys. That communal Superman. I wanted us to get the precise energy of Platonic Superman down on the page.

The “S” hieroglyph, the super–sigil, stands for the very best kind of man we can imagine, so the subject dictated the methodical, perfectionist approach. As I’ve mentioned before, I keep this aspect of my job fresh for myself by changing my writing style to suit the project, the character or the artist.

With something like Batman R.I.P., I’m aiming for a frenzied Goth Pulp-Noir; punk-psych, expressionist shadows and jagged nightmare scene shifts, inspired by Batman’s roots and by the snapping, fluttering of his uncanny cape. Final Crisis was written, with the Norse Ragnarok and Biblical Revelations in mind, as a story about events more than characters. A doom-laden, Death Metal myth for the wonderful world of Fina(ncia)l Crisis/Eco-breakdown/Terror Trauma we all have to live in.

The subject matter drives the execution. And then, of course, the artists add their own vision and nuance. With All Star Superman, “Frank” and I were able to spend a lot of time together talking it through, and we agreed it had to be about grids, structure, storybook panel layouts, an elegance of form, a clarity of delivery. “Classical” in every sense of the word. The medium, the message, the story, the character, all working together as one simple equation.

Frank Quitely, a Glasgow Art School boy, completely understood without much explanation, the deep structural underpinnings of the series and how to embody them in his layouts. There’s a scene in issue # 8, set on the Bizarro world, where we see Le Roj handing Superman his rocket plans. Look at the arrangement of the figures of Zibarro, Le Roj, Superman and Bizaro–Superman and you’ll see one attempt to make us of Renaissance compositions.

The sense of sunlit Zen calm we tried to get into All Star is how I imagine it might feel to think the way Superman thinks all the time - a thought process that is direct, clean, precise, mathematical, ordered. A mind capable of fantastical imagination but grounded in the everyday of his farm upbringing with nice decent folks. Rich with humour and tears and deep human significance, yet tuned to a higher key. We tried to hum along for a little while, that’s all.

In honor of the character’s primal position in the development of the superhero narrative, I hoped we could create an “ultimate” hero story, starring the ultimate superhero.

Basically, I suppose I felt Superman deserved the utmost application of our craft and intelligence in order to truly do him justice.

Otherwise, I couldn’t have written this book if I hadn’t watched my big, brilliant dad decline into incoherence and death. I couldn’t have written it if I’d never had my heart broken, or mended. I couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t known what it felt like to be idolized, misunderstood, hated for no clear reason, loved for all my faults, forgotten, remembered...

Writing All Star Superman was, in retrospect, also a way of keeping my mind in the clean sunshine while plumbing the murkiest depths of the imagination with that old pair of c****s Darkseid and Doctor Hurt. Good riddance.

 Newsarama: This is touched on in other questions, but how much of the Silver/Bronze Age backstory matters here? What do you see as Superman's life prior to All-Star Superman? (What was going on with this Superman while the Byrne revamp took hold?)

Grant Morrison: When I introduced the series in an interview online, I suggested that All Star Superman could be read as the adventures of the ‘original’ Pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths Superman, returning after 20 plus years of adventures we never got to see because we were watching John Byrne‘s New Superman on the other channel. If ‘Whatever Happened To The Man of Tomorrow?’ and the Byrne reboot had never happened, where would that guy be now?

This was more to provide a sense, probably limited and ill-considered, of what the tone of the book might be like. I never intended All Star Superman as a direct continuation of the Weisinger or Julius Schwartz-era Superman stories. The idea was always to create another new version of Superman using all my favorite elements of past stories, not something ‘Age’ specific.

I didn’t collect Superman comics until the ‘70s and I’m not interested enough in pastiche or nostalgia to spend 6 years of my life playing post-modern games with Superman. All Star isn’t written, drawn or colored to look or read like a Silver Age comic book.

All Star Superman is not intended as arch commentary on continuity or how trends in storytelling have changed over the decades. It’s not retro or meta or anything other than its own simple self; a piece of drawing and writing that is intended by its makers to capture the spirit of its subject to the best of their capabilities, wisdom and talent.

Which is to say, we wanted our Superman story be about life, not about comics or superheroes, current events or politics. It’s about how it feels, specifically to be a man...in our dreams! Hopefully that means our 12 issues are also capable of wide interpretation.

So as much as we may have used a few recognizable Silver Age elements like Van-Zee and Sylv(i)a and the Bottle City of Kandor, the ensemble Daily Planet cast embodies all the generations of Superman. Perry White is from 1940, Steve Lombard is from the Schwartz-era ‘70s, Ron Troupe - the only black man in Metropolis - appeared in 1991. Cat Grant is from 1987 and so on.

P.R.O.J.E.C.T. refers back to Jack Kirby’s DNA Project from his ‘70s Jimmy Olsen stories, as well as to The Cadmus Project from ’90s Superboy and Superman stories. Doomsday is ‘90s. Kal Kent, Solaris and the Infant Universe of Qwewq all come from my own work on Superman in the same decade. Pa Kent’s heart attack is from ‘Superman the Movie‘. We didn’t use Brainiac because he’d been the big bad in Earth 2 but if we had, we’d have used Brainiac’s Kryptonian origin from the animated series and so on.

I also used quite a few elements of John Byrne’s approach. Byrne made a lot of good decisions when he rebooted the whole franchise in 1986 and I wanted to incorporate as much as I could of those too.

Our Superman in All Star was never Superboy, for instance. All Star Superman landed on Earth as a normal, if slightly stronger and fitter infant, and only began to manifest powers in adolescence when he’d finally soaked up enough yellow solar radiation to trigger his metamorphosis.

The Byrne logic seemed to me a better way to explain how his powers had developed across the decades, from the skyscraper leaps of the early days to the speed-of-light space flight of the high Silver Age. And more importantly, it made the Superman myth more poignant - the story of a farm boy who turned into an alien as he reached adolescence. I felt that was something that really enriched Superman. He grew away from his home, his family, his adopted species as he became Superman. His teenage years are a record of his transformation from normal boy to super-being.

As you say, there are more than just Silver Age influences in the book. Basically we tried to create a perfect synthesis of every Superman era. So much so, that it should just be taken as representative of an ‘age’ all its own.

In the end, however, I do think that the Silver Age type stories, with their focus on human problems and foibles, have a much wider appeal than a lot of the work which followed. They’re more like fables or folk tales than the later ‘comic book superhero’ stories of Superman when he became just another colorful costume in the crowd...and perhaps that’s why All Star seemed to resemble those books more than it does a typical modern Marvel or DC comic. It was our intention to present a more universal, mainstream Superman.

NRAMA: In your depiction of Krypton and the Kryptonians, you show the complexity of Superman’s relationship between humanity and Earth even further. Krypton has that scientific paradise quality to it, but the Kryptonians are also portrayed as slightly aloof and detached, even Jor-El. But from Bar-El to the people of Kandor, they’re touched by Superman’s goodness. What do you see as the fundamental difference between Kryptonians and Earthlings, and how has Superman’s character been shaped by each?

GM: My version of Krypton was, again, synthesized from a number of different approaches over the decades. 
In mythic terms, if Superman is the story of a young king, found and raised by common people, then Krypton is the far distant kingdom he lost. It’s the secret bloodline, the aristocratic heritage that makes him special, and a hero. At the same time, Krypton is something that must be left behind for Superman to become who he is - i.e. one of us. Krypton gives him his scientific clarity of mind, Earth makes his heart blaze.

I liked the very early Jerry Siegel descriptions where Krypton is a planet of advanced supermen and women (I already played with that a little in Marvel Boy where Noh-Varr was written to be the Marvel Superboy basically). To that, I added the rich, science fiction detailing of the Silver Age Krypton stories and the slightly detached coolness that characterized John Byrne’s Krypton, which I re-interpreted through the lens of Dzogchen Buddhist thought, probably the most pragmatic, chilly and rational philosophic system on the planet and the closest, I felt, to how Kryptonians might see things.

We also took some time to redesign the crazy, multicolored Kryptonian flag (you can see our version in Kandor in issue #10). The flag, as originally imagined, seemed like the last thing Kryptonians would endorse, so we took the multicolored-rays-around-a-circle design and recreated it - the central circle is now red, representing Krypton’s star, Rao, while the rays, rather than arbitrary colors, become representations of the spectrum of visible light pouring from Rao into the inky black of space. In this way, the flag, that bizarre emblem of nationalism becomes a scientific hieroglyph.

Showing Krypton and Kryptonians was also important as a way of stressing why Superman wears that costume and why it makes absolute sense that he looks the way he does. I don’t see the red and blue suit as a flag or as rewoven baby blankets. There’s no need for Superman to dress the way he does but it made sense to think of his outfit as his ‘national costume‘.

The way I see it, the standard superhero outfit, the familiar Superman suit with the pants on the outside, is what everyone wore on Krypton, give or take a few fashion accessories like hoods and headbands, chest crests and variant colors. In fact, all other superheroes are just copying the fashions on Krypton, lost planet of the super-people.

Superman wears his ’action-suit’ the way a patriotic Scotsman would wear a kilt. It’s a sign of his pride in his alien heritage.

 Newsarama: Although All–Star Superman ties in with DC One Million, you style of writing has changed dramatically since then.  How do you feel about One Million now?

Grant Morrison: I just read it again and liked it a lot. Comics were definitely happier, breezier and more confident in their own strengths before Hollywood and the Internet turned the business of writing superhero stories into the production of low budget storyboards or, worse, into conformist, fruitless attempts to impress or entertain a small group of people who appear to hate comics and their creators.

NRAMA: Obviously, this book is the most explicit SF–Christ story since Behold the Man, only...happy.  Superman/Christ parallels have existed for decades, but this story makes it absolutely explicit, from laying his hands on the sick and dying to...well, most of issue #12.  You’ve dealt with Christ themes before, particularly in The Mystery Play, but outside of the comics, how do you see Superman as a Christ figure for the “real” world?

GM: The “Superman as Christ” thing is a little too reductive for me, and tends to overlook the fact that Superman is by no means a pacifist in the Christ sense. Superman would never turn the other cheek; Superman punches out the bully. Superman is a fighter.

When did Christ ever batter the Devil through a mountain?

The thing I disliked about the Superman Returns movie was the American Christ angle, which reduced Superman to a sniveling, masochistic wreck, crawling around on the floor, taking a kicking from everyone. This approach had an odd and slightly disturbing S&M flavor, which didn’t play well to the character’s strengths at all and seemed to derive entirely from a kind of Catholic vision of the suffering, martyred Jesus.

It’s not that he’s based on Jesus, but simply that a lot of the mythical sun god elements that have been layered onto the Christ story also appear in the story of Superman. I suppose I see Superman more as pagan sci–fi. He’s a secular messiah, a science redeemer with tough guy muscles and a very direct and clear morality.

NRAMA: Continuing the religious themes, in issue #10, you have Superman literally giving birth to himself, both philosophically and as a character – a nice little meta–moment showing how Superman inspires a world where he is only fiction.  How did that idea come about?

GM: It came from the challenge we’d set ourselves: as I said, issue #10 had been left as a blank space into which the single most coherent condensation of all our ideas about Superman were destined to fit.

I wanted to do a “day in the life” story. So much of All Star had been about this threat to Superman himself, so we wanted to show him going about a typical day saving people and doing good.

Then came the title “Neverending,” which comes from the opening announcement – “Faster than a speeding bullet!...” of the Superman radio show from 1940, and seemed to me to be as good a title for a Superman story as any I could think of. It seemed to distil everything about Superman’s battle and his legend into a single word. And the story structure itself was designed to loop endlessly, so it went well with that.

 On top of that went the idea of the Last Will and Testament of Superman. A dying god writing his will seemed like an interesting structure to use. Then came the idea to fit all of human history into that single 24 hours. And then to show the development of the Superman idea through human culture from the earliest Australian Aboriginal notions of super–beings ‘descended” from the sky, through the complex philosophical system of Hinduism, onto the Renaissance concept of the ideal man, via the refinements of Nietzche and finally, down to that smiling, hopeful Joe Shuster sketch; the final embodiment of humanity’s glorious, uplifting notion of the superman become reduced to a drawing, a story for kids, a worthless comic book.

And also what that could mean in a holographic fractal universe, where the smallest part contains and reflects the whole.

Of course the next panel in that sequence is happening in the real world and would show you, the reader, sitting with the latest Superman issue in your hands, deep within the Infant Universe of Qwewq in the Fortress of Solitude, today, wherever you are. In “Neverending,” the reader becomes wrapped in a self–referential loop of story and reality. If you actually, seriously think about what is happening at this point in the story, if you meditate upon the curious entanglement of the real and the fictional, you will become enlightened in this life apparently. According to some texts.

NRAMA: On a personal level, you’ve explored all types of religions and philosophies in your work.  What is your take on religion and how it influences humanity, and the Christian take on Jesus Christ in particular?

GM: I think religion per se, is a ghastly blight on the progress of the human species towards the stars.  At the same time, it, or something like it, has been an undeniable source of comfort, meaning and hope for the majority of poor bastards who have ever lived on Earth, so I’m not trying to write it off completely. I just wish that more people were educated to a standard where they could understand what religion is and how it works. Yes, it got us through the night for a while, but ultimately, it’s one of those ugly, stupid arse–over–backwards things we could probably do without now, here on the Planet of the Apes.

Religion is to spirituality what porn is to sex. It’s what the Hollywood 3–act story template is to real creative writing.

Religion creates a structure which places “special,” privileged people (priests) between ordinary people and the divine, as if there could even be any separation: as if every moment, every thought, every action was not already an expression of dynamic ‘divinity” at work.

As I’ve said before, the solid world is just the part of heaven we’re privileged to touch and play with. You don’t need a priest or a holy man to talk to “god” on your behalf: just close your eyes and say hello. “God” is no more, no less, than the sum total of all matter, all energy, all consciousness, as experienced or conceptualized from a timeless perspective where everything ever seems to present all at once. “God” is in everything, all the time and can be found there by looking carefully. The entire universe, including the scary, evil bits, is a thought “God” is thinking, right now.

As far as I can figure it out from my own reading and my own experience of how the spiritual world works, Jesus was, as they say, way cool: a man who achieved a state of consciousness, which nowadays would get him a diagnosis of temporal lobe epilepsy (in the days of the Emperor Tiberius, he was crucified for his ideas, today he’d be laughed at, mocked or medicated).

This “holistic” mode of consciousness (which Luthor experiences briefly at the end of All Star Superman) announces itself as a heartbreaking connection, a oneness, with everything that exists...but you don’t have to be Superman to know what that feeling is like. There are a ton of meditation techniques which can take you to this place. I don’t see it as anything supernatural or religious, in fact, I think it’s nothing more than a developmental level of human consciousness, like the ability to see perspective – which children of 4 cannot do but children of 6 can.

Everyone who’s familiar with this upgrade will tell you the same thing: it feels as if “alien” or “angelic” voices – far more intelligent, coherent and kindly than the voices you normally hear in your head – are explaining the structure of time and space and your place in it. 
This identification with a timeless supermind containing and resolving within itself all possible thoughts and contradictions, is what many people, unsurprisingly, mistake for an encounter with “God.”  However, given that this totality must logically include and resolve all possible thoughts and concepts, it can also be interpreted as an actual encounter with God, so I’m not here to give anyone a hard time over interpretation.

Some people have the experience and believe the God of their particular culture has chosen them personally to have a chat with. These people may become born–again Christians, fundamentalist Muslims, devotees of Shiva, or misunderstood lunatics. Some “contactees” interpret the voices they hear erroneously as communications from an otherworldly, alien intelligence, hence the proliferation of “abduction” accounts in recent decades, which share most of their basic details with similar accounts, from earlier centuries, of people being taken away by “fairies” or “little people”.

Some, who like to describe themselves as magicians, will recognize the “alien” voice as the “Holy Guardian Angel”.

In timeless, spaceless consciousness, the singular human mind blurs into a direct experience of the totality of all consciousness that has ever been or will ever be. It feels like talking with God but I see that as an aspect of science, not religion.

As Peter Barnes wrote in “The Ruling Class”, “I know I must be God because when I pray to Him, I find I’m talking to myself.”

 Newsarama: When we spoke earlier this year, you talked about some of your ideas for future All Star stories. Are you moving forward on those, or have you started working on different ideas since then?

Grant Morrison: I haven’t had time to think about them for a while. I did have the stories worked out, and I’d like to do more, but right now it feels like Frank and Jamie and I have said all there is to be said. I don’t know if I’m ready to do All Star Superman with anyone else right now. I have other plans.

NRAMA: You end the book with Superman having uplifted humanity – having inspired them through his sacrifice and great deeds, and with the potential to pass his powers on to humanity still there. Do you plan to explore this concept further, or would you prefer to leave it open–ended?

GM: I may go back to the Son of Superman in some way. At the same time, it’s best left open–ended. I like the idea that Superman gets to have his cake and eat it; he becomes golden and mythical and lives forever as a dream. Yet, he also is able to sire a child who will carry his legacy into the future. He kicks ass in both the spiritual and the temporal spheres!

 NRAMA: The notion of transcendence – always a big part of your work. But the debate about All Star Superman is whether or not it "transcends its genre." Superman becomes transcendent within the series itself, and inspires the beings on Qwewq, but does the work aspire to more than that? Is it simply the greatest version of a Superman story, and that’s enough?

GM: That would certainly be enough if it were true.

It’s a pretty high–level attempt by some smart people to do the Superman concept some justice, is all I can say. It’s intended to work as a set of sci–fi fables that can be read by children and adults alike. I’d like to think you can go to it if you’re feeling suicidal, if you miss your dad, if you’ve had to take care of a difficult, ailing relative, if you’ve ever lost control and needed a good friend to put you straight, if you love your pets, if you wish your partner could see the real you...All Star is about how Superman deals with all of that.

It’s a big old Paul Bunyan style mythologizing of human - and in particular male - experience. In that sense I’d like to think All Star Superman does transcend genre in that it’s intended to be read on its own terms and needs absolutely no understanding of genre conventions or history around it to grasp what’s going on.

In today’s world, in today’s media climate designed to foster the fear our leaders like us to feel because it makes us easier to push around. In a world where limp, wimpy men are forced to talk tough and act ‘badass’ even though we all know they’re shitting it inside. In a world where the measure of our moral strength has come to lie in the extremity of the images we’re able to look at and stomach. In a world, I’m reliably told, that’s going to the dogs, the real mischief, the real punk rock rebellion, is a snarling, ‘fuck you’ positivity and optimism. Violent optimism in the face of all evidence to the contrary is the Alpha form of outrage these days. It really freaks people out.

I have a desire not to see my culture and my fellow human beings fall helplessly into step with a middle class media narrative that promises only planetary catastrophe, as engineered by an intrinsically evil and corrupt species which, in fact, deserves everything it gets.

Is this relentless, downbeat insistence that the future has been cancelled really the best we can come up with? Are we so fucked up we get off on terrifying our children? It’s not funny or ironic anymore and that’s why we wrote All Star Superman the way we did. Everything has changed. ‘Dark’ entertainment now looks like hysterical, adolescent, ‘Zibarro’ crap. That’s what my Final Crisis series is about too.

NRAMA (aka Tim Callahan): Continuing with the theme of transcendence: The words "ineffectual" and "surrender" are repeated throughout the book. Discuss.

GM: Discuss yourself, Callahan! I know you have the facilities and I should think it’s all rather obvious. 


NRAMA: What was the inspiration for the image of Superman in the sun at the end? (I confess this question comes as the result of much unsuccessful Googling)

GM: I didn’t have any specific reference in mind - just that one we‘ve all sort of got in our heads. I drew the figure as a sketch, intended to be reminiscent of William Blake’s cosmic figures, Russian Constructivist Soviet Socialist Worker type posters, and Leonardo’s ‘Proportions of the Human Figure‘. The position of the legs hints at the Buddhist swastika, the clockwise sun symbol. It was to me, the essence of that working class superheroic ideal I mentioned, condensed into a final image of mythic Superman, - our eternal, internal, guiding, selfless, tireless, loving superstar. The daft All Star Superman title of the comic is literalized in this last picture. It’s the ‘fearful symmetry’ of the Enlightenment project - an image of genius, toil, and our need to make things, to fashion art and artifacts, as a form of superhuman, divine imitation.

It was Superman as this fusion of Renaissance/Enlightenment ideas about Man and Cosmos, an impossible union of Blake and Newton. A Pop Art ‘Vitruvian Man‘. The inspiration for the first letter of the new future alphabet!

As you can see, we spent a lot of time thinking about all this and purifying it down to our own version of the gold. I’m glad it’s over.

NRAMA: Finally: What, above all else, would you like people to take away from All Star Superman?

GM: That we spent a lot of time thinking about this!

No. What I hope is that people take from it the unlikelihood that a piece of paper, with little ink drawings of figures, with little written words, can make you cry, can make your heart soar, can make you scared, sad, or thrilled. How mental is that?

That piece of paper is inert material, the corpse of some tree, pulped and poured, then given new meaning and new life when the real hours and real emotions that the writer and the artist, the colorist, the letter the editor translated onto the physical page, meet with the real hours and emotions of a reader, of all readers at once, across time, generations and distance.

And think about how that experience, the simple experience of interacting with a paper comic book, along with hundreds of thousands of others across time and space, is an actual doorway onto the beating heart of the imminent, timeless world of “Myth” as defined above. Not just a drawing of it but an actual doorway into timelessness and the immortal world where we are all one together.

My grief over the loss of my dad can be Superman’s grief, can trigger your own grief, for your own dad, for all our dads. The timeless grief that’s felt by Muslims and Christians and Agnostics alike. My personal moments of great and romantic love, untainted by the everyday, can become Superman’s and may resonate with your own experience of these simple human feelings.

In the one Mythic moment we’re all united, kissing our Lover for the First time, the Last time, the Only time, honoring our dear Dad under a blood red sky, against a darkening backdrop, with Mum telling us it’ll all be okay in the end.

If we were able to capture even a hint of that place and share it with our readers, that would be good enough for me.

[project-paranoia]

Live Watch: Thousand Autumns Episode One

Oh wow someone got the good... guzheng? Something in that family of instruments anyway. They got the good music for that. And the animation is beautiful and beautifully synchronised to the clip excerpts.

And the imagery! The opening with the symbol of the Dao, and then main character number 1, Shen Qiao, all in white, in a fantastically and subtly ornamented outfit - I love the textures of the cloth they put in on the animation here, cloth and clothes textures are so easy to get wrong and they’ve done it beautifully here. I think this is supposed to be Shen Qiao’s original sect leader/zhangjiao outfit and he looks properly leaderly in it.

And this, followed by a closeup of Yan Wushi’s hand holding the ring of contention, and then Yan Wushi himself, very handsomely rendered in 3d animation - and again I have to voice my appreciation of the cloth textures. That’s actual subtly 3d brocade textures they’re rendering there, with the correct flow for how cloth hangs on the body, and the correct variances of light on the areas with thicker brocade and it is, frankly, very impressive. And they didn’t lose colour saturation doing it either, making that purple robe look suitably luxurious. The shiny hair ornament and one sidebang in white is a nice touch as well. As are the hints they set right in the opening that Shen Qiao and Yan Wushi are ... opposites, and complements, linking them back to the Yin/Yang balance of the symbol of the Dao.

So much love for this opening song it’s so good. Also going to be a pain to translate accurately with a proper sense of the poetry of it, but so good.

Alright episode 1 proper, 风雨欲来. The coming of the wind and rain, literally, I think. Maybe even the foreboding or oncoming storm, if you’re going for the feel of the term instead of literal translation. Oh. Oh that opening montage with the bird’s eye view and the fog and the high mountains - I was so taken by this scenery I sketched and tried to paint it at least 3 times. It’s a very moving shot. Also very much in the grand tradition of xianxia/wuxia, and also, even without a word, hinting at the traditional stance of the Mt Xuandu sect - to 出世， to remove themselves from the world to cultivate in the seclusion and clarity of the literal peaks above the clouds and dust of the world.

Oh. Oh that opening shot. The challenge to combat by Kunye to Shen Qiao. The.. subtle and ornate embroidery and brocade and patterning on Shen Qiao’s sect leader robes is so awesome. The wave motifs repeated in the 3 layers of robes, even on the hair ornament/冠 in his hair, the resolute look on his face! The closeup shot of the 山河同悲 sword - and what a name for it. A sword named for, if I may be excused poetry in translation - compassion and pity and fellow feeling for the griefs and pains and trials of the world as encompassed by the mountains and rivers - what a blade, and what a name, and what a bearer that would be worthy of it. A very good hint, at the kind of person Shen Qiao is, even before they have him open his mouth.

The contrasting costuming decision for Kunye et al is also very nice, hinting at the cultural differences between, say, the peoples that live on the central plains and the more nomadic groups living on less kindly land, shown in the different materials available/preferred - leather, furs, etc  vs cloth, silk, cotton etc

And the fight choreography! So nice! The 3d animation works really well here,in that there’s no limitation to the capabilities of human bodies and it’s possible to really show in the visual medium the knock out drag down fight between 2 people whose martial - and quasi magical - capabilities are already at potentially mountain splitting levels. Not to mention also, showing that a Shen Qiao who isn’t being handicapped by sabotage... really can wipe the floor with Kunye if he wants to. And then, of course, once the fight gets to Half-step Peak and they’re out of sight of inconvenient witnesses, the signal for the ambush. And then the effects of the sabotage take hold.

Ah, flashback to 20 years ago, to provide the audience with the world info we need to understand the rest of the story. Not to mention also informing us why Hulugu would even bother. Or why Kunye coming in to challege Shen Qiao is so narratively important. And also introducing the ring that so many would fight over later.

Yan Wushi’s character introduction.. is quite something. As is Yu Shengyan’s. Ah, Shizun, congratulations on exiting your 10 year cultivation seclusion, would you like the highlights on the changes in the world in the past 10 years? But also a good show of character, because they have him not even looking at Yu Shengyan, but looking away in the distance, and telling him to only tell the most important bits, he’s not interested in useless words. Also serves as a nice introduction to some people who’ll be important later, and giving us a time marker for when Shen Qiao ascended to the sect leader post - 5 years ago, after the death of his shizun Qi Fengge. Ah Yan Wushi, your characteristically arrogant attitude - aside from Qi Fengge, who in life was worthy of being the first among all the wuxia world, the rest are not worth even mentioning. And here too a little hint that Yan Wushi might care a little bit in some way for those who are his, including his disciples - He tells Yu Shengyan that this location, this Half Step Peak that they’re at, because of its physical characteristics, is good for him to cultivate to the next level of understanding/enlightenment of the martial arts used by Huanyue Sect.

I love it whenever they hint that the more... developed characters whose martial arts are very good have improved senses. A little flow of blood in the water, Yu Shengyan notices something is wrong, looks at his shizun, and receives a nod of affirmation that he perceived correctly and should take action. And then after that, they come upon a body of one of the Mt Xuandu disciples, and Yan Wushi’s verbal remark that today, Mt Xuandu is troubled and not pure and clean. And then Shen Qiao literally falls from the cliff top - and the pan up makes it very clear that for most people, this is a lethal fall.

And then the surviving ambushers attempt to finish the job when Yu Shengyan checks whether Shen Qiao is still alive... and Yan Wushi takes the training opportunity when he sees it, and tells his disciple to use his strongest techniques to take on the remaining assassins. And then, when Yu Shengyan can't quite wipe the floor with them... criticizes his lack of growth, as might be expected of Yan Wushi, and steps in to really wipe the floor with the assassins, as might not be expected of Yan Wushi. Also doubles as a really nice display to the audience of his level of strength. In fact.. listening to the voice, I think one of those assassins appears, unhidden, in later episodes. Heh. Plot continuity, a nice one. As are the assassins having common sense, recognising Yan Wushi's infamous technique, and running before they're cut down.

Ahahahaha yes Yu Shengyan, your shizun really had you pick that fight for training, and he's really about to pick up Shen Qiao and have him rescued on a whim. Also nice to review, on rewatch for the details, that part of this whim is perhaps curiousity as to Shen Qiao's ability to survive and/or recover, as hinted by the thin thread of strength provided by the Zhuyang Ce, that Yan Wushi identifies as the thin strength keeping him alive, despite the aforementioned lethal fall.

Heh. Yu Shengyan – and maybe Huanyue Sect's other job – information gatherers aka spies.

Ah, Yan Wushi, you really are fascinated by people's reactions under stress, aren't you.

Shen Qiao awakens! Oof, the amount of damage – can't see, amnesia – damaged or even broken meridians – the donghua doesn't mention how much time passes, but given that Yu Shengyan mentions that Shen Qiao's broken bones have only just finished healing – could not have been a matter of days. Weeks, maybe even a month, minimum. Unless Yu Shengyan meant that the bones have only just been set – which could mean a few days. And then the mindscrew from Yan Wushi, telling poor amnesiac Shen Qiao that, yes, your name is Shen Qiao, oh, and you are one of my disciples from Huanyue Sect! Someone sure is hasty to put his poke the injured person plans into action! Ah Yan Wushi, if you could please give Shen Qiao a break, he just had a near death experience! But also – the scope of the injuries – yes, it benefits Yan Wushi's plotting but also – Shen Qiao was injured beyond the scope of ordinary medicine? Yu Shengyan has to be stationed to basically care for him until he is able to awaken – and presumably recover – appropriately!

Alright, time marker, 3 months after previous events.. okay. Shen Qiao can walk, some, though the animators were careful to make it a clearly pained walk, in comparison to how he was moving pre-Kunye fight. And then of course the blindness, which may also explain how they've animated him moving with more cautious steps. And the coughing, and the eyes that can't focus – all in all, a detailed and careful show of how badly injured Shen Qiao still is. Can't help sniggering at every 'shidi' I'm hearing him say though. And Yu Shengyan... yes, really, even though you and your shizun can't quite believe it, there really is a person this kind and considerate of other people.

The appearance of the weiqi board motif! Strategy, and planning, and part of the arts of the refined gentlemen..and the hint of how Shen Qiao is perceiving/visualising the input that he hears, since he can't see right now. And the hint that he might be using qi to help sort through what he hears – well enough that he can identify it's a weiqi board, and even the piece being placed. Very Awesome. Especially when they show Yan Wushi possibly testing Shen Qiao's capability to perceive the world around him by hesitating and purposely not putting down his piece.. and Shen Qiao very naturally picking up the piece – black, the correct colour and the one Yan Wushi was about to play – and putting it in the correct position on the board that Yan Wushi was about to place. Is it any wonder that the next thing Yan Wushi checks is the state of his recovery?

And then we have Yan Wushi's characteristic multipronged planning – creating trouble for Hehuan sect, training for Yu Shengyan, testing opportunity for Shen Qiao. Very excellent, any and every outcome has benefit to Yan Wushi.

Ah the encounter at the medicine shop. Hm. Okay, the sharing of the medicine is clearly a hint to Yan Ziwen of some kind that he and his should be especially cautious tonight, perhaps even to run for their lives tonight. Though it's maybe a hint in the actions, and not the words, because the words don't sound suspicious at all. Neither do the actions, if you were watching as a observer and didn't know Yan Ziwen's paranoid character – a blind person would unsurprisingly wish to be extra careful where they put their hands. And at night, on the attack... for all that Shen Qiao can't quite see, and is currently relying on the rest of his senses... he can tell that something's off about Yu Shengyan's actions. And then... Shen Qiao remembers... the sword, and what Qi Fengge taught him. And then the confrontation, and the near strangulation by Yan Wushi... Shen Qiao has such a nice literary register to his speech. Four word phrases even under severe near strangled stress, with the right philosophical meaning to make his point to Yan Wushi. And then the reveal of Yan Wushi's plotting. Very nicely done.

And now, the first of Yan Wushi's many many invitations to Shen Qiao to forsake his daoist path and join Yan Wushi's ... evil sect is not the right word. Demonic path is technically correct but has moral overtones that don't fit. Join Yan Wushi's cultivation path, maybe. Join and get bloody revenge on everyone who's wronged Shen Qiao – and already there are so many of them. And we the audience wonder for half a second – is he going to do it? Is this going to be a revenge story? And Shen Qiao flat out refuses in words, in the first of many times. And then Shen Qiao walks away from Yan Wushi. Here the animation is a delight again – the audience gets to see the little micro expressions that flit across – he's actually walking away?! And then Yan Wushi does his dramatic gifting of the bamboo stick. And too, a few seconds later, the reveal of their movements being spied on by Duan Wenyang, and Yu Shengyan's orders to continue searching for .. something. Ah, the plotting in Thousand Autumns. Always a delight.

[kessielrg]

Comeback Kid: Part 3

Summary: More third person additions to the chaos rp that @chibi-mushroom​​ and @animacreates​​ are doing.This time, Sabrina has spontaneously decided to break up with Ventus after what could amount to a nervous breakdown. In the aftermath, she is forced to take all her vacation time and become reacquainted with one of her favorite hobbies. But is it enough to get over Ven, or will the memory of him be too much to ignore?

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,492 words

Part: 1 | 2 | 3

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

In dance, the phrase 'one more time' was its biggest lie. It was always 'one more time' before you ran through the routine seven more times. It was very common for a class to sometimes run five to ten minutes over just because the teacher wanted to make sure everyone had the right steps down. The only good thing about having private lessons meant that you could almost end the session whenever you wanted. Roxanne wasn't that bad either- no surprise, Max was pretty good at finding genuine girls.

Not much smaller than Sabrina, Roxanne was a lovely redhead with a habit of twisting her hair when she was nervous or excited. When dancing, she kept her hair up in a high ponytail with a little strand hanging down on the right side of her face. Sabrina didn't want to admit it, but Roxanne was pretty good as an instructor. Just a few days under her tutelage and Sabrina was once more accustomed to her dancing shoes. It also helped that Sabrina was there four times a week. She would have been here six times a week if her family wasn't closely monitoring her. It was like being a preteen all over again.

“The recital isn't that far away, but if you want to, I'm sure we can squeeze you in.” Roxanne offered after the first week. At this point, Sabrina had gotten a refresher on the basics, so she and Roxanne were working on a short routine for her to further develop her old skills. “You can use this routine we're going through and everything.”

“I've got all the time in the world, Roxanne.” Sabrina prudently informed her. She couldn't look at her teacher because she was currently stretching a leg on the barre. “I can be here every day of the week if I wanted. As long as I'm home before 10. I'm on a curfew.”

“Any particular reason?” Roxanne asked, not meaning any harm. “I noticed that someone usually drops you off. Max mentioned that you were trying to recuperate from a bad breakup. Is that still the case?”

Sabrina's body tensed. “Yeah.” she grumbled. She switched legs before telling Roxanne, “Apparently, coming home and screaming like you've got witnessed a murder means you've had a mental breakdown and need to take a month to recover. If that.”

“Oh, wow.” Roxanne marveled. “I didn't know. I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else, then!”

“Let's.” came the agreeing hiss.

“I know!” the bubbly instructor said. “The local radio station is going to be interviewing some staff here at the studio for a little sketch they're doing. Something about hometown heroes or hotspots? Either way, I'm one of the staff that volunteered to be interviewed, so I may have to leave our session for a bit to talk to one of the hosts.”

“When is this happening?” Sabrina questioned, putting her leg down so she could give Roxanne a hard glare.

“Next Monday, I believe.” Roxanne grinned. But then she noticed Sabrina's dark expression and seemed taken aback. “You don't mind, do you?”

“No, I guess not.” Sabrina replied, her voice rather dark, before she got down to the floor to straddle the wall. Maybe the pain from the stretch warmup would distract enough to not be bitter.

. . .

“Lengthen your body a bit more. Good. Now lower your leg slowly… Perfect!”

This routine was becoming second nature at this point. Roxanne would sometimes stand near Sabrina to help her balance a bit when they had to review certain positions, such as at this moment. Not that Sabrina particularly enjoyed the -literal- hand holding. Still, someone would have tutted at her for not accepting other's help- let alone from her own teacher. She could stomach this for now.

The girls were interrupted when Roxanne's phone started to go off. She carefully let go of Sabrina before going on over to see who it was. She gave the phone a rather funny look as she answered it.

“Hello?” she asked. Sabrina only half listened to the conversation as she got some water from her water bottle. “Is he here? That's great! I'll be out in a moment.”

Roxanne happily twisted her hanging strand of hair. “He's here!” she happily announced to Sabrina.

“I'll be back in a jiffy. Feel free to go through the routine again, or whatever else you'd like.”

Sabrina gave the instructor a rather disinterested hum in response. It didn't phase Roxanne in the slightest. She happily smiled before heading on out the door. Sabrina looked back to where Roxanne had left, then her gaze fell to the one-way mirror next to the door. It was placed there so parents could watch their children dance. Sabrina had a good feeling that other people used it to peep in on whoever was in that studio at the time. She knew that at least one single parent on Mondays looked in on her while she practiced. He wasn't particularly cute and his kid was a brat, always asking to go to the bathroom so they didn't have to be in a class they didn't even enjoy.

She had a feeling someone was watching her now, and the thought made her grimace.

Besides throwing a towel up at the window, there wasn't much Sabrina could do about it. So instead she went to the stereo and flipped through her music playlist. She didn't know how long Roxanne would take, but she wouldn't spend her time just sitting around for her. Sabrina clicked her tongue as she went through every song she had, not liking a single one at the moment. She finally paused when a song with a relatively good beat started to play. Her expression hard, Sabrina carefully stepped away from the stereo to the center of the room.

She looked at herself in the mirror as she started to move her body to the music. It was like she was experimenting. The routine she and Roxanne were working on led emphasis more to her legs and upper body control than much else. But this time, Sabrina just went with whatever felt good. Quick foot movements, seductive little hip tilts, her arms used to bring her chest up a bit higher as she continued to watch herself. Sometimes she'd close her eyes- phantom images of a certain someone crossing her mind as she moved her body just the way she wanted. She never once got the chance to 'service' him like a professional. The idea just never came up before. Now it was the only thing she could think of.

She was a bit disappointed when the song ended. At the same time, she didn't realize how much of a workout she had given herself. Her chest lightly heaved as she caught her breath. She wasn't quite aware that the door to the studio room opened up until she saw someone with fiery red hair enter with Roxanne. Sabrina immediately spun around to give them both a dark glare. Roxanne didn't seem to notice Sabrina's annoyance, the newcomer (who had to be a good six feet at least) just grinned at her in a smarmy way.

“Sabrina!” Roxanne happily said, “Come meet Lea. He's that radio host I mentioned earlier.”

Sabrina remained rooted in her spot. It didn't stop Lea from casually walking over to her, extending his hand in hopes of an earnest handshake.

“Pleasure to meet'cha!” Lea grinned. It didn't change Sabrina's outlook on him in the slightest. “Your name is Sabrina, yeah? You wouldn't happen to be the same Sabrina that used to work at the police station with Sora, are you? The one that was fraternizing with another cop. Ventus, I think?”

Sabrina's face immediately paled. Without meaning to, she grumbled under her breath, “Shit.”

“So you are her!” Lea gleefully marveled. “Sora's got a lotta respect for you. Makes Kairi jealous sometimes, you know?”

Sabrina just gave him a stiff nod- unsure if she was going to kill Kairi first when she next saw her, or Sora. Maybe both. Both sounded incredibly tempting at the moment. Then she could steal their kid as a peace offering to Ventus. It would be the perfect revenge.

“How do you know Kairi and Sora?” she asked instead through clenched teeth. She did accept his handshake, although her grip was a bit too hard. Oh well, she had to assert dominance over this moron somehow.

“I'm Kairi's brother if you'd believe it.” Lea snorted. He pulled his hand away with a little shake, but didn't say anything about it. “We don't get to meet up as often as we'd like, but when we do…! Phew, her man really knows how to tell a story.”

“Sora does have a chronic 'won't shut up' problem.” Sabrina agreed with a sneer. She folded her arms in front of her chest in defiance.

“Now, I wouldn't put it like that,” Lea laughed, placing a hand behind his neck. “But he is animated. Hopefully having kids won't knock that out of him too much.”

“Here's hoping.”

From there, a dead silence fell between the two of them. Sabrina casting daggers at Lea from her eyes, while Lea likewise felt a bit out of place. There were few people who made him feel small. Kairi when she was peeved was one of them. This girl, Sabrina, was starting to become another.

“Well, I, uh, should let you girls get back to your lesson.” Lea stammered, hoping to get out of the room as fast as possible now. “It was a pleasure to meet you guys. Roxanne. Sabrina.”

Roxanne gave a happy wave as Lea left, Sabrina just continued to give him a hard glare. Once it was sure that he had left the building, Roxanne immediately turned to Sabrina to take her by the hands.

“You were a cop?!” the bubbly redhead asked. Sabrina’s whole body tensed as she tried to get out of her instructor’s grip.

“Roxanne, now isn’t the time…”

But Roxanne was too in wonder to do much else.

“Well it’s no wonder you got such refined upper body strength!” she went on. “You can’t really tell because you don’t show off a six pack or anything, but do you ever look at yourself in the mirror? How your abs just contract and expand in this beautiful way?”

“How does that even-?”

At this point, Sabrina might as well give up making Roxanne change the subject. She was going to have to excuse herself to leave early today if this kept up. Why did talking about the past feel so much more draining now? It’s not like it was anything she was -too- ashamed of. Were the memories draining because she worked to the point of exhaustion? Was it because of the people she spent time with? No, that couldn’t be right- would it?

Either way, Sabrina was sure of something;

If she saw Lea again, it would be far too soon.

. . .

Sabrina looked at Roxanne like the dance instructor just told her Ventus had recently punted a puppy.

“Don’t worry,” she tried to tell the unamused dancer, “You’ll still be able to do your single routine at the recital. But I think it would be good if you tried a pas de deux as well.”

“With who, Roxanne? Because I don't know anyone else in this studio, and I sure as hell am not just going to start shaking hands with the first guy that walks in.”

Roxanne very quickly twirled her strand of hair in excitement. “Oh, but I think you already know who this is. He’s been a super quick learner for our first session. You and him can come up with a routine for the recital in a snap.”

Sabrina just continued to stare. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Just trust me.” Roxanne told her, even putting a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be here on Thursday. I’m going to get you two started as soon as possible.”

Sabrina emitted a low growl of displeasure. Even when she had freedom, she was still trapped. But she was patient… to a degree. She decided to humor Roxanne and waited dutifully for her new dance partner. The odd feeling that the certain someone was blonde kept nagging at her. When the door to the studio room opened, she had to physically keep herself from strangling the six foot, fire red haired mutant that actually did come through the door. He even acted all surprised and thrilled to be with her- that fool.

“Hey Sabrina!” he cheerfully greeted. “Roxanne was telling me that you're looking for a dance partner.”

“I am not.” came the prudent reply. She even folded her arms in displeasure as he walked further forward.

“Ah, too bad.” he teased. He boastfully pointed to himself before adding, “Because you got one right here!”

“Behind the beanpole in front of me, or are they somewhere else in the building? It would be rude to not tell them they aren't wanted to their face.”

“Ha, ha.” Lea retorted in a dry tone. “Look, Roxanne’s kinda already gave me the spiel that you’re not that trusting toward others. I ain’t gonna knock that outta ya because it’s your business. But you’re a good dancer. You put a lot of heart into what you do. Now, I may not be the best, but I want to work with you.”

Sabrina held herself tighter. “Why?” she sharply questioned. “What do you have to gain from it?”

“Do I have to have anything to gain from it?” Lea wondered right back, his hand sheepishly reaching behind his neck. “Maybe I’d just like to dance with a talented partner? Do I hafta go through a whole interview process?”

She wasn’t going to lie, it sounded incredibly tempting. But this wasn’t the police station. This wasn’t even her trying to find some good trait in a super lousy county treasurer with delusions of grandeur. She didn't know Lea well enough to know what he'd do at all. Not knowing if she couldn't trust someone was like being vulnerable; she couldn't allow it, and she wanted it even less. However, she likely wouldn't even be in this spot if she didn't open up more. She flinched, not for the first time today thinking of someone else. If she could have just stopped being an abusive monster and just talked to him like he wanted…

“Fine.” she finally grumbled. Her fingers digging into her arms as she looked back up at Lea. “But only until this next recital. After that, I don't want anything to do with you.”

“Alright, geez.” Lea retorted, unsure if he should be grateful or even more wary. “Dancing with one guy isn't going to change your whole outlook on life, kid.”

Sabrina recoiled a bit. Lea didn't know it, but that was exactly what she wanted to do.

[lsobelevans]

Couldn’t stop thinking about my victorian artist’s muse AU so... this is for Alex week day 6 + time. 

In which, Michael is convinced that Alex is the missing key to their quest in reforming the arts. He just needs to find someone who will paint him right. 

Michael brings Alex to Rosa Ortecho first. 

Her apartment is, of course, planted in the sketchiest street of London Alex has ever set foot in. Michael stops in front of one narrow building, squeezed between a blacksmith and a butcher. Everything about the place makes Alex nervous, he wants to turn around and run back to the respectable safety of his household, to run away from the ceaseless noises, the nauseating smells… but Michael goes in, mindlessly stepping over the body of a passed-out drunk man that was blocking the entrance and Alex would rather go with him than stay alone outside for a single second. 

He follows Michael up the cramp staircase and they only stop at the end, in front of  the top floor apartment. Alex’s apprehension spikes when he realizes some of the noise, aggressive grunts and muffled impacts, are now louder and coming from inside. Michael, still unfazed, knocks on the door and opens it without waiting for an invitation. He rushes in, tailed by Alex, to find Rosa Ortecho in men’s trousers and a loose shirt, hitting a bag of sand hanging from the roof. There’s an alarming brutality in her moves, a crudeness Alex isn’t sure he has ever witnessed before. Michael ignores her, removes a pile of books from a couch and sits there, patting the empty space beside him, inviting Alex to join.

“Could take a while,” he says, spreading his legs on a stool. Then he notices Alex’s wide eyes, that he can’t take away from Rosa, as her blows on the bag become stronger and harsher. He’s known her from reputation, of course, but seeing her in person holds nothing to the muttered gossips that have reached Alex’s ears. 

“She needs to get the energy right. She’s conjuring all the life she can.” Michael explains. Now he is staring at her too with a bit of wonder. He matches her rhythmic blows as the words roll of his tongue. “It’s pure.” Punch. “Unhinged.” Hit. “Soul.”

They watch her like that, in silence. She doesn’t acknowledge their presence for a long time, making Alex wonder if she even noticed they’re here. He’s about to bring it up to Michael when she finally decides the bag has learned its lesson and puts an end to her beating. 

She greets them while taking off the bandages on her hands and she downs a glass of port before offering them one that Michael takes and Alex declines. 

She throws one quick glance at Alex, shrugs and makes him strip off his shirt and take place in front of the window, but not before dropping a fake crown with paper flowers on his head.

Alex expects to be there at least until the sun goes down, something Michael had briefed him about. Turns out after only a few minutes of sitting at the easel while making faces, fidgeting with her tools and chalks and not giving him a single proper instruction, Rosa sighs in defeat before turning around to face Michael. 

“What the fuck do you expect me to do with this, Guerin?”

He looks up from the book he had just picked up, looking genuinely startled for the first time since Alex has crossed his path, days ago in the back of his father’s hat shop. 

The argument explodes so fast and easily it makes Alex think they do this a lot. Michael gets up from the couch, surges in front of Rosa and then there’s yelling, dramatic hands thrown in the air and verbal digs are exchanged back and forth. It reminds Alex of one of those really bad plays his mom used to take him and his brothers to in Coven Garden. 

“I like Alex,” Rosa says, with an apologetic smile in his direction. “He’s pretty. I’m not saying I will never have him sit for me but for this particular work it's just not quite-”

“Pretty?” Michael replies with an outraged, disgusted face. “You're making the biggest mistake of your life, Ortecho. It's excellence, paradise served on a goddamn plate and you're being… picky.” 

Heat rises to Alex's cheeks. Michael keeps talking about him like that, like he's something exceptional, and Alex doesn't know what to make of it. 

Michael's words are met with a snort from Rosa. “Sure, whatever you say. Listen I just need someone with more- less- Guerin, I need someone who doesn't shies. Who knows what they’re doing. I need a damn whore.” 

Michael shakes his head in utter consternation. He even takes a step back. 

“Oh coming from you that is rich.” She points an angry finger at him. “We always paint whores, and you know it.”

“And how well has that worked so far?” Michael asks, this time grabbing a fistful of paper from a counter and shoving them in Rosa’s direction. “Aren’t you weary of always coming up with the same uninspired junk?”

This time, Alex sees her lips thinning and her fist tightening to her sides, body tensed with real anger. Remembering the sandbag, he wonders if Michael is braver or dumber than he first assumed, because the man doesn’t back down even a bit.

She yanks the sketches from Michael’s hand. “It’s worked pretty well, actually. And unlike somebody, I actually have commissions and I can pay my models with something else than-”

“He”, Michael points at Alex, his eyes still fixed on Rosa, “Is exceptionally better than any whore. The point is simplicity. The point is everything that is true and heartfelt…”

“Why don't you paint him then?” She turns around and throws herself on a chair, as it seem her anger has shifted to a deeper lassitude. 

“Oh I will, but as for now he…” Michael’s face falls for a second and he mumbles. “All right. I cannot pay him properly.”

Rosa gives him another snort. “You need a patron, Michael. And he needs experience. But until then, if you really mean to have him painted… I heard DeLuca has a project. Something fancy, Shakespearean, and she couldn’t quite find the right model. Maybe he will actually earn the money that you promised when you made him quit his job and family to follow you into this doomed madness.”

------------

Maria DeLuca is looking at him so intensely that he is sure her gaze is actually piercing into his soul. He wouldn’t be surprised if she knew all of his darkest secrets now, if she was familiar with all of his deepest fears and desires. When he and Michael called, she immediately grabbed his chin, not hard but firmly, and has been examining his face for what feels like an eternity, without saying a word. Not long ago, this would have unsettled Alex, but he is getting used to Michael and his friend’s strange ways. After all, she is less scary than Rosa, she seems less tormented and she hasn’t even punched anything in the time Alex has made her acquaintance. 

There’s something different about her, something closer to what Michael has, that makes Alex want to be her friend, want to please her. 

He throws a quick look at Michael who has been waiting in the corner. He smiles back at him with an encouraging nod, so Alex waits. 

At last, she lets go of his face and turns to the other man. 

“You weren't lying,” she says. “He's perfect. Curious mingle of simplicity and refinement, constantly walking the line like a tightrope walker…” for a moment, she seems lost in her thoughts. She grabs a notebook and scribbles something, eyebrow knitted. 

“Sit for me!” She exclaims, closing the notebook. “I'll pay you, which is more than this imbecile can promise. It won't be easy, but you'll get out of it a richer man in your heart, your mind and your wallet.” 

“It would be an honor.” Alex agrees, earning himself a soft smile.

“Great,” she says. “We will begin now. Michael, help Max fill the bath and light up some candles, will you?” 

To Alex’s surprise, Michael complies. Where Rosa seemed to excite him, Maria seem to have the opposite grounding effect. He wonders how the three of them function as a group, if they undo each other’s excess, if they only find their balance together, where Alex’s place would be in all of this. 

Posing for Maria is hard. 

She makes him wear a flowy robe and has him lay in a bathtub only warmed with candles for hours on end. Unlike Rosa, she explains what she wants from him, in too many words when all he can do is try to keep himself afloat, but she smiles at him, and so does Max, her protégé, so Alex does his best to be good and stay still. Then Michael watches him with proud eyes, and something lights up in Alex’s abdomen, and for the first time in his life, he feels he is right where he belongs.

When the night has finally fallen and the flame of the candles isn’t enough for Maria to keep drawing, they help him out of the tub and provide him with towels. She invites him and Michael to take a look at her work before leaving, and while discovering his own portrait, immersed in the green waters of a mystical lake, he is stunned. 

He can see what Michael sees, the exceptional nature of it, the composition of something new, the beginning of a different era. His features are brought to a different plane of life by Maria’s talented lines, it’s a haunting mirror, so unsettling that he has to look away. And then he can only accept Michael’s whispered words. 

Nothing will ever be the same again.

-----------

During the day Michael’s place is all windows and cream drapes, wild plants and sunlight, like a greenhouse garden, a lung in the suffocation of central London. Alex is in awe every time he walks through the glass doors, as he was the first time Michael brought him in. Surrounded by books and sketches and dirty painting tools, Michel fits there, in the untamed wilderness, the carefree, the unexpected. 

In low evening light, everything glows orange and the light of the torches dances on their cheeks. The mess looks tidier, all the sounds are muffled and the air is calmer. 

“Gonna go find some refreshment,” Michael says, taking off his coat. “to celebrate your first time sitting.” 

He disappears somewhere behind a long hanging sheet, leaving Alex free to look around.

Even in the dim light, Alex peeks at the canvas, then at the sketches scattered on all the surfaces. He runs his fingers on paper, feels its grain, picks one up randomly. It’s a woman, with wild flowers in her hair and a soft, melancholic gaze. Another one, a body, fabric and color. In the night, the figures seem almost otherworldly. He is easily taken by them, transported by the smooth lines, so much that he doesn’t hear Michael coming back behind him. 

“You like those?” he asks, glancing over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex’s breath catches at Michael’s low tone, at his proximity. 

“They’re brilliant.” he replies, barely a murmur. 

Michael sighs and takes a step back, leaving Alex cold and almost disappointed.

“No, they’re not. And they never will be,” he says, looking away as something breaks in his voice. “I’m so close Alex. So close to get it right but I’m just. Stuck and I can’t- unless-”

He looks back at Alex with a glint that reminds him of Rosa, with a sort of urgency that matches her hooks, alive, dangerous.

“You have stricken me.” He declares. It is a simple fact, a statement that doesn’t call for any reply, and yet.

“I will.” Is all Alex can say, with a hard determination that he surprises himself with. “I will sit for you.” 

He’s known, since the first time he laid eyes on Michael, that he would do anything the man asked of him. That he would let himself be stolen away, and that he would never turn back to his dull, nonsensical life. He’s known he would never be small again, and that his hunger for greatness, now that he’s had a taste of it, is going to be insatiable.

Michael laughs a litte. 

“I cannot pay you what you deserve.”

“Teach me then. Help me improve. I want to paint and to write. I have potential, I have things to say. Let me become one of you. Let it be my payment.” 

Michael has gotten closer now, so close in Alex’s space that he can see, even in the dark, the details on his face, his lips, the small reflections, sparkles of light in his eyes. He lays a hand on Alex’s cheek, grazing softly with his thumb and Alex shivers. 

“You’re burning. Are you sure you didn’t catch something at DeLuca’s? This foolish bathtub...”

It has to be Alex who closes the gap between their lips, but it’s Michael’s hands that are suddenly all over him, and he feels awake, alit, as he is clumsily led toward a bed in a corner of the room, trying not to catch himself on piece of fabric or to knock off an easel or a candlelight.   

[titusmoody]

2021 Q2 stuff

Games

Return of the Obra Dinn -- Very different. A great experience to play, it doesn’t use any typical “gamer” skills or knowledge. It also hit on a lot of my personally prefered sensibilities (stories self-contained to ships, non-linear storytelling, mysteries, and meticulous attention to detail)

Kentucky Route Zero -- Even more different. I’m glad I played it for the atmosphere, though it didn’t click with me the way Obra Dinn did. Extremely atmospheric and cool, but also has a strong academic curiosity to it.

DOOM (2016)-- Okay, we’re back to regular video games. Everything about this one seems very carefully crafted. I had a good, mindless time with this one.

Spider-Man -- Not as well-crafted as DOOM, but also less juvenile. I also had a good, mindless time with this one.

Metroid: Samus Returns -- Feels like Metroid. The moment-to-moment combat is different than Super Metriod and Fusion, which is a nice way to keep things from getting stale.

TV

Shadow and Bone -- Sometimes tropes exist because they make for good stories. This show was a good example of that.

Pani Poni Dash -- WTF Japan, in a good way

Princess Tutu -- Much like I felt about Cowboy Bebop, this show was very well-made and I had an easy time appreciating what it was doing, though in the end it’s not the kind of thing that’s really for me

Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid -- Pleasant to watch, mostly lighthearted but could definitely have emotional moments here and there to keep you interested.

Kakegurui -- Shows like this are the reason anime fans are so self-depricating. It was thoroughly trashy, but I’d be lying if I said that the trashiness didn’t lead to a lot of fun.

Love, Chunibyo, and other Delusions -- An excellent comfort-watch. About a high-schooler trying to run away from his cringe-y middle school phase. I definitely have criticisms of it, but I’m also definitely going to watch it again.

Devilman Crybaby -- I swear, Masaaki Uasa takes the most overdone premises and portrays them in such bonkers ways that they become pretty cool. This isn’t one of the best examples of that, but it still works.

Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket -- Part of Gundam’s brand is that it shows the effect of wars on individuals. This is a great small-scale example of that. 

She-Ra -- It’s good. The plot kinda meanders and the backstory lore is presented confusingly/unclearly at times. But the central characters are good enough to carry at least a few seasons, and the secondary characters really elevate the whole thing. I was personally very fond of Scorpia as well as the way the writers used Entrapta both in the plot and as a character foil.

Chernobyl -- Second time watching this, it’s definitely a favorite. 

Movies

Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again -- You already know what this is like and whether or not you enjoy the sort of thing it is. 

Moulin Rouge -- It’s hard to watch Mamma Mia without thinking of this one, so I watched it soon after.

Minari -- My personal reward for being fully vaccinated was to go to the movies by myself. This was a good movie, though overshadowed by the circumstances in which I saw it. I would’ve been very happy to be seeing anything.

My Fair Lady -- An iconic pop-culture touchstone. Not my favorite musical, for sure.

Interstellar -- This movie is in the odd position of currently being my favorite Christopher Nolan movie despite the fact that I don’t like it nearly as much as I liked either The Dark Knight or Memento when I saw those for the first time.

The Perfect Storm -- George Clooney, big wave.

Legally Blonde -- I didn’t hear the term “sitcom” until oddly late in life, and when I heard it, I assumed it meant movies like this where there aren’t a ton of jokes, but the characters are constantly in inherently funny situations. I don’t like this type of humor that much.

Jurassic Park -- A big “moral” of the movie was “don’t trust computers to do anything important” but today it’s hard not to get the message as “never underpay your system administrator” instead.

Apollo 13 -- Pretty good

ET -- I really didn’t like this movie and I don’t quite know what it doesn’t do that Jurassic Park and Indiana Jones do. Imminent danger seem to be part of it, but I don’t think that’s the whole picture.

The Day After Tomorrow -- *shrug* I had fun watching it

Pearl Harbor -- expected it to be bad, it was bad. It was definitely bad in interesting ways, and was almost good a lot of the time.

Die Hard -- I was looking for suspenseful movies with clear character motivation and this fit the description. It was good, though I didn’t like it quite as much as I hoped to.

Star Trek V -- Star Trek is often silly and I just can’t get on board with some of the silliness, like the last part of this movie.

Terminator 2 -- Yeah, I do like suspense. I don’t think I’ll look back on this as a favorite, but I was pretty into it. Moreso than Die Hard.

Cast Away -- Pretty good

Predator -- Somewhere between Die Hard and Terminator 2. I was a bit bored by the end, which ironically was the part that most closely resembled what I was looking for.

Braveheart -- I think romanticising medieval Europe is fun and cool. Unfortunately this movie has some creepy sexual hang-ups as well as rampant “no step on snek” energy that ruin the whole thing.

Redline -- Just a cool looking movie

State of Play -- I forgot the whole plot of this already, but I enjoyed it

Troy -- It’s not as bad as its reputation suggests, though the end does get really over-the-top cheesy

Demon Slayer -- I liked going to the movies by myself so much the first time that I did it again. This time it was in a much more full theater and I was one of very few people over 17. Fun action anime movie, though.

Gladiator -- I’m so disappointed that I didn’t connect to this movie, since over and over I felt like I was very close to loving it. I think the revenge motivation was what ultimately prevented me from really getting into it.

K-19: The Widowmaker -- Hell yeah, extremely tense submarine scenes, that’s exactly what I wanted.

The Manchurian Candidate (2004) -- The movie felt like it wanted its premise to feel plausible, but it really didn’t. Still pretty good, though

The Big Lebowski -- Still not a big fan of this one. 

The Naked Gun -- This confirms that my sense of humor has not gotten more refined since age 17 or so. I still thought this was pretty funny.

Dances With Wolves -- Mostly just boring. 

Angels and Demons -- Even at age 15 the book’s riddles and clues premise felt a bit too contrived. The movie has the additional disadvantage that verbal explanations are the most boring way to resolve questions, unlike books where words are all you have.

Chinatown -- Meh, a fine detective story but nothing really clicked with me. The director’s life is wild, though. He escaped the holocaust, had his pregnant wife murdered by the Manson family, and is currently a fugitive from justice for raping a 13 year old.

The Core -- Like The Perfect Storm, appealing in the “so bad it’s good” way.

Porco Rosso -- Think the type of character study of Kiki’s Delivery Service, but about a middle-aged man, so it doesn’t resonate with Miyazaki’s audience enough for many people to talk about it.

Uncut Gems -- My second time watching it, it’s definitely a favorite. Between this and A Serious Man, I seem to love extremely stressful movies about mediocre jewish men.

The Manchurian Candidate (1962) -- Interesting to compare/contrast with the other version. I like both

Galaxy Quest -- another movie that fits my personal definition of what “sitcom” should mean. Again, not my favorite type of humor

Fantastic Planet -- Looks like something between the animated sketches in Monty Python and Pink Floyd’s The Wall. Very weird, it personally really worked for me.

Scarface -- I think romanticising organized crime is fun and cool. 

In the Heights -- colorful, catchy, happy and fun. 

Books

The House in the Cerulean Sea -- a good comfort-read. very simplistic and a little clunky and amateur-ish, but ultimately pretty cute.

There There -- not a comfort-read at all. A super raw look at the modern life of a variety of Native American situations. Very harsh but also interesting.

Six of Crows -- Fine YA fantasy fluff.

[comunidadarcsystemworks]

Exclusive interview with Arc System Works

We have had the opportunity to interview several key members of Arc System Works. Before we begin, we want to thank Arc System Works America for giving us the opportunity to have this interview.

We will divide the interview into 3 sections: "General", "Daisuke Ishiwatari" and Tosimichi Mori.

General

Q. The first question is going to be a tough one, but the community has been very vocal about it so we would really want to begin with this one. Will GGPO (Good Game Peace Out) be implemented in your next projects? If not, would you consider its implementation at some point in the future? We are not talking specifically about Guilty Gear Strive.

A. We’ve heard your passionate requests, and we’re working on a netcode that will live up to everyone’s expectations.

We’ll have more information for you later.

(Guilty Gear Strive Director: Akira Katano)

Q. Fighting games aside, do Arc System Works has plans to do more action games like Hard Corps in the future? Especially with the Guilty Gear engine. We recently saw Code Shifter as your latest brand new platform action game or your collaboration with Wayforward, which are always welcome.

A. We’d definitely like to try genres other than fighting games, such as action games.

This would include plans to use Arc System Works’ 2.5D animation style in non-fighting games, of course.

However, we don’t have any concrete plans to share at the moment.

(Producer: Takeshi Yamanaka)

Daisuke Ishiwatari:

Q. Thank you so much for taking the time for our questions. Since the announcement at EVO, we are really excited to know more about Guilty Gear Strive, and we have read all the interviews and your philoshophy about this game and its gameplay. So, what would you consider to be the lead factor for this change?

A. Thank you for your excitement about Guilty Gear Strive.

The biggest reason for changing the gameplay is to make a game that can reach the current generation of gamers.

I feel that through previous Guilty Gear titles, we have more or less perfected the Guilty Gear formula.

It may very well be possible to tighten that up and make a further refined game. But, even if we did, such a game would create a disparity between new players and veterans who are used to the game’s systems.

So, we wanted to reset the start line for everyone. But of course, this doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten our appreciation and respect for long-term fans and accomplished players.

Q. One of the main focus seems to be drawing the attention for new players and esports while adapting the HUD and the gameplay/action to everyone so it can be enjoyed by a wider audience. That´s interesting, but how will you make new players invest time in your game and wanting to improve their skills at their own pace? For example Granblue Fantasy Versus could be a good example since it has a big focus on its RPG Mode to do so in case beginners are not doing well while playing online.. Will you take a new approach this time with the Story Mode or single player content?

A. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you anything concrete at the moment.

However, the game will offer an experience of learning and discovery for both new and advanced players. Our game design is even more focused on that now, than ever.

I can’t guarantee that it will make it into the game, but we are also thinking of ways to further strengthen the community.

For example, currently most players aren’t very familiar with the top players.

But if they realized there were stars similar to Mike Tyson and Floyd Mayweather playing the game, wouldn’t they want to know how that person got so skilled?

We’d like to provide something to help players who aren’t too deeply into the game a way to enjoy it as a whole, like fans do with soccer or basketball.

Q. As of today, we know that you are gathering feedback regarding the main points of the new gameplay so I´ll save it for later, but as for the music, we are noticing a lot of emphasis on vocal tracks. Will this be the Guilty Gear with the biggest number of vocal tracks? will we get new versions of themes like “Holy Orders” or “Give me a break!?

A. Yes, I believe GGST will feature more vocal tracks than any prior title.

That is one of our many decisions in attempting a complete renewal.

We aren’t currently planning vocal arrangements of previous songs, however.

The only example I can think of where that went well would be Queen’s Seven Seas of Rhye.

Of course, if there were enough requests, there are songs I would love to create vocal versions of.

Q. A lot of people are requesting characters from past games like Testament or Bridget, but of course, we know that you can´t confirm any detail by the moment. However, I would like to know if we could get just a small hint about past fighters coming back to the scene.? Can we expect more original characters to be added to the game besides the cyborg samurai from the first teaser?

A. All I can say is, there will be characters from the previous series and this new character too. Please look forward to it!

Q. About the gameplay, as I said earlier, I believe that it's necessary to wait until the beta version for us to have a proper idea about it. Since I still haven´t had the chance to play the game I can just express my opinion as a spectator. I believe the overall gameplay seems interesting according to what you want to achieve but doesn´t the wall break mechanic interrupts the flow of the match a bit too much for the spectators? I feel the same with restricting combo routes, won´t it be monotonous if we ever watch the same, or really similar routes?

A. Don’t worry. The developers are creating GGST with both a casual and hard-core perspective in mind. There may be some aspects that don’t quite satisfy series veterans, but we will create new depth that will motivate them to learn something entirely new.

Also, even if the Beta Test is not well received, you will see our answers to your feedback in the game upon release.

Finally, could you share some words and thoughts to your fans in Spain?

Currently, we are steadily releasing news about GGST. However, the gameplay itself is still very much in development. Our plan is to continue to evolve the game as we receive feedback from the players. Please look forward to it.

Toshimichi Mori:

Thank you so much for giving us the chance to give an answer to our questions. We have read everything that could lead to a future Blazblue or Persona 5 Arena so I´ll try to make interesting questions for everyone.

Q. First of all, I would like to start with Blazblue Alternative Dark War. Will it be possible for you to share some more details about it? Last time I heard from the game I was taking notes at the London Comic Con.  If you can´t share any details, could you give us a hint about when could we know more about the game? Also, I love the sketches that you publish from time to time!

A. Thank you very much.

However, I can’t say much about Dark War right now--only that I, personally, am working so that you guys can play the game as soon as possible. I believe that as long as the players are supporting the project, it will move forward. So please keep talking about it.

Q. Talking about the London Comic Con from last year, I remember that I asked about Alpha 01 and you said that this year we should have news, but this year I want to add something else to the same question. Besides Alpha 01, when could we know something about Gamma 03 as well?

A. I’m really glad that for whatever reason, so many people like Alpha.

I understand some are really looking forward to her making an appearance, but it will be some time… So please wait a little longer.

Q. As of June of 2018 you said in an interview with Gamerevolution that you are saving ideas for future Blazblue and future Persona Arena Projects. Also, in an interview with Gearnuke (January 2020) you said that you would like that your next game will be 2.5D and that the next Blazblue will have new system mechanics. Taking all of this into account, could you please give us further details about what would you like to achieve with a new Persona Arena (which people are really vocal about it) or Blazblue project?

A. I appreciate your enthusiasm. However, I can’t really discuss anything at this moment. Please understand.

Q. Moving on to Blazblue Cross Tag Battle and talking about the same interview from Gearnuke, we read that companies are not approaching you to add their characters in the game. Have you considered “small” companies like Nihon Falcom or Vanillware to see beloved characters like Adol Christin from the YS series or Gwendolyn from a cult classic like Odin Sphere? I feel that they are characters that most of us known or we have heard of but they still didn´t have the chance to shine outside of their games.

A. I get a lot of requests for characters in BBTAG. Honestly, there’s lots of characters I would like to include, myself.

I won’t say it’s impossible for the characters you mentioned to join the cast, but we don’t have any plans for this at the moment. Regardless, I would really like to do some form of collaboration in the future.

Q. Sticking with Blazblue Cross Tag Battle, will we see more characters from RWBY or Senran Kagura? Is there a chance to see Persona 5 characters in the game (unless a Persona 5 Arena is in the works of course) or Kyoko and Misako from River City Girls?

A. We’ve just released Season 2, so we don’t have any definitive plans for the next characters yet.

Right now, we’re still thinking about the next step and listening to everyone’s requests as we work with the current version.

Going back to Blazblue main story, now that the phase C came to an end, and with Rachel´s words being “I shall find you, I promise” at the end of Blazblue Central Fiction… Will we get a follow up to this arc, or it will be a completely new arc? Also, are you planning to do another anime or manga?

A. We are preparing for the start of a new story… Sadly, I can’t guarantee when it will happen. I think that when that new chapter begins, you will understand what Rachel meant.

Finally, could you share some words and thoughts to your fans in Spain?

Thank you for loving the BlazBlue series.

I can feel that love you have, so I hope I can meet all of you in person someday. Thank you for your continued support.

[sunagakurenosato]

Wait for me || Fanfiction

Inspiration: Come, there is a way to be good again. - Khaled Hosseini, Kite Runner

@narutorarepairweek Prompt “Together Against All Odds”

This is Chapter 2 of a fic I’d like to write. It’s not the first chapter so it has 0% explanation on how we get here. But it’s the emotional meatiness I wanted to write. So, basic premises: set in an AU, Karura survived, Rasa did not, Sasori was brought back through Edo Tensei but zoomed out into the forest before he went back to the Pure Land. And they meet again. In Karura’s house. Over breakfast.

Pairings: SasoKaru, implied RasaSasoKaru, semi implied Yasha + cough @mita-rashi cough

Tw: Medical terms, poison

Summary: Sasori survives the fourth shinobi war, and pays Karura a visit. There are hard feelings, but they get through it—one cup of foxglove at a time.

x.X.x

In after-death, as in life, Akasuna no Sasori needed to be bribed with old favorites--- else, he would starve before remembering that humans required food to survive.

But he seemed more patient now than when they last saw each other, a lifetime ago. Karura could not remember a moment when he sat still, doing nothing. Not sketching plans and scripts in a language she could never hope to understand. Not carving and daring her to shoo him away after scattering wood shavings on the dinner table.

She took a peek at the person who sat on the table--- no longer the boy who stood in the shadow of his towering puppets; just a man, with black eyes that looked much too old for his age.

“Could you help me with the oranges?” she asked, her voice a pitch higher. And in that second, she wasn’t a mother of three, and a perhaps-still-grieving widow-- but a young girl with too many questions stuck at her throat. “I know you like them with your… I remember, at least. But they’re a bit old and I don’t have---”

Sasori had the knife slicing through the orange before she could finish her sentence. The red juices stained the old knife-marks on her white chopping board.

“I saw the foxglove tea in your bedroom,” he said, fumbling for the right words. Slicing another blood orange. “It’s poisonous. I doubt Yasha---”

“He prescribed it, actually. For heart failure.” Karura plucked a few pieces of green cardamom from her spice jar. “I’m heating up water for it too. Once daily, one cup in the morning.”

“Oh.” The knife stopped in the middle of the orange.

“My heart isn’t beating right,” Karura explained, tossing the chosen spices into the mortar. “Something like that.” Crushed under the force of the pestle. “If I don’t drink it, blood clumps up in the heart. I get a stroke. I die.” Another forceful grind of marble against marble. “If I do drink it, I walk the tightrope between medicine and poison.”

The knife slowly made its way through the blood orange again.

“Suna’s pharmacology department wasn’t doing so well after the war,” the puppet corps usually handled that, because of their expertise in poison--- the study, the extraction, the distilling, the refining. These days the old training area was more a cemetery than a workshop. “So I stuck with tea.”

Neither of them looked at each other. Neither of them needed to. 

Karura felt Sasori’s disapproval. Sasori felt the pestle pulvurize the cardamom.

“...How’s Yasha?”

“He’s fine.” Karura scooped some coffee, fine as dust, into the ibrik. She thought of the girl her baby brother met recently in Konoha; that hint of excitement when she asked about the name; the blush on his cheeks when he said they would meet for dinner when he goes back. Then she decided, with enough force to send the next scoop of powder-fine coffee flying in the air, that Sasori had forfeited his right to hear her excitement when he left years ago.

She added the spices and sugar, and then moved on to cooking breakfast while Sasori was busy juicing the blood oranges. 

He said nothing. So she said nothing. 

Instead, Karura concentrated on the tomatoes in her pan. She told herself that she wasn’t angry--- negative emotions don’t make delicious food. No, she wasn’t angry at all.

She’s gotten over the sudden departure. She’s not thinking, selfishly, of the worried nights; the Sasori is never late; the sinking feeling of a wanted poster falling onto her lap. Karura didn’t remember days she missed him--- on moments in her life she thought a dear friend should have shared. Or at least held her hand, and told her that he’ll find her husband. If not in the desert, rotting, then in the memories they shared. Once upon a time.

She wasn’t thinking of that when she poked at the tomatoes, forcing the juice out of them.

She remembered though, very clearly, the days that she did not miss him. Like the day Suna’s fastest hawk flew to the Hokage’s encryption team. He was my son. They were my children. That was our home you--- you--

Karura snatched the juice from his hands, poured it, and buried the ibrik deep into the hot sand.

They stood in silence while the kitchen sizzled, and the heat from the stove clung to their skin.

It felt like an eternity before Sasori opened his mouth.

Only to close it again.

The tomatoes were ready.

She cracked open an egg. The unbroken yolk started to form and only then did she remember--- Sasori liked his shakshouka scrambled. Nobody in the house liked it that way. Rasa thought it was breaking breakfast tradition if it wasn’t poached. They argued about it long enough for her to serve them a plate each.

Karura broke the yolk and stirred the eggs in.

While the tomatoes sizzled, she took a peek back at Sasori who was looking through the pots on the other side of the kitchen. She thought that she could start the conversation. It would be simple.

‘Sasori, why did you leave? Leave us without a word? Leave me behind?

‘Sasori, why did you kill the Sandaime Kazekage? I had to learn this from Yashamaru. A report being written for the Kazekage. He wept for you, you know? We haven't heard about you for years and…’

‘Did you know they were my kids? Did you know they were Rasa’s? Did you see the little one year old following you around the house on unsteady legs when you poisoned my baby?

‘Gaara… I could have sworn I felt my heart stop that day. I was stuck in Konoha. They called it a funny name when I was brought to their hospital--- a heart failure from heart break. They called it the same thing when I found out about Rasa.

‘You know about Rasa, right?’

So, why didn’t she?

Sasori disappeared into the direction of her room. Because Sasori did as he pleased--- even if she had warned him that no one should see him in her home. Temari, in particular, would let half the house crumble down if it meant burying Sasori with it. Karura told herself that he could take care of himself.

She was only worried for the shakshouka that might be uneaten if he left again. Nobody in the house liked it that way. Nothing more.

The eggs and tomatoes slid into a large plate for breakfast. Just in time for Sasori to come back, foxglove tea in hand. He pulled out an old coffee pot from the back of the cabinet.

He looked at the tea, then the coffee pot, until finally to Karura. “It will take me five days, at least. The foxglove needs to be fermented. And then the extraction process---- maybe two days, for the best yield. But if I get it right, get it measured…”

At the corner of her eyes, Karura could see the coffee in the hot ibrik starting to foaming.

“Why?”

That one word was a start to a million questions. To days upon days without straight answers.

It felt like an eternity before Sasori opened his mouth.

“...I don’t know.”

Karura’s lips trembled. 

She might have felt her heart tighten up. 

Something hot and bitter foaming and bubbling up to her throat---

But when the coffee in the ibrik took its first breath, Karura gently took it by the handle and poured the coffee into the demitasse. Not a drop spilt.

“Can I stay?” he asked.

Karura held the demitasse in her hands.

Then, the way she did whenever Sasori came over for breakfast, all those years ago, she brought the cup to her lips to taste it. Strong. Tart. With a hint of warm spices, somewhere below.

“It’s good.”

Sasori poured the hot water into her tea. He lifted the cup up, and then made a face before he even took a sip. “I forgot how unpleasant some scents are.” But he took that sip, and then made another face.

Karura let a laugh slip by.

She took the cup and drank it, walking the tightrope between medicine and poison. Once daily. One cup in the morning.

[sparklyjojos]

THE SAIMON FAMILY CASE recaps [2/13]

In which the family’s splendid magic show begins.

PART 2

--

SOGA TENSUI TROUPE's

CIRCUS OF MAGIC

19th Programme

1. Fantastic Umbrellas and Water Magic 2. Warrior and Bell 3. Mirror Double 4. Dancing Butterfly & Dancing Demon 5. Origami Doll Box 6. Stroll in the Air 7. Marvelous Origami Doves* 8. How to Win at Rock-Paper-Scissors* 9. Guillotine Trick 10. Magic Hands 11. Linking Hula Hoops 12. Ball of Fire and Circle of Red 13. Five-Ball Cascade 14. Miser’s Drinks & Drops* 15. Rising Flag Card* 16. Watch & Sketch Control* 17. Carp Scaling the Waterfall 18. Swing with no String 19. Nostalgic Illusion

(Audience participation welcome in parts marked with *)

--

The magic show we’re about to see today—November 23rd 1977—takes place in a giant white circus tent in a park in Yamaguchi City. The tent is filled with dim light and smell of fresh water; a small moat surrounds the half-circular stage, tiny spouts emerging here and there like in a fountain. Strong rope is holding something giant just above the stage: a menacing bell large enough that a grown adult could hide inside. Right next to it hangs horizontally a two-meter-long temple bell hammer made out of wood, the kind that's suspended with ropes on both ends so it looks like a simple swing.

Once everyone finds their seat, two stagehands use the temple hammer to strike the bell and the show begins.

--

1. FANTASTIC UMBRELLAS AND WATER MAGIC

We see a group of traditionally dressed actors take the stage. Here comes a high-class Courtisane, the two Novices she is teaching, the two Servants at their disposal. Then two other, identical-looking Courtisanes stroll in, each with her own ensemble of four. The three Courtisanes stand by the giant bell—one in front, two at the sides—and with a flick of their long sleeves each one produces a smoking pipe out of thin air. They throw the pipes high above their heads, and before they can fall back down, giant flowers have already bloomed on the stage—no, not flowers, but colorful umbrellas held by each Courtisane, each with kanji spelling out what seems to be their names: Yume Dayuu, Hana Dayuu, Nami Dayuu. The Courtisanes pass the umbrellas to their servants, but quickly produce more out of thin air, until all twelve companions have their hands busy. Then the three women pull out five more umbrellas out of nowhere, and from behind them a giant one. As they raise the umbrellas above their heads forming a three-tiered tower, white confetti starts falling down from them like sakura petals.

The umbrella tower then reveals a new trick: from the umbrella tips rise thin streams of water, like from fountain spouts, falling droplets imitating rain. Wonderful rainbows show inside the water. Once the magical rain stops, the characters stand in a line behind the bell, as if to give their bows.

The bell is lowered down until it touches the stage. When it is pulled up once more, a man in a Sengoku period armor appears from underneath it, and everyone except him shouts at once:

“Welcome to Soga Tensui’s Circus of Magic!”

--

2. WARRIOR AND BELL

The newly arrived warrior is a middle-aged man with elegantly swept back jet black hair reaching his shoulders, a characteristic thin Kaiser moustache adorning his face. His visible grace and refinement rival those of any emperor. Everyone knows his face well from the show's posters;  this is the great magician Soga Tensui.

After the characters give a quick bow, the stage falls completely dark.

Then, a spot of light: a tiny flame is hovering in the air, growing bigger and brighter, until the audience can see that Tensui is now alone on stage, and the source of light is his left gloved hand, engulfed in dancing flames. Tensui’s helmet is now covering his eyes. The ghastly lighting makes him look like a lost soul of a warrior long gone. He produces a tall rod—a sort of a long three-armed light stand—that he lights using his burning fist, then shakes his hand like a match, and just like a match it goes out. He sets the light stand on the floor, approaches the giant bell and strikes it with the temple hammer. Its overwhelming sound resonates through the tent, and its weight can almost be felt.

A giant projection screen is lowered near the back of the stage, stopping about a meter above the floor. The audience can easily see through that gap and confirm that nothing is on the other side. The warrior takes the light stand with him and walks behind the screen, his feet visible through the gap, the closely held light making his giant shadow be projected on the screen. The warrior stops, and suddenly—his feet disappear, but the shadow stays put.

The screen is pulled up. There’s no sight of Tensui behind it…  but there is a second giant bell hanging there, identical to the first one.

The first bell is once again lowered to the floor and pulled back up, and surely enough—armored Tensui once again emerges from within it.

Tensui strikes both bells one time each for good measure. Their loud, undeniably real ringing echoes through the tent. Then the hammer is pulled up towards the ceiling for now, and both bells are brought down to rest on the stage next to each other, with just a few meters separating them.

Six stagehands dressed completely in black clothes and masks enter the scene, bringing in a giant piece of black cloth and two more burning light stands for better visibility. Both bells are lowered and their ropes untied, the stagehands carefully cover both with the same single black cloth, then take their hurried exit.

Tensui approaches the covered bells, spreads his arms—and the bells start noisily moving on their own. Slowly, centimeter after centimeter, they seem to close the distance separating them. Tensui quickly brings his arms together, and the bells now move so fast they are sure to slam into each other, but instead—they seem to merge into one. The now singular shape is magically lifted above the scene as Tensui raises his right hand. Finally, he pulls off the cloth with one swift move, revealing—nothing but thin air!

Tensui turns towards the audience with his arms spread wide, and after thunderous applause all the light stands go out at once, once again leaving the stage dark.

--

3. MIRROR DOUBLE

Lights turn back on, showing still armored Tensui and what looks like a large frame covered with yet another piece of black cloth. Tensui uncovers it and reveals a giant mirror, three meters tall and five meters wide. Tensui faces it, unsheathes the sword by his side and swishes it around experimentally. The armored warrior in the reflection naturally mirrors all his movements. Suddenly, both perform a thrust, causing Tensui’s sword to go through the mirror—now very clearly an empty frame—and stab through the other warrior’s body.

Tensui moves back and around the stage, forcing the stabbed warrior to follow him, step out of the frame, and then show himself to the audience from all angles, so they can see that the sword indeed went right through his body, the blade sticking out of his back.

Finally, Tensui removes his sword. The other warrior looks surprised at his perfectly intact abdomen, then glances towards his own discarded sword on the other side of the frame, makes a dash for it, and—smashes against a pane of glass in the frame with a resounding clang. He bangs his fists against the glass in confusion, then steals a glance at Tensui (who waits in an imposing pose with his arms crossed), meekly walks around the frame instead and picks up his sword. Tensui approaches the frame, and he and the warrior try to strike each other once more… but the swords only hit the glass pane between them.

Eventually the mirror warrior stops and points up. Tensui understands this gesture and starts throwing him pieces of his own armor over the mirror, quickly stripping down to an elegant tailcoat and white gloves. Finally, Tensui makes a complicated magical gesture, points at the mirror, and the armored warrior on the other side instantly disappears, replaced by Tensui’s reflection.

The back of the stage goes dark (though one may notice the black-wearing stagehands hurriedly moving the mirror out), and Tensui once again faces the audience with his arms spread and is met with applause.

--

4. DANCING BUTTERFLY & DANCING DEMON

Tensui points to his bowtie several times, bringing attention to it. He starts gesturing with both hands, and the bowtie suddenly takes off in flight between them, as if it was a butterfly answering to his lead. [In Japanese, the bowtie is known as literally a “butterfly tie”.] He puts his hands in a ring shape and the bowtie easily flies through it a few times, showing the audience that it can’t possibly be hanging on a string from somewhere. Finally, he points to his neck and the bowtie obediently settles back in place.

Tensui accepts another round of applause, then crosses his arms and still standing like that, without moving any of his limbs, slides all the way to the back of the stage and disappears behind the black curtain.

The stagehands use a cart to wheel in what looks like a truly giant wooden pestle, the widest part at the end about as big as the bell from earlier, letters spelling out PRESS HAMMER stamped down its length. The menacing Press Hammer is then tied to a rope and lifted up, where it will stay for now like a deadly promise.

Once that is done, four other stagehands bring in a giant wooden cross, each holding one arm of it parallel to the ground at waist height. On the cross rests a large balled piece of black cloth. They carefully spin around, as if to show the audience it’s just a normal wooden cross, then stop and stare at the cloth—which starts to move, as if there’s a living creature hidden inside. The writhing cloth progressively unveils as the thing inside seems to grow, two horn-like peaks protrude under the material, making it look like a captured two-meter-tall demon. Whatever great evil hides underneath finally rips off the cloth and reveals itself as... a man with jet-black hair and a thin Kaiser moustache, wearing a tailcoat.

Tensui proudly spreads his arms wide towards the audience, stepping off the cross as the stagehands lower it to the ground.

--

5. ORIGAMI DOLL BOX

The stagehands demonstrate that the arms of the wooden cross can unfold and be assembled into a tall box that a standing adult could just about fit into. The front wall has two holes that one could poke their hands through.

The large black cloth from earlier is spread over the box so it covers most of it, leaving just a few centimeters at the bottom visible. Tensui makes a few magic gestures towards it, dramatically tugs the cloth off, and the previously plain front wall now bears a portrait of a beautiful smiling woman, wearing a sequin-studded leotard, a cape, black net tights, and a flashy top hat designed after the US flag. The two holes are now located where the woman’s hands should be, and indeed a pair of living human hands in white gloves is sticking out.

Tensui opens the box by setting the front wall on the ground, then gentlemanly holding one of those real hands helps a woman out. It’s his stunning assistant, who looks exactly like the portrait — though when she lifts the front wall and shows it to the audience, it now portrays Tensui instead.

Tensui has the assistant close him in the box, tightly bind his sticking out hands with rope, and once more cover the entire construction with the black cloth so only the very bottom is visible. The audience can still see where Tensui’s hands must be under the cloth, moving lively as if he is attempting to free himself.

Something moves far above the stage. The giant, deadly Press Hammer that bid its time until now starts falling lower and lower, straight towards the box. Five meters left, four meters left, three meters left. Tensui’s hands move desperately under the cloth. Two meters left. One meter left. The Press Hammer already touches the lid of the box. Tensui’s hands suddenly go still, so maybe he finally untied the rope and is about to get out, just in the nick of time… but his hands quickly go back to panicked flailing, and the Press Hammer falls down a full seventy centimeters, reducing the box to nearly half its height, horrible crack of crushed wood reverberating through the tent.

The Press Hammer is instantly lifted all the way up in deafening silence. The assistant rips off the black cloth to reveal the box...

...which doesn’t seem crushed at all. It looks like a perfectly intact, although significantly shorter box, and while the two gloved hands bound with rope are still sticking out like earlier, the holes themselves are now located much lower in the wooden wall…

...which no longer shows the portrait of Tensui, but one of a small boy.

The assistant unties the rope and the hands resume their movement, but unlike Tensui’s panicked flailing, these seem to be expressing innocent cheerfulness.

The wall is opened from the inside and out steps the small boy from the portrait, dressed in a tiny version of Tensui’s tailcoat, with an okappa haircut, as if Tensui somehow got squished into his small child version… but no, a closer look reveals it can’t be a real child; it looks to be a marionette, probably controlled from above. It walks closer to the audience in that strange marionette-like manner, and as its blocky puppet mouth starts moving up and down—

“Hello, everyone!” comes a cheerful young voice from the speakers and the puppet gives a stiff bow.

The assistant looks as surprised as the audience and slowly approaches the puppet from behind... only for it to turn its head at an impossible angle to look back at her. The puppet is barely over a meter tall, so the assistant has to bend forward to speak with it.

“Where did you come from, little boy?” she asks.

“From there!” The puppet points to the box, as if it’s obvious.

“Yes, from there, but—where from exactly?”

“There! From the box.”

“Wasn’t there an adult man inside?”

“Nope! Just me.”

The confused assistant investigates the box from all angles, collapsing the back wall in the process, so the box now looks like a frame or a tunnel. She turns the entire construction so its side faces the audience, falls to her knees and crawls through the tunnel in search for Tensui. The audience can clearly see her entering the tunnel and emerging on the other side; she’s wearing the same top hat, the same cape, leotard, tights…

...except she is now a little girl.

--

6. STROLL IN THE AIR

The girl notices Kotensui and they say hello to each other. Notably, while the girl’s voice comes both from the stage and amplified through the speakers, the puppet has its happy energetic lines come solely through the speakers.

“Nice to meet you!” the girl says. “My name’s Koyomi. What’s yours?”

“I’m Kotensui. Nice to meet you! You have a strange name, Koyomi!”

“Kotensui is even stranger!

“It is?”

“It is!”

The joke is now obvious: the puppet is named Ko-tensui, “small Tensui”. The girl’s name, Ko-yomi, seems to suggest that the adult assistant was named Yomi. Two child versions of the magical pair. Both seem to be about the same age and height.

“Where did you come from, Koyomi?”

“From there!” she says pointing to the box.

“From there?!” repeats Kotensui, his jerky movements full of shock. “But where’s the adult lady?”

“The adult lady?”

“She went inside the box… and changed into you!”

“But there wasn’t any adult lady inside! Just me.”

Surprised Kotensui looks at the box, then spreads his arms to the sides and start walking towards it—through the air, climbing an invisible staircase up to the box’s roof, from which he hangs his head down to look inside and states that the lady really has disappeared. Then he jumps off, landing as light as a feather on the other side. None of this is particularly strange, considering he’s probably suspended on strings… which doesn’t explain how he then casually walks back through the tunnel. Any string should get caught on its ceiling.

“How’d you do that?” Koyomi seems as perplexed as the audience.

“Did what?”

“You were flying!”

“Oh, you mean strolling in the air! You do it like this!” He spreads his arms wide.

“Like this?” Koyomi also spreads her arms.

“Let’s go!” Kotensui climbs the invisible staircase again and this time jumps clear over the box. Koyomi runs along, but as a human girl obviously can’t do the same no matter how hard she tries.

“No fair! I want to fly too!” Koyomi thinks for a moment. “Oh, but maybe there is a way…!” She grabs the ends of her long cape. As she gently moves her arms like they’re wings, she lifts herself up, hovering between one and two meters above the ground. She sits on top of the box for a second, then takes off in flight again.

“How are you doing that?” Kotensui asks in amazement.

“You really wanna know?”

“Wanna know! Wanna know!”

“Then look closely!” And as she makes another turn, this time flying much closer to the audience, it is now obvious that a strong stagehand is holding her legs and lifting her up and down. This third person just couldn’t be seen due to their black clothes and mask being a perfect camouflage in front of the black curtain. Koyomi’s cape hid the points of contact from view. No real magic involved, but it’s still incredible how a girl this young can hold her balance this well and keep on smiling. Finally the stagehand gently sets her down.

“Who is that?” Kotensui asks, pointing at the stagehand... or at least holding his round wooden hand in that direction. It doesn't look like his puppet fists can open.

“What do you mean?” Koyomi sounds puzzled. “There’s obviously no one here.”

“But he’s right there!”

“Who? I don’t see anyone.”

“That man in black hiding his face!”

Suddenly, the stagehand angrily removes the mask and shows their face. It’s Tensui’s beautiful assistant herself!

“Who are you calling a man?” she asks with a glare.

“H-huh? The lady?!” Kotensui is in shock. “Where were you?”

The assistant and Koyomi catch each other’s eye and exchange a long awkward look, until finally the assistant puts her mask back on.

“I’m not here, okay?” she says and walks away towards the box.

“You got it now? That person is not visible!” Koyomi states pointedly.

“Gotcha! If you look at that person in black, that’s bad!” Kotensui recites, and when the assistant stops in her tracks and quickly turns her head towards him, he hurries, “I mean, nothing! I see no one!” The assistant nods in approval and starts quietly deconstructing the box just like a normal stagehand would.

“It’s not that it’s bad, Kotensui,” Koyomi lectures. “It’s that they are invisible to us. Got it?”

“Yep! Yep. And it was just you in that box.”

“Uh-huh.”

All throughout this exchange both children are looking straight at the very troubled stagehand, who folds the wooden frame into a tiny box, takes it and heads towards the curtain… but suddenly stops, looks back at them, and the kids quickly pretend they definitely haven’t been looking at her, not at all. The stagehand moves again, the kids look at her, she stops and almost catches them in the act, and the entire red-light-green-light act repeats a few times, until the stagehand finally disappears behind the black curtain.

--

7. MARVELOUS ORIGAMI DOVES

“That box got really small, huh,” Koyomi notices. “Like origami. Hey, let’s do some origami!”

“Origami? But I don’t have any paper!”

“I do!” Koyomi pulls out four sheets of glossy paper out of her pocket, two silver and two gold, but hesitates before passing them to Kotensui. “Wait, can you even do origami?”

“I won’t know until I'll try!”

“What I meant is, can you even do origami with those hands?” She tries giving him one sheet, but he can’t even grasp it well between his wooden fists.

“I... don’t think I can handle origami.”

“Then you can hold this instead.” Koyomi gives him a scarlet rose that until now has been a part of her costume. There’s just enough space between Kotensui’s tightly balled wooden fingers that the stem can fit through. “Since Kotensui can’t do origami, everyone else can join me instead! Everyone, please get your paper!”

The audience retrieves the origami sheets given to everyone earlier at the entrance (and those that misplaced theirs are quickly handed new ones by the staff).

“I think I’ll get three people from the audience to help me demonstrate! Kotensui will now throw the rose into the auditorium. Whoever catches it, please throw it to someone else and join us on stage!” As Kotensui throws the rose, she adds, “but watch out for the thorns!... Just kidding, it doesn’t have any!”

The spectators chosen this way are a woman in her late twenties, a middle-aged man and a young boy. Koyomi asks them to leave their own sheets behind and instead take bigger ones from her for better visibility. The three people arrive on stage, shake Kotensui’s little hand in turn and prompted by Koyomi introduce themselves. They each choose one of the origami sheets she’s holding (they really do appear to be a bit larger than the ones the audience has), leaving her with one.

Koyomi then instructs everyone step-by-step how to fold a paper dove that flaps its wings when you grab it by the tail and shake it. Once everyone is more or less done, Koyomi holds her dove close to her face, blows on it gently as if to make it fly, and not only does the bird suddenly become twice as big as before, it even sprouts little triangular “legs” underneath. The audience (including the three chosen members) tries to do the same, but no one can achieve a similar feat, despite everyone having closely followed Koyomi’s folding instructions. The three chosen spectators are given Koyomi’s dove to inspect and confirm there doesn’t seem to be anything fishy with it, magically bigger size aside. One may think that Koyomi just stealthily folded her origami in a different way, but then she takes the doves made by two of the spectators, blows air at them in turn, and sure enough, they all grow twice in size and sprout legs.

Afterwards, Koyomi takes off her top hat, shows everyone that it’s empty, and holding it upside down asks the last audience member, the boy, to put his small paper dove inside. Once he complies, Koyomi quickly turns the hat right side up, and out comes flying a white dove—a real, living bird. It takes a short flight and lands on Koyomi’s shoulder. The boy’s paper dove is nowhere to be found. Koyomi thanks the three audience members and sends them back to their seats.

“That was so interesting, Koyomi!” Kotensui exclaims, clapping in awe.

“Kotensui? Where on earth were you all this time?”

“I've been standing right here!”

“Oh! I must’ve been so focused on the origami that I didn’t see you!”

A few perceptive audience members may have noticed that while Koyomi was busy teaching origami, Kotensui kept wandering near the back of the stage, seemingly bored. But he wasn’t just walking around at random; he always hid himself in the exact place Koyomi had her back turned towards, moving from one blindspot to another as she looked in different directions. This background joke went mostly unnoticed, considering the audience was too focused on following Koyomi’s instructions.

--

8. HOW TO WIN AT ROCK-PAPER-SCISSORS

“Wait, Kotensui, did you just clap?” Koyomi asks in a suspicious voice.

“Uh-huh. Why are you asking?”

“Your hands shouldn’t be able to make that sound.”

“But they do!” Kotensui bangs his wooden fists together, but what comes from the speakers are sounds of real human hands clapping, matching his movements. He follows a set pattern, and before long the audience catches on to the suggestion and starts clapping in the same rhythm. The entire audience comes united in thunderous harmony under Kotensui’s lead, until—

“Stoooop!” yells Koyomi, and everyone stops clapping… except for Kotensui, and she has to repeat herself to make him stop in mid-clap. “Kotensui, you’re not the one making that sound at all, you’re just putting your hands together!”

“That’s not true!” Kotensui claps again, and the matching sound of real hands comes through the speakers. “See? I’m the one clapping! Right, everyone?”

A part of the audience cheers, making Koyomi visibly give up.

“Well, it seems the audience agrees with you on that one… You know what, I just thought of something fun!”

“Fun? What is it, what is it?!”

“It is... a method on how to win at rock-paper-scissors with guaranteed success!” she says with a devious smile. “You’re going to assist me this time, Kotensui! Does everyone know how to play?” She gives quick instructions just in case someone doesn’t. “Now play with me, Kotensui! Rock, paper, scissors...!”

Koyomi shows paper, while Kotensui shows rock.

“Oh no, I lost…!” Kotensui looks sadly at his wooden fist.

“Everyone, I want to make sure you all understand the rules, so let’s try together with me now! I want you all to show rock, okay? Ready? Rock, paper, scissors…!”

The entire audience—one thousand and five hundred people—listens to her and shows rock, even the few rebels quickly conforming to the herd… and Koyomi chooses paper.

“Sorry!” she apologizes with a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, that wasn’t the winning method I’m talking about. I’m going to teach it to you know.” She turns to Kotensui. “But first, please play with me a few times, Kotensui! Rock, paper, scissors...!”

Once again Koyomi throws paper, while Kotensui throws rock. A few more matches, and every time it’s Koyomi’s paper against Kotensui’s rock… which is the only thing he can choose, considering his gloved hands are stuck in that shape.

“Huh? I lost five times in a row!” he exclaims sadly while the audience laughs. “Koyomi, am I really that bad at this?”

“Oh, of course you’re not! You’re just having really bad luck. It happens.” She turns to the audience. “Have you guessed what my method is now, everyone? Hope you did, because you’re going to have a match against Kotensui now, all against one. It may be a game of luck, but if everyone puts their hearts into it, I’m sure a true miracle may occur!” She all but winks at them conspicuously. “Everyone ready? Rock... paper... scissors!”

All one thousand and five hundred people in the audience show paper, and standing against them alone is poor little Kotensui, his outstretched wooden arm showing—scissors!

Just for a moment, there are undeniably two little gloved fingers sticking out towards them in the sign of victory.

Before the audience can wrap their heads around what just happened, Kotensui’s hand transforms back into his normal fist and he shouts happily.

“I won! Koyomi, I really won!”

“Congratulations!” Koyomi then turns to the audience. “And that’s how you win at rock-paper-scissors!” She shakes Kotensui’s hand and they both bow to the audience.

The stage goes dark and a staff member’s voice from the speakers announces a ten-minute break.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“Attempts For Attention” Arthur Morgan x Reader

A request from @notursdutch!

Arthur is trying to throw hints your way that he has feelings for you, but he’s a little shy and you’re a lot oblivious. 

“Whatcha drawin’?” You were pulled from your concentration and looked up to find Arthur standing over you. You handed him the journal as sat down in the grass beside you. 

You were sat under a shady oak tree overlooking camp; it had the perfect view, you could see everything from up there, plus the shade was welcome on the hot summer day. 

Arthur smiled as he looked down at the drawing. The sketch took up two pages. It was Clemen’s Point, complete with undetailed little drawings of the inhabitants and the horses at the edge of camp. “This looks great, Y/N.” Arthur’s finger pointed down at the small figure with the horses. “Kieran?”

You nodded and smiled as you pointed out all the people. Lenny was just below Kieran, brushing his own horse. Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth were by the laundry bucket, and you had captured Charles mid swing of his axe. Arthur smiled down at his own figure, leaned against the back end of his caravan, his own journal in hand. Arthur loved your art style, your lines were softer and your shading was a little more defined. “I don’t know how you do it.” He said, eyes still focused on your drawing. 

You laughed, “Sure you do, you could put me to shame with your drawing skills any day!”

He shook his head, “Nah, I’m too heavy handed, I can’t quite get my shading just right.” 

You smiled. “What were you workin’ on down there?” You asked as you pointed to the small Arthur you had drawn. 

“Just doin’ some writin’. Its been a few days since I had enough time to actually open my journal.” He flipped the page and frowned. “Looks like those were your last pages.”

You sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been checkin’ every town we’ve hit since we left Blackwater tryin’ to find somethin’ new but I guess the folks this far east ain’t as refined as we thought.”

Arthur laughed. “I’ll see what I can do next time I’m out.” 

You beamed up at him, “You would do that for me?”

He smiled down at you. “Course I will.”

You wrapped your arms around him tightly. “Oh thank you Arthur, you’re the best friend a girl a can have!” 

This took his by surprise, but he slowly wrapped his arms around you, returning your hug. You felt so warm and soft in his arms he felt his heart lurch when you pulled away. Your face was towards the ground, but Arthur caught the slight shade of pink in your cheeks. “I should probably go before Grimshaw finds me.” You stood and looked down at Arthur, “If you ever want to practice with me, I can show you some techniques to keep your wrist loose, that should help you with your shading.” 

Arthur’s eyes followed you as you went down the hill and joined the other girls at the laundry station. Your smile was contagious as you reached the other girls they greeted you happily. You seemed to have that effect on everyone, but Arthur seemed to fall prey to your charm worse than anyone else around camp, the trouble was you had no idea. 

He had been crazy for you since you first arrived, it took him damn near a month and a half to even say hello to you, every time your eyes shifted his way and you gave him a smile he would turn redder than a tomato. Hosea eventually had to be the one to introduce the two of you, and he still gives Arthur hell to this day for turning to a nervous blundering mess when you first stuck out your hand and said, “Nice to meet you Arthur, my name is Y/N.”

Arthur was lucky you were just as outgoing as you were oblivious because he never had the nerve to talk to you, but you had no problem with joining him beside the fire or barging into his tent for conversation, but you never noticed how flustered you made him. At first it was a relief, but now Arthur wasn’t quite sure. He wanted to tell you how he felt, he wanted to grab you by the waist and sweep you off your feet, but that required a level of confidence he just didn’t have. He looked down and noticed you had left your journal beside him. He grabbed it and headed down towards you. 

“So,” Tilly began mischievously. “What were you and Arthur talkin’ about up on that hill?”

You rolled your eyes. “Nothin’, Tilly. He just wanted to see what I was drawin’ that’s all.”

“And you showed him?” Karen asked with a raised brow. “Why is it Arthur is the only one allowed to see inside that journal of yours?”

You tried to hide the blush forming in your cheeks. “He’s an artist, so I like his opinion, okay?” You tried to sound assertive, but your voice came out meeker than a barn mouse. 

“Mhmm, I’m sure that’s what it is.” Mary-Beth said sarcastically. 

“It is!” You shot back, a little more defensively than you meant.

“Oh please,” Snorted Karen. “You’ve had eyes for him since you got here, you can’t deny that.”

You looked down into the suddy water. “Yeah so?”

“Yeah so, he’s definitely had eyes for you too!” Karen rolled her eyes. “I mean it’s so obvious!”

“He gets all fidgety when he talks to you,” Said Tilly.

“And he turns bright red.” Added Mary-Beth.

“That’s not true.” You pouted into your laundry bucket. “He just-”

You looked up to see Arthur coming down the hill towards you. “Shut up the lot of you.” You hissed quickly.

“Wha-” 

You cut off Karen. “Hey Arthur!”

The women looked in the direction you were facing and each one shot you a look, and you tried to ignore it. 

“Hey Y/N, you forgot this.” He handed you your journal. “Thought I’d bring it back to ya.” He rubbed his neck and wouldn’t meet your gaze. 

“Thank you, Arthur. You’re too kind.” You tried not to look at the women around you.

He tipped his hat to you and turned towards his tent. “No problem.”

You turned back towards your water bucket, “Not a goddamn word.” You said as Karen opened her mouth. 

The four of you finished the laundry in silence.

Arthur’s eyes scanned the camp and they landed on just the man he was looking for. Hosea was sitting at the small table in the middle of camp. Arthur took the seat across from him. “Hosea.”

He looked up at Arthur, “Ah, hello my boy. How are ya today?”

“I’m fine, I got a question for ya. You know this area pretty well right?” Arthur fiddled nervously with his thumbs.

Hosea raised an eyebrow towards him. “Guess you could say that, I spent a good bit a time down here with Bessie years ago.”

Arthur nodded. “You know anywhere I could get a new journal?”

Hosea tilted his head, confused. “You already filled that journal you got in Blackwater?”

Hosea was sharp as a tack, “No, I...its for someone else.”

A sly smile curled on Hosea’s lips. “I see. It wouldn’t happen to be for a certain young lady would it?” 

Arthur’s eyes shot up to meet Hosea’s and his face went hot. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”

“Don’t play coy with me Arthur.” Hosea said flatly as he crossed his arms. He lowered his voice. “You think I don’t see how you look at her?”

Arthur huffed, he knew there was no point in lying to Hosea. “Okay yeah it’s for her. I ain’t tryin’ to pull a move on her or anything, she just used up the last page in hers and I offered to pick her up a new one if I found one.” 

Hosea leaned back in his chair. “I see. But why aren’t ya makin’ a move then?”

This caught Arthur off guard. He sputtered and tripped over his words. “I-I can’t...I don’t know.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think she’d have me. She’s too good for me anyways.”

Hosea stood. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. When ya think like that you’ll be alone forever.” He turned to leave but threw a final glance at Arthur over his shoulder. “Saint Denis. It’s a big city not far from here. If I remember correctly they have an art supply store down there. It’s been years since I’ve been, but it’s worth takin’ a look into.”

Arthur nodded. “Thanks Hosea.”

Hosea threw up his hand in a wave and wandered off. Arthur took one final glance at you, your face was straight and focused as you did your work quietly. Even with Hosea’s words replaying in his mind, he still couldn’t seem to find himself worthy of you. You were breathtaking, and the kindest soul he had ever met. No one made him want to be good, not even Eliza or Isaac. Not even Mary made him want to be better, but when your kind eyes meet his, he wanted to feel like he deserved the genuine kindness behind your eyes. He nodded to himself and headed towards his horse. 

You wiped the sweat from your brow as you stood. You waved to the other women as you left, finished with your work for the day. As your eyes searched the camp, you felt a little disappointment as you noticed both Arthur and his horse were gone. You sighed and joined Abigail beside the fire. “You see where Arthur went?” You asked, trying to seen as nonchalant as possible. 

“I didn’t,” She responded, she took a sip of her coffee. “He rode out not too long ago after talking to Hosea. Probably got a tip off or somethin’.”

You nodded, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Why ya ask?” You could tell by the look in her eye she knew exactly why you were asking.

“No reason,” You said quickly.

“Mhmm.” Abigail had a sarcastic tone. 

before you could respond, Micah and Dutch approached you. “Good afternoon, ladies.” Dutch said smoothly. “Either of you in the mood for some good ol’ fashioned stage coach robbin’?”

“Sure!” You responded quickly and stood. “Who all’s goin’?”

“Micah and Lenny.” 

You nodded and followed behind the two men. “I’ve been itchin’ to get outta here.”

“I thought you would be up for the job.” Dutch smiled down at you. “Go grab your pistol and meet the boys at the hitching post.”

“Yes sir.”

It was early evening when Arthur got back to camp. He hitched his horse quickly and pulled his satchel from his horse. His eyes searched the camp for you, he didn’t even see Dutch until he walked right into him. 

“Oof! Watch where you’re goin’, son.” 

“Sorry Dutch, have you seen Y/N? She asked me to pick somethin’ up for her in town.” His eyes were still searching as he spoke. 

Dutch had to stop himself from picking on Arthur, just like everyone else in camp, he knew Arthur had it bad for you. “I sent her with Micah and Lenny on a stagecoach job.” He said easily. 

Arthur’s eye shot up to Dutch. “Micah? Why the hell did you send her with Micah?”

Dutch raised an eyebrow. “She’s the one who wanted to go, I didn’t make her go. Besides, it’s not like they’re alone. Lenny will keep him in line.” 

Arthur huffed in frustration. “Ya know, I coulda gone instead of Micah.”

Dutch barked a short laugh. “I know.” He turned and walked back to his tent.

Arthur tried to push away the jealousy creeping into his stomach. He saw the way Micah looked at you and it made his stomach churn. He wouldn’t trust Micah with a wet sock, let alone you. But Dutch was right, Lenny would keep him in line from touching you and in turn your company would keep Micah from harassing Lenny over the color of his skin. It was a good trade off, but it still made Arthur uneasy. He pulled the journal he bought for you from his satchel and headed towards your tent. It was simple just like your old one, but it was a little bigger and the paper was a better quality. He spent a pretty penny on it, but it was worth it. You were worth more than all the money in the world to him, and he wanted to let you know. He gently laid the journal down on your neatly made bed. He also pulled out the candies he grabbed on his way out of Saint Denis. He remembered you telling him they were your favorite one day when he shared a bag with you. 

When he exited your tent, Abigail was standing there waiting for him with her arms crossed, looking suspicious. “Whatcha doin’ there Arthur?”

“N-nothin’. Nothin’ at all to concern yourself with.” He stuttered. 

“So, I shouldn’t be concerned that yer just sneakin’ around in some girl’s tent, huh?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He groaned. “Come on Abigail, you know it ain’t like that.” “Do I?” She challenged.  She peeked behind his shoulder before he could move to block her vision. A knowing smile crossed her lips. “What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” Arthur responded, moving his body with hers as she tried to peek behind him again. 

“What’s that layin’ on Y/N’s bed?”

“It’s nothin’!” Arthur groaned. 

Abigail turned away. “Fine then, keep your secrets.”

Arthur sighed in relief and just as he took a step away from your tent, Abigail turned back around quickly and made a beeline for the tent. Arthur couldn’t react fast enough to stop her. 

“Oh Arthur, this is beautiful!” She said as she picked up the journal. 

“Yeah, I know.” He said sheepishly as he rubbed his neck. “Don’t go tellin’ her about it when she gets back, I want it to be a surprise.”

Abigail gave him a look when she walked out of the tent. “When are you gonna make a move Arthur?” His whole face turned beet red. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say.” She responded sarcastically as she walked away. 

Arthur yawned as he made his way back to his own tent. He laid down on his cot and began doodling in his journal. His eyes grew heavy and he didn’t even feel himself fall asleep. 

You pulled into camp riding between Lenny and Micah, the lot of you were still excited from the rush of adrenaline of a successful job. As you unmounted your horse, you turned to the two men you were with. “You boys did great today, let me know next time you wanna do this again and I’ll gladly ride with you.”

Micah turned and headed off towards Dutch’s tent, but not before you caught the rose color blooming on his cheeks. Lenny gave you his classic smile. “Anytime, Y/N. You did good today too.”

You smiled, “I appreciate the compliment, but stoppin’ a wagon and playin’ the damsel in distress don’t take much effort.”

Lenny looked at the ground, “Yeah, well it sure does help when you gotta a pretty lady playin’ the damsel.”

You laughed and patted Lenny on the back as you passed him, “Thanks Lenny.”

You spied Arthur asleep on his cot, journal still in his loose hands. It made you giggle, he looked so cute. You decided not to wake him as you headed towards your tent. When you looked down at your cot, you noticed the brown leather journal and the bag of candies laying there. Your heart skipped a beat as you picked up the journal and opened it. On the first page there was a message in Arthur’s hand writing. 

To: Y/N

I hope you like it, I thought of you when I saw it and had to grab it. 

Yours, Arthur

Your fingers lightly brushed the scrolling words on the page and you could feel your cheeks getting warm. Your fingers traced the words, ‘Yours, Arthur.’ It made you feel warm inside and your stomach fluttered. You grabbed the journal and the candy and headed out of the tent quickly. 

When Arthur woke, the day had fully transitioned into night. He stretched as he stood and noticed a folded piece of paper and a small pile of candies on his night stand. He smiled as he unfolded it. The paper was from the journal he had bought you and on it was a beautiful sketch of him, sleeping peacefully on his cot with his journal slack in his hands. He pinned the drawing up with the pictures above his bed. He grabbed the hand full of candies and headed towards your tent. When he looked inside, you were already curled up asleep, the new journal on the nightstand beside your bed. He found himself with a pang of disappointment, he was hoping he would get to see your reaction when you saw the journal, but he could ask you about it tomorrow, and he turned back to his tent. 

You woke early the next morning and made your way to the coffee kettle. You looked around confused when Arthur wasn’t there preparing the morning coffee. You looked over to his tent and he was still fast asleep. You rolled your eyes and headed his direction. As you entered his tent, you noticed the sketch you made him yesterday pinned up with his photos. You couldn’t help but smile. You gently put your hand down on his and shook him gently. “Arthur, it’s time to get up.” You cooed to him softly. “Come on Arthur, I’m ready for some coffee.”

His breathing hitched as he slowly opened his eyes. “Alright, alright I’m up.” He said groggily. 

You squeezed his hand and turned to leave. “Good, now come get the coffee goin’.”

He yawned as he pulled on his boots. “Don’t you know how to make coffee?”

You stood just outside his tent with your arms crossed, “Yeah, but I like the way you make it better.” 

As he stepped out of the tent, he put a hand on your lower back. “Yer right, you never make it strong enough.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned into his hand. “I know.” You looked up at him, “Thank you, for the journal by the way. It’s so pretty! How much was it? I’ll pay you back.”

Arthur scoffed. “It was a gift, I don’t want yer money.” 

You pouted, Arthur found it devastatingly cute. “Are you sure? I feel bad, you spendin’ yer hard earned money on me.”

He smiled down at you sweetly. “I tell ya what, you can just pay me back with those drawin’s like the one ya left me last night.”

You beamed at him, “It’s a deal.”

Arthur began buying you more gifts over time, it started small as candies and pencils and other little things he found on his journeys. In return, he would find a folded piece of paper on his night stand, always a lovely drawing usually of him or his horse. His caravan was slowly becoming covered in your sketches and he admired them often. His favorite was payment for the explosive ammo he crafted for your pistol. It was one of the most detailed one you had done. It was a picture of him, brushing his horse. You had caught the expression of his face perfectly, and the detail stunned him. It was one of your best works, he wondered how long you had been working on it. 

With time, Arthur gained the courage to give you the softest of touches. A hand on the small of your back here, an arm around your shoulders there, he even began complimenting you more, determined to show you how he felt, but to his disappointment, it seemed as if you were oblivious to his advances. 

He huffed in frustration as he watched you walk away from him. He had handed you a bag of your favorite candies and a new brush for your horse. His heart jumped in excitement when you hugged him tightly, but the excitement was short lived when you said, “How sweet! How did I get so lucky to have such a great friend?” And with that you turned and walked away. Friend? He was tired of being just friends. He thought he was being obvious about that and you weren’t picking it up. He sat down at the table in front of Hosea. “What’s eatin’ ya boy?”

Arthur rested his chin in his hands as he watched you walk up to your drawing spot under the oak tree. “I’ve tried everything, Hosea. What am I doin’ wrong?”

Hosea looked in the direction Arthur was gazing and he turned back. “Ah, I see. So have you told her how you feel?”

“God no,” Arthur grunted. 

“Well then how have you tried everything?” Hosea raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’ve given her gifts, I compliment her just about every time I see her, I don’t know what else to do.” He said in a gloomy tone.

Hosea scoffed, “Listen, you ain’t gonna get anywhere beatin’ around the bush, just tell her how you feel.”

Arthur sighed. “Yeah what if I do? What if I tell her and she laughs in my face. I don’t think I could live with the rejection. Plus I don’t want to ruin what we have now.”’

Hosea stood. “Well you’re never gonna know until you try. And between you and me, I think you got a pretty good chance with that one.” He winked and walked away, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. He looked up at you again, your nose was buried in your journal and your head tilted up, you squinted, and then it went back down.With a gulp, Arthur steeled his nerves and stood. 

You were so focused on your picture that you didn’t hear Arthur approach. You about jumped out of your skin when he cleared his throat. “Jesus!” Your hand came up to your chest. “Damn it Arthur, you know better than to sneak up on me like that.”

He laughed as he took a seat beside you. “What are you workin’ on today?” 

You pointed down to Dutch, sitting on a crate puffing a cigar. He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. He looked down at the drawing, “Wow, this may be your best one yet.” 

You had captured Dutch’s likeness perfectly. The way he slumped on the crate looked so natural, but the puff of smoke coming from his mouth was what really impressed him. “This looks so realistic, how did you get this talented?” 

You smiled, “My ma really enjoyed painting. I guess I got my base talent from her, but I guess it’s just practice.” You looked up at him. “Give yourself some credit though, you’re just as good as me, if not better.”

He pulled out his journal and flipped through his various sketches. “I don’t know about that.” 

“Wait, what was that?” Your finger caught the page before he could flip passed it. He turned blood red as you opened the journal to the page your finger had caught. “Oh Arthur,” You whispered as your looked down at the drawing in awe. It was a drawing of you, slumped against the tree asleep.”This is beautiful.”

He gulped, “Well, it helps when the subject matter is beautiful.” 

You looked up at him and he quickly averted his gaze. He cleared his throat, “Can you show me how you do your shading?”

“Sure.” You whispered as you handed his journal back to him. You scooted close to him, your shoulders were touching. You explained your process as you sketched Cain, moving your pencil slowly so he could see every move you made. When you finished you looked up at him, “Think you can do that?” 

He smiled as he flipped to an empty page. “Think so. Didn’t look too hard.”

As he begun, you leaned your head against his shoulder. This sent chills down his spine. He didn’t look at you, but he did lean his head down against yours. He held his wrist like you taught him, and as his own sketch of Cain came to life, his markings were lighter, allowing his shading to look more realistic. He held it out to you when he finished. “Whatya think?” 

You lifted your head and smiled. “Wonderful!” Your eyes met his and it seemed like time stood still. Your face was inches from his, and he felt your thumb gently graze his hand. This was it, this was his chance. You, looking up at him in awe, the golden rays of sunlight poking through the trees made you look angelic. He found himself beginning to lean into you, but then a voice came from the back of his head, she doesn’t want you like that. The voice whispered. Go on, kiss her. After you do she’ll go running and she’ll never come back. A girl like her could never love a degenerate like you.

Arthur sighed and stood. He put his hand out towards you, “Pearson should be done with supper soon. Let’s head back.”

Your eyes had a strange glint to them, something Arthur had never seen in them before. You looked back down into your journal. “You go ahead, I’ll meet you down there.”

Arthur kicked himself as he went down the hill. He chickened out, and found himself hating himself. Hating himself for not having the guts to tell you how he feels, hating himself because he knew you deserved better than him, hating himself for letting himself fall so hard for you. 

You watched Arthur as he left, was it just your imagination, or was he about to kiss you? You shook the thought, Arthur was your friend, as much as you wish he did, you knew he didn’t have feelings for you. You were a plain girl, not a single special thing about you, and he was...well he was Arthur. The most handsome man you had ever seen, and by far the most interesting man you had ever met. He had such a tough exterior, a badass gunslinging hunk of a man, but he also had a more sensitive side. The side that loves to draw and write, the side that sings silly songs when he’s drunk and always makes time for you.  He made your heart throb and most days it seemed like he was all you could think about. You sighed as you immersed yourself back into your journal. 

You had become so focused on your journal, you didn’t realize night had began to fall until you were squinting down at your journal. You looked up, and the next thing you noticed was the rowdy amount of noise coming from the camp. As you walked down the hill, Ms. Grimshaw greeted you and handed you a bottle of moonshine. “Courtesy of the Braithwaites, drink up, my dear!” 

You nodded and smiled as she walked away, you brought the bottle to your lips as you walked to the campfire. Most of the men were already quite drunk. even Arthur to your amusement. You could hear him loudly singing as you approached the campfire. When he looked up to you, he gave you the biggest grin you had ever seen. “Y/N!” He called drunkenly. He stumbled from his spot over to you and you laughed as he tripped over his own feet. You caught him before he could fall. “My hero!” He slurred. 

You laughed as you wrapped an arm around him. His arm looped around your waist and it felt so natural to hold him like this as he led you to the fire. “Found ma lady!” He announced as you joined the group at the fire. He sat back down and before you could move to sit on the ground beside you, he pulled you down on his lap. Your face was bright red and you hoped the fire wasn’t bright enough for anyone to see. “This okay?” He whispered. 

All you could do was nod your head yes and he wrapped his big arms around you tightly. Your head was swimming at his touch and as more liquor entered both of your systems, the nervousness melted from your bodies. By the end of the night, the pair of you were drunk as skunks. Arthur got a bit more handsier, his big palms slowly moved down your waist and by the end of the night his hand was cupping your ass. You were so drunk you didn’t care. You had one arm looped around his neck, playing with his hair. After awhile, it was just the two of you, Javier, and Charles at the fire. Javier strummed his guitar as Charles played the harmonica. Arthur took your hand and stood. Neither of you noticed Javier and Charles exchange glances as you walked away together holding hands. 

You swung the arm that had his hand, as you laughed and stumbled through camp. You found yourself on the hill under the shady oak tree. 

Arthur’s vision was blurry, but he could still see the look of desire in your eye as you looked up at him. “I gotta tell ya somethin’ but you can’t get mad.” He blurted. 

You laughed, giddy with alcohol. “No promises.”

Arthur let out a shaky breath and took your other hand in his. Before you could process what was happening, Arthur’s lips came down on yours. His lips were soft and he tasted like alcohol. As he pulled back, you loooped your arms around his neck and brought his lips back down to yours. You could feel his smile against your lips as you kissed him hard. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against him tightly. When you broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours and let out a breathy laugh. 

“What?” You asked self consciously. “Am I a bad kisser or somethin’?”

He put a hand on your cheek, “Not at all, just laughin’ at myself for how long it took me to do that.”

You smiled up at him, “Do it again.”

“Okay” He whispered, and his lips came back down on yours. 

[liunaticfringe]

(via Lucy Liu’s Joan Watson Was Elementary’s Humanistic Heart)

Beautifully written ode to Joan.

2:38 P.M.Lucy Liu’s Joan Watson Was Elementary’s Humanistic HeartBy

Angelica Jade Bastién

Photo: CBS

Recently, the BBC Archive shared on Twitter a 1977 clip of a middle-aged woman who was stopped on the street by The Viewer’s View to talk about her thoughts on television. In her tomato-red raincoat and delicately wrapped scarf, she cogently and movingly extolls the wonder of television. At different points she describes the medium as a “phenomenon” and a communal ritual for her family, which reminded me of the gentle awe television instilled in me when I was a child watching The X-Files and Star Trek: The Next Generation as my mom braided my hair, or obsessively taping Buffy the Vampire Slayer on my own. “It felt like we were escaping from that kitchen sink,” she notes about the transporting nature of television, its potential to be not just a mirror, but also a window — an escape. Watching this brought to mind how much can be said about the pleasures of televisual comfort food, those shows we slip into like a warm bath, letting them entertain us with their familiar rhythms and archetypes.

Elementary, the CBS procedural that ended its seven-season run last night, was a delectable example of the potency and wonder of televisual comfort food, wrapping within the folds of its procedural a tender argument that the families we craft ourselves are as important as the ones we’re born into. What elevated the series from the glut of procedurals on television (and its own uneven final season) was its adept performances, particularly Lucy Liu as Joan Watson, who created a layered study in empathy that suggests second acts are possible in life.

Trying to capture what makes a good performance is like trying to hold smoke in your hand, but when I spoke to Liu earlier this summer, she said something that captured the essence of it: “I do think listening is very key to directing, and I don’t think we all do it as well as we should.” This holds true for acting as well, and Liu proved over Elementary’s seven seasons to be an active, empathetic listener. But even the greatness of Liu’s performance couldn’t distract from how the final season failed her character, ending on a sour note that stains her legacy.

When we first met Joan Watson, she was a woman whose life had been undone by trauma. After a patient died on her operating table, Joan gave up her life as a surgeon, flinging herself into a new profession as a sober companion hired by Morland Holmes (later played by the inimitable John Noble) to help usher his son, the brilliant and difficult yet strangely beguiling Sherlock (an excellent Jonny Lee Miller), into the rigors of recovery for his drug addiction. When Sherlock saw the spark of ingenuity and potential in Joan, he aided her in taking on a new calling as a detective.  What followed was a tender story not just of a nascent friendship, but what it means to rebuild oneself.

It became evident early on that Elementary was at its best when it used its procedural format to carefully nudge at ideas of family, both those we’re born into and those we make ourselves. For Joan, family is a knotted reality: We’ve seen her struggle with her mother’s Alzheimer’s, the memory of the father who ran out on her family and later wrestled with schizophrenia and homelessness, and the half-sister she only met recently as an adult. These rigors carefully revealed what justice and order means for her character, but Joan isn’t a harsh, brooding detective; she’s lightning-bright and boldly empathetic, listening with full-bodied attention.

As an archetype, detectives are a useful window into the moral dimensions of the society they are born into. They’re cinematic moral compasses tracking the interior and external reverberations of the choices we make and the often illusory nature of true justice. What does it say, then, that the most iconic examples of this archetype have been primarily white people? Perhaps this is one reason I’ve found myself pulled toward Joan, whose existence as an Asian-American woman shapes her understanding of the world and the justice she seeks. Perhaps the most striking development in this regard occurred in the show’s fifth season, when Joan approached a former patient fresh from prison, Shinwell Johnson (the late Nelsan Ellis), for information, but soon took him under her wing to teach him the detective skills she learned under Sherlock’s tutelage, which helped his own work as an informant. She and Sherlock increasingly disagreed on the situation until he was proved somewhat right about Shinwell’s moral character, but Joan’s decision to mentor Shinwell spoke to her empathetic ability to see the potential of someone whom the justice system may have failed.

When I spoke to Liu, she said it’s the episodes that peel back the layers of who these characters are that she cherishes most. “We do a lot of procedurals, obviously, and a lot of mysteries that need to be solved, but those episodes [like her first directorial effort in the show’s second season, “Paint It Black”] really stand out, and I love seeing those relationships. They are what creates the person that is presented and has so many layers,” she noted.

Joan is also one of modern television’s greatest examples of the characterization and storytelling that comes with great costuming. For Joan, fashion isn’t just a form of expression; it’s identity. One of the greatest pleasures of Elementary was in tracking the breadth of Joan’s arc through Rebecca Hofherr’s costuming. In the beginning, Joan wore casual clothing with loose silhouettes, but by season four her wardrobe had subtly shifted into impeccably tailored suits, echoing the evolution of her career as a detective. “The suit idea was not to sort of become more ‘masculine’ and have that kind of energy,” Liu told me. “It was more that she now conducted herself in a more professional manner as a detective, and so she then wanted to have more of a uniform.”

Yet some of the most indelible moments in the character’s history saw her in more feminine wear, like in season three’s “The One That Got Away,” in which Joan wears an elegant burnished copper and obsidian dress with a fur-trimmed coat to confront suspected murder and violent abuser Del Gruner (Stuart Townsend). When he viciously grabs her arm to level a threat, her posture strengthens and she looks him in the eye with an icy glare. “Get your hand off me or we’ll find out how well you do against a woman who can actually fight back,” she says, never breaking her gaze.

Joan’s clothing often acted as a window into how she saw herself. Her refined, immaculately tailored suits from the last few seasons spoke to her professionalism and comfort in her role as a consulting detective. Moments like her confrontation with Del allowed her contradictions to rise to the surface, contrasting the feminine quality of her dress with the steely aggression that allowed her to confront a man suspected of torture and murder.

But in the final season, Joan often felt like a splintered character lacking a secure through line, being pulled in various directions by the plot. This was evident in her clothing, which moved away from beautiful but not ostentatious suits to brighter clothing, busy with clashing patterns, ruffles, and an overall looser silhouette. The clothing was still gorgeous, but it didn’t track with the woman we came to know over the preceding seasons, and Joan wasn’t given enough to do in the final season to justify such a shift in wardrobe. This is a symptom of a larger problem: The series’s seventh season just didn’t work.

Elementary being cut down from 21 episodes to 13 put a strain on it, resulting in a final season that felt rushed and half-formed. That extended to Joan, who didn’t have much to do beyond support Sherlock until the finale, in which she became a vehicle for a maudlin twist that undercut the vibrancy of the character by making her a source for Sherlock’s pain (and a way out of the bind the writers found themselves in with trying to get him to stay in New York).

In the last few minutes of the Elementary finale it’s revealed that Joan has cancer. This leads to moving performances by Liu and Miller, who grant heft to this twist, but their tender chemistry isn’t enough to distract from the sense that Joan has been pulled in an unexpected direction that we aren’t given enough time to sit with, to fully feel the emotional weight of it. It’s a poorly sketched turn that misuses a star character who didn’t get many moments to shine in the final season.

I prefer to remember Joan as she was before the seventh season squandered her. I’ll remember the empathetic way she interviewed those mired in grief as a detective, how she carefully navigated the emotional strife of her familial dilemmas, and the gentle chemistry she shared with Sherlock, which demonstrated how a deep friendship can stir us as human beings. I’ll remember watching Elementary with my mother, feeling inspired by how Joan faced her future with a gimlet-eyed exuberance that made me believe that second chances in life are possible. I’ll remember all the times Joan chose empathy over being jaded, in a world where that choice remains preciously rare.