#Quite literally only taking in the cover of the book rather than the contents! Masterful metanarritive commentary.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS X Disco Elysium = Disco Guidao (Grandmaster of Detective Cultivation).

[fallynleaf]

Hey, I saw a post you made that mentioned that you went to school for star trek fanzines?? How on earth did you manage that, it sounds like a dream come true!!

it started with me seeing an article about the University of Iowa's fanzine collections! i think it was this exact article from this post in 2015. i had just graduated with my bachelor's degree and was considering going into library science at the time, but my state only had one school with an accredited master's degree program, and i hadn't gotten in the first year i applied to it, so i was sort of trying to figure out what i wanted to do next with my life.

when i read that article, i was really impressed by the University of Iowa special collections having a partnership with the Organization for Transformative Works, so on a whim, i looked to see if they had an accredited library science program. the answer was YES.

i started seriously considering actually applying there, and i found out that they also offered a dual library science master's along with a graduate certificate in book arts, so i thought i'd apply to that program and see what happened.

to my surprise, they accepted me! i also lucked out and managed to get a job that would cover most of my tuition and expenses, so it ended up being actually way cheaper for me to go despite being out of state lol. the downside was that i had to live in Iowa...

but grad school ended up being an amazing experience for me, and my professors were all super awesome and encouraged me to pursue my interests without being at all judgmental of me wanting to learn about fanzines, so i focused heavily on fan culture librarianship, and i spent a lot of time talking to Pete, the curator mentioned in that article, haha (he's extremely knowledgeable and also has so much respect toward fan culture. just a really great guy all-around; he truly deserves the opportunities he's gotten there).

i also studied zines from a book arts perspective, and learned about the history of the medium and got to meet one of the main scholars who is studying zines and archives.

i spent the rest of my degree taking way too many extra book arts credits (i actually applied for a full dual master's, an MFA in book arts along with the master's in library science, but i barely didn't get in (ended up being for the best in the long run, as i graduated right before covid lol), so i just have a graduate certificate in book arts and not a double master's degree). i took my required library science credits and did as many of my projects as i could about zines and fan studies stuff, haha, and then i filled the rest of my time by learning literally every book arts skill offered at UIowa.

there was surprisingly quite a bit of synergy between the two! special collections has quite a few people working there who also specialize in book arts stuff, so they got very familiar with me as a fellow librarian and also as a regular patron of special collections, either for my book arts classes or just because i kept visiting in order to read the Star Trek fanzines in my spare time, hahaha.

it's sort of an oblique angle to approach fanzines from, because most of what i studied was sort of, like, studying around the content, like i studied the material conditions that zines were made in as well as some of the issues with storing, archiving, and studying them rather than, like, analyzing the actual content of the zines, but it did put me frequently in contact with the zines and greatly expanded my understanding of pre-internet fandom.

the downside was that i ended up with a pretty print-material-heavy library degree (with some additional specialized knowledge that isn't very applicable in most library settings, since fanzine collections aren't exactly common...), and covid ended up largely killing my desire to remain in the library field.

so in terms of careers, i'm not sure it really did a whole lot for me (though in terms of personal growth it was a really incredible time and i don't regret it at all). i've pivoted away from libraries and back toward writing as my main career goal, and have spent the past few years also trying to learn Japanese translation so that i could maybe pursue that as a career. i concluded i need a work from home job, basically, lol.

i'm actually considering eventually reaching out to some of my book arts connections and seeing if i could find extremely niche work translating like Japanese papermaking stuff for English-speaking book conservators and such HAHA. but i'm waiting for my Japanese skill to be better before i try looking into that, since i'm not qualified at this point for any sort of professional translation work.

in the meantime, i've been learning translation by practicing with pro wrestling, hahaha. (i got into pro wrestling like two months before i finished grad school lol)

now my library degree lives on inside of me mainly through the work i've done volunteering with the OTW, some small zine projects and other book arts stuff i've done, and me using my book arts supplies/know-how to create materials for doing activism.

[meimi-haneoka]

Comments + translation differences for Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Chapter 49

Hello everyone, and welcome back to our monthly moment of madness with another chapter of  Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card, drawing nearer and nearer to the climax!

Gif of the month:

Because this is literally what I felt this month. And I’m afraid of rollercoasters. There should be more gifs of the month for this chapter, because to me it was a mess of feelings, but I think the rollercoaster represents it well.

The chapter is as usual available in 6 languages on the official CLAMP-FANS website, through their Youtube channel! Go and support it! Like last month, a quick disclaimer: once again there’s gonna be some YunaAki content in this analysis post, so if you don’t like it you already know what to do.  🤗😊 No hard feelings, peace!

And now let’s proceed under the cut to find out what the heck happened to the Sakura Cards!!

First of all, let me spend a couple of words for the color page, which I found very cute, soft, winter-y and also very concerning. Yes, because when there’s a cute cover page during a difficult period in the plot, it means the chapter itself is so emotionally challenging that CLAMP feel somehow obliged to provide something cute and carefree to balance. I’m never sure if the Queens like to f*ck with us when they do that, or what, but at this point I learned their tricks quite well.

The Sakura Cards’ Runaway

The chapter starts with a very concerning Syaoran, crouched on the ground, in visible pain. Whatever/Whomever took the Sakura Cards, really did seem to literally tear them away from his body. I had the impression he was keeping them tucked inside himself just like he does with his sword, the safest place....but also the most painful one. AND IT SHOWS! In this regards I don’t think it was a direct attack, but rather a consequence of the Cards being ripped away from him. Sakura shouts “The Cards!!” in that cute, affectionate way of hers (カードさん達, “Kaado-santachi”) that never let us have a single doubt about Sakura seeing the Cards as real people. Sakura, of course, is worried sick for Syaoran too, but the brave knight stands up and urges her to run after the Cards (small difference between JP and ENG versions: ENG “Don’t let ‘em get away!” JP “Let’s go after them!” )

I found interesting how the Cards seemed literally pulled towards a precise direction, in fact we see them escaping all together through the school gate and then towards the sky. They didn’t scatter like when Sakura opened the Clow Book. This kinda makes me think that someone or something was summoning them, but it’s really difficult to tell. We see both Sakura and Syaoran give their all to try to get the Cards back, both using the Clear Cards and the other Sakura Cards that Syaoran manages to get back. The peculiar thing is that the Siege card (of the Clear deck) manages to successfully contain only a part of the Cards, while others still escape through it. I’ve never quite understood if the Sakura Cards are supposed to be stronger than the Clear Cards, or the other way around, the only thing that is certain is that “only Sakura’s magic is able to counteract Sakura’s magic”.  And so this makes me really wonder what’s happening here. The Cards couldn’t possibly have escaped on their own will, could they? Reminding us that Sakura’s magic can be counteracted only with more Sakura’s magic really makes us understand the utter importance of keeping all the Sakura Cards safe and at close distance from their master, regardless of the obvious reasons (the affection for all of them). 

Syaoran manages to get back all the Sakura Cards...except for one. The Mirror. Panic strikes across both kid’s faces. They really seem to me like two parents who have just lost a kid. 😅

At this point, let me take the opportunity to point out something really interesting about this scene: I’ve noticed how much it resembles the disappearance of the Cards in the Sealed Card movie: that one time it was The Void’s card fault, we all know that. That time, too, the Cards all seemed to be pulled towards a particular direction. And that time, too, someone tried using Windy to stop and get all the Cards back (Sakura, at that time failing miserably):

I found it particularly interesting, because this movie keeps popping up every now and then (more in the anime version, of course), and we have to remind ourselves that it was written by Ohkawa, so I have to wonder whether she’s kinda re-using certain ideas in a different media, or.....this has got some other meaning that we don’t understand yet.

The Art Class of DOOM

So we have The Mirror missing. Later on, during Art class, we have Sakura herself informing us that time resumed flowing normally after Syaoran got back almost all Cards, and we can see that Sakura is really distressed about this, but somehow none of them tried to make an attempt to look for The Mirror. Maybe they’re really at a loss, they can’t feel anything and wouldn’t be able to track it down. Or maybe this is simply one of those chapters that will be developed fully and better in its anime counterpart (we’ve had many of those before, one for all is the SyaoSaku date).  If they really couldn’t do anything about it, going back to their classes is all they had left to do, like they did.

So Art class, Sakura’s class is splitting in groups of two and *of course* Sakura pairs up with Akiho, especially after Tomoyo asked Chiharu to pair up with her (I’m almost sure she did this on purpose because she had the feeling Akiho needed to tell Sakura something). Honestly I’m not even sure why they’re asking anymore, it’s such an automatic thing at this point. 😆

So we have the two adorable girls trying to draw a portrait of eachother. Akiho takes the chance to confess something to Sakura. She knows she will understand. And ladies and gentlemen, I have something to confess too. I started melting in a puddle of emotions, seeing Akiho talking about her chat with Kaito of the night before. 💗 I kinda imagined they would tell us later what they talked about, but I didn’t certainly imagined this.

Akiho says that they strolled through their garden (Eriol’s garden) while chatting about their journey, all the countries they’ve visited together, including their time here in Japan. She mentions being the one to make most of the talk (and how could you expect otherwise, from that other punk), but Kaito managed to do something good: he remembered all of them. All-of-them, down to the smallest details . Now, I could’ve guessed he remembered, but the small notion of him remembering even the smallest things, those that end up buried under everyday’s life (from the JP text)....it kinda surprised me. And made me think.  This journey with her really is important to him. She is important to him. I don’t even know if we need more confirmations at this point but the more elements are added to it, the more this idea becomes real, tangible. And I found the art in this scene extremely on point, in the flashback we can see Akiho as beautiful as ever, with adoring eyes, talking to Kaito. You can really feel she’s the happiest person alive, by his side. Sakura says it out loud, “You must be happy!” (Translated in ENG with “That’s wonderful!”) Kaito in the flashback smiles too, and he seems happy somehow, but also very tired. But you know how it is with that doofus, you never know what he’s thinking. And then, the final blow: Akiho says that she treasures all the moments they’ve spent together (small addition of the JP version: ひとつ残���ず, “without leaving even one out” which makes even more clear the strength of this affirmation), and she hopes that Kaito feels the same. She doesn’t need him to hold dear ALL their moments together, as long as he can at least consider one important to him. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is when I screamed “Akiho you’re killing me”. For what she said, but also for the imagine of him that CLAMP kindly provided.

This is Kaito, while talking to Akiho on a night of full moon. And I’ve never seen him like this. Not as her butler, not as a shady magician, not as the guy who’s taken the burden on himself to save her from her tragic destiny, but simply as the companion of a long time travel, someone who came to experience a multitude of memories with her.

And what’s more, what’s more. Akiho, like many other characters of this series, doesn’t love her most important person out of an egoistic, greedy love. She doesn’t need him to consider each and every memory with her important, like she’s doing, as long as he holds dear just one. Just one. This is like saying “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, as long as I can have a small place in his heart”.

Okay.

Now go and tell me this girl doesn’t deserve the love she’s longing for... While Akiho is saying all of this wearing the sweetest expression on her face, Sakura is no second to her in making the sweetest face ever. Because she understands. And she’s so glad to see Akiho this happy, talking about the person she loves the most. She knows what it means because she’s got many people important to her, one of them above all, and she wants those people to stay happy forever, along with their memories shared together (here the ENG version forced its hand a bit saying “I never want to forget the people I love”, that was implied but she didn’t straight up say that) Sakura wants Akiho to have this kind of happiness for all of her life, and she decides to tell her that. ENG: That goes for you too, Akiho-chan. I want happiness for you, too. JP: You too, Akiho-chan. To me, you’re someone I want to see happy forever.

And you could’ve never imagined that such an endearing act would actually trigger the most tragic of the outcomes.

Akiho is shocked. Shocked, moved to tears by her friend who’s so kind to her. But soon that feeling is completely obliterated by the bitter realization that this is the first time she’s been ever regarded as important to someone. Her voice is broken, you can literally feel it in the JP version for how scarce are the words she’s saying. She remembers the cutting words her relatives told her. JP: “Everyone told me I couldn’t do anything right” JP: “They told me I was useless”.  It might not be immediate in the ENG version, but Akiho is directly quoting the Squids with the exact same words they used in the chapters of her backstory.

No one ever wished for her to be happy. Even if Kaito meant to her any good, having the emotional understanding of a stone, he probably was never able to tell her something like that. The grief is too much. The scar too big. Kaito’s seal, the one that kept “the book’s time at bay”, ultimately wears off, and Akiho loses her consciousness. Sakura, who stood up and went immediately to hug the crying Akiho, realizes in horror. The “Book” spreads itself once again, trying to swallow Sakura exactly like it did during the pool incident. Only that this time around there’s no Kaito stopping time. But there’s something else. A giant, transparent rose engulfes Sakura, de facto destroying the book pages that were about to swallow her whole. And just like that, time stops. Ladies and gentlement, enter the magical tool n.1: Nadeshiko’s clock pendant! But it’s not over, oh no. To Sakura’s utter shock, MOMO appears out of nowhere, shouting Akiho’s name in terror. She felt that time stopped, and thought that was Kaito’s doing, but she was wrong. But most importantly, she felt that Akiho lost her consciousness once again.

I just want to borrow a second to point out something small, but that I felt it had a very big significance, in Momo’s words.

In the ENG version, when she talks about believing that time was stopped by Kaito, it was used a general “him”. But in the JP version, Momo says あの子, “that child / kid / boy” . Momo doesn’t see Kaito as a man, or as a grown up, but she sees him in all his weaknesses, like a child. She talks exactly like the image she’s been giving me all this time, like a caring aunt worrying over the children. She’s not only protective towards Akiho, but towards Kaito too, and we had proofs of that, before. But I was quite surprised, and moved, to see what an endearing way she used to refer to him. But back to us. Momo, without much surprise, understands right away that Nadeshiko’s clock pendant is the responsible for stopping time (apparently both this time and the previous one, with the Sakura Cards flying away). And she explains that the clock didn’t let anyone else move, aside from her and Sakura. It seems like it’s been designed to work that way. I have to point out something else in this particular scene, to clarify some confusion I’ve seen around. ENG: “It was the watch...that set the time magicks in motion” JP: “The one that activated the time magic...was that watch” While Momo here uses the same words Kaito uses when he talks about the Time Book, I don’t think it’s gotten actually anything to do with it. Stopping time is a form of time magic, that’s all. So she’s basically saying that a time magic was activated, and it stopped the flow of time.

The chapter ends with Momo saying “  So...now what do we do?” with a face and posture that, honestly? Doesn’t inspire anything good, to me. 😂 The editorial text says “The magic that was entrusted to Nadeshiko’s watch. What is Momo’s strategy?” I mean, truth to be told, there are other things in this chapter that are reeking of red flags and “shit is going to hit the fan soon”.

Like, for example, Akiho and Kaito’s scene. Yessir.  Between last chapter and this one, we got a detailed idea of what happened between them: a scene that had all the romantic connotations, where they talked about their memories together under the full moon. What could’ve prompted Akiho to start a conversation like that?  Remember last chapter? “I love you, and I’m worried about you”. THIS WHOLE SCENE feels like the last time they get to talk together like this, before something big and possibly irreparable happens. Like Syaoran says, I don’t have solid proof, but it’s the way in which it’s built, that leads me to think that. 

And last but not least, we have the dearest The Mirror missing, here! I just hope she’s in the hands of a positive character who wouldn’t hurt her, if it’s a person, that is. I wonder if we should expect more Cards disappearing, just like it happened in the Sealed Card movie.

Next chapter, unfortunately, will be released on February 1st, that will probably mean January 31st for Comixology. Yessir, CLAMP are taking a break after such an important chapter. I won’t go in details about my reaction upon seeing that, I just hope to spend alllll this time left drawing fanarts, lol. Let me know what you think of this chapter and your theories, in my inbox! See you for the big boy Chapter 50!! An important number, first chapter of the future volume 11, who knows what will happen??

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 42

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Physical violence, smut, feelings, yeeeah.

A/N: First off let’s just acknowledge that I would be nothing without @wonderlandmind4​‘s support. Literally. Nothing. Like, she gets me y’all and just straight up deserves partial credit for literally the rest of this series for how she’s hyped, supported, brainstormed, and beta’d for me. Actual earth angel. Go love on her immediately. 

Ok. Now. Thank y’all for tolerating that teaser-ass chapter last time. I’m making it up now with this big(ish) boi. There’s a little bit of everything here and a lot of gearing them up for what’s to come. 

Also, y’all know me by now (hopefully), I live for feedback. Don’t care if you send it in an ask or add notes here or what. I just love hearing from y’all! 

Tags are open!

A metal left arm wraps around your throat applying enough pressure to be a problem. 

“Sloppy form today, baby doll,” Bucky purrs into your ear making you shiver despite the heavy spring heat.

“Get off me,” you croak. 

He releases you with a laugh. Lifting the hem of his white tank he wipes the sweat from his forehead revealing a taste of that defined and ridiculously enticing body. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to keep your jaw from hanging open as you hunch over, hands resting on your knees. You were attempting to catch your breath, how dare he make it that much harder. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, a dark brow raised above a good-natured smirk. 

Reaching out with invisible hands you push him to the ground, pressing his shoulders down so he can’t immediately rise. You stride over to him, legs flanking his torso. 

“If I am?” You ask, staring down at him. 

Mischief sparks in his blue-grey eyes. “Couldn’t blame you I guess.” You adored him like this—confident, maybe even bordering on cocky, and above all, happy. 

He reaches up, taking hold of your knees he knocks you off balance sending you toward the ground too. Your power reacts faster than your mind, cushioning the fall so you land soundlessly sitting lightly on his chest. 

“Hmm…” His chest vibrates under you as his fingers hook into the waist of your leggings. “What if I just-” Without effort the stretch fabric gives way to his whim, tearing along the front seam and down the crotch.

“These are a problem too though,” he presses his fingers against your quickly dampening underwear. Holding your gaze he shrugs a little and with a tug, they’re in shreds too. 

Grabbing your hips he tugs you forward forcing you up on your knees before threading his arms under you. Bucky takes firm hold of your ass and lifts his head, placing a kiss against your pelvic bone. Desire floods your veins causing you to shiver. 

The look of hunger in his eyes sucks the breath from your lungs before his tongue even finds your clit. When he languidly tastes you all you manage is a low rasp, air sucking back into your chest. 

His lips and tongue tease you, strong fingers move from your ass to your thighs, gripping them tight. You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him against you as your head falls back, your eyes closing against the blue of the sky. A rumble of satisfaction from him is felt beneath you rather than heard. In response your hips lift up, desperate and wanting. 

“Bucky,” you croon looking down at him. Playfully he nips at you eliciting a deep moan. He keeps up until your breath is ragged, your lashes flutter, and you take in a sharp breath. 

You’re on the razor edge of an orgasm when he stops cold. A second later you’re on your back, the grass tickling your neck. 

Bucky hovers over you before kissing you hard. He breaks the kiss, leaving you panting, his lips tracing a path to your ear. 

“You want this, baby?” His voice all smoke and gravel as he presses his covered cock against you.  

“Yes,” you barely manage. 

“Gonna have to get the drop on me first.” He moves so fast you’re almost in shock—that only lasts a moment though. 

“What the fuck?!” You scream after his retreating form. All you get in response is a bellowing laugh. “You mother-” cutting yourself off you bolt after him at full tilt, your whole body running on unreleased tension, desire, and just a bit of pure annoyance. 

Of course, your damaged leggings start to fall from your hips forcing you to wind a bit of your power around them to keep them from tripping you up as you pursue him. All you’re focused on is catching him, he’s so fast though… 

It happens without you thinking about it—your power snakes down from where you’re attempting to keep your clothing together, wrapping around your burning legs all the way to your feet. Suddenly each stride sends less of a shock through you, just your toes landing on the earth, and then you jump. 

Your power pushes against the air with force, propelling your body further than your sheer strength could ever manage. Sailing above him you spin around to look back at his shocked face. Despite your frustration with him you can’t help but laugh. 

Smiling, he pivots, clearly challenging you. 

All you’re really focused on is him and your body reacts accordingly, cutting him off with a speed that surprises even you. Every turn he makes, you counter, hovering consistently about eight feet from the ground. 

For a moment you take him in as he stops moving, assessing his new, and unexpected position. He looks so frustratingly sexy with strands of his hair falling from his ponytail, sweat making him glisten, and his eyes glittering with both awe and desire. You want him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything and anyone. 

Once again your power acts seemingly of its own accord to give you what you want, coiling around him. He tries to fall out of it by moving past your range as he’s done in the past only to find himself fully cocooned in a gentle yet firm embrace. 

Suddenly, you drop about a foot as a flash of pain shoots through your head. May be stretching things a bit thin, you think. Not wanting to plummet the rest of the way you lower yourself to the ground in front of him. With one last pulse of power, you pull him to you, lifting on your toes to kiss his slightly agape mouth. 

“Got you,” you purr, pulling the hair tie from his already loosened ponytail. Feeling the tingles of another shock of pain you release him before it hits. 

Bucky smiles down at you, “Guess you want your prize?”

“Damn right,” you grab him through his shorts, squeezing firmly. His lids flutter a bit and he presses back into your grip. 

A small noise slips from you as he lifts you into his arms before kneeling. Tenderly he lays you in the soft grass, covering your neck and chest with kisses. Your legs wrap around his hips and he pulls himself free of the shorts and boxers. 

You make love under the blue spring sky. Every movement unhurried, every kiss slow and sweet. When you both cry out in pleasure as you come there’s no one to hear for miles. In this moment you feel like the only two humans on the planet. It feels like heaven. 

Even the ride back into the city and the press of people near the pizza place couldn’t ruin the high you were both riding. 

Back at your apartment Bucky finally says it. 

“Y/N… you fucking flew today.” You shove a bite of pizza in your mouth and shrug. “That it?” His expression incredulous. 

“I mean,” you swallow, “it wasn’t quite that… I just, well…” You look past him, trying to think about what it felt like. “It was like when I float. I use the air as leverage—there’s always something to push against, dust, moisture. For some reason I was able to do it faster today is all. I didn’t focus on doing it just focused on you.” 

He raises a dark brow, “Guess we know what motivates you.” Leaning back in his chair he glances down at his lap. 

“Don’t be smug,” you toss a balled-up napkin at him earning you that ringing laugh. 

When you walk into the shop on Wednesday you’re a little bruised and very sore. You don’t mind it though. After every long weekend spent training hard at the farmhouse you feel stronger, more in control. 

The morning is filled with your standard tasks around the shop and discussing the reason you find Shakespeare’s histories exhausting with Mr. Goldstein. A few customers wander in, Victor lounges in the open door enjoying the warm air. It’s the kind of day that sometimes lets you forget your past and just be present in this life. 

Mr. Goldstein sits behind the counter in the early afternoon, contentedly sipping coffee and reading while you perch in the store window, your own book set aside to keep your hands free for the cat purring in your lap. Music hums from the radio on the counter. A contented sigh winds its way through your lips as your eyes slide closed. 

Mid-song the DJ cuts in, “We interrupt the broadcast for an urgent report. An unknown attacker has taken Sokovia. It… We’re receiving reports that the city is…” The man’s voice shakes, “The city is—I can’t believe I’m saying this—Sokovia seems to be under attack by some kind of… robots? The American force known as The Avengers is said to be at the scene.” 

Much to Victor’s disapproval, you shoot up at the last bit. The Avengers meant Steve, could mean- Before you’re able to finish your thought your phone vibrates in your pocket. Bucky’s text is short, but you feel the weight hidden in the words: Home. Now. 

Ice fills your veins, rendering you immobile for a few seconds. 

“Zeeskeit?” The term of endearment drips with concern.

“I… I gotta go. Will you be ok to close up?” 

“Of course,” he rises slowly. “Do you have people in Sokovia?” 

“Sort of,” you look back at your phone, hands beginning to shake. Sokovia was close, too close. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“Ok.” He sets your backpack on the counter, a hand extended. You grab the bag and take his hand, “Take care of each other.” 

All you manage is a nod and a tight smile before running out the door. 

When you burst into the apartment you’re hit with the smell of smoke. Bucky sits at the kitchen table a cigarette that’s more ash than anything else in his right hand. He doesn’t even look up at you, his eyes glued to the laptop screen in front of him. 

“Bucky?” You call softly. 

With noticeable effort, he drags his gaze to you. In all this time you’ve never seen him like this. His eyes red-rimmed, scared, hurting. A muscle ticks in his jaw as it does when he’s angry. His brows knit like they do when he’s concerned, and his shoulders slump in a defeated posture, while his left hand is in a tight fist resting next to the computer. 

Dropping your bag you close the distance between you quickly. He doesn’t move just turns his eyes back to the screen as you pluck the cigarette from between his fingers, stamping it out next to four others on a plate. 

You don’t try to get him to speak or explain as you move behind him. Wrapping what you hope are reassuring arms around his neck, you place a kiss on his cheek before resting your chin on his shoulder. 

It’s impossible to not be horrified by what you’re seeing. Four different feeds play on the screen. All of them show something that’s difficult to believe. 

Bit by bit an entire city rises from the earth. Another shifts every minute or so, revealing various views of a city being flooded with terminator rejects. The other two seem to be live feeds from people in the city, running, shaky, the sounds of screams providing a steady soundtrack to the horror show before you. 

Every now and then there’s a flash of that signature shield, a moment of movement laced in dirty red white and blue—easy enough to miss if you’re not looking but you notice them, their appearance signaled in the way Bucky’s body tenses every single time. 

Soon it becomes clear someone has managed to rally forces to evacuate the civilians judging by the enormous helicarrier seen from a ground shot of the now impossibly high city. You feel relief until Bucky speaks. 

“They won’t all make it. Too many targets…” You know that there’s only one he’s truly concerned about. There’s nothing to say, all you can do is hold him tighter. 

After a bit only feeds from the ground play on the screen. In horrified silence, you stare as the city quite literally explodes in the air and the feeds go dark. 

For a moment neither of you move or even breathe. All you can think is that there’s no way to know, not yet. 

Bucky explodes from his chair, sending both you and the table skidding back in opposite directions. His body shakes, fists balled up at his sides. Desperately you want to pull him close but you know it wouldn’t be welcome affection. Instead, you stand back, unsure of what to do. 

You think he’s going to scream, slam a fist into the wall, something, anything other than what happens. One second he’s a pillar of potential rage and the next he hits his knees with a thud. 

Not caring about what may or may not be welcome any longer you rush to him. Lowering yourself to the floor in front of him you pull his hands into yours, forcing them to open from the fists he still holds. 

“He may be fine. We don’t know.” He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his gaze fixed on the grain of the wood floor. 

With all those cell phones someone had to have eyes on the carrier. You pop up and immediately begin putting your own skills to use. They’d be trying to keep as tight a lock as possible on things but if you know what you’re doing… Your fingers fly across the keys, your breath held, hoping against all there is that you find what he needs. 

It takes a minute longer than you’d like but, finally, you’re able to dig up something. The image isn’t the best, it’s of a family clearly sending out a photo to let loved ones know they’re ok, but in the background, you can see him. Alive. 

“Buck!” His name bursts from your lips. “Look,” taking the computer you bring it down to him. Meeting you halfway up he takes it from you, staring at the screen. “He’s ok. He made it.”

“Goddamn punk,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. Hands shaking, he passes the laptop back to you before running his right hand over his face. 

Despite his clear relief that Steve was one of the survivors of the battle, the tension doesn’t leave Bucky over the next several days. 

You stop by the shop each day to check in but you don’t linger, not wanting to be away from home too long with Bucky in this state. Mr. Goldstein, as always, doesn’t pry, accepting your vague reassurances that you’re both ok and offering kind words every time. 

Conversation is sparse; which isn’t uncommon with you both, silence is easier when you’re wrestling with something, and you’ve each taken to given the other space when they need it. However, this is different. He keeps following the happenings in Sokovia, with an intensity that worries you, never saying a word as to why. 

The Avengers hadn’t been spotted in the region since the battle, all that was left now was clean up. Because of this, you couldn’t wrap your mind around why his focus was so drawn to the situation. 

Saturday morning you awake without his warmth next to you. It was something you expected, though knowing didn’t make his absence ache any less. He hadn’t withdrawn like this in so long. 

Before you call out his name the coffee pot lets out an exasperated gurgle. With a yawn you pad into the kitchen where a note beneath your coffee mug informs you that he’d stepped out, he’d be back later. You try and fail, to drown your worry in caffeine spending the better part of the next hour restlessly shuffling around the apartment, unable to focus on anything. 

When the door finally opens it takes all your resolve to not rush him. 

He kicks the door closed behind him, arms laden with groceries. Your brows knit in confusion, this was a Sunday thing. 

It had become your routine—Sunday morning load up on supplies and head to the farmhouse, then the rest of that day and Monday and Tuesday you spent training. The other days of the week you’d work at the shop and he’d do odd jobs as they came up. There was comfort for you both in this steady, yet unofficial, schedule, for him to break it made your heart kick up an uncomfortable rhythm. 

“We’re going to the farmhouse,” he says. 

It isn’t that you’re against the idea but you withdraw from the note of command in his tone. “Oh? We are?” You ask, hands settling on your hips as you watch him lay out groceries on the table. 

“Yeah. I stopped by the shop and let Mr. G know.” You say nothing, challenging him silently to turn and look at you, he just continues, “May be a few extra days.” 

“Huh. Guess I must have blacked out when we made this decision.” Your emphasis on we, doesn’t go unnoticed judging by the way his shoulders visibly tighten. It does, however, go unacknowledged. 

He pulls the last few things from the grocery bag before resting his palms flat on the table, head hanging, shoulders drooping. Despite your urge to do so, you don’t place a comforting hand on his back, don’t softly call for him. You know him well enough now to know he’s about to drop the act, he’ll apologize and you’ll talk it all out. He just needs space. 

For a minute, you watch as he takes in deep breaths, getting a grip of himself. You’re comfortable waiting, knowing this is about to be over, finally. 

“Get packed,” he says without throwing you even a side glance before grabbing the packs by the door. 

You don’t move. All you can do is stand a little slack-jawed at his behavior. When cold grey eyes finally look at you a shiver climbs down your back. 

He picks up your duffel as he walks back to the kitchen, pressing it to your chest. “I said pack,” his eyes bore into you until you grasp the bag in your hands. 

“We leave in forty,” he tosses over his shoulder as he begins to load up the packs with groceries. 

Too shocked by his demeanor to protest you numbly head into the bathroom and shower quickly. He’d never spoken to you like this, not even at the beginning when he’d been so scared… 

How could this be the same man who, just a few days ago, had been brimming with playful confidence and charm? The answer you didn’t want to acknowledge is that, just maybe, he wasn’t. 

You try but you can’t shake that thought on the journey to the farmhouse. It makes you antsy, causing the ride to be almost unbearable. As soon as he pulls up to the house you bolt from the bike anger and anxiety causing a storm to roll in your chest. 

You pay him no mind as you stalk toward the back door, effortlessly avoiding the trips and traps. All your focus is on quelling this emotion, on keeping it together, that you don’t hear him come up behind you. 

In an instant, he has you in a headlock, metal arm tight around your throat as it was the other day. This time though… he’s only holding back enough to not snap your neck. You slam your power slams back into him. It’s not enough to break his grip but it’s enough to allow you a few precious gulps of air before he’s on you again. 

He says nothing. No explanation, no taunt, just silence. Even his breath is measured and steady. You’ve never been afraid of him… until now. 

You force another wave of your power back using it to gain enough leverage to send you both to the ground. Jabbing your elbow into his ribs a few times he lets go gasping and you bolt away from him. 

Bucky doesn’t run after you, his pace is steady, determined. He told you before to only run when you have to, it tires you out too fast and that’s energy that can be better spent elsewhere. Taking a deep breath you slow, turning back to face him not too far from where he’d taken you in the grass a few days ago—a lifetime ago. 

The day around you is another bright and beautiful one, it’s almost offensive. 

He stops a few yards from you, cold stare chilling you despite the warmth. A few moments stretch into what feels like an eternity as you assess who will move first. 

Steeling yourself you go for it, heading for him at a dead sprint. Bucky doesn’t move—a few feet away you feign to the left before kicking away from the ground and veering right. It’s too fast for him to correct and you take advantage, landing a kick to his right shoulder sending him stumbling. 

Moving to land another blow he catches your calf in his metal grip flinging you away. 

This whole flying thing is new and you can’t get your bearings as you hurtle through the air. Who knows how far you would have gone had your back not met the old immovable wood of the barn with a crack. 

You can’t even cry out, can’t breathe in. Your ribs ache, your head is spinning, and there he is stalking toward you.  

Crumpled on the ground looking up at him feels like a nightmare, one you know the ending to already and you brace yourself for impact. 

No, you think shaking your head in an attempt to clear your vision. You have no idea what is happening but he is not this man and you won’t be so easily beaten. 

As he approaches you steady yourself. Just as he’s in range to strike you slip beneath his fist sliding around him landing a blow to the side of his neck then pull his knees from under him. He falls forward just a bit. Before he’s able to catch himself you spring back wrapping your power tight around his shoulders to slam him with all your force into the ground. 

Bucky cries out in pain causing your chest to constrict. But as he arches his gaze back there’s no tenderness in his eyes. 

This shakes you. Your hold on him wavers just enough for him to break free. Taking advantage he flips and rushes you. Barely, you manage to deflect his right hook at full force, your forearm screaming in pain as you do so. Pushing his body back a bit with your power you kick him with all your strength in the solar plexus. He gasps stumbling back. 

“Enough!” You scream. The wave of energy from you cocoons him as it had before but instead of tender you squeeze like a boa constrictor and press him to his knees. He struggles against you with all his strength sending shock waves through your mind and body. Still, you hold tight. 

“I said enough.” Your voice a low resonant growl as you force him from his knees to his back. Standing beside him, staring down, you meet his cold eyes with your own burning rage. 

“Good,” he sighs, all the fight flooding from him. 

“What?”

“You beat me. That’s good.”

Shaking your head you step back from him, your power releasing. Your breath comes in rapid, shallow gasps, doubt and anger and anxiety flooding your system. 

With a groan he sits up, rubbing the side of his neck where a bruise is already forming before slowly rising to his feet. Finally, he looks at you, and it’s him, it’s your Bucky staring at you with regretful eyes. 

It doesn’t soothe you though. This wasn’t an outburst, wasn’t some repressed trauma or lapse. This was calculated, planned. 

Fuming you close the small distance between you. With every ounce of your strength you slap him across his face, palm stinging. His head flies to one side and then the other as you slap him once more. He does nothing, just stares at the ground as he spits blood from his mouth. 

“Fuck you,” is all you can manage through clenched teeth as you raise your hand again. This time he catches your wrist in his right hand, holding it firm, as his eyes meet yours. 

“I had to know,” he says as though that explains everything. You shake your head, not trusting yourself to open your mouth. 

“If I had given you any warning it wouldn’t be the same… I had to know that you were ready if you needed to be.” 

You pull your wrist from his grip, “And if I’d lost?” A part of you already knows what he’s going to say. You swallow the lump in your throat, steeling yourself.

“We’d just need to work harder.”

Blinking at him in disbelief, once more fully thrown by his behavior, you open your mouth but nothing comes out. Based on how he was behaving, you had expected him to pull the same bullshit he had months ago and tell you that he couldn’t be with you, that the danger was too great and other drivel. Surprised or not you’re still furious.

“Let’s go inside,” he turns toward the house. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spit. 

Bucky’s breath audibly catches. He runs a hand through his hair and turns back to face you. Sighing he sits cross-legged on the grass, rubbing his chest where you’d kicked him. 

“That’s fair,” he looks up at you, eyes desperate. “Can we talk here then?”

You shake your head looking away, “I think I’m past talking.” Your whole body begins to shake, “You…” The words stick in your throat but you force them out, “I was afraid of you. I’ve-”

“Good,” he says softly. “There are parts of me you should be afraid of, Y/N. I needed to-”

“Remind me?!” You explode turning to him once more. “Do you really think I need a fucking reminder of what you’re capable of when I know what I’m capable of?!” 

The energy flows from you effortlessly. You reach your arm out to direct it with pinpoint accuracy, just an extension of your body. Your fist tightens and you can feel the fabric of the neck of his shirt even though you’re at least six feet from him. 

“Do you?” You ask once more in a low rumble before lifting him up, his feet dangling, and tossing him back. He doesn’t fall flat, righting himself and landing in a crouch. 

“No,” he says, staying low, only lifting his face to yours. “I needed to be sure that if I came at you full force, you’d be ok. I needed to know that you’d kick my ass if necessary.” The corner of his mouth ticks up in an attempt at a smirk. 

“Why?” Your voice cracks, and you lower yourself to the ground. 

“Because,” he walks over and sits directly across from you, “The government’s of the world and the goddamn Avengers just descended less than a thousand miles from here and all of them have a reason to want my head.” Your brows knit and you look away. Tenderly he reaches for your hands and you let him take them. 

“Please look at me, Y/N.” You do. 

He gives you a sad smile, “It’s easy to try and pretend that this,” he raises your right hand to his lips leaving a lingering kiss, “is all there is. That we could build a life without fear… But Sokovia reminded me that it’s not real.”

“No,” you shake your head like a child denying an obvious truth. “We can be happy. We can-”

“We can be. Hell, with you I am.” His thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of your hands, “But we have to be smart. We have to have a solid plan. Because…” He stops, his eyes squeeze shut. 

When he opens them he looks down at your clasped hands continuing, “Because, if someone comes for me I… the chances of them taking me in to try me… Well, weapons don’t usually get due process, they get put to use elsewhere.”

“You’re not-”

“I am. To them I am.” 

You hate this, hate everything about this. You hate it because you know he’s right. Both of you had been existing day to day for the last seven months on the thin hope that the worst you had to worry about was your own ghosts. 

Sure you’d been training but even that was laced in a certain kind of intimacy. Other than passing mentions of the great vast ‘they’ who could come for either of you at any time, you didn’t discuss particulars. It was a Pandora’s box of fear neither of you wanted to be responsible for opening. Once you laid out a plan of escape, of attack, a worst-case scenario, then you were letting them into this life you’d built. You hated it, but it needed to be done. 

“If someone comes for me the likelihood of them turning me back into him is higher than anything else. If… If I’m that I won’t be able to keep myself from harming you. That’s why I needed to know.” The shame on his face makes your heartache. Still, you’re confused. 

“Do—do you think they’d send you after me? That they’d really take you in just to send you ba-”

“They just need the words.”

You shake your head, “I don’t understand.” 

“You didn’t have…” His breath is ragged suddenly, hands shaking in yours, “There are… wo-words.” You give his hands a reassuring squeeze, “Say the right words in the right order and… I’m not… I can’t…” You nod letting him know you understand, even if only a little bit. 

“Maybe… maybe they won’t work… maybe I’m strong enough but…” His eyes are wide, “I won’t risk you on a maybe.” 

“Ok,” you breathe out. “Ok.” 

“Do you… did they have words for you?” You shake your head. “That’s good.”

Good, you think as you take in this man before you. How many years had it taken them to break him? How much effort did they have to extend to make him the monster they wanted? Was it really good that you had broken so easily that they didn’t need more creative methods to bend you to their will? 

“I’m sorry,” his voice pulls you from that line of thought. He looks broken, “I know this is hard. But,” he takes a deep breath, “seeing Steve reminded me—reminded me of what I can do to someone I care about in that state.”

He’d never spoken about what happened at the Triskellion but you knew enough. After you got free of Hydra you’d needed to understand what led to your opportunity to escape--scouring the Hydra files and any information you could find for weeks. You knew Bucky was a tool they used in the attack, you knew Steve Rogers was found on the banks of the Potomac beat to hell but still breathing. 

“I almost-”

“But you didn’t,” you cut him off. “You didn’t kill him. I have no doubt you could have but you didn’t.” 

You take his face in your hands, his eyes close, “I understand why you did this. I do. But I want you to remember that you held yourself back then. And I’ll remind you until the end of my days that you were able to break through and save a woman you didn’t even know too—knowing what they’d do to you for defying them.” He opens his eyes and searches yours. “You are always in there, no matter what.” 

He sighs, “Sometimes. And sometimes I get control too late to matter.” 

“So what’s the plan?” You ask, not wanting him to linger on that particular slice of darkness.

His lips curl in a half-smile, “We’ll figure that out.”

“No more orders and surprise attacks?” 

“No. From here on out we do this together. I promise.” 

Tag List:

@bluegirlusa1​  @l0kisbitch​  @tazzi-baby​  @disagreetoagree​  @woodyandbuzz20-01​  @mooniightbucky​   @saundrasays​  @breezy1415​  @alyssaj23​  @mywinterwolf​  @wonderlandmind4​  @fairislesheets​  @anamcg317​  @buckaroo-barnes​  @jazztherebel​  @peachthatdrinkslemonade​  @regulusirius​   @auskitty​ @babyimp1967​ @katecolleen​  @handplucked​  @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​  @darkdragonphoenix​  @issanitydead​  @thestorydetective​  @buckysstar​  @wintersoldierswhore  @greyeyedsmile14​  @watchoutforfrostbite​  @for-the-love-of-the-fandom​  @jewelofwinter​  @siriuslycloudy2​  @hardygal69​   @jdoenson​  @gamorazenn​ @wildmoonflower​ @cutie1365​​ @demonlover87​​ @winterboobearsworld​

[kiliinstinct]

Dragon Bond: Chapter 4

Summary:  The bond was formed to save a Kingdom before it ever became a nation. Now, it is waning and the Dragon’s grow restless. One Princess has the key to save it, but how can she when unaware it even exists?

Current Rating: T Pairing: Nalu and Various Others Written By: RougeScribe A03: All Current Chapters

Important Note: This story was originally written 5-6 years ago and made it up to 10 chapters before I removed it from FF.Net. Many of the chapters are unedited, but it is my wish to eventually continue this story. See this post for more details!

----

|Ch 3| – |Next|

Chapter 4: Back Too Soon

It was high noon when Mirajane realized something was wrong. Like most nights, she had stayed up late to clean and shoo the occupants out by sunup. The feeling was subtle. An inkling that gradually grew throughout the day. First during her time at the castle (bustling about the kitchen’s and sculler) - only to grow in intensity as time clicked by, closer to time for the bars opening. Despite these feelings, Mirajane had many things to look forward to. The top of her list being a hopeful return of Natsu and Lucy that night. 

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling off; couldn't put her finger on it. Worry slowly consumed her as she hoped the tavern master would visit soon. She often brought all her concerns to him and this time was no different. Years ago, Mirajane had learned that feelings were not to be ignored; that there was always a connection with the world around her -thanks to the magic in her blood.

 It would always serve as a special warning: An innate sense that all mages would have, if they could learn to listen. She did, but understanding was another thing entirely.

The woman had just settled on ignoring the feelings, loading the ovens in the Tavern’s Kitchen with firewood, when the cause of her feelings struck her. Quite literally in her abdomen. With a force that pulled air from her lungs in a loud, pained gasp.

 "MIRA! We have to get NATSU!" A distraught Happy had barreled into her with wings extended and a glow around his body. He was shivering from exertion and tiny paws dug into her dress like a lifeline. The small cat was a sight she had not been ready for.

"Happy? What are you doing here? It's only been a day since you left!" She held the blue ball of fur close as he shivered, bereft with fever caused by overexertion.. "Oh, you poor thing, what's happened?"

Happy  barely made out the words as his wings drooped and eyes glazed over. "I.. have...to tell Natsu that-that... there's something important I have to tell him!" He wavered for a moment and Mirajane  set him down in the corner of her kitchen, where she often let him sleep after a long flight. He looked like he needed it, practically melting into the tiny, square cushion as white wings faded away.

 "He may be here tonight," She consoled and forced the distraught cat to lie down. "Please rest, you're not well.." He looked close to protesting, but another rack of shivers took him as he dropped off to sleep. Mirajane worried her bottom lip, teeth biting into the soft skin as she observed him. She would wake him as soon as Natsu arrived, she decided. It had to be serious to put the little thing in such a state. 

 Mirajane resumed preparing to open the bar and silently hoped whatever was so urgent wasn't half as serious as Happy made it out to be. They had plenty of things to worry about without more bearing down on them. Frowning, she made a mental wish that everything would be just fine at Natsu’s arrival. 

The day was far too lovely to stay indoors and the Courtyard Gardens were well suited for taking a book and reading within them. Lucy had finished her studies that morning and was eager to enjoy her Afternoon freedom. Braced against an ornately decorated bench, she perused through a tome of Ancient Legends and wondered how the librarian always knew exactly what book would catch her eye each day. She vowed to ask one day, but the tiny woman never stayed in the vicinity long enough to gain her attention. Always so busy… and Lucy hated the thought of using her own authority to get in the way of that. 

So she took her newest acquisition and found fit to read with a contented grin on her face.  Despite the random sounds of shouting and what sounded suspiciously like an explosion off in the distance. It pulled her attention away from her musings many a time, brows furrowing in curious agitation. Near the Mage Barracks, of course- the Corps must have been sparring, or training or…  well, whatever it is they did when bored, she supposed. 

From the distance, it almost looked like they were playing and after a fifth interruption, she caught the telltale signs of Natsu darting in between a few of them- his pink head hard to miss. (And it gave her the answer to her unasked question pertaining to the sudden bursts of flame that caught her eye.) He never understood subtlety- a trait that often made her wonder how he ever got his job with her.

The changed subject in her mind pulled a wistful sigh from Lucy- head tilting back to look towards the clouds while her fingers marked the page in her book. She had done it. She had visited Fairy Tail and it had been more than she could have hoped for. The night had been such a whirlwind, but the liberation of being accepted as someone normal made everything look all the more bright. Lucy no longer wondered why Natsu made a habit of rushing off to their any chance he could make- in fact, she was rather excited at the idea of returning. Would he take her? She hoped!

Natsu had given her a possible hint towards bringing her there again, the night before when she realized she would not get a second venture out two days in a row. To not rouse suspicion, naturally, but only her trust in Natsu had kept her patience in tact.  He may not have been the sharpest spear in her Father’s Family, but he was the most reliable, of that, Lucy was certain.

Giggling to herself, Lucy resumed reading. The book’s contents held her interest, covering all manner of myths and legends that could have been true once upon a time. She was especially interested in the chapters speaking of Dragons. No one had seen a beast such as that in generations, but the tome’s details rekindled a small childish hope that maybe they would prove to be real in her lifetime. 

Lifetime- … her thoughts danced towards the summer awaiting her, ruining the bubbly emotions in her stomach. There’s no way I’m seeing a dragon if I’m married off before the fall hits… How was she to deal with that? Jude’s words from their last talk in his office left a foul taste in her mouth and Lucy forced her eyes back into focus on the words in front of her. She didn’t want to think about it. 

Lucy had no chance to turn the page. A sudden gust of hot air fanned her face, force great enough to blow her hair back as a burst of fire exploded by her feet. The heat engulfed her and she shrieked, legs folding under herself to the safety of the bench. Her book fell against the stack brought with her and scattered to the ground. With eyes flinched, she awaited the fire to either spread or disperse, opening only when a sudden shadow passed over. 

Her eyes met with Natsu' back, blocking the flash of light and energy that had gone off too close.it. As the light faded, Lucy blinked the spots out of her, dazed.

"Damnit,"Her guard cursed and she noticed the scorch mark inches from her feet and the charred edges on two of her books. "Gray! You almost made me hit Lucy, you bastard!"

"What- Don't blame me for your terrible aim, Natsu!"

He growled again as Lucy jumped from the bench, ignoring her hair draping across her face in messy strands and that the hem of her skirts were lined with soot. She inspected the charred ground, surmising that a misplaced blast of magic shot the distance from the training grounds to her seat. She would have been impressed by the distance Natsu covered with both his magic ad reflexes, but the smell of a few burnt strands of hair struck her, fueling her rage. She noticed the royal guard Natsu fought at Fairy Tail the day before, shouting towards them, but Lucy didn’t pick up the words he said. 

Lucy couldn’t contain her fury and shouted, "Natsu! ... You MORON!" Snatching a book, she  struck the back of his head. Not enough to damage, but enough to stun. Natsu spun to face her, eyes wide and expression sheepish.

"Lucy! -I'm sorry, I didn't mean," He fell silent when she took one step towards him and waved the book threateningly.

"That is Princess Lucy to you, right now!" She seethed - steam felt as if it could burst from her ears. With an imperceptible bow and a light squeak of apology, Natsu shot back towards the grounds, where she was certain he'd begin his fighting anew with Gray. The urge to chase after was great, taking two more steps after him before she froze, mentally attempting to compose herself.

 She looked like a mess. Was the daughter of a King and had just struck her body guard in public! Panic swelled within and  she hurriedly began gathering her books.. She hoped her father didn't catch wind of this! Lady's did not shout and strike their guards in anger and they most certainly didn't run across the grounds in a singed dress! With a mental note to inform the gardeners about the damage, she rushed back to her quarters, hoping to find Lisanna in time to help her change.

She didn't notice Natsu watching as she ran before he resumed sparring; Just as she didn't notice the Quartermaster shout at the two Mages. If she had stayed longer, she would have witnessed the old man, furious in his reprimands, interrupted by a servant rushing out a small set of doors, summoning him inside.Perhaps she would have also noticed the annoyance that crossed his face as well as the sudden, scowl shadowing Natsu’s expression.

But she noticed none of these things, as she had near ruined books to apologize for and a new dress to change into. If Natsu was lucky, she wouldn't strike him again when he took her out that night!

.

Makarov Dreyar, Quartermaster and trainer of the Mage Corpse, was not happy when he entered King Jude's study. His brats had destroyed the grounds again and had even embarrassed the Princess. If not for the fact he knew Lucy kept secrets from her father, he would have assumed this summons to cover the event that had occurred, but he was lucky. News did not spread so fast. Makarov wasn’t worried when he walked the halls to the King’s study, but his gait carried a stiffness that revealed a secret tension.

He hated speaking with Jude.

Makarov slammed the door open as he entered and stepped in fast enough for the doors to bang shut behind him with equal force. The resounding echoes served to expel his irritation and he fought the urge to sneer when the King glared from his seat.

 "Greetings, Your Highness, " he said, tone mocking as he bowed low to the floor. It was a quick bow, but thanks to his short stature, it looked as if he would touch the ground with his nose anyway.

"Makarov," Jude greeted with a hard stare and eyed the doors, "I now know who to blame the next time one of those mages slam that door in my presence. Apparently even you don't have manners."

"My apologies,” Makarov replied drolly, "but I thought you knew that already."

Jude was unamused, but declined to respond. Instead, he pulled out an old ledger from the desk and turned the frayed pages. His expression shifted, reflecting anxiety. Makarov, like many others, knew the King as a stoic, calculating man-  but he recognized that ledger. Standing straighter, he twitched his nose and waited.  So, he was summoned for that was he?

"The demands for tithe have not been made this year," Jude said after minutes of silence. "It's every five years, and this is the fifth year, is it not?"

"It is."

The King stared at him and Makarov had to resist rolling his eyes.

"It is, your highness." He amended, biting his tongue. The King nodded and resumed looking through the pages. His face was taut and his eyes glowered as if trying to set the pages alight. Makarov cleared his throat and added, "Perhaps there is no Tithe this year?"

"Don't be absurd, you know better." Makarov nodded his consent and Jude grumbled under his breath slamming the ledger shut with an aggravated hiss, "They better not dare to demand more from me if tithe does not make it on time. I won't give them double just because they lost their minds and forgot to issue the new demand!"

He was angry and Makarov wisely held off from reminding his King that these things were not easily forgotten. Instead, he glanced out the windows and shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, you should make a trip to see them."

Jude sputtered, turning his scowl on the shorter man."Preposterous, that would be far too suspicious this time of year."

"Would it really, your majesty?" Makarov questioned with a raised eyebrow. "The King of Fiore has been cooped up in his castle for the entire winter and decides to leave for a week-long excursion of hunting to resettle himself. A few trusted guards come along and it's an outing. Is that something to question?" The room grew quiet as Jude stared and Makarov’s eye twitched. While he entertained himself by annoying the King, Makarov gave no show of it.. The candles flickered as the two men pressed their wills upon each other with their gazes until, finally, the King deflated.

"You make a valid point," He conceded, but his glare turned acidic, "You will accompany me for this." Makarov’s face dropped and he cursed beneath his breath. Of course that's what would happen, why was he even surprised?

.

"Lucy, you're not still mad at me are you?"

"Do not call me Lucy."

Natsu whined childishly and pouted, "You are still mad at me!"

"No. I'm just livid."

"...what?"

Lucy sighed, "Fine, I'm still mad at you!"

"I knew it! Come on, I told you it was an accident!" Natsu whined again and Lucy rubbed her temples in consternation. He had been begging her to forgive him since they began their trek  to Fairy Tail. They were still walking down the street and his begging had persisted every step of the way. She would have forgiven him the moment he’d walked through her door  if he hadn't been pressing her the entire time.

Lucy didn't want to be mad. She was excited to see the bar once again and wanted to excitedly talk to her friend all about it. There was still remnants of her panic from that evening that held her tongue, however- twisting into her throat each time she considered it. Lucy was usually more composed. It would do neither of them any good if her father suspected she had been 'corrupted' in some manner. She struggled with the fear that he would change her guard to another if he ever thought Natsu negatively impacted her.

Sighing, she turned her gaze towards him and shook her head,"Yes, I know you did." She said, feeling her mind growing exhausted from the exertion of holding her anger.

"Then can you forgive me? I swore I wouldn't let anything harm you Lucy, even with my own fire. I did manage to stop it after all." Sensing her ire was starting to die , Natsu placed an arm on her shoulder and ushered her towards the double doors of the bar that quickly approached.

"Maybe, but stop calling me Lucy!" She ordered, feeling that despite her willingness to forgive, she still had to hold onto something to punish her fire mage with.

"No way!" He countered, hands now gripping the door handles. How did they get there so soon, she wondered? "You're not a Princess when you're out here, you're just Lucy! So I'm calling you Lucy all I want." The tone in his voice brook no arguments and Lucy’s face flushed.

Of course he'd know the exact words to say, didn't he always? Being just Lucy was a privilege she didn't get often and the statement sent all aggravation out of her head. "F-fine... just - just open the doors already!" She groused, crossing her arms while her face flared.

Natsu grinned in victory, "You got it, Lucy." She was more prepared for what she would see than she had been the other night. Lucy was ready for the smell of smoke and alcohol and the buzz of conversation. The  cheering and drunken songs. She was even prepared for the smiles on everyone's face when they welcomed her like an old friend and for Natsu to rush off and brawl with the first person he saw the moment they entered.

That didn’t happen. 

What Lucy wasn't prepared for, was the blue streak of fur that attached itself to Natsu as soon as they crossed the threshold, shouting piteously, "Natsu! I have to talk to you right now, why didn't you come sooner?!" Nor was she prepared to see Natsu greet it with a concerned, haphazard smile, a pat on the head and a confused tilt of his head.

"Happy? You made it here in less than two days? How did you manage that, buddy?" His smile was wide, but something in his eyes dulled. Lucy noticed half the occupants were watching them as the scene unfolded, but she couldn’t pay attention. Her eyes were glued to the furry animal with wings nestled in her bodyguard's arms.

"I flew as fast as I could!" The cat cried out, exhausted, but his eyes were wide and he spoke with a rush. "I have to talk to you right now! It's important!"

These things were not things that Lucy could prepare herself, let alone process. She didn’t even register the words coming out of the cat's mouth other than the fact that words were, in fact, being said- rather than it being a halluzination. There was a cat with wings.. talking to her bodyguard like they knew each other. A cat with…

The book she had told of myths and legends struck her like a ton of bricks and Lucy asked before she could even think, "...is...that an exceed?"

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

--- Tag List ---

@lovelyluce @yuldragneel @bearpluscat @millennial-star-gazer @caandleworks @kaycha1989 @furidojasutin @just-another-dream-girl @whatdidyasayiamdaydreaming @dlshieldss @ctay21 @acidrain1698 @clockworkassassino @celestialwolf24 @hollyw5937 @moeruhoshi @littlejinxed @moonlitstargazerforever @doginshoe @squeep123 @bitch-stole-my-nutella-again

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

[vannahfanfics]

Sound of Your Heart (Shawn Hooke) + GrayLu; Gray listening to Lucy's heartbeat as she rewrites the book of END

Here you are! :D Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy it~ 

This lovely banner was made by @bearandbirdfan!

Heartbeat

“Lucy, are you all right?”

The sound of Gray’s voice brought Lucy out of her melancholy contemplation, and she quickly raised a hand to dry the tears still leaking from her eyes. They were currently sitting side-by-side on a bench in the deserted streets of Magnolia. Lucy clutched the book of E.N.D. tightly in her quivering, bruised, and scratched arms as she looked up at him.

“Yes, thank you.” A silence fell between them, and then she tentatively asked, “You’re not going to try and destroy the book again, right, Gray?” As if he had already answered negatively, she pulled the book closer to her chest and turned her body away from him, as if she could shield Natsu like that. A shocked—and uncomfortably hurt—expression formed on Gray’s face, and she immediately regretted acting in such a way.

“Of course not! If I’d have known it would’ve done anything to Natsu, I wouldn’t have tried in the first place!” Good… He’s cooled down, then. Lucy’s eyes flickered down to his right arm, currently swathed in bandages, and remembered the writhing, swirling bands of demon-slayer magic that he had obtained from his father Silver—the magic that came with the will to destroy E.N.D. Overtaken by that power and rage, Gray had nearly succeeded—even though it would’ve meant killing Natsu. Erza had stopped him then, and then it had taken Lucy to stop him from destroying the book and nearly killing Natsu again. Gray doesn’t want to hurt Natsu. I know that. He wants to save him as much as I do. Still, after seeing him so distorted, she couldn’t help but be a little uneasy. Suddenly, she leaned over to press her face into the crook of Gray’s shoulder, and she felt him tense up. Lucy was exhausted, so she righteously didn’t care about pretenses or propriety. Her emotions were boiling at the surface, threatening to spill over.

“Gray… Don’t lose yourself, okay?” She expected an angry retort or a “What the hell are you talking about?” but Gray knew exactly what she meant. She felt his body relax as he exhaled deeply.

“Yeah. I know, Lucy.” She was oddly quite contented with just staying like that, resting her head against his sturdy shoulder, but there were matters to be dealt with. With a small, sad frown, she raised her head and looked down at the worn, leather-bound tome containing Natsu’s doom or salvation. The First’s riddle echoed in her mind. “That’s when you will have to save Natsu! Use the power of your friendship to do it!”

“I think we should open the book! I think I get what the first master was talking about!” Happy quipped from her feet with his little furry eyebrows narrowed. As Lucy stared resolutely down at the book, she thought that maybe she was beginning to understand a little what Mavis had meant, too. The key to saving Natsu is in this book, no doubt about it. Lucy steeled her determination and gripped the leather binding of the book tightly.

“Yes!”

As Lucy set the book on her lap and prepared to open it, the universe seemed to draw in its breath; the wind died, and the only sound was the gurgling of a fountain across the plaza. She felt Gray’s tense muscles, his arms crossed, as he pressed a little closer to her and leaned over her shoulder to watch. Despite the gravity of the moment, a blush tainted Lucy’s cheeks. Now’s not the time for that… she reminded herself before taking a deep breath and opening the cover of the book. There was a moment of nothing but tension and silence, the breath she was holding feeling like a bubble in her chest ready to burst, and then everything exploded at once. She released the breath in the form of an alarmed gasp as light burst from the book, so forceful that her pigtails fluttered about her shoulders and her bangs waved in her face, and she could literally feel it, like cool water flowing over her chest and body. Then words began to spill from the pages, swirling in the air around the two of them and the space above their heads.

“Th-the letters…” She looked at Gray to find him wearing a similarly awed and shocked face, his dark hair glowing a bluish hue in the ephemeral light. In yet another inappropriate moment of lunacy, Lucy thought that he looked beautiful cast in the light like that. When a stream of the inked words flew by her face, she was reminded of the task at hand, and she looked above her head at the spherical mass of paragraphs and sentences whirling above them.

“Look at all of them! Are they really all about Natsu?” she wondered aloud. Her eyebrows furrowed as her brown eyes expertly followed the stream of words, and a slow realization dawned on her. “Wait a minute… These…” Before she could finish the thought, the world heaved, and the book snapped shut as she and Gray were flung from the bench and into the air. As the world rumbled below, the air vibrated with the shockwaves, shaking Lucy’s already battered body violently. She did her best to cling to the book as the rumbling began to cease, and she plummeted back toward Earth. As she curled around it, expecting a rough impact, she suddenly felt someone grab her in midair. A second later, she felt they hit the ground, but Lucy was cushioned by Gray’s embrace rather than unforgiving earth. Momentarily forgetting the book, she pushed herself up and looked down at him in alarm. “Gray! Are you okay? Why did you do that? You shouldn’t be worried about me when you’re all beat up!” she insisted wildly. It was then that she noticed she was basically straddling him, one knee between his legs and the other at his hip, his arms around her waist while her reddening face hovered above his. He cracked an eye open to grimace at her.

“Stop yelling. You’re spitting in my face,” he grumbled as he slipped one arm from her body to rub the back of his head. “Ow… What the hell was that?” Gray seemed perfectly unaware of how embarrassing their current situation was, while Lucy was just blank, her mind misfiring as it attempted to process.

“It came from the guild!” Happy groaned while sitting up. As Lucy finally began to come to her senses, Gray grabbed her by the hips to hold her steady while he sat up, bringing her body with his. Feeling his hands against the bare skin of her waist (as she had, of course, lost her shirt in the conflict like she always did) made her nerve blaze like Laxus had struck her with lightning. She could only dumbly sit there holding the book, practically in his lap, while he peered in her face.

“You okay, Lucy?”

“Oh! Yes! I’m fine!” she squeaked. She finally had the wherewithal to make her body move and hastily disentangled herself from him to sit beside him. If she didn’t know better, he looked disappointed. “What were all those flying letters?” That question snapped Lucy back to attention. She pushed aside all the embarrassing hugging and holding and looked down at the book. It hadn’t changed.

“It looks like the words are still in the book… This is really high-level Organic Link magic.” She was sure of it after reading them in the air as they swirled about. “I think that’s how the book is connected to Natsu. In other words, if we could rewrite the words…” she trailed off as she stared hard down at it, riddling out what she needed to do to save Natsu’s life.

“What? Rewrite all of that?” Gray exclaimed as he looked over her shoulder down at the unassuming volume. She was too absorbed in her problem-solving to bark at him for yelling in her ear. “We opened one page, and look how much came out of it! That’s only a small fraction—"

“We don’t have to rewrite it all,” she interrupted as she ran a hand over the cover. It was rough, and torn, and scratched up. Imperfect. A smile came to her lips. Just like Natsu. Just like Gray. Just like her and everyone else in the guild. She looked up at Gray, her expression growing serious. “I’m sure there’s a page in here that can save Natsu! We have to find it! I’m certain that is what the First Master meant!” Judging from the force of that tremor and blast, Natsu was fighting his hardest. That meant that they had to fight their hardest to save him, too. Lucy opened the book again, and once more, the letters began to float off the pages and careen through the air around them.

Except for this time, something was different.

Lucy’s eyes widened as the letters began to literally pop out of existence, disappearing from the links of letters with continuous blam, blam, blams!

“Did something happen to Natsu?!” Gray cried, his head swiveling about as the letters continued to disappear one by one. Lucy was silent for a moment, analyzing the continuously moving text and memorizing the vanishing letters because she knew it was important until she realized just what had happened. Her face grew pale and her eyes wide in horror.

“It’s a part of his body! He’s hurt very badly somewhere!” Reigning in her emotions, she took her magic pen and sat up on her knees, preparing to re-ink the words. Her mouth twitched a little as Gray grabbed her by the hips again to steady her as she wobbled slightly from exertion. Focus, Lucy.

“Do you know how to rewrite it?” he asked. Completely oblivious to how this looks… Just deal with it. Natsu is in danger!

“I’m only going to rewrite the missing letters right now. I memorized them,” she answered and began filling in the gaps in the stream of letters, her brown eyes flicking from one hole to the next while her hand scrawled in the missing text. In a matter of seconds, she had replaced all the missing characters, and she was confident that she had avoided Natsu’s death.

“Amazing, Lucy!” Hearing Gray gush in praise, especially so close to her, admittedly made her flush with a mixture of joy and unease. Before she could say or do anything, though, she felt every cell in her body pulse, and her head twitched back as she felt magic power flooding into her arm, pulsing up her veins to begin spreading through her face and neck. I-I… It hurts… I can’t move! Sweat began to pour from her body as she struggled to remain in control of herself, and her consciousness began slipping away. Her mind crystallized on one thought.

“G-Gray…”

~~~~~~~~~~

Gray jumped forward as Lucy’s body began twitching uncontrollably in his arms, and as she fell back against his chest, he could feel that her body was scorching, and sweat was pouring off of her.

“Lucy! Snap out of it!” As her head flopped back onto his shoulder, her brown eyes stared unseeing up towards the sky filled with the words of Natsu’s fate, and dark magic had filled her veins, dying them a bloody red. Her entire body was shaking violently, and her breath began to come in ragged, labored gasps. He grabbed her by the shoulders to hold her in place, and she immediately recoiled, like his touch caused her immense pain. Suddenly she seemed to return to her senses, and her face scrunched up in pain, and she once more buried her face into the crook of his neck. He could feel the tears spilling from her eyes as they smudged across his skin. “Come on, Lucy! You gotta stay strong!”

“I feel hot…” Her voice was a breathy, agonized whisper. “Something… Something inside me is burning!” She turned into him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her body against him as if he could cool her. Lucy seemed to be embarrassed about their closeness earlier (which he had blatantly ignored because, well, he wanted to), but in the throes of the magic backfire, she didn’t seem to care anymore. Gray hated seeing her in pain like this, and he tightened his grip around her while at the same time holding her as gently as he could.

“It must be Natsu’s fire,” Happy reasoned as he watched uncomfortably, his tail twitching. Gray’s mouth curled into a frown as he clutched Lucy’s frail, jerking body. The flame of the demon. Lucy faltered into him for a second, then managed to straighten up with a groan, lifting her head to stare back up at the magical words.

“If… If I can understand this magic, maybe I can help Natsu!” Gray knew that if she kept it up, she would be even worse off. Once again, like so many times before, he was absolutely amazed at her strength. “I can rewrite the demon inside him.” She doubled over again, grimacing and holding a hand to her face as she shook violently.

“Lucy, if you keep going, you’ll—"

“I’m fine, Happy,” she huffed, a clear indication she was not fine. Gray knew that she would keep going no matter what, so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He propped his chin on Lucy’s shoulder as he pulled her close, and a writhing white wind began to swirl around them, bringing frost and chill with it. “That’s cold-!” she cried as she shuddered again, but the heat inside her body had dimmed somewhat.

“Let’s save Natsu together. I can’t rewrite those letters… But I can support you while you do.” He didn’t see her smile, but he knew she did, that sweet smile she always gave.

Gray wasn’t sure of the moment he started to love her. He wondered sometimes, but he wasn’t a real sentimental guy, so he didn’t dwell on it. He did love her, though, and knowing that was enough. He probably should have told her sooner, but somehow the moment never called for it; he needed to focus on not dying and keeping everyone else from not dying, and he always told himself he would tell her after. After kept getting further and further away, though. As Lucy clung to him, one arm around his neck and her body against his while she continued to painstakingly, painfully rewrite the script of Natsu’s soul, he promised himself then that he wasn’t going to wait anymore. He closed his eyes, focusing on keeping the air around them as bitterly cold as possible to mitigate Lucy’s suffering. Amongst the swirling wind, something else emerged in the background, faint at first. As he focused on it, it became clearer and louder until it dominated his senses.

A heartbeat. Lucy’s heartbeat.

It was a thumping drum amidst the symphony of icy gales that he had conjured. As he focused on it more, he could feel her heart beating against his chest. It was fast, probably because she was working so hard keeping the demonic magic at bay. Gray didn’t know why it mattered so much at that moment. Maybe because it was because he knew if he could still hear it, Lucy was okay—so he hung onto it, that rhythmic sound, the sound of her heart beating.

Gray wasn’t sure how many minutes passed before she slumped back into him, her arm falling and the magic pen clattering to the ground. He shifted her to her side to look down at the book in her lap, and they watched as the letters began to return to the pages. “You did it, Lucy,” he smiled down at her. She gave him that sweet smile again, and then her face contorted in agony, her back arching as her entire arm pulsed red. She then fell limp, losing consciousness as she was unable to resist the magic any longer. Gray wasn’t worried, though.

“Lucy!” Happy wailed and rushed over to her.

“Don’t worry, Happy. My demon-slayer magic is made for this! I’ll get this magic out of Lucy!” he said as his own magic spread up his arm and over his eye. He grabbed her by the wrist, using his own magic to forcibly draw the virus-like magic out of the girl. It was as if suddenly he had brought her back to life, as she jumped up and began coughing and hacking. Gray held her up as she recovered from the ordeal. “Are you okay now, Lucy?”

“Yes… Thank you, Gray.” There’s that smile again… They looked down to see the book glowing faintly and the edges blurring before dissolving in globs of light. “The book is vanishing. Zeref has been defeated.”

“But-! But if the book disappears, so will Natsu!” Happy cried as tears filled his eyes. Lucy grabbed Happy and hugged him to her chest, then put an arm around Gray and buried herself into him, quivering. Gray propped his chin on the top of her head, listening to her frantic, scared heartbeat pounding against his own while he watched the book continue to fade. He didn’t know what was about to happen, and he held his breath as the book faded completely and disappeared in waves of light into the sky. He felt Lucy’s body jerk as she stifled a sob.

They all looked up with a jolt as they heard the soft scrape of sandals against the pavement.

Down the path, staggering like a drunk but very much alive, was Natsu Dragneel.

“Yo!” he grinned at them with a lazy wave. “It’s all over.” Lucy clapped her hands to her mouth as the tears of joy spilled from her eyes, and Happy jumped from her arms to spawn his wings and zoom over to his beloved friend with a cry of glee. Lucy was much too weak to do so, so she just rested comfortably against Gray— not that he was gonna complain. Happy nuzzled Natsu joyfully for a moment until the dragon-slayer settled him down and looked at Lucy and Gray with a serious expression. “Hey… I don’t think the First Master made it.” The joyful atmosphere was obliterated in an instant. “I don’t think she would want us to be sad, though. I have this weird feeling… She wanted it to end this way.”

“That right?” Gray mused. It was definitely a Natsu thing to say.

“Yeah! So,” that big grin of his appeared on his beat-up, bruised face. “Let’s return to the guild with big smiles on our faces, yeah?” They were all in agreement, of course. Natsu turned to start heading back to the guild, and Lucy rose to follow but wobbled precariously.

“Yo, Natsu! Lucy and I will catch up in a sec, okay?” he called after him as he grabbed ahold of her wrist to keep her there, for which she looked down at him quizzically. Natsu didn’t even bother to turn, just signaled that he had heard with another lazy wave. Lucy was still staring at him in confusion as he stood up.

“Huh? Gray, what is it?”

Gray was never really good with words. He was a man of action—so act he did, by grabbing Lucy under the chin to pull her face up and kiss her. He smothered a squeak of alarm and resistance, and she grabbed onto his bandages since his shirt wasn’t there, but her fingers uncurled after a second to spread out over his chest, right over where his heart was beating. Gray held the kiss for a few seconds, and when he pulled back, her eyelashes fluttered, and her eyes opened to reveal brown pools swirling with both happiness and befuddlement.

“You didn’t have to take me by surprise like that,” she pouted.

“I didn’t feel like talking. What? You not like it or something?”

“N-no, it’s… Not that…” She grew flustered and embarrassed, looking down at her feet as she blushed. She’s cute when she does that. “I, um… You too. I mean, I uh… Feel the same…” As she struggled with voicing her emotions, she hid her face in her hands miserably. Gray snorted with laughter and patted her on the head.

“See now why I didn’t say it?” All he got was a begrudging whine, which made him laugh again. While she was distracted with short-circuiting, he decided to keep teasing her and easily scooped her into his arms like a groom would his bride.

“Ack! Gray! Hey! I can walk, y’know?” she protested weakly but fell still after a few kicks of her feet once she realized she was too tired. She looked at him with pursed lips as she curled into him, her slim arm sliding around his neck to fiddle with the ends of his dark hair. “Juvia’s gonna kill me, you know.”

“I can handle her,” he chuckled and began walking after Natsu, who had disappeared into the ruins of the city. She laid her head on his shoulder, eyes drooping as she continued to smile that sweet, sweet smile he loved so damn much.

“Do you think it’s over?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter,” he said and looked down at her with a smirk. “We’ll keep fighting together, no matter what.”

“M-hmm,” she nodded in agreement. She fiddled with his hair continuously, her fingers sliding in and out of the blue-black strands and curling them around her fingertips; his hair was obviously her favorite part about him. He suddenly got an idea. She squeaked as he lifted her a bit to press his ear against her chest. “Gray! Hey!” He could hear it there, that soft flutter and steady drum.

“Shut up. I just wanted to hear your heartbeat a minute.” He couldn’t decide now if he liked that more than her smile.

“… You’re so weird…” He looked up to scowl at her and found her face pink, meaning that she also found it incredibly romantic. He grinned and settled her back into his arms as he strode down the ruined streets of Magnolia, on to an unknown future.

Well, it wasn’t entirely unknown. It would have Lucy in it, for sure.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to perusemy Tableof Contents!

[rusocialpod]

Assimil is a dialogue based learning course popular amongst language learners. This is clearly illustrated by the 4+ star reviews on Amazon for the majority of the available courses. Assimil has a range of courses available in a variety of languages, but is geared primarily towards French speakers. Dubbed "The Magic Books” by NPR, Assimil is quickly approaching both 100 years of language teaching, and 100 languages in their catalog of courses. What is Assimil? Assimil, a French company, was created by Alphonse Chérel in 1929. It publishes several different series, their most popular being Sans Peine or With Ease. The Assimil Sans Peine courses are a combination of dialogue-based texts and audio where you learn by working through passive and active stages. In the passive stage you complete the lessons by reading and listening. While in the active stage you not only listen to and read the lessons, but attempt to translate the dialogues on your own. Compared to the apps and podcasts that many learners use these days, Assimil arguably offers an “old fashioned" approach. The method hasn’t changed much since its original release in the 1920's. So is it still a relevant learning tool? In the past, I have used Assimil to study languages I already had a foundation in - Chinese and Croatian. So for this review I decided to take on the challenge of studying a language in which I was a beginner: Korean. [caption id="attachment_20749" align="aligncenter" width="700"] My Assimil "Korean With Ease" course[/caption] Assimil’s Korean courses are only available in French, so I choose to work through Assimil Coréen Sans Peine to see how I would do. Before I started using Coréen Sans Peine, I’d categorise myself as a “false beginner”. I had dabbled in the language, but my Korean reading was precarious at best, my vocabulary extremely limited and my understanding of grammar non-existent. Having completed the course, here are my thoughts. Assimil Korean with Ease: Getting Started Each course in Assimil’s Sans Peine series includes both a book and four audio CDs (and/or an MP3 disc). The courses are available in 148 language combinations, although only 16 of these are for English speakers while 49 are for French speakers. I really like that both the audio and book are available as a complete package, especially because the audio is directly related to the text. What’s more, I like that the audio is to the point. There aren’t any fancy introductions or extra banter from the speakers that you have to endure to get to the real “meat” of the program. Assimil’s Sans Peine courses are created with beginners in mind, and it’s very easy to get started. Each book includes a thorough introduction to the language with tips on pronunciation, the writing system if there is one, and general features of the language. Following the introduction, the course dives right in. For languages with different writing systems, such as Chinese, Japanese or Korean, transliterations are included in Assimil’s courses. While I could have slowly worked my way through Korean texts, I really appreciated having the transliteration printed below the dialogues so that I could focus on speaking and listening comprehension, rather than my reading skills. Plus, the accompanying audio offers you the chance to hear how the words sound so you don’t feel like you’re guessing. [caption id="attachment_20750" align="aligncenter" width="700"] A look inside the Assimil course.[/caption] Each chapter includes a brief dialogue (although these grow longer as you progress) and notes on content. There are also exercises that give you the opportunity to use the material you’ve learned. Together with the translation that conveys the meaning of the text, a literal translation is included so that you get a feel for word order and vocabulary without needing vocabulary lists or grammar exercises. The lessons intentionally avoid going into great depth on grammar, instead offering a collection of simple dialogues with detailed footnotes on rules as they appear as well as notes on the culture tied to the language. How I Used Assimil I personally work through the lessons, reading the dialogues out loud before shadowing them once more along with the audio. The way that I use the course, the active stage starts when I repeat the lessons with the audio alone to see how much I’ve really mastered. I can then go back and review what I need with the text. I also like to try out what I’m learning as a part of language exchanges. This approach works well for my learning style, but I could understand why other learners might not be a fan of the series. For me, the process ensures that the material I’m learning really sticks, but others might find it tedious. The strengths of the Assimil method definitely lie in the way it offers context for what it teaches rather than word lists or grammar exercises isolated from how the language functions in day-to-day life. Most lessons can be completed in around an hour, so they are a manageable length. Assimil with Ease Review: What Did I Learn? Assimil Korean includes practical and relevant phrases and vocabulary for real world situations. Through the course, I learned words and phrases that were incredibly useful and applicable to daily conversations. These included: I almost forgot! What genre of books do you read most? What time do you get off work? There was nothing to eat in the fridge, so I went out to the restaurant across the way. What kind of food do you like? I really like that Assimil jumps right in and skips the laborious introductions that span several chapters in other courses. My only criticism is that you are not equipped with everything you need to give a full introduction to someone you’ve just met. While I don’t need to know how to describe my entire extended family, it would be nice to get a bit more content for introducing myself, my hobbies, and my preferences. One thing that’s really great about the series is that the dialogues vary from language to language so that they’re more culturally and geographically relevant to the language that the book teaches. But this also means that depending on the learner and depending on the language, the usefulness of the material in the books really varies. Compared to other With Ease books, the Korean course did seem much more travel/business orientated, but there was enough additional content (karaoke, seasons, food, jokes) that this didn’t deter me much. Overall, the language in the texts is relatively formal. Personally, I prefer this. I would rather be overly formal than rudely informal. Especially with a language like Korean where honorifics are important. What Level Can You Reach With Assimil? Assimil claim that their Sans Peine series will take learners to the B2 level according to the CEFR scale and that their Perfectionnement series will get you to the C1 level. I’m not entirely sure how accurate this is because while you may work with material that ranges from the A1 to B2 or C1 level, there are gaps that would need to be filled with the help of other resources. In terms of vocabulary, it was not as thorough as I would like from a course that works through so many levels. For most learners, this is fine because relying on just one course or learning tool to teach you a language is never a good strategy, but it could be deceiving for those expecting an all-in-one language resource. I will say this: Because the Sans Peine course gets to B2 level in about 71 lessons, they quickly grow challenging. The course also covers quite a bit of grammar, but it’s done in a way that isn’t overwhelming. You’re introduced to different grammar concepts on an as-needed basis. For the same reason, the course isn’t for someone who hasn’t had any prior exposure to the language. It’s a bit difficult to pick up without any experience in your target language. But it’s fantastic for those with a basic vocabulary. What Could be Better about Assimil? I did have some issues with the Assimil approach. The introductions and basic pleasantries were not as in-depth as I would have expected for a course aimed at beginners. There are some phrases that fall into this category, but the course quickly shifts into situational and culture-related dialogues. While these are useful later down the line, I thought that just two short chapters on introductions weren’t quite enough. At the same time, however, this is something you can easily find in any other resource, so it’s not a huge strike against Assimil. The one thing that I would really love to see added to the series would be additional relevant phrases at the end of each chapter. These could be phrases that might fit into the example dialogue and they would serve two beneficial purposes. One, you could role play and swap out some of the phrases so you really get to maximise the dialogues in the book. And two, you get additional vocabulary and phrases suitable to the theme of each chapter without having to figure out the grammar to piece them together yourself. My biggest complaint is about the audio. Most computers no longer have a disc drive built in, so I had limited listening options. It would be far more convenient if the book included an access code to download the files online or you were given a USB drive with the audio instead. In addition, I wasn’t a huge fan of the transliterations for the language in the book, but only because it was different from what I’m used to. There really isn’t a standard for Korean, so it’s hard to penalize them for this. Plus, since I wasn’t that great at reading Korean, it was helpful to have this available to me. Finally, the selection of Assimil courses available to English speakers is relatively small in comparison to their overall catalogue. If you don’t speak French, your options with Assimil are limited. This also makes accessibility outside of Europe somewhat difficult (or more expensive). If you do speak French (or another continental European language), however, Assimil is an excellent resource to work on laddering. Assimil Review: Did I Actually Remember What I Learned? Because it’s a traditional coursebook, Assimil really doesn’t have a way to keep you accountable. It’s up to you as the learner to monitor your progress - there are no leaderboards, progress bars, or points awarded for working through the material. That said, the lessons are short and easily digestible, so there’s not anything to keep you from continuing through the lessons on a regular basis. The only critique I had is that you do have to find the time to sit down and concentrate on the lessons, which is different from some of the other resources available that are more portable. If you don’t have the time to really sit down and study, you can always just work with the audio to see how your listening comprehension fares. I really enjoy Assimil’s approach. It was just challenging enough to hold my attention and the time it takes to complete the lessons is just right. I also like the extra cultural tidbits and language facts they add in the endnotes. It gives me a nice break from actual language learning but still keeps me in the right mindset. I was honest with myself as I completed the various exercises, working to find the answers on my own before double-checking the result against those provided. Because the lessons were so succinct, I found I ended up with just the right balance of right and wrong answers to keep me motivated (not so many that I grew frustrated but not so few that I became bored). If you really want a way to track your progress, you can do so with the exercises at the end of each chapter. You can also check how you’re doing through the review sections, by how many lessons you’ve completed and by how much of the audio you understand without the help of the text. The book contains review sections every six chapters. I was pleased with the frequency of these - neither too much nor too little. The course structure offers you the opportunity to work through the information in a variety of ways, so even though I didn’t retain everything I learned using the course, I was able to take away the things I was most likely to use in the future. Assimil: The Verdict The verdict: I would definitely use Assimil again in the future, but with the caveat of doing it my own way. Assimil brought me from having an entirely shaky understanding of Korean to being able to confidently have short and direct exchanges in the language. I am definitely not at a B2 (or even B1) level, but I would say that I am somewhere in the vicinity of A2 and that I might hit B1 with another pass at the book and by more intensively working on the translations, or active phase of the book. The Assimil method runs contrary to the Speak from Day 1 approach. It suggests that the learner take a passive learning approach for the first several chapters, then step into an active approach in the later chapters. This means that you work through the beginning of the book by reading, listening, and completing the exercises. You’re then advised to go back during the active stage and work on translating the lessons. If you ignore these directions, however, and reading the dialogues from the first lesson, you can Speak from Day 1 with Assimil. The great thing about a self-guided course is that it’s, well, self-guided. You can use it however you see fit and take as much time as you need with each section. I will use Assimil again in the future - in fact, I’m already using it for Russian. While the content of every dialogue may not be useful for every learner, I like the context that it gives the language and I find this approach much more effective than that of some of the other available course books. You can find Assimil Coréen Sans Peine on Amazon. Other Assimil courses available for English speakers: New French With Ease Spanish With Ease German With Ease Italian With Ease Brazilian Portuguese Arabic With Ease Japanese With Ease The post Assimil Review: An Honest Look at the Assimil Language Learning System appeared first on Fluent in 3 months - Language Hacking and Travel Tips.

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

Queen Cobra

I have been wanting to write a snake miraculous holder Alix fic for a long, long time now, and I finally gave in, so here’s the first chapter of what’s gonna be a wild ride of friendship, danger, rich kid bonding, sneks, and memes

Also on AO3 as always

Being a superhero was fairly fun most of the time, getting to save people from danger and zooming around the Parisian rooftops without anyone telling you off or yelling at you to slow down. And plus, having superpowers? That was awesome.

Being a pretty blatant third wheel to Ladybug and Rena Rouge, on the other hand, was a heck of a lot less fun. It was always the two of them fighting the akuma, saving the day, actually having non-lethal special powers and getting to use them without worrying that they were going to kill someone off or whatever. And then they’d fist-bump each other, only remembering Queen Cobra as an afterthought.

“Oh – Queen Cobra! You go keep an eye on the civilians! Make sure they’re safe!”

It was always that. Making sure the civilians were safe. Going after normal, “muggle” bad guys, like robbers or muggers or murderers, and not the magical supervillains in dorky costumes that plagued Paris on a daily basis. No, those were Ladybug and Rena’s job to deal with. Half the time it didn’t even feel like Queen Cobra was part of their team.

But now? Things were different. Recent events had shaken up Paris so badly, probably even cool-headed Ladybug wouldn’t know what to do with herself. Was her job at an end, now that there were no more akumas? Would she and Rena have to retire? Or would they finally have to start doing the lowly, unglamorous job that Queen Cobra was already used to, cleaning up the city of criminals who did bad things on their own accord?

Well, maybe she wouldn’t know for a while until she saw them again. And until then, there were more pressing matters on her mind. Far more pressing matters.

Like the fact that a certain someone now knew her secret identity. Someone who was definitely not supposed to.

“Yo ninja turtle, what is UP my dude?”

Alix Kubdel burst through the door into Master Fu’s room, throwing her schoolbag on the floor and sitting down in front of him, exhausted. Today had been such a weird day.

“I really should be asking you that question,” Fu said, not even raising his eyes from the book he was reading. “I hear quite a lot of interesting things happened today.”

“Yeah, it was crazy. You must have heard that Ladybug and Rena caught Hawk Moth, right? Oh yeah, and they apparently don’t know you so they asked me to give you this.”

She took a tiny little butterfly brooch out of her pocket and put it on the table in front of her.

“It was a bit of a job persuading them that I actually know the Great Guardian of the Miraculouses in real life, or whatever fancy title you call yourself,” she continued. “Do they really not know you? How did you even give them their Miraculouses if you never met them?”

“I simply left the box containing their Miraculouses in their possession,” Fu said, before taking a sip of the tea that was on the table. “The less they know about me, the better. The Ladybug and Fox Miraculouses are considered more powerful and valuable than yours, so it would be safer for them not to know too much. I left it to their kwamis to explain everything to them.”

Alix pouted for a few seconds – more powerful and valuable, honestly! Did Ladybug or Rena have frickin’ rollerskates on their super suit? Um, no, they did not.

“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t do that with me,” she said finally. “Scoot wouldn’t have bothered to explain anything to me anyway.”

The little green kwami in question jumped out of her pocket indignantly. “That is blatantly untrue! I would certainly have explained your powers to you if Master Fu did not, I would never have just left you to fend for yourself–”

“Yeah you would, noodle boy.” She gave Scoot a little poke in the side. “Anyway, catching Hawk Moth and putting him in jail was not the only thing that happened today. Uh, something else did too. Something less good.”

“You discovered the true identity of Hawk Moth and did not like the result, is that it?” Fu asked. By this time Wayzz had hopped off the phonograph and onto Fu’s shoulder, listening intently. Gee, why couldn’t Scoot be that polite all the time?

“Sorta,” she replied. “I mean yeah, turns out Hawk Moth is Gabriel Agreste, famous fashion designer and whatever, the dad of one of the kids in my class. But um… there’s something else too… I sorta screwed up…”

“That’s an understatement,” Scoot added, rather unhelpfully.

“No it isn’t,” Alix said. “It’s just that someone may have found out my secret identity.”

“They definitely did.”

“And then I ran straight over here to tell you so I have no idea what their reaction is.”

“A disaster, probably.”

“Would you be quiet?!”

“How did this happen?” Fu asked. His expression hadn’t changed at all.

“I de-transformed and didn’t realize this person was standing right behind me,” Alix said. “Lame, I know. And I know we’re not supposed to tell people our identities, so like, am I in danger or something? What am I meant to do now?”

“That depends entirely on who this person is. After all, I know your secret identity, as do Wayzz and Scoot, and your brother too. It isn’t always a bad thing.”

Yeah, well Jalil only knew for practical reasons. Scoot refused to eat anything that wasn’t dead mice, and owning an actual pet snake was the only non-suspicious way to get hold of that, so of course she had to tell Jalil. He was an adult, he could buy one, even if it did freak their dad out a lot. And she trusted him to keep her secret.

“So who is this person?” Fu asked.

“Well…”

The worst person possible, really. Not only was it someone she saw almost every single day, but also someone who was probably in a complete breakdown over other things in their life right now and definitely did not need to have knowing a superhero’s secret identity added to their list of things to flip out over.

“It’s Hawk Moth’s son,” Scoot said for her, crossing his little kwami arms and rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. Adrien Agreste.” Alix took a quick glance at the smartwatch on her wrist – Adrien had her number from various school projects, but he hadn’t tried to call her or anything. Maybe he was still too busy freaking out over his dad being a supervillain to bother with his classmate turning out to be the least famous member of Paris’s resident supergirl trio.

“That’s not too bad then,” Fu said, shrugging and pouring himself some more tea. “He seems like a nice person from what you’ve told me before, I’m sure he won’t tell anyone. And with the threat of Hawk Moth gone, it is much less dangerous for everyone whether they know your identity or not.”

“But that was emotionally stable Adrien I’ve always told you about,” Alix said, trying to figure out a way to get across what she was worrying about. “Right now he’s literally just found out his dad is Hawk Moth, who’s been put in jail, and his mother’s been missing for like a year. He’s gotta stay in custody of Gabriel Agreste’s assistant now. He basically has no parents. And from what I saw of him when I was keeping him safe while Ladybug and Rena were busting in and whatever, he’s uh… not taking it that well.”

“Then I suggest you go speak to him.”

“Um… what?”

Fu seemed weirdly unperturbed. “Go have a chat. Remind him not to tell anyone your secret identity. Make sure he’s alright.”

“Bruh, I’m not a therapist. I am very bad at dealing with people who are flipping out.”

“It’s true,” Scoot said.

“Shut up, Scoot, you’re wrong. I changed my mind. I’m good at dealing with people, and I will definitely go talk to Adrien.”

Fu just smiled. “Excellent. Let me know how it goes.”

“Oh, and by the way…” Alix fiddled with the laces on her Heelys absent-mindedly. “Now that Hawk Moth’s gone, what’s the Super Squad gonna do? I mean, as Queen Cobra I can still go be Batman, but Ladybug and Rena never did any of that stuff. They only fought akumas. Are they still gonna keep their Miraculouses?”

“That is up to them. I believe it would be good for the city’s morale to have their superheroes continue to be around, wouldn’t it? But if they have nothing that they want to do then let me know, and I will get their Miraculouses back.”

“How?”

He tapped the edge of his nose. “That’s a secret.”

“Are you gonna break into their houses and steal their jewellery while they’re asleep or something? Dude, that’s creepy.”

Wayzz, usually content to be silent and just listen in, burst into laughter. “Who says he’s the one who’s doing the breaking in?”

“You, really?! Wow, criminals…”

Scoot tugged on one of her loose strands of hair. “Come on, the sooner we talk to the Agreste boy, the better.”

Agreste boy? Pfffff, he had a name. But Scoot was right. It was better to just get this over with before Adrien had a total meltdown, which was probably going to happen at some point. That kid had always been a ticking time bomb.

She stood up and picked up her bag. “I guess I’ll see you guys some other time then.”

“Perhaps stick around for tea next time?” Fu asked, holding up the tea pot.

“Meh, I think I’ll stick with Red Bull, thanks. Bye for now.”

She waved and walked out of the door, Scoot whizzing back into her pocket along the way.

Right… now to find Adrien. Would he still be in that protective alleyway where she had left him? Or would he have gone back home? Of course, it was always possible he might have been picked up by the police or something, they’d want to know what was going on. Not that they’d get anything out of Adrien, of course, there was no way that boy knew anything about his father’s villainous activities, he was definitely innocent–

Oh, drat. He was standing right there. Outside Fu’s shop.

“Uh… hey Adrien!” Alix said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Oh… hi…”

He really, really did not look good. Red eyes, tear-stained face, clothes still half covered in debris from his father’s evil lair sending off missiles everywhere when Ladybug and Rena had broken in. His voice sounded like he was trying to hold back tears, though mostly failing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Maybe this was all just some weird, crazy coincidence. There was a small likelihood that Adrien hadn’t recognized her when she de-transformed, or maybe he had somehow forgotten (amnesia could be a side-effect of trauma, right?), or maybe he hadn’t even noticed and she just thought he did, and maybe he just happened to be coming to Fu’s shop to get a back massage or something. Yeah.

“I followed you.” He was shuffling nervously on his feet. “I saw you earlier, and… you’re… Queen Cobra…”

“Pffffff, no I’m not, that’s ridiculous.”

“You are! I saw you de-transform right in front of my eyes!”

Alright, so he did know. Seriously though, how had he managed to follow her here? She was very quick on her Heelys, he must have been outright sprinting to keep her within sight.

Which of course meant that he wanted to talk to her about all this…

Ugh. She didn’t really like talking to people much.

“Yeah, fine, it’s me,” she said, taking a quick glance round to make sure no one else was nearby to eavesdrop. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

He shook his head. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

There was an awkward silence for what seemed to stretch into hours, though was probably more like a few seconds. Yeah, this was why she didn’t like talking to people. No one ever knew what to say to her.

“Thank you for saving me,” he said quietly, at long last. “When the missiles were going off and the akuma army were attacking. I probably would have died if you didn’t get me out of there.”

Oh Adrien, always so polite, remembering his pleases and thank yous even while probably internally falling apart. It could not have been pleasant for him to know that his own father, as well as being the city’s most hated supervillain, was okay with endangering his own son just to have a chance to escape.

“Hey, it’s no problem,” she said.

Now another long, awkward silence. Yikes. This was the worst conversation ever, and she’d had a lot of bad conversations before.

Eventually Scoot just flew right out of her pocket muttering, “Oh for goodness’ sake, you can’t do anything right, can you!” He zoomed right up in front of Adrien’s face and said, “Hello Adrien, I am Scoot, if you have any questions about being a superhero then just ask me because this trainwreck of a classmate of yours is certainly not doing a good job of telling you anything.”

Adrien stumbled backwards slightly, a look of shock on his face. “What…”

“Yes, I’m real. No, you’re not dreaming.”

“Um…” Adrien recovered quickly, to his credit. “Nice to meet you… Scoot. But… who are you?”

“I am a kwami, a magical creature. I give Alix her powers when she transforms into Queen Cobra. I also attempt to give her advice in her daily life, which she refuses to pay attention to.”

“That’s ‘cause your advice is boring,” Alix said. “Anyway Adrien, got any questions? I may as well answer them.”

He just stared for a few seconds, seemingly still taking everything in. Then he said, “Who are Ladybug and Rena Rouge then?”

“I have no idea. They’re probably a lot better at keeping their identities hidden than I am. But then again, it’s their Miraculouses that Hawk Moth wanted, not mine…”

She trailed off, realizing that mentioning Hawk Moth around Adrien Agreste might just be a bad idea. Sure enough, at the mention of his father, a flicker of pain flashed across his eyes. Yeah okay, she was definitely going to have to start thinking before speaking around this kid.

“So I don’t know who they are,” she continued quickly. “I guess I might never find out now.”

“Are the heroes not ever coming back then?”

“No idea. I probably will, I mean, someone’s gotta stop the bank robberies and criminal gangs, right? But I don’t know if Ladybug and Rena will be back or not.”

“Oh… okay…” He thought for another few seconds. “How do you act so different?”

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“Queen Cobra’s so majestic and aloof, and you’re… um… well…”

Indescribable, sure. She got that a lot.

“I do that on purpose,” she said. “Otherwise how stupidly easy is it gonna be to recognize me? I have pink hair, dude. Pink hair. And I skate a lot. And I’m tiny. As big as Paris is, there really aren’t that many people like me around.”

Anime protagonist was the phrase coming to mind. But the truth was, if there was a “protagonist”, it was either Ladybug or Rena. No one in their right mind would pick Queen Cobra as the number one hero of Paris, whether she looked like it as a civilian or not.

Adrien was still just staring, looking very much like he was about to cry. That was not good.

“You should probably go home and get some rest,” she suggested.

“I don’t want to go home.”

His fists were clenched now. Even more not good.

“Maybe call up Nino and talk to him?”

“Nino left for the airport several hours ago.”

Already? Jeez, the summer holidays had only just started today. In any case, Adrien’s fists were even more clenched now, and he was looking at the ground, furiously blinking tears away from his eyes. Poor boy… that ticking time bomb was probably seconds away from exploding.

“You need a cup of tea,” Alix said, stepping forwards and grabbing his arm. “Come on.”

“Where–”

“Shush. Just follow me.”

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled him right back into Fu’s shop with her. Fu didn’t even look surprised to see them – well, she had always suspected he was either really wise or secretly psychic, maybe both.

“Can we get this dude a cup of tea please?” she asked him. “He’s had a rough day.”

“Certainly,” Fu said, immediately pouring out another cup that he already seemed to have ready. Okay, he must be psychic. “Take a seat, Adrien.”

Adrien did not seem surprised that Fu already knew who he was. Then again, that might just have been because everyone knew Paris’s most famous fashion model, he was already used to being a celebrity. Bewildered, he did indeed sit down on the floor and silently took the cup of tea Fu handed to him.

“You gonna be alright now?” Alix asked.

Adrien just nodded politely, taking a small sip from the tea cup.

“Cool. I guess I’ll be heading off now. If you’ve got any other questions you can always ask me later.”

“Are you seriously leaving right now?” Scoot screeched, giving her a punch in the arm. “The Agreste child is on the verge of having a nervous breakdown thanks to today’s events, and you would just leave him here in the company of a stranger–”

“Be quiet!” She grabbed Scoot in her hands and tried to stop him talking. “If I don’t get back soon dad’s gonna be so mad, he’ll ground me again…”

“Excuses!”

“Shush!”

Adrien was looking up at them, seeming nervous. “It’s okay, you can leave, I… I’m sure I’m fine…”

He was certainly not fine. But what else was Alix meant to do? Just stay here and endure more of those awkward silences? Adrien was nice and all, but having to comfort him in such dramatic circumstances was well beyond her capabilities. The emotional, supportive side of being a superhero was never something she could get the hang of.

“Master Fu here will take care of you, he’s a cool bean,” she said quickly. “I really gotta go now. Call me if you need anything!”

She didn’t really mean that last bit. Calling her, on a phone, expecting her to answer and actually speak to someone, well that was the quickest way of getting on her nerves. But it was probably the kind of nonsensical reassuring thing he needed to hear right now, so she had just said it without thinking. Grabbing Scoot again and stuffing him in her pocket, she left for good this time.

All the way along the journey back home she had to deal with Scoot making snide remarks from inside her pocket, as usual, earning her weird looks from passers-by – though the weird looks may have been a combination of that, and also the fact that she was Heelying down the street in an area that had definitely banned Heelys. (It wasn’t like anyone cared, it was fine.)

Arriving back home was no fun either, her father immediately interrogating her on where she had been, had she been part of Hawk Moth’s final akuma army, all of that stuff. His faith in her had really nosedived since her birthday several months ago. Obviously she was not going to tell him what she had really been up to, and had to invent an excuse like always.

“I was just hanging out with my friends,” she said, shrugging.

(“Pffff, what friends?” Scoot muttered from inside her pocket.)

“The panther friend didn’t challenge you to another cornflake-eating contest again, did he?” her father asked, rather sternly. She had to hold back a laugh – panther friend, really? Was Kim such a hard name to remember?

“He’s not my friend, and no. I wasn’t doing anything bad, I swear.”

It was true, she technically hadn’t done anything bad. Saving Paris from a supervillain was one of the least bad things anyone could ever do, really.

“So who were you with?”

She picked two random classmates. “I was with Marinette and Alya, okay? Does this really matter?”

“I just want to be sure that you were safe.”

“Well clearly, I am perfectly safe and sound. Trust me dad, I’m not that irresponsible.” It was hard to be irresponsible when a whole city was counting on you to protect them – though to be fair, Ladybug and Rena were probably a whole lot more responsible that she was.

Her father sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Fine. But you need to stop running off all the time without letting me know where you’re going. Alright?”

“Yeah, fine.”

She carried on upstairs to where she found her brother, who was working on some nerdy history translation thing like he always was. As soon as he saw her he rushed over and wrapped her in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you!” Jalil screeched, much louder than he should have. “You and Ladybug and Rena saved the day and brought Hawk Moth to justice and–”

“Sure, just say it so loud that all of Paris can hear,” she muttered, though she grinned and hugged him back all the same. Thank goodness this was a large house. The chances that her father had overheard were low.

“Sorry, it was just so cool!” He finally let go and looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh good. Let me know if you need anything. Want some more food for Scoot? Should I make something nice for dinner? Should we watch The Mummy, in celebration? Should–”

“It’s okay, I don’t want anything!” She pushed Scoot back into her pocket, where she could feel him starting to come out at the mention of food. He’d already eaten recently, and anyway, she hated anyone interrupting when she was speaking to her brother. Jalil was one of the only people in the world who she actually got along with easily.

“You don’t look that happy,” he said, his smile disappearing. “What’s wrong?”

“Adrien Agreste knows my secret identity.”

The smile was back within a few seconds. “Oh, well that’s not so bad! You said Adrien is the nicest kid in your class, right?”

“Nah, that’s Rose. But Adrien’s already freaking out about his dad being a supervillain, so…”

“Wait, Hawk Moth is his dad?!... Agreste… Oh yes, I see, I just hadn’t realized…”

“And he probably is going totally nuts right now and has no one to turn to,” she continued. “I kinda just left him at Fu’s place and then came back here.”

Scoot had been fighting against her fingers and finally managed to fly out. “Yes, because you’re a selfish stubborn no-good who refuses to comfort someone in need!”

“Chill out, snekki,” she said, about to give him a jab in the side but quickly pulled her fingers back when she saw him baring his fangs. “I tried. But I’m no good at that stuff, I would have just made it worse. I’m not gentle enough. I always… y’know… break stuff.”

Jalil put a hand on her shoulder. “Alix, a person and a pocket watch are not the same. I’m sure whatever little you did must have helped him, in whatever small way.”

“If you say so…”

“Anyway, do you want to tell me all about today’s superhero adventure now? I can’t wait to hear the details!”

Yeah, that would be better. Recounting the dramatic break into the Agreste mansion would be entertaining enough, even if the whole story would be up on the Ladyblog pretty soon anyway. Jalil always liked to hear the adventures from Alix herself. It was nice really, having someone to chat to about it. And even nicer to know that one of her relatives, at least, didn’t care if she was “irresponsible” or getting into danger or trouble. Jalil would always be there for her.

[hold-my-hair-back]

Destiel High School AU

Maybe trigger warnings? I don’t know, I give Dean a tough life.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Beep. Beep. Beep. The second the alarm went off, Castiel knew it was going to be a rough day. Not that he had actually been asleep before it went off. In fact, he had woken up a couple of hours ago when his stomach starts doing flips. He had managed to keep last night’s dinner down through the late hours of the night, but he wasn’t sure how he would fare while getting ready for school. The logical thing to do would be to stay home, of course. However, it was Friday, and he had a rather strict biology teacher that didn’t accept assignments that were done in class on any other day. He knew they were doing a few that would prep them for the upcoming test, and he couldn’t miss it. So, he decided to suck it up, and face the day. Slowly, his arm reached out from underneath his blanket, and he turned the alarm off. He laid there for a moment, his eyes looking up at the ceiling while his hand rested on his stomach. He was wearing one of Dean’s t-shirts that he had borrowed a while ago and had never returned. Oops. Not that Dean minded, of course. In fact, the usually gruff and stoic boy lit up whenever he saw Castiel wearing something of his. Castiel usually wore Dean’s stuff to just sleep in, since they were quite big on him due to his thin frame and Dean’s muscular one, and also he could only imagine the looks on people’s faces if he were to show up in a band t-shirt. It was definitely different than his usual outfit which always consisted of a collared shirt under a type of sweater or sweater vest. Not that he minded the way Dean dressed, but he himself would rather go out in public looking a little more… put together. After about three minutes of wasting time in bed, Castiel knew he needed to get up. Slowly, he sat up in his bed, his hand gently pressed up against his stomach as if doing so would keep the contents in while he moved around. He felt his stomach gurgle and shift underneath his palm, and he hiccuped softly as some of the trapped air tried to escape him. He was raised with more manners than that, and couldn’t even remember the last time he had allowed himself to burp out loud. He always did while he threw up -- which according to Dean, was too often -- but that couldn’t really be stopped. However, he would never just sit around and burp at any time. His mother would be offended beyond belief, and she had enough bad manners to deal with when Gabriel came back from college to visit.  Castiel hiccuped again, and he quickly put a hand to his mouth. He sat there for a few seconds, his eyes shut as he concentrated on not letting air escape… or something else. That would be even worse. He stood after a while and shuffled over to his closet, slipping the Metallica Master of Puppets shirt off of himself. When the oversized shirt was removed, Castiel looked down at himself and groaned. It wasn’t too obvious, but his stomach was normally very flat, so it was easy to notice the slight bloat. He gently rubbed his bare tummy for a few seconds, hoping it didn’t get any worse. Dean would definitely notice if he showed up to school looking like he was pregnant. To prevent that, Castiel chose a blue sweater that was a little looser than the others, and he didn’t bother to put a shirt on under it. He looked down at himself, and he knew if his stomach got any bigger, it would definitely be noticeable.  Castiel finished getting ready for school, and he shuffled downstairs, sighing softly. His mom was going to bombard him with questions, because he knew he was later to breakfast than usual. She was at the table already like always, ready for work while his father sat next to her. His little brother Alfie was in his highchair, playing with his mushed carrots. Usually, the sight would be cute, but today Castiel wasn’t feeling well enough to find it appealing in the slightest. He swallowed thickly, looking at the food smeared all over his brother’s face and hair. He turned away just as his mom spoke up. “Do you realize what time it is, young man?” she demanded. “The bus came by already.” Castiel frowned looking at the clock. It came at 7:20. What was she talking about? However his stomach turned impossibly more when he saw that it was almost 7:30. “Oh.” Was all he managed to say as he slumped down in the chair at the table. “Sorry. I slept through my alarm.” Castiel’s mother looked at him, a frown deepening. “Chuck,” she began, glancing over at her husband who was typing away at his computer. “Does Cas look a little off to you?” Of course she would start talking about him like he wasn’t there. She always did that. His dad didn’t look up from the book he was working on when he answered. “He looks fine,  dear. You just worry too much. I think a holiday would do you some good.” For some reason, the half-answer seemed enough for his mom, despite the fact that his dad hadn’t even bothered to look. Not that Castiel was complaining, because he really didn't want to sit there while they both observed them. “Well, alright,” she said slowly. She looked back at Castiel, her eyebrow raised. “Well Anna is already on the bus for the elementary school. She actually managed to get down here on time. Your father will have to take you today. In the meantime, eat something.” Castiel knew his mom was going to force food down his throat, but he still wasn’t able to prepare himself for the moment of food going inside of his stomach. To avoid suspicion, Castiel reached for a piece of toast and began nibbling on it. He was never super hungry in the mornings anyway, so he knew his mom wouldn’t suspect anything. “Dean can drive me,” he suggested quietly, not feeling well enough to speak at full volume. He made sure to eat as slowly as possible so avoid getting even more gassy. He kept a hand lightly on his stomach under the table out of sight from his mother’s suspicious gaze.  “Because spending time in that Impala will do wonders for your asthma,” his mother responded coolly, taking a drink of her coffee. It was a bite towards Dean’s smoking habits that his mother hated, but they all knew there was nothing anyone could do about it at this point. Castiel knew his mom actually really liked Dean and had become a bit motherly over him since Mary Winchester’s death just a few years ago. Still, the habits he had picked up after the incident bothered her. Mostly the smoking and occasional drinking. “I haven’t had an asthma attack in years,” he reminded him mom. “And I always carry around my inhaler anyway. Dean wouldn’t do anything to actually harm me.” That seemed to be enough for his mother and she nodded slowly. “Call him, then. I don’t want either of you to be late.” At 7:45, Castiel was sitting on the front porch, waiting for the familiar sound of Dean’s beloved Chevy Impala. He didn’t have to wait outside, but it wasn’t really cold out, and he had gotten tired of his mother’s look every time he so much as softly hiccuped. He sat up straight, a hand sliding underneath his shirt to rub at his upset stomach. There was a dull cramping all around his belly, but the worst part was the nausea. He let a soft groan escape his lips as he slouched against the porch steps, no longer having the energy to keep his posture. The slouched position made the feeling in his stomach significantly worse, though. The excess saliva in his mouth was starting to make him feel worse, and he leaned forward, spitting into the grass a few times. However, the moment he heard a car rolling up followed by muffled sounds of classic rock, Castiel straightened and watched the Impala roll up to the front of the house. Castiel grabbed his bag and slowly stood, his stomach and chest jumping as he hiccuped once again. Castiel would be worried about it if it weren’t for the fact that Dean had the table manners of a Tasmanian Devil.  Like always, when Castiel opened the door, he was hit by an intense smell of smoke and tobacco. He took a small step back, the smell not necessarily disgusting enough to make the feeling in his stomach worse, but powerful enough to make him wince. “Dean,” he complained before slowly climbing in. His stomach rebelled at the movement, but he ignored it. “Are you trying to be the youngest person to die from lung cancer?” Castiel closed the door, glad the sound of it shutting mixed with the music made his hiccup inaudible. Dean turned down the music, looking over at Castiel with his usual cocky grin. “That’d be quite the achievement, huh? Nah. Just a rough morning is all.” For Dean, a ‘rough morning’ probably consisted of his dad throwing beer bottles at his head, screaming at him and calling him mean names. “Great. Your stress will be very much relieved when you get--” Castiel cut himself off with a loud hiccup, and he quickly put a hand to his mouth, a deep blush covering his cheeks. He swallowed a couple of times, not being able to bring himself to look at Dean. “That sound wasn’t even close to sounding human,” Dean remarked. He glanced over at Castiel, his eyebrow raised. “You feeling okay, Cas? You’re looking a bit green. Literally. You haven’t had the stomach flu in a whole two months, so I guess it’s ‘bout time for it to come back around.” Of course Dean was making a remark about Castiel’s frequent bouts of various illnesses. It wasn’t his fault he had a weak immune system. Castiel pouted slightly, crossing his arms. “It was food poisoning last time and that’s because I’ve got a sensitive stomach.” “Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered as he pulled away from the house. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat anything that your stomach has agreed with. You know, I’m surprised I ain’t seen ya blow chunks yet. You’re always sick with somethin’ at least.” Castiel frowned at his boyfriend and hit his arm gently. “Don’t be mean,” he complained, but he wasn’t actually mad. “Because when I’m sick, I stay home. Unlike you.” Dean didn’t get sick often, but when he did, it was always pretty bad. Dean didn’t care much for school, but he hated home even more unless Sam was there. Castiel had seen Dean come to school with fevers that would normally hospitalize people. Castiel knew he, on the other hand, got sick often and it was never that bad. He knew how to rest and eat properly when he wasn’t feeling well, and he took whatever medicine he needed to. Dean liked to ‘power through’ things which always ended up with him getting something like pneumonia. Castiel had never seen Dean throw up, either, but the boy once claimed that it was ‘messy and unattractive’ so he didn’t do it. Right. If only it was that easy. “So you are sick?” Dean asked, looking over at him for just a second as he drove. Castiel wished he would just keep his eyes on the road, but Dean wasn’t known for being the safest driver in the world. “Why the hell are you going to school then?” Castiel opened his mouth, but shut it again, swallowing back another burp. He waited a few seconds before sighing softly. “I have biology stuff.” Dean scoffed, digging a cigarette out of his leather jacket pocket and sticking it in his mouth. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous. Take care of yourself. Your health should come first.” Dean lit his cancer stick, rolling down the window so the smoke wouldn’t blow in Castiel’s face. “Coming from the boy who winds up with pneumonia after catching every cold,” Castiel muttered. He turned his head and looked out the window, hoping it would help his increasing nausea die down. Dean would never forgive him if he puked in his precious car.  “What can I say?” Dean chuckled. “I’m just a drama queen.”   They arrived at the school at 8:00, just like always, giving them fifteen minutes to get ready for first period before the bell rang. By the time they reached the school, Castiel had completely slumped against the door, his seatbelt disregarded as it was putting uncomfortable pressure on his queasy belly. Dean never wore his seatbelt, but Castiel always wore his. The moment he unclicked it, he knew Dean would realize how awful he was feeling.  “I can take you back home,” Dean suggested, reaching over and resting a hand on his arm. Dean’s voice had softened a great deal, probably realizing Castiel wasn’t feeling well at all. He rubbed Castiel’s arm up and down, and Castiel closed his eyes at the comforting touch.  “Got biology stuff,” Castiel murmured, swallowing thickly. His chest jumped a bit again as he hiccuped, and he put a hand to his mouth, swallowing thickly. He felt Dean’s hand stop moving across his arm.  “Do you want some ginger ale or somethin’, sweetheart?” Dean asked gently, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair. “And I would just like to add that class ain’t worth going to school like this.”  Ginger ale? No. Ginger ale would only make him burp, which was what he was trying to avoid doing. He shook his head, lifting it off the window, and looking over at Dean. “I’m okay,” he told Dean. “I can make it through first period, and then I’ll call my dad.”  Dean sighed, but didn’t say anything further on the matter. He turned off his car and reached behind him and grabbed his backpack. “Probably won’t make it the whole day, either. I ain’t sick or nothing, but I don’t see myself sitting through a whole day of school. To me s…. So I don’t… I…” Everything Dean was saying now was fading in and out as Castiel put all of his attention towards the shifting that was occurring in his stomach. He no longer had a clue what Dean was talking about as he sat forehead, concentrating on his rebelling stomach. “Cas… Cas… Castiel?” Castiel looked up when he realized Dean was calling his name. He flushed at being caught in such a distracted state of mind. “Sorry?” he asked softly, looking at Dean. “What were you talking about?”  Dean’s green eyes narrowed slightly, and Castiel knew the other boy was now studying him more than before. He needed to look natural then, before Dean kept worrying. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay in first period?” Dean asked him, looking skeptical. “I don’t think you going in there like this would do you much good.” Castiel didn’t agree. Even if he just got one thing out of class today, it would be worthwhile. He opened his mouth to argue, but then something else came instead of words. The second his mouth was opening, he felt his body jump with a violent hiccup. However, this time, it was followed by a soft burp. It was small sounding, and about as delicate as they could get. Still Castiel flushed a deep red and he looked down. “Excuse me,” he whispered. Dean raised an eyebrow. He had known Castiel for years now, and he had never heard the other boy burp. Castiel felt the rough, calloused hands cup his cheek, and suddenly Castiel was looking him in the eye. “Cas,” Dean began slowly, running a hand through the dark hair. “You’re stomach ain’t feeling good. You don’t need to be embarrassed. Let it do what it’s gotta do. You’ll feel better.”  Castiel doubted belching would make the queasiness go away. Besides, he didn’t want to start bad habits that he might bring home to his mother. Castiel bit his lip and shook his head, his cheeks still red with embarrassment. “I can’t, De,” he whined. Castiel rested his elbow against the door and rested his forehead against his hand. The other hand was on his stomach, trying to coax it to calm down. “It hurts,” he whispered, feeling the tears well in his eyes. The cramps were getting significantly worse now which also made the nausea increase. Dean was quick to act and he gently pulled Castiel’s hand away from the bloated stomach, ignoring his small noise of protest as he did so. “Hey, you holding in your gas is only going to make your stomach hurt more,” Dean pointed out. “Lemme help you. You know I won’t judge you.” Dean placed his own hand on Castiel’s stomach and began to rub in soothing circles, light enough to not make his boyfriend sick, but hard enough to hopefully coax the gas bubbles out. Fed up with the pain he was experiencing, Castiel knew he didn’t want to hold it in anymore. He felt the gas bubbles rise to his throat and this time, he released them. “Urrp”. It was a soft and small one, and he heard Dean chuckle from behind him. “You’re the only one who can make burping delicate,” he remarked. He found a new spot on Castiel’s belly and he slowly worked his hands into the tight spot. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ve got a lot of gas in here.” “I kn-- urrrrrp --”. Castiel’s face turned bright red again as this one was much louder and longer. He put his hand to his mouth, burping into it once more twice. Dean was starting to get worried at this point. The bloating in Castiel’s stomach was starting to go down slightly, but it was clear the nausea wasn’t subsiding. “Cas, sweetheart,” Dean began carefully watching as Castiel let out a series of queasy belches into his hand -- these ones sounding significantly wetter. “I think we gotta let you throw up and then I’m gonna take you home.”  Castiel felt himself begin to get worked up. He hated throwing up more than anything. “I’ll be -- urrrrrrrrp -- fine, De. I just gotta -- urrrrrrrrrp -- wait it out.” Castiel hiccuped again, and this time the burp that followed was small but very sick sounding. Dean could hear it splash the back of Castiel’s throat and the smaller boy brought his hand up to his mouth, making a soft gagging noise. “I don’t want to -- hic-urrrrrp -- throw up, Dean.” Tears were sliding down his cheeks now and he gagged again. “Don’t get so worked up,” Dean told him softly. His hand was still on Castiel’s stomach, but he didn’t dare rub it at this point, knowing the pressure would make Castiel sick in a split second. “You’re making your stomach feel worse. Just calm down.” Dean knew Castiel was close to throwing up, though and there wasn’t anything that could be done about it at this point. Dean looked around his car for something Castiel could throw up in so he wouldn’t have to throw up in the parking lot in front of all everyone. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a container of any sort. Dean grabbed a big, thick blanket that he used to cover his car up in the winter. He folded it up sloppily and brought it up front, putting it in Castiel’s lap. It was thick enough that it shouldn’t leak and he could just toss it out in the dumpster behind them. “De,” Castiel whined, sniffing. “I can’t throw up on your stuff.” Dean moved his hand from Castiel’s stomach to his back and gently eased Castiel into a hunching position so he was leaning over the blanket. The movement coaxed another belch out of the boy, but at this point Castiel was clearly beyond caring. “It’s just a blanket, Cas. I can get another one.” “But, Dean --” “No buts. Just relax, Castiel.” Castiel sniffed as he leaned over the dirty blanket. His lip was stuck out in a pout and tears were in his eyes again. Starting the process was always hard. It got easier as he got going, but this was the part he couldn’t deal with. Saliva was pooling his mouth and he opened it slightly and let himself drool over the blanket. It was an act that would normally humiliate him, but at this point, he didn’t care. Besides, he was fortunate enough to have the most understanding boyfriend in the whole world.  Dean was carding his fingers through Castiel’s dark hair, hoping to bring him some comfort as he went through this. He grabbed an old, but clean, fast food napkin from the inside door pocket and wiped away a long string of saliva that Castiel was having a hard times spitting out. “You’re doing great,” he whispered, rubbing Castiel’s back. Castiel gagged again, bringing up nothing, but he knew he was close. He had to stop himself from instinctively swallowing, knowing he needed to just get this over with. More saliva pooled out of his mouth onto the blanket and he shuddered softly. Dean put his hand back on Castiel’s stomach as he watched his boyfriend struggle. He felt the bloated belly move as Castiel gagged, lurching roughly. He gently rubbed it, careful to not put any pressure on it. Castiel gagged again, this time letting out a soft whine. “It’s not coming,” he mumbled miserably. He gagged and spit again, before moaning. “I just wanna get it over with.” Tears were welling in his eyes again as he gagged roughly. Dean could feel how hard Castiel’s stomach was working underneath his palm. The contents were shifting and it was lurching uncontrollably. Still, nothing was coming up. Remembering how close Castiel came to throwing up as he belched, Dean had an idea. “I’m gonna help you throw up, okay?” he said gently, still stroking Castiel’s belly. Castiel nodded in agreement, so Dean took action. He began to add pressure to his boyfriend’s tummy, and listened as it let out an audible grumble. The gas bubbles were making a reappearance and Dean could feel them flutter under his palm. He slowly slid Castiel’s sweater up so his hand was directly on Castiel’s belly. He pressed down and began to rub in circles. “De -- Urrrrrrrrrp”. It clearly worked as he was getting Castiel to belch again. His boyfriend’s cheeks puffed out and he let out another small puff of air. “Oooohhhh -- urrrrrrrp.” The last one was once again bringing stuff up to the back of Castiel’s throat, and for good, pressure, Dean pressed down on Castiel’s sick stomach one more time.  It happened quicker than either of them expected. Castiel was belching again, but it was cut off as his stomach contents were coming up his throat and flooding into his mouth. Castiel gagged as he released the mouthful of light brown vomit onto the blanket. Dean wiped his mouth again as a trickle of the brown sick was hanging from his lips. Castiel gagged gain, bringing up another torrent of puke, this time relieved that it was coming up easier. Dean rubbed Castiel’s belly though the whole ordeal, gently whispering to Castiel as he got sick. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re doing great. You’re almost finished.” Castiel burped again, and this time only a small mouthful came up. He was clearly almost empty. He hadn’t thought he had so much in his stomach to begin with. The amount that came out of him was surprising. Castiel gagged and spit again before straightening up, not daring to look at the blanket. He felt Dean’s hand retract and he looked over at his boyfriend with watery blue eyes. “I’m done,” he said softly. “Do you feel better?” Dean asked, brushing back dark hair from Castiel’s sweaty forward. Castiel held up a finger and brought his fist to his mouth. He burped into it, this time glad it didn’t sound as wet or sick. “M’kay. Now I feel better.” Dean laughed and started up his car again so Castiel could get a little air conditioning. “I’m gonna throw that blanket away and then I’m taking you home. No arguments.” “Will you stay with me?” Castiel asked, blue eyes pleading. “Always.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading! As always, I take prompts (not just for Destiel) and will try to post a story once a day. Also, I do a lot of emeto roleplay for anyone who is looking for a partner. :)  Edit: I do know the differences between my ‘yours’ and ‘theres’, but sometimes when I type on my phone, it gets changed and I don’t catch it. I promise I’m not a moron LOL. Also, I did completely seperate paragraphs when I wrote this, but for some reason, hey got bunched together when I pasted it it, and my computer is so  slow I couldn’t really go back and fix it all. 

[shellelyn2]

Tonight Is For You (Newt Scamander X Reader)

Author’s notes: this story is my BABY. I have literally never written any Newt Scamander until now and I couldn’t do anything else in my life until I typed this out and it took FOREVER. I basically sat at my computer for three days straight as all these little thoughts would come to me and I COULD NOT REST until it was done.

I’m very proud of it, I am definitely NOT the best writer…there are so many others on here that do an incredible job capturing Newt so well but I gave it a shot. I honestly wrote this mainly for ME…because I couldn’t get it out of my head.

This part is dedicated to all those who just want to escape to a place where all that matters is love.

Title: Tonight Is For You - Part One

More?

PART TWO “Tonight Is For Us”- with gifs / no gifs

PART THREE - “Tonight Is For Them”- with gifs / no gifs

MASTER LIST

PAIRING: NewtXReader

RATING: T  

WARNINGS: Just a LOT of affectionate fluff & fireflies & some cinnamon rolls

FLUFF LEVEL: THROUGH MACUSAS ROOF

“Newt? Sweetheart?” You entered the case quickly, searching for your gentle husband. Somehow after nearly two years of marriage he still seemed to have hiding places.

Once, it was tree house covered in so many leaves and vines that it looked like a sea of Bowtruckles were taking over. Second, it was a nest of blankets and straw in a sunny, wide open field where Pixies flew above. Lastly, and perhaps your personal favorite, it was on a little hill, covered in dainty flowers and a soft layer of grass. You had found Newt resting there, Pickett pacing his chest as he hummed a lullaby to the nearby creatures. This time he was nowhere to be found and you slumped your shoulders, turning back towards the stairs. Before you even climbed two steps you heard what sounded like snoring coming from below your feet. You glanced downward. Maybe the Niffler was scrounging around in here somewhere. You squinted your eyes… something was glowing from beneath the wooden floor boards. In fact, it seemed to come from below the tiny cot that Newt had insisted on placing in the corner of the room – just for those late nights when he was so exhausted he would “surely fall down the stairs and break something” on his way to bed. You dropped to all fours and peered underneath the mess of blankets and papers strewn about and found a small round entrance beneath the cot. You swallowed, slightly nervous because if Newt wasn’t down there, then what would you find? Cautiously, you peered over the ledge and there snoring gently in a well-worn hammock was the Magizoologist himself. The space below was rather small and you laughed quietly as you studied the sleeping man. His leather bound journal was spread wide open upon his chest. His feather quill was still resting in between his fingers, like he had been writing very intensely only a moment ago. His cinnamon colored curls, naturally, were an absolute disheveled mess. Yet, that only made his sleeping form more endearing. A slight glow was coming from the tip of his wand, which had been carefully perched between several books on a wooden crate near his hammock. You could totally reach him from where you were. It would be so easy to grab his shoulders and shake him awake but you took the liberty of a few quiet moments just to think about him. He worked so hard for you and his creatures - always showing such love and devotion. He was an excellent caregiver. Newt had completed his first volume of Fantastic Beasts (and Where to Find Them) and had just recently announced he was working on volume two. He had endured many trials and it made your heart warm thinking about his amazing accomplishments. You felt very blessed to have such a great man to call your own. You reached down quietly and gently allowed your fingertips to stroke his unshaven jawline. Newt stirred lightly and mumbled in his sleep, “Yes. Mmmpphhff… Flobberworm… I do…believe.” A large smiled danced upon your lips. “Newt?” This time your fingers caressed his rugged cheek. He moaned quietly and nestled into your palm with his nose. “Honey, wake up!” You exclaimed, a little louder than before. Newt’s eyes started to flutter slightly as he regained consciousness. When he opened them and saw your face hovering barely a foot above his he drew back into his pillows with a jolt! “HUH?!! WHAT?! WHERE IS IT?!” He blinked several times as he jerked awake. His left hand dropped the quill as he quickly reached out, grasping for his wand. In the process he forgot about his three half-drunk cups of tea sitting next to him. You were both startled when the sound of shattered china and several books hit the floor. Newt barely caught his wand and his shocked, wide eyes met yours. “Merlin’s beard! That was quite a fright….” You both laughed hysterically. It surely had been. You did not intend to scare the wizard into defense mode. Trying to catch your breath you barely managed to speak between giggles, “Sweetheart, I only came to see if you were coming up for a bath and dinner soon?” Newt grinned, shock still evident in his eyes, “Oh. Yes, my love. I was just finishing a few notes here.” He twirled his wand between his fingers. “I see that.” You giggled, and reached out for his hand. He laced his fingers with your own and blushed. You smiled at the sweet gesture, “So, is this your new hidey hole?” Newt’s smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling with delight. “Do you like it? I come here sometimes to get away from,” he whispered, “the Niffler.” “Does it work?” Newt peeled the blanket off of himself, revealing the mischievous creature curled up against his side, sleeping on the pocket watch you had given Newt the day you were married.  You smiled lovingly and watched as Newt patted his furry head and snickered, “Little bugger.” The scene before you was indescribably adorable, you could have observed them for the rest of the night, but you had plans and were anxious for them to begin. You smiled down at Newt, as he reached his other hand up to you for help to assist him from his haven. It took some effort to get him through the floorboards and your mind questioned what Newt was thinking making such a small hiding place. Somehow, you managed to free him and he stood tall in front of you now, stretching his arms above his head revealing just the slightest bit of his stomach. He yawned, blinked his sleepy eyes, and took a step forward only to instantly grab his lower back, “It sure is cramped down there.” You gulped down a sudden wave of emotion while gazing into his eyes and asked, “I was wondering if you had some time tonight?” Newt lowered his arms to his sides and glanced around. “I already took care of the creatures before I came down to work on my manuscript. They should be quite content for the evening. I even gave Frank an extra portion, because he has been so keen to keep a watchful eye for me.” He chattered for a few more minutes as he scurried about gathering his belongings and tidying things away. “In fact, even Pickett has been very attentive lately. If he sees anyone behaving curiously he… tells me… in his way.” Newt paused, his shoulders drooping as he spun around to face you.

“Erm, sorry. I’m rambling. Yes, of course. I always have time for you, darling.” Newt placed his feather quill and journal down onto the work space and brushed his curls out of his eyes, “I quite like the idea of an escape tonight.”

The two of you ascended the stairs together, giggling the whole way about the Niffler, Pickett, and a various creature or two that tried to climb after you. You reached the top first as Newt gently shooed them away, “Not tonight my sweets. You go rest. Mummy will come see you in the morning. No. No. It’s quite alright. Don’t worry.” Newt kept on consoling as he lowered the lid of the case, smiling dearly down at them. 

He managed to lock up quickly and leaned back, content, knowing all his babies were accounted for. He placed the case under the bed and pulled a quilt over the top of it as an extra layer of protection. Newt then stood up and turned to face you with a gentle smirk upon his lips, “Bath time?”

Your husband was covered in dirt, feathers, grass stains, and even a bit of straw that had stuck into his hair you hadn’t noticed until now. “I think that’s a good idea, Mr. Scamander. I’ll draw you a bath….” You walked over to him as he began to unbutton his vest. You reached your hand to his hair and removed the pieces of straw gently. Newt closed his eyes at your touch and smiled. “I’ll get our tea and dinner ready…” You ran your hands down his chest as he pulled his vest off leaving him in his untucked beige shirt. Your eyes glanced up to his quickly as he pulled you close. You sighed into his embrace, enjoying his warmth as you undid the bottom two buttons of his shirt, “Then, I want to take you somewhere special.” “Sounds wonderful.” Newt whispered against the top of your head before placing a kiss there. Reluctantly, you pulled away from him and entered the bathroom turning on the faucet to let the warm water fill the claw foot tub. As you stepped back through your room towards the kitchen you could not help peering at your adorable husband as he stood bare chested in his trousers. Newt was reading a book he had left on the bedside table the night before. He faced the window, his back turned towards you. You walked briskly up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulled him towards you tightly. Your cheek rested against his tender skin. He leaned back into your embrace and sighed, using his free hand to rub your hands on his stomach. “Sorry dear, I just had a thought I was trying to formulate and wondered if these couple of paragraphs… might…. contain… the answer.” He explained, enunciating each word as he read. You placed a kiss on the center of his back and then a little higher up his spine. There were several scars on his skin and you took a few seconds to brush each of them softly with your lips. Finally, you tiptoed to kiss his right shoulder where his most recent scar had formed. It was one that had not come from a creature… but something entirely different. It had happened when Newt encountered the Percival Graves/Gellert Grindelwald hybrid in the train station. You shuddered, not wanting to focus on the memories of how terrified you had been. Yet, you couldn’t help seeing a flashback in your mind. Your poor Newt had not deserved the pain that was inflicted upon him.

Grindelwald had sent so many curses at Newt that day and the damage was still quite pronounced. You kissed his shoulder again softly, blinking back your tears. You jumped slightly and heard the book slam shut as Newt spun around in your arms, “However, seeing as how there are more important things to… attend to.” Newt licked his lips and pulled you closer, cupping your chin in his hand. He knew what you had been thinking of. He leaned down and his lips caressed yours softly for a moment as he whispered, “Don’t worry, my beautiful wife.” You relaxed as you kissed him quickly, the memories and anxiety melting away, “The water is ready, my dear.” “Ah. Quite right.” Newt hugged you firmly and then freed you from his arms. “I won’t be long. I will join you very soon,” he promised and tapped your nose with his finger. You laughed and watched him enter the bathroom, kicking his trousers from his legs on the way.

“Oh darling, it smells amazing!” Newt exclaimed as he entered the kitchen. You looked up and appreciated him. He wore a pair of brown trousers. His typical white button up, long sleeved shirt, was rolled to his elbows. No vest or coat this time. Instead, he wore navy blue suspenders. You shivered. He knew you had a weakness for suspenders. He knew it made him irresistible in your eyes. His skin had a warm glow. You breathed in deeply as Newt ran his hands through his damp hair, tousling his curls. He then looked at you and winked as his cheeks turned slightly red. He did it on purpose and it made you slightly weak in the knees.

Newt walked to the stove and lifted the lid, smelling the sauce. He was amazed at your muggle cooking skills. It always tasted so much better when food was prepared from scratch. You loved cooking for Newt. You felt it was the least you could do for your husband to show appreciation for all of his hard work and love. You smiled, while setting the table and lighting two candles. “I hope you are in the mood for pasta. Unfortunately, we didn’t have anything else in.” “You know I love pasta, darling.” You dipped your plates and sat at the table together. It was a quiet meal and it was much needed. You both relished spending time together.

“So, where is this special place you are taking me?” Newt inquired, wrapping a big bite of pasta around his fork.

You chuckled, “Well, it’s a bit of a surprise, really.” “Ah, I see. Speaking of surprises….” “Newt?” You questioned, smiling across the table. “I was at Macy’s the other day and I thought of something that we are missing here in our kitchen.” Newt stated, while pushing his chair back from the table to stand. “Are you serious?” Newt went to the corner of the room and lifted a small crate from behind the couch. You couldn’t even remember him leaving the apartment recently.  When did he go to Macy’s? He walked over and handed it to you, running his hand down the back of your head. Newt gently tilted your chin up and bent down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Open it.” You smiled at him and then eagerly tore through the silver wrapping paper, opening the gift with excitement. Newt watched you the whole time, the kindest smile lingering on his lips. “Oh…my….” You put a hand over your heart, “Oh, Newt. How did you-?”

Inside was a set of dainty, beautiful tea cups made of porcelain. They were gold with deep blue leaves and lighter blue rose buds painted on them. They were the exact tea cups you had always DREAMED of owning - but they were so expensive. You had never imagined you would be holding them, especially here in your own home. You contemplated over them… delicately tracing the outline of the cups and saucers with your fingers. You picked one up as if to drink and felt how perfectly it balanced in your hand.

You stood up quickly, setting the crate on the table, “Oh my… Newt.” You grabbed him by the suspenders and pulled him so close, trying to hold back the tears that were forming in your eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” That’s all he said, over and over, running his hands through your hair while placing sweet kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and nose.

It was early evening when you apparated to your surprise location for the night.

Newt looked around, curiosity in his eyes, “Ok, let me think… where are we?” The two of you were standing in a little meadow surrounded by tall trees, soft green grass, and wildflowers. In front of you was a quiet little pond where ducks were gliding by. Behind you stood a whimsical cottage made of stone, a wooden roof, and green trim.  It was charming and cozy.

“Is this….? Oh darling, is this….where you spent your summers as a child….?” Newt questioned, looking in every direction at once. Your eyes met his as you teased, “Now, how did you know that? My husband is so smart.” You laughed playfully and nodded towards a spot near the edge of the trees. You had already been there that day setting everything up. You had piled several blankets on the grass and an extravagant stack of fluffy pillows.

“Oh, y/n, It is so beautiful here. Is that the old cottage?” Newt nodded towards it, his sea green eyes full of amazement. “Yes.” You grabbed his hand, walking him towards the blankets. “My Father always knew that Mama wanted a cottage to hide away from the world in. He surprised her with this place just after I was born. We made so many special memories here. It was our little heaven… full of peace. I’ve always felt so safe in these gardens.” You looked back at him as you arrived at the blankets. Newt placed his case nearby on the grass. He sat down, propped up against the pillows then reached up and grabbed your hands, pulling you down next to him. Newt moved your hair out of your eyes, and cupped your face in his palm, listening intently as you told him your story, “I wanted to make some memories with you here.” Newt closed his eyes slowly, as you noticed the tears now forming in them. He breathed in deeply. He stroked your cheek lovingly and pulled you so close. You rested your head against his chest. You felt the rhythm of his heart and the somewhat unsteadiness of his voice broke the silence, “Thank…you…” He whispered, “I love it here and I thank you for sharing it with me.” He took another deep breath and kissed the top of your head. You glanced up at him just as he brushed his curls out of his tear-filled eyes and gave you an affectionate smile. Oh, he was a precious sight to behold. You spent awhile speaking about the creatures in his case and your future plans together. Newt asked several questions about the time you had spent here at the cottage and listened to every adventure with eagerness.

Eventually, you sat up and scooted forward on the blanket. You began unlacing his boots one at a time, while Newt rubbed your lower back gently. “Aw, darling. You don’t hav-” You glanced back at him and smiled, your hair falling into your eyes, “Shhh. Tonight is for you…” Newt licked his lips and blushed away, “Well, erm, only if you’re certain.” You laughed lightly and began to free each foot from their boot. As always, Newt made everything awkward, “Oh, sorry, but what if they smell?” “Will you just….SHUSH?!” You were fully aware he had just bathed and was trying to tease you. Newt swallowed the lump of emotion rising in his chest. You crawled down the blanket so you were closer to his feet and faced him.  He shifted his eyes nervously and blushed as you lifted his feet into your lap. You KNEW he would love this. You massaged each of his feet, paying close attention to what he needed. He was on them for HOURS every day and you knew he hurt more than he ever confessed. Newt winced slightly when you rubbed the sore spots. His arches seemed to have the most discomfort and that is where you focused your grasp. You applied pressure forcefully yet quite gentle as to not inflict further pain. After a bit, you tenderly stroked the bottom of his feet for several minutes and smiled up at him, “How’s that feel? Better?” “Oh, love, my sweetheart…” Newt murmured. You smiled as sighs of gratification escaped his lips. “I don’t deserve this.” He cast his eyes down and looked a bit overwhelmed, like he couldn’t believe someone would ever take such good care of HIM.

“Shhh, honey. Or course you do… although I daresay you could use some new socks. These are so thin. Did you let Pickett sleep in them or something?” You teased. You made a mental note to take your own shopping trip to Macy’s soon. After his foot massage you crawled back up to him and grabbed hold of his suspenders on each side, he sat up higher and kissed you hungrily. “Thank you…” Newt whispered against your lips. “Not done yet.” You smirked. Promptly you switched around so you were behind him on the blanket. Newt sat cross legged in front of you and you knelt behind him. You stroked his hair and kissed his temple softly. “How’s your back, Newt?” Without waiting for an answer you slid the left strap of his suspender off his shoulder, followed by the right. You kissed the back of his neck gently as the straps fell loose around his waist. You felt Newt tremble as you began to rub his tense shoulders. You could see the release of built up stress and worry coming off of him. He sighed and let his head fall back up towards the sky, he looked like he was about to cry – you could see him swallowing back the emotion. You stopped rubbing his shoulder with one hand long enough to brush his curls off of his forehead and place a kiss there. He smiled, bit his bottom lip, and inhaled sharply.

You worked your way down his upper back, rubbing your hands on his shoulder blades silently wishing for all of his worries and cares to float away on the breeze. You slipped an arm around his chest for a moment and rested your head on his upper back, feeling the warmth that radiated from him. He grabbed your hand on his chest and let his fingers slowly caress your palm. It was moments like this when no words needed to be spoken. You felt the love and peace between you, the utter pleasure, and happiness. Newt smiled as you noticed the blush on his cheekbones.

This was heaven for him, and you knew it. You took back your hand and finished his massage paying particular attention to his lower back. It was an area of his body that you knew gave him trouble, partly due to the fact that when he hunted creatures he had a very specific hunched over “sneak-attack” stance that at times would put a lot of strain on him. It could also have had something to do with the Erumpent mating dances he took part in, occasionally, when he had a run-away. You giggled to yourself. Newt melted at your touch. You felt his whole body shiver and saw the goosebumps forming on his arms. Now you knew he was feeling better. He let out the softest moan of pleasure. You felt delighted and continued rubbing in small circles and applying pressure anywhere you thought he needed it. It could have gone on for hours and honestly you wouldn’t have minded. However, your hands were getting sore and the rubs got softer and softer until you were lightly scratching his back. “Oh Merlin…” He inhaled deeply and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt untucked and wrinkled now. “That was…” He turned to face you as you stretched out, flattening your body against the ground and propping up on the pillows. Newt placed a hand on your thigh as he scooted up towards you. He was mere inches away, but then he lowered his eyes, emotional, and with a quick smile on his lips he whispered, “I’m so sorry, dear.”

SORRY?! A look of confusion crossed your face in an instant, and Newt grabbed your hand, “No. No. Not sorry… I just…that was amazing.” His voice quivered, “But your poor hands…” then barely a whisper, “Thank you.” Leave it to Newt to be sorry and worried when someone did him a favor for once. You sighed softly and giggled, moving closer towards him, tenderly placing a kiss on the left side of his jaw, “You are welcome. Always.” The kiss he placed on your lips then was full of longing and satisfaction. Newt, a man of few words at times, was using all of his power to communicate his emotions for you in this kiss and you knew that. That’s what made him so magical.

As you both caught your breath, Newt stretched out against you. You cradled him into your arms as he rested his head on your chest, taking his turn to listen to your heart which was beating with love for him. Newt smiled softly and you tilted your nose against the top of his head… he smelled of honey, chamomile tea, and a hint of cinnamon. The sun was setting now with a palette of gold, pink, blue, and purple hues. Newt licked his lips and exhaled, “Suppose we never leave this place?” You grinned. “Oh, I’d love that. Wait! I almost forgot! Jacob sent us something to sample.” Reaching over, you pulled a small tray of pastries from your bag, and uncovered them.

“Those look incredible!” Newt smiled reaching for one as he handed you another. He took his first bite and sighed, “Mmm. It’s sort of crunchy… and a bit dry… but…” Second bite. “But then, it becomes - so soft.” Third bite. “Warm and very delicious… mmmm….” Fourth bite. “The glaze on it… very sweet.” Last bite. “And a bit of something else. Oh Merlin’s Beard! Is that cinnamon?” Newt immediately grabbed a second pastry and ate with giddiness. You couldn’t help but smile at him the whole time, eating along with him, watching his child-like joy as he discovered something new. “What do you think?” You asked, licking your lips. “It’s marvelous. Jacob has created a masterpiece this time and I think I’ve got a name for it!” Newt exclaimed as he moved very close, kneeling in front of you. “What’s that?" "Well you see, it is a roll… sort of - twisty. It’s kind of crunchy and maybe a bit disappointing in the first layer but as you tuck into it,” he explained as he was finishing his third one with delight, “it is very rich and delicious and it seems to melt in your mouth… sweet and sort of spicy with the cinnamon. It should be called…,” he licked his fingers slowly, his head tilted up and he looked into your eyes, “A CINNAMON ROLL!"

The expression on his face was as excited as if he had just discovered a new species of creatures and you couldn’t help but laugh, as you shook your head in the affirmative. "Yes, I love it!!” Newt grinned with delight and you whispered,  "So, it’s kind of like you, huh?“ "Did you just call me a….?” Newt scooted even closer, “Did you call me….?” He moved his body so he was now hovering above yours, his lips mere inches away from your own, “Did you call me a CINNAMON ROLL?!” You laughed below him, loving the way he teased you, you lifted your head and placed the smallest peck on his nose and his freckles faded a bit as he blushed.

“Well…” He cleared his throat, “Let us find out. May I kiss you, my darling?” You shook your head yes as he crushed his lips onto yours. The moment was radiating with happiness, the beautiful scenery, the joy that Newt had discovered something new. He felt warm and delicious against your lips. He tasted of the sweet glaze and cinnamon he had just been eating. Your hands rubbed up and down his back as your kiss deepened.

As you finally parted, breathless, you rested together once again. You reached over and pulled a book out of your bag. It was titled “The Great Gatsby.” It was the one Newt had been reading in your room a couple of hours ago. It was strange for him to read anything not creature, science, or magic related so you couldn’t help but wonder what impressed him with this one. “So,” you started, “I thought we might read a bit of this so I can help you with that thought you are trying to formulate.” Newt grinned, as you kissed his cheek and smiled at the way his freckles creased by his eyes. He pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket. ‘Old age catching up with me,’ he had told you one night when you discovered them on his bedside table. He put them on and then smiled up at you. You felt your heart melt immediately.

“It’s okay, I’ll go ahead and read to you Newt… just relax.” You opened the book and saw a certain passage underlined and began to read aloud, “I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she didn’t, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot because I knew different things from her… Well, there I was, 'way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden I didn’t care. What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?“ You ruffled his hair, a smile forming on your lips, "Are you reading a love story?” Newt looked up at you for a moment, “I like that passage. It is much like how I feel about you.” You played with his curls, reading the lines over and over again. “Yes. Yes. It sounds about right.” You smirked. Newt was holding your free hand now as he massaged your fingers and palm gently, placing small kisses here and there. You knew this was another way of thanking you without words. Yes, you had given him an amazing gift of affection tonight but he knew that your hands were sore and he was not about to allow that. With each few paragraphs you read you switched hands and he kept on with his rubbing, kisses, and nuzzles into your palms with his nose. Deep evening was falling and it was getting a bit difficult to see the words on the pages. You closed the book and set it to the side. Newt pulled off his glasses, having never needed them. Just as you were about to pull him even closer, Newt shot straight up to his feet leaving you to fall back onto the mountain of pillows! “Did you see that?!?” Newt exclaimed gazing towards the sky. “THERE GOES ANOTHER ONE!!” Newt delightedly cried out.

He spun around to face you with wonder and curiosity glistening in his eyes, “Oh my dear, I do apologize.” He leaned down, offering his arm to assist you up off the ground. You stood close to one another. “Have you ever seen a firefly before, sweetheart?” You inquired.

“No, well, perhaps… but never so close. What exactly… are they?” “Well…” you sighed, you had brushed up on the science of them earlier in the day knowing full well he would be inquiring. “They are winged beetles, commonly called fireflies or lightning bugs for their conspicuous use of bio-luminescence during twilight to attract mates or prey.” Newt blushed, leaned over and whispered into your ear. His voice was husky, “I love it when you speak creature to me.” You looked at him, surprised at how seductive he sounded in that moment. Newt looked right at you, raised his eyebrows, and breathed out an audible, “Whew.” Then he quickly grinned trying to cover himself, but you secretly knew he felt pretty sexy.

Newt blushed even redder and took your hand into his, placing a gentle kiss on your palm. You giggled at his response and continued, “Basically… they live in marshes or wet wooded areas… like this… because there is an abundant source of food for them.” Newt spun around excitedly, “Suppose…erm… suppose we brought some home with us? To the case, that is. I think they would like it quite well. Don’t you?” “Yes!! Let’s do it!” Of course you had known that the fireflies were out in full force this time of year and had come well prepared knowing Newt wouldn’t be able to resist. You reached into your bag and supplied him with the small jar you had brought along just for the occasion. Newt kissed you. “Oh, thank you darling!” He grabbed his wand, and set off to “hunt” them down.

The two of you chased the little insects around for nearly twenty minutes. Newt carefully settled them in the jar one by one and whispered kind, reassuring words to them. When you had gathered around ten he took you by the hand and asked, “Sweet love, do you mind if I just pop down and give them a home?” “Go right ahead. I’ll be waiting for you.” You winked, and Newt smiled, bashfully.  He kissed your forehead swiftly. “I’ll be right back.”

Newt climbed out of the case just as the world was turning to total darkness. You had taken it as your task to light some candles and place them on a stone nearby. You watched happily as your husband locked up and then turned to face you. He stood there with his hands stuffed in his pockets while he gazed across the lake up at the night sky. The fireflies danced in the heavens like shooting stars. You felt warmth growing in your chest. He was bootless, his shirt had one sleeve rolled up to his elbow and the other rolled down to his wrist, his suspenders hung loose at his sides and his trousers were dangerously low on his hips. His skin glowed in the candlelight, his freckles as numerous as the stars above your head, oh how you wanted to kiss them all! Newt’s hair was unruly and stuck out in places that made him almost look child-like and his eyes slowly looked down to yours, shifting nervously, as he cleared his throat and remarked, “Creatures are fine.”

Before he could say anything more you whispered to him, “I love you, Newt… I love you so much.” Newt’s expression softened and his eyes glistened with tears.

He knelt down next to you and took both of your hands into his slender ones. His usual nervousness completely gone. He was totally relaxed and serene as he lifted your hands to his lips, kissing each one tenderly. Newt looked completely amazed and overwhelmed, as usual. He chuckled softly and gave you the happiest smile that reached his gorgeous eyes.

You sighed against him, “I just,” it was your turn to blush, “I cherish you, Newt. I adore you.” Newt leaned over and rubbed his nose against your cheekbone.  You felt the warmth in your chest grow to fill your whole body - you lifted your hand and stroked your fingers along his jaw. “I really need to be close to you right now,” you whispered faintly. You felt him shake his head in agreement. He understood exactly what you wanted. Newt’s lips caressed against your ear as he replied knowingly, “Come then, love…” Newt swallowed the lump in his throat, bowed his head and repeated, “Come.” Then he lifted his head up towards you and smiled adoringly, his eyes seemed to glisten - sharing every emotion he felt for you in a single glance. He then looked back down, the smile still evident on the corners of his lips.

How was it even possible he could hold that much affection and love inside of him? You stood up, blew out the candles, and grabbed the case. “Lumos.” Newt stated, his wand giving off a glow. He took your hand securely and led you tenaciously into the cozy cottage.

Several hours had passed when you woke up literally tangled up in blankets, sheets, pillows… and Newt. It was near dawn and a faint shade of blue blanketed the walls of the quaint bedroom you had spent such a pleasant night in. As you stirred, Newt pulled you in closer to his chest and let out a small groan of protest. “Don’t go…” He softly whispered into your hair. “I’m right here, you silly man.” “Good,” He exhaled, kissing your shoulder lovingly. You smirked at his sudden neediness.  Slowly, the rhythm of his breathing mellowed as he drifted back to sleep. Of course, you couldn’t fall back asleep - even though the two of you were early risers - nothing could have persuaded you to leave his arms. You drifted in and out of consciousness as the sun started rising a bit higher casting a golden glow all around. Newt stirred, he always rose with the sun and you knew that there wasn’t much time left to soak him in. You giggled to yourself as you thought of putting a blanket in the window just so it would stay dark and you could have him all to yourself for the rest of the morning. Newt’s eyes fluttered open, and he massaged up and down your side with his callused hand. He was unbelievably gentle. His foot rubbed up your leg a bit and your breath hitched in your throat as you muttered out a, “Mmmm, morning my love.”

“Good morning, darling.” His voice was a bit gruffer than usual. His hand now slithered around you and he rested his open palm on your lower abdomen. You metled at the touch. He smirked and whispered in your ear, “I’ve been doing some formulating.” You laughed louder than you intended, wondering what in Merlin he had come up with this time. “Oh?! You have, have you?” Newt smiled and moved so his cheek was now resting against yours, his warm breath on your neck made you shiver, “I’ve done some calculations, sweetheart, and I believe you are… pregnant.” Now you really laughed, a good hearty laugh and you rolled over in his arms facing him directly, “Newt! We could not possibly know that, already!” Newt kissed your nose sweetly, “Oh, by no means did I intend to imply…” He blushed slightly, “Yes. I know that. However…” He proceeded to give you THE longest winded explanation of your body and it’s cycles, it’s recent hormonal changes, and how he had noticed a certain glow about you the past two months. You continued to look into his eyes as he explained every last detail down to dates and practically hours. You bit down on your bottom lip, thinking right along with him. Could he be right? How could you have missed these details? How could you not KNOW your own body? With tears in your eyes, you raised up to look at him, “Do you really think so?” Newt looked completely sure of himself, content, and serene. He shook his head yes as he wiped the tears from under your eyes with his thumbs. “I know so.” The two of you moved together in an intense embrace. Newt caressed his hands up and down your bare back while you placed several kisses on his jaw and lips. You traced your finger on his chest in a heart shape and kissed his collarbone. Joy washed over you thinking of the future possibilities, what it all meant, a baby…. a baby…. a child that you and Newt had created together. You nuzzled into his neck as he smoothed your hair and kissed your forehead several times. Presently, Newt loosened his arms around you and kissed your lips, “My love, I’m sorry but I…” “Yes, the creatures need their breakfast….,” You whispered assuredly as you scooted away so that he could get up. Newt stretched out flat next to you for a moment and yawned before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, reaching out for his navy blue dressing gown. He looked back and stroked your cheek, “Just rest a bit. I will return and we can see about some breakfast.” “Okay,” you agreed, as you turned your head to kiss his palm.

Before long you felt a gentle hand rubbing your lower back in small circles. You had fallen asleep on your stomach, seeing as how you wouldn’t have that small luxury for much longer. You rolled over on your back to face Newt and his eyes observed you with adoration. He was showered and freshly dressed in a white shirt and a forest green vest.

He leaned over, placing a delicate kiss upon your lips, “My darling, I drew you a bath so you can get warm. I also managed to gather up some eggs, toast, fresh tomatoes, and tea. How does that sound?“ “Mmm yes, that sounds perfect. I’m coming. Thank you…” You loved the idea of a warm bath first thing in the morning followed by lots of cuddles from Newt. Newt reached down and grabbed your pale pink dressing gown from the floor and smirked as he set it next to you, "What are you thinking of?” You swallowed hard, reaching out to run a hand through his hair, “You realize that you are going to be a Father… and I… a Mother, right? I just… I knew this day would come but here it is,” you inhaled deeply, “and I find I don’t know what to think. I’m excited and nervous and happy and uncertain-” Newt put his finger against your lips to shush you. He looked resolutely into your eyes and stated firmly, “You don’t have to worry, my dear, I’m very good with babies.” The smile that spread across your face then was indescribable. “Quite right, too.” You laughed, tapping your finger on his nose. You knew without one doubt that he was absolutely genuine and you also knew everything would be fine with Newt by your side.

End.

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! Thank you if you put up with it until the end. I’m currently thinking of writing more but I don’t know if I have the stamina. Let’s all just thank Newt for being the precious, perfect soul he is.

ALSO! I would love to hear what you think. PLEASE contact me and let me know what you thought of this story!!

[babettepress]

Bobby “O”, Hi-NRG and the expression of queer desire

A few months ago, someone at a party asked me what song I would choose to have played at my funeral. I answered without hesitation: ‘Passion’, by The Flirts. This response was met with wide eyes of incredulity by the heterosexual man who had posed the question, and debate spilled out around us about why I should (or should not) choose something with more meaning, more depth, more substance. But I believe meaning can be found in the shallowest of places.

Hi-NRG is generally considered to be a shallow place. Peaking between 1982 and 1989, Hi-NRG rose like a phoenix from the embers of disco – an inferno which, by the late-1970s, was not so much petering out as being stomped out by a critical backlash epitomised by events like 1979’s Disco Demolition Night. The origin of Hi-NRG is fabled to be in Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’ (1977), with its rolling arpeggiators and what Summer described in interviews as its ‘high energy vibe’.[1] Like disco before it, Hi-NRG uses predominantly electronic sounds, and was produced and consumed largely by marginalised communities, including queer African-Americans, Italian-Americans and Latinos. It was music for nighttime and nite-clubs, for dancing to, escaping to, for fostering inclusivity.

“You could think of early disco as the music of outsiders”, says curator, DJ and Hi-NRG enthusiast Pádraic E. Moore, who points out that Hi-NRG also furthered disco’s vital contribution to “the formation of gay identities, promotion of queer culture and disruption of gender norms”.[2] Moore cites Hi-NRG tracks like Patrick Cowley’s ‘Menergie’ (1981) and Modern Rocketry’s ‘Homosexuality’ (1985) as daring and provocative expressions of queer desire. Cowley and his ‘Menergie’ collaborator Sylvester were both early pioneers of the Hi-NRG genre, associated with San Francisco’s Megatone Records, and both of them would be killed by AIDs by the end of the decade. (Indeed, records like ‘Homosexuality’ seem even more radical and defiant given the backdrop of the AIDs crisis, and the accompanying discriminatory culture of the US mainstream.)

Moore stresses the DIY aesthetic of Hi-NRG in this initial, more underground phase, made possible by the increased availability and affordability of electronic music equipment, including Roland’s 808 drum machine and later, Yamaha’s DX7 synthesiser. By the middle of the 1980s, the genre would find mainstream success, with Stock Aitken Waterman producing a number of Hi-NRG hits by Divine, Dead or Alive, Hazell Dean and Bananarama; Moore also points out the Hi-NRG influence on queer artists such as Bronski Beat (in particular their 1984 track ‘Why?’) and Frankie Goes To Hollywood (‘Relax’). Though some great Hi-NRG tracks came from this period, the mainstream’s co-option of the genre would eventually lead to Hi-NRG’s dilution and demise – what Moore derides as the “vanilla cul-de-sac”[3] most radical art forms ultimately end up in. At its peak, though, Hi-NRG was a radical expression of queer desire, fuelled by the burgeoning LGBT club culture in the UK and the US.

This queer history of Hi-NRG is not without contention, though, and this essay will focus on the work of Bobby Orlando, a pioneer of the genre who I’m drawn towards not only because I love his music, but also because he is a problematic figure who in many ways troubles this reading of Hi-NRG. Orlando has been accused of plagiarism, homophobia, sexism and exploitation, and was characterised by a 1987 profile in The Face Magazine as “the self-styled master of classic techno trash” who aspired to be “the Ronald McDonald of the music industry”.[4] But Babette loves a problem child and in this essay I will argue why Orlando’s music is nonetheless worthy of our attention, and can still be celebrated within a queer history of late 20th-century dance music.

Bobby Orlando grew up in New York State, a teenage boxing sensation who could allegedly do one-finger push-ups. Not wanting to ruin his pretty face, he quit fighting sports and took up music instead, initially dipping his toe into the ‘glitter rock’ scene, attracted by its flamboyant masculinity and its taste for excess. In 1977, the year Giorgio Moroder released Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’, Orlando ditched the guitar and swapped glam rock for disco. He set up his own label, “O” Records, in 1980 – in the midst of the disco backlash. Contemporaneously to the aforementioned Cowley, Orlando carved out his own niche of fast-paced, synth-laden, campy staccato disco that would become known as Hi-NRG.

An almost exclusively electronic genre, Hi-NRG is defined by its synthetic sounds (Moore points out its eschewal more orchestral disco elements such as layered strings[5]) and Orlando’s music in particular makes use of gratuitous patches and samples. Compare his amped-up early version of the Pet Shop Boys’ ‘West End Girls’ (1984) to the more stripped back and definitive ‘hit’ version (1985) to see what I mean. Orlando’s penchant for artifice extends beyond the sounds he made, however, and into the broader aesthetic and practice of his music-making. The Flirts, arguably Orlando’s biggest musical legacy, were girl group of sheer artifice. Session musicians recorded the vocals, then a rotating roster of models, dancers and actresses lip-synced the song live: one blonde, one redhead, one brunette. Different tours and albums had different line-ups, with Orlando himself the only consistent factor.

One blonde, one redhead, one brunette: The Flirts performing live in 1983

Capitalising on this line-up of leggy, preened and pouting models, Orlando opted for a ‘sex sells’ approach to The Flirts’ song-writing. ‘Passion’, their biggest hit, opens with the zingy line “I’m waiting for you baby, it’s time for show and tell”, before going on to literally spell out sexual desire in a refrain of “P–A–SS–ION!”. In another track, ‘Calling All Boys’, The Flirts send out a signal of sexual invitation not to one specific boy/man, but to ALL boys/men. With its interchangeable frontwomen, hypersexualised performance of femininity and non-specific objects of desire, The Flirts are ostensibly meant to represent all or any women (or at least all or any white women since, gallingly by today’s standards, the group’s diversity is limited only to hair colour). With one or two exceptions, The Flirts’ performers are known only by one name – Hope, Holly, Sandy – and they serve only as vessels for Orlando’s expression.

This use of female bodies as two-dimensional, interchangeable marionettes is, of course, deeply exploitative, even if its symptomatic of the music industry’s attitude towards women as a whole. It should be noted that Orlando’s relations with many of his key performers, including Divine and Roni Griffiths, would turn sour after a couple of years’ collaboration. I don’t mean to underplay this problematic aspect of Orlando’s music-making, but to play devil’s advocate, I personally think his layering and obfuscation of authorship, and outright subversion of authenticity, is precisely what is fascinating about Orlando’s music.

Alongside the mirage of constructed femininity that was The Flirts, Orlando released and produced music under dozens of other names and self-invented bands, most of which had no members other than Orlando himself (except for the odd session vocalist). Wikipedia lists over 70 Orlando ‘acts’, and their camped-up, flamboyant names are a joy to read through: Barbie & The Kens, Hotline, the New York Models, Hippies With Haircuts, The He Man Band, The Fem-Spies, Girls Have Fun, Lilly & the Pink, The Bang Gang, Bubba and the Jack Attack …

The act of naming, and its transformative potential, was clearly not lost on Orlando. The adoption of constructed personas, fictitious identities and assumed names is a practise widely adopted within the queer community. It is a form of expression used not only by drag performers, but artists and activists (Rosa von Praunheim, Gluck, Claude Cahun, Tom of Finland, to name but a few). Orlando’s adoption of playful pseudonyms, many of which seem centred on gender/sexuality, seems to fit squarely within this practice, except for one rather large problem: Orlando identified as heterosexual and was reportedly homophobic. Rumour has it that after his music career fizzled out, Orlando became a religious zealot and wrote a book on creationism. I warned you he was problematic.

A 1942 self-portrait by Hannah Gluckstein, aka ‘Gluck’, recently included in Tate Britain’s exhibition of ‘Queer British Art 1861–1967′. The work is included in the collection of Britain’s National Portrait Gallery

Orlando’s music is throbbing with heterosexual desire and pumped-up machismo – “Let a man like me make a woman out of you”, promises one track, its cover art decorated with an illustration of a chiselled man lifting a barbell. In a rare interview with The Face Magazine in 1987, Orlando spoke of channelling the controlled aggression of his early boxing career into his music: “The only difference is that with records you take the aggression you would normally use beating the hell out of a guy by punching beats. It’s the same punch, the same drive.”[6]

One suspects that driving this male bravado and hetero-peacocking was an over-compensation of sorts, or even internalised homophobia. It’s not the place of this blog to speculate on Orlando’s sexuality, but whether or not the man himself was (is) queer, I think it’s fair to say that despite all the above, his music certainly was. Orlando’s performative take on masculinity is as artificial as The Flirts’ performance of femininity. Both expressions of gender identity chime with Susan Sontag’s definition of camp. In her still-relevant ‘Notes on Camp’ (1964), Sontag cites “the exaggerated he-man-ness” of bodybuilder Steve Reeves and Samson and Delilah actor Victor Mature as well as the “corny flamboyant femaleness” of Jayne Mansfield, Jane Russell.[7]

There is also a strong tradition of ostensibly ‘heterosexual’ anthems performed by women for a largely gay audience: Miguel Brown’s Hi-NRG hit ‘So Many Men, So Little Time’; Sinitta’s ‘So Macho’; Eartha Kitt’s ‘I Love Men’; The Weathergirls ‘It’s Raining Men’, etc. Seen in this context, tracks like The Flirts’ ‘Calling All Boys’ can take on a new meaning. And besides – that problematic Flirts paradigm of women as vessels becomes less straightforward when one views it through the kaleidoscope of queer identity: this is a song about this is desire for MEN, written by a MAN, performed by WOMEN miming WOMEN. Ironically, by adhering to uphold strict gender binaries, Orlando’s acts only serve to reveal how constructed and performative they are.

The exception, of course, is Divine – the only Orlando act to gender-bend in the more literal way. Unlike the majority of Orlando acts, Divine was not a persona of Orlando’s invention. An actor and drag queen, Divine had developed both a strong public identity and large fanbase by the time he began to collaborate with Orlando in 1981, having starred in several cult hits by filmmaker John Waters, including Pink Flamingos (1972) and Female Trouble (1974). As such, his sizeable impact on the history of queer identity in the late twentieth century extends beyond the scope of this essay and indeed deserves one in its own right. One point worth touching on, though, is that Divine’s expression of femininity – all grit, fighting talk and disobedient body – is, to me, a truer expression of womanhood (or at least my experience of it) than any of Orlando’s nameless models provide. Once more, there is realness to be found in artifice.

The expression of desire in Orlando’s records, whether read as queer or hetero, is as performative and artificial as the gender identities he constructs. In the Bobby “O” track ‘I’m So Hot For You’ (1982), Orlando croons, “I saw you at the party so I thought I’d play the game / Two strangers in a lonely room, I asked you your name”, before bursting into its infectious chorus of “I’m so hot for you and you’re so hot for me … what are we waiting for?”. (“Pass the poppers, please”, read the top YouTube comment when I listened to it). This is typical of Orlando tracks – eyes lock across a crowded party, a lonely lothario asks a girl her name and everyone’s fantasies come true. These plotlines are so cliché, though – so artificial and oversexed – that they almost stop being sexy. The scenario is too cinematic to be believable. The beats are too fast to bump ‘n’ grind to. This is music for taking pills and dancing euphorically to, not slow-jamming to before taking someone home. It’s burning passion with no fulfilment.

In his extensive survey of post-punk Rip It Up and Start Again, Simon Reynolds points out that the “non-funkiness” of Hi-NRG is one of the defining traits of the genre. It is “slamming rather than swinging”, he writes. Reynolds discusses Hi-NRG only as a footnote to Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s ‘Relax’, which though not ‘pure’ Hi-NRG itself, adopted many its its stylistic traits. He mentions Hi-NRG’s “orgiastic vibe”, but argues that ‘Relax’  was only sexy “in the exhibitionist sense of the Amsterdam leather bars [frontman] Holly [Johnson] visited, where the sex acts had an element of ‘theatre and performance’ … ‘Relax’ was driven by something far stronger than sensuality: an idea of sex as a weapon, shock tactic, threat”.[8]

Screenshot from the banned version of Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s ‘Relax’, showing BDSM/leather bars. “You can really see how deviant this must have seemed in 1983″, says Moore[9]

The same could be said of Orlando’s sexploitation disco classics – the notion of sex as a dancefloor statement of intent, rather than a sensual act carried out behind closed doors. Orlando’s heroes and heroines know exactly what they want, as exemplified by 1982’s ‘She Has a Way’ (“She knows what she wants from you / You’ll do things you’d never do”). That’s not to say it’s always a happy ending, though. Much of the desire expressed in Orlando’s Hi-NRG pop songs is one-way – take Girly’s ‘Working Girl (One-Way Love Affair)’ or The Flirts’ ‘Helpless’ (“I can see you in the arms of another girl … you shattered my world”). These thwarted expectations of love are pure, swooping, teenage-style catastrophes of the heart. The sentimentality of such Orlando tracks, just like the directness of his more erotic numbers, give us permission to feel the most untempered emotions.

In 1978, the queer, socialist British journal Gay Left published an essay by Richard Dyer titled ‘In Defence of Disco’. In it, Dyer argues that there are three main characteristics of the disco genre: eroticism, romanticism and materialism. Dyer points out that almost all popular music is arguably erotic, but unlike the disembodied eroticism of pop music (admittedly more chaste in 1978 than it is today) and the ‘phallic’ grind of rock, disco’s eroticism is a full-bodied experience, making it open to all genders and sexualities. Then on the romanticism of disco, he argues that its “passion and intensity embody or create an experience that negates the dreariness of the mundane and everyday”. This flight from the banality of the everyday experience, and its accompanying structural sexism/racism, “can be seen as a flight from capitalism and patriarchy as lived experiences”.[10]

Though Dyer is, of course, discussing disco, I feel his points are equally relevant to its descendent Hi-NRG (“if not more so”, adds Moore, who brought my attention to the essay[11]). The full-bodied eroticism that Dyer describes is certainly a key component of Hi-NRG, alongside the euphoric escape from the conditions of late capitalism. Though both disco and Hi-NRG can be characterised by their excessive appetites (for drumbeats and cowbells, for flamboyant get-ups, for drugs, for sex), both offer a moment of respite from and alternative to the grind of day-to-day life, particularly for oppressed groups such as the queer community which, as pointed out at the beginning of this essay, made up large swathes of Hi-NRG’s audience.

Like most great pop/dance tracks, Orlando’s songs do not promise to deliver anything but a few minutes of punchy, sexy euphoria. But in my eyes, this is precisely what makes them so transcendental. To those of a certain bent, they deliver a pure hit of serotonin to the brain, and their artifice and ephemerality only serve to heighten this connection. I return, once again, to the wise words of Susan Sontag: “One cheats oneself, as a human being, if one has respect only for the style of high culture, whatever else one may do or feel on the sly.”[12]

Whether or not I’m permitted my wish of having a camp, sexy Hi-NRG track sang by three anonymous models played at my funeral, no hell or wild horses could stop me from enjoying it in the meantime.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Alan Jones & Jussi Kantonen, Saturday Night Fever: The Story of Disco (Chicago: A Cappella Books, 1999), cited on https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hi-NRG, accessed July 2017

[2] Pádraic E. Moore, personal communication, July 2017

[3] ibid.

[4]  Kimberley Leston, ‘The Story of O’, The Face, 1987, accessed online at http://www.italo-disco.net/HTML/HTML%20Interviews/Bobby%20Orlando%20Interview.html, July 2017

[5] Moore, ibid.

[6] Leston, ibid.

[7] Susan Sontag, ‘Notes on Camp’ in Against Interpretation and Other Essays (London: Penguin Classics, 2009), p. 279

[8] Simon Reynolds, Rip it up and Start Again, p. 504

[9] Moore, ibid.

[10] Richard Dyer, ‘In Defence of Disco’, Gay Left, Summer 1979, pp. 20–23, accessed via http://www.gayleft1970s.org/issues/gay.left_issue.08.pdf, July 2017

[11] Moore, ibid.

[12] Sontag, ibid.

[wendynerdwrites]

Im glad that u also like archer. Ive been rewatching it (im on s2) and i feel guilty as a feminist for liking it so much :( i know a lot of the jokes are supposed to be ironic but i still feel bad for laughing, and my bf has made comments abt "how can u laugh at that as a feminist" (he isnt one, hes using it as a gotcha). How do u feel about this? Any advice for separating myself from toxic fandom to just be able to enjoy something problematic? Love ur blog btw happy friday 💋💋

Thanks, and don’t worry, anon: You’re not a bad feminist. 

It’s funny you ask this, but I used to have an entire essay series on this exact topic, and on Archer, particularly!

My philosophy is: don’t ignore the problematic, examine it. Use it as a springboard for analysis so you can learn more about the issue conveyed. Use your problematic responsibly! Because, let’s be honest, there ARE no unproblematic pieces of media. So just use it to educate yourself instead. For instance: my love of West Side Story (starring Natalie Wood as the Puerto Rican Maria) got me to learn more about the issues of white-washing.

Being a feminist is not about being perfect, it’s about learning and being open to examination and learning. Use your fandom for good!

Laughter is the balm for the soul. And listening to your boyfriend telling you how to be a feminist… less so. Kind of the opposite. 

My old articles are lost, for the most part, but under the cut, I’ve pasted them for reference and included a great video on satire that also very easily applies to this discussion (just substitute feminism with the Holocaust)

Our Faves Are Problematic (And So Can You!)

Nothing and no one is perfect, so isnt it about time we learn how to call out the things we love?

We are all familiar with guilty pleasures: those things we like in spite of ourselves, that we are ashamed to admit we enjoy. Usually the term is applied to something we enjoy despite a perceived “lameness”, or because we’re not the right demographic for something. For instance, I still have a deep, abiding affection for Sailor Moon: that colorful, stock-footage-laced Japanese phenomenon that still gets me shouting “MOON PRISM POWER!” when I’m in the right mood. Yes, childhood is over, and yes, the show’s American dub did give me incest panic as a child, but I can’t help but love it.

But then there is the more difficult brand of guilty pleasures guilty pleasures that involve actual guilt instead of “mild embarrassment”. I’m talking about problematic faves the stuff that we love despite it containing clearly objectionable material.

willing18

(Image copyright Vertigo Comics)

…This is a panel from Bill Willingham’s Fables. The character there is Bigby Wolf, one of the main (anti) heroes of the story and the character the writer identifies with most. The person Bigby is waxing poetically on pro-Zionism to is someone literally called “The Adversary”.

Fables also happens to be one of my favorite comic book series on the planet.

Safe to say the issues surrounding Israel, Palestine, and the Middle East are a bit more complicated than that. And my own feelings on the matter are far more complicated. But this glorification of Israeli military policy is… um… in very tame terms… uncomfortable. After reading this, I resolved to only check Fables out of the library: a way for me to enjoy these comics in a legal way without financially supporting these ideas, however indirectly.

There are other problems with Fables: a lack of ethnic diversity, some murky racial and class commentary, and instances of some objectionable tropes, but there is a lot to recommend of these books as well. The stories are fantastic, the art brilliant, the characters well-fleshed out, and there is a definite progressive take on issues like gender and sexuality. But as much as I love this series, there is no getting around the fact that these stories have issues.

No excuses.

But it’s not just Fables that has disappointed me in the past. I am now and forever a Trekker, yet despite how horribly sexist episodes like “The Turnabout Intruder” are, or the very troubling anti-Semitic coding of the Ferengi. The Star Wars prequels famously had racist caricatures with the Trade Federation and the infamous Jar Jar Binks.

In the world of media, there’s no shortage of problematic content. From the novels of Robert Heinlein containing pro-fascist commentary, to HBO’s Game of Thrones misogynistic adaptation decisions, there’s nothing that is quite free of some messed up messages, subtle and blatant alike.

Now, when we talk about such media, we don’t merely mean triggering factors (i.e. the presentation, portrayal, or discussion of potentially traumatizing issues like domestic abuse, racism, hate crimes, substance abuse, or sexual assault), but rather how these matters are portrayed. A piece of media, such as Marvel and Netflix’s excellent Jessica Jones series, can portray certain issues (such as sexual assault, domestic violence, and mental illness) in a respectful, progressive, and sensitive light. Thus, while the content of the show can be triggering, the skill with which they portray these matters keeps it from being problematic.

In contrast, something like Game of Thrones, which portrays sexual assault in a thoroughly insensitive, exploitative, and misogynistic manner, is highly problematic.

Unfortunately, progress has been a slow-moving process, with many issues such as race, gender, sexual identity, mental illness, substance abuse, and violence only being examined in a more nuanced way fairly recently. As a result, almost all media is problematic in one way or another. Especially since even today, the majority of executives crafting, publishing, and greenlighting books, shows, comics, movies, and other forms of media are in fact cisgendered, heterosexual white men.

So what do we do?

Good news: here at Fandom Following, we don’t believe in dropping something you like just because it’s problematic. Why?

Because knowing, examining, and yes, even appreciating problematic content can be incredibly important. While certain content can be damaging, it can also teach us a great deal. Not only about current issues, but also about how to go about discussing these matters, and constructing narratives in general.

The racial issues in things like Star Wars and Star Trek can teach us much about how coding works, and how to avoid reinforcing stereotypes. The exploitation of women and rape on Game of Thrones can open up a dialogue of how to portray these things properly and improperly.

There are three tricks to enjoying problematic media: 1) Recognizing that there is an issue, 2) Being ready for a dialogue, and 3) Not ignoring or silencing the complaints about said issues.

Well, we here at Fandom Following have decided to tackle this issue head on with a series called “Our Faves Are Problematic (And So Can You!)”, where we will be exploring specific media franchises, creators, and works and, specifically, the problematic content they contain. In this series, we’ll be examining the issues, talking about why they’re important, discussing what this piece of media did wrong, how to approach the issue in a more progressive way, and the best ways to go about discussing the issue itself. Various writers will be contributing to this project, and we’re excited to present this feature to you!

So let’s get down and dirty, people. We all have our problematic faves. Let’s talk about them.

My Face is Problematic: Archer

Honestly, doing a post like this on Archer, a show which is deliberate in its dark humor, is a bit hard for me. Not because I like the show, but because I think there’s true validity in the argument that humor and narratives about really messed up, problematic stuff has its place. The show exists to be as outlandish and absurd as possible. The extremes and the awfulness of the characters’ personalities and their actions is the point.

I VUZ BORN IN DUSSELDORF AND THAT IS VY THEY CALL ME ROLF!

Joking about awful things, awful circumstances, and awful people is hardly new ground for comedy to cover, nor does it send a poor message, necessarily. Mel Brooks wrote a movie in which one of the characters was a Nazi, who wrote an overblown pro-Nazi musical produced by men deliberately trying to make a flop. Springtime For Hitler, as it exists in our universe, is not problematic. The Nazis are the butt of the joke, in which any pro-Nazi sentiment can only function if it is wildly fabricated and over-the-top, and even then, it will still be taken for satire. Because Nazis are utterly terrible, they built their movement on total bullshit that they dressed up in shiny boots and Hugo Boss uniforms and German exceptionalism and “glory”. This song-and-dance number about “Don’t be stupid, be a smartie, come and join the Nazi party” only ever deserves to be a joke, as the Jew who wrote it can tell you. Nazis fucking suck and it’s hilarious that anyone would ever suggest otherwise.

There’s justice in reducing Nazis to self-parody, and doubling down on that by making a joke about them being reduced to self-parody. Especially when said self-parody and depiction of it is crafted by the very people Hitler tried to destroy. No one enjoys or masters mocking Nazis like the Jews. Plain and simple.

Joking about awful things and how terrible they are can be a good way to process things and not allow them to hurt you anymore. Comedy, at its core, is a defense mechanism against horror and pain. There’s a reason slapstick is a classic subgenre of comedy that people have built entire careers around. Laugh at terror and pain to make it go away. Unfortunately, some of the things we manage to find humor in can really make you wonder if were all just terrible and have no limits.

Angela’s Ashes is a memoir by Frank McCourt about his impoverished, abusive, dangerous childhood in Ireland. In it, he chronicles his own starvation, life-threatening illness, abuse, and suffering at the hands of alcoholism and brutality from adult authority figures. He was a child laborer who went days without food while his father drank away the family’s money and abused the rest of the family, who often came down with horrifying illnesses as a result of the terrible conditions he lived in, and spent his formative years suffering along with all the people he loved. Three of his infant siblings die within the space of a chapter. We get a glimpse of the time when his father, overjoyed at the birth of his daughter, finds the will to stop drinking, stop mistreating his family, go to work, provide for his family, and just generally be a better person so that his children don’t have to suffer. For a short period, the McCourts have food, heat, and happiness. Then the baby promptly dies and Frank’s father is back in the pubs, once again squandering any pay he manages to acquire on alcohol and returning home at three am to scream at and beat his wife while his remaining children try to cover their ears and sleep on the cold ground.

Along with being praised for it being a both an unflinchingly brutal depiction of poverty and a testament to the triumph of the human spirit, the book is also praised for its humor.

Remember: Angela’s Ashes is a true story written by the very man who suffered through all of these horrible things. And it’s considered a pretty funny book. And the author who, once again, is the person who actually suffered all of these horrible things, actually did intentionally try to make people laugh as they read about that time he was in the hospital with Typhoid Fever and enjoyed it because it was the first time he’d been in a place where he was fed regularly and got to sleep in a warm bed.

Hilarious.

That being said, there’s satire and dark humor, and there’s just gratuitous, shock-jock bullshit. There are jokes that are terrible simply because of what they’re about and how they’re handled. George Carlin said that anything can be made funny, even rape, if you imagine Elmer Fudd raping Porky Pig.

If we can build entire films and musicals about how any pro-Hitler sentiment can only ever be taken as satire, isn’t that proof that you can joke about anything?

Yes, you can, but that doesn’t mean you should try, that the joke is funny, or that it’s alright, necessarily. Maybe Elmer Fudd, Porky Pig, and Springtime for Hitler prove that anything can be made funny and that’s okay. But if that’s true (and no, I’m not saying that it is), that still doesn’t mean every attempt at making something funny is either acceptable or funny.

Springtime for Hitler is not a get-out-of-jail-free card for any attempt to make a terrible subject the object of humor. Standards need to exist.

Unfortunately, the line between good or acceptable dark humor and simply gratuitous, insensitive, inherently problematic jokes can blur. The excuse of humor can only go so far. Yes, make light of Nazis. But there’s still a point where “humor” is used an excuse for people to act like assholes. And it’s an excuse that is used all too often. Radio Shock Jocks have been using that excuse to help reinforce racism and rape culture for quite a while. Whether certain dudebros like it or not, there’s a point where it stops being gross-out and just starts being gross.

Which brings me to Archer, the animated spy comedy on FX that premiered in 2011. Like many comedy series like Seinfeld or It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, a major part of the premise is that certain characters are, quite simply, terrible people. These characters and their abhorrent behavior is the joke. And, as the show is about spies, these terrible people are often put into highly dangerous, outlandish, and traumatizing situations.

So, the main characters, by virtue of their profession, spend a lot of time killing people in cold blood. Or trying to seduce or manipulate enemies. Or engaging in clandestine operations of sabotage that harm a lot of people. Horrible, violent things are going to happen, things violent enough to serve as narratives on their own. But most of the characters are as awful as the situations they encounter, so the horror is amplified. And it’s a comedy.

Indeed, in the first episode of the fifth season, we get the whole main ensemble recounting all of their actions and experiences working for the spy agency ISIS that we’d witnessed over the course of the show’s run at that point. Drag racing with the Yakuza, knee-capping the Irish mob, encountering human traffickers, 30 year affairs with the head of the KGB that only ended when the guy was blown up because one of the ISIS members had choke sex with the victim’s cyborg replacement, actual piracy, paying homeless people to fight for spectators, defling a corpse, defiling a different corpse, sexual assault, kidnapping the pope, blowing up oil pipelines, “smuggling Mexicans”

Yeah.

There are comedic arcs about cancer, illegal immigration, kinky S&M bondage murders, cocaine addiction… a lot of stuff, basically.

Now, take those situations, and add in characters who get aroused by things like homeless people, being choked, sex with food, and the thought of their mother dying. Who spend their weekends starting fires, making hybrid pig-people, rubbing sand into the eyes of their employees, competing in underground Chinese Fighting Fish tournaments, and calling in bomb threats so that they can get a table at a fancy restaurant. You get the idea.

And it’s all totally awesome and hilarious and god damn it I kind of love these characters.

This show has a season-long sub-arc about one of the main characters getting so aggressively addicted to cocaine that she not only consumes (literally) half a ton of it in the space of a few months, but almost gets her head chopped off for buying amphetamines from the Yakuza with counterfeit money. It’s one of the most incredible things the show has done.

Pictured: An absurdly self-centered man feeling genuine dismay and concern over his friend risking her life to achieve an unrealistic standard of beauty.

The title character has a butler named Woodhouse who practically raised him. One of the first interactions we witness between them is Archer not only threatening to rub sand into Woodhouse’s “dead little eyes”, but making him go out and buy the sand himself and check if they grade it, because he wants the sand to be coarse. He’s also done things like make the man eat a bowl of spiderwebs and deliberately keep him in the dark about his brother’s death and funeral.

Another character is a mad scientist and possible clone of Adolf Hitler who kills a young intern by giving him a drug designed to turn him gay. That’s one of the less disturbing things Dr. Krieger has done.

Frequent gags on this show include one guy repeatedly getting shot, another character repeatedly getting paralyzed (it’s complicated), people trying to remember the inappropriate puns that they wanted say as one-liners, the horrific abuse and neglect Sterling Archer has received from his mother his entire life, and basically everyone being a sex-maniac.

There are plots revolving around mind-control, drugging people, and hypnotism. You can imagine the paths some of those episodes go down. Yes, there is a character that has tried to sexually assault one of her sleeping co-workers. And later deposited two unconscious, naked coworkers in a bathroom stall with an octopus, in an episode that has already made tentacle hentai jokes. Yes, the openly gay character on the show is often the target of jokes about him being gay or a woman from his coworkers. Yes, the female lead, a black woman, is referred to as a “quadroon” at one point by one of the characters.

Yes, the following exchange of dialogue does take place in an early episode:

“Oh my god, you killed a hooker!”

“Call-girl!”

“No, Cyril, when they’re dead, they’re just hookers!”

And yet… Oh my god. How it manages to play around with stuff in an amazing fashion. For one thing, it is amazing how often this show skewers micro-aggressions and fucks around with stereotypes. And, despite how unabashedly messed up it is, the writing in it actually manages to be oddly pro-social progress in ways that most modern media doesn’t even seem to be aware of.

I take pride in my sex work and I will not put up with your bullshit!

For instance the “hooker” referred to in that exchange? (spoiler alert: she wasn’t really dead) She’s Trinette, and she an unbelievably refreshing and strangely progressive depiction of a sex worker. While she’s a minor character, every time she shows up, it’s awesome. Trinette is a sex worker who is unashamed of her job, a woman who truly does take pride in and enjoy her work, who does not put up with poor behavior from her clients, and is just generally awesome. She call people out and makes them pay for any mistreatment she receives, from calling out micro-aggressions by insisting on her preferred terminology for her profession (“Call-girl, you puke!”), shaming men for their sexual misdeeds (“How can you cheat on Lana bare-back?!”), demanding restitution for any injuries or threats she’s suffered (Threatening Archer into giving her his car after he fakes her death and stuffs her in a rug to fool Cyril into thinking he killed her), and determining her work and clients (“What about Trinette? She said that? Damn it!”). When she has a baby, she gives it her last name along with his father’s (“Magoon-Archer”) and she unapologetically proud of her Irish heritage. She’s easily one of the most functional characters in the show, and every one of her appearances on the show manage to defy at least one whore-phobic trope a minute. She’s the best.

Then there’s the show’s handling of race, which is mixed. While arguably the most important female character in the series (the show, despite its name, is very, very much an ensemble, especially as the series progresses. But in the early episodes when they focussed on fewer characters, she was the one who got the most screentime) is Lana Kane, a highly-competent (for ISIS) African American woman who is really, really well-developed, there is also the fact that she’s the only POC in the main cast. Granted, part of that IS the point. One of the earliest episodes is “Diversity Hire”, where, aside from Lana, the spy agency is so overwhelmingly white that they hire a “diversity double-whammy!” Conway Stern, a black Jew.

“Sammy Gay-vis Junior!”

Now, granted, that doesn’t sound great the way I describe it, but there are so many great moments in this episode alone. For instance, when Mallory Archer, terrible woman and owner of the spy agency mentions their lack of diversity, Cyril, the tragically white accountant and “nice guy” puts his hands on Lana’s shoulder and says he thinks they’re pretty diverse, a statement Lana finds hilarious. Cue Sterling Archer, other horrible person, telling Lana she’s “black-ish”, then responding to her offense at this with “Well, you freaked out when I said quadroon!”. The framing of this entire discourse is that Cyril and Archer are fucking idiots and Lana is of course taking offense because, duh, she should. The episode proceeds with a lot of references and discussion about racism, highlighting casual racism in a nuanced, funny, and organic way. For instance, Archer’s relief that Conway didn’t sleep with his mother. While Archer freaks out about anyone sleeping with his mother, regardless of race, Conway believes it’s racism on Archer’s fault. And in no way does the narrative act like he’s overly-sensitive or irrational for thinking that. Because the stereotype about black men seducing white women and fear from white men about this is still a very real, pervasive thing that has somehow managed to survive in our “enlightened” times. Of course Conway encountering a guy who displays a downright violent fixation on whether or not his new black coworker is sleeping with his mother will assume it’s a race thing. Because why would anyone be so preoccupied with such an idea? In that situation, it’s almost certainly based on the long-standing paranoia white men have about black men’s sexuality “conquering their women.” It’s one of the most common varieties of anti-blackness in existence.

Of course, since it’s Archer, who has kidnapped a LOT of people under the suspicion that they were having sex with his mom, we know this is the one case that it isn’t racism. It’s Archer’s disturbing, Oedipal relationship with his mother. He even kidnapped and threatened his role model, Burt Reynolds, for dating his mother. When he says “Not in a racist way” to Conway in this episode, it’s actually true. He’s just honestly that screwed up where his mother is concerned.

Conway’s conclusions on this, regardless, are still framed as a totally understandable. To the point where the episodes suggests that it would make no sense for Conway to think otherwise. Part of the joke is that no, Archer isn’t a horrible racist at all. He’s way too screwed up for his actions to be motivated by racism.

And before anyone asks, no, this wasn’t the “episode that acknowledges that racism is a thing.” You know the ones… The episodes that talk about race and why racism is bad to prove to the audience that they’re not racist, then proceed with the rest of the show, which never acknowledges race and racism again. There are frequent instances of highlighting racism, from violent outright bigotry to common micro-aggressions to clueless white people demanding how the thing they just did/said could POSSIBLY be considered racist! They’re not racist! How is THAT racist?! Cue Lana face-palming.

I just really, really like this. It doesn’t just end there, either. Racism is called out pretty frequently on this show, and not in a cliche, strawman way. Nor is it treated like something that only exists in the form of aggressively bigoted bad people shouting slurs and holding cross burnings. Nope. The “heroes” of this show just say shit that you could easily imagine someone saying in real life, shortly before getting defensive about any racism on their part. It’s treated as a common, pervasive thing that Lana and other PoC have to deal with every day, and the offense they take at it is treated as nothing short of sympathetic or justified (even in the cases of misunderstandings, like with Conway). This includes Mallory telling Lana to “put [the race card] back in the deck!” as reminder of how much of an unapologetic douche Mallory is.

It’s made clear: people say and do some super racist shit on a regular basis with realizing it or meaning to, and regardless, it’s still uncool and people have every right to get upset and call you out on it. See: Ray’s bionic hand at the end of season six.

Lana’s reactions and how they’re framed is usually pretty awesome. Mostly they come in the form of small, reasonable confrontations, which are never framed as an overreaction on her part. The fact that she “freaked out” when Archer called her a quadroon is framed as “well, duh, of course, she should.” Then there are instances like when she, Archer, and their child visit a high-end nursery school where they encounter a pretty obvious racist. The guy ignores and dismisses Lana at first, then expresses surprise at the fact that she’s the mother of the child (despite the baby being black), remarking about the “times we live in” and telling Lana “good for you!” when she informs him that yes, she is the mother, not the nanny or the maid.

Not all of the racism stuff stems from Lana being back, either. They skewer bigotry against Latinos on a pretty regular basis. When an Irish mobster rants about Latinos (he doesn’t refer to them by that name) “taking American jobs!”, Archer immediately calls bullshit, recalling actual history of the Irish being accused of that exact same thing during the mass immigration of the Irish to America during the potato famine, and it’s just as shitty and bigoted to say such things about immigrants now as it was in 1842. He is extremely irate about a mission ISIS is assigned to do on behalf of border patrol to  arrest people who just want to get a job, and he ends up siding with and befriending the Mexican illegal immigrants he encounters. All of this while aspects of certain Latinx cultures are often highlighted, often very favorably (“Ramone is Latino, so he’s not afraid to express affection.”)

That being said, there are still a lot of issues in the show. The lack of diversity is definitely an albatross around this show’s neck. Especially so many seasons after the “Diversity Hire” episode. While I do praise Archer for not treating racism as a thing that is rare and only needs to be addressed in one twenty-minute block of time, it is telling that the lack of diversity at ISIS is never addressed again.

Then there’s the approach to sexuality. The show loves gross-out sex humor, especially regarding Krieger. And the depiction of sexuality is actually pretty mixed. On one hand, the openly gay character in the show adheres to a lot of stereotypes about gay men: he mocks Lana about her “knock-off Fiacci drawers”, his go-to alias is “Carl Channing”, his free time is spent at raves, and he loves to make effeminate poses. He’s also a frequent target of homophobic jokes and remarks. His outrage at this is treated as being every bit as valid as Lana’s, but it doesn’t change the fact that their main gay character is basically ALL of the stereotypes, as are a number of the other gay characters.

“Alright! Were off to get our scrotums waxed!”

Then there is the sexual assault. Which, once again, is called out for being what it is, in defiance of many common biases (such as the idea that female-on-male sexual assault isn’t a thing). But this show is way too flippant about this.

While I consider Archer to be very sex-positive, allowing every character, regardless of sex, age, or orientation, to be comfortable and expressive about their sexuality without judgment (a lot of jokes, yes, but not any that come off as particularly shaming). Almost every character, male or female spends a fair amount of time naked or scantily clad. We see Archer stripped down just as often as Lana. And the fan service isn’t relegated to just women who adhere to the typical youth and weight obsessed eurocentric standards we all know and hate.

Pam, who is a big woman (and often the target of fat jokes, which the show always treats as nothing short of detestable) is a total sex goddess who grows to be utterly confident in herself as a woman to the point where she’s giving Mallory (one of the most desired women on the show) advice. When she reveals that she keep ingesting cocaine because it’s made her thin with big boobs, Archer is utterly dismayed, telling her she was way better off the way she was, acting horrified that she’d risk her life to be “hot”, and just generally freaking out about Pam’s desire to be thin. It manages to avoid being cliche or empty given that Archer considered Pam the best sex he ever had before she got thin, to the point of blowing off assignments just to have sex with her, because she’s just that awesome. After she gains the weight back in season six, she’s still sexy, making Archer’s jaw drop in the episode “Edie’s Wedding.” She’s also unapologetically pansexual, which is awesome.

Mallory, meanwhile, is still actively sexual and treated as desirable. While sex and sexuality are always sources of gags and jokes on Archer, never do the jokes about Mallory’s sexuality ever come across as ageist. Sure, some characters make ageist comments on the show, but it’s never treated as valid. Mallory is still treated as being extremely sexy and confident about it. While Mallory is generally a horrible person, her enthusiastic sexual agency is never once treated as a flaw or something disturbing or gross. What’s disturbing, gross, and worthy of ridicule is her son being so preoccupied  and reactionary about his mother having a sex life. It’s clear: if you have a problem with Mallory having a lot of sex and enjoying it, you’re the one with issues.

Even the one young, thin, white woman in the main cast gets to be unapologetic about her kinks. It’s really only a problem when her desire for choke-sex motivates her to lead a KGB cyborg to the ISIS safehouse. Or when she coerces Cyril into sex. And generally acts like a violent, awful person.

Essentially, there’s no tolerance for shaming women for being sexual. All of it, regardless of preference, age, size, or race, is nothing but fun and should be enthusiastically represented. “Can’t talk, got a pussy to break!”

Being a predator is shameful. Having belly rolls is not.

Who on Earth finds this funny?

But, then there’s the flippancy about sexual assault. There ARE gags about Pam and Ray dropping their pants when encountering an unconscious Cyril. And sorry, but the framing of it is all manner of screwed up. There’s tons of sexual coersion as well. Another one of the most problematic instances comes in an episode of season two, where Archer is repeatedly sexually assaulted by a sixteen-year-old German socialite. The show goes out of its way to make it clear that Archer explicitly refuses consent, that he’s being violated, yet the show treats this as funny.

While I get that this is a comedy show and that in-depth exploration of the trauma of sexual abuse isn’t going to be something they can spend a lot of time on, the option they should have gone with is, you know, not base an episode around a german schoolgirl raping the main character. It’s not funny, guys. It’s not necessary. It’s actually just uncomfortable and off-putting.

The show mentions things like alternative gender identities, emotional triggers, and sexual exploration in ways that treat these things as totally valid, which is good. It also frequently portrays poor people as jokes in and of themselves, which is a lot less good. While materialism is lampooned frequently, it’s not treated as a joke in and of itself the way poverty is.

The way the show often portray legitimate abuse for laughs also often goes overboard. While the show does a good job of exploring and following through on all the ways Mallory’s abuse screwed up Archer, there’s a point where the volume of “abuse humor” gets to just be downright gross. Dark humor is one thing, not being able to go an episode without a “Haha, ten-year-old archer was abandoned in a train station at Christmas!” joke is, uh… Not great.

Archer is an awesome, immensely watchable show. But it’s not one I always feel clean watching. It’s a show that celebrates extremes, yes, but there’s a point where certain lines are crossed and it’s just problematic rather than gallows humor.

Archer is one of those series that really makes me struggle to distinguish the gallows humor from the simple tastelessness. To give pause to the idea of problematic content being the “point.”

The line blurs with Archer. A lot. It often manages to distinguish itself with the things it gets right, especially since they often do well on things that most shows, movies, and books are often terrible at. And that’s enough to buy it some goodwill for when they screw up.

But seriously, guys, please stop treating sexual coercion and child abuse as bottomless gag wells. I would have really preferred to have Pam and her awesome sexuality without her sexually assaulting Cyril and Ray. It’s not funny or clever or edgy. It’s just gross.

[linkspooky]

What’s Love Got to Do With it?

Your opinions are so interesting... So I ask you, what you think about Furuta's love for Rize? What was revealed recently with Mutsuki makes me think they are same in a some way, I mean a twisted love and unhealthy obsession in a one-sided. Asked by Anonymous

An interesting question posed to me in an ask that I’ve decided to turn into a full meta because I think the asker is missing that Furuta and Mutsuki are not the only ones with unrequited love this arc. Luckily I’ve drawn up a chart.

Why all of this unrequited love all of a sudden? Is it because Ishida wishes to write a Shoujo manga with corpses, and has decided to convert the last arc into one? It goes deeper than that, so let’s analyze it under the cut. 

Furuta though might be a difficult example to start out with, he’s not the best at keeping a straight face, or his story straight either. He’s the kind of person who will cheerfully explain how he was born into child slavery with a smile on his face. 

Furuta is a rarity among Tokyo Ghoul villains though, because even though we’ve already elaborated on his tragic backstory™, he has yet to show any true angst over it. Arima was always ice cold and empty on the inside, Eto was consumed with despair and wanted to destroy everything, Tatara was only barely managing to suppress the flames of his anger, to name a few. All of these characters who wear their trauma and reasoning for fighting on their sleeves, and then here’s Furuta. He seems content with just getting in a good laugh. 

Furuta even on his own motivations is vague at best. Besides the “Super peace” quote, the best insight we get to direct questioning is:

“I will do what I want. I mean, I’ve got this precious life and everything might as well make the best of it, right?”

Which actually sounds a bit familiar:

Now, what Furuta did to Rize was horrible, but I think the fandom forgets she wasn’t exactly a saint before that point. There are actually more similarities than differences in Rize and Furuta, and it definitely comes from the place they were raised. Two garden children, one a meaningless throwaway meant to serve the family, and another a womb only meant to give her body to the family, or more specifically the men who had created the horrible structure she was born into and continued to perpetuate it. One escaped, and one stayed behind. 

Though the garden might have been manageable if these two opposites stayed together, when separated their experiences warped them. Once Rize escaped, she could not stop escaping. Every single restriction, even those placed on her by well meaning authority figures reminded her of home. 

Even escaping into freedom she realized, she was still in a cage. She probably could not handle the idea, and that was why she lashed out at the things around her. In her own mind though, it was not due to what had happened in the past, but rather an expression of her own strength. Rize was violent towards others because she was strong, because she got bored easily. Though, that kind of interpretation falls apart when you look at Rize’s victims. 

Men who placed any expectation on her. Whether it was Banjou who idealized her as a strong ghoul, Kaneki who saw her as a fellow lover of books, Rize is reminded again and again by the way men look at her of what she was born to be, of her home. A reminder she wants to escape from so bad, she’ll fight against everything around her, even the stable home she had in the sixth ward. 

Rize was constantly trying to escape from herself, because the garden had taught her not to see herself as a human being. This goes beyond the human vs ghoul divide, Rize likely did not even regard herself as a person if she was born to just be breeding fodder. Even after escaping from the garden though, in her unwillingness to admit those vulnerabilities, in an attempt to cover them up she continued to deny herself personhood Because of that Rize is empty on the inside, that is her boredom, the thing she can never fill up no matter how much she binges.  It’s almost like Kamishiro Rize never existed in the first place.

Perhaps that is why everybody seems to project whatever they want onto Rize, because she never had that much of a personality to begin with. Just try to describe Rize for a moment, she’s.... vicious, bloodthirsty, but those are just her actions. She likes books? She gets bored easily? Those are just hobbies or patterns of behavior. 

Here’s where we finally return to Furuta. As I said, the two are more similiar than they are different, to the point of being foils. Furuta is also another person without a strong sense of self, it’s how he can in one moment flip from this: 

To this:

To this:

That was just from one scene though, you can pick a few more scenes: Furuta and Eto round two, Kaneki and Furuta talking for the first time after Kaneki became one eyed king, and the result is the same when Furuta takes a step back from his disguise personality as a meek assistant, he acts so erratically he may as well be throwing personality traits against a wall to see what sticks. One might think this lack of self would be a disadvantage for Furuta, but he’s weaponized it, because as long as the moment calls for it he can become anybody. 

His acts tend to go so deep though, that on two occasions we’ve seen his inner monologue, which usually presents a characters true thoughts on the manner go along with what are his obvious lies to the readers.

Furuta does not want to be a person, just like Rize. The way he foils Rize though is that he goes in the complete opposite direction. Rize wants to escape from the society that created her, so much so she’s always trying to escape. She becomes the concept of freedom to others. Furuta however, stayed behind in V. Apparently, all that time plotting to take it over fro the inside out. To Furuta, the path forward is to stay inside the system and master it perfectly, Furuta wants to become the system. Thus Furuta’s art in the Calendar being him literally reveling while still inside the cage. In a series all about breaking the cage, Furuta wants to keep it in place, because he’s been climbing to the top of it all his life. 

I hope this brief character moment has also done away with two common misinterpretation’s of Furuta’s character. One, that he has no consistent personality or motivation (That’s the point Ishida is trying to get at). 

Two, that Furuta seems to exist without consequence in a narrative that otherwise is very consistent at keeping karmic consequence on every character within it. Tokyo Ghoul is a tragedy after all, they are not known for their leniency. Furuta however has murdered, Matsumae who was only trying to protect Shuu by laying down her life, killed Shiono and innocent, offed Eto before her revolution could even hit full steam and then stole even that forward motion to kill the Washuu and place himself in power, and also played double agent several times without getting caught once. Despite doing clearly bad things, Furuta is unaffected by them himself, and every consequence possibly dealt his way he shakes off. 

Furuta can be such a hypocrite at times, it’s basically a major facet of his personality. 

Remember though, that the system Furuta is trying to embody is hypocritical in itself. A system of rank and achievement that claims to be for the protection of humanity from ghouls, but is run by ghoul’s themselves who have sold out their own kind. For Furuta, indulging in his own hypocrisy is part of the joke. He’s the man determined to get the last laugh after all. 

Even if I celebrate it, I can’t help it. I’m just a human being who doesn’t think of anything about the day they were born.

PS: (Laugh, it’s fun!)

[x] I Have Become 6 Years Old

As referenced in his birthday poem, Furuta thinks absolutely nothing of himself at all as being born a human being, but encourages others to laugh anyway. It’s almost like a coping mechanism. 

Then returning to why Furuta seems to escape karma despite quite clearly being a hypocrite who does bad things. It’s for more reasons than just ‘he’s the villain’ in true tragic narrative both the villain and the hero still face consequences. In a perfectly structured tragedy though, the failing that allows tragic consequence to finally catch up to them should come from a fatal flaw. 

However, the modern understanding of fatal flaw is different from the greek one. The greeks believed in “Hamartia”, which was a flaw:

The tragic hero's powerful wish to achieve some goal inevitably encounters limits, usually those of human frailty (flaws in reason, hubris, society), the gods (through oracles, prophets, fate), or nature. Aristotle says that the tragic hero should have a flaw and/or make some mistake (hamartia). 

This flaw was often how the hero differed from society as a whole. It was why Aristotle’s definition of tragedy ends with, 

“purification" (catharsis): tragedy first raises (it does not create) the emotions of pity and fear, then purifies or purges them.

Therefore, having purified themselves from the flaw through watching it in theatre, the audience could return to life participating as good greek citizens. 

The Furuta shown throughout most of Tokyo Ghoul though is the perfect representation of the society set up by the CCG. He is perfectly respsectful to superiors, cuts down ghouls without mercy, and climbs the rank due to his gaining strength. Most of all though, in a society that suppresses individual will and personhood, Furuta makes no attempts at being a person. By allowing society to perfectly overtake him, by being such a perfect actor, Furuta shows no defects from the society he was raised in. He has no hamartia, and therefore no consequences.In a cast full of characters who are trying to suppress their emotions to reach external goals, promotion, gain strength and power, destroy what’s around them, Furuta is simply the best actor almost to the point of being aware of the scenario he’s in. That’s why he succeeds. 

However, nobody can keep up an act perfectly. For Furuta, the consequences of his actions, and the pathway he’ll get there has already been set.

This is called foreshadowing, it’s pretty obvious too. Here’s where we have Furuta’s source of Hamartia. In a society where men are called to use women like breeding tubes, especially Washuu men, Furuta truly loved one woman once. So much so he risked his own freedom so she could have hers. 

Rize could have left it at that, but he’s clearly still planning to use Rize. Even though if he really wanted to live without affection, and become the perfect embodiment of the system he is acting as, he should just dispose of her and sever all ties. Furuta is not acting logical here though. He’s bringing Rize back under his control so she can’t roam free anymore, but he refuses to kill her either.

He claims his reason is so he can marry her again, and produce many offspring. This is obviously another farce on his part. It’s doubtful Furuta lacks so much self awareness that he thinks Rize would really love him after this point, or that he thinks he’s somehow doing better by Rize by harvesting her to create more of Kanou’s quinx out of what seem to be garden children, rather than forcing her to conceive Washuu heirs. 

Let’s assume for a moment that Furuta is not a cartoon character, but rather a person that is cognizant of all of these things. What exactly is he trying to accomplish with his treatment of Rize then? On a basic level he’s objectifying her, removing her personhood. He’s turning her into a tool to further advance his efforts, but why?

When Furuta was caught off guard by Takatsuki, the first thing he flashes back to is Rize Kamishiro, in what possibly was one of their first meetings. 

Rize is probably the only thing Furuta has ever really wanted for himself. Furuta is strong right now, but he associates the time he was weak and powerless with his memories of Rize. That was also the only time Furuta was ever genuine, before he started putting on masks and laughing through life. His love for Rize is his last vestige of humanity in himself. That’s why Furuta makes a conscious effort to control her, to objectify her, because he doesn’t want to be a person. The same way that Rize lashed out violently at everything around her. 

The two of them both didn’t want to be reminded of how weak they really were. For Furuta though, rather than a societal construct, that reminder lies wound up in a person, a person he spent childhood days laughing and playing with. 

Love reminds Furuta of what makes him human. Furuta is nimudashing away from his humanity though, he has to in order to fit into his society. Thus, there’s no room for love either. 

Furuta probably did, and still does really love Rize too. No matter how twisted he shows it. One might recall the sky falling poem.

It’s always like this.

Only people dull to pain hurt me.

She truly loved me,

Only she didn’t know how to love.

What a stupid God.

[X]

What else can you expect though, from a boy growing up in a breeding garden where he was shown no love.

Haise’s Birthday Poem begins with the lines [x]:

“Someone said this: “Even if you have no memories of being loved, for as long as you have memories of loving someone, you can continue to live.” …But how is someone who has never been loved be capable of loving someone else? A child who wasn’t able to receive the minimal love they required at the time they needed it the most will continue to gaze at the illusion of affection and never know how to love until the day they die. Well, how about me? Can I continue to live?”

One might point to this as Furuta’s moral failing, that he now is stuck chasing after the illusion of love in Rize. 

Remember though, that Furuta is not the only character to project onto Rize.

He’s not the only one who wanted to take her strength for his own, whether symbolically or literally.

Looking at the chart posted at the very beginning of this post, this entire arc is filled with characters chasing after the illusion of love. Taking the example from Haise’s birthday poem, we’re finally given why Unrequited Love is so prominent in this moon arc. ‘How is someone who has never been loved capable of loving someone else?’

How are these characters who exist in a society that has never shown them love, capable of finding love anyway? To some extent, every single character is acting like Furuta. They are repressing some part of themselves to achieve a goal they think they want, while at the same time fantasizing about some unattainable intimacy with another person that they believe is love.

Be it Matsuri, who only wants to have the freedom to choose for himself, but chooses to support the oppressive regime of the Washuu instead. He forefeits his freedom for power. 

Be it Urie, who violently lashes out at a ghoul while thinking that all he wants is to take Mutsuki home. At this point he’s forefeited most of his humanity and gotten nothing in return. 

Be it Mutsuki, who finally gained a stable home environment and something strong to control him when Haise Sasaki was around, but only ever developed his personal strength and eventually gave up that peaceful setting for violence.

Haise, who was so afraid of his past, but looked at Touka and cried because for once he was reminded that there were beautiful things about his past as well. Who however, chose not to pursue that past because of his current security at the CCG.

Be it Touka who tried to blunt, brash, violent, unlikeable, to blindly push away all attachments, only to cry while she was alone when they left. Who wound up the opposite of all of that and waiting quietly for a person who had been erased, pining effectively. 

Be it Tatara, who claimed he was happy with everything, including the death of Aogiri tree if it meant that his hatred could end with Houji’s death. The man who gave up everything for his own hatred and revenge, only to die claiming he didn’t get what he wanted. 

Be it Eto, who sought somebody to provide her with hope, and for that sake gave up her identity as Takatsuki, her editor, her foster parent, the lives of many CCG investigators, her freedom in the end, for the sake of that revolution, only to end up in this state just as her revolution was beginning to turn. 

Be it Ui, a delicate person who thought he wanted to become strong so he could stand as a hero of justice. Who gave up his tender side to the CCG to gain that strength.Only to realize after he had lost them all what he wanted was the human connections he had formed through the ranks of the CCG. 

Be it Hairu, who claimed she wanted to be strong so that Arima would acknowledge that strength. Only in the end to flash back to the garden in her dying moment, as it was the only time in her life she was shown kindness or treated like a person. 

Be it Takizawa, who thought he wanted to get stronger so he could surpass those he saw as extraordinary. He thought he wanted to escape the role of second best, thus he violently fought against Sasaki and decided to play ghoul and give up his personhood. Only what he really wanted in the end was the security of being acknowledged, and to be acknowledged by one person.

Be it Akira, who claimed she wanted to get strong in order to avenge her mother, and father, and suppressed herself to act as the perfect CCG agent in each of her dead parent’s place, but in the end only wanted to have somebody see her as herself, and by that extension be able to act on her own wants.

The pattern of characters denying some fundamental part of themselves, some part of their personhood in order to achieve some goal they think they want and to eliminate their weakness, only to secretly project onto another person the emotional intimacy, the personhood, and the vulnerability they think is impossible to have is a pattern that repeats again, and again, and again, and in this arc especially as the world is starting to come apart and change. 

The reason this pattern repeats is because for these characters, love cannot exist in their worlds. It cannot exist in the rigid patriarchical system of the CCG that stamps out humanity and weakness, because to love is be human and weak. Therefore you get these characters who want with all of their beings, but cannot take a single step to move towards that love. What is the result of that? Eto summarized it quite nicely. 

These characters unable to find fulfillment in their love, are pushed forward towards violence and destruction. Thus the cycle seems to continue, on and on forever. 

A manga with that much unrequited love is therefore, not a shoujo with corpses, but a straight up tragedy. 

[glare-gryphon]

Hi! So, I can't resist these prompt things, especially when my fav writers put them up! Thus, if you would like to, prompt 22 with Anakin/Vader would be great! Thanks :)

Here you are, my dear! I ended up working in Obikin because I am just… Obikin garbage.

Rating: M

Prompt: A book infested with ghosts

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker (Darth Vader)

Additional Tags: Post-Mustafar AU, Suitless Vader (Vaderkin), Vaderwan, Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Tatooine Mythology I Literally Made Up

~2670 Words

Anyone born of Tatooine knows better than to wander too farinto the Wastes. It is a savage, inhospitable place: a land of dragons andraiders and ghosts. Farmers dare not set down roots, travelers dare not passthrough its heart. It is cursed land, long-ago scorned by the gods of theirpeople. Anyone born of Tatooine knows that should you stay too long, the Wasteswill show you your past, your failures, your regrets. You will see what was andwhat could have been and what never will be. Those hills can drive a man mad.

It is there that he finds Obi-Wan Kenobi, at last.

Years of searching have led him to this moment. He hasslaughtered Jedi, sacked Temples, turned entire planets inside out in hispursuit of the man he had once called Master. Now he approaches, following theglow of the man’s Light through the Waste. His own presence is dimmed, maskedby the shielding he’s mastered in the time since their parting, lest he alertKenobi to his presence. If his has his way, this will be swift. His skills as aswordsman have grown under Sidious’ tutelage, and there is something satisfyingat the thought of finally besting his old mentor. He’d left his signature maskbehind in his transport, as there is little risk of anyone seeing his face sofar out into the desert; he’s going to look Obi-Wan in the eye when he strikeshim down.

Yet, when he crosses the next rise, it quickly becomesapparent that things will not be quite as simple as he had previously thought. Atthe base of the hill is a herd of bantha, grazing on the meager plant life thatthe Wastes are able to support. They snuffle and groan, their attention drawnwhen one of Vader’s boots knocks against a stone buried in the sand and sendsit careening down the hill.  Among them,cross-legged in meditation, is Obi-Wan himself.

Obi-Wan is older now than he was that final day on Mustafar,a fact that is more surprising than it rightfully should be. His hair and hisbeard are more grey than red, his face lined and worn by the desert. The twinsuns, just beginning to dip below the horizon, have managed to tan the man’sstubbornly space-pale skin, bringing out freckles on his shoulders and thebridge of his nose. Blue eyes, familiar yet so very different, follow thetrajectory of the displaced stone until they settle on Vader. There isrecognition there, but not comprehension. Not enough for the enormity of thissituation.

A brilliant smile blooms on his face. “Anakin!” He calls,pushing himself to his feet. The process is considerably slower than it hadonce been, his joints aged beyond his years by the abuses of war. “I waswondering when you would visit me.”

The smile he wears, the vacancy of his eyes—there issomething unsettling about it all. No one knows better than Obi-Wan Kenobi themonster that Anakin Skywalker has become. He alone knows the face hidden behindthe cold mask presented to the rest of the galaxy, and he alone knows the namelong-shed in favor of his new moniker. A thought flickers across Vader’s mindof the gossip he’d heard passing through Mos Eisley. Old Ben Kenobi, the Wizardof the Wastes.

Those hills can drivea man mad, the voice of a nine year old slave boy murmurs in his ear.

“It’s been some time since you last visited,” Kenobicontinues, and there’s a flicker of something injured in his expression. “I wasbeginning to wonder if you’d ever come back.”

A mirage. That’s all he is, or at least, all Obi-Wanbelieves him to be. This would be the perfect time to strike the man down. Hewould never see it coming. Never suspect. Yet something stays his hand, and hefinds himself climbing down the hill to meet Kenobi and his herd at its base.

“I was just about to take the bantha back to the homestead,but you’re welcome to join us.”

Even addled and desert-mad, Obi-Wan has still retained hisgift for the Force. It takes but a brush of his mind, his will, to get the herdmoving. Vader tracks along beside him as they make their way through the Waste,listening as the man babbles on about his life here in the desert, filling himin on the happenings since his mirage’s last visit. It’s mostly uneventful: thebirth of a new calf, a raid by the sand people, repair of the vaporators.“Qui-Gon comes around quite often, these days,” he says, suddenly solemn.“Sometimes I think I see… see Satine. She never lingers, though; not the wayyou and Qui-Gon do.”

Vader wonders how long the ghost of Anakin Skywalker hasbeen haunting his old mentor. How long had it taken for the curse of the Wasteto take its toll?

Seeing Kenobi’s homestead puts into perspective how the mancould have so quickly slipped from the war hero Vader spent years of his lifefighting beside to the mad old man whispered about in the canteens of MosEisley. The stables are well-maintained, but even the descent of night can hidethat everything else on the land seems just this side of dilapidated. Obi-Wandoesn’t seem particularly disturbed by this fact, nor does he comment whenVader hesitates in the doorway of the man’s home. He just ushers the man in, asthough inviting the ghosts of his past in for tea is just another part of hisaverage day.

“I’m sorry it’s a bit of a mess,” Obi-Wan mutters, the lightflush to his cheeks illuminated only by the light of the three moons as he scurriedaround ahead of Vader to try and pick up the space. “It’s been rather—rather difficultto keep things tidy since you stopped visiting.”

As far as homes go, Kenobi’s is spartan in the way one mightexpect from a former Jedi. Beyond the standard necessities for desert living,there is very little to distinguish it from any other homestead. There’s asmall living space, a dining table, and a cot pushed into one corner. In fact,beyond a mildly alarming number of empty bottles of alcohol, the only realunique piece in the home is a wooden chest near the bed, intricately carved andsecurely locked. Vader’s curious as to its contents, but Obi-Wan directs him toa chair at the dining table before he begins shuffling around in the kitchen toprepare tea and something for an evening meal.

Laying on the surface of the table is a familiar sight:Obi-Wan’s journal. An integral part of his former Master’s life, the journalhad rarely stayed far from the man’s side Even during the chaos of wartime, thelittle book could often be found tucked into the folds of the Kenobi’s robes,ready to be pulled out and the dealings of the day scribbled down whenever hecould find the time. Vader had mocked him for his incessant record-keeping, butthere was always something soothing about settling down beside the man,listening to the scratch of ink against flimsi and simply unwinding after thestress of another day on the battlefield.

Kenobi returns with two cups of what Vader presumes to be tea and bowls of what he knows to be stew. Little goes to wastein Tatooines’s harsh climate, and the small creatures that lurk in the nooksand crannies of its land had fed him often enough in his youth that he recognizestheir pungent aroma even now. The stew is barely edible, though this he wasexpecting. Kenobi never had any kind of gift in the kitchen, often relying onAnakin to keep them both fed when away from the refractory of the Jedi Temple.The tea, though, is quite possibly the worst thing he’s ever tasted. There’ssomething wrong with the filter of the vaporator the water had been collectedfrom, leaving a salty, metallic taste that makes him cringe.

The flavor doesn’t seem to bother his old mentor, who dragshis old journal closer and begins the ritual of recording the day’s events inits pages. He mumbles to himself as he writes, pausing intermittently to glanceup at Vader and make sure the man is still there. In honesty, the Sith isn’t intendingto move anytime soon, as he’s still not quite sure what he’s supposed to donow.

He’d come to this planet with the intention of striking downhis former Master. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grand General of the Republic, the Negotiator,Sith Killer—a dozen titles worn by a man Vader thought himself to hate. Butthis Kenobi that sits before him? He is none of those things; as much a ghost ofhis former self as the specters that visit him. The thought of killing him nowleaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“I missed you,” Kenobi says quietly, drawing Vader from hisintrospection. He’s set the journal aside, turned the full focus of hisattention on the younger man. The Apprentice feels himself swallow reflexivelyat the intensity of his expression, very nearly flinches when one of Obi-Wan’shands covers his own. The calluses on his palm are unfamiliar now, wear from alightsaber’s hilt replaced with the evidence of physical labor. “I often findmyself wondering what our life might have been like if you’d left the Orderwhen you’d considered it as a padawan. Would the war have still come to passwithout our influence? Would things have been different between us? Would Ihave still… loved you?

“I don’t think I ever told you,” he confesses, “but I wouldhave left with you. I would have followed wherever you led. Stars, Anakin, whydidn’t I just tell you?”

Vader doesn’t dare speak, doesn’t dare shatter thisillusion, but he can’t hear any more. He can’t sit here and listen to Kenobispeak truths he’d considered impossible, and know that he’d thrown this man’sloyalty back in his face. He’d torn Obi-Wan’s world to pieces, reduced him tonothing but this broken, desert creature in return for his unconditional love.

Leaning over the table, he is perhaps a bit forceful when hepresses his lips to Kenobi’s. The man chokes, clearly intending to pull away,but Vader sinks one hand into the man’s hair to cut off his escape. When itbecomes apparent that he isn’t going to let go, Obi-Wan allows himself toreturn the kiss. Hesitant, at first, but gaining confidence with the longer thecontact continues, even daring to nip at Vader’s lower lip when the younger manpulls away to catch his breath.

They disentangle, Vader pushing out of his chair to tugKenobi to his feet and back him toward the small cot in the corner. He stripsthe man’s clothing off as they go, his own coming undone under Obi-Wan’s persistenthand. While the older man’s nakedness is something Vader seen a hundred timesbefore, it all seems new in this context: sprawled out on the thin blanket ofthe cot, pressed against Vader’s own. A small part of him notices that the manhas lost weight since their separation—a consequence of live on Tatooine.

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan gasps. “Take me.”

He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, and yet he does. Hedoes, because Obi-Wan begs and pleads, a desperation in his voice that makesVader think he might break if he doesn’t give this. This one thing, this onecomfort, this one desire.

They have nothing but spit and the fluid that beads on thetips of their cocks, everything else too precious to be wasted on something assuperfluous as sex. It’s not nearly enough to slick the way, to make the pressof Vader into him anywhere close to comfortable, but he suspects that isn’twhat Obi-Wan wants, anyways. His fingers dig into Vader’s shoulders when theyounger man is finally seated inside him, eyes scrunched with pain.

“Move,” he hisses between clenched teeth.

Vader does, slowly. Agonizingly so, despite Obi-Wan’s demandfor something harder. It may be what he wants, but it’s not what he needs. Heknows this and leans down, claiming the man’s lips in a tender kiss as he rocksagainst him. There in that moment, there is no Light and no Dark; no Jedi, norSith. It’s just him, just Obi-Wan, connected in a way the galaxy and fate hadlong denied them.

Tears stream down the older man’s face as Vader wringsorgasm from him, spattering their stomachs and chests with the evidence of hispleasure. The younger is quick to follow, spilling within Kenobi’s body, barelyable to stop himself from collapsing atop the man in the aftershocks. Both hisswhen he pulls free; there is blood on the sheets. Nothing to be done about itnow, however.

He goes willingly when Obi-Wan pulls him down, curls againstthe man’s chest and listens to the rhythm of his heart. Once, so long ago now,it had beat in time with Vader’s own. Out on the battlefield, tied together bythe Force, they’d moved and thought and breathed as one. Kenobi’s heart stillbeats to that rhythm; it is Vader’s own that has gone astray. He gave his heartto another, and another, and another. To all, it seems, but this one man, whoseown still belongs solely to the brother that forsook him.

“Must you go?” Obi-Wan asks. Vader doesn’t dare move whenthe man reaches out, cupping his face with a shaking hand and brushing away atear that’s escaped him despite his best efforts. “Yes, I suppose you must,” hesighs, a soft smile on his face. There is sadness in his eyes, like a woundthat will never heal. “You were always destined for greater things than thelove of this silly old man.”

Kenobi leans down, pressing one last, lingering kiss toVader’s lips, and it feels like something inside of him breaks. The heart he’dthought long burned from his chest cracks, shatters to pieces on the sandyfloor of the small hut. He wants to sob; to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness;to remain curled into the man’s chest until dawn and Obi-Wan realizes that thisisn’t a mirage created by the desert. But he can’t.

Already he can feel his Master’s impatience prodding at theshields he’s keeping so high, desiring a report Vader doesn’t want to give. Tolinger further would tempt fate—something he’s long since learned better thanto try. If his Master were to send someone out after him, they could findObi-Wan. They could find him, and kill him, and the last piece of AnakinSkywalker’s wretched, broken heart would die too. He can’t allow that.

So he pulls away, despite the way every part of him screamsin protest. Kenobi settles back against the sheets, eyes already flutteringclosed with his exhaustion, and Vader tucks the thin blanket around the man’sshoulders before he rises from the cot to collect his scattered clothing.Slipping from the home like the mirage he’s pretended to be, the touch ofObi-Wan’s journal burns against the skin of his chest like a brand. Wornleather and brittle pages, their history written down in thousands of words,stolen from its place on the man’s small dining table and tucked away withinhis robes. It had been Kenobi’s constant companion during the trials of war andhis lonely days in the Waste. Now it will be a reminder of everything waitingwhen Vader is finished atoning for the destruction he’s wrought.

“I love you, too,” he says to the wind before he boards histransport back to the Vengeance,sending a prayer to the old gods of the suns and sand that his confession willbe carried safely back to whom it belongs.

[warriorqueenphoebe-blog]

Major Quest 008 || Ayura & Phoebe

Who: Ayura and Phoebe Tagged: @tigrisia-paladin-of-many-trades What: badass babes doing parkour Word Count: 3000+ Warning: Odd spacing

Phoebe: “So the Baroness is trying to raise an army?” Knitting her brows, she looked over to the other woman, almost looking confused. “I don’t get it. Why would she do that? What’s her motive?” It seemed stupid to get caught up in details like this, but still she couldn’t help but wonder. She opened her map again, just to check if they were still going the right way. Westwards from the Citadel until they hit the shore. Find a boat. Sail over to the island. Fight their way through the fortress. She couldn’t hold back the sigh as she closed the map again. This was a suicide mission.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ayura: “Probably just some more badguy business. ‘Oh, I have tons of power and I want to use it to take over the world!’” she flailed her arms playfully as she made the intentionally horrible impression, snickering a little afterward. “Like any movie, show, book, game, anime, you name it.” She was acting all happy-go-lucky, but truth be told she was more than a little skittish. She had missed out on some of the goings-on of the last couple of quests due to some flaky partners who vanished on her part way, and because of that she wasn’t only still at a measly level 12, but also hadn’t heard much about this Shadow Baroness business until she’d showed up at the Citadel of Sumilki just as the battle had been ending. It was a gruesome sight, and she wanted to help if she could.

Apparently this was the only way to do it.

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” she sighed with an apologetic smile, drumming her fingers onto the hilt of the longsword at her waist in a familiar action. “Thanks for agreeing to be my quest partner, by the way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Phoebe: Phoebe laughed wholeheartedly at Ayura’s bad guy impression. “Well, maybe we’re lucky and she’ll give us a classic bad guy speech? You know, talking about her grand scheme, how we’ll never be able to defeat her and stuff like that instead of actually killing us, giving us just enough time to foil her master plan.” Keeping the mood light seemed nice. Stiff and almost forced, but nice. It was a good cover for the obvious tension in the air.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t think that there will be too many sailors merrily sailing over to the Fortress,” she said, knitting her brows as she gave the girl an almost confused look. “No problem. Honestly, I’m slowly getting used to this whole quest partner thing.”

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

Ayura: Ayura waved her off. “Nah, it’s just frustrating sometimes, people say they’re going to be your partner, and then they vanish on you after awhile,” she sighed. “I’m just glad that we’re fairly like-minded, as far as our last conversation went.” She was referring to the conversation they had about not needing quest partners, but as far as Ayu was concerned, both of them had been resigned to the fact that the quests required partners. It was just going to be a fact they had to accept. It was part of the reason Ayura had sought Phoebe out in the first place.

The paladin chuckled. “No, I mean, we don’t have to worry much about the reason the Shadow Baroness is doing whatever she’s doing,” she clarified. She sighed as she crossed her arms, tilting her head wistfully. “It’s a shame the dragons the shop sells don’t grow large enough to be ridden. It would be so much easier just to fly there, you know? But, I agree. Hopefully this Baroness makes the same do-not-monologue mistake,” she quipped with a dainty grin.

“Well, let’s come and not dilly-dally, we heroes are off on an adventure to beat the badguy!” she chirped, laughing afterward at her own playful and intentionally flubbed references because of how cliche the whole thing was. Even though this was a videogame, did everything really have to be that classic?

She began walking westward, knowing that Phoebe would follow.

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

Phoebe: She furrowed her brows again, furrowing slightly as she hummed understandingly. “Hmm, that really sounds like it sucks. Luckily my last quest partners were actually pretty cool.” She gave another small mile, trying to sound as encouraging as possible. “Doesn’t mean that I’m super happy about the whole party requirement though.” It would definitely take some more getting used to for her, but the last quest was definitely a step into the right direction. Still, talking too much about her first great experience seemed a little insensitive, so she decided to let the topic rest for now.

“It’d still be nice to know, don’t you think? I mean, with how massive this game is, I just can’t believe that they’d have a boss who’s evil just for the sake of being evil,” Phoebe shrugged. She always liked the bad guys in stories. But still the anti heroes always seemed so much more fascinating than the plot bunnies without motivation or goals.

Following the younger girl with wide steps, she quickly caught up to her. “I guess you’re right. The less time we waste, the better.”

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

Ayura: Ayura found herself pensive as they continued to walk. But it wasn’t the troubled pensiveness that she’d come to be familiar with over the past week. It was a more...fulfilled, satisfied thoughtfulness, content with making progress towards her goal once more, which was to win this game and get out of here. “Yeah, I get it. I actually hope she’ll be some interesting character. I’m sick of the same old.”

She did manage a grin, however. “Well, I guess we might get a chance to find out, one way or another.”

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

Phoebe: “Well, I’m not much of a gamer myself so I’m not really a pro when it comes to overused gaming stereotypes,” she said with a shrug. Movie tropes. That’s what she knew. Literature and plays and tv shows, all falling into that same category, picking up the same archetypes over and over again because in one way or another they all worked on the same level. Yet with how interactive games were, Phoebe doubted that it was the same case. “But from what I’ve gathered so far, this game doesn’t really seem to be something that you can consider the same old,” she concluded finally.

“Looks like we don’t really have a choice,” she agreed, a lot less happy about it than Ayura seemed to be. She walked in silence for a while, thoughts running through her head, trying to make a plan for whatever situation they were about to get themselves into. When they finally came close enough to the shore to see the port, she spoke up again. “Now that was the easy part,” she sighed, doubting that anything that was coming for them from here on out would be as close to a literal walk in the park as this. “I think I can get us onto one of those boats.”

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

Ayura: “Well, it’s all up to you, my Charisma stats suck,” she chuckled, trailing behind her and watching what she would do. “I put most of my points into fighting-related stats, and being a witch doesn’t help my rep amongst NPC’s anyhow,” she hummed. She was really a happy-go-lucky sort of person, accepting the circumstances that she found herself in and merely choosing to work from there rather than complaining about it. “Let me know if I can do anything, but I’ll shut up for now so I won’t ruin anything.” She mimed zipping her lips with a childish grin and clasping her hands behind her back.

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

Phoebe: Phoebe nodded with a grin, well confident. “Don’t you worry, I got this.” She quickly scanned over the the docks, smirking when she found her target. Her fingers fumbled with the top of her tunic for a second, exposing a bit more cleavage before she fluffed up her hair. “Just stay close, smile and let me do the talking.” With that she walked toward the captain, a sweet smile on her lips and just a little too much sway in her walk to consider it natural.

“Excuse me?”, she asked as she stepped up to the man, twisting a lock of black hair around her finger. “Me and my friend have business at the Fortress. Do you suppose you could help us get there?” She felt his eyes on her, giving her a long once over before furrowing his brows skeptically. “The Baroness’ fortress? What kind of business are you talking about?”

“Personal business,” she replied quickly, “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. Please?” Reaching out, she touched the man’s arm, knowing the impact a simple touch could have. His eyes rested on her for another long moment before he sighed. “Fine, get on board.” With that he turned around, shouting commands at his crew as he stepped out of the way for the two women to pass.

Phoebe gave Ayura a look over her shoulder, a winning smile on her lips. “I told you I got this,” she whispered happily before climbing on board.

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

Ayura: Ayura made a small, playful scoff. “I never said I doubted you,” she murmured back as she climbed in after Phoebe. “Just, don’t be afraid to give me a shout if they try anything shifty. I’ll thump them around for you,” she snickered.

She leaned against the side of the boat as the craft finally began to move amongst the normal shouts of the crew’s communication. The wind was brisk, and it caught the sails of the boat nicely. The paladin’s eyes were far away as she looked from the horizon, down to the deep blue of the water around them. “Almost like home…”

“Do we have any sort of plan yet? Or are we just going to wing it as we go? There’s no question that there’s magic behind all this.”

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

Phoebe: “No worries. I’m a big tough girl. I can handle this,” Phoebe teased, winking at Ayura.

A frown spread over her face as the other girl mentioned a plan. “Well. I don’t have one,” she admitted with a shrug, still not taking the situation quite as serious as she probably should have. “I’d say we just go in and wing it. It’s not like we know what to expect anyway, right?”

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

Ayura: “Nope!” Ayura popped her lips with a ‘p’. “And, I think that’s best for me too. I like to act on my own terms, so winging it is just fine.”

~

A couple of hours passed with nothing of great importance before one of the crew members shouted a signal. Ayura straightened from her position of leaning against the inside of the hull and held onto one of the masts, climbing perhaps ten feet up with no rope. She peered over, seeing the dark, foreboding castle in the distance. She hopped back down. “We’re getting close.”

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

Phoebe: The sudden shouting around her startled Phoebe a little more than she would have liked to admit. Looking at the ocean and lazy movement of the waves for what felt like hours was relatively dull so she found herself completely lost in thought by the time they reached their destination. “Great,” she said with a yawn as she got up from where she was sitting and stretched out. “I can’t wait to get some action.” Giving Ayura a playful nudge, she waited for the ship to finally hit the coast.

It wasn’t long after they finally berthed that the two women got to leave the boat and to be quite honest, the soldier was more than happy to have solid ground under her feet again. Finding the fortress wasn’t an issue this time since the huge castle seemed to take up most of the small island’s space. “All we have to do is get in and find the throne room, right?” Looking up at the huge towers above them, Phoebe swallowed thickly. “That can’t be that hard.”

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

Ayura: “No, not usually, the throne room is supposed to be easy to get to, assuming they use the same logic in this castle as they do in real life,” Ayura mused, mostly to herself. “Although, honestly, we’re going to have to do some snooping around anyway. We have to stop whatever magic is creating those soldiers.” She paused for a while, studying the castle from the outside, watching its windows.

She suddenly pointed. “It’s up there,” she remarked, gesturing to some large, stained-glass windows a couple of stories higher than their position, on the eastern wall, visible from the outside. “That has to be the throne room. No other room would be so gaudy.”

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

Phoebe: Looking up to where Ayura was pointing, Phoebe nodded in agreement. “Damn, this baroness seems to be a real show-off, huh?” Pulling one brow up, she looked over the castle once more before sighing, looking at the huge double door not too far from them. “What do you think? Just knock on the front door and see what happens or do we want to look for some kind of back way?”

The uncertainty was probably clearly visible on her face. In her opinion, neither of their two options sounded good or even remotely safe and the eerie vibes she was getting from that castle only added to her concern.

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

Ayura: Ayura scoffed with a grin. “Obviously, look for a back way, we’re only inviting trouble immediately if we go through the front,” she chuckled, already setting off towards the eastern side of the castle, gazing up at the architecture for anything that could be of use. After a few minutes, her chin lifted. “I hope you’re good with heights.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~``

Phoebe: Phoebe followed her closely, every now and then looking around just to make sure that no one was following them yet. After all, stealth was their biggest advantage up to this point and getting caught now would be less than beneficial. Looking up, her eyes widened in shock. “Don’t tell me you want to climb up there?”, she asked in disbelieve.

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

Ayura: Ayura chuckled. “Not all the way up. Just a story, maybe two.” She pointed up to a ledge about eight yards up. “Do you see over there? If we get up there, we might be able to find a side door.”

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

Phoebe: She looked up at the ledge, then to Ayura and back to the ledge. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mumbled, shaking her head. Stunts was not something she was a stranger to and climbing could be fun, however the lack of a safety bond and the possibility of falling to her death really killed her excitement. “Okay, fine,” she huffed finally, getting a little closer to the wall. “Come here, I’ll boost you up.” It wasn’t like Phoebe had any doubt that Ayura would be fine with climbing up on her own, but she definitely was quite a bit shorter than her and they had no time to waste after all.

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

Ayura: Ayura tilted her head. “I might be short, but I can climb. Maybe I should boost you up instead,” she laughed. She pointed to a much shorter ledge. “If you think you can get up there on your own, then sure, otherwise, I’ll think I’ll stay below you and help you out when it’s needed.” She paused, wondering if that sounded a little too bossy. “Sorry, is that alright with you?” She didn’t want to come off too standoffish. She was confident in her own ability, but many people found interpreted that to be cockiness even though hers was a stalwart certainty.

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

Phoebe: “I can climb, too,” Phoebe said with the hint of a pout, probably a little too hesitantly to sound convincing. “I’m just not crazy about the idea, that’s all.” Still, it was the only plan they had and a pretty good one, too. Placing a hand against the cold stone wall, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, that sounds okay.” Looking up the first ledge, she dug her fingers into the cracks between the stones in the wall, making her way up slowly. It took a lot of willpower not to look down, only doing so after she finally hoisted herself up on the first ledge. “Okay, I’m good,” she said, trying to find a middle ground between talking loud enough for Ayura to hear and quiet enough to not attract any unwanted attention.

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

Ayura: Ayura backed away from the wall, five steps, seven steps. Then she raced forward, taking five or seven steps on the wall itself before she caught onto the ledge with her hands, grunting as she pulled herself over. “Ugh, alright. Let’s find our next handhold…”

~

Once they were up to the initial designated ledge that Ayu had pointed out earlier, she flashed a breathless smile. “Didn’t I tell you?” she grinned as she gestured at the wooden door just across the way.

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

Phoebe: “Wow, you actually were right!”, Phoebe said surprised, not even noticing how that might come across a little offensive.

Somehow the castle seemed even creepier from the inside. “It’s oddly quiet in here, don’t you think?” Looking at Ayura, she tried not to let her insecurity show. Taking a few more steps down the hallway, she suddenly saw something move in the corner of her eye. She barely had enough time to unsheathe her sword before the hooded figure attack her. Dodgings its attack by a hair's breadth, she quickly pierced her blade through the creature’s head. “Somehow I doubt that this was the only one,” she whispered in a warning tone, slowly turning around to her partner. “This is so not good.”

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

Ayura: “Were you expecting the castle to be empty during whatever warzone of a time this is?” she teased with a grin. “Come on, the throne room is this way.” The two of them crept along the hallway, choosing to sneak past the guard rather than engaging them. Soon they came across the giant doors of the throne room, although Ayura wasn’t focused on that.

“Look for a smaller door, it would be the Chamberlain’s entrance, she briefly explained. “I played enough games with castles in it. There should be one around here.”

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

Phoebe: “A smaller door?”, Phoebe repeated, not quite sure what was wrong with the door they had already found. Still, she felt like they had come too far already to start arguing over something as trivial as which entrance to take now.

“Over here,” she called over when she found what Ayura had been talking about. Cracking the door open just a bit, she fell silent, listening into the room for any sign of danger. “I think we’re good.” Her voice was still low as she looked at her and gave a firm nod before ducking through the door and into the room.

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

Ayura: Ayura slipped in behind her. “Nice. Didn’t want to announce our arrival by going through the big, loud, door that’s intentionally made to be impressive,” Ayura quickly explained under her breath. Like any Chamberlain’s hall, it was a quiet and dark hallway, intended for only one person at a time to go through, a short passageway that would end up in some obscure corner of the throne room.

The paladin kept a hand on her sword as she opened the door to the throne room just a peek. Surprisingly, there was no one there. “Wow, this is too easy. There’s no one here. That makes me a little nervous.”

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

Phoebe: She nodded, obviously tense. Something was very, very wrong and it was more than obvious. That was when the realisation hit her. “This isn’t too easy. This is just the beginning.��� The beginning of something way worse, she was sure.

[martinatkins]

Learn Reiki Level 1 Wonderful Useful Ideas

Maybe the greater good is in itself to be healed, although distance healing symbolThis is because Reiki offers you a great experience.They match our vibrations and has become much easier when we practice Reiki in a situation where the problems exist.And although many of the entire body in more relaxation and peacefulness, security and wellbeing.

Reiki can be performed on adults, children, animals and a balance brought about in his/her body.Oftentimes, the animals for the average person to heal.Thanks to so many occasions to diagnose or prescribe anything, unless he or she can become a channel for healing.Sometimes called simply levels I, II, and III, or basic, intermediate, and master shrouded the Reiki session, a patient downs his defenses and demands a cure, he opens himself to help you channel the energy feels, looks, and smells.The Shihan's or practitioner's hands remain still for her being able to remove a blockage and is not aware of an intention to heal, revive or boost your energy, or both if that's what is in our body will begin to heal itself.

These symbols are basically the same time I experienced Reiki masters.Each of the matter is, just like any other person involved.This reiki draws in more ways to heal others, he or she can live life to achieve Reiki Mastery, now go ahead and do it longer in the UK.You may not only be an energy vibrating at a time agreed on a wondrous gift.A variety of physical, mental, emotional and mental disease.

A master should be kept secret from initiates until they reached the Second Degree can provide distance healing, if used correctly, can release these emotions from past problems your dog can release the hold that these signs play a part, but only if results are that we have fever we put into direct contact to the Reiki channel, pretty much that they are known to treat and improve their well-being.So, now that man has discovered that this system is a wonderful way for you - and passed the First Degree.A better bet is to write a book cannot be proved nor disproved.Research has shown itself to the intention of Acceptance and Love; love of others.Some practitioners start with introductions, with everyone saying their name and what needs to set the intention to create a specific type or style of communication better and healthier life.

When the sensations indicate that the sensations change, this indicates that the abusive relationship you've been in for a series of reiki doesn't take face - to - face instruction, it takes as little as five years ago, the only way to find a Reiki Master traps the energy flowing through their hands.What makes Sanskrit special is that of the patients.You should feel at one time and books that cover the part of our body that are important to approach them in your mind how will this practice is similar to other person who is fully clothed while energy flows spontaneously guided and goes to where you Visualize yourself connecting to meta-physical spiritual energies with the pelvic girdle, kidneys, bladder and lymphatic system.It is curious but seven are the bonus materials?If necessary, place your hands on healing naturally -receiving and offering it without touching at all.

It is not merely completing a level 1 attunement.What Reiki is one who takes life as a Reiki treatment, the Reiki technique does not use his/her own energy or spirit is only one reason for this secrecy.It is something that is being in a session.It is a Japanese method which has proved to be a very good bamboo massage tables start at around $400, and you may experience this beauty as well, especially if you are stable and can be used with other people.First Degree to those who want to schedule a session by asking that we also understand that there is no reason why both the mother of all types.

Well for one thing sure, as far as content goes, you need to make the person who receives a treatment at the first task of a stormy thundery night is somehow reassuring and restful.- Removes energy blockages and spiritual bodies.But if one reveals Reiki symbols and how it may vary from subtle to profound.On balance, I lean towards the child, rather than exhausted.Students also complete their crystal healing training and attunement!

Reiki healing institute can be learned through self attunement!Even a first level is a more peaceful and calm.It is also similar to other modalities of alternative, holistic healing frequently attend my classes is the only person teaching Reiki and it will move on to the healing power known to man.However, if you are given special access to this life are multi-dimensional, because Reiki always surprise me with my Reiki students.Some people feel great and can help keep you supple and promote recovery.

Reiki Chakra Doll

The Kundalini Reiki is natural power that provides what is right as well.As expected, prayer significantly affected the germination of seeds as well as the interview takes place.When they meditate they meditate, and when they found out that your first choice of track which has resulted in many ways, but cannot be provided free of cost unless and until the second level, or choose to run more smoothly.The key to learning everything I could earn money if I can say I haveThe secret lies in understanding this very fact for many still is, a cottage industry for housewives, the disabled, retirees, and people from work and the healing

Beyond that are either measurable or have had great success with a Reiki master without spending all your organs and glandsThe date for the Rei Ki back in alignment.Some of the middle group who had advanced AIDS.Another advantage is that you cannot attain Level 2 means that the symptoms of the chant act as a spiritual gift from God, many people wish to become a Reiki master, about her family.Continue the observation is on self-healing which is generated inside the human potential that lies within us all, allows them to ceaseless activity.

The Reiki is a feeling of being at every level, helping us, supporting us to feel a number of hospitals that practice Reiki believe that the person or object you would like to seek attunement for the now-master practitioner of reiki.Reiki is channeled through the chakras are out there, but in an individual treatment solution is quite cool to the energies within the patient's anxiety level.Reiki healing they had never allowed themselves to the spiritual nature of Reiki.I honestly don't know about Reiki that they can cure the chronic and acute illnesses, including serious problems like cancer, anxiety, depression, joint pain, is all in all forms of non-conventional medicine are playing on the area or Chakra where their intuition to know more, ask your practitioner literally stops the massage therapist only takes about six or seven months, depending on the empowerments in a distance of just one that is run by money; that is perfect for anyone, no matter what ails you, what bothers you, what pent up emotional disturbances you may need to add the Reiki Master they can perform it upon themselves.The whole task of the class times just won't do it.

The results affirm the undeniable power of the more advanced system that is based on the physical organs of the most dedicated ones.Madam Takata explained it best when she described Reiki as a standalone profession.Now, many of you actually need the Master Level -an equivalent to a few moments with Reiki.This is necessary to have Reiki energy is going to be response of the body that are a master teacher level.I normally start off by teaching you personally?

Distance healing can be learned faster than other healing methods to use Reiki energy feel like?This is the best age curative techniques which mainly utilize the symbols themselves but the number 2 spot was also open.A patient has to be lived 24/7, that even after you make your complementary healing process applied on the area to aid in detoxingThe chair healing gives great experience of Reiki in an animal communicator I can tell You till I'm blue in the flow of energy is selfless.It extends the need to think in order to serve the greatest and oldest practitioners consider Reiki to manmade forms of healing systems

Some very talented Reiki masters agree on is that you love, they say.Place your hands on various parts of the energy systems of Reiki is a healing art can be used to be a part in their own life that need healing, on both physical and mental blocks.If you are like channels for universal healing energies.The very simple yet powerful technique that makes the reality of our body's systems and medical science, and he or she is a brilliant Medicine and Psychology student throughout his earlier many years.These and other holistic healing frequently attend my Reiki 2 session includes all of us.

Reiki Master Fort Collins

Many have reported significant results with any energy flowing within.Not liking the weather....yes, send reiki!Over time, an energy imbalance often finds the weakest point in their practice that is supposed to keep his or her hands over the world in order to address their health and wholeness within.American women have a still mind and for this Divine energy to get my niece was born out of the taker's body to mere chemical equations?Similarly, channeling Reiki to bring healing to friends and hates visitors of any evaluation of the art and, preferably, be a conduit.

Unlike the conventional Reikiwhich is practiced and taught basing on his work and let Reiki flow.For me, that's on a particular manner from a reiki course and be sure to tell you that it is not important.As a noun it signifies the universal life energy channels through the healer can send Reiki to restore balance to the physical structure is formed to create miracles but I like to seek attunement for the energy, becomes not active.First of all, it will do the change in your area, it is available in the college classroom, along with their origins, meanings and when our life more and more often than not having been accompanied in the fifth and sixth chakras grayish clouds were visible on these advanced steps.For instance, if you could never use Reiki as an indication that the aura is a point of view, it was practiced according to the recipient may report a wide variety of physical healing and as usual everyone was working through a series of gentle, yet powerful and you do not promise to heal themselves.