#you let the kid off the leash and the impulsive thoughts win

[crow-perch]

Introduction Complete!

I'm incredibly flattered there are people interested in whatever the hell my brain has conjured. A lot of this is new to me, so I hope my amateur attempts at formatting aren't too jarring ^-^;

I wrestled the ever loving hell out of the perspective ruler for some of this. I've never really ever drawn backgrounds. Ever.

Now to get cracking on the reference sheets, as well as a front cover for this whole shebang! Hoo boy.

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[oureuphoria]

Worst of You - JJK 03

You meet him under horrible circumstances but that doesn’t stop you from developing a very abnormal and completely unsolicited crush on your local hot police officer™. Too bad you have a bitch of a best friend, anxiety and an inability to learn from your mistakes which cripples your chances to be with the man of your literal dreams. Oh, and he has a lifetime’s worth of emotional baggage at 23.

Or

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” “Cool, I’ll let everyone know that you’re moving in then.”

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy

Pairing: officer!jungkook X collegestudent!reader

Word count: 2,266

Note: If there’s an Alex in your life, you gotta throw them away.

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |

 The decision to go to that party was a horrible choice and you’d commend yourself for your ability to constantly make horrible choices if you could. There you were - your first ever frat party. You were seated on a stool in the kitchen bouncing what you assumed to be a jello shot on a plate with a plastic fork. No one really noticed you and if they did, they were either too drunk or too horny to care about your existence. You thought this party would have been a chance to spread your hypothetical wings and become the social butterfly you so desperately wished to become but that was no way to meet people, unless you wanted to bone of course.

You decided to search for Alex, she couldn’t have gone far it was a frat house not the labyrinth. You searched both stories and peered almost every room (you avoided the ones with the doors closed, you were an amateur not an idiot) but to no avail. However, you did find Jimin, Alex’s annoying ex. “Hello!” You greeted him with the notion that he knew the whereabouts of your best friend. “Hey…uhhhh Jane?”  “Y/N.” You deadpanned with a frown because you’d known Jimin since middle school and he still couldn’t remember your name.  “Oh, yes Y/N, what’s up kiddo?” You rolled your eyes with annoyance at the pet name you grew to resent, besides, you were the same age. 

“I’m just looking for Alex, do you know where she went?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he raked his memory but from the slur of his voice you would’ve been lucky if he remembered his own hair colour. “Yeah! She’s in the living room through the double doors playing truth or dare, I think.” You squeezed a ‘thank you’ out before rushing to the living room which was fortunately away from Jimin.

You slipped in through the heavy door quietly,  not trying to get unwanted attention. There was a small hallway before the open living room area which was where you waited while you mapped out what you were going to say. However, a particular question that was shot Alex’s way spiked your interest. 

“Do you even like Y/N?” Yes, of course, she had to. “No, not really, but she’s like, my childhood friend, you know and I kind of pity her. I’m her only friend so I stick around.” She laughed a bit but you could barely hear over the sound of your shattering heart. “You’re so charitable Alex, always so kind.” A girl you don’t recognise comments sarcastically and the makeshift circle starts laughing before quickly moving on. You weren’t a necessarily interesting subject. She wasn’t drunk enough for you to ignore it but you still tried to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. 

You walked home and didn’t even bat an eye to the circumstance - you were too sad to be paranoid and it could’ve been your downfall. However, you made it home safe and sound though you couldn’t say the same about the aching organ encased in your rib cage. You were angry for a bit but it passed, the sadness lingered though and the betrayal rang loudly in your head. You knew she had no idea you’d heard, you knew you wouldn’t have the courage to ever bring it up. 

You woke up with a raging headache courtesy of the sob-fest you not-so-gracefully participated in the previous night. Not to mention the fact that you had a total of 3 hours of sleep and no time to grab coffee. You couldn’t possibly be late, you had 4 hellish kids to tutor. You grabbed the giant binder of worksheets and headed out. You looked horrible and if it wasn’t for your sunglasses you might’ve been a public risk. 

You almost groaned in joy when the time had finally passed but you couldn’t really go back to sleep. You needed to shower and look somewhat presentable for a police officer who had absolutely no interest in you. Your irrational need to get ready was fuelled by your desire to stop thinking about Alex and the godforsaken party that you should have never gone to. 

It took you far longer than estimated to choose what to wear which is why you were speed-walking down the street nervously. You weren’t late but you would’ve been if you hadn’t rushed there like a maniac. Thankfully you had gotten to the cafe with 2 minutes to spare. You sat down quickly, purchasing a bottle of water and chugging its contents like you’d run 20km of course your thirst leaves no room for you to notice the officer take the seat opposite yours.

“So you wanted information about your case?” You jumped at the sudden question - just then aware of his existence. You spilt a splash water on to your shirt and cursed in annoyance at small stain. You looked up to see him visibly hold back a laugh with an expression that would’ve been comical if not for your raging anger. “Just tell me about the case.” You spat with a grim expression and he let out a small chuckle at your tone. “The student who attacked you was under the influence. He’s out on bail but his trials in 2 weeks. He had no foreseeable motive and has a history of violent acts. From what I know, he was just acting on impulse. He had no idea who you or the other victim were.” 

There was a sense of relief that followed his words and you finally understood why William was so worried. There was a small part of you that wondered if you had done anything to the attacker or if he had some kind of motive for what he did. It was uncannily relieving to hear that he didn’t but you knew William would benefit more. “Thank you so so so much!” You tried to give him a hug but backed out mid-way and opted for a high five instead to which he hesitantly complied. 

“So, why were you chugging water?” He asked while observing your appearance which had you retracting into yourself like a hermit crab. “I ran, I was worried I’d be late.” “Smart and punctual, the teachers must love you miss L/N.” You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic comment and brushed over the backhanded compliment. He probably saw your school files and noticed your 3.99999 GPA. “If you’re implying that I am a teachers pet than I have a rude awakening for you. Last week, I skipped my lecture.” “You know those aren’t compulsory right?” You gulped at his comment but you refused to let him win. “Well would a teachers pet skip a lecture, Mr Jeon?” “That’s officer to you, princess.” You literally felt the heat rush to your face and you began to blush embarrassingly fast. It didn’t help that he was now leaning over to stare at you with a gaze so intense the tension was almost tangible. 

“So, how was work?” You asked quickly with the intention of relieving the tension. “It was great. I responded to a total of two calls, a Pomeranian without a leash and an illegally parked car.” You snorted at his sarcasm but you held back a laugh. “How was your Saturday?” “I saved four people from unemployment.” He furrowed his eyebrows at your vague comment and you sighed before speaking again. “I tutored four juniors.” He laughed loudly and you glared at this obnoxiousness. “It’s not that funny. Tutoring is an incredible experience.” You mentioned quite monotonously with a scowl creeping onto your face. “Who are you trying to convince, love? Me or yourself?” 

“Where are your friends?” You held back a laugh at his use of the plural term. “You tell me.” You joked with a smile but Jungkook could tell it was forced. You were an open book. “What happened? Did your best friend sleep with your boyfriend or something?” You giggled a bit, but your heart still felt heavy. “No, she just trash talked me with her nicer, way-cooler friends.” There was a long pause that led to an awkward silence that you rushed to get rid of. “It doesn’t matter though, she’s right. I mean look at you, you’re literally pitying me right now.”

“I am not pitying you!” “Yes you are.” “I’m not!” “Shouldn’t you be somewhere solving crimes, fighting for justice or something?” He glared at you pointedly from his gorgeously slanted eyes and the glare, albeit playful, made you incredibly nervous. “No, I prefer to walk around the city and slap parking tickets onto cars. If you must know, I’m off duty, after today I have the rest of weekend off.” You smiled at his excitement but it was short-lived. “It’s Saturday, you literally only have Sunday off!” His smile didn’t falter though and admired his optimism. “You take what you can get when you’re the youngest officer on the force.” You stare at him with confusion that granted an offensive stare. “How old are you?” He looked at you, taken aback to say the least. “I’m only 22. Why do I look older?” Your jaw dropped for a bit before you clasped your mouth shut with the fear of seeming rude. “Only by a little, sir.”

“Just call me Jungkook.” “Hey! That’s super close to Jungle Book. I loved that movie.” He laughed mockingly and you feigned offence but whatever comedic moment you were happening was interrupted by Jungkook’s buzzing phone.

“I’m gonna head home, my team wants to go clubbing and I am the life of the party.” “I’m sure you are old man.” “You know what, why don’t you join me and see for yourself.” You stopped yourself from taking the invitation too seriously, you were unknowingly getting your hopes up far earlier than expected. “I’m turning 20 in November so, I can’t. Unless you want bring me a fake ID.” You smiled as you joked in what you thought was playful banter but he clearly took your claim too seriously. “You don’t actually have one, right?” You snorted in astonishment before laughing a little but his face remained stoic. 

“No, I don’t. Tonight I’ll be finding worksheets for high schoolers!” “You have no better way to spend your Saturday night?” It was sad because you literally didn’t, it wasn’t like you had a best friend to spend time with. “You’re right, I’m going to go party and get drunk. Thanks for the insight officer.” You quickly packed up as Jungkook was sputtering over his words in fear. “Wait I’m kidding, finding worksheets is fun!” You would have laughed at how cute he was if it didn’t make your heart sting a little. He was way out of your league.

“I’m going home.” You smiled as you watched the relief wash onto his face. “Do you want a ride?” Of course you did but the possibility of aching feet seemed more pleasant than that of an aching heart. “I think I’ll just walk, thank you though.” You’d known Jungkook for a collective amount of possible 3 seconds and yet you could tell he wasn’t the kind to back-down easily. “Pass me your phone.” You gave him a skeptical look as you handed the phone over hesitantly. “Unlock it, Y/N.” “No, what if you steal my memes?” He batted his eyelashes (which you had just realised were very pretty) in utter annoyance at your remarks. 

You unlocked the phone with a huff and watched he dialled in his number. “Call me if there’s every an emergency.” “Shouldn’t I just call 911?” “Babe, I am 911.” You rolled your eyes at the corny line but thanked him nonetheless and then you set out an endeavour to your dorm where you would definitely not obsess over the very random nickname that made your cheeks flush impossibly fast.

[jonsastan]

Jonsa: A Dream of Spring @jonsadreamofspring

Day 6:  Parallels / King and Queen / Memories Aka: Jonsa Homecoming King and Queen Au

If you looked up the term ‘golden child’ in the dictionary you would probably find a picture of Sansa Stark. She was a straight A student, she was considerate of others, she was responsible, she volunteered, and started the school’s composting initiative. She was clever and kind and beautiful. So it really didn’t surprise anyone when she was nominated for Homecoming Queen.

Jon Snow on the other hand wasn’t exactly your typical Homecoming King but he got nominated anyway. 

“It’s probably just some stupid underclassmen that think he has dreamy eyes.” Jeyne said as Sansa stood at her locker pulling out books for her next lesson. “He’s not going to win or anything.” Sansa made a non-committal sound. 

She didn’t really care who won Homecoming King. She didn’t really care if she won Homecoming Queen. It might look good on her applications to university, but it wasn’t like it was her only achievement at school. Jon was in some of her classes and was her brother’s best mate so they knew each other, but they weren’t really friends. Sansa seemed to be involved in every aspect of school life, volunteering, organising, studying, tutoring; but whenever she saw Jon he was either with Robb, Theon, or walking his dog. He wasn’t exactly typical Homecoming King stuff. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you see that you and Jon are in the lead for Homecoming King and Queen?” Robb asked, sitting on the bench next to where Sansa was cooking dinner. Both their parents were working tonight, so Sansa was on cooking duty and Robb on cleaning duty. Arya was on bedtime duty, which never ended well. She told scary stories and then Rickon couldn’t sleep unless he was curled up in Sansa’s bed. 

“Yeah I saw the poll.” She chopped carrots for a moment. “Did you nominate Jon?” She asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Nope, I think it was Theon.” Robb stole a carrot slice from the chopping board. “As a joke. You know Jon, he’s the most awkward introvert in the whole North, so Theon probably thought it would be a laugh to nominate him.”

“That’s kinda mean.”

“That’s Theon.” Robb shrugged and stole another carrot. “I don’t think he realised how much Jon helps people behind the scenes, didn’t realise how popular Jon was, in a quiet kind of way.” Sansa stopped chopping and looked at her twin brother. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, he tutors underclassmen pretty much every afternoon-”

“He’s not at the tuition program.” Sansa objected, her head tilted slightly. 

“He doesn’t like the program, says it’s too focused on ‘improving grades and not actual understanding of the subject’.” Robb made air quotes. “He also helps out at the vet, you know Davos’ vet?” Sansa nodded. “And the animal shelter. He’ll bring extra lunch to school because some kids don’t have any.” Robb shrugged. “And he’s got pretty okay grades.” 

“I didn’t know.” Sansa muttered. 

“Jon doesn’t brag about it.” Robb hopped off the bench and walked over to the fridge, opening it and perusing the contents. “How long ‘til dinner’s ready?” 

“About 20 minutes.” Sansa replied, finishing chopping the carrots. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa petted Lady as she waited in the small room of the vet. Lady needed her shots and Sansa had organised to walk her around alone so her mum and dad could watch Rickon’s lacrosse game. Of course being a lacrosse game for the under 7’s it mostly ended up in one kid hitting the other with the stick. 

Sansa heard the gentle tap at the door and held onto Lady’s leash as the vet nurse entered, even though Lady would never bolt for the door, or jump on someone. She did begin to wag her tail excessively and that’s when Sansa realised it was Jon Snow who seemed to be reading over Lady’s history.

“Hello Lady.” He said, kneeling down and ruffling the dog’s ears. “Hi Sansa.” She couldn’t help but smile slightly at Jon’s priorities. Dogs first, then people.  

“Hey Jon, how are you?” 

“Not bad. Working here a lot. How are you?” He asked, taking the lead from her hand and moving Lady to the fancy table that lowered to the floor then rose to be right height for the vet.

“I’m okay. Trying to get my dress sorted for Homecoming.” 

“Oh right. That’s soon, yeah?” 

“Two weeks.” There was an awkward pause as Jon examined Lady’s teeth and made notes for Davos, the vet. “You have a date?” She asked for want of something to ask. 

“Nope, flying solo. You?” He chuckled before lowering his pen. “Of course you have a date.” He shook his head and smiled slightly. 

“Actually, I don’t. I was thinking about just tagging along with Robb, but he’s got an actual date.” She said feeling a little annoyed at the way he’d said the last comment.

“Yeah, he told me.” 

“He didn’t tell me who!” Sansa exclaimed feeling slightly betrayed by her brother. Probably thought I’d tease him.

“Fryd.” 

“Football Fred or Lacrosse Fryd?” She asked. Jon turned to her. 

“Wynafryd Manderly.”  

“Lacrosse Fryd.” Sansa muttered, nodding her head. 

“She doesn’t play lacrosse.” 

“She’s Rickon’s coach. It’s why Robb has been attending the games with an almost religious fervor.” 

“What about football Fred?” 

“Robb’s been hanging out around the football team more often than usual and Fred Flint is fit.” 

“Makes sense.” Jon nodded and they lapsed into silence for a moment. “So do you maybe wanna go to Homecoming alone together?” He asked, running his hand through hair that was just long enough to tie into a half up style, avoiding looking at her. 

Sansa moved toward Jon and Lady, patting her dog. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiled at him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What colour dress are you wearing to Homecoming?” Robb shouted making Sansa jump and her hand jerk causing a harsh black line across her, otherwise perfect, notes. 

“Pink!” She shouted back without much thought. It wasn’t until later, when she was getting ready for bed she wondered by Robb wanted to know. She crossed the hall and tapped on his door. 

“Oi! Why did you want to know what colour dress I’m wearing to Homecoming?” She lent against the doorframe, watching as Robb stuffed books into his school bag. 

“Theon, Jon, and I went to buy corsages and he asked me to stealthily find out your dress colour so he could match the corsage.”

“And shouting it at me is stealthy?” She raised a bemused eyebrow at him. He shrugged. 

“At least your corsage wont clash terribly with your dress.” She nodded in agreement before returning to her room. 

The was sweet of Jon.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa check the contents of her tiny clutch purse for the fourth time in the space of about 5 minutes. 

Phone? Check. Money, just in case? Check. Lipstick? Check. Keys? No! Wait, Jon is driving, you don’t need keys.

She let out a sigh and glanced at the clock. Jon should be arriving any moment. She lifted a leg and examined her sparkly pink shoe, smiling. She liked these shoes, they were bright, and girly, and thoroughly impractical. 

“You look lovely.” She turned and saw Jon standing in the doorway, an awed smile on his face. He wore an all black suit with a pink pocket square, the shade matching her dress exactly. She smiled. 

“Not too shabby yourself.” He reached out a hand to help her stand and she took it, enjoying the warmth of his palm. 

“My dad let me borrow his car for the night so we don’t have to ride in my shit box.” He said, walking her down to the fancy black car. She knew Jon’s dad was rich, he’d have to be to attend Winterfell Prep, but she also knew Jon wasn’t close to him. 

“That was kind.” She offered, not wanting to spark anything negative. 

He opened the passenger door for her. “It was nice.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your Homecoming King, Jon Snow and your Homecoming Queen, Sansa Stark will now take the floor!”  The over excited MC announced. 

It was corny, and old fashioned, but a part of Sansa loved the fact that the King and Queen would have a dance as the rest of the class joined in. 

Jon lead her to the middle of the floor. He placed a hand gently on her waist and there was a moment of complete stillness and Sansa was sure Jon could hear the beating of her heart. Then the music began and Jon guided her around the dance floor. 

“You dance surprisingly well.” She commented after a while, noticing Fryd wince slightly as Robb trod on her toes. 

“Thanks.” He smiled gently at her. 

The song ended and was followed by energetic music, more suited to groups than couples. 

“Would you like some punch?” Jon said into her ear, his lips brushing her earlobe. She nodded. He took her hand and led her over to the punch stand, procured two glasses, and gestured to a quiet little alcove not far from them. 

“So how does it feel to be royalty?” She asked, sipping the overly sugary drink. Jon chuckled. “A privilege I neither sought nor wanted. What about you, your grace?” He said with a small bow. Sansa laughed. 

“It’ll look good when I apply for uni I suppose.”

“You didn’t want to be queen?” He asked looking surprised.

“No, it wasn’t exactly the ambition of my high school career.” She shrugged. “But my mother did say I have the perfect shaped head for a tiara.” Jon laughed at this before taking a sip of his own drink. She noticed a droplet of punch clinging to his lip and had an impulse to kiss it off. 

Jon was sweeter than she’d realised, kinder too. He thought of others first and was considerate of those around him. And he looked great in a suit. 

“So do you think people understand our whole ‘going alone together’ thing?” She asked as a means of distracting herself from Jon’s lips. He looked at his shoes before answering her. 

“I kinda think the whole matching corsage and pocket square might have suggested friends going together, at least.”

“At least?” She asked, taking a half a step toward him. 

“Some people, maybe some people who are here with a really clever and funny and beautiful girl, people who have trouble talking with other people, people who think said girl has a really cute dog and a nice brother but not as nice as her, might think that this was a date.” He suggested, staring at his shoes again. Sansa half smiled.

“Would these people also happen to have stupid plastic crowns on their heads?” He looked at her and smiled. 

“Yeah.” She moved closer again, reaching her free hand out to tangle her fingers with his. 

“I kinda think it’s a date too.” She whispered.

And then Jon was kissing her or maybe she was kissing Jon. Either way it was only a matter of moments before Theon wolf whistled loudly at them.

[aion-rsa]

DC Introduces New Hero in Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

DC Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration, is a timely new anthology showcasing DC’s Asian superheroes. Arriving in May for Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month, it presents many of the top Asian storytellers of comics. Included in the 100 page commemorative anthology is an original 12-page story by Gene Luen Yang and Bernard Chang. “The Monkey Prince Hates Superheroes” introduces a new DC superhero who teams up with Shazam to battle Doctor Sivana and a Chinese deer demon. 

Monkey Prince references the 16th century Chinese classic, Journey to the West by Wu Cheng’en. It is the story of the Monkey King, Sun Wukong, and his epic journey to bring the Buddhist sutras to China from India. In China, it has been the subject of plays, operas, movies and TV shows. What’s more, it inspired Dragon Ball, Into the Badlands, and Yang’s own award-winning graphic novel, American Born Chinese. “We’re treating Journey to the West as canon, like DC canon. It actually happened within the DC Universe,” says Yang. 

Den of Geek had a video chat with the two creators, Gene Luen Yang and Bernard Chang about the significance of the newest Asian hero coming to the DC Universe.

Den of Geek: What was your first memory of Monkey King? 

Bernard Chang: Well, when my family immigrated to the States in 1978, we lived in Indiana. I was reading comics when I was in Taiwan, but when we came to the States I was reading like Batman, Spider-Man, Superman, any comics I could get at the newsstands. At some point my father saw that I was taking a liking to superhero stuff and he was like, “I wanted to introduce you to this Chinese superhero.”

Every night he would read me bedtime stories from Sun Wukong from Monkey King. He wouldn’t read the whole chapter, but he’d read a little bit for a few minutes and then I’d go to sleep dreaming and imagining these characters, these places, these adventures. It was from a book. It wasn’t from an actual comic book. None of it was translated. It was all in Chinese. 

I think [those stories] really helped to cultivate this curiosity and imagination and creativity. This is a world that I’m completely unfamiliar with in a sense, or half familiar with, but half not. The sad part to this story is that my parents got divorced when I was around 10, and so my father never got to finish the Monkey King Journey to the West story.I had the book, but it was in Chinese so I couldn’t read it and I couldn’t figure out the ending. Anytime this lore comes up, it always brings back fond memories. 

Gene Luen Yang: I think I have a very similar story to Bernard. I heard the Monkey King stories first from my mom at bedtime and she wasn’t reading out of a book. She was just telling them off of the top of her head. I also remember visiting Taiwan when I was a kid. I was born in the United States, but when I was four, my mom took me back to Taiwan to hang out with her parents and her relatives. I remember there was a cartoon on TV at the time, that was Monkey King.

I was a little bit different from Bernard. I actually fell in love with the Monkey King first and then came into American superheroes when I was much older. When I was like in fifth grade, I started getting really into superheroes, but it’s the same thing. I think it’s the same kind of love.

The love I have for Monkey King is very similar to the love I have for superheroes. Both of them are these heroic stories that are all about color and brightness and hope and magic. I think this particular project, especially, it allows Bernard and I, the chance to explore those in-between spaces between these two very different storytelling traditions.

What was it like to finally work together? 

Bernard: We’ve had peripheral friends, acquaintances, but this is like a culmination of that in life. In Chinese, they call it “yuanfen.”

As in ‘fate’?

Bernard: It’s like fate, destiny, but it’s like a circular, like there’s a path that you take, whether in relationships or work or whatever it is. The people that you meet, the people that you come across, are there for a particular reason. Right now, this moment in my life, in our lives, I’m presented kind of another childhood opportunity to finally almost tie up loose ends, but also pave new paths. For me, out of any other comic book project, there’s a very personal thread. I hope that that comes out in our work. 

It’s not just about me satisfying myself, but also passing along that wonderment, that joy, that excitement of a little kid about to go to sleep, about to dream of this wondrous world and these adventures that these crazy characters go on. We hope to pass that on to a next generation, or at least our version of that, because we’re not retelling that story. We’re telling our own story based off certain things, inspirations from it. 

Given what’s happening with #StopAsianHate and all the Asian crimes, how important is it to you personally to be doing this special issue?

Gene: I think behind all of these crimes I think it’s an impulse to dehumanize Asian-Americans. One of the big stereotypes that we deal with here in America is that all Asians look alike, right? Behind that idea is that we’re all just this one big mass, no individuals. When you think of a population like that, it becomes much easier to commit violence against them. 

Bernard: We’re doing this, it’s not because of the movement that this project is born out of, but when you read characters, when you read any kind of comic books, when I was reading comic books growing up, it was about the characters in the story. It’s about these characters learning from their faults and trying to do the right thing and overcoming obstacles. Monkey King also being very mischievous and having his own personality, but those are all human traits. 

Over the last few years, pre-pandemic, before that, when I was traveling quite a lot around the world to many different comic book conventions and meeting different fans in Europe and Asia, in South Africa, in India, you notice everyone, they look different, but they’re all attracted to the same values. We’re all very similar at the core. I think our story, however it plays out in terms of what’s happening in the world today, will still remain true to its basic principles.

Gene: This project got started before the Atlanta shooting, which although the Asian hate stuff had been going on for a while, the Atlanta shooting to me was a turning point. At least I saw that in the circles that I’m a part of. Even [for] Asian-Americans who wanted to deny it, I think that became the point at which it was no longer deniable. It’s a little bit of that fate that Bernard was talking about as well, that this project is coming out shortly after that. We weren’t really planning it, but it feels like it was meant to be. 

In terms of the relationship, the Monkey King is supposedly the father of the Monkey Prince. We’re going to get into the details of what that might look like. It’s a slightly more complex relationship than that. 

How much did earlier versions of Journey to the West artwork inform what you were drawing, Bernard?

Bernard: Well, there’s obviously a massive amount of stuff that’s already been done about Monkey King. Part of it is trying to find what I remembered as a kid and then modernizing it because the story does take place in the DC Universe here in the United States. 

It was a very true collaborative stage, because Gene would send over drawings that he’s already done. Gene’s also an artist, so it’s great to help use that as a visual bouncing board, a platform to jump off and go back and forth. Then just Jessica [Chen], our editor, has really provided a lot of great visual references. But really there’s been no kind of a leash on anything. It’s just go as wild and as crazy as you can and then let’s just make this thing jam. 

There’s a lot other designs we haven’t shown yet. Hopefully, as the story progresses, we’ll be able to see some of that come up.

If someone asked “Who is the Monkey King?” what might you recommend?

Gene: The first translation that I read when I was in my 20s was the Arthur Waley translation, which has been the standard for a very long time for the English-speaking world. Just recently, Julia Lovell did a translation that I thought was great. It came out just a couple of months ago.

In terms of pop culture, there’s an anime series called Monkey Magic that I really liked. Looking back now, it was a mix of traditional and 3D animation and some of the 3D animation looks really dated. In terms of the energy and in terms of his personality, it really captured something about him.

Monkey Magic was distributed through the UK, and so many leading martial artists from the UK like Ray Park reference Monkey Magic as a major influence.

Gene: Yeah. Just recently there’s a movie called Immortal Demon Slayer that I thought was really good too. That’s a Monkey King movie.

Bernard: I mean, there’s a lot. A Taiwanese artist did an adaptation. His name is Tsai Chih Chung. He did it as like a weekly strip. It was like an American-style strip where every three panels was a joke. I thought that was really well done.

Maybe I’m a little stubborn, but everything that I’ve seen since has never really measured up to what was in my head as a kid. 

Do either of you have favorite chapters for Monkey King? 

Gene: For the 12-pager we did, we did draw on one specific story. If you read the original, the Monkey Prince does something very similar to something that the Monkey King did in the original. 

I’ve always been partial to the Gold Horned King and the Silver Horned King. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them portrayed well in media, like in a cartoon or a movie, but I think that they could be. There’s something very, very powerful and sinister about the way they’ve described them in the book that I think could translate really well into visual media.

Bernard: I’ve always been attracted to just the Monkey King himself, living in the mountain, being mischievous, going up to heaven, causing havoc, coming back down, celebrating with his friends and family. 

Are we going to see Monkey Prince and Batman? I can totally see Pigsy and Wonder Woman. 

Gene: Yeah. I think Wonder Woman is a very natural fit, right? Shazam too, which is why we chose to use them because both of them are tied deeply into Western mythologies. It seems like within the DC Universe that the different deities from the different mythologies all kind of know each other, at least they’re all related in some way. So having the Monkey Prince interact with them would be super easy, super logical.

The Monkey King is so iconic. That must have been challenging to capture his spirit for Monkey Prince.

Gene: Oh, dude. Yeah. Bernard did enough art to fill up an entire wall. It was amazing. The different iterations that he did. Just working with Bernard, I could tell that this was a passion project because he was just putting out version after another, after another. I think all of us wanted to get it right, but because Bernard’s the artist, he just put in hours and hours and hours into this thing. It’s been really impressive to see.

Bernard: It’s inspired by the Monkey King but it is my own character and reflective of our times.

Gene: Yeah. There’re so many iterations of the Monkey King out there, right? This version has to feel distinctively DC like it belongs in the DC Universe. That was a driving factor in everything we did.

What do you mean by distinctively DC?

Gene: DC duperheroes have these symbols that look like letters, but aren’t necessarily letters. Like Superman’s, it looks like an S, but in stories, it’s a Kryptonian symbol for hope. Aquaman’s looks like an A, but in story, it’s like this ancient Atlantean glyph. For Monkey King, we wanted him to have a symbol that looked like an M for monkey, but really it’s actually a representation of Flower Fruit Mountain, which is where the Monkey King was born, right? The origin of his story, or the origin of his power. I mean, that’s something else too, right?

In DC comics, Flash wears a lightning bolt on his chest because that’s the origin of how he got his powers. Shazam also wears a lightning bolt because that’s how he got his powers. He was struck by lightning.

Bernard: Well, the chest insignia, I mean, not to sound corny, but I went to sleep after working on some stuff. Then woke up the next day with a dream about this design. 

Sun Wukong came to you in a dream. That’s awesome!

Bernard: Well, sometimes when I sleep, I’m dreaming that I’m working and then I wake up and I’m like, “Oh, I’m a little behind on my deadline.” I’ve also fallen asleep drawing. That’s not very good too, but a lot of good stuff happens to sleep.

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DC Festival of Heroes: An Asian Superhero Celebration goes on sale May 11th, 2021.

The post DC Introduces New Hero in Festival of Heroes: The Asian Superhero Celebration appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2R6ruIV

[godsofsocialmedia]

Second to Last

Nothing is certain. Not one single damn thing. Anything could be changed with the flick of a wrist and a wave of magical abilities, and that was something Eris thrived on. A goddess' pride, a god's grudge,a man's hatred, a woman's beauty, all could be played more perfectly than anyone could ever imagine. Her long, slender finger drew a line down the marble of the temple. She'd finally returned to Olympus, fresh off a flight from the grasp of the Evils she'd been assisting for quite some time. The white of this place differed so greatly from what she'd seen as she lived out her darkest fantasies. Eris wouldn't have been to tell you why she came back, maybe some feeling of guilt crept its way into her heart. But that was only if you believed she had one. The goddess of chaos was feared. But more importantly, that fear gave her a sense of confidence nothing else could. Someone willing to hand over their life rather than see your face haunt their dreams? That's more powerful than any of Zeus's thunderbolts or Poseidon's temper tantrums. But that fear also gave her infamy, something her family didn't really seem to take well to. To say they welcomed her home with open arms would be lying. She was a traitor, she'd be treated as such. Even Ares was ready to turn his back on her, though it was obvious that Zeus had told him of his responsibility to babysit the goddess of discord. Eris stood by his side, as she had many times before. But it wasn't the same. The god beside her hadn't trusted her before, but he knew that she would do what it took to win. Now, he kept glancing down, his eyes meeting the fiery red with disappointment. And while Eris could not blame him, she also was not happy with how she'd been treated on either side of this squabble. He had been a brother in arms, a comrade when the world turned against them. Her only connection to the rest of the high and mighty. She'd done her damage and severed that bond. Those eyes, the ones that had once gazed upon her blood-spattered form with pride and that kind of love only soldiers understood, she saw only rage. It would have been fair to say that they had been the most impulse driven of the gods. Ares was nearly the only person who truly understood what it meant to be the god of dirty work. Not all gods could be praised for bringing rain in droughts or great leadership or protection, or safe and healthy family and business. Someone had to keep the balance. The god of war had seen in the goddess of chaos not the destruction, but the anarchy, the perfect opposite to order, something that was becoming less and less important. She turned her head as his gaze averted. It was like she was either ignored or given a leash, no matter whether she answered to Zeus or Kronos. It wasn't the ideal situation for her, and she truly did drive for greatness. She needed to feel in control, able to pull and push someone to her will. And to take control, sometimes dramatic gestures were in demand. Athena hadn't explicitly told Ares and Eris to leave survivors, and therefore, there had been no mercy. She had only told Ares he needed to stay alive, having the god of war may be an advantage in this war. Eris nodded, taking her apple, and let it shift into a sword, the words "for the bravest," inscribed on the hilt. She slaughtered the Titan's underlings, there were body parts scattered about as Ares ran through behind her. It had always been her job to clear the path. She ducked under the Titan's arm, weaving between limbs with black wings soaked in red. She had this creature nearly distracted as Ares came in for a blow. Eris saw Athena's calculating gaze fall on the two, as she stood back from the blood, figuring out the perfect strategy, as they'd done time after time. The three of them had been an unstoppable force. She raised an eyebrow as Ares, in his showy fashion, took out one of the Titan's lower legs. Falling to its knees, the Titan roared its threats, and Ares turned his back to it, to take a bow for Athena. He probably didn't understand why the goddess of wisdom's hand reached up to cover her mouth. Eris looked at the two of them, smirking madly. It didn't quite match the spear driven from her back through her chest, leaving her bleeding out, staked to the ground. Her wings fell limp as she fell forwards, pushing herself down on the spear. She couldn't help then tears of pain, after all, a Titan had just drove a stick straight through her, but that maniacal smile never seemed to fade, even as the Titan picked up the spear, carrying her away like a goddess kabob before she could watch the shock disappear from Athena and Ares' faces. Nothing was more important to Eris than everyone around her knowing that there was nothing certain in this world. Even a traitor would throw herself down in front of an old comrade. She hadn't been the next to die. She'd watched silently and seemingly,emotionlessly, as she watched the Evils pick off every last one of the gods. She hung by her wings, before they had eventually been taken from her. Hermes had ran. She didn't have that option. She had to get out. She couldn't even have won at losing. _________________________________________ While she thought that it had been the end, Eris was terribly wrong. This was worse than dying, as she had been awakened time after time. One particular time, she was a black haired beauty in the American colonies. They called her Victoria. She had been raised a blacksmith's daughter, but she wanted to fight. There was nothing Victoria wanted more than to shove her heeled boot all the way up one of those redcoats' asses. The British had taken everything they loved and either taxed to the point where the tax was worth more than the product, or taken it away. Privacy, freedom, even a young girl's innocence in exchange for less taxes on things they desperately needed. There were other revolutionaries among this Virginia colony, like Anna, the girl who taught the slaves to read, or that...Alfred.. fellow. He had gone up to Boston to speak against the oppression of Americans. She'd heard stories of others, like Arthur, the British naval officer who'd turned his back on the queen and now was leading the Revolutionary effort from the sea. Even of those noblemen and women, like Hannah, the heir to quite a large English fortune, who gave that money to her revolutionary stepbrother. It was only after Victoria had stolen a uniform and cut her long black locks above her shoulders that she had found her way into battle. She took her makeshift gun, previously used only for shooting the sick horses and the fattest pigs, and became a legend among her fellow soldiers. She took no prisoner, she held no peace over night or holiday. She'd fight until they got what they deserved. It seemed wherever she traveled, disaster and massacre followed. Victoria died not knowing the truth. She had been a week out from being stationed on Arthur's own ship, something that may have clued her in. Arthur had drowned in a shipwreck a few days before. Instead, she returned to battle, and was killed in action defending her own commander, Oliver, someone she'd grown close enough with that he'd known her secret and let her remain, so long as she keep the secret that he had been sleeping with the general's wife. She agreed, but as they say, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. Infection spread quickly as the bullet holes never were treated on a battlefield plagued by disease. She woke up, still holding her blackened wounds, to a room of people. Arthur stood across the room next to Anna, whispering something in her ear. Realization really didn't settle in until they began talking about that she was not the last. One more. And they were forced to wait and watch as the English commander they would've called Hermes in another life was hunted down. It always seemed like an accident. But nothing was certain. He stayed alive much longer than the others had bet he would. ___________________________________________ It felt as though she blinked and suddenly there she was. Another face, another name, another life, another war. She sometimes heard stories of the various heros who fell in battle and would be missed dearly. She never was able to make that connection. This repeated many times, an era that she lived and died in wars, but never quite last. She always held on...but never quite long enough. Always second to last. Closest she had come would have been as Rachel. She had found herself living and thriving, a strange cycle of happiness. There really had been a sense of irony in fate, as she had been able to finally connect to the people she'd been cursed to forget over and over again. This was also the first time she'd found herself waking up with scar marks dabbled on her skin. She couldn't find an explanation, but instead, found a group of misfits that she thought would be where she finally felt at home. To say Rachel had been a troubled soul would be an understatement. She'd been in and out of prison 4 times since her 15th birthday, and admitted to the mental hospital twice for reckless endangerment of herself. She spoke to a therapist every other day, and her therapist wrote research papers on this kind of fucked up she'd never seen before. Rachel kept to herself and yet everything she touched seemed to go up in flames, or rather, down after the flames completely destroyed whatever had been standing. And she would watch with a smile. It seemed that the further Eris got from herself, the more sick her mind became. It was a mindless game to Rachel, the fact that she'd lost her conscience. She bowed to no man or woman and definitely not some kids who may or may not have been gods. She ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction as soon as they'd figured out they were being chased. She hopped on the next flight to Europe, leaving the rest for dead. She may have been more triggered to leave after she heard Michael had been shot four times in the head. She'd picked a rotting hotel, sure, but it was the only one that took cash. And the only one with a semi-balcony cost her twice her own worth. She was on the eighth floor, the top floor. There were roaches on the walls and in the cracks and in the bed but she knew she didn't have much time. She felt him. This wasn't a game anymore. The word Traitor flashed in her head as she realized the gods weren't the only ones Eris had turned her back on. There was a fire escape ladder out on the balcony, which she noticed as she went out to get air. She climbed, trying to find her way to the roof to see as much of Paris as she could before it was too late. She stood up on a roof that probably could've collapsed had she not been under 130 pounds, and looked out at the city, the lights reflecting in russet brown eyes that just kept getting further from that fiery red so recognizable to the others. Rachel heard a voice behind her, and she jumped. She never realized it had been the janitor telling her to come down off the ledge. If she was a goddess, really, where were her wings? The ones she always dreamed of? They were nowhere to be found as she landed on the pavement below, unable to move as she felt the life drain from her. She woke up to familiar eyes. She had no words for them, not even Jesse, who still lived. Her eyes shone with realization as she found herself standing near other mangled figures. She'd ran, yet again. And still, she wasn't last. She'd never get that sympathy.

[thrownsoula]

@neverthedark. aftermath.

  Two years after she kills Luke, she remembers how to pray, and it isn’t for forgiveness.

  She was hiding out --- really, though, working --- in as-yet-unliberated territory in the Outer Rim. The fact of its being isolated was both blessing a curse, because away from large populations meant far from the Reach, but equally that she couldn’t disappear in a crowd. And for someone with her training, it didn’t take her long to locate the rebel effort on this particular moon.

  She had helped, where she could. For the first month, from the outside, drawing innocent attention to herself when they needed a distraction or simply dropping supplies. She never used scarab or her armor to help cover them. Once the rebels realized she was, in some sense, with them, the second month passed in relative peace between herself and them. The partnership was somewhat mistrustful, but willing.

  Then she ruined it by getting too close.

  There was this kid, not quite out of his second decade yet, dangerously reckless. For a few weeks she watched him almost out of habit, her eye drawn to the people who were vulnerable. And not always to protect them, but she was trying, she is trying --- 

  She still wouldn’t show them scarab, but she taught him some of her less brutal training. How to stand, where to hit, how to hold and aim the blaster. At first he reacted with typical teenage stubbornness, but she could tell he knew she had a point, so she responded with patience, and waited to see what he would do with what she gave him.

  What he did: found her when she was alone one evening, exhausted; offered his hand; invited her to a meal as a thank you. She stared at him for a long moment and didn’t see a single detail of his face.

  It replays in her head whether she wants it to or not. How his chest caved around her, his heart fitting in her hand, and then ripping. This wasn’t her, it wasn’t me, but he’s still dead. In that moment, all she could picture was what could happen to this boy next. The whole rebellion wiped out because of one weapon. A little more hope snuffed out.

  She took the boy’s hand to let him help her up, and ate with his family, and the next day she left their moon.

  She only armors up to fly long distances. In the dark spaces between the stars, she learns another blessing/curse of isolation: no one to hurt but yourself.

                    why did you run, alice? you could have helped them. 

  The soft voice is her mind playing tricks on itself, she knows, not any latent force sensitivity. Not for the first time, either. So she doesn’t bother saying she doesn’t use that name anymore.

     You told me to find the light again. Can’t do that if I’m hurting people.

                    you’re stronger than that.

     If I’m going to let the light guide me then sometimes --- right now --- this is what that means. Please...

  It’s her own please that make her draw in a breath, because she has never pleaded for anything. She has wept and railed and clawed at herself, but what good would it do? Is she supposed to beg the Force for some kind of sign?

  ------She knows what she would ask.

  That it would take a trade, her life for his.

  That he can unforgive her, and finally release her, so she is allowed to give up. 

  That he can just... still hear her.

     You didn’t have to die for this, you know.

  What’s that? No response from the universe? Surprise.

     I didn’t have to hold your heart to know I loved you.

  A month after she kills Luke, the Reach guards let her out of her containment cell. Dried blood streaks the glass from when the skin of her hands split from beating on the inside wall. She’s given that up by now. Curled up at the bottom, she doesn’t stir and barely blinks when it opens. Part of that is physical inability. They forcibly deactivated her armor before leaving her here, and she shouldn’t be able to go this long without food or water. 

  But that’s what you do when you’re done with her. Anyone puts a knife in a drawer in the kitchen once it’s no longer of use to them. And if the knife is a risk, they lock it up, too.

  The Negotiator in charge of her now ( not the same one, she thinks, who hunted her years ago, but why does it matter who he is ) still isn’t pleased about her outburst when she returned after the mission. Twelve injured. An enforcer dead. A lot of damage by one little infiltrator --- but an acceptable cost to buy the death of the last of the Jedi.

  Since serving the Reach a galaxy on its knees, she has become inconsequential. She functions as needed, but no more. Days and nights blur together. The whole time she can’t even think of him, because when she tries her mind comes up against another kind of cell wall and she can feel the blood running down her hands again.

  She can’t think of him, so she feels and pulses and breathes with the thought I am never going to hurt someone because of the Reach again.

  She plans. She waits for an opening, a crack of light, a slip of the leash.

  The identity of the Negotiator who ordered the hit does matter to her a little, in the end. Enough to risk her escape by skewering him before she flees. Right through the gut, and when she twists her claw she ignores the noise he made. Instead, she listens for the crack of his carapace, and she doesn’t draw out the claw until he sags into her.

  She pushes him off her. After a long moment of staring at him on the floor, waiting for any emotion to flood her empty chest, she turns and leaves.

  One week before she kills Luke, he’s doing training exercises, and she is playing the game where she tries to sneak up on him. Some people would call taking a Jedi by surprise improbable at best, not to mention ill-advised. ( Luke was one of those people. )

  The fact that he extinguishes his lightsaber gives away that he senses her coming, but he lets her tackle him anyway. She kind of bowls him over, a softer landing for her than for him, as she ends up perched on him. She leans her weight on her right arm, bracing him on one side, and tucks her legs over the other.

     Her free hand pushes her hair over her shoulder, then rests against her collarbone.   “I win.”

     “Alice...”

     “What? I did win.”

     “And you didn’t have any help.”

     She shakes her head emphatically.   “None. Why are you smiling like that?”

     He hesitates, as if he’s not sure he wants to say what he’s thinking.   “Because you’re going to kiss me.”

     “Oh? The Force tell you so?”

  But that infuriatingly genuine smile stays put, and all she can do in the end is press her lips to it. He knows her too well, maybe. Then she kisses his cheek, the very top of the bridge of his nose, his forehead --- kisses him until she feels some of the tension leave his body, and knows he’ll be able to rest.

  One year after she kills Luke, she still hasn’t been caught. It’s not the Reach she runs from anymore. It’s the New Republic.

  The thought that she should turn herself over to them beats in her faster than a heartbeat. She knows his family... doesn’t need her to report his death to him. The Reach didn’t keep them in any doubt about his fate. They wanted the former rebels to feel their hope die.

  His sister would have felt it through the Force.

  But they might not know who killed him. They would have to be told, or know enough about her scarab to connect her to the mass of insectile soldiers the Reach already had before her and after her. What seemed to matter so much to Luke --- that she wasn’t in control --- means nothing to her now. If she were the New Republic, she would want to find her and chop off the claw that dug out his heart, screw her into a glass case and watch her struggle. He was so strong. She shouldn’t have been able to touch him, love or not, but then ---

  But then, it’s not as if no Jedi ever died before.

  She decides if they catch up to her and put her to trial, she won’t resist. But until then she owes it to stay... alive, at least. Not only to Luke, but to the living he left unprotected because of her. He would never have given up; so she can’t. Nor did he ever stop trying to save her, but again, and again, she wishes he had.

  When her father warned her about grief, he never prepared her to be furious. Most of the time she carries it in her, silently, like a bright, dense coal. But on the day she decides to repay her debt to Luke, she’s alone in her room in a run-down inn. Every time she’s alone the coal burns harder. On impulse, she grabs up the tin cup on the table by the bed and pitches it into the wall. 

     Why did he say that?

  The metal clang isn’t enough. She throws it more than once, harder each time, and finally dents it. She searches desperately for something she brought that will make noise or shatter. She breaks a holobook this way. If she had anything more, she would throw it too, but there’s nothing else left in her.

     Why did he smile, how could he think --- 

  The bed groans as she falls into it, shaking. She doesn’t know if the tremble comes from pushing herself past exhaustion, or bearing up under all the things she can’t say to him.

     Luke, there’s no light in me, you were wrong.

  She hates his faith, and she hates his absence, and after a year she still she loves him too much to turn away now.

  One day before she kills Luke marks the third since the Reach reclaimed her. Call it reprogramming. Call it torture. They are trying to get back inside her head.

  When the pain subsides enough for her to think straight, she struggles to stretch out to him. Her, with no sensitivity, no ability, no connection to the Force. How is he supposed to hear her? But in her head she screams it: I’M AFRAID, I’M AFRAID, I’M AFRAID, PLEASE, LUKE! I’M AFRAID.

  She already lost her mind, her body, and her soul to them once. And she already knows if they hijack her again, there will be no coming back, no forgiveness, nothing. The last time, the Reach anesthetized her, fed up with hours of endurance. She required, it seemed, too much breaking.

  This time, it takes them days.

  One hour after she kills Luke, she still wants to scream, but can’t. And there’s no one to hear her anyway. She landed on her knees some time ago, a puppet with cut strings, and shut out the persistent tug at her spine. ( It wants to recall her to the Reach ship. ) For as long as possible, she even pushes down nausea in her gut, just memorizing his face, because this is her last chance. His blood has all but dried on her.

  When she finally returns for further orders, she brings his body with her. The Negotiator observes that merely his heart would have been sufficient proof of kill, but the body is acceptable. Then they try to take it from her. She says no.

  With a wave of his claw, the Negotiator dismisses this refusal and signals two soldiers forward. She doesn’t stir till they’re in range, then snarls and lashes out. No. A wide slash broadside. They can’t take him again. It’s not until more come to pull her away that chaos erupts --- Luke’s body, at the eye of the storm, and Alice standing over him, fighting claws-first.

  A djo-class scarab steps in to put an end to it --- enforcer, species unknown but size of a tank and better armed. She has to tumble out of the way of his swipe --- he’s too big to overpower --- then attacks from behind. Her claws grow three inches longer into hooked nails. She leaps up, wraps her arm around his neck, and digs the talons into the most malleable part of his armor. And she pushes against the resistance until something has to crack open, and when that something is his armor and not her fingers, she tears out his throat.

  But as he collapses under her, she sees it --- she’s lost her ground. Left Luke unprotected. That last sight of him hits her, as the rest of the cohort swarms and subdues her, and won’t stop hitting her. It feels as if it will never stop slamming against her ribs.

  Loss, after loss, after loss.

  Five years after she kills the boy she loves, she’s stopped asking herself whether he would have forgiven her, because she knows the answer only infuriates her. Getting angry with Luke is never going to bring him back. Except, in a way, that it does, because it reminds her, eventually, of his anger. The quiet, confident fury and the hell-breaking rage, both parts of him she would trade anything asked of her to witness again.

  It’s the first thing about him outside the last moments she lets herself remember. Softer things return to her in pieces and in dreams: smiling, rare laughter. His metal hand meeting her scarab, in understanding. Kissing her temples like anointment. And of course, she still hears him sometimes.

                    you’re strong enough for this.

      But you’re still dead, and irreplaceable. You must know that by now.

  ------There are new Jedi. That’s the news across the galaxy, anyway, a blossom of hope she never expected to grow once the Reach trampled through. There’s Leia, somewhere. Though it’s a mystery who she’s learning from...

  Luke would have loved to teach her. He would have been five years older now.

  He would have been beautiful.

  This is not a loss she can ever fill, nor a debt she can ever pay back in full. And if that’s the guilt speaking, well, she’s guilty. She is guilty, yet here she is, living with it. Trying to scrape out something human with it.

                    you’re strong enough for that, too.

     I miss you.

                    i know.