#I love disappearing for months and months then coming back with new art unrelated to dbz LMAO

[toe-bees]

Some dads and their kids 👐

( Human Bowser and Olivia designs are by @korncobb <3!! )

[dereksmcgrath]

It’s not just about a monkey named “Jugemu”; it’s also about how old stories remain relevant today.

Last weekend on the Sunday Morning Manga livestream, I talked about the value of the manga Akane-banashi as an example for how, as a teacher, I could teach public speaking and storytelling, and how the story spoke to me personally when it comes to a father coming up with a name for their child. 

But something I hadn’t considered, despite it staring me in the face, was what else the “Jugemu” story–the one the protagonist of Akane-banashi performs–has to tell me. 

I’m a big fan of Gintama. A few months ago, I had written a review of the final movie. I posted that review alongside a watchlist I curated of those episodes of the Gintama anime you should watch to understand the series, its setting, its characters, their back stories, and how it all pays off in the final movie.

One of the episodes on that watchlist is Episode 221, which introduces a pet monkey for the character Kyuubei. And as Kyuubei struggles more and more to come up with a name for the pet, the main characters–Gintoki, Kagura, and Shinpachi–recommend so many names. Kyuubei loves all of them…and so, combines the names into one lengthy profane name that is also at Shinpachi’s expense:

Jugem Jugem Shit-Tossing of Shin-chan’s Two-Day-Old Underwear of Shinpachi’s Life Balmung Fezalion Issac Schneider 1/3 Pure Love 2/3 Hangnail Anxiety Betrayal Knows My Name Or Does It Really Ignore Calls Squid Dogfish Halibut Trout-Cod Dogfish... This Is A Different Dogfish, I’m Talking About The Dogfish Shark Kaluga Angler Ray Yuuteimiyaoukimukou Pepepepepepepepepepepepe Runny Diarrhea

So, after reading Akane-banashi, I realized, “Oh, Gintama is just a bunch of rakugo stories.” And I don’t just mean because the pet monkey is named after the same “Jugemu” story, or that Episode 221 adapts the same story, only ramped up to be even more absurd and a lot more vulgar. 

In one of the first chapters of Akane-banashi, we get a flashback to her teacher explaining why rakugo persists: they’re shaggy dog stories–long-winded anecdotes made up of a sequence of seemingly unrelated events, until the entire story wraps up with an anticlimax.

That’s Gintama. That’s the series. That’s even one entire episode–Episode 283. That’s “Gintoki starts a confessional, gets confessions about his friends and enemies all wishing he was dead, until he finds out one of them left a dead body in his closet, only it’s not a dead body, it’s the shogun, so he tries to cover up the shogun’s death, only for the shogun to come back alive but without his memories, so everyone thinks the shogun is dead because no way is this amnesiac the shogun, and since Gintoki was last seen with the shogun before he disappeared, the police assume Gintoki assassinated him, and the episode ends with Gintoki arrested.”

Read that again. I think I’m mostly accurate in summarizing the plot, give or take a running gag about Gintoki being runny…fecal matter. 

That series of events doesn’t quite seem as well connected as it should be. And yet, the events in that sequence end up making sense as you watch: one moment leads to the next moment, one action leads to consequences that then prompt Gintoki to take a new action that causes a new problem that he then tries to solve, only for an earlier problem that wasn’t completely solved getting in the way of the new problem. It’s a kudzu plant, without becoming as bad as most kudzu plots.

Continuing from what Akane’s teacher told her, he explains that rakugo persists as a popular art form because they are stories that still entertain, because they speak to something still persistent in Japanese culture–and, in my selfishness, as I sit here in the United States, many of those stories speak in ways to us readers. 

Turning back to the “Gintoki’s confessional leads to his arrest for ‘killing’ the shogun,” it is a story about religion, faith, hucksters, and scam artists. Gintoki turns his friend, Tama, and her ability to act as not just a therapist-like character but an almost divine priestess to confess your sins to, into something akin to a religious cult. He is weaponizing people’s beliefs to get money for their prayers. This story taps into those human desires: to be forgiven, to pore over all of your flaws, to obsess about those flaws until you overlook the more important details (like Gintoki more concerned about his pudding he saved in the fridge than covering up the shogun’s death), and to give into your greed to make a buck off of someone’s beliefs. 

And it’s cathartic, to see one more religious huckster get his comeuppance–even if Gintoki is arrested for something he didn’t do, as opposed to manipulating the beliefs of people for a quick buck. 

I don’t think what I’m about to recommend is my best example, as it is a problematic text, but hearing the rakugo stories in Akane-banashi, and then seeing those same stories bastardized in Gintama, is like the academic essay “Shakespeare in the Bush,” in which American anthropologist Laura Bohannan is struggling to understand how, while talking with members of the Tiv in West Africa, they are interpreting Hamlet so differently, due to differences in how we all view parent-child obligations, whether ghosts are a thing in our culture, and so on. (And I’ll have more to say about ghosts, cultural transference, and localization on this Sunday’s livestream.) 

But that word, “localization” is at the heart of this. So much of our debates in translating and dubbing content in manga and anime is about “authenticity.” I love Gintama even though I don’t understand even one percent of the references in it coming out of rakugo and Japanese culture. I don’t understand all the depth of Akane-banashi, but I do understand what it has to say about storytelling. And just as Gintama is boring the same rakugo that Akane-banashi is pulling from, we have to be open to these reinterpretations. I have been really bad at that–I cling to nostalgia and how I think something should be, not because what I’m seeing is doing a good job at adapting or translating or updating the material, but because I want what is familiar to my very first encounter with it. And I have to do better at that. And that’s another detail I didn’t get to talk about with Akane-banashi, as a lot of the series is also about traditions over new approaches. But this is a long bit of rambling. 

The point I wanted to make–all I wanted to say, is that reading Akane-banashi has given me a new appreciation for how great Gintama was at translating rakugo stories, too. And in that watchlist document I made, I neglected to bring up all the filler. Maybe a reverse of that watchlist would be fun for a livestream topic–“essential Gintama ‘shaggy dog’ stories.” Would that be something you would want to hear about? Comment below or email me, derek.s.mcgrath@gmail.com.

[tuanyiems]

The Spirit of Christmas

Jaebum x Reader holiday!au, roommate!au words: 2.8k

Plot: You are sugar and spice and everything nice and your roommate, Jaebum is coal—at least, that’s how it seems at first glance. With the pandemic and Christmas Eve coming to an end, maybe it’s not just Jaebum that needs a little Christmas spirit. 

a/n – guess whose household got covid in time for Christmas? 2020 hates me lol anyways, I said I was going to post a Jackson holiday au but that was taking too long, I’ll post it next Christmas lmao here is jb and his kitties in the meantime <3 happy holidays folks, stay safe and merry and I’ll meet you in the new year

“What is that?” Jaebum looks at you incredulously as you carry an armful of green into his living room. You let it fall onto the floor, much to his annoyance and his cats’ pleasure. Nora flops onto her belly, rubbing against the green sticks.

“It’s our Christmas tree!” you grin, running your fingers through the fur of her belly and earning a nip to your fingers. You giggle at the tickle of her teeth on your thumb. Despite her feisty disposition, Nora very rarely ever bites for real.

“That’s a pile of plastic,” your roommate plops himself on the couch, feet thrown over the coffee table.

Your mouth twists as you push the ottoman closer to him with a gentle push of your fuzzy sock-clad feet. Jaebum glances at the bright yellow ottoman you brought into the apartment when he told you about a million times that the thing was a waste of money (and a neon eyesore). He then looks over at your feet looking awfully like a red stocking, and he truly does mean the awful part. He keeps his feet on the coffee table and leans back into the couch, arms behind his head.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” you emphasize, lifting his legs with a huff onto the ottoman. You dust your hands before placing them onto your hips. “And you’re going to help me put it up!”

He frowns, looking into your eager eyes. “Remind me why I moved in with you again?”

“Because I had a spare room and you needed someone willing to live with five cats,” you answer easily like you always do. You throw one of the plastic limbs at him. “Now come on, let’s get festive!”

“Your festive and my festive are very different,” Jaebum sighs, but he gets up anyways.

“Noted,” you chuckle, clearing a space on the floor for him to sit beside you.

You grab your phone to turn on your playlist, lovingly titled “HO! HO! HO!iday Cheer” and immediately you can see Jaebum’s face sour at the familiar jingle as Mariah Carey’s voice echoes through the room. 

“Oh, we’re going with my festive, just so you know,” you warn him belatedly. He blows at his bangs, shoulders slumping in surrender.

“Let’s just get this over with before my ears start bleeding,” he grumbles, grabbing hold of a couple plastic limbs.

“That’s the spirit!” you cheer, slapping him on the back. You don’t miss the small twitch of his lips.

You had a lot of hopes for this year, all of which pretty much went down the drain. That was life though, you rolled with the punches. But you certainly did not expect that when you opened your home to Jaebum and his five cats, that just two weeks after, he would be your only social life for the next nine months (if you didn’t count your biweekly grocery outings). 

And while you have nothing against Jaebum—in fact, you absolutely love his five cats—it doesn’t take a genius to tell that the two of you are very different. Jaebum’s black on black fashion, motorcycle riding, sterling silver face piercing-self, next to your pastel, soft knit cardigan-wearing, always smelling like bread and daisies…the two of you are a walking metaphorical neon sign flashing “opposites!”

“Why does that matter? He’s going to be my roommate, not my husband!” you had shrugged Jinyoung’s warning without a second thought. 

That memory would come back to bite you during the first three months of shared living, for every time he woke you up from his random 3am showers or played horror movies in the living room right before your bedtime, and especially whenever he responded to your silly jokes with a deadpan face or worse, his unrelenting despondency. 

Over time though, you learned how to read him—like how he was nicer after a cup of coffee or how he has trouble sleeping but always manages to fall asleep on the living room couch when you’re baking bread in the open kitchen. You’ve learned that when Jaebum scowls, it’s mostly just a reflex and actually, if you can catch a reflection whenever he’s looking away, usually he’s smiling. And although he will grumble about it the entire way through, if you ask for help, he will always be there (even when he tells you he won’t). 

Maybe you both express yourselves differently. You say “I love you” and he will ask “Did you eat yet?” You bake cupcakes and have teatime on the porch with the older neighbors, Jaebum installs cameras and buys extra essentials whenever you go grocery shopping together. You fill the windowsills with abandoned plants and bring them back to life, Jaebum leaves cat food and old blankets in your backyard for the strays. 

No one else understands when you tell them you think you and Jaebum might be the same person, but they haven’t seen him the way you have over the last nine months. Beneath his hardboiled exterior is a sensitive soul who loves quietly and cares a lot.

“There’s no point in putting this up,” Jaebum grumbles as he fits another limb into the trunk of the tree. “No one’s even gonna see it, it’s already Christmas Eve. Anyways, the Christmas party is canceled.”

“You will see it. I will see it,” you hand him another part. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“It’s a waste of electricity,” he adds, not even glancing at you.

“The lights I bought have a timer!”

“And then it’ll be more work taking it down again.”

With a pout, you stand up and Jaebum turns his head in surprise.

“Where are you going, it almost done?”

Your frown easily twists back into a smile, seeing the way he hurries to put the last limb into the tree. “Time for the decorations!”

Jaebum rolls his eyes and looks down again and you can just tell he’s hiding another smile. You hurry off into your bedroom to grab the supplies.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!” you sing as you reenter the living room and Michael Bublé’s voice rings from your phone. Twirling in an oversized pajama pullover (which might be Jaebum’s that got lost in your laundry three months back), you settle the box of ornaments on the floor. “I’m so excited to show you!”

He looks at you blankly, waiting for you to continue.

You squeeze your shoulders together, excitement barely contained as you reach into the box and pull out an emerald velvet pouch.

“It came in the mail just in time!” you grin, clutching the bag to your chest. 

He lifts his brow at you, but the rise of his cheekbones gives him away.

“Ta da!” you squeal, pulling round orbs out of the bag. “One of my co-workers has a side business making custom ornaments and I got one for each of the cats!”

“Woah,” Jaebum takes one of the ornaments into his palms, eyeing it closely.

You bite your lip, holding in a satisfied giggle lest you ruin the moment. He sits quietly, admiring each ornament of the cats. When he gets to the last one, you pull out one more orb from the bag, holding it up by its gold, glittering string.

“And I got one of us too,” you say quietly, showing it off to him. 

He slides closer, nose practically touching the ornament. It’s a simple, clear bulb and inside are your figurine versions, dusted with glittering snow around a Christmas tree.

Finally, Jaebum breaks into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents. You find yourself letting out a breath you had been holding.

“They even got my cheek piercings,” he chuckles, pointing to the tiny orb. “And your derpy smile too!”

“Hey, my smile isn’t derpy!” you whine, smiling.

“It’s cute,” he adds and you falter, wondering if he means the ornament or your smile. But in true Jaebum fashion, he doesn’t explain himself and turns back to the cat ornaments. “This is really well made.”

You ignore the pulsing in your chest, nodding your head. “Yeah, I told her she should raise her prices.”

He gets up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Let’s put them up.”

Cheeks flushing, you let him help you up. 

“Do you think it’s okay though? The cats might knock them down,” his brows furrow with worry.

You chuckle, grabbing the ornament from his hand and hang it off the tree. “Pretty things are meant to be shown and if it breaks…then we’ll get new ones!”

Jaebum rolls his eyes at your optimism but a small smile stretches across his face. “I think your co-worker would be offended to hear how you treat her work.”

You shrug, crouching down to Nora and Odd as both cats swat at the ornament hanging precariously off your finger. “Art should not belong behind glass walls. They’re meant to be seen and enjoyed, like your music!”

You giggle as Odd jumps into your lap, pawing at the shiny orb as you lift it out of reach each time. You miss the way Jaebum looks at you.

“Okay, less playing and more decorating,” he replies, throwing a string of gold tinsel at your head, much to the cats’ delight. You laugh at their excitement, glancing at Jaebum’s reddened ears.

Humming to the Christmas jingles, you stand alongside Jaebum, dressing the plastic tree in glittering ornaments and lights. Once in a while, you even catch Jaebum swaying to the music when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

“Aaand,” Jaebum lifts the shining star from the box to you and you rise onto your tiptoes.

“Done!” You cheer, placing the star on the top of the tree. You clap gleefully, elbowing Jaebum to follow. He gives you three limp claps before you give up and crouch down to Odd instead, forcing the kitty to clap paws.

“Okay, can I go to my room now?”

“Not yet!”

He groans, plopping onto the couch. “What else is there left to put up?”

You pout, hands on your hip. “We can’t have a Christmas tree without the Christmas tree lighting ceremony!”

He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “There’s a ceremony?”

“Of course there is!” you laugh, rushing towards the light switch. You flick the switch without warning, covering the living room in darkness.

With only the light from the streetlamp peeking through the windows, the falling snow is even more visible. The sight fills you with childlike excitement.

“Are you ready?” you whisper, walking over to the switch for the Christmas lights.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“We need to count down,” Your lips jut out at his indifference as you eye his dark figure. In the darkness, you can just barely see his features, but you imagine he is rolling his eyes at you.

Just as you are about to give in, you hear him sigh loudly, “Five,”

You break into a smile, “Four, three, two,”

“One…”

“Merry Christmas!” you sing, twisting the knob and flooding the room with small twinkling lights. 

But you don’t look at the tree. Instead, your gaze remains in Jaebum’s direction and you watch as the lights illuminate his face. And you are pleased to see he is smiling. You know it’s just the reflection of the lights, but he looks like he has stars in his eyes.

Sensing your gaze, Jaebum looks at you and frowns, embarrassed. “What?”

You smile, cheeks warming. “Your cheek piercing looks like it’s twinkling from here.”

“Don’t be weird,” he scowls. “Are we done now?”

“Do you want hot chocolate?” you offer, moving over to sit next to him on the couch. 

He shakes his head, getting up. “I’m going to bed.”

Chuckling, you let him leave, watching as the cats follow behind him. “Merry Christmas, Jaebum!”

“It’s not Christmas yet!” he yells back before you hear the sound of his bedroom door closing shut.

With a quiet sigh, you grab your phone from the coffee table and turn off the music. The silence feels even quieter with only the lights from the Christmas tree flickering around the room. Without anyone else in the room, your energy quickly depletes.

Outside, the snow whips by in flurries.

This is not how you imagined you’d be spending your favorite holiday, although the festive lights do make you feel a little bit better.

You wanted the Christmas gatherings though.

You were a family person through and through.

You missed it all—the packed house, cooking dinner with the aunties, playing board games with the little cousins, throwing said boardgame across the room when you rage quit, making up for it with freshly baked cookies that you’d nibble on at midnight while opening gifts by the Christmas tree. You even missed the nagging from your parents, asking when you’ll get a boyfriend and settle down.

Snuggling closer into the arm of the couch, you hug yourself. 

It’s colder this year. 

Emptier. 

“So, you turn off the Christmas music after I leave?” You jump in surprise at Jaebum’s voice entering the room again. He takes a seat next to you on the couch. “You listen to it just to annoy me, don’t you?”

You blink back, wondering why he returned. “Did you forget something?”

He shrugs, leaning back into the couch and gazes at the Christmas tree. “It’s my first Christmas tree, I thought I should look at it a little longer.”

“This is your first Christmas tree?” you look at him in surprise.

He nods nonchalantly. “Never really celebrated Christmas.”

You sink into your seat, thigh touching his. “What a year to start celebrating.”

“Only because you have me hostage.”

You chuckle softly. “Well, I’m glad you had no choice but to be stuck with me. Would’ve been a lonely year without you here.”

“Hmm,” he looks at you thoughtfully. “Never pegged you as the lonely type.”

“The holidays can do that.”

“Then just think like me, pretend it’s any other day.”

You sigh, leaning into Jaebum. He doesn’t scoot away like he normally does. Instead, you find his arm resting around your shoulder.

“I don’t want this to be any other day though. This whole year has been a blur of any other days.” Your lips jut out in a pout as you look up at your roommate. “I know I must sound like a child, but I want Christmas.”

Jaebum laughs softly. You can feel the rumble of his chest.

“Cute,” he mutters, and you flush. His arm around you pulls you tighter. “Then, do you want to open your present at midnight or in the morning?”

Your eyes widen and he laughs at your expression once more. “You got me a present?”

“Well, yeah,”

“But…you said you don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“But you do,” he answers easily, looking at the tree again. “And anyways, if you’re gonna make me do all the work, I might as well celebrate the whole thing, right?”

You grin, poking his chest. “Admit you had fun tonight, Jaebum.”

He shrugs, smiling. “The ornaments were cool. I’ll be the DJ next time though.”

“Deal,” you beam, holding out your pinky. You giggle when he looks at your outstretched pinky with an arched brow. You keep your hand raised though. “Come on!”

He lets out a loud breath but eventually curls his pinky around yours.

Your heart warms, seeing how big his pinky measures around yours. It’s why when he moves to let go, you keep your pinky curled.

Laughing at his confused frown, you show him your thumb. “You have to seal the promise, Jaebum!”

“You’re an actual five-year-old,” he groans.

“Yes, I am,” you grin, eyes curling into crescents. His tone doesn’t faze you. From up close, you can confirm that there are indeed, stars in his eyes. They twinkle in amusement at your gesture and his lips lift once more when his thumb presses against yours.

And this time, he doesn’t pull away.

Pursing your lips shyly, you let your hand fall to his lap.

Looking back up at him, his gaze is soft on you. You pretend not to notice the way his fingers thread around yours.

“To answer your question, I’d like my present at midnight.”

“As you wish. Then shall we make hot chocolate and watch a movie until then?”

“Sounds like the perfect Christmas,” you tell him softly.

“Okay, Joker or The Dark Knight? You can pick.”

You grin, squeezing his hand. “We’re gonna watch Home Alone, Jaebum.”

“You’re terrible,” he feigns.

Chuckling, you let go of his hand and rise from the couch. “I’ll go make the hot chocolate.”

Jaebum grabs your hand again and you turn back curiously.

“Hm?” 

His thumb brushes the back of your hand gently.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Jaebum.”

[noir0neko]

Crime and Creation | m

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15.5k

Summary: The Crow Club. One of the University of Ketterdam’s secret societies aimed at recruiting the finest students who want a taste of more than just lectures. Meet Kaz, the founder and president, whose self-made millions come from his dealings on Wall Street. Nina, a girl who is aching for more than the fortune and husband her family has laid out for her. Inej, whose observant nature and ability to be invisible makes her the perfect spy. Jesper, a childhood friend of Kaz’s who can’t resist getting into a little trouble joined by his boyfriend, Wylan, son of the University dean. And Cataleya, an Upper West side journalism major who has a special way with words. When Kaz finds out the Crow Club’s dealings have been infiltrated by an unknown rival, his crew enlists the help of outsiders to ruin reputations, throw lavish parties, and do what the New York City Crows do best: heist. Until something goes very wrong. 

Characters: Cataleya (OC), Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Alina Starkov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Aleksander Morosova and honorable Leoni mention.

Warnings: Death. Highly detailed emotion and inner thoughts that have memories of parental abuse and self harm, nothing very detailed. Mentions of murder, drugs, and illegal activity. General debauchery and scheming. Some romance, mostly implied, light kissing, fondling, and the use of expletives.

A/N: You do not need to have read any of the books in this world to understand this fic! I spent so much time and poured my heart and soul into this story and the development of my original character and building these characters into a new, modern world. Please read it and give me your thoughts! This piece was written for the @grishaversebigbang. Also, check out the art work made for my fic by these amazing artists: @corpsecro, @nantosuelta-art, @discountscoobygang, @lady-ekatherina-de-mika and @mikanviola! It is such an honor to be a part of something like this and I had so much fun! I encourage anyone and everyone to read the Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone series by Leigh Bardugo! It’ll be on Netflix soon!

I used to love cats. 

Until one showed up dead on my window sill. 

I’m still not sure how it got there. Perhaps it climbed the fire escape and lept from the metal railing onto the ledge. But once the animal had the orange pollen and poisonous petals of the lilies sticking out of my window in its mouth, it was only a matter of time before it died. I had the good sense to keep my crying quiet, at eleven years old, so that my father would not stumble in to yell or push the cat hundreds of feet to the street below. I did not know he was already gone. That I was alone.

I hid the orange tabby in my backpack and went to bury her in the backyard garden the next chance I got. 

But when I used my small children’s shovel to dig into the earth, soft from the recent rain, it wasn’t what I went to bury that changed my life. But what was already buried there. And right then, with my cheeks stained with tears and hands shaking with anger, I swore to never stop hunting. To never stop chasing the people who ruined me. 

That was one promise I kept. 

I haven’t kept many others. 

Sitting in the foyer with the rest of the Crows, wind coming in from the autumn afternoon and the scent of freshly made waffles mixing with dusty books, I don’t know if I can keep this one either. Kaz looks at me pointedly, waiting for me to answer. I glance at all of them, Nina, Inej, Jesper, and Wylan. It is rare that anyone outright refuses Kaz on anything, especially not with his position or to risk the weight of his disapproval. Nina once told Kaz to go to Hell and she paid for it with two weeks of silence and banishment from the Crow Library until she relented to do her assignment. 

Jesper clears his throat, trying to relieve the awkward vibe getting thicker with each passing moment of silence. I can’t help but allow a small smile to reach my lips, grateful for him trying to save me from the tension that I could slice with a knife. Swallowing and meeting Kaz’s dark eyes, I sigh. 

“Fine,” I relent. “I’m in.” 

The strain dissolves from the space and the other Crows break into smiles and start to chatter. Relaxing back in my chair, I watch Inej spring up and take her place next to Kaz, her lithe frame complimenting his perfectly. Kaz moves around his large oak desk, gaze fixated on something in the distance. Definitely scheming face. Best to wait it out until he speaks first.

The Crow Library is lit with the afternoon sunlight, warming the leather of our chairs and illuminating the dust gathering along the rows of books. Shelves line the walls beneath the window, behind Kaz’s study area, and underneath the stairwell, which leads to an upstairs reading room and parlor area. Nobody has bothered to read any of the books, weathered and dusted with age, but they lend the room an air of sophistication and a homey comforting smell. Kaz’s desk is littered with papers, the dark wood barely visible beneath the jumble of stock investment deals, new heists, and class assignments waiting to be done. On the front face of the desk, a large crow is carved into the surface, black and red paint covering the indentations in the wood. 

Inej puts a tender hand on Kaz’s forearm, her lips moving quickly and silently, as if whispering to him. Inej has her hair down today, an unusual occurrence from her braided coil, and the dark strands spill like silky oil over her shoulders and her waist. She must have come from the studio, sweat still gleaming on her brow and black leotard disappearing beneath dark navy leggings. Her lithe frame seems to be floating, always so modest and reserved, yet her brown eyes are intuitive and unrelenting as she studies Kaz. She has been with him since the founding of the Crow Club, never missing a beat between helping him, chastising him, watching out for him, and caring for herself all the same. It’s no wonder she’s been able to double major in both Global History and Ballet, two completely different worlds, but complimenting each other perfectly for Inej. 

And Kaz. What an interesting man he’s proven to be. 

Business major. Self made millionaire. First student to be admitted into the University of Ketterdam - UOK for short, without a full high school education. A man full of mysteries. 

Jesper moves to perch himself on the arm of Wylan’s chair and adjusts his Queen shirt, the old black leather groaning under his weight. Jesper says something quietly to his boyfriend before running a hand through Wylan’s curly red hair and kissing his pale pert nose. Jesper has his hair buzzed short to his scalp, dark arms lean with muscle and legs long, his jeans riding up at the ankles to reveal bright yellow socks and black high tops. Wylan releases a wide smile, looking up at Jesper with untamed admiration. Wylan has on a pair of pressed dark wash jeans, his collared shirt maroon red with small white dots, accentuating his bright hair and pale skin. 

It just reminds me of blood. 

They are quite a pair. Wylan, being the son of the University dean and Jesper, one of the most intelligent and talented students in the Economics department. He is studying Game Theory, an extremely intense and complicated subject full of strategy, confidence, and risk: coincidentally Jesper’s three favorite words. 

Wylan, much to his father’s chagrin, is an Art History student with a hidden passion for chemistry and physics. I often find him gazing at the long since forgotten portraits on the walls of the Crow Library upstairs, reminiscing of a different time, of discovery and excitement. Of different people with different secrets. Wylan usually seems lost in thought, often internally reflecting rather than being outwardly vocal like the rest of the Crows. He is another mystery, especially because of the tenuous relationship he has with his father. 

Jesper’s brown skin glimmers in the sun, inclining his eyebrows in mischief before taking a toffee from the bowl next to him and flinging it across Wylan’s chair to Nina. 

Her tongue flicks out as it hits her arm, thick lips smirking before unwrapping the plastic wrapper and popping the candy in her mouth. Nina is one of the only Crows who was forced into attending the University of Ketterdam. Her parents, with her father being an extremely rich and powerful Russian politician and her mother, an aristocratic woman supposedly descending from ancient Russian royalty, had been raising Nina to marry a high ranking Scandinavian commander since she was eleven. The marriage was supposed to secure better relations between the two nations, as well as provide Nina with a life of security, wealth, and status for her and her children. All her parents want for her. 

In true Nina fashion, this is unacceptable. 

Her family said the marriage could wait if she wanted to go to school and get a degree, which may better serve her husband and their families prestige in the future. Seeing no other viable option, especially because she did not want to marry a “white haired barbarian” as she called her husband-to-be, she enrolled in a prestigious university as far away from Russia as she could get. Despite her parents beliefs that she is a culinary student - “because a good wife knows how to cook”, according to her parents, Nina has been studying Performing Arts and Theatre. A perfect major to fit her personality and her beauty, with her tall, curvy frame and piercing green eyes. Today, she is wearing an olive bodysuit, the neck low cutting and her legs hugged by a pair of black flare jeans. Casual and entrancing. Her style seems to change depending on her mood, from modest foreigner to vivacious party girl to preppy student. New each day. 

“We will need others,” Kaz mumbles to Inej, furrowing his dark eyebrows in thought. 

I have only been with the Crows for a few months, but I already know how unusual that is. Kaz rarely asks for help, especially from those outside of the Crow Club. But whatever he has planned seems to be a lot more serious than the other jobs, more personal than merely ousting insider trading, or infiltrating various museums and mansions, or spying on the Upper East and West Side elite to gain intel and use it to our advantage. 

Each of us has a unique purpose to Kaz. His investments. And while it has been easier to see where the others’ talents fit in, I am still baffled by my own. I adjust the sleeves of my lavender shirt, the ruffled material smooth on my shoulders. 

I had known the Crow Club existed before I set foot on campus. As a journalism major, secrets have always intrigued me. Not just the secrets. The challenge of uncovering them, of working from the inside to reveal some of the deepest and darkest parts of humanity. I had always heard whispers of the club amongst the Upper West side elite, whispers about Kaz Brekker and his Crows. Always watching. Always ready to catch you red-handed. But I didn’t even need to go out of my way to find the Crow Club.

Kaz found me first. Called me an asset. He and Inej invited me to join starting the summer before my second term. I have surprised myself by warming up to the rest of the Crows so quickly, even the ones who aren’t active members and are just extra recruits for Kaz to call if he needs them. We all mean something here, we all have a purpose, more than what the world is trying to force upon us.  

A family. Especially since most of ours are broken or nonexistent. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Kaz snaps to attention and we follow suit, like trained soldiers, eager for him to share whatever small slice of his plan that he decides to. His crisp suit is pure black, a small crow brooch pinned to his lapel. The shaved hair on the side of his head is beginning to grow out, the top slicked back with a deep, oaky smelling gel. He always looks like he is dressed for a business meeting, even when it’s just us. Inej always muses that there is an irony to it, but how, I don’t know. I suppose everything is business to Kaz. 

“Okay,” he begins, voice gruff and deep. “This is what we’ll do.” 

----

Nina and I weave our way through the busy streets, blessing the cool wind as it kisses our faces in the dying summer heat. Her hair is down, the sun illuminating the many shades of brown running through the waves and her dress is high on her thighs, the red cotton fabric hugging the curves of her waist. Being in America has done wonders for Nina, brightened her complexion, improved her spirit, and turned her from a wafer-thin girl to a full-bodied, thick thighed woman. Everywhere she goes, people stare. She is otherworldly, like a saint on Earth. 

“Where did Kaz send us this time?” Nina complains, sucking the dripping strawberry ice cream from her fingers before chucking the cone into a nearby trash. 

“He didn’t,” I grin, dodging a guy with suspicious looking flyers on the sidewalk. “He gave us his card and very vague instructions to find a wardrobe for the event.” 

Nina’s eyes sparkle, cleaning off the rest of her fingers before she entwines her elbow in mine. New York City seems to breathe with our every step, the wind moving, the heat unfurling, and the trees swaying. Taxis and cars whiz by on the avenue, the honking of horns and the laughter of tourists crossing into Central Park filling the air. Everything about New York is alive, even the concrete holds stories it’s waiting to tell. 

“Then let’s go down Fifth,” Nina begins, mischief in her tone. “I know a few places.” 

“I bet you do,” I flash her a smile, crossing the street so we walk parallel to the park. 

We trek down the street, stopping into a macaron shop in the Plaza Hotel to get a bright blue bag full of sweets for us to eat on our journey. Nina and I are bouncing on our heels, excited to have a day to ourselves, away from the Crow Club and the University and being responsible for buying dresses for not only ourselves, but for Inej, Alina, and Zoya, as well. 

Kaz had three extra students brought in for this assignment, all a part of the secret network of Crows that don’t sit in regular meetings. First is Alina, who has an international reputation for rebuilding schools and orphanages across the world since she was thirteen, and who has been a Crow since her first step onto campus. She transferred here as a graduate student from some extremely prestigious school in California to complete her PhD and teaching credentials. Every time I have seen Alina, she has been so kind and so helpful, always eager to teach, serve, and build in any way she can. It’s beyond me why she wants to be a part of these operations. Maybe every good girl has a naughty streak. 

Zoya, on the other hand, seems like the opposite of Alina. A close friend, confidant, and suspected girlfriend, of another one of Kaz’s network of Crows, Zoya is an overly intelligent, intimidating, and obscenely beautiful law student. Her hair is always smooth, a jet black slate against her back and her eyes are always piercing, judging and observing in their ice blue. Her skin always looks perfectly tanned, a deep brown that makes the pink of her lips more enticing. Her grades are pristine, her ability to argue is unparalleled, and if there were ever a force to be reckoned with, it is her. It’s a lot more obvious to understand why she agreed to join the Crows, for the prestige, the knowledge, the power. But truly puzzling, is her relationship with Nikolai. 

Nikolai, or Nik, as I like to call him, is one of the best - and funniest, Crows. Clever, self-deprecating, friendly, handsome, the list goes on. His blonde hair is a shaggy mop of artsy goodness, his skin is creamy, his style completely unmatched and his wealth bottomless. Nik and Kaz are always butting heads; most of the time it’s the only comedic relief the Crow Club has when they’re together. Nik met Zoya during undergrad, in a political science course, where apparently their discussions were lively enough to earn them A’s and lengthy enough to last entire class sessions. Nik has one of those family names that are revered in every elite social circle, making him an obvious addition for Kaz’s team and from what I have gleaned from Nik, he decided to join the Crows to give him something interesting to do besides follow in his father’s footsteps. I wish I wanted to be a Crow out of boredom. 

“God,” Nina groans, shoving her phone back into her five thousand dollar purse. “If I get one more message from my parents asking if I’ve heard from that white-haired, rule-following, stick-up-his-ass, Scandinavian inbred, I am going to drown my phone in the Hudson River.” 

“Wow,” I clap for her, avoiding the incredulous gapes of tourists at her language. “So many adjectives and I don’t even think you’ve ever said his name.”

A man opens up the glass doors to Bergdorf Goodman’s, where cool air and white marble greet us. Immediately, we drift to the dress racks, combing through all of the latest trends.

“Matthias,” she almost growls. “His letters are so proper, telling me that he has heard of my exemplary womanly skills from my parents. That he would delight to see my drawings and sewing and hear me play the piano. It’s ridiculous. I don’t do any of those things by choice.” 

I stifle a laugh. “He seems very… traditional.” 

“Seems?” She throws her hands up, shoving a silk dress back onto the rack with too much force. “He is the definition of the word! And worst of all, he’s attractive! He has snow white hair and is built like one of those huge wrestler guys that people watch on TV.” 

“Why is that a problem?” 

“Because his complete lack of competence makes him a barbarian! A man who thinks the perfect wife is silent and docile. He’s going to have another thing coming when I show up.” 

“He comes from old money in an old country,” I begin, wondering whether I need to tread lightly. “Don’t you think he’s just taught to think that way?” 

She sighs, holding up a stunning evergreen gown against her figure. “I know he is. That’s what’s even worse. I know that everyone where he is from has been taught those values. So even if he came to love me, to understand me, no one on the outside would. His station, his reputation, his fortune, all of it is dependent on how I perform. How I reflect him.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I muse, holding out another red silk dress for her. 

“Money isn’t fair.” 

I blink, surprised at her words. Money is just an object. It has no preference, no deference, no opinions. But I guess the idea of money is more important and tangible than the paper itself. Money has value and expectations beyond the faces staring back at you from the press. It expects manners, it breeds tradition and hierarchy and perfect wives who aren’t allowed to make any. I wonder if Nina will end up bending to those wills, to the one’s she has been raised to. America is such a different place, but I guess money everywhere is the same. It controls you. 

“This.” 

I turn around, face breaking out into a huge smile at the dress Nina is holding. It is a deep purple, with sheer shoulder sleeves and a deep plunging neckline covered in diamond flowers. The waist is cinched, belted by more glittering gems, before it falls and flows in layers of purple silk and satin to the floor, flowers and vines curling around the skirt. Nina’s hair and eyes and skin would look angelic in the dress. I nod fervently, unable to cap my smile as she waves over an employee to open the dressing room. 

While in the dressing rooms, Nina and I talk through the divider. 

“Where was Wylan off to earlier?” I ask, taking off my clothes and folding them neatly on the small leather bench. “He never really seems to be around these days.” 

“Yeah,” Nina says, with a grunt. “He’s been trying to rekindle his relationship with his father, studying a lot. You know, the usual dysfunctional family stuff.” 

I laugh. “My family wasn’t dysfunctional in that way.” 

“I would say you were lucky,” Nina begins and I can hear her zipper up as mine does. “But I know you weren’t.” 

At the same time, we step out of the dressing room, identical smiles breaking open our faces before we clasp our hands together and squeal with happiness. The dresses look perfect, we look perfect, everything looks perfect. 

And now we just have to find dresses for Alina and Zoya. 

With these price tags, Kaz is going to regret lending us his credit card. 

----

“Something Kaz Brekker doesn’t know how to do,” I tease a few days later,“drive.” 

He shoots me a healthy side glare, uncurling his fingers from around the steering wheel. The sun is shining through the left side of the car, illuminating his high cheeks and arched brow bones with dazzling light. If Kaz weren’t so… him, I’m confident he would have made an amazing Calvin Klein model. Especially because his lips are always relaxed in a bit of a natural pout and his resting stance is so relaxed, yet also confident. He is striking. 

And he doesn’t belong to me. Nor do I think he ever will. 

Despite their claims and attempts to put distance between their relationship, it has become common knowledge in the Crow Club that Kaz and Inej are a package deal. And it doesn’t take a trained Journalism major to read between those lines. It is blindingly obvious in the subtle ways she touches him, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her. She is the ice to his fire, and when needed, he is the same for her. A complimentary pair in every way, even if it seems unlikely on the surface. 

“Okay,” I begin, gesturing to the automatic gears between us. I explain what each of the letters stand for, instructing him to move the clutch into reverse and slowly ease up on the brake. With a bit of a jerk, Kaz obeys, turning the wheel to back us out of the spot in the empty parking lot. It had taken a bit of a road trip to find this place outside of the city. I had driven Kaz and myself into New Jersey, where the early morning dawn had just begun to crest, giving our driving lessons an advantage. Kaz had immediately, and somewhat reluctantly, urged me to teach him, claiming we would need it for this assignment. Inej had pushed him along with the conversation, rolling her eyes at how his own pride blocked up his request. 

“Now go back into drive,” I say, lurching forward when he does and pushes his foot down too forcefully on the gas pedal. He turns in circles around the empty lot, taking care to avoid the lamp posts. On every straight away, Kaz seems to hit the gas with a little more force, graceful turns giving way to concussion-inducing races. It seems he has the turning part down, but the lurching and jerking of the car would get him pulled over quickly. 

And although Kaz will no doubt be having a new fake I.D. made by one of our extra Crows, the risk of involving a police officer is not one any of us want to take. 

“Slow down there, Nascar.” I laugh.

He eases up, taking his time to get used to the ebb and flow of the vehicle. Where he got the car is beyond me, but I am also beyond questioning Kaz’s ability to secure random and often, complicated, objects for our heists. He has become my biggest puzzle, my biggest mystery to solve. And if it hasn’t been one hell of an adventure trying to figure him out. Observing him and listening and learning his subtle tells when he is angry or pleased or scheming. Lately, though, it feels as if the obsession for uncovering his truths have blossomed into something else, something that makes my heart race a little faster and my palms sweat. Something I haven’t been able to control. And how I hate not being in control. 

“Turn out onto the street,” I instruct, forcing myself to speak and get out of my own head. 

He obliges, the car absorbing the bumps in the curb as Kaz makes a graceful right turn. His black gloves glide smoothly along the steering wheel, the sleeve of his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his pale wrist. My mind begins to wander again, to whether or not Inej has touched them, if she has held his wrists down as she gracefully slid on top of him. I wonder if she has kissed him, if he whispers her secrets to her like some sort of sexy spy pillow talk. 

“Cataleya,” Kaz is saying, the four syllables of my name like chimes from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” I shake my head, swallowing and casting him a glance. “What?” 

“Where are we going?” He repeats, monotone and bored. 

His driving has already gotten smoother, his feet steady on the brake and gas as I tell him to pull onto the dirt on the side of the two-lane road and turn around. There are still no cars out here at this hour, an Amtrak just beginning its morning route on a station in the distance. I can see the outline of the city beyond the valley, half blocked by trees and tall grass. The skyscrapers are haloed by the rising sun, like a safe haven calling me back home. 

“Who taught you to drive?” Kaz says, his raspy voice surprisingly light. 

“A friend I had growing up,” I reply, surprised.

“That’s a nice friend,” he comments, voice taking on an edge I don’t understand. 

I snort. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have any family to do it.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel ever so slightly and if I weren’t observant I probably would have missed it. The way he tenses up. The way his jaw clenches and the car begins to move a bit faster as his foot locks onto the gas. “Me either.” 

“I found my mother dead.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. Kaz’s gaze shifts a bit, but he keeps his focus on the road as I continue. “I went to bury a dead cat in my mother’s old garden. We never touched it, my father never tended to it, or let me, after he said she left us. But when I went out to the garden and began to dig, I lost track of time, I dug far deeper than I intended. My father wasn’t home, I wanted to be there, in that garden, and away from him if he came home, for as long as possible. I didn’t realize how far I had dug until,” I swallow, inhaling and turning to Kaz. “Until a hand began to form beneath the dirt, and then an arm, and I saw the wedding ring, the bruises, the blue of her dress…” 

Kaz’s lips part, the only admission of emotion he gives. 

“The coroner said she had been dead for four months. Four months,” my voice broke, splintered on the fragments of my memories. “That she had been beaten and buried there. They couldn’t… couldn’t prove it was my father. He had money, lots of it. And he paid a lot of people to keep quiet.” 

“Is that why you love journalism?” Kaz asks, slowing the car to ready his turn back into the empty lot. “Exposing them? Making them pay with more than their blood money and with plain blood?”

I inhale, lips curling back in more of a snarl than a smile. “Everyone I knew. Everyone I knew who was involved. I have made them pay. In some form.” I throw Kaz a true smile, a devilish gleam in my eyes. “Although I suppose you already know that. It’s why Inej noticed me in the first place.” 

“One of the many reasons,” Kaz replies, words back to being clipped, tight. 

With a smooth arc of the steering wheel, Kaz turns the car into the same spot as before, hitting a little too hard on the brake before coming to a stop. My hair moves in front of my face at the jolt, a blessed curtain separating me from him. I can feel him thinking, churning over my words, assessing me. 

Kaz hardly seems fazed as I peek at him around my hair. His dark eyes are far away, his gloved hands slack on the wheel. I still myself, hearing the purr of the car engine, hearing Kaz’s breathing, shallow and uneven, as he goes into the place he so rarely dives. His eyes are almost glazed, like he’s been drinking, completely lost in his own thoughts. I know some of his story already. From Nina. From Jesper. From my research. 

“Your brother,” I murmur, soft and low. 

His hands tighten on the wheel until they are bone white, staring straight ahead at the tree lined landscape. “Jordie,” he pushes through his teeth. “His name was Jordie.” 

My spine straightens. Kaz has never said anything about his brother, and has never allowed any of the Crows besides Inej into his life in this way. And I wonder how far he has even let her in. I swallow, questioning if I should press or let it be. I am just about to get out and switch places with him to take us back into the city, when he opens his mouth and to my bewilderment, continues to speak. 

“My parents were mixed up in some bad stuff before we came here. We lived in the countryside, with a bit of land and no one around us for miles. My brother was older than me, only by four years, but enough to know how to keep me from looking where I shouldn’t. From keeping me happy and sheltered.” A muscle flickers in Kaz’s jaw, his pale skin going ashier with each word, “I didn’t know what was happening when they came. The thugs my parents had been hopping between towns, cities, and states to avoid for over a decade. Jordie took me, the remaining cash from the safe, that my father had stolen, and fled to New York City. He hoped we would be invisible among so many people.” 

I don’t know I am holding my breath until I release it, low and shaky. Kaz is silent again, staring off, flexing and unflexing his fingers against the steering wheel, like a silent reminder that he is here. 

“Are they alive?” I ask, voice so silent it’s almost nothing. 

“I don’t know,” Kaz admits. “But we never heard from them. I’ve never heard. So I can only assume not. And I don’t think I would want to see them if they were.”  

“And Jordie…?” I venture, terrified to hear more, but also terrified he’ll clam up. I am desperate for more. Desperate to know him. 

“We weren’t safe here. They found us. Or, found Jordie. While I was gone.” Every single syllable from his lips are forced and painful, laced with self loathing and regret. Survivor's guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but Jordie had sent me away. On an errand down in Brooklyn. He knew we were trapped, and wanted me to live, if he couldn’t. If Jordie could convince them he was alone and I had been shipped somewhere else... ” He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, focusing on some point in the distance. “They ruled it as a suicide. He had cut his own throat, only his DNA on the knife, only his blood… I don’t know if he did it before they came. Or if they staged it. The not knowing. The guessing. That’s what makes it worse.” 

“So you look for control in other places.” I say. “In the market. In investment. In the Crows. I do the same thing.” 

“The Crows stand for the same thing you do, Cataleya.” Kaz says, looking at me with an intense stare. “Exposure. We want things to be different. We want people to pay, truly pay, for what they have done. Instead of buying silence. Buying lies. We want the truth. Only the truth.” 

His words pierce me, his black hair stark against his forehead, shaved sides longer than he normally keeps them. His eyebrows are set in a hard determined line, lips closed, and jaw locked in determination. I know he made those people pay, the ones who took his brother from him. I can see it on his face. 

“How did you survive?” I begin, “without him?”

Kaz licked his lips and let out a low chuckle. “Our money was gone. But we knew some people. Kids we met on the street. They made me a fake to get into bars with; I was barely sixteen by that time, but I looked older. Rougher. I had a skill for counting cards and made a small fortune quickly by playing in run down joints and eventually, working my way into larger, more expensive establishments. It was hard, I lived and breathed revenge, for Jordie. I wanted to have him back. To have something that was mine. I built up a small fortune, studied the market, and began investing. By the time I applied to the University of Ketterdam it didn’t matter that I only had my GED and no family, my self-made fortune was enough.” 

“But why here?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion. “Why school at all?” 

Kaz continues to look at me, eyes blazing. “Because we had a dream. Jordie and I. We had a dream that we would never forget what happened. That we had to run. And that when we were older, more settled, we would build something here. In New York City, something that would last. Something with a legacy. Like Crows, Jordie had said, symbolizing death but themselves being alive. We were dealt bad luck and would bestow it on others who deserve it.” 

“Thus, The Crow Club,” I finish his sentence, gaze roaming his face. “A secret society at one of the world’s best universities that would have a legacy. Have prestige. Have a family.” 

“Something that is mine,” Kaz’s lips part, wet from his tongue. 

“Yes, yours.” I echo. 

We are both silent for a few moments. Weighing our words. Our truths. Even the trees outside seem to stop in the wind, leaves quiet and branches unwavering. Kaz has opened up in a way I have never seen before. Never expected. He has been through so much. So much like me. Dealt with death. Loss. Life. We aren’t so different. None of the Crows are. 

“What about the others?” 

“Those aren’t my stories to tell,” Kaz responds, voice returning to its detached state.

I nod, once, accepting. I know a few of them already. Nina. Wylan. The new recruits. But Inej and Jesper are mysteries. Complete and whole geniuses shrouded in questions. I don’t like questions. Especially ones I can’t answer. 

“How did you survive? With him?” Kaz’s voice rings again, reflecting my earlier question. His words are too big for the small car, inhaling deeply through my nose as a small smile graces my lips. His long fingers move the shift into reverse to back out of the spot to drive us back to the city himself. The true test of his skill on the Manhattan streets.  

“That friend. The one who taught me how to drive,” I reply, a bit of wistful nostalgia filling my tone. “He helped me. Took care of me. Looked after me.” 

“Past tense?” He inquires, feet smooth as he presses on the gas pedal. 

“We are still friends,” I say. “I think. Things are just… different.” 

“Different. That’s an understatement.” He replies, voice drenched with irony. “Everything is different, isn’t it, depending on how you look at it.”

I nod and laugh, giving him a compliment on how swiftly he picked up driving before we settle into a comfortable silence. Crows. Allies. Friends. If we can call ourselves that. 

I hope we can. 

----

Today, I am supposed to meet the enemy. 

Kaz told me yesterday he set up a rendezvous at one of the campus coffee spots and that there would be someone waiting for me there. Someone he wouldn’t name. Someone that I am supposed to gather information from. Someone who thinks we are on a date. 

I had almost hit him when he pulled up his phone to show me the fake dating profile that was made for me. Pictures of me smiling, laughing, most of them pictures I didn’t even remember taking, all glowed brightly at me, accentuated by a bio that said I liked my men tall, dark, and tortured. 

How cliche. 

“Nina made it,” Kaz had shrugged then returned his phone back to his pocket. 

“And you would be surprised by how many matches you made,” Inej’s voice was laced with humor, lilting into the room without a trace. 

“She’ll walk you over,” Kaz said, gesturing around the room to her unknown location. “Like any dutiful girl would for her best friend about to go on a date from an app. Then, you’ll just need to proceed as normal. Ask him about his life, his job, his degree, his connection to UOK. All the basics. The main concern is reading him out for a vibe, his family has had a lot of influence in some shady shit and he’s from another society here.”

So that’s what this was about? Some sour deals that probably put Kaz out of some easy money and a rival society that was challenging Kaz’s position in the control of campus secrets and his standing legacy? I don’t feel like that is the whole story, but that’s all that Kaz was willing to give me at the time. 

And he hadn’t said anything this afternoon when I had gone into the Crow Library to meet Inej. He acted like nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t revealed some of his darkest secrets to me. Like we hadn’t shared a moment of… something. He barely looked at me from his desk, hair rumpled and face flushed from stress, in my tight long sleeve dress and tights, combat boots laced up around my ankles in case this random guy got the wrong idea. 

The air outside had turned to autumn, giving us an unusually cold and windy day. I was puttering around and trying to think of something to say to Kaz, when Inej came down the staircase with silent feet, dressed in a pair of black leggings and a cream knit sweater. Her hair had been mused in the back and her face also looked a bit red. I had almost laughed, looking between her flushed state and Kaz’s slightly red cheeks, before giving Inej a knowing quirk of my eyebrows. 

And now, outside of the library and alone, walking across the cobblestoned campus paths with autumn leaves falling around us, I turn to her. “Do I even want to know?” 

“It’s college,” she replies, so quiet it’s almost to herself. “Things happen.” 

“Things don’t just happen with Kaz Brekker.” 

She looks at me, face breaking out into a blinding smile that splits her beautifully baked face. “They do when he’s in a rather… compromising position.” 

“Inej!” I release the laugh I’ve been holding, the now pulled back coil of her hair showing off the reddened tips of her ears. Since I have known of Inej, she has always been rather modest. Sure of herself in a quiet way. The kind of confidence that doesn’t need reassurance or shields. Inej herself is a shield, a force of silent secrets she keeps hidden beneath the unsuspecting lithe of her dancer’s frame. 

We take a right turn down one of the main campus paths, small walkways opening up into a large courtyard. Students mill about, sitting on statues, kissing underneath the garden archways, reading books on their way into classes. The University of Ketterdam has always been such an eclectic place, not only because of its location in New York City, but because of its campus. Lush, green, beautiful. An ode to history and architecture and modernity all the same. The programs here are some of the best in the world and while tuition isn’t cheap, the value of a Ketterdam degree is worth it. 

“Is it bad that I kind of do want to know though?” I begin, not even sure what I’m saying. 

“No,” Inej says, voice thoughtful and not defensive in any way. This is why I love Inej. So honest and unafraid. “I think everyone wants to know about Kaz. Everyone wants to be the hero that solves the mystery or the lover that turns a prince from darkness.” She pauses, looking around at the students, seeming lost in thought. Her dark eyebrows crease together, as if in thought or sadness. “Some people just can’t be saved.” 

I can tell she’s referring to Kaz. But I’m not sure if I agree. I think everyone can be saved. I think darkness lives in everyone and all a person needs is a bit of light to show them through. People weren’t born into darkness, or evil, they were made that way. Through that, they could be unmade. And Inej has enough light and strength in one of her hands to see any person through the blackest of tunnels. I think of what Kaz had said to me, in the car, about his story, about his desire for revenge. For retribution. Maybe I want to believe we can be saved from the darkness because I want to be saved. Because like calls to like. And there is a deep chasm within Kaz that sings to me. 

Inej moves her head to look at me, a full and unabashed gaze that somehow makes me uncomfortable. Like she can see straight to my soul. Like she can see every lie I have told or every promise I have broken or every secret I have kept. Like she can see my desires and my shame and my longing for things I can’t have.

“But we love them anyway, don’t we?” She finishes, giving me a contemplative look. 

I think of the people I love, the people I did love, when there were still people in my life that were capable of receiving such a thing; people who were dark and painful and I still loved them anyway. Love can be such a blinding thing. Blinding and binding. 

“Yeah,” I echo, her reflective tone rubbing off onto my voice. “We do.” 

The both of us descend into silence as we continue to walk across the quad. I begin to feel my stomach turn, my palms sweat. No matter how many times I have done this, not dates, but encounter new people, this feeling returns. Every time I have to meet someone new, report on something, present something for a class, I would feel anxiety grip my insides and twist. When I was younger, that anxiety was terrifying, it made me cower, it made me scared. But as I got older, I began to use it and cling to it. I began to form it into an entity that gave me courage instead of taking it, something that would ground me to myself and propel me into my fears. 

Inej begins, “Kaz texted and said he’s outside. Reading. Good luck.” Then she’s gone.

Steadying my breath, the smell of coffee hits my nostrils as I round the library steps to the small path beside it. The coffee shop is nestled into the side of the huge, brick building, almost like a tumor sprouting from the side. Inej has completely disappeared, only leaving the familiar scent of herbs in her wake. She is supposed to be going up the library steps to find a good vantage point from one of the many windows facing the coffee shop on the building’s side. Students move around through the cafe windows, in and out of the doors, little bell ringing to signal both arrival and departure. 

But I am not paying attention to any of them. 

Because there is a boy. A man. Sitting at one of the tables outside, his long legs stretched underneath the opposite chair, wearing a pair of leather sneakers. His long fingers are thumbing through a novel, covers worn and pages yellow with age. He can feel someone there, looking, sitting up and turning in that little metal chair to see who. To see me. 

It’s Alek. 

I blanch, mouth going dry and jaw slackening. I know him. I more than know him. I- 

“Cataleya,” his voice is pure night, laced and dripping with stars. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, not even phased. Not that I have ever seen him look surprised. I flash back to that day in the garden, to his hands on my face, wiping my tears, to his arms around me, murmuring condolences, to the face that I could see through my blurred tears. Dark hair, pale skin, beautifully big gray eyes. I had barely known him, barely seen him despite our houses being right next door, despite our windows being on opposite sides of the alley and me being able to spy on him when his curtains were parted at night. 

“Aleksander?” I stand a little straighter, gathering my shock and shoving it deep down. 

He smiles, standing up from the chair on the patio of the coffee shop. He is so tall, taller than I remember. His dark jeans are fitted against his legs and the black long sleeve button down he is wearing shows off a large portion of his impeccable chest. I don’t remember when the last time I saw him was, but I definitely don’t recall feeling the pulsing and intense heat that flashes through my body when I look at him. I suddenly feel naked. And stupid. 

Is Kaz trying to kill me?

Swallowing thickly, I scan the windows on the side of the library for Inej, wondering if she has already found a perch to play spy. The sun reflects off of each glass surface in the afternoon light, making it impossible to see through any of them. Blowing a breath through my lips, I attempt to quell the storm brewing and churning in my stomach. 

“What a wonderful surprise this is,” Alek starts. 

I catch the edge in his voice, the way the tone lilts at the end. A tell of how much this encounter is not a surprise. For him anyway. But I smile, I nod and I watch as he fluidly closes the distance between us and takes me in his arms. 

I hate how I exhale. 

How my whole body relaxes. 

I hate how good it feels. 

Like coming home. 

He smells like winter and barren tree branches, like snow and absence of light. Like a dark night wrapping me in its embrace and taking away the pain that days bring. Peaceful and mysterious all the same. Just as I remember it. Just as I remember him. 

“Since when did you start wearing all black?” I joke as he pulls away, gesturing to his outfit. “Are you some kind of darkling now?” 

He gives me a blinding grin, chuckling under his breath. 

“Something like that.” 

He gestures us back over to the table and I sit across from him, back rigid and legs crossed. I feel like a mannequin, still and stoic, despite the intense pounding of my heart and rush of blood through my veins. 

“How have you been?” He asks, leaning back in his chair with an amused look on his face. “I must say I was very surprised when your profile popped up Tinder.” 

I clench my jaw, working my teeth against each other. “Yeah, so was I.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Alek studies me, eyes unabashedly roaming from my face to my chest to my waist, to my legs visible on the side of the table. I swallow, trying to clear the unfamiliar lump in my throat before I speak. 

“But I’m good. Great, even. But I didn’t even know you are here. That you went here in the first place.” 

“It’s a temporary thing,” Alek responds. 

“Temporary?” I push. 

“I’m just getting a business credential for the semester,” he says, airy and dismissive. 

I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he can feel the suspicion and annoyance radiating from my look. He drums his fingers on the table, weighing my stare with a measured, even gaze that infuriates me further. I always hated when he did this when we were kids. Always challenging me. Always trying to get me to back down. Luckily, our time apart has sharpened my detective skills and my comfort with confrontation. 

Alek sighs, blinking slowly. “Fine. I’m here because of you.” 

My jaw slackens. 

Because of me? 

“I missed you,” he whispers, in a rare display of vulnerability and affection, before reaching across the table to take my hand. 

Fire lashes up my wrist and arm, chills spreading in its wake. His touch is electrifying me, his skin like a hot branding iron pushing into me with delicious pain. Alek’s jaw is set, the hard lines on his chin lined with stubble. I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him. I want to feel him against me and get lost in the impossibly deep gray ocean of his eyes. 

“Where were you then?” I venture, pushing down the pressing anxiety. 

“I had a lot to deal with after my dad died,” he responds, voice detached and noncommittal. “I’m really sorry I let our relationship fall away, but I didn’t want to drag you down into my grief. You’ve always had enough on your plate.” 

“You helped me through grief.” My tone steadies. “I wanted to help you.” 

He huffs, “I didn’t want your help.” 

The words are like a slap in the face, pulling my hand from his with a start. His dad’s death had been very abrupt and unexpected, launching Alek into a world of unknown wealth and property and an accumulation of other assets he wasn’t even aware his father had. His death was ruled under suspicious circumstances, but no leads were ever found for a murderer or any other sort of foul play. And with Alek’s mother long gone to cancer, he found himself newly eighteen and alone in the world. Except he wasn’t alone. He always had me. 

Alek releases a breath, eyes softening as he leans back in his chair, aware of the mistake in his harsh words. He pushes a hand through his hair, the dark waves parting for his hand like a saint in the sea. 

“I don’t mean it like that. I wanted you to be there, Cataleya. But some things you have to do on your own, you know? I had so much to figure out and sort through and… it was overwhelming.” 

I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Alek was never the kind of guy to ask for help, especially not from people he is close to. He always did things alone, always felt weak for not building his own empire, his own legacy, his own destiny, without anyone else. But two years, I haven’t heard from him in two years and now here he is. In front of me. Asking for some sort of forgiveness. Is there anything to forgive? The pit in my stomach says yes. But my throbbing heart and other throbbing parts of me say no. 

“I missed you, too.” 

A small smile blossoms across his face, the sight beautiful and stupefying. 

“I can’t help but notice you walked here with Inej Ghafa,” he starts and my alert senses begin to tingle. “Isn’t she a part of Kaz Brekker’s Crow Club?” 

“How do you know about that?” I ask before I can help myself.

“Anyone who is anyone knows about Kaz,” he responds, almost spitting his name. 

“Okay…” I begin, unease settling into my stomach like a stone. “But why do you?” 

“He has something I need.” 

The stone becomes a boulder. 

“Are you-” I stop, then start again. “You’re the one that this is for.” 

“If by “this”, you mean whatever scheme he is planning to trap me in, then yes.”

“But why? How do you even know him? Don’t you know who he is and what he does? What are you thinking going against Kaz?” I ask urgently, struggling to keep my voice low. 

He pins me to the chair with a dead look. “He has debts he needs to pay.” 

“You’re going vague again?” I shake my head, irritated with his bipolar intensity then flippancy. “You need to back down. Or you’re going to end up hurt.” 

A smirk tugs at his full lips, “Your lack of faith in me is really inspiring, Cataleya.” 

“It’s not that,” I retort, exasperated, crossing my arms. “Kaz is really powerful. With more networks and connections than you know. If you don’t stop whatever crusade you have on him, you’re the one that’s going to end up indebted.” 

He laughs this time, a full and deep laugh that surprises me. “Has he really dug his talons that deep in you? That you’ve forgotten how wide my own connections spread? How cunning I can be?” 

“We haven’t spoken in two years,” I respond, pettily. “I don’t know you at all anymore.” 

He leans forward, eyes incredibly dark and face serious. “You know that’s not true.”

I hold his stare, raising my eyebrows, feeling satisfied that I made my point. Alek reaches across the table and places his palm up on it in invitation. I can see the veins of his inner wrist, with dark ink snaking across the blue and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. He didn’t have any tattoos when I last talked to him. My fingers itch to push back the fabric and see them. His secrets. Like Kaz’s, they are so plain on his skin yet hidden through metaphors and signs. 

Licking my lips, I push out a breath and put my hand atop his, feeling his eyes follow mine to where the ink is displayed. Without saying anything, he pushes the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm, stopping at the inner crook of his elbow. 

Inhaling and holding, I blink at the constellation on the inside of his forearm. A night sky, swirling with black and dead space, with creatures in between zombies and ghosts with huge demon wings flying through it. There is a ship at the base of his wrist, a small stern gliding through dark sand, a tiny speck compared to the massive size of the creatures flying above it. It is dark and torturing and incredibly impassioned. I let the pads of my fingers drift softly up Alek’s arm, watching goosebumps form on his skin. 

“What are they?” I ask. 

“They’re called volcra,” Alek says. “Beings that live in darkness and are afraid of light. They feed on those who come into their path, who are unable to see or defend themselves in the black sea of sand.” 

“It’s so… intense.” I search for the right word to describe it, coming up short. 

“I want to remind myself to not be afraid of light. Of happiness. That the things that I may think make me weak, really make me strong. I need to find more light, to find my light. I have been full of darkness for a long time, Cataelya. I’ve lived in a thousand moments of it.” 

I tilt my head, fingers pressed into the inside of his elbow and looking up at him through my lashes. His eyes are trained to the spot where our skin is meeting, his lips parted and eyebrows furrowed a bit in the middle. I resist the urge to flatten it with my thumb, letting the wind and the sound of other students fill the silence between us. 

“You were the only light in my life for a long time,” I say to him, tracing the volcra’s deformed bodies with my index finger. “I had nothing. I had no one. You pulled me from that nothingness. From the darkness. And held me in your arms. Brought me up to somewhere better. Where I can hope. Where I can not only see light, but make my own. That is invaluable to me.” 

He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Can you help me, then? Can you bring me back my light, too?” 

My breathing stalls. I know what he’s asking from me. I know it’s more than just offering a flashlight through the tunnel. I know it’s more complicated than I can currently imagine. Alek stands up, coming around the table to kneel in front of my chair. Some students stare, wondering if they’re about to witness a proposal. I ignore them, keeping my eyes trained on Alek’s imploring gaze. I know in this moment, I will give him the world, the moon, and all of its stars. I will give him all of my sun and then some, I will summon everything I have to fill the darkest parts of him. 

He takes my face in his hands, palms impossibly soft on my cheeks. Subtly, slowly, I nod, watching his face break a part into a smile. Without pausing, Alek leans forward and kisses me. His lips are smooth and plush, completely stunning me into inaction as he runs his fingers along the sides of my throat. I sigh into his mouth, body realizing what is happening just as he is pulling away. Parting my lips, I stupidly sit in my chair as he gets up in one flowing movement.

Alek looks down at me with a smile. “I hope to see you soon then, Cataleya.” 

Just like that, he scoops up his book and walks away. Gone as quickly as he appeared. 

----

The room is completely aglow with light, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles lit around the room. Everything has a soft, burnt hue, like the room is on fire from below and the blaze is lighting the space. It must be the size of the University of Ketterdam quad, with hundreds of people talking, dancing, eating, and drinking. I recognize some students and faculty, but most are a blur of unfamiliar gowns and tuxedos. 

“They know how to throw a party,” Nik says appreciatively. 

“If they didn’t, no one would take them seriously.” Zoya retorts, leaving Nik’s side without so much as a glance to drift into the crowd. The smell of honey and sweet drinks spreads through the room, long tables lining either wall stacked with a massive spread. 

“That’s where I’ll be,” whispers Nina. 

I smile at her, gathering my dress in my hands and descending the few flat stairs to the main rooms. The floor is a beautiful tile, mosaics and colors that I can’t decipher flowing from the entry way beneath the mass of bodies. There is something magical about it all, something historic, like stepping into a time machine. The walls are lined with thick tapestries, with small halls leading into different areas of grandeur. I shouldn’t be surprised that wealth like this still exists, but every time I see it, I am. 

Scanning the space, I see Alek from across the ballroom, near one of the food tables, his gaze drifting across my body before a smile forms on his lips. He is wearing an all black suit, lapels crisp and smooth, with a single blood rose pinned above his heart. It mimics the read of my dress, the stain of my lips, the seduction in his eyes. He cocks his head slightly, dark hair falling over one of his beautifully arched eyebrows. 

I hold his stare, letting the bubbling pit of fire burn deeply in my stomach. The pit that forms when he looks at me, seated low and hot. The pit that would cackle and seethe if he would touch me, if his pale hands would settle on my hips and his lips would touch the shell of my ear, whispering sweet nothings and dirty everythings into my ear. Snaking my tongue between my lips, I watch as Aleksander tracks the motion, his posture straightening ever so slightly. 

And then Kaz is there. In my line of vision. 

The fire sputters out, replaced by something else. Something that grips my lungs and forces my heart to beat faster. His suit is a deep navy, bringing out the smooth pearl of his skin and accenting the night of his hair. He looks like a shooting star, dark and light at the same time. I wonder who picked it out for him, or if he selected it himself. I can’t imagine Kaz in a tailor’s shop, trying on suits and drinking bourbon with the upper elites with him. 

But then again, maybe I can. He is a business man after all. And great at faking it. 

Kaz catches my stare, tipping his head up in greeting before disappearing into the crowd. Nina and Nik dissolve from my side as well, going to observe and mingle before the drama begins. Alina is the only one left next to me, her golden dress sparkling in the chandelier light. She turns to me and sets her hand on my arm gingerly, sun earrings dangling from her ears. 

“Be careful,” she whispers. “He’s not who you think he is.” 

I open my mouth, about to ask her what she means before her hand is gone, and so is she. I watch her move into a group of people, hugging a man in a dark gray tuxedo from behind before giving him a kiss. Must be Mal. I don’t feel right, especially after what Alina said to me. I feel like something is amiss, but I don’t know what. 

I spot Kaz again, whispering something to Inej along the back wall. Her dark eyes drift to me, cementing the feeling in place. 

Alone, I cross the space to Alek. I had seen him twice since our fateful coffee date and both times had been very formal and full of business. Full of me trying to help him get his light back. Through some sort of grand scheme, it seems. One that required me to also recruit Nik, Alina, and Zoya to help Alek while seeming like they are helping Kaz. Sort of like a double agent, except I don’t know which side I want to be standing on at the end. 

“How are you?” Alek asks, tone casual to an untrained ear, but clipped enough for me to hear the true question behind his words. 

“Something’s wrong,” I respond under my breath before I loudly declare my happiness.

He lets his gaze linger on my face for a moment, schooling his features into neutrality. 

“Can you handle it?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admit, dropping my fake smile. “I might need help.” 

Vague enough, but he clearly gets the message, rolling his shoulders before giving me a dazzling grin. Alek reaches a long arm to stop the waiter passing by, grabbing two flutes of sparkling gold champagne and extending one to me. As if this is only our second time meeting. As if we both happened here by incident and he is looking to get lucky.

“I could never refuse such a beautiful woman.” 

I return his smile, throwing back the entire drink for some liquid courage. It tastes sweet and fizzy against my tongue, a faint acidity coating the roof of my mouth. Alek takes a long and thoughtful sip of his own champagne, much more graceful than me and folds my arm into the crook of his elbow. He begins to lead me from the ballroom, towards the Crow’s meeting spot. I look behind my shoulder, searching for their familiar faces. But all I see is Nina, already watching, her eyes focused intently on the joining of my arm with Alek’s while she pretends to listen to Nik, whose lips are moving with passionate fervor. Her mouth parts ever so slightly as she catches my eye. 

“Careful,” Alek mutters, forcing me to turn my head back in front of me. 

Dread and fear coil in my gut. I have never seen Nina look that way. I have never seen her look at me and not see me. I still don’t spot any of the other Crows at their reported positions around the room, where they were supposed to stay until I could get Alek alone and before I could lead Kaz to Alek and they could duel it out and I could decide who to side with then.

 I swallow, mind racing, trying to calm myself by believing that there’s a reason for their absence. 

 Alek seems to sense my trepidation, holding my arm a bit tighter as we meander from the crowded room into a near empty hallway. 

“Something’s wrong,” I repeat, trying to unravel everything quickly. Too quickly. 

Kaz, pushing everyone into this heist with such force. The others, more quiet than usual, less pressing for Kaz to give them details. Kaz, letting me teach him to drive, letting himself be vulnerable for me. Inej, barely talking to me a week into our plan. Nina, completely open and honest and warm until she saw me with Alek. Jesper, less happy than usual, less enthusiastic, more solemn and quiet, often excusing himself when I came into the room. And Wylan, always seeming to be off rekindling his relationship with his father. 

I didn’t need to help them with appearances at all. 

When fear arrives, something is about to happen. 

“It’s a trap,” I breathe, clenching my jaw and letting my stomach pit out inside of me. 

“I know,” Alek replies, cool and distant. 

My blood turns to ice. “What do you mean, “I know”?” 

He doesn’t respond, turning right down the hallway that leads to a back patio exit, and not to the left, to that private seating area where the Crows were supposed to be waiting. Alek increases his pace ever so slightly, giving me a glazed and lusted look when people come out of the rooms to pass us by, too high or drunk or exhausted to care. 

I try to stamp down the panic in my bones. How could I be so stupid? How could I get so caught up playing both sides that I didn’t see what was right in front of me? This is not the part where things are supposed to go wrong. I am supposed to get to choose. I am supposed to see them interact, gauge my feelings, myself, my words, and decide which side I want to be on. If I want to be a Raven or a Crow. If I want to be crime or creation. Of course, Alek is one step ahead. And so is Kaz. 

“We need to be more casual, less uptight,” Alek states as he pushes through the glass doors leading into the large mansion courtyard at the end of the corridor. “If any of them are watching, they’ll hurry things along if they sense we’re onto them.” 

“I think they already know,” I swallow, the night air turning cold and bitter. We hover on the cramped patio for a moment, not descending the small set of stone stairs into the gardens beyond. I can hear voices from inside, music drifting about, people laughing and heavy breathing from behind bushes. I wish I could have gone to this party with no other intentions than for fun. 

Maybe in a different life.  

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Alek shrugs. 

And then I am up against the thin black railing behind me, Alek’s hands settling into the curve of my hips. I can feel his warmth through the satin of my dress, bleeding fire into my skin, my heart, my core. He licks his lips and pushes me tighter against him. Our bodies are flush in all of the right places; hard and soft in all of the right places. 

“Kiss me, Cataleya,” he baits me, voice low and raspy. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. 

I surge forward, his lips plush and velvet against mine. He smells like winter, like snow and frosty tree branches and endless starry nights. I grew up with this smell, revelled in it, fell in love with it. His dark hair brushes against my forehead, the strands so soft and gentle in a way I had never known Alek to be. He is always pushing, moving, plotting. 

He reminds me of Kaz in that way. 

Kaz. 

Alek’s tongue slips along mine, sparks flying and thundering in my ears. Haven’t I wanted him like this for so long? Haven’t I imagined what this would feel like since our first kiss, being barely a peck? Haven’t I dreamed that he would want me? That he would have me in the way I desired? 

So why is this falling so flat now? 

Kaz. 

The voice reverberates through me, like a Crow picking from a dead body, peeling flesh from bone until I am stripped bare. My head begins to pound, a dull ache in the base of my skull. Alek runs his fingers up my bare arms, drawing goosebumps in his wake until I am shivering beneath him. 

“Cataleya,” he murmurs, deep and throaty. 

The old feeling returns, the burning desire, the expectant eyes. The little girl waiting for her master to approve. The little girl waiting for someone bigger, someone better, to grab her hand and drag her from the dirt. I feel ridiculous for not being able to squash it down, to tamper it. I don’t know if that feeling would ever die. The feeling of dependence. Of unworthiness. 

Alek seems as if he’s about to say something, but his head whips to the side. I follow the movement, the stone of dread in my stomach sinking deeper when I realize the courtyard has gone quiet around us. Not a single sound from behind the bushes, not a giggle or a whisper or a moan. Too quiet. The sound of death. 

The headache threatens to split my brain a part, eyes blurring as I watch Alek attempt to stumble down the stairs. He gets one step in before a figure blocks his path. My breathing becomes laborious, squinting through black spots clouding my vision before I can see who it is. 

Wylan. 

His suit is a forest green, dark velvet tailored for his tall lanky frame. The color perfectly offsets the ruddiness of his hair and his shoes are a deep brown leather, squeaky clean and new. Leave it to Kaz to outfit all of the Crows with his endless bank account. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says, face truly betraying some measure of regret. 

The pieces click together, like a lock sliding into place. 

He hasn’t been working with his father all these weeks. He has been working on something else entirely. Something that would take lots of time, lots of care, and lots of studying. When Nina said those things I thought she was talking about how he was mending the relationship with his father. She was not. And not just that, but his studies most likely required more than himself for success. Probably Leoni, the incredibly kind and intelligent biochemical engineering major who Kaz sometimes recruited for special missions that required more stealth, less blood. 

Wylan was studying poison. 

And we had ingested it from the champagne. 

----

My head is throbbing when I come to, the sound of a car engine roaring in my ears. I don’t know how I got here. All I remember is Alek, his hands on me, his warmth leaving me to spin me into the arms of someone else. The shaved hair, the deep brown eyes, the palor of his skin, the stability of his grip around my waist. Then Alek again, his lips on mine, my back against the wall.

 I force myself to swallow, trying to see anything through the blindfold at my eyes. I am still in my dress, the silk smooth on my skin, and I can feel the car coming to a stop as I struggle to find the strength to say something. 

My bones feel like liquid, muscles weak and shaking. But Alek had been the only one who offered me a drink, he had been the only one I trusted enough to gulp heartily. Wylan. I remember Wylan. Standing at the ledge of the stairs in the courtyard. Me and Alek. 

Poisoned. 

The car’s back door opens and I feel a rush of the cold night air as two gloved hands drag me by my feet from the vehicle and out onto the street. Dread coils in my stomach and my skin pricks with goosebumps, the cobble stones ripping at my exposed ankles and arms. After being dragged a few hundred feet, hissing at the burn of scapes and tearing on my skin from the uneven street, I am forced onto my knees.  I don’t feel right. Nothing feels right. Where is Kaz? 

As if in answer, the blindfold is yanked down my face from behind, my eyes blurring and struggling to adjust to the dark light of my surroundings. I am in an alley, wedged between two buildings built of collapsing brick. I can hear the faint whiz of cars, but in front of me is only a few hundred paces of the alleyway and then trees. I am not being brought here to talk. It’s too secluded. Too quiet. And the smell, bark and sap and something else… I clench my jaw. 

A shadow fills my periphery and I struggle to stay up on my knees as a figure takes shape in front of me. The navy suit, clean white shirt, the black leather gloves, the hard lines of his jaw and set of his eyes. I know why I am here. I know what this is. His stare is furious, rage and ice and merciless vengeful eyes boring into mine. 

He made the choice for me.

“Kaz,” I rasp, voice cracking and broken. 

He snarls at his name from my mouth, shoving me up into the nearest building. I stumble in my heels, his movements fast and forceful enough to drive my back into the wall with no problem. The rough edges of the brick dig into my back, clawing at my skin. This is nowhere near the last experience I had against a wall, with Alek. Caressing me, kissing me, igniting me. I try to stay calm. I try to think. But all I can see is Kaz’s face in front of me, burning with hatred and disdain as he rams me harder into the unforgiving bricks. 

I try to hold in my scream as a knife plunges into my side from one of the roofs above, deep and intense pain bursting through me. I don’t know who threw it, I don’t know how many of them are up there and how many stayed behind. I don’t know how long they’ve been in on it, I don’t know if Kaz has been aware the entire time. But I do know that now he knows, they all do. And that I won’t be leaving here alive. 

I can’t move enough to take the knife from my side, the hilt small, but the blade curved and lodged deep above the bone of my hip. Blood seeps through my dress, the red becoming impossibly darker, and the drip drip of the liquid pings against the stone street as it runs down my legs. It’s the only sound between us besides my ragged breathing, pained and desperate. 

“This was all a test of loyalty,” he says evenly. “You failed.”

And I would die for it. 

Kaz’s hands close around my throat, gaze steely and intent. I try not to panic, my jaw locking and lungs constricting with the pressure of his grip. The warmth of the blood continues spreading and soaking through my side, red and sticky and filling my nostrils with the scent of copper. I can already barely breathe, trying and failing to make it through the pain. It makes sense how loose Kaz’s lips had been with me, all the questions he had asked to try and taunt me, to reveal my relationship to Alek, how he let me teach him; he thought I would be a dead woman soon. And dead women don’t spill secrets. Or give lessons beyond the grave.

“We knew it was you all along,” Kaz says in my face, tone even as he chokes me. “Funny. You didn’t even know he was here until we flushed him out for you. Until we set up that date and watched you become the person we suspected you were. Until you crawled back to him and pretended he was the only light in the pit of darkness that’s been your life.” Kaz’s gloved fingers are hot against my pulse and his hair is falling down his forehead, sides freshly shaved. I can see every prick of stubble along his chin, see the muscles feathering in his jaw. I’ve never been this close to him before. Not even in the car. A day that felt so long ago. Like a lifetime. 

“Don’t you know why we scouted you in the first place? We knew he would try to ruin us from the inside out and use you to do it, it was only a matter of time. But that game can be played by both sides.” His voice is low, a snarl that roars in my ears, my side throbbing. “Nikolai, Alina, Zoya… you thought that you were bringing in new recruits to then turn against us. We had them first. They were always Crows, not one of Aleksander Morosova’s ravens. They have even more of a reason to want revenge on him than I do. And I’ll bet they’re being even less pleasant with him than I am with you right now.” 

A pit burns inside of me, low and feral, deepening with each of his words. 

“But even before that, I wanted you.” 

And I know, at the tenor of his voice, it’s not the kind of want that I would ever seek. At how his voice drops, so no one else can possibly hear, that I will not like what he is going to say. 

“I wanted you the moment I saw you and your father’s face in the news. When I heard what he did to your mother even though no one would believe he could have done it. I knew he did.” He is seething, spitting on me as he goes on. “I knew that he was capable of ordering violence. Of committing it and buying people’s silence. I could see it in his eyes, I could see it in the way he held you against him. Possessive and consuming.”

I have gone completely still, the very blood in my veins seeming to stop, the pulsing at my side ebbing into a dull ache. His words are in a bubble, trapped between our lips. Each syllable pops and rebuilds it, over and over. Trapping me, over and over. 

“I didn’t leave the day they came to kill Jordie.” He continues, “I thought something was wrong, for him to force me out the way he did. I hid on the roof of our building and climbed down the stairs of the fire escape a few hours later. Then I saw him. Your father. Positioning my brother’s body on our couch, I saw him take the bloodied knife and place it on the floor, beneath Jordie’s fingers. I watched as he cleaned off any fingerprints, stole away any evidence. He had no blood on him and by the two men that stumbled onto the street and disappeared down an alley, I knew he hadn’t done the actual act...

“But what’s worse? Following an order for murder or sanctioning it?” 

I feel tears slipping down my cheeks, dropping like flies on Kaz’s gloves. 

“I followed him. Learned everything I could. I learned that he had been involved with an underground drug operation for decades. That my parents had been in debt with them due to some bad decisions in my dad’s twenties. And that your father had been sent to collect or kill. To send a message to the other debtors. Little did your father know that the victims had two children, that they escaped. And that they would be coming for him.” 

The air around me turns infinitely colder, everything still and quiet except Kaz’s voice. 

“I watched you too.” He continues, fingers losing their grip a bit on my throat. “I watched to see who you would be. If we would indeed become enemies, as our parents were. I observed you grow with Morosova, how he controlled you, how he led you away all those years, how he kept you quiet and kept you in the dark so you would never find out the truth and be killed, like your mother was.” 

His words stab me deeper than the knife, my heart in ribbons. Hearing him confirm my darkest fears unleashes the worst parts of me, the parts I tried so hard to keep hidden. Terrified. Insecure. Silent. Obedient. The little girl with an abusive father and dead mother. I hadn’t been her in so long, but Kaz is stripping me down. Shredding me. 

 Kaz’s voice drops lower, as if he’s telling me a horrible secret. “He knew about it, Cataleya. Aleksander,” he purrs the name like a curse, “he knew everything. His father was one of the men your father ordered to kill Jordie. Who was a part of the team dispatched to eradicate those who didn’t pay, eradicate my parents. Your parents were working together, how fitting that you and Aleksander would, as well. Fate is funny that way.” 

The world shatters around me, broken and splintering into a million pieces. Alek knew. He sat there and listened to me while I cried about my mother, how I had desperately wanted his help to look into what happened. He had warned me to want anything was to give myself up. That the only way for me to find peace was to move forward and never look back. That if I continued to want for closure, I would never find it.

 “The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.” He had said, over and over. 

How ironically true that had become. 

Kaz isn’t done. He continues to pick at me, the Crow in him unable to stop, his dark eyes burning with hate. “Where your own father failed, Aleksander’s father succeeded. He remembered seeing pictures in my house, of me and of Jordie. He remembered that there were two boys. And when I killed him by placing a bomb under his car to be rigged as an oil problem, his son stepped into the role to finish what his father started. To silence me too. But he didn’t and for me, for Jordie, I swore I would destroy them, brick by brick.” 

My breathing is coming out in short rasps, eyes blurred with tears of anger and embarrassment and white hot pain. I have been played. So horribly. By everyone in my life. Lied to. By every single person I had known. Even Alek. Alek, who had been the one person I thought would save me. Would be the one in the end to stand by me, to see me, to understand me. But he didn’t. He never did. He used me. Just like my father did. To be a sweet, obedient girl. 

In the few months I had known Kaz, he has seen more of me than Alek ever did. 

All we ever wanted, me and Alek and Kaz, was to feel safe and be loved. But we never trusted anyone enough to be either. So we fought and resisted and pushed. Into darkness. 

A whistle sounds from above, quick and melodic. Inej. Signaling Kaz that he needs to hurry. That enough is enough. But I can see it in his eyes. The hardness. The black pits of revenge and hatred and loathing he feels when he looks at me. It would never be enough. This retribution that he savored for years will never last as long as he wishes it to. I want to wither away into nothing under his stare. Not enough. Not his. Never his. Never a Crow.

“I know you love him,” he whispers so none of the others lurking can hear. “I know he’s the one who saved you. But he used you, Cataleya. He controlled you. You could’ve been so much better, so much bigger. It’s a shame the apple never falls far from the tree.”

I wish it had been you to save me instead. I think, shoving the words down my constricted throat. Maybe if it were Kaz, all those years ago, then things wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. Then maybe I would have been more like Inej, graceful, strong, full of more purpose than what Alek gave me. Maybe I could have meant something. To someone. To the Crows. 

But Kaz didn’t find me. Alek did. Alek led me from the garden and held my hand. Alek stroked my hair and told me it would be okay. That I would be okay. Alek raised me to be unforgiving, to scheme and stab people in the back to fill the empty hole in my life. Control. Kaz had said. How he controlled me. How he deceived me. With love. Love. Fake. Love. Fake love. I want to cry or scream at all of them, shaking with rage. I have been a pawn this whole time. 

“We are all controlled by something.” I push out, my voice weak. 

I try to swallow and fail at the reapplied pressure of Kaz’s palms, drool and spit bubbling from my lips. The alley wall is hard against my back, the night sky black and endless above me. The smog cover is so thick I can’t see the stars, despite the bright spots beginning to dance in my vision. I feel something prick at my spine with the pressure of my position like a silent reminder, mind sharpening and resolve strengthening. Love or no love. I have to finish what I started. I have to complete my assignment. Even if it isn’t one from Kaz. 

Even if it is from a liar. 

Lies are all I have known. 

All I have to hold on to. 

I can’t be saved. From darkness. My own or from others. I have waded too deep, gone too far. I may not be a true Raven, but I am definitely not a Crow. No matter how much I wish I could be. No matter how much I came to appreciate them, to care for them, to trust them. 

Trust is the most dangerous weapon of all. 

Slipping my hands behind my back as if I am trying to scramble against the wall, I reach for the cool metal of the blade attached along the zipper of my dress, letting out a choking cry to cover the unsheathing of my knife. The movement burns my side, ripping open my wound further to pour more blood. It runs over Kaz’s dress shoes, stains my legs. I am losing it too quickly, too much of it ebbing from me at once. Kaz’s hands press harder to my throat, forcing me, willing me, begging me to die now that his speech is over. I know he doesn’t enjoy this. I know he doesn’t relish in murder. Neither do I. 

But love is love.

Control is control. 

And business is business. 

Kaz would agree on that. 

“If I’m going down, Kaz,” I begin, voice barely a whisper. “You’re coming with me.” 

Without wasting another second, I shove the tip of my knife deep between Kaz’s ribs, watching his face contort in pain and dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then furrow in agony. Almost immediately, I hear a scream tear from somewhere on the roofs above and feel a pang of sorrow course through me. Inej just watched me stab the love of her life. Inej, the strong, graceful warrior who had been through more than all of us. She had screamed. Wailed.

I hear her words echo around my brain. The autumn leaves. Her cream sweater. The weight of her stare. “Some people just can’t be saved. But we love them anyway.”  

My sight falters.

 Kaz’s grip on my neck loosens, then completely disappears as he stumbles back and I fall towards the concrete without him holding me in place. An arrow pierces my shoulder from above, Jesper no doubt. With that incredible skill for landing true. The impact pushes me forward into Kaz’s already falling body, his white tux shirt now stained with blood. 

The world spins, my head making hard contact with the street. 

“This action will have no echo.” The rough words leak from Kaz’s lips, voice faint and faraway. If I could cry now I would, remembering the meaning of those words that Inej had told me just days ago. We would repeat nothing now. No more harm. To ourselves or others. This is our repentance. Our forgiveness.

Kaz is close to me, for I can feel the warmth of his body and the slick of his blood as it mixes with mine and stains the concrete.

If someone told me nine years ago, when I buried that cat and found my mother buried instead, that this is where I would end up, I wonder how differently my life would have been. I wonder if I would have chosen a different path. One full of forgiveness and happiness. The one of creation instead of crime. Instead of revenge and retribution. The weight of those decisions hang over me like a cloak, protecting and exposing me at the same time. Using the last bits of my strength, I turn my head to the side to look at him. 

Kaz is on his back beside me, so close that I can reach out and touch him. Touch his hand that is limp with resignation, his side that is red with blood, his lips that are white with death. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Even as a small line of blood trickles from the corner of his lips and pings onto the stones. I let my eyes close, pretending the stars behind my eyelids belong to the sky and not to the Grim Reaper. Pretending the stars are his eyes.

We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all taken on assignments that were too big for us. We’ve all done things we regretted and we all leaned on each other too much for our own good while leaning on no one at all. We all let the ghosts of our pasts haunt us into our future. Especially Kaz. And that’s the problem with trusting ghosts, in the end you become one. 

You become transparent, empty, without an echo. 

“No mourners.” I manage to mumble into the night. 

“No funerals.” A disembodied voice murmurs back, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. 

And then there is nothing but darkness. 

---

~Admin Eggplant

[heartless-error]

Broken, not perfect, but together. - Chapter 5

Fandom: DC comics, Batman

Pairings: Jonathan Kent x Damian Wayne (JonDami) & Jason Todd x Timothy Drake (JayTim)

Rating: General, family feels, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, running away

Other(s) links: AO3

Broken.

The Batfamily was broken.

It was six years ago, and they had barely stood together since then, trying to stand up despite guilt and regret.

Damian was sure there was nothing to save, not after losing something that he didn’t know he cared about. But when a new opportunity to get back what they had lost appeared, he cannot help to doubt as his past decisions haunt him again.

If you love somebody, set them free. But you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Chapter 5

 Now

 The sound of the keys being pressed hard and quickly resounded in the room, as well as the light and continuous whisper of the machines on and running around her. The dim morning light leaked slightly into the room, reflecting on the many screens that had been hidden from the public in the watchtower.

 Adjusting her glasses better and placing a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear, Barbara read each line, phrase and code that passed on the screen in front of her carefully and methodically.

 Although it was early, she had decided not to waste time and get to work immediately on the case that now worried her. After all, Oracle didn’t just guide Gotham vigilantes through the night, she did much more. Also had a few of cases to check out for the Birds of Prey, but she had run into something important the day before that couldn’t wait.

 “Here.” Said a figure standing at her side, leaving a steaming and necessary cup of coffee on the counter. She hadn’t even heard him arrive. “Just how you like it.”

 That “something” was also the reason his early visitor was there, showing up an hour ago with a promise of coffee and company.

 “Thank you.” She said absentmindedly and returning to work as if nothing happened.

 She didn’t have to bow her head and look at him to know that Dick was rolling his eyes and smiling at her fondly, she could feel his gaze on her, distilling tenderness and understanding as always did when she was absorbed around him by an important case.

 And this certainly was, no matter how much Dick had appeared in the watchtower worried and waiting to talk about a totally different aspect of it.

 “Damian knows?” She asked without taking her eyes off the screen, reading the news and recent events as grabbed the cup to take a sip.

 As she delighted in the drink’s taste and caffeine starting to pump through her body, Dick pulled out his phone with a dejected aura and turned it on to watch the screen, his face showing nervousness and anticipation. However, that sad and decayed aura grew stronger after verifying he had no calls or messages, then shook his head.

 “I’ll try to call him again.” He said, taking a few steps away to not disturb her and dialing Damian’s number, waiting for the younger to answer.

 He wasn’t going to.

 She knew it, he knew it, everyone knew it.

 Contacting Damian these days was already very difficult itself, at least for something unrelated to the crusade. He always hung up unless it was an Oracle frequency, the comms was the only thing that connected him directly with them, and he used to turn off his phone when he knew they could bother him. Depending of the day, he could also read your texts or not, but that depended on his mood and other factors, such as Jonathan Kent intervening or his level od nostalgia.

But no matter how many times she tried to explain Dick that Damian is already 22, he’s not Robin anymore, lives with his boyfriend in Metropolis and doesn’t want to know anything about him. Because he always calls him, waiting for an answer as if nothing had changed. And she, as usual, allows it despite knowing the result.

 Also, if Damian doesn’t want to see Dick on a normal daily basis, what makes him think today is going to be different? He had more reasons than ever to avoid him and everyone now, and surely, he would have turned off his phone and hidden it in the darkness corner of a drawer until next week or month.

 It wasn’t just because Damian usually isolated himself completely from everything and everyone during the anniversary of Tim and Jason disappearance, without answer and hiding with his head down like a wounded, sad puppy to lick his wounds in the dark. But because this year he had starred a rather interesting and destructive episode resulting from what was surely an unhealthy coping mechanism and an ineffective emotion management.

 It wasn’t the first year something like that happened, as time passed and the anniversary arrived, it was well known that it was coming a brief period of awkward silences, latent guilt, heated arguments, and an impending disaster. By whom? That was a surprise.

 Two years ago, was Jonathan Kent with his spectacular drunkenness and tractor launch; Three years ago, it was his brother, Conner, who flew out of nowhere to the space, was missing for a whole month and when he returned the answer was “I went for a walk but I got hungry.”; Another was Stephanie and her call from the local police station for get into a bar fight and broke several bones of some men who seemed very afraid of her while they process the fine; Other, was the imminent and irremediable break up of Bruce and Selina after months of arguments and tension, whose consequent robberies to art galleries were disastrous; This year had been Damian getting fully involved in an explosion; And the previous -and the best, in her opinion- was Dick breaking into her living room drunk and stripping while screaming “Let’s do it for the old times” when her father was visiting.

 Yes, something happened always, to a greater or lesser extent. Those involved always stayed away for a while before lifting their heads up and bearing the consequences, some more easily than others, of course. Kon promised to say someone if he was taking walks again, Jon paid the tractor, Stephanie the fine for aggression, Selina returned nothing, and now his father can’t look at Dick again. But the whole process took a while, after all the emotions had overflowed, they had stopped being rational so as not to deal with the pain of loss and they had to get back together. That was Damian needed, to recover and take responsibility for what happened.

 The problem is that he didn’t know what had really happened, and what it could mean.

 “No answer.” Dick sighed coming back to her side.

 “Of course not.” She replied thoughtfully and drinking her coffee. “Give him some time.”

 “I know, but Babs, he was hurt.” He complained, concern written on his face. “He should be in the cave, recovering…”

 Barbara raised an eyebrow and looked at him behind the mug questioningly, causing Dick to snort nervously. If he really thought Damian was going to stay in the cave for a single second, with him there, after the disaster he formed part and injured, he hadn’t been paying attention to anything for the past six years.

 “At least he won’t be alone, he’ll call us later.” He won’t. But Dick had to convince himself to don’t lose his temper. “How are you doing with that?”

 He asked that pointing to the screen, and she still looked at him recapping her work from a few hours ago.

 The explosion in Zodome center had been big, spread to several streets with subsequent serious fires and numerous wounded, deaths still to be determined. But as much as Superboy had appeared to help and the situation had gotten better, for the city was something common. Gamorra was an island where crime lived and reign, always had, no matter how hard they tried to cleanse or purify the place, crime always found another way to get in, adapt and live in the shadows.

That had been precisely the real cause of the explosion, even if they had deduced that it had been because the terrorist group Damian was chasing had become a little nervous with his presence.

 Ironically, it was a trigger, but not the cause. One part of the group had entered the island because of the easy access to the black market, and the others for something more important and substantial in these times: information.

 “Good.” She replied, setting the cup aside and typing on the keyboard again. “When the servers went down, I could get a lot of what was leaking on that supercomputer.”

 Dick nodded, settling on the counter next to her and watching her working again, classifying with her programs the information they now had.

 Gamorra was an ideal place for any villain or organization with questionable intentions to find a cozy place and establish a base. No one asked anything, your neighbors were other criminals who didn’t want to be disturbed too and privacy was highly valued.

Except when some annoying neighbors were more curious than usual and discovered a strategically hidden supercomputer in the city center that may contain very valuable information.

 She still hadn’t determined who it belonged to and which was the exact function of such a processor, but based on what she had seen so far, the servers acted as a kind of filter between the common and the dark network that they drove privately. Apparently, they were pretty well established, shady deals, big money transactions, questionable contacts, handling and dominance of hacking programs, organ sales, forged documents, human trafficking, and in general everything that a dark net can bring.

Whoever it was, Barbara knew they were good, had resources and well organized, because not only had they managed to escape from their radar all this time, but the security was extreme and the network they had built was very large, it couldn’t have been done by a single individual. It was a group, one that didn’t mind destroying half a city as long as nobody gain access to them, because the moment the terrorists tried to enter, the extra security was activated, and everything was blown up.

 All trace of the supercomputer and what had been around it had been reduced to ashes, causing a fatal and unexpected explosion that struck Damian and five blocks around. And everything could have stayed there, they would have succeeded and getting away with it, people would have died, and they would have continued with their network and control in the criminal world, but they didn’t count with one thing:

 She was fucking Oracle.

 And when everything exploded, the servers and programs that acted as a filter and security went off for a few seconds, then went back on immediately at the other part of the world, probably where the group had another computer which she was already trying to track down. But those few seconds were enough for her to steal information and certain operative programs, freeing them from theirs claws and using for her benefit.

 It hadn’t been a lot, but enough. And since then, Barbara had been classifying each thing carefully, disabling viruses, sending the necessary information to entities that may need it and taking notes of every harmful business or name that went through her eyes.

 Thanks to this everyone will be busy for a while, they had found a criminal mine which it’s necessary to eradicate and investigate, as well as the group that had given them the network and sense of freedom. If they did it right, they would know soon who they were, and can erase them, but at least she would have liked to discover all of this in a way that didn’t involve a fatal explosion, she’s sure Damian too.

 But Damian doesn’t know this, because blames himself for it, can’t stand failure, misses Jason and Tim, and has not been able to forgive anyone in the family since they deserted.

 “Something interesting?” Dick ended up asking as she finished her coffee. “Apart from all the illegal acts we now know.”

 Barbara leaned over her chair and looked at him, reflecting.

Dick shouldn’t be here. He didn’t even understand part of what was going on, not because he couldn’t, but because his head wasn’t in the right place right now to do it. That’s precisely why he was there, making coffee, smiling at her and watching her working without question, because it was better to be distracted with her than his own thoughts. It wasn’t annoying, nor irritating, just… Babs knew why he did it, and that caused a slight pinch of anguish through her chest and made her want to work without rest to neither think (talking about unhealthy coping mechanism, right?)

 Dick didn’t want to be alone. At least not today. But Bruce wasn’t an option, because they would jump into each other’s throat just by being in the same room, and probably argued about who was more guilty of what; Damian had fled away into Jon’s arms, he preferred to spend time with anyone than Dick, and the affection he had for him had frozen at the moment he did that six years ago; Stephanie wasn’t going to receive him, probably would spit him in the face for the same reason; And Cass not only lived with the previous one, but would look at him that way, so… Cass. Former Titans or other friends weren’t a bad choice, but it was as if Dick was afraid to get out of Gotham, as if he were tied up here.

So, he was there with her, talking and trying to distract both of them from the emotional meltdown that the whole thing entailed.

 “Actually…” She started to say. “All of this gave me an idea."

 “Hm?”

 Dick tilted his head with a smile, looking at her expectantly and with great interest, just as he did when he was Robin and they were both young, so young and stupid. And the words Barbara wanted to say died in her throat, leaving her quiet.

 She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t hurt him like that.

 It was a brief idea, not even well formulated, but one that had been bothering her since she looked at the hacking programs she found within the dark network. Some of them were very smart and well programmed, but there was one in particular, expensive and sophisticated, that had caught her attention. It combined the typical control over cameras and security systems to turn them off or superimpose images, along with facial recognition systems. That reach an interesting effect, because according to what she had understood about it and how operated, if it hacks specific cameras and predetermine a face, a name or a person, the program prevent its detection, saving the images in the private servers of the network, avoiding them come to light and not only the acts of the person who use it were hidden, but also their presence, their existence. As if they had disappeared.

 What if…?

 With such kind of program, refined and using it correctly in specific points, a person could move around the world perfectly undetected, totally invisible to any media because his image was not registered commonly and it was derived to a closed and secure network. It was dangerous, and at the same time, perfect for wanted criminals, thieves and above all, people who want to disappear.

 What if Tim and Jason had been using something similar?

 Tim was brilliant and knew Barbara. They had worked together, was familiar with her methods, and he was aware that the moment they disappeared she would track them with all her power. But the tracking and recognition system she had created solely to find them had not find a single match in six years. She had thought it was because they knew how to avoid cameras and keep a low profile too well, but what if it was another thing? What if there was something else blocking her system? Like a sophisticated program like this?

 It was a possibility.

 And looking at Dick, curious, smiling and expectant, but with a deep sadness, guilt and tiredness shining behind his blue eyes, she realized she couldn’t tell him this. She couldn’t.

 Because it was a possibility, it was a hope.

 She couldn’t do that to Dick, not like that. If she told him about it and then she was wrong, it would break him. Everyone knew that Dick would jump into a burning building if anyone told him that Tim and Jason were inside. And if Barbara gave him something to hold on to and then take it away from him, she wasn’t sure how he will react. So, she just shook her head, grabbed his now empty cup of coffee and gave it to him carefully.

 “Doesn’t matter. Don’t mind me.” She turned that down. “Can you get me another cup, please? I’ll finish this and then we can rest.”

 “Of course.” He answered, still smiling and pretending not to have realized how she had hesitated, taking the cup and leaving.

 She watched at him go, feeling a little bit more miserable than usual and holding back a sigh. Everything had been easier when they were young and stupid, hadn’t it? It was just them, jumping in the roofs, forming a good team and laughing as they flight. Now they have secrets, regrets, permanent injuries, brothers to miss and nobody to ask for forgiveness.

 Would any of this have happened if she had put more effort at the time? What would have changed if she had decided to speak when everything happened instead of remaining neutral? Had anything would change?

 She shook her head and decided she couldn’t begin to think about that topic beyond the possibility that now had, because it wouldn’t worth to sink in unanswered questions again. She knew the idea wasn’t defined either, that maybe it was more complicated than that, after all Tim was smarter and if he did something like this, he would do it with people he trusted.

But a little hunch mixed with a tiny hope leaded her to search that program, studying it for a few seconds. She couldn’t trace who used it and how, but now she’s the owner and main admin, she could disable it, undo it, digging up the original images. The probability that Jason and Tim were there was low, but if she were wrong at least would leak infinity of incriminating videos and photos that would serve to put other people in jail.

 “It would be too lucky, right?” She thought with irony.

 It was very difficult to be optimistic after so long. And after pressing the button, she saw how her systems started to work, analyzing and storing the images that were already beginning to appear in her screen quickly.

 She heard Dick approaching her again, this time with two cups in his hands. Quiet, the ex-batgirl thought about how she could trace other programs like this, or their creator, or anything that could bring her a little closer to what had caused not to be able to find the missing Robins with her methods. And also, allowed herself to think with sadness how easy it would be if Tim were here, in another computer and helping her in the same disinterested way as ever, smiling shyly and insecurely as he told her about how Jason had invited him to his favorite chilli dogs truck the other night, or how Damian had been mad at him because Alfred the cat had learned if his owner put him on a diet, the solution was beg food to Tim.

She remembered how empty and useless she felt when she couldn’t track down or find the other two after Bruce called for help. As if all the work and development she had been through after being paralyzed were nothing, because at the end she couldn’t find her family.

 Until one alarm started to ring.

 An aloud and shrill alarm that had never sounded before, and she had been waiting -begging- for six years.

 “Don’t screw with me.” She said straightening up in her chair and looking up surprised. “Don’t fucking screw with me.”

 “What’s that sound?” Dick asked, standing at her side again.

 “Oh shit.” She said, getting away from that computer to go to another one, rushing and starting to typing in a hurry, more surprised than ever. She didn’t think it would be true, nor if she were even right. “Oh shit!”

 “Babs?” The other asked again, chasing after her and beginning to worry. It wasn’t like her to act like this unless she had a reason. “What happens?”

 “Oh my god.”

 “Babs?!”

 She didn’t answer, because it was better to turn on the other screens around them so that Dick could see the same as her.

 All the screens lighted up, showing images, many images from different places, different countries, a lot of places whose cameras had managed to record those whom they lost. The tall figure of Jason accompanied by the little of Tim, sometimes alone, almost always together, appearing in every corner of the screens without stopping, images where they were laughing, talking, walking, kissing, living, appearing one after another. Some from years ago, others from months, weeks, hours, the most recent from a few minutes.

 Babs gasped, assimilating what she had just achieved. Dick dropped the cups on the floor, overwhelmed. “Match detected.” Shined on the screens, in large and showy letters, at last.

 “Oh shit.”

 They found them.

[ill-skillsgard]

Hell and All Its Devils - Alex Høgh Andersen/Valter Skarsgård/Bill Skarsgård

Title: Hell and all its Devils

Description: Going to Hell and finding out all the devils are handsome is an eternity you might be able to get comfortable with.

Warning: 18+ for sex/slight DDLG/weirdness/swearing etc. 

A/N: The first (and technically only so far) fic I’ve written with AHA in it. 

I wanted to break up with him. Alex and I just weren't meant for each other. And before you begin to think ill of him, let me just mention that it didn't have anything to do with something he had done. At least, nothing he had done on purpose. His acting career was starting to take off and I was seeing less of him because he was always abroad. Even though he sent me video messages that I could watch over and over again before I chose to let them disappear, it wasn't enough to fill the lonely void. I had stopped going out to bars because fending off strange men was not something I wanted to do while I was hopelessly drowning the sorrows that had arisen from remembering that my boyfriend was having a blast filming in Ireland, New Zealand, South Africa or wherever. It became obvious to me that going to bars was only fun if you were there to attract mates. So you can see how it seemed pointless for me to attend Ladies Night or Friday three-for-two cocktails when I was tied down to a boyfriend I thought I was just making up in my head. The music reminded me of him and the way he would always dance to pretty much anything that was playing over a speaker. He didn't care if it was country or reggae or gangster rap. Alex always liked to move. In his sweats with his hair up in a bun, walking down a store aisle pushing a shopping cart, at parties sprinkled with TV actors, on the beach when someone walked by with music playing on a cell phone- he cracked a smile and did a dance. Sometimes it was downright exhausting trying to keep up with his high energy for an entire day but when those blue eyes darted at me and scanned me from top to bottom and concluded with a delectable lick of his lips, I couldn't help but melt in my panties a little. That's why it hurt so bad to envision the scenario of me sitting him down after he had come home to explain why I couldn't be with him anymore. All those times I watched him shake his ass while we were shopping for groceries or how he looked when he got home from the gym still pumped and rosy from his efforts weren't enough to quell the raging fact that I was so desperately alone when he left for his work. I thought I could swing it. I thought I could date an actor but it was less glamorous than wrap parties and helping him prepare for auditions by reciting lines with him. It was trying not to beg him to fly out to see me on an off day of filming when I knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake through the time change anyway. It was putting on his show just to watch him speak. It was me thinking about how invariably sad I was when there was nobody beside me in bed. Then one night, Alex fucked me and everything changed. And when I say "everything" I mean everything. Alex insisted that he would get a car home from the airport so that I didn't have to pick him up. When I told him that I didn't have to and that I wanted to pick him up he scoffed and said, "No, no, no, you're not going anywhere. Just get yourself ready for me. I have a month's worth of cum to dump inside you." "You're lying," I said. He laughed heartily. That laugh that I loved so much. "What do you mean?" "You sent me a snap of you jacking off last week," I reminded him. "Oh, yeah... Well, that doesn't count." "It counts." "Fine! I have a week's worth of nut to bust inside of you, okay? Get excited. Daddy misses his tight... Fucking gorgeous little pussy." "Oh my God! What did I tell you about referring to yourself as Daddy?" "Sorry! Sorry. I know you don't like that." "It creeps me out." "Hey, but can you actually do me a favor?" He asked. "Yeah." He dropped his voice low and rumbled, "Send me a picture of it." "No!" "Why not? Please! Please... I want to see. Get me hard before I even get home." "I have to... Shower. You'll see it soon enough." "Never soon enough, baby. Never. Okay, I'm going to let you go and I'll see you in half an hour, yeah?" "Yeah." "All right, bye." When he came through the front door hauling only one suitcase with him I knew that meant that he was only staying for a little while because when he had initially left he had two cases with him. Nevertheless, I was elated by his warm presence. Every time I watched those bright blue eyes light up I couldn't believe that they were sparking for me. "Come to me. Come to me, now!" He threw his arms open and I bounded into them. He lifted me and whirled me around like I weighed nothing and when he kissed me I instantly turned to mush in his arms. The overwhelming glow that he gave off made me forget all about how much I had been thinking about breaking up with him. How could I? He kissed me deeply with both of his hands on my cheeks. His dark hair was down and I ran my hands through it. "Go on and get upstairs. Get naked. I'm going to put a hundred babies inside of you." Alex came vaulting up the stairs and met me before I had a chance to take off all my clothes. Luckily he was there to help and soon I was stripped down to nothing while he was still wearing jeans, a long-sleeve, and his denim jacket. I pulled at his clothes but stood back after he dropped his jacket on the floor and took off his shirt. He must have been really keeping up at the gym while he was away because his body looked just as cut or even more so than when he had left. It was another thing about us that was different. Alex liked to keep in really good shape, or rather, he had to for his role even though I knew he would still be a gym rat without the acting career. I didn't much care for working out even though I tried. Alex had been a good trainer at first but I never kept up with it while he was away. He could always tell how badly I had been slacking whenever he would convince me to work out with him. He could run around the block ten times easy and I could hardly make it around twice without panting like a lost mutt. He didn't care if I worked out or not though. He tossed me on the bed and climbed up between my legs anyway. His evil tongue slithered out after he pressed a few kisses to my legs. "Baby, can I ask you something? And you're allowed to say no and I expect that you will but... Fuck... Would you... Nah, nevermind. Some other time." I sat up slightly with pause, "What? What is it?" He shook his head and continued to trail kisses down my inner thighs. I pulled my leg away from him and he laughed as he tried to catch me. "It's nothing. Nevermind!" he said, flashing teeth with a cheeky grin. "It obviously isn't nothing if you brought it up now. What were you going to ask?" Alex rolled his eyes but continued to giggle, "I just... Fuck, I get so... Horny on set. I can't get off to porn. I mean... I can but it sucks. I was sitting there one night thinking how great it would be to have you up on my screen whenever I wanted... Doing dirty things for me." "Alex... I send you videos all the time." "I know but I usually don't get them until morning when I have to go to the gym. Then they disappear. You should send me ones that I can keep." I swallowed hard. The idea of sending each other explicit videos had been discussed several times and we always drew the same conclusion; although we trusted each other, we both recognized the type of damage one could do with a single video and since Alex was starting to get recognized everywhere, he particularly paled at the thought of a video of him stroking his cock getting leaked across the internet. I completely understood. "We talked about that-" "-Let me make a movie." Crossing my arms over my exposed chest, my look soured and he scoffed again at me, nudging my knee to indicate he was just kidding around. But I knew he wasn't kidding. The mischief in his eyes was undeniable. He was a good actor but I could tell when he was withholding the truth just by how playfully he decided to approach a touchy subject. "See? I told you it wasn't worth bringing up." "What do you mean 'a movie'?" I interrupted. "Like... You know. A video of you and me. Just a little something to keep me going when I'm away for so long. Something that can hold me over until I can afford to take you with me." Another thing about Alex that bothered me was how easy it was for him to charm me into doing things that I knew were bad ideas. He had this innocent young pup look that was just a ruse for a snarling wolf of a dark side and I usually didn't recognize I had been coaxed until it was too late. He pulled out one of his nice cameras and popped in a memory card that had been tucked away in the same camera bag. "I'll have to get you to send me it later," he said with an unrelenting smirk of victory on his handsome face. "Why can't you just use your phone?" I asked. "Because! I want full HD. I want to see every fucking drop of my cum leaking out of your pussy in 1080. If we're going to do this, we might as well do it right, yeah?" Trying not to blush, I shoved my face into the pillow until he had his camera all set up. When I looked up, the lens was pointed right at me, mounted threateningly on a tripod that had been tucked away in his half of the closet. "No! What the hell? Alex! I can't do this with that pointed at me so aggressively!" Alex ignored my complaints and went about making sure the framing was to his liking. He surveyed the screen and made adjustments all while looking completely enraptured in his work. This was an art project for him and himself. He got behind the camera again and unzipped his jeans with one hand while gently setting the angle of the camera with his other hand. "Do me a favor and start playing with yourself for me... Please?" When I watched his hand disappear into the front of his pants it was like a trigger that wiped any memory I had had of denying him what he wanted. I leaned my back against the cushioned headboard and spread my legs, reaching down the center of my body to stroke my clit to life while I watched him bite his lip and rub his cock in his jeans. "Oh, that's nice, baby, yeah. That looks good." "Does it?" "Yeah. Fuck yeah," he hissed. "Get it all nice and wet for me. Get it nice and wet for Daddy." I bit back what I wanted to say to him and just did as I was instructed because he started slowly pushing his pants down and that was what I ultimately wanted whether there was a camera pointed at me or not. My boyfriend fucked me like an animal, in all positions and ignored every rule we had ever set for each other. We started off in classic style with me slowly licking at the head of his cock while up on all fours as he stood at the bed's side edge. I missed him so much that I was moaning around his length in no time. Snapping his hips back before he got too close, he smiled and pushed my hair out of my face. "Oh my, that's a nice mouth," Alex nodded at me, slapping my pouting lips with the underside of his cock. "Daddy likes." He wasn't supposed to call himself Daddy and I wasn't supposed to just grab his balls and cause him to gasp but we were both breaking rules. When I had them firmly in my grasp he shivered. "What did I tell you about that?" He whispered so that the camera couldn't pick up his voice. "I don't remember, Daddy." That demonic giggle waltzed from his throat as he grabbed my wrist and squeezed hard so I let go. "Turn around, now. Show the camera your ass. Go on. Get down closer. Closer to the end of the bed. Yeah, that's right." I don't know why I was so pliant to his command but I did what he said and he climbed onto the bed after me and I could feel the entire corner sag beneath his weight. With both his hands on either one of my ass cheeks, he spread them apart and gave one a firm slap that echoed off the walls of our bedroom. "Good evening, Mister Andersen. I'd like to present to you something that I'm sure will get your cock automatically hard. This gorgeous set of holes that this incredible young lady has gifted to you and you alone to fuck. Tonight, I'm going to do all sorts of nasty things to it for your viewing pleasure. So sit back and enjoy the fucking view, my good man!" A laugh threatened to escape my mouth after I had realized that he was narrating homemade porn to his future self. It was a ludicrous idea but nothing was too silly for Alex to try once. He continued to slap and pry me apart, looking at me and then back at the camera, nodding with a smirk as he went to work. I tittered when I felt his mouth suck a nice sloppy kiss on the right side of my ass before switching to the other side. "Already so wet," he mused, slapping my slit a few times for emphasis. "Listen to that... Pure fucking wetness just for me." Instead of slapping me some more he dipped his middle finger between my slick folds and gently into my opening just for a moment. When he took his finger out he popped it into his mouth and moaned with extra drama projecting his voice. "So good. Is there anything better than fresh, sweet pussy juice?" We started the night with a plan and by the end of it, I think the camera's battery had run out. He had been playing with me all night long and well into the early morning. When I looked out the window with my make up crusted in the corner of my bleary eyes I could see a watery screen of the pale violet morning sky driving the dark back down into the horizon. Alex and I had fucked for hours and the sheet was spotted with various stains from drool, his cum, my cum, and our sweat. We passed out with his cock still inside of me, no pillows and the camera still mounted on the tripod.

~*~

Our little romp into the amateur porn world was mind-numbing enough to make me forget that I had ever thought about breaking up with him. Even when he left I stopped wallowing in the tars of my self-pity. Life seemed to return back to normal and I could maybe handle him being gone for weeks at a time. I didn't want to lose him. I had been stupid to question my devotion to him. But I'd like to remind you that I did say that everything changed. He called me one night before bed. It was the afternoon for me but for him, it was nearly midnight and he had admitted he was bored in his rented apartment, alone and craving a good old-fashioned orgasm before going to sleep. His voice sounded weird on the phone like he was doing a bit and making his voice lower and more resonant. "Why are you doing a character right now? Or are you starting to lose your voice?" I asked him as I made my way upstairs to take the memory card out of the camera so I could send the file to him using a card reader. "I'm not? What are you talking about?" He asked. Even his accent sounded different and I was certain he was joking around and changing his voice just to be an idiot. I laughed it off but when he started telling me about something else it honestly sounded like I was talking on the phone to a stranger. "Seriously, Alex, what the hell are you on? Why does your voice sound like that?" "Alex? What the hell are you on? That's not my name. Why are you being weird? This is my voice." "No, it's not! Why are you doing a character right now? I thought you wanted me to send you this fucking video?" "I do! You're making it weird!" "No, you are!" "Just send me the video for fuck's sake! Or get on FaceTime and show me your pussy." I shook my head as I popped the memory card into the reader and stuck it into the computer. "It's going to take a little bit. The file is huge." He laughed and it wasn't his normal laugh. "Yeah, we fucked for hours, didn't we?" "Are you there with your buddies pulling a prank on me? Because it feels like that's what you're doing right now." "Babe... I'm literally alone in my apartment." "Put Alex on the phone." "Who is Alex!?" "My boyfriend!" "I'm your fucking boyfriend! Who the fuck is this Alex guy you're talking about?" I stared at my cell phone screen and saw the name Husband<3 at the top of the screen with a picture of us together in the mountains when we went to Norway but something was extremely off. It wasn't Alex in the picture anymore. It was somebody I had never met holding me, smiling with me. The voice filtered loudly through the speaker trying to get my attention and I scoffed. "Okay, Alex... This is the most elaborate prank you have ever pulled. You honestly got one of your buddies to photoshop our picture from Norway together? I'm impressed." "Babe... I'm seriously starting to get angry. You need to stop calling me Alex. It's getting really weird." "Then what is your name then, huh?" I humored him. "It's Valter, you idiot." "Well, Valter. I have no fucking idea who you are or how you got my boyfriend's phone but this has gotten a little out of hand. Please put Alex back on the phone." "Stop it. Now," the voice said angrily. "You stop it!" "I don't know why you're being such a brat but I'm definitely not in the mood anymore. Forget I asked about the video at all. Goodnight." I stared at my phone in awe for a long time. Each time the screen would time out I would touch it and bring it back to life so I could stare at the picture of me and the stranger I had never met before in my life. The photoshop job was legitimate. I honestly could not tell that there had been any tampering at all and I half expected to get a phone call right back from Alex laughing his ass off for having fooled me so hard. The phone call never came but when the file transferred from the memory card to the computer I was hit with an even harsher blow of confusion. The video was definitely of me from the other night, naked on the bed, standing on my palms and knees, swirling my tongue all over the head of someone's cock I had never met before in my life. It was the same guy from the picture. He was tall- much taller than Alex and blonde. I covered my mouth when it had gone dry from falling open. Watching the video was equal parts disturbing, striking and bewildering. I shook my head a dozen times to make sure I wasn't having a crazy dream. The audio was real and I remembered everything that happened on the screen as it had happened that night only what I was watching was not me and Alex. It was me but the man with me was somebody I had never crossed paths with in my life. Alas, he was fucking me in all of the same positions that Alex liked to fuck me in. I clicked up the volume and heard him saying the same words that Alex said. I knew I was really losing it when, on the screen, he made me clamp my legs together and turn over on my side with my ass so depravedly displayed to the camera. The man in question used one huge hand to part me so he could slide his cock into my opening slowly and deliberately, showing his future self how good it felt by keeping my cheeks separated, moaning each time he pushed in and pulled out. The blond man leaned over to me and said, "I'm going to fucking come so hard inside that nice little pussy. You ready for it?" I watched myself twist my neck to face him and he kissed me as he pumped himself into me. I moaned and he nodded with a smile breaking our kiss. He looked at the camera and gave my ass one more satisfying smack. "She said I could come inside of her. What a nice, pretty girl. Are you a nice, pretty girl?" He asked me. "Mm-hmm." "Louder, for the camera, honey." "Yes." "Yes?" "Yes, Daddy." His head fell back as his teeth sank into his plump bottom lip. Lips that I couldn't remember kissing even as I observed myself doing so on the computer screen. I was startled by the ringing of my phone again. It was his ringtone. A song I had picked especially for him. It was a tune that he loved to dance to and that's why I had chosen it. But when I looked at the screen and saw the picture of us with the name Husband<3 displayed across the screen I felt my heart stop beating and the resulting lack of blood made it feel like I was being choked by an invisible hand. In the video he was thrusting into me hard, telling me how close he was to coming and that he wanted me to help him by squeezing my pussy around his cock as best as I could. He loved that. He had always loved that. His vocality during sex made for some memorable nights and had opened me up to try new things with him if it meant I got to hear more of his sweet, filthy words. When I answered the phone he didn't say anything right away. He only sighed as we both sat in silence listening to each other's breathing. "You going to apologize to me? Because you know I can't sleep when there's a rift between us." Tears started bubbling up behind my eyes. Where had my Alex gone? How was it possible that I was watching somebody else pulling his cock out of me followed by a thick trail of white cum? He bit down on my left ass cheek hard and I squealed in the video. I got up and went to the full-length mirror in our closet, still on the phone with him as I pulled down my pants to see if there were any remnants of bruises left where he had maliciously bitten me. Nothing but more confusion poured over me when I saw the purple splotch that had lightened since that night but still remained in the exact spot he had sunk his sharp teeth into. "What's your full name?" I asked. He scorned the question with an impatient scoff. "Valter... Skarsgård. You want to say it back to me?" "Valter Skarsgård." "Need any other verification?" "Can we FaceTime?" I asked. "Yeah, one sec." I accepted the call and the face that appeared on my phone screen definitely belonged to the man in the video who was repositioning me so the camera could watch him fucking me from behind. It was not Alex even though my phone so prominently said my almost-husband was calling me from the number I had saved as his long ago. As I watched the face on my phone's screen, I felt a heatwave of shyness dry up my tongue. I didn't know what to say to the stranger on the other side of the call. And it wasn't as though he was ugly or even slightly unpleasant to look at. In fact, he was quite beautiful, with light green eyes and a cataclysmic pout the likes of which I had never seen. His hair was much shorter than Alex's but still long enough to fall over his face in blonde pieces. "Are you okay? You're really starting to freak me out," he mumbled. "I don't know if I am. I don't know." "Well just... I don't know either. Forget about the video. I'll just watch it when I get home next week." "Okay." "Are we good?" He asked. "Uh... Yeah. Yeah, we're good," I lied. "All right well... Guess I'm going to sleep now. I'll text you in the morning." "'Kay," I whispered. "I love you." "I love you too." When the call ended I ransacked the closet to find the shoebox full of photos I had kept with the intention of making a scrapbook but had subsequently given up on. Sifting through dozens of glossy pictures, I found all of our photos from the times we had traveled together and on nights out with our friends. Polaroids of me sitting on his lap or kissing him. Even my favourite picture of us sticking our tongues out at each other was devoid of all things Alex. I logged into my social media and saw in a relationship with Valter Skarsgård as a descriptive line in my profile. When I clicked on his page, his profile picture was of us together. In the closet, his clothes were all the same but in different sizes. His shoes were bigger, his pants were longer, his sweaters smelled different. Not unpleasant, but different. Why my brain decided to give up and go crazy on me then was a mystery that had me calling in sick for work and contemplating checking myself into a hospital. By the time he came home from shooting, I had fully accepted that I had gone batshit insane. He walked through the door and smiled at me. He was at least a full five inches taller and his face matched the one I had watched in our home video. "Hey, crazy. Did you miss me?" I cracked an uneasy smile. The last thing I wanted to do was alert him to just how violent the storm of perplexity had gotten within me. "Of course." "You're not still convinced that I'm not me?" "No... I can see that you're most definitely you." I didn't know what else to say to him and when he opened his arms for me to walk into I did just that and was scooped up lovingly like we had known each other for years. He kissed my cheek first and then my lips and I kissed him back even though it felt wrong. What I wanted to do was ask him what the fuck he had done with Alex and how he had managed to paste himself into every little detail of our domestic life together. Where was my blue-eyed, brown-haired Viking? Who was this tall, Swedish giant in his place? His taste was different, his mannerisms were different, his moods were different. Everything was just... Different. Surely I had somehow lost my mind along the path of severe mental anguish that had been carved out by the dread of being alone. Maybe it was my punishment for thinking about breaking up with him. No, surely something so mundane as the parting of two humans wasn't enough to cause such a splice in my matrix. There was something going on and I had a feeling it would reveal itself to me when it wanted to. Settling into my new life was surprisingly easy and one day I woke up and had already accepted that this was life and if nothing else fell into disarray then I might as well go about my days as normally as possible. Voices didn't come to me and I didn't relent into depression or even find it hard to get out of bed each morning. It was as though this new life had invigorated me. Valter was sweet to me but he wasn't without his bitterness. I found him to be playful but impatient, enthusiastic but sarcastic. His humor was a little darker but everything about him was physically brighter from his head of shining gold hair to his perfect nose and his broad shoulders to his long, thick legs that boosted him up much higher than my reach. He came home and promised to stay home for at least two months over the Winter. Filming had concluded and he was putting all other endeavors on the back burner so that we could spend time together. I was in love, renewed. There was a morning before we were scheduled to fly back home from our vacation in Cuba. I thought I had eaten something I shouldn't have but the feeling only lasted for a little while and then came back the next day on the plane. I managed to get up to vomit in the bathroom and sweat it out away from curious eyes. I had never experienced air sickness before. "You okay, babe?" Valter asked when I got back to my seat, big round eyes shining up at me from the aisle seat. "I think so. I don't know. I think I'm going to try to nap." "Yeah, you do that." He held my hand the entire flight home and then eased me through the airport after we landed. We drove home while I burped and started to feel aches in my muscles. After a week of feeling crummy and vomiting every day, Valter made a suggestion that smashed a whole bunch of sense into my head all at once. "Babe what if you're like... Pregnant? I don't know anything about that but your symptoms sort of match up." Blinking in sudden realization, I rose up sitting in the bed as Valter whirled around to face me in the computer chair, legs spread far apart, a look of curiosity on his face. "Oh... Oh shit. You might be right. Valter... What if I'm?- Oh, God." Piling into the car, we set off quickly to the drugstore to buy a couple of pregnancy tests. Valter was concerned and I could see it on his face but there was also a mix of something else. I sensed adventure and anxiety. They were playing Uptown Girl by Billy Joel over the speakers in the pharmacy and Valter didn't even crack a smirk at it or start to gently bop along to the music. Valter wasn't Alex. Our impatience led us to a coffee shop busy enough for the clerks to not notice us rush into the washroom together but not so populated that anybody came to disturb us by knocking. "Turn around. Turn around!" I exclaimed after he had locked the door behind us. "Okay!" He threw his hands up and pivoted on the heel of his sneaker. "Read the instructions first!" "I know how to use one of these, Valter." He turned back around glaring. "Oh, do you, now? I wasn't aware that you had ever been possibly pregnant before!" "I helped my friend take one in high school! Now, turn the fuck around so I can piss on this stick!" A gentle hint of a smile twisted the corners of his lips as he turned to face the wall again, hands behind his back as he rocked forth onto the balls of his feet. In the process of taking the pregnancy test, I peed on my own hand a little and whined when he made fun of me. I set the test down on top of the toilet paper dispenser and washed up while we waited with clenched lungs for the results to appear in the form of two lines or one. After I had dried off my hands and discarded the paper towel, Valter turned to me with a look of gentle unease. He grabbed the lapels of my coat and dragged me into a tight hug. "What if you're pregnant?" "I don't know." "Oh my God... What if I put a baby inside of you?" Laughing heartily, I nuzzled into the black wool of his coat and replied, "I don't know! I guess... We'll have to figure that out together." We both walked out of the coffee shop washroom hand-in-hand with the looks of a couple that had just realized their lives were about to change forever. I didn't know then that being pregnant would become the least of my concerns.

~*~

Valter came to as many appointments as he could during the weeks he was home. He was scheduled to fly out to LA to start filming after Christmas which was swiftly approaching. We didn't tell anybody about the pregnancy because we didn't want to jinx it. I even requested that he stay behind in the waiting room the first few times I went in to see the doctor. He didn't mind and held my hand until my name was called. Before I got up, he pulled me gently to kiss me. It was surprisingly caressing and deep and when he pulled back he was smiling. "I love you," he told me. "I love you too, booger." The doctor examined me and claimed that everything seemed to be progressing nicely and if I had no concerns to tell her about then I did not have to come back for at least a month. I contemplated telling her about the strange mental break down I had had months prior but it seemed pointless to bring it up then after I had already accepted it and moved forward. Valter wasn't in the waiting room when I left the office but there was a different man sitting in the seat he had been sitting in. He was the same height and looked up at me with these wildly striking eyes that made me recoil. They just bore into me and a happy smile stretched over his lips. "So? Everything okay?" I looked behind me to see if the man was talking to somebody else but it was just me and the receptionist out of view behind her desk. "Excuse me?" I asked him. I turned the corner to see if Valter had moved seats or perhaps had left to find a washroom. "Babe... What are you doing?" He asked. "What the fuck... I don't know you." He laughed, stood up and approached me. I backed up a little bit and bumped into a chair. My reaction confused him and he paused for a moment to give me an odd look. "You want to get going?" "I'm waiting for my boyfriend. Who are you?" He cocked his hip and jeered. The receptionist looked up from her desk and didn't attribute any concern to my exchange with this guy. "Well, I guess you're going to be waiting a while then because I'm leaving," the man with brown hair and wicked eyes shrugged. My gaze followed him as he left and it wasn't until I watched him cutting through the parking lot towards our car that I decided to start following him. "Um! Um! Excuse me! What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled after him as he unlocked our car and got into the front seat. He rolled down the window and threw up his hand. "What the fuck kind of bit is this? What are you doing?" "What are you doing? Get out of my car!" "Babe... This is my car." "No! My boyfriend bought it!" "You want me to show you the registration there, officer?" He jabbed. Reaching to pull open the glovebox, he pulled out the papers and handed them to me. I scanned the document and felt this horrible lump of bile rise up my throat. The car was a 2017 Chevy Impala registered to Bill Skarsgård. "Skarsgård?" I asked aloud. "Uh, yeah! You know... The last name our child is going to have? The last name you might get if your crazy fucking ass decides to marry me one day. Now, please... Get in the fuckin' car, babe. I'm starving. Let's go get falafel or something." The car ride was painfully silent and when we got our food we ate quietly. This Bill guy kept looking at me like I had two heads, which was fine because I'm certain that's how I was looking at him. The strange part was; he reminded me of Valter at certain angles and in different lights. I scrambled up the stairs to our room when we got home and threw open the closet door to start rummaging around my shoebox full of pictures again. If I could put into words the level of mystification, I would, but as I saw all of the shots of me with Bill, there was no way I could describe the feeling of panic in my gut. Why was this happening again? Where was Alex? Where was Valter? Why was I the only thing that was constant? Bill found me on the floor in the closet and shook his head. "Man... Pregnancy hormones are the real deal, huh?" Tears squeezed out from the corners of my eyes and I stared up at him. "Why is this happening to me?" "Why is what happening?" "This? Why are you different again?" "I'm not different. What are you talking about? You're really starting to freak me out! Did that doctor drug you or something because you're acting so weird!" "If you knew what I was going through right now you would understand." "Well, if I could be pregnant for you then I would!" "It's not that!" "Then what is it?" He bellowed. "I don't know! I can't explain it without sounding like a crazy person!" He knelt down beside me and wrapped me up in his arms. His scent was different. He smelled like high-end cologne. His shirt felt like expensive material. He was definitely not Valter yet somehow he knew me and knew that I loved to have the back of my neck rubbed and pinched. "I know things are changing really fast and all the time but it's going to be okay," he whispered. There was no trace of Valter in his murky green eyes. There was even less Alex. If there wasn't a mirror showing the reflections of me sitting on the floor and him kneeling beside me I would have said there was no trace of me left either. Yet I was there and so was Bill which was as much a comfort as it was an abstruseness that boggled my mind and shook me up even harder than last time. Exactly which part of Hell I had wandered off into escaped me. All I knew was that the devils there were beautiful enough for me to succumb to the gaslight. I slumped into his arms and let my tears absorb into his shirt as I accepted my new fate again. "I love you." "I love you, Bill."

[planetoban]

Savin’s Answers from Twitter, Part 3!

Well, looks like it’s been nearly 2 years since the last SAfT post... sorry about that! Time really got away from me on this one. Due to the backlog, this post covers tweets from October 2017 through April 2018

As always, tweets are in order from most to least recent, and answers may not 100% true/canon since things may change during production of the sequel. Text is unedited save for formatting; in a few places I added [comments] for context.

Part 1 | Part 2

Also: If you’re going to ask Savin something, please be respectful and appropriate. He’s a person just like you and me.

@fictionjustis: Out of curiosity can a Nourasian and human have a child together? Also can humans conceive children with other humanoid species in the galaxy?

@EiffelSavin: I don't think any such birth have been recorded in the Oban universe, at least yet. But humans and Nourasians having a very similar DNA, it should be theoretically possible. There have been quite a few fanarts on that topics already 🙂

(x)

@PudgyDragonLair: Also how big is the Arrow in comparison to Molly like actually height and length?‏

@EiffelSavin: From my original notes: Whizzing Arrow 1 - length 8m, height 7m, weight 10t Whizzing Arrow 2 - length 10m, height 7m, weight 14t to be compared with the final designs

(x)

@PudgyDragonLair: hey Savin I'm not sure if this would be considered a spoiler or not but how Long are Nourasian life spans in comparison to humans and other alien species?

@EiffelSavin: I'm not sure anymore. I'd have to find my old notes... But if Nourasians approximately live the same number of "years" as humans, they are "Nourasian years" which are much longer  than our "Earth years" due to the longer distance between Nourasia and its sun. May be 2 or 3 times+

(x)

@JPLangley_: Something I've been wanting to ask is how was Eva able to get away with not following the gender-specific dress code at Stern? Did faculty just give up trying to discipline her since she nor Don didn't care?

@EiffelSavin: I think my justification for that was that Stern's school rules only stated that wearing the school uniform was compulsory, without specifically mentioning that the short dress was for girls and the long pants for boys. Also they had bigger issues with Eva than just her uniform.

(x)

@PudgyDragonLair: what was the Arrows original purpose before Don and the Goverment took it ? Me and my friend rewatched OSR and we noticed alot of things that would be atypical for a Star Racer (key among them a gun turrent ). Was the Arrow made to be some kind of stealth ship?

@PudgyDragonLair: It has capabilities to check Molly vitals and mental state while she s racing, as well as the hyperdldrives which I doubt would be allowed in racing circuits, and a remote access to the gun torrent, and hand off access shoukd the pilot be unable to man it.

@EiffelSavin: You got a point there. For better or worse army funding helps develop new technologies that are later reintroduced into civilian life/products. The "prototypes" Miguel had been working were not your typical star-racer and aimed at a different market...

(x)

[continued from thread below]

@Helloworld1012: And the fact that Eva was a beautiful young girl certainly didn’t hurt

@EiffelSavin: Yes but more than that the fact that she's not your typical girly girl beauty. A long haired bimbo would not have awoken  Aikka's interest.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: Is there any chance one of the reasons Eva was so quick to trust & befriend Aikka was because the prince’s personality was similar to her father’s personality before Maya’s death? Both were reserved,well cultured & gentlemanly but kind + both had a passion for racing

@EiffelSavin: Freud would like the implications no doubt, but I think the relationship with Aikka is more simple and direct. He's good looking, a prince, well mannered. She's feels rejected  - especially by her dad - a bit of an "Ugly Duckling" and he takes an interest in her.

@ILOVE659709491: I’m curious though why was Aikka interested in Eva ?

@EiffelSavin: Just as he's the opposite of what she's known, she's a total opposite for him: tough, outspoken, pure - and touching. The noble girls he's met in Nourasia's palaces were not like that!

(x)

@JPLangley_: Also, unrelated question, but if the second season of Oban does ever make it to the public, will it explore what happened to Thunderbolt and Jordan after the events of OSR?

@EiffelSavin: Can't guarantee both...

(x)

@JPLangley_: Did Spirit originally have wings, and him transforming into a bird was a second thought?

@EiffelSavin: The concept was always that he would transform into his own ship but judging by Thomas's drawing I guess we tried more classic wings first.

(x)

@Helloworld1012: Stern boarding school prided itself on disciplining their students what did they mean by discipline? Also, considering DW’s personality before Maya’s death seems to have a anime rich kid with controlling parents background vibe to it, what social class was DW born to

@EiffelSavin: In my view, Don Wei comes from a modest background. Being a self made man he can be very demanding, expecting from others to obey the rules he's imposed on himself in order to succeed. Maya and young Eva soothed him up, but that went away after Maya's death

@Helloworld1012: Yeah but everything else about him doesn’t seem like he’s a self made man. Or just a selfmade man. It got to me, he’s still young when Maya died & also it’s possible that he could have grown up rich & still be a self made man because his parents gave up on him.‏

@EiffelSavin: That could also be possible yes I put him out there, but you're totally untitled to make him yours now !  🙂

(x)

@ardaozcan98: Did you get any inspiration from B-2 Spirit aircraft while designing Spirit in OSR or is the resemblence just a coincidence?

@EiffelSavin: Interesting. I came up with the name without being aware of the connection & I don't think the plane was ever a reference for the design, but we should ask @thomasintokyo and @Brunetstanilas too.  As you can see below (2002 rough by Thomas) Spirit went through a lot of phases

@Thomasintokyo: Never heard of this plane. That’s a coincidence!

(x)

@emaf_CntCmnd: I wonder if you have known who works for BANDAI VISUAL and helps to release Japanese ver. of BD like Mr.Takanashi Minoru. (I wish he were still alive.)‏

@EiffelSavin: Mr. Takanashi disappearance came as a terrible shock. But we're working on establishing new connections with Bandaï.

(x)

@ardaozcan98: Do you consider producing comic books or novels instead or alongside with the sequel. There are lots of unknowns and potential for backstories of the galaxy and species i think. And books may be cheaper or easier to create. Loved the original art-book.

@EiffelSavin: That's not a bad idea. Any talented manga-comic book artists interested around here ? 🙂

(x)

@Valeria_Lacava: Could you do something for the italian rights? Jetix closed and it's impossible to find online the episodes in italian

@EiffelSavin: STW doesn't own those rights but we'll try to negotiate them if Disney agrees and if this can be done within the bluray budget.

(x)

@Helloworld1012: How was Don Wei able to pay the financial cost to form a race team with Maya and make her a champion? Race teams cost a fortune, but sponsorship was unlikely since DW stated & the timeline shows Maya was the first person he was a manager to, so he had no credibility.

@EiffelSavin: Mostly true but not completely true. If things were always so then I would never have been able to produce Oban Star-Racers, having no hard cash of my own, and having never produced nor directed an entire series before 🙂

(x)

@dragbax: Do you have any idea how big of an impact this show had on me as a kid??? Plz don't disappoint me of backing down or handle it poorly... My heart can't handle that. Especially how Samurai Jack was treated with its last season.  :(

@EiffelSavin: It may still be a long road ahead, especially since we don't intend to sell out, but I can promise we'll do our best!

(x)

@Helloworld1012: I’m curious did Don Wei stop caring about Eva after Maya died? I mean he did abandon her just for resembling her mother & tried to forget she even existed for 10 years and would have CONTINUED to do so Had Eva not done anything about it, so did he stop caring?‏

@EiffelSavin: He tried to forget so well that he almost completely did

@Helloworld1012: Wait, doesn’t that basically mean that yes Don Wei did  stop caring about Eva once her mother died?‏

@EiffelSavin: Yes basically (what an awful dad!). Seeing Eva reminded him too much of Maya and of his guilt. He couldn't bare it and walked away, at least until he was ready to face her again.

(x)

@n0sichan: I hope subtitles  for disabled peope will be available this time.

@EiffelSavin: If we have enough presales yes

(x)

@MattGiusti: What is your thought process when it comes to animating characters speaking?Do you need to keep in mind how other languages will line up to the animation?Or do you do everything with one language in mind and alter the script accordingly later on?

@EiffelSavin: One concentrates on one main language. On Oban i wrote all scripts directly in English and the lip sink was based on those. But then i spent a whole month in front of an editing machine rewriting french dialogues that matched that lipsink

(x)

@McKhendon: How do you accomplish 16:9 without losing parts of the picture?

@EiffelSavin: You're bound to loose part of the picture but if you address the process creatively you can produce new strong images by selecting shot by shot what u keep & what you discard

@SonicMrgame2017: The show was made on 16.9?

@EiffelSavin: No, in 4/3. It was still the transition period between the 2 formats at the time and our investors required 4/3. The remastered 16/9 version was done this year, reframing the original master shot by shot under my supervision.

(x)

@ardaozcan98: All the dubs would be really nice especially for children.

@EiffelSavin: We'll see if something can be done but it sounds complicated. Sav The World doesn't own the rights of these other versions.

(x)

@Wnika457: Is it possible that the online game wil be reopened? That would be awesome, I remember playing it when I was a kid :)

@EiffelSavin: That would be cool but we don't have the rights nor even a copy. But there'll be other games if we manage to pull through the sequel project

(x)

@RadekFalhar: I just found out you are making Saya no Uta adaptation. I really hope you don't think the abortion that is the US manga is in any way related to the VN.

@EiffelSavin: The US comic probably had good intentions but turned Saya into smthng very different & sometimes opposite to what it is. The adaptation I work on also take liberties with the original material, but I try to remain very faithful to its spirit & to the mindset of the characters

(x)

@lilacwondercat: Is there really a sequel in the works? I am such a huge fan, please say it's true!

@EiffelSavin: It's true but still a long to go. Creation takes time and the financing is the most pressing issue...

@lilacwondercat: Is there anything die hard fans can do to help?

@EiffelSavin: Most certainly though I can't think of anything precise right now. Helping spreading the word about the bluray is one though. The more people buy it, the stronger we can be when talking to potential financial partners.

(x)

@Ekana_Stone: Does Blu-ray have the English dub, I would assume so

@EiffelSavin: Yes, French and English language are guaranteed. We would like to add Japanese too but there are question of rights we must try to sort out.

(x)

@fictionjustis: Considering the fact that Oban star racers indeed had Japanese influence, I’m curious did u base Maya’s character design on a character from sailor moon, ( The 1990s version not the 2010s version) a well known anime & manga?

@EiffelSavin: Maya's character design clearly has anime influences but it was developed organically, drawing after drawing. It was not influenced by one show in particular.

(x)

@Zeether77: Would love to see this on Blu-ray here, but not cropped to widescreen...does Shout Factory still have the rights?

@EiffelSavin: DVD & Bluray rights have reverted to us

@Zeether77: Would the BD release be a limited time thing? I just got a player but I don't think I could commit to a preorder sadly

@EiffelSavin: Can't confirm right now

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: I’m trying to figure out what it is exactly because he [Savin] could be saying that the wei surname was meant to be Chinese or DW was Chinese but I just can’t figure out what it is, & unfortunately for some reason it has been driving me crazy yesterday so what is it in that question?‏

@EiffelSavin: Don Wei is of Chinese origin or at least his family is

(x)

@sergeigaponov: #obanstarracers Could you write a list of countries in which you can send blu-ray Oban: Star Racers?

@EiffelSavin: Too early to confirm but my guess would be in all countries.

(x)

@Nick_Kharin: How much can Blu-ray boxset will cost (approximately or the maximum price)? I’m very excited about the news about the project.

@EiffelSavin: Still evaluating.

(x)

@Adultito: Will the Blu Ray have the Japanese audio and the original OP+ED

@EiffelSavin: Japanese audio we'll try. There could be pbs of rights. French and English at the minimum.

@Adultito: speaking of Japanese audio, will there be the original OP "Chance to Shine" (shown in most international broadcasts) on the English dub because the US broadcast (as well as the Shout Factory DVDs) used "Never Say Never"

@EiffelSavin: We have the rights to all the original songs and tracks but not to "Never Say Never" which was produced by the US broadcaster of Oban. So we would use "Chance to Shine" for the opening.

(x)

@Maj0r_Crisis: Will we ever see a release of the cancelled second volume of the Original Soundtrack?

@EiffelSavin: If we have enough preorders, one of our plans is to add most of or even all of Iwazaki Taku's 80 original tracks as a bonus to the bluray edition

(x)

@delicatedowner: I wish you good fortune on making the blu-ray release a reality (will your company self-publish the BDs like with Ankama and their Wafku sets?).

@EiffelSavin: We may self publish too but could go the kickstaryer way. Unlike us Ankama is a rich company!

@delicatedowner: Even Ankama went the Kickstarter way.  And it backfired on them.  I hope you'll do a better job.

@EiffelSavin: We'll see. But if you meant "selfpublish" as in "creating the design packaging etc" ourselves, yes that would be the plan. We have some good people we can work with.

(x)

@nothisiswindii: Do you think you guys should make a 4:3 aspect ratio version of the Blu-ray? A lot of studios tend to simply "zoom in" their old shows to fake a 16:9 ratio, and they end up losing a lot of detail on the top and bottom as a result.

@EiffelSavin: Probably but it's something we'll discuss with all those who register with the Oban Bluray project when the times comes. In all cases, I can guarantee the 16/9 remaster is not a "zoom in". We took care of things on a shot by shot basis (see the video on http://obanstarracers.com )

@docsane: I'm curious: why was Oban not originally shot 16:9? I thought it was unusual at the time to still see an animation being released 4:3.

@EiffelSavin: Oban was signed just at the time when productions were beginning to shift from 4/3 to 16/9. But our financial partners asked for 4/3 so we produced and delivered 4/3.

(x)

@harpnote: The new site looks slick! I am sad the forums are no longer up. It was a good time there.

@EiffelSavin: We have the copies. We may put them back online but already have our hands full right now

(x)

@MattGiusti: Will [OSR] HD be exclusively a blue ray release? Or can one buy a digital version online?

@EiffelSavin: The first goal is the bluray release.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: Considering Wei is a Chinese surname & with the exception of his temper DW’s manners and taste indicate a certain upbringing is there a possibilty that Don is the son of a high class family in Asia and he moved to America or Europe because of his passion for racing?

‏@EiffelSavin: In spite of the obvious connection with Japanese anime, Wei is a Chinese name indeed and it was meant that way.

(x)

@sergeigaponov: There are no such scenes [dramatic scenes in children’s shows], because people are interested in toilet humor. The time has already passed when people cried over such scenes. There are few people who are crying. I hope in the #second #season of the drama will be more, because #Eva has matured.

@EiffelSavin: If it 's only up to me I'll say definitely yes and in all cases that what we want to aim for. This said, I have a feeling traditional broadcasters are targeting younger and younger audiences and aim even more for comedy than before.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: Considering Maya was DW's first champion, DW  stated her charm was her recklessness, That Maya seemed to be more dominant in the relationship, & considering DW's and Maya's personalities in the past is it possible Maya introduced Don to the racing world?

@EiffelSavin: Interesting thought. But I'd say no. Don Wei was born to be a race manager.

(x)

@lbigreyhound: Any idea when and where it [the HD remaster] will be available?

@EiffelSavin: The new HD master will be used in future broadcasts of OSR, at least one of whitch is planned for 2018. When we go ahead with our plans for a bluray relase, we may use it as well, or else chose to stick with the original 4/3 format.

(x)

@ILOVE659709491: so I’m curious, what inspired the idea for OSR I’m super excited for the sequel but I am curious on what inspired the idea for OSR 2 Since it’s been over a decade since OSR?

@EiffelSavin: The 10 year anniversary of the first release brought the original artistic team together. We all thought it would be nice to look back at the world we created.

(x)

[Not sure who he’s replying to here, but the question seems to be about Maya’s race with Spirit]

@EiffelSavin: If I remember correctly there just wasn't enough time and she gestured Spirit to stand out of arm's way.

(x)

@RedVioletPanda: Why is the Holy of Dol, well, holy? In the artbook, there is a mention of elemental magic of the Nourasians, what is that exactly?

@EiffelSavin: Nourasian are close to nature. Magic and the use of natural ressources more than makes up for the lack of technology. As for elemental magic its source of power is nature itself.

(x)

[Again, not sure who he’s replying to]

@EiffelSavin: We continue to work on dvlpmnt but it's a costly project & bringing the right financial partners together is the long and uncertain part...

(x)

[nebula-starlight]

Corrupt (Part 5 - Broken Promises)

He didn’t know what was worse, seeing the demon walking around with his own eyes or knowing he’d been purposely thrown back out into control for whatever reason. Why had Nether refused to answer him? All he wanted was a simple explanation! The last thing he’d seen were the calming ocean blue eyes of the human but now...

“Not again... I- I can’t think of that. I swore it was in the past. He never meant to- I never meant to...”

His voice barely carried, hanging on the frigid air as he frantically blinked back tears and pulled his legs up onto the bed as he sat with his back against the wall. Geer couldn’t- wouldn’t go down back down that lane of memories. Not only was his recollection of events spotty at best but... He sighed, head resting on his knees at the thought that all he’d done was trade one captor for another.

Already he could feel the scars appearing across his body, the twisted map of injuries inflicted over months of possession while he was a dragon. He never had spoken of it, keeping the knowledge of the wounds hidden from even the one he loved. Even still, each mark served as a cruel reminder of who held the right to his continued existence under its unrelenting might. While the soul couldn’t hold over his head how his crippled status had been adapted into the new form, there had to be something Nether knew about that might be considered a weakness. What exactly it was, he wasn’t sure.

Still, he could hear the static from the wandering demon beginning to grow louder as his hands shook. So far it was the only sign of Anti’s approach as his gaze flickered toward the dark monitor of the unused desktop computer across the room. No doubt his current captor was coming to check on the progress he’d made to keep the fans focused attention on the glitch. Every piece of art, every theory that depicted him was to be acknowledged and shared.

What was that saying Nether used to utter? The one I berated him over...

Nothing came to mind, the memory failing to come to the surface. He frowned, eyes squeezing shut. Wasn’t it when that... healer was killed? He couldn’t recall her name but the image of glistening red blades flashed fleetingly through his thoughts before he grimaced and clutched at his skull.

We’ve been partners for- for a long time and yet his tongue is still so foreign. He hides it well when speaking to others but... eventually he’ll slip up. Or snap at me when alone...

Maybe he deserved it. He never had amounted to much before becoming the host to a deeply traumatized soul. Had Nether ever opened up to him about those events? He wasn’t sure and the sudden painful throb of a headache made it difficult to do much other than sit in silence.

“Are you behaving, my puppet?” The voice cracked with static from outside the room, accompanied by the far too haunting giggle he knew belonged to the glitch.

Geer didn’t even have it within himself to answer, blankly staring at the distant computer monitor as turned on and the screen was filled with strands of indecipherable green code. Trapped... just like he was. Sure the demon was violent and possessive but Nether also had such traits. He should know that better than most after seeing it first hand on several occasions.

He continued to watch the lines of code, only to flinch when it seemed to be actually pushing out of the monitor and into the room. Rolling over off the bed and onto his feet, he let his hands fall by his side as he stumbled out of the room and caught himself on the banister of the staircase. The demon glitched beside him with a dark glare, not saying anything but twitching all the same. It was a dream, right? Surely he just passed out or something....

He wasn’t back in that hell. He couldn’t be! Nether would never allow it. Things were wrong... He...

“If you grip that wood any harder you’ll likely break it and fall. I doubt he’d want a broken neck.”

Panic still clawed at him but the demon’s words helped to provide an anchor to reality, blinking slowly before he asked, “But how do you know?”

“That’s there two of you? Easy, really. Once he broke through the static I realized he wasn’t as weak as I originally believed.” Anti tipped Geer’s head up with a flick of the knife he had in his hand, studying the wide brown eyes that barely regarded his presence. “Real piece of work you are though. Surprising you lasted this long without crumbling already.”

Geer forced himself to swallow, gaze locking on the vivid green irises amidst the black sclera that threatened to push him right back over the edge of his terror and spiraling fear. The last time he’d seen eyes like that... it was her introduction. Nether had refused to talk to him then either, shutting him out just when he thought he could be of use.

Another rejection... Another disappointment...

“He’ll come back and see the mess you’ve made. Who knows? Maybe it’ll push him over the edge of his precious control? The soul really should lighten up a bit...”

Geer caught bits of what Anti said, realizing more with each passing second what exactly had happened. It was a test to see if he’d crack and spill secrets. Sure all the emotional trauma was his own making but pushing him to the brink to force out the soul was a decent approach if the demon wasn’t aware of how their change of control worked.

Still, Geer kept silent, gaze flickering down to the banister to see the cracks in the wood from where he’d gripped it as he let go. He was just spent... drained of the energy to even care. What point was there to keep living if no one knew he even existed? Sure a possessive, controlling spirit needed his body to remain within the world but as for him... release couldn’t come soon enough.

Where even had the idea first come to him? All that time lost in limbo, unaware of the acts Nether involved them in. Hell six months had gone by without him even knowing it! He could have helped her, saved her from that monster... No, saved her from himself. It’s why she fled after all. Because he couldn’t tame the darkness rotting away inside. Even now he could feel the breath of the beast down his back, how it watched him with piercing crimson eyes full of accusations and further demands. How much more could he give?

A hand came down on his shoulder as he noticed Anti grin from the corner of his eye, the knife disappearing from view. “You don’t have to think... just obey. A puppet on a string who’s pulled between two masters. Which will you choose?” Bony fingers dug into his skin as he was turned around, back catching against the aged wood of the banister. “To continue being a slave of the illusion-weaver or belong to me?”

Geer stared back with empty eyes, barely noticing the movement. Did he really have a choice? Nether could, and would, seize control the second he did something the spirit disagreed with. He had no free will. Could barely trust what his own mind showed him. Was an option really open when he knew what punishment to expect?

“Anti...” He hesitated, the low rumble of Nether’s growl echoing through his mind before he made his decision with a shake of his head. “He won’t cause a fuss, I assure you. Now what did you need?”

“Just one small favor... How does his magic work?”

[romvnova]

Becoming The Raptor Wrangler: Chapter One

Warning: There may be potential triggers littered throughout this chapter. Please read this at your own discretion. Keep in mind, in my headcanon Owen suffers heavily from PTSD and anxiety and it’ll be a key focus of his character for me until he finds a way to cope with it (apropos to “his girls” { aka. the raptor squad } Blue, Charlie, Delta and Echo).

There’s an unrelenting pounding of someone’s fist on the metal of his Airstream’s door. Owen, who was in an uneasy sleep — it’s always uneasy — sets up with a rough gasp, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as the blood rushes from his head.

“Alright. ALRIGHT!” He snarls as he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, planting his hand to the wall for a second before he pushes off of it and goes to the door, unlocking it and pushing it open. The knocking, blissfully, ceases but there’s a fire in his father’s eyes as Owen opens the door and steps aside as Logan Grady invites himself in that makes Owen immediately regret opening the door.

“Come in.” Owen invites as his father turns sharply on his heel and turns to face Owen who lets out a breath and closes the door. His father’s gaze burns through him and Owen can’t help but feel that it was intimidating enough to cause the devil himself to think twice.

“Owen, this has to stop.” His father’s arm shoots out to stop him as Owen makes to brush past him, reaching for the small, orange prescription bottles laying on the RV’s counter.

“What the hell?” Owen demands gruffly, growing more grumpy by the moment as his mood swings. He needs the anti-depressants and anxiety medication to function something close to a normal human being and his father knows it. It isn’t a magical cure all — the flashbacks and the anxiety attacks still happen — but it helps.

“I can’t sit by and just watch this any longer.”

“Watch what?” Owen snaps. He’s taller than his father and his father wasn’t truly the road-block that he thought he was. If Owen really wanted to …he could get past him. But Owen didn’t really want to. There was too much of a risk that he’d seriously hurt his dad in the process and despite his raising annoyance he didn’t want to hurt his old man.

“Watch you waste away in this trailer. Look Owen, it’s been six months since you …retired from the SEALS and in that time you’ve done nothing to help yourself. You just keep taking the medication they prescribe for you. You haven’t put much, if any effort, towards finding a new purpose. You need somethin’, boy. Somethin’ other than these damn medicines and this trailer. You need to find your path. You’ve lost your way.” Owen’s lips mash into a hard, terse line and he rolls his eyes, shifting his position so he leans his hips against the counter.

His father wasn’t wrong.

Still, that goddamn Grady stubbornness rises like a white hot heat in Owen as he feels the urge to defend himself.

“Nobody’s hiring vets, Dad. I’m a liability to them. If I have a PTSD episode while at work …that’s on them. They can’t take that risk.” Owen’s tone is colorfully snide to accent the sharp air quotes he did. He’d only heard that line over a thousand times.

Can you get through a day without the jackhammer triggering a flashback?

No.

Sorry son, I just…I can’t take that risk.

Yeah, I’d gladly hire you as security. Your martial arts repertoire is impressive, man…but there’s a lot of flashing lights and heavy bass. I see that you suffer from PTSD. Can you confidently tell me that it won’t trigger an episode?

Not as confidently as you’d like me to.

I’m real sorry, man. I can’t take the risk. Better luck next time.

Owen understands …to some degree. He gets it but he can only take being kicked to the curb like a prized fighting dog that’s lost it’s value for so long before it takes it’s toll on him. He’s struggling …and it’s only because of sheer stubbornness that he hasn’t taken to alcohol as a suppressant.

“I mean, honestly, Pops. What skills do I have to offer the world? It’s not like there’s exactly a high demand for a black-ops trained killer. And, ok, I could make a few bucks training animals …but people’re too afraid that I’ll train their animals to be weapons.”

Owen watches his father contemplate his words and a long silence stretches between them followed closely by a rise and fall of Logan Grady’s shoulders.

“Listen, Owen. I need an extra pair of hands at the Ranch. I can’t haul an axe like I used to and Rick brought me a particularly rebellious stallion that needs a good trainer. I’ll pay you the same wage I pay everyone else —”

“Pops …,” Owen shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not —”

“Now, don’t argue with me boy …”

“— I’m not takin’ your money.” Owen insists firmly with a bit more passive aggression than he meant to. Realizing he’s stepped boot to boot with his father, staring down at him in the same manner he’d stared down at the men in his platoon when they’d disobeyed him Owen swallows thickly and reels back, reigning himself in. “I’ll work on the Ranch,” Owen agrees, hand gripping the the wood top of the dinette’s bench. He tries to make it look casual but his grip is hard and he feels the wood slowly giving way beneath his fingers that have gone numb from the death grip he exerts. “but I won’t accept your money.”

“Molly Warbeck keeps asking if you’ll be coming back to church anytime soon.”

Molly Warbeck was Owen’s ex from high school. One of those down-home, homegrown, found on good ground girls. Owen joined the Navy the summer of his Junior year in school and their relationship ended a few days after their senior graduation. Owen broke it off with her because it hadn’t seemed fair to him for her to keep holding onto him when he had ambitions to join the SEALS. Holding onto a man who’d became a ghost, never knowing when and where he was going or if he’d make it back.

People in your life were messy.

And now …well, now, the Owen he’d been in high school didn’t exist anymore and it wasn’t fair to either of them to try to ‘pick up where they’d left off’. Maybe for her it was easy, maybe she hadn’t changed at all …but Owen couldn’t be that kid anymore.

“It doesn’t seem right to go to Church when I don’t believe in God.” Owen squints out the window, arms crossed over his chest. He approaches the subject gruffly and close-minded. His decision’s been made on both fronts: God and Molly Warbeck. Surprisingly, his father doesn’t push, for all of Logan Grady’s faults, he tries not to push religion on Owen, and tries to respect his point of view. Molly’s a bit of a different story but Owen’s well adapted to holding his ground.

“That wasn’t exactly what I was gettin’ at…” Logan scratches as his salt and pepper beard.

“— I know what you were getting at.” Owen interrupts, brushing past his father. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed and clean up and I’ll hitch a ride with you up to the ranch.” Logan grunts and heads towards the door, pushing it open and pushing it closed behind him. Owen’s fingers reach for the prescription bottle but he stops just short of tugging it into his grasp.

The anti-depressants and anxiety medications make Owen’s life more tolerable …and he doesn’t remember the last time he tried to make it through a day without them. The goal’d always been to wean himself off of them once he found solid ground beneath his feet again.

Why not start today?

Currently, the ground felt pretty damn solid …but that was a rocky slope. He’d just started up the mountain that seems so damn and impossibly high. One step at a time.

He retracts his hand and goes into the ‘bedroom’ to change into jeans and an old flannel shirt and contemplates shaving off his beard that he’d let grow. He runs his hands over it for a moment, considering his options before he remembers that his father’s outside waiting for him. He exits the RV and hops up into the bed of his father’s rumbling, old Chevy truck, rapping his knuckles against the roof of the cab, snickering at his father when Logan pokes his head out of the window he cranked down.

“Get in the cab of the truck, boy. Like a normal person.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He laughs as his father’s head disappears into the cab and he puts the truck in drive and they rumble down the rough path to the ranch. It was reminiscent of Owen’s time as a kid. He’d always preferred to ride in the bed of the truck as opposed to being wedged in the cab between his parents, or having to share that tiny middle seat with his younger brother ( which couldn’t have been even remotely safe now that he thinks about it ). Besides that, it feels claustrophobic to him.

He ducks and sinks down into the bed to avoid being beheaded by low hanging branches, and props one knee up, resting his hand on his knee, back pressed against the back of the cab as he watches his RV at the very back of their land disappear into the thick trees, his Triumph the last thing he sees glinting in the early morning sun.

The window at the back of the cab unlatches and his dad slides it open. He’s got the news playing on the radio and Owen swallows the lump that forms in his throat as the woman radio personality talks about an armed robbery, a workplace shooting and a kidnapping. The last was the story of how a young girl was raped by her step-dad repeatedly and Owen’s stomach roils with nausea and for a moment his muscles tense as he prepares to hoist himself over the side of the truck to throw up.

“Turn it off.” Owen rasps into the window. “For the love of fuck…turn it off.” He doesn’t want to hear the shit the world’d turned into. This wasn’t what he’d fought for. This wasn’t the America he’d sacrificed damn near everything for.

A few seconds past.

“Are you alright, Owen?” The truck lurches and Owen grabs the side of the truck bed and empties his mostly empty stomach over it.

“Fine.” Owen gasps as he finishes, scrunching up his face at the sour taste that lingers in his mouth. “There’s a reason I don’t own a TV.” He tells his father gruffly.

There’s a long pause and Owen wipes the light sheen of sweat off of his forehead with the grease stained cloth tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. The cool fall air feels good against his heated skin. The news only pisses him off, makes him sick. Makes him feel like everything he and every other service member did was for nothing.

He thought he’d been some damn unsung hero. He thought he’d known who the enemies of mankind were …but the truth was that they lingered everywhere. Monsters hiding in human skin everywhere.

He thought about joining the local police or state trooper force. It seemed like a natural transition: uphold the law, protect the innocent. It’d been his plan, originally. His therapist recommended against it claiming it to be ‘least suitable career choice for him due to his emotional issues from his tours of deployment’.

Emotional issues. That was a nice way of putting it. Candy coated, legal jargon bullshit.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“You woke me up.” Owen replied, fidgeting with a loose string on his jeans as he props his knee back up. He doesn’t say it accusatory. Just tiredly. His father makes a small rumble of disapproval.

“I’ll make you some breakfast. A man needs to eat.”

They drive for a few more minutes, a silence settling between them only for Owen to let out a grunt and grab onto the side of the bed to keep himself from slamming back into the back of the cab as his father slams on the breaks. The tires squeal in protest and the truck engine rumbles it’s own displeasure.

“What the hell?” Owen asks, pushing himself to his feet in the bed to loom over the roof of the cab. Three black cars are parked along the lane. A man looking out of place in jeans and a casual shirt stands leaning against the Mercedes and two men in black uniform flank him, their hands resting on their sidearms. Hardly inconspicuous.

“I thought I told ya to get off my land.” Owen’s father yells as he goes to get out of the truck.

“Stay in the truck, Dad.” Owen warns his father as he hops over the side of the bed, moving around the truck to meet the man who moves forward. Owen watches his lackeys as they mirror his movements.

“Lieutenant Commander Grady.” The man holds a meaty hand out for Owen to shake but Owen doesn’t reciprocate.

“Former Lieutenant Commander.” Owen corrects gruffly. “I’m retired, in case you haven’t heard.”

“Dogs of war like us never retire, Lieutenant Commander.” The man replies with a quirk of his lips into a smile. Owen doesn’t trust him. “I’m Vic Hoskins. Head of Security at InGen on Isla Nublar.”

“I know who you are.” Owen replies curtly.

“You’re a hard man to get ahold of, Mr. Grady.” Vic Hoskins seems adamant on dancing around what Owen really wants to know. Owen recognizes the power-play happening. Hoskins wants to be in control of their conversation and that annoys Owen greatly.

“It’s intentional.” He didn’t want the government or military sniffing him out, he didn’t want to join any support groups. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Want to tell me why you’re harassin’ my Old Man, Mr. Hoskins?”  Owen demands in lieu of asking.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Jurassic World?” Hoskins inquires with a grin that would put a cat to shame. Except he thinks Owen’s his canary. Big mistake, but for the moment allowing Hoskins to think he’s in charge here works to Owen’s advantage and thus he allows it.

“It’s hard not to be. Advertisements everywhere you look.” Owen doesn’t agree with it. With the de-extinction of the dinosaurs, with exploiting them for money and entertainment. It rubbed him the wrong way on multiple levels …but he knows he has no room to talk. Hadn’t he done the same thing with his animals during his time with the SEALS? Train them to be weapons of war? He’d exploited them for the military, and they’d been used and disposed of in lieu of soldier’s lives.

And it haunted Owen every day of his life.

“You ever been?”

“Nah. Zoos aren’t my thing.” Owen replies cracking a lopsided grin that hides knives beneath it. It’s all a complex mess of feelings for him. He understands with the ‘saving endangered animals from extinction’ prospect of it …but then again wasn’t that what animal sanctuaries were for?

“I have to be honest, Mr. Grady …I’m looking for someone of your particular skill set to join InGen’s team.”

“And what skill set would that be?”

“We’re working on a new project called IBRIS. We’d like for you to research the cognitive abilities and behavior of the Raptors. See if they can bond with the humans, if they can be trained to follow commands. Your file appeared on my desk with a high and shining recommendation.”

The ‘no’ lingers on the very tip of Owen’s tongue. He’s not going to train war machines. Instead of ‘no’, he laughs. He laughs because it sounds so ridiculous. A dinosaur trainer? Training dinosaurs wasn’t like training dogs and horses.

“You want me to train velociraptors?” Owen asks, just to be sure he’s heard Hoskins correctly.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, soldier. It’s a serious offer. It’s a good offer. Misrani is willing to triple your wage you made before you retired.”

Holy shit.

“Full employee benefits. Retirement plans. Everything top of the line. Right at your fingertips.”

It sounds grand but Owen’s not out for money. He gets a nice fat pension from the military as it is. He chooses to live in the old Airstream on his family’s land. It’s quiet. It’s comfortable and he’s never been a man of pomp.

There’s a big question of morality in play. As Owen stares Hoskins down, the other man does the same to him. He doesn’t want to train the velociraptors for monetization and exploitation. Besides that, unleashing velociraptors on a battlefield? Sounds like a massacre waiting to happen. Could he let that happen? Owen gets the feeling that this Project IBRIS was going to happen with or without him spearheading it. If he didn’t accept the job then someone who had no moral compass would come in, in his place. At least if he accepts Owen has a chance to ensure that he’s a valuable piece on the chess board. He can ensure that InGen couldn’t dispose of him when he got in their way because he would get in their way. There was no way that he was going to let them unleash raptors in active war zones. For the sake of both the people and the animals themselves.

“I need some time to think about it.” Owen finally responds. He already knows his answer but he wants InGen to sweat it out for a bit. They want him bad, he can tell by the twitch in Vic Hoskins eye as Owen intentionally displays deliberation.

“You have twenty four hours. There’s a jet waiting at the local airport. It departs at seven hundred hours tomorrow morning. Your name’s on the manifest.” Hoskins tells him before turning sharply on his heel and walking back to the car, his lackeys following after a few prolonged seconds as Owen plants his hands on his hips.

InGen wants him bad enough to assume that he’ll say ‘yes’.

“What’d they want?” Owen looks over his shoulder as the rumbling engine of his father’s truck draws closer, the crunch of gravel under tire slowing as his father pulls the truck to a stop beside Owen.

“To offer me a job.” Owen replies, going around the front of the truck and hopping in the passenger side of the cab.

[curious-shadow-cat]

                                      Maximol the Face Snatcher

There was a famous artist named 'Z' Art, he was known as one of the strange, cool, and mysterious artists that everyone loved and admired. His art inspired hundreds of his fans to become artists themselves and he tried getting into writing, singing and dancing but nothing could top his amazing paintings and statues. Where did this man get all these ideas to create such beasts? It all started when he met Maximol. A Face Snatcher. A dangerous creature that could drain the blood from your body in seconds and disguise themselves as their victims.

Maximol was to get a face from a creature he found to be beautiful. That's what all Face Snatcher's desire; to be beautiful.

Maximol and other Face Snatchers were given a book by their Masters who taught them dark magic and with this book, they could teleport to different worlds. They came back with new faces but Maximol was picky. He didn't want just any face. He wanted the Perfect face. A face that made others jealous of him and love him and worship him. That was what he desired.

He decided to go to the Human World. His first stop? 'Z' Art's home. Great timing too. This man was going down hill and was on the verge of giving up his art career to start an ice cream shop.

That night, Maximol appeared out of the shadows and attacked the artist while he was distracted by his work. His arms grabbing him and lifting him up off the ground to get a good look at his face. Maximol's blue eyes glared down at his panic stricken face. His shorter arms reached up and touched his face making him turn one side to the other.

Maximol:"Oh yes-" He whispered with a hiss."You are indeed perfect!" His grin widened from ear to ear (If he had any). The shadow lowered him a little so he could find a spot to sink his teeth into. The human shook his head and seemed to snap out of his fear.

Z:"STOP! Do not MOVE!" He boomed. Maximol was startled at first but did what he was told. He didn't expect this creature to speak at all. He thought he would be too paralyzed with fear to speak or even breathe."You are EXACTLY what I need! Please, I beg you to let me paint you!" He said all of this with a bright grin as if they were long lost friends. Maximol dropped him and growled.

Maximol:"Paint me? Paint ME? Are you blind?! Or just stupid?! Look at me!" He held his arms out, they covered his chest and stomach, he had long arms to short arms from top to bottom. He tried covering them with his black robe but the human stopped him and touched his arms. Maximol flinched and gasped as he quickly stepped back but he followed close as he continued to touch his arms. The artist looked up and gave the tall beast a gentle smile.

Z:"I would be honored if you allowed me to paint you." The beast just wanted a face,  yet instead, he was curious and felt the need to find out what he had in store for him. What was this artist planning? He seemed so sincere about this. He put two hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. His hands now in fists towards his own chest as he began to look nervous about his decision. Maximol growled.

Maximol:"Very well, but if you think this will help you escape your demise, don't count on it. I still need that face." Again the human smiled brightly.  

Z:"Thank you!~" He repeated over and over. He showed him how to pose and gave him things to hold. Maximol stayed still for the artist for a long time until he finished the painting."All finished! You may relax now." He said and with that, the creature dropped his things to the floor carelessly and walked towards him.

Maximol:"Good. Now for that face of yours." He said in a stern tone. Z turned white.

Z:"Wait, wait, wait! Not now!" Maximol growled.

Maximol:"Yes now! I want to be beautiful, I want-"

"But you are!" Z cried out. The impatient shadow stopped and clenched his teeth. He was giving the artist an unrelenting glare. The same one he kept up while he was painting him. Z sighed and his shoulders dropped. He gave him a small smile."Look...Come by to the museum tomorrow and I promise that once my fans see your painting they will love you!" Maximol's eyes narrowed and after what seemed like hours of silence, he groaned in annoyance.

Maximol:"Fine!" He roared. He turned to leave but heard Z sigh in relief. He quickly turned. "But remember, if you should try to run away, I will find you and I WILL have that face!" He said all while pointing in his face. Z nodded quickly.

Z:"No, no, no, no, no! I will NOT run! You'll see! People will love you! And then you will want me to paint more of you!" Maximol rolled his eyes with a scoff.

Maximol:"Yeah, right." He took out the book and teleported away. Z sighed heavily and and felt his body turn numb. He took a drink of water and moved the painting into the closet and locked it. He went to his bedroom and changed out of his clothes. His body began to shake and he began to cry as he laid down on the bed.

The next day, everyone had gathered around Z's newest painting in the museum. He was there too and looked a little nervous. He was looking around as if he was looking for someone. He looked a little tired, his hair was a mess and he was shaking a little. Either in fear or the amount of coffee he was drinking before he got here. He grinned widely when he caught a shadow in the darkest corner of the room moving and two eyes glaring at him. He cleared his throat.

Z:"Ladies and Gentlemen, behold! My Masterpiece!" He took the white cloth off the painting and everyone gasped. Maximol's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. There he was, in the painting. He looked exactly how he did in the painting which made him shake in rage. Everyone now knows how he looks, they know his true form in this world! How dare he show him to them in this ugly pathetic body of his.  

He was holding the Earth globe up high in one hand, a balance skale in the other, a dagger in one of the lower hands on the left and money in the lower hands to the right and two hands holding a glass red heart close to his chest. And the look on his face the unrelenting glare. Maximol expected everyone to laugh, to boo at them, to mock him.  

To his surprise, they began to cheer, they 'ooed' and 'Ahhed' at his painting. They took photos and clapped.

"Fantastic!" One cried.

"Amazing!" Another said. Maximol couldn't believe it. Was he dreaming? Had he gone insane? Was he on something? Z bowed a little with a grin.

Z:"Thank you! Thank you!" He looked around and saw the shadow creeping back further into the shadows. He slowly frowned. The beast looked....embarrassed? Ashamed? It was difficult to tell. For the whole day Z didn't see the creature anywhere as he was working. He gave his fans autographs and talked to them about the painting and what it meant. He was just asked on what he called the painting. Without thinking he said; "Beauty." He wasn't sure why he said it, he just did. Everyone clapped again.

Later, Z walked around town looking for Max. He Had to make sure he wasn't causing trouble. But there was no sign of him. Did he actually return home? That couldn't be. He seemed determined to have his face but after that show who knows. Z finished up shopping for more food and art supplies before returning home. He put his stuff away and looked around in every corner of the rooms for Maximol.

Z:"....Are...are you still here...?" He asked hesitantly and almost quietly.

"...Yes." The creature angrily spoke and came out from the shadows. He stood tall over the human.

Z:"Why the long face?" He asked confused."Didn't you like the painting?"

Maximol:"NO!" He boomed which scared Z."How could you do this to me?! When you said you were going to make me look beautiful I didn't expect THAT! Now everyone knows my true form! Because of you!" He hissed and coiled up in disgust. He wanted to disappear. Z shook his head and glared at him.

Z:"I never said that I was going to make you look beautiful. I said that you ARE beautiful." The shadow glared back at him. They stared at each other for a while before Z spoke again."And I don't see what the issue is, they loved your painting! They want more! They want the REAL you! They love you!" He said with a big grin. Maximol was quiet. He stared down at the floor in silence."Oh...I don't think I've told you my name. I am 'Z'Art! I'am a well known artist! Who might you be?" He asked calmly. The beast hesitated to answer.

Maximol:"....Maximol. I am a Face Snatcher. Or a monster to you humans anyway." Z smiled.

Z:"Well it's nice to meet you." The creature rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Maximol:"Just paint me and get this over with. They'll get tired of this sooner than you think!" He came close to his face."And when they do, your face will be mine!" He hissed. Z grinned brightly and took one of Maximol's hands to shake.

Z:"Deal!" The creature flinched and pulled his hand away quickly and narrowed his eyes at him. Z gave him a sheepish smile as he shrugged.

The two continued to meet and Z would paint Maximol in different poses and every time the artist showed off his work to the people, they would cheer and he would get hundreds of letters begging for more. This went on for days to months and months to years. Over the years, the two began to bond and Maximol no longer felt the need to steal his face. He wanted him whole. But did this human feel the same? Why would he? For a hideous creature like himself? Who could love his long and short boney arms and his visible rib cage? His faceless features and small burning blue eyes, his oddly shaped spiked head. What was there to love? He didn't even have the same amount of talent as Z did. Everything he did was perfect in his eyes. That's what he longed for. Perfection.

Only then could 'Z' Art love him.

One day Maximol came into the art room and caught Z staring at the mirror of himself and had a white canvas in front of him. He looked troubled. He was touching his face and looking at his teeth. The beast came up to him.

Maximol:"What are you doing?" He asked. He didn't answer at first. He leaned back and without looking away he spoke.

Z:"I think I'm getting old." He said in a quiet voice."Look at my hair." He brushed it back trying to show him the grey hairs hiding in his black hair."And my face-" He touched his face again. He looked at the wrinkles that were starting to appear. Maximol squinted at the mirror than back to Z.

Maximol:"What's the problem? I see nothing wrong with your face." Z sighed and sadly looked at the white canvas. The shadow growled and smashed the mirror with his fist. Z jumped out of the seat in fright and looked up at the creature with wide eyes.

Z:"Why did you do that?!" He yelled angrily."Do you know how much that costs?!" Maximol ignored him and held the silver frame up to his face.

Maximol:"The mirror wasn't working right. You needed a new one anyway." Z stood up to his feet.

Z:"Oh what would you know?" He asked in a stern tone."Have you no eyes?! Look at me!" He held out his arms towards his face."I'am old! I'am not immortal like you!" The creature interrupted him.

Maximol:"Ask the mirror how you look today." He asked loudly.

Z:"I...I will not!" He turned and crossed his arms.

Maximol:"Ask." He growled.

Z:"NO. You can't make me." He said without looking at him. Maximol glared at him but after a minute he sighed and dropped the frame. He walked in front of the artist. His eyes were shut tight. He stood with his hands on his hips and spoke.

Maximol:"Then ask ME how you look today." He said in an almost calm voice. Z opened his eyes and slowly looked up at him, looking in the creature's now calm ocean blue eyes. He sighed in defeat.

Z:"....Fine, how do I look today Max?" He finally asked. Maximol smiled and leaned close to his face. He gently touched his cheeks.

Maximol:"...Perfect." He whispered. Z gently brushed his hands away and looked away.

Z:"You don't mean that." Maximol scoffed.

Maximol:"Then why am I still here? If you were not as beautiful as you say then why would I still be wasting my time allowing you to paint me?" Z looked at him but before he could speak, the creature continued and as he spoke, his hands took a hold of him where ever they could hold on to and he felt himself being lifted off the ground."Everything you do, Everything you say and everything you are....is perfect to me. That's what I long for from you." He spoke softly."To be just as perfect as you." His face turned a faint shade of red and he slowly smiled.

Z:"Max...there's no such thing as perfection..." He cleared his throat."Everyone has flaws, even I." His hands touched his long arms and slid up to his shoulders until they reached his face."But to me....you will always be my most beautiful Masterpiece." He could feel the shadow smile warmly and he released him.

The two felt a stronger bond form than ever before and Maximol never returned home. He stayed with Z over the years and the two did everything together. Z helped him learn how to cook, they danced with each other every night, they wrote poems and stories together. Maximol and Z were married in secret. Everyone knew Z was married by the look of the ring on his finger that he wore happily and would show it off to anybody asking him out. He would brag about his amazing lover but nobody knew what he looked like. Who was this secret lover that Z loved so much? That he admired so much? He would always point out at the paintings that this Shadow was his lover. Everyone would always give him confused looks, thinking he was mad but still they loved this wonderful and strange artist.

Years later, Z retired and had enough money to last for a life time. One night him and Maximol snuck into the museum and decided to look at all the paintings. Newest to oldest. Z had just turned 60 years old. He was holding a cane as he walked and held Maximol's hand. The two were smiling as they walked down the hallways looking at each painting.

Z:"It feels like the days never went by." He said and the creature wrapped a couple arms around his love.

Maximol:"Yes....It's like....it's only been days since we've first met." The two were silent again as they walked. Warm memories seem to flood the halls with every painting they passed by. Their hearts only growing more softer and melted when they would look at each other. They finally found the first painting of Maximol. He read the golden texture at the bottom."Beauty..." He said. Z frowned and looked up at him.

Z:"Are you okay?" He asked. Maximol pulled him closer and tightened his grip on him a little bit.

Maximol:"I feel....so...happy. I feel...completed when I'm with you." He said all of this without smiling or looking at him. Z held onto the shadows' hand on his shoulder.

Z:"...But...?" He looked a little worried. Maximol looked at him.

Maximol:"I just wish I could stay with you longer. I want you to come home with me." Z's eyes widened.

Z:"You mean...to your world? Is that allowed?" The beast shrugged.

Maximol:"I don't know...I don't think it's ever happened before. There are other monsters like me as I once told you. But I was too afraid to bring you home in case they wanted to hurt you." The two sat down at a bench near by and he looked him in the eyes."Zack....I know why we're here. I heard you talking on the phone a week ago." Z bit his bottom lip. Tears filled up his eyes and he struggled to hold it back."I know you can't live forever...I know you've aged but even so..." He touched his face, slid his boney fingers through his grey hair and pulled him close."I still want to be by your side. No matter what happens. Even when I can't see you, nothing could ever make me stop loving you. You will always be perfect to me." Z gently pulled him close and kissed his lips. They held each other in their arms for a long time. It was as if time had stopped and the world was frozen in place. Neither of them wanted to let go, they didn't want to be apart. When they stopped, Maximol wiped his tears away.

Z:"And you will always be my most beautiful Masterpiece." He cried silently. The shadow's vision blurred with tears. To a human, a hundred years may seem like forever but to him it was so short. He carefully pressed his head up to his.

Maximol:"I love you." He whispered. Z couldn't help but kiss him over and over gently.

Z:"I love you too." He finally said with a warm smile. He held onto him tightly and was afraid he would disappear right then and there."I want to stay like this just a little longer Maxi." He whispered.

Maximol:"Me too..." He said. It was almost barely audible. He tried to be strong. He didn't want to cry now. He never cried in front of him before. The two knew they had to leave soon before morning. After they left, they returned home and snuggled up near the fire place the whole day, never leaving each others arms.

A few years passed, when Maximol finally returned home he had held tightly onto Z. He had Z's face and on his back was a bag with glass bottles that carried his blood. No monster dared to speak to him as he passed. Everything was silent as he walked home. Everyone seemed frozen in place. After he had put all of his stuff away, he buried Z in the yard and made a tombstone that read: 'R.I.P Zack Kaarle Arthur' and under it read: 'The Perfect Husband. You will NEVER be forgotten. I will NEVER allow that to happen'. He kept Z's blood in case anything happened. He was sure to lock them up some where safe and kept this a secret for years. The only other monster who knows about this is his old friend Ellen who is a large snow owl that works at the Monsters Library.

Maximol never took his face to feel perfect, he kept it so that he could show it off to other monsters so that Z's memory would live on. So that every creature he met would know how perfect he is. That Maximol still loves him to this day and would never change his face for anybody else. That he would never forget how he looked and how he felt when he was around.

                                                    END

[soapberryspringsrpg]

Anais Morreaux || Vampire || Taken || Eva Green

rape tw

On the backbone of the French revolution, Anais Morreaux was born in 1799 to parents Arni and Marie Dubois in a small village near Paris. As an only daughter growing up during Napoleon’s rise to power, Anais was a child protected from the chaos of the wide world, growing up at the estate her parents worked at. A butler father and a laundress couldn’t provide much for their child, but she still spent her younger years in happy play and learning with her peers. As she slowly stepped into adulthood Anais started taking lessons and becoming a governess, showing intelligence and diligence in her duties.

As the wars ended, peace spread in the country and Anais was free to pursue work away from the estate she was born at and she moved to Paris to be a governess for two lovely children of a couple who were friends with her previous employer. When she was seventeen, through her connections to the family she met the young and perspective Remy Dubois and the two fell desperately in love. Remy was an honest man, hardworking and sweet, and he courted her gently, but consistently. He lavished her with gifts and attention, all provided by the remaining wealth his family gathered during the wars, and his own sharp interest in investment showed her his unrelenting spirit.

It was not long before they were married. It was a joyous occasion for both families, vows exchanged in the picturesque French countryside and soon enough Remy and Anais had a home of their own. During these few years the wealth of her husband allowed her to pursue her interests in full and she committed to learning languages and history, art and music. She abandoned her old job as a governess, and while she was happy with her newfound life, a deep longing settled in her – a wish to have a child of her own.

This proved to be a challenge; and after five years of trying, Anais and Remy were out of options except adopting. While Anais was more than happy to give a home to a child unwanted, it sat ill with her husband who slowly turned bitter and cold. Their relationship that held such a spark in the beginning was now frayed and distant, and Remy could not accept a child into his home that did not carry his blood. He turned to liquor, while Anais kept her lips tight, more and more spiraling down into despair. Their wealth diminished over the next two years and Anais was forced to take up work again, governing children of others – a constant reminder of what she could not have.

It was one of the nights when she was working late, coming back from her lessons that she returned to their home to find Remy between the thighs of their maid. At a loss for words she crumpled like a leaf while the younger girl ghosted away and after that, her pain bubbled to the surface. She snapped and yelled, screamed herself hoarse, recounting the downward spiral that her life has taken from the moment they gave up on a child. With a cold-blooded stare Remy dismissed her rage, easily blaming her inability to conceive as the cause of their rough life. She was out of options. At that point, she decided that she could not take it anymore and as she stood up to pack her bags and leave, Remy turned violent. That night, he raped her and beat her – a grotesque homage to their early years of marriage, and she stayed put, quiet and withdrawn, unable to process what her husband did to her.

What neither of them could imagine was that from that one night of inconceivable horror, Anais would finally get pregnant. Nobody could tell who was shocked more – her or Remy; but the occurrence alone was not enough to lift Remy up and he continued his cheating and drinking, all in front on his pregnant wife’s nose. Anais kept put, nursing her pregnancy, awestruck that a night that brought her so much suffering was now bringing her the biggest joy of her life. It was short-lived, as those things usually are, as her violent husband kept finding ways to blame her for his problems, and after a severe beating, Anais lost the child, barely escaping with her life. Remy’s mental and physical state deteriorated after that and he died of liver poisoning not two months after.

Widowed and childless, Anais sold the house and moved to a small tenement pavilion, living with severe depression for the next two years. It was there that she met an upstanding war profiteer Gaspard Martin, a man of the world. A mere five years older than her, he was a patient man, courting her relentlessly, much to her surprise. She found herself uplifted and at her thirty years of age, married again. Gaspard was a very hardworking man and he loved to travel, so soon after the wedding he convinced her to expand their horizons and move to the United States. In awe with the turn her life had taken Anais agreed and by late 1830s she and Gaspard successfully made the trip to New Orleans, a booming city, expanding with the influx of the French.

What she found out soon was that Gaspard was not as honest as he had seemed. Instead of mansions and farmsteads he promised, she was ushered into a new life of misery, as her “husband” turned to be a hustler and drug trafficker and Anais was just the latest of his addition to the brothel in the slums of New Orleans. Kept drugged on opium to be placid, Anais was used and abused repeatedly over the next five years for Gaspard’s profit – until she was left for dead in a ditch by Gaspard himself, outliving her purpose as she was already an old maid that “nobody wanted to fuck”.

As life was trickling out of her, a tall, pale woman appeared, shrouded in the night’s cloak. A gentle word, one last kindness, and a sharp pain in her neck followed by a metalling tinge of blood on her lips were the last thing Anais remembered of her mortal life. The next night she awoke, life’s brilliance restored and outshined by her newly awakened vampiric senses, and her Sire Maieve by her side, Anais finally reclaimed herself. Taking back her maiden name, Anais Morreaux stalked the night and found her revenge on Gaspard, drinking him dry in his own bed.

In a twisted comedy of life, undeath was much kinder to Anais. She lived with her Sire for a while in New Orleans, settling in one of the mansions she first dreamed of before arriving. They preyed on the vile and mean, using their allure and strength to overpower their victims, all the while saving those less fortunate.

She and Maieve travelled during the next century, either avoiding conflict and opting for life of leisure; or taking stride with the world current of war, fighting for what they believed in, making life easier for those that they could. It was during the Second World War in France, that Maieve deemed Anais was good on her own, disappearing in the night, and Anais felt her own longing for a child more pressing than ever since her turning. In a desperate plea she turned a dying French soldier and gained a progeny of her own. It was a painful thing, when he saw his new chance of life as an abomination and walked out into the sun, leaving her once more alone and empty. It was then that she decided that Europe had nothing more to offer her, and she moved back to the US and established herself in New Orleans, city of her rebirth.

Over the last century Anais became a household name in the supernatural underbelly of New Orleans, establishing a business of selling flesh – another glimmer of her past that she wanted to rectify now that she had the means. She created a high luxury brothel, catering to humans and supernaturals alike, but always bound to the rules she enforced – utter respect for the workers and no nonsense attitude towards violence of any kind.  She also successfully Sired two children of her own, a wandering daughter that she lost contact with right after the 1950s, and a son with whom she shared the business with.

In the later 2017 Anais received a letter from her Sire; last in the line of infrequent correspondence they tenuously kept – inviting her to a new and wonderful place – Soapberry Springs. Maieve did not divulge any details except the invitation and a guide, but promised that in Soapberry all would be revealed. Thus Anais found herself packing her bags and leaving her business booming under the watchful eyes of her son, inviting her daughter to join her if she ever wished – and going towards a bright and different future that would unravel the secrets of her Sire’s disappearance once and for all.

To what degree have you actually controlled the course your life has taken? “I haven’t controlled a thing during the first 35 years of my life. I lived under the “guise of choices, but I was never the one making them. And well, since then… I’ve had the luxury of a few lifetimes to do only what I choose.”

Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things? “Both are important, for different reasons. You need to know what is right in the first place, to be able to do it right. The right things done wrong end in terrible ways; wrong things done right are horrible from its conception.

[spncanonbigbang]

Masterpost 2017

Under the read more you’ll find the list of all the mini and big bangs from this year’s event. Enjoy and see you next year!

| 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020

MiniBangs

Shut Up and Dance, Dean Winchester by Ailuromatron | art by emmatheslayer 8,3k; Teen and Up Audiences; Castiel/Dean Winchester

Dean is not going to think about the way Cas’ sudden withdrawal overlaps with the mental feedback Dean’s been experiencing here. He wouldn’t know what to make of it anyway, whether it’d be ironic or fitting or what. But if Castiel shutting him out turned out to be because Dean is loosening up, letting ideas form in his head more clearly than before—that would burn like a hot blade, and it just doesn’t bear looking too closely. It’s not the only thing tonight that doesn’t bear close inspection for the sake of Dean’s sanity. He damn near trips over his own feet when confronted by the south side of a north-facing Cas—seriously, when and where did he get that pair of ink-black jeans and in what universe is the way they fit his thighs not illegal?—and he’s pathetically grateful for the excuse of a rough patch of asphalt to blame it on when the others turn back to see what happened to him.

Misery & Solace by theackles | art by thruterryseyes 5k; General Audiences; Dean Winchester/Castiel

It’s been a week. One long, painfully numb week. The days went by one by one until Dean didn’t know what day it was anymore. Dean can feel the ache in his bones. He can’t move, he can barely think. He’s gotta get Cas back, even if it means working with Rowena and (almost) killing himself in the process.

A Lesson in Adapting by distortedrain | art by emotionallyunstabl 5,6k; Teen and Up Audiences; Castiel/Dean Winchester

The Winchesters settle into the Bunker and learn to hunt a little less a live a little more.

Fin ad Infinitum (The End Evermore) by AmberAnnh | art by lux-tuli 8,5k; PG-13; Gen

In “The End” Dean got the chance to see the future, zapped to a 2014 where the consequences of his choices had played out. Now, it’s Sam’s turn. Transported from 2009 to 2014, he must grapple with a demonic virus from his past, angels using the remnants of humanity as disposable vessels, the devil in his nightmares, and—perhaps worst of all—why Dean said “yes” to Michael.

If These Rooms Have Memories by KelpietheThundergod | art by malallory 12k; Mature; implied Castiel/Dean Winchester

Sudden light and sound make him flinch, but then, oh—cartoons! Awesome. Except then, the tall man comes over and takes the button-thingie out of his hand and shuts the cartoons off. “Dean, listen. The witches are gone, and they’ve got the Grimoire. We’re gonna do a spell to slow down the curse to buy some time, and then—” The man cuts himself off and his serious expression turns into one of exasperation. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Something Special by Durenjtmusings | art by Busy Squirrel 11,3k; General Audiences; Gen

What makes something special? Special enough for people to pay any price, beyond even their lives? Welcome to Lost and Found, Ltd., experts in finding very, very special things. Things that can be yours if you are willing to trade something very special in return. Well, and often even if you aren’t. [Canon-compliant possible backstory for both characters and objects in Supernatural: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Ruby, Jimmy Novak, Daniel Elkins, the Impala, Ruby’s knife, Dean’s Colt, Sam’s Taurus, the Samulet and The Colt.]

Exit: Light by hexmaniacchoco | art by quiescentcastiel 22,5k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

Dean, Sam, and Cas are relaxing in the bunker when Sam finds them a case involving three college students who’ve gotten themselves into trouble while playing a summoning game they found online, resulting in a nearly fatal incident. After investigating and figuring out what people are summoning into their homes, they decide to summon it as well in order to kill it. However, things aren’t quite what they seem at first, and a misjudgement of the situation finds TFW with the disadvantage as they walk around a pitch-black bunker trying to search out the creature they’re hunting without mistaking each other for it instead.

Mirror, Mirror by Jerksarehot | art by emmatheslayer 10,6k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

A witch with a taste for human souls reveals a secret to Dean before escaping with a promise to return. The boys recruit some help from Bobby to find a way to track and kill her. Dean must now decide if he should tell Sam the truth and risk losing him, or keep his dark secret and risk Sam’s life and his own soul.

The Night Goes By by indigoneutrino | art by Loracine 8,3k; Mature; Gen

It’s a long night when Sam and Dean first arrive at the prison, separated from each other to be strip searched, manhandled and humiliated before being thrown into cramped concrete cells. The nights that follow are longer.

Some Kind Of Monster by Hermit9 | art by Dmsilvisart 6,8k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

After leaving the Bunker and the Winchesters, Castiel attempts to earn his penance (again) by tracking down the escaped Lucifer. Crowley tagging along is both a blessing and a curse, the silver-tongued devil an asset during the investigations. If only he didn’t drive Castiel out of his mind. Set during and around “American Nightmare” up to “Rock Never dies”

A Mother’s Love by Leahlisabeth | art by kuwlshadow 5,2k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

Mary loves her boys, really she does, but she can’t quite seem to click with Sam. She’ll need to figure it out when a mother’s love is the only thing that can save him from a witches curse.

BigBangs

Always Stuck In Second Gear by ThayerKerbasy | art by dmsilvisart 29k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

After Wendy Vincente spilled the location of her brother’s secret cabin, Agents Beyoncé and Jay-Z had a lead to follow. Tracking Lucifer while confined to a pickup truck wasn’t exactly Crowley’s preferred modus operandi, but at least he was in good company.

and by me, i mean us by puckity | art by winchesterchola 16,5k; Explicit; Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester; Very Light Sam Winchester/Castiel

After what they think was just a routine case, Sam starts feelings things that he can’t quite put a name to. Things that aren’t really his but aren’t not his either. So he does what he always does: runs some tests, collects the data, and starts drawing conclusions. And then Dean does what he always does–comes in and tangles everything, including Sam, up. Timelined in early Season 12, prior to “First Blood” (12.09).

Blue Moon Rising by Treefrogie84 | art by Mayalaen 56,1k; Mature; Dean/Castiel, Dean/Lisa Braeden, Castiel/Dean/Lisa Braeden

Dean promised Sam that he would walk away from hunting, walk away from his family, and live some normal apple-pie life with Lisa. He did his best to do that– pulled the weapons out of the trunk, turned his back on Cas and Bobby, started spending his evenings with Lisa and Ben at Little League practice. But monsters don’t stop hurting folks, Hell doesn’t stop being Hell, and Heaven doesn’t start caring about humanity just because Dean’s retired.

Thunder on the Mountain by Skitty | art by kuwlshadow 23k; PB-13; Gen

A string of strange and seemingly unrelated tragedies are plaguing the Appalachian region. Children disappear. Men go insane. Hikers are mauled by large animals. And always…traveling Northward. Sam and Dean pick up the hunt in a small town outside the national forest. The creature they’re hunting is one of legend, feared by the native tribes that once populated the area centuries ago. With the unexpected aide of a strange woman also appearing to hunt the creature, the boys must attempt to bring it down before they lose their minds completely.

An Even Trade by PaperAnn | art by GlitchedWings 42,7k; Explicit; Sam Winchester/Gabriel

You’d think being relentlessly pursued by a tall, dark and handsome hunter would be an exciting game of chase. Until it wasn’t. Gabriel was growing bored of Sam Winchester’s constant tailing, still obsessed with getting his brother back, even though the Trickster was doing the kid a favor by offing Dean, thank you very much. He had to make this entertaining again, this new merciless killing-machine-Sam was no fun. They entered into a deal: Sam would work a case under the guise of a Trickster to see the reason behind the mischief by serving up a case of Just Desserts. If Sam won? He got Dean back. If he lost…well, Sam wasn’t going to lose, no matter the cost. Except, seven days of living on top of one another made Sam see beyond the monster who ruined him and back to the witty, cute janitor he met at Crawford Hall. There was also the problem of the two men, who were clearly attracted to each other, alone in a motel room for a full week. It was an accident waiting to happen. The puzzle was, neither knew who was manipulating who, if it was all a ploy or real emotions were coming out to play. The only thing both men recognized was something real was happening. And they were running out of time.

Lock & Key by MyShipWillNeverSink | art by Gabedrawz 18k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Castiel

Canon divergent from 9x03. Dean and Cas set off on a hunt as a distraction from the guilt Dean feels for betraying his brother’s trust (again). Things go awry when Castiel falls through a frozen river, and things aren’t at all what they seem.

Build a Home by domesticadventures | art by myukur 20k; Teen and Up Audiences; Dean/Cas; background Sam/Eileen and Krissy/Josephine

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them. He doesn’t.

What Went Wrong Yesterday by cinnamonanddean | art by stormbrite 16,2k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

With Broward County in their rearview and a new case in their laps, Sam struggles to come to terms with the six months he spent alone after Dean’s death - and the fact that it never happened at all. And on top of it all, he now has to deal with the feelings for his brother that have been dragged to the surface.

The Heart of Ophelia by anyrei and mugglerock | art by nonexistenz 39k; Explicit;  Dean Winchester/Castiel

Always throwing himself in harm’s way for the Winchesters, Castiel ends up getting hit with a love curse. Under the influence of fabricated emotions, Castiel learns just how dangerous unrequited love can be. And Dean learns what it means to doubt everything he’s ever believed. They have a week to find a way to lift the curse, otherwise the intoxication of “love” will kill Castiel. Literally.

When Words Fade, Music Speaks by Pinkmink | art by Dreymart 16,9k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Castiel

The Brits have Dean running ragged all across the country. When Cas returns from his not-so-brief time in Heaven, Dean finds them a case in New Orleans. It’s supposed to feel like a Winchester version of vacation - voodoo, good food and a simple salt and burn. But the trip turns out to be a far more cathartic release than he bargained for.

Fight or Flight by ellispark | art by emotionallyunstabl 23k; Mature; Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

Just when Dean’s started to feel good about his life — the end is not nigh, and his brother and his angel are safe in the bunker — Sam and Cas start keeping secrets from him. It’s not a big deal, at least not at first. Everyone needs to play some things close to the chest. But when Dean finds out what they’ve been hiding, the bubble of carefree happiness he’s carefully placed around his family finally bursts.

Long Distance by grey2510 | art by Marsjay 18,9k; Teen and Up Audiences; Jody Mills/Asa Fox, Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

Losing someone is never easy, nor is having them far away, no matter how often it happens in a hunter’s life. When Jody, Sam, and Dean travel up to Canada for the wake and funeral of Asa Fox, each is forced to confront some truths about family and who is really important in their lives.

Entwined Souls by sweet-sammy-kisses | art by lux-tuli 16,3k; Teen and Up Audiences; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Sam was all prepared to spend eternity in the cage trapped at the mercy of Lucifer and Michael if it meant that Dean would be safe. What no one counted on was Chuck to come back or turn out to be God. With Ellen, Ash and Jo brought back as a thank you gift for all the boys have done Dean and Sam are at a loss of what to do when Chuck announces he is taking the angels back to heaven and closing the gates of hell up. There is one thing the boys both want and that is the one thing they are afraid to go after, each other. But after almost losing each other one too many times they decide to take a chance and now the life of retirement is discovering the next step in their relationship.

Humanity's Angels by Ami Rose | art by sevenspirals 94k; Explicit; Dean Winchester/Castiel, Background Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy, Background Original Characters OT3

To get their minds off of Kelly Kline, Lucifer, and the BMOL, Dean and Sam take a case in Northern Arizona where a rogue angel was seen flashing his wings at a film festival and ranting about blasphemy. They quickly realize that there might be more to this case than they’d initially thought. The angel fits all the characteristics of being a ghost—EMF readings, see-through body, air chilling ability, and all. A local man is found with his eyes burned out like he was the victim of a smiting keeps them in town after salting and burning the angel’s buried vessel in hopes of dispelling his ghost.

Between all of this, Dean is finding it hard to keep his feelings for Cas under wraps. Especially when everywhere he looks and everyone he talks to reminds him of how much energy he’s spent hiding his sexuality from his family over the years.

Will watching the ghost angel’s grieving best friend mourn the loss of the angel he’d loved spur Dean into confessing his own feelings before it’s too late? Will an angel from Cas’s past be able to succeed where Ishim failed? Who the hell has Sam been texting? Will someone please tell Mary what the hell is going on with her sons? Will any of Team Free Will learn to use their damn words?

[lurkingcrow]

I really need to stop thinking so much about the tragedy of SW

Third and last bit of the "people who might have known" thing started here  . We've covered Padmé's colleagues and friends, now it's time for the other group who might have guessed. Blame @albaparthenicevelut and @letslipthehounds for giving me clone feels.

TW: references suicide

Kix has heard the rumours. He's seen the bounties. And yet he still cannot bring himself to hope. Even now,  sitting in the bar three doors down from the tiny shop where he plys his trade, watching footage from the latest Rebel raid his first thought had been that someone back on Kamino got a hold of the General's gene specs and made themselves a shiny new Jedi. But the Skywalker Kix remembers was never quite that short. The body shape's wrong too - slighter and less broad in the shoulders. He bets this one will end up more like Commander Tano, all quick moves and acrobatics rather than powerful, unrelenting attacks. If Empire doesn't get him first, that is.

He takes a swig of his drink. Still better than the moonshine Coric used to make on board the Resolute. That stuff had only been good for sterilising medprobes and degreasing the dropships' notoriously fickle fuel cells. Kriffing hell. The Rebellion has a Skywalker. One shiny enough not to realise just how big a target he has painted on his back. Of course if he's anything like Kix's general, it probably wouldn't make much difference. Jare jetii! Too reckless for their own good. And now there's one running about the galaxy without any of the vod'e to watch his back like they should and...

Kix takes another, deeper, swallow. Two decades gone and the pain is as raw as ever. He'd been one of the lucky ones, he thinks. When the Captain came to him, wanting his chip removed, Kix had listened. He did the research, worked out how to reprogram the med droid, and handed Rex's chip back himself. A fortnight later, with no signs of increased aggression or instability,​ Kix had put himself under and woke up with a new scar on his skull and a tiny piece of circuitry on the tray beside him. It looked so harmless at the time. Hardly the sort of Sith machination it proved to be.

His second piece of luck was being deployed to the siege of Mandalore. It was bad enough to stand and watch Order 66 take hold and his brothers become nothing more than meat-clankers. To see them betray that which they once would have died to protect. If he had been on Coruscant with the rest of the 501st, if he had taken part in the Temple massacre? Kix shudders. He still doesn't know where or how his general had fallen. The most likely scenario was that he'd been in the Temple when that scum-sucking sithspawn Vader led the purge, but Kix can't be sure. He hopes Skywalker gave the Sith hell. Kix can't imagine he went down without a fight. But his brothers aren't amateurs, and the Jedi had no warning...

A month after Rex disappeared into the chaos following E-Day Kix had gone searching for answers. There were none to be found. Their reinforcements from the main regiment, the ones who'd been on Coruscant were adamant. The Jedi were traitors. Why was he asking about them? Desperate, he'd convinced one of the veteran troopers, Nax, to let him remove his chip, citing potential damage from a CIS shell. The horrified scream of realisation will haunt Kix for the rest of his days. Nax was broken. Over and over he whispered a frantic litany of apologies interspersed with desperate demands to know "why?". When his brother's sobs had died down Kix embraced him, told him it wasn't his fault. Nax had looked him in the eye and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We were made for the Jedi. And we slaughtered them." He said no more. Two days later he ate his own blaster. Kix didn't attempt any more chip removals.

That was when Kix started seriously considering going AWOL and setting himself up on some backwater world like Cut had years before. He couldn't keep going like this. When it became obvious that whatever dubious protections the Republic had once afforded it's troops no longer applied in the Empire, and casualty rates rose to heights not seen since Krell and the Umbara campaign, Kix began preparing. It was heartbreakingly easy to slip away in the night, a quick slice adding his designation to the list of that days losses. In the end it hadn't been necessary. Six days later as his transport docked at Botajef the insurrectionist bombing of the Mandalore garrison hit the waves. Torrent company, like the rest of his past, was gone. He drifted for a while, hopping from system to system avoiding Imperial sweeps and trying to forget how his joints ached. Now here he was, old beyond his years, patching up broken knees and blaster wounds in a back alley clinic on Ison and pretending the galaxy hadn't stopped making sense twenty years ago.

Though, looking at the footage of the Rebel's latest raid, maybe things were beginning to make sense again. Kix watches as the rebels on screen fight their way back to their ship, the camera stopping to zoom in on their faces. Even if the shiny Jedi wasn't a clone, he definitely had Skywalker's genes. And come to think of it... He watches the replay, as this new Skywalker tucks away his lightsaber to grab the blaster offered by his companion (Organa's daughter? He'd always seemed a good sort for a civvie. Nice to see he'd passed his competence on).

It's an unlikely move for a Jedi, but his aim is superb. His look of concentration is also vaguely familiar and... Oh Sithspit! Kix is a damn idiot. That's the Senator's  expression! Amidala always had been a damn fine shot. Smart too. Add in her looks and insistence on treating them all like individuals and there were few in the 501st who weren't at least a little taken by their General's lady. Not that their admiration wasn't obvious. General Skywalker hadn't taken the nose art, or the drinking songs, particularly well, for all that he agreed with the sentiment. Kix smiles. Honestly, and they thought they were being so sneaky! He silently offers a toast to their memory. Wherever their spirits ended up, he hopes they're together. They deserved that much at least.

His nostalgia doesn't last long. Whatever small joy he takes from knowing a part of that remarkable couple lives on is quickly subsumed by the overwhelming wave of guilt. They'd failed this one too. Skywalker Jr might have made it to adulthood, but he was clearly not as well trained as he should have been (would have been, had the Jedi lived, had the Republic not fallen, had his brothers not been made to betray all they loved). He might have his father's uncanny piloting skills but the Empire's gunning for him hard. One day they're going to catch up with him, and when they do... the kid's no match for Vader. Nobody alive is a match for Vader.

Kix swallows the last drops in his glass. What can be do? Once, he might have packed his bags and set off  to stop the kid from getting himself killed through typical Jedi heroics. But despite his chronological age Kix is an old man. It's been years since he was anywhere near fit for combat. And even if he did make it through to the rebellion, the role the clones played in the fall of the Republic is well known. How could he even begin to explain?

Truthfully though, Kix knows He's afraid. Call him a coward but he cannot take the risk of getting to know another Skywalker, of regaining his purpose, only to watch the Empire take it all away again. He orders another drink. No. They're both better off if Kix stays right where he is and forgets all about Jedi and generals and fighting the good fight. His war is done.

...For now, anyway.

So that's all I've got for the moment - there are a couple of ways I can see this going AU, but none are really gripping me right now. So like everything else I've written, this one will probably sit on that backburner for a while until inspiration strikes again 😉

[vileart]

Forgetting Dramaturgy: Guillaume Pigé @ Edfringe 2017

The Nature of Forgetting

Pleasance Courtyard (Forth), 60 Pleasance, Edinburgh, EH8 9TJ Thursday 3rd – Sunday 27th August 2017 (not 14th), 12:00

Following a sell-out run at the 2017 London International Mime Festival, Theatre Re’s The Nature of Forgetting is a powerful, explosive and joyous piece about what is left when memory and recollection are gone. It is part of British Council Edinburgh Showcase 2017.

Tom has just turned 55. As he dresses for his birthday party, tangled threads of disappearing memories spark him into life, unravelling as a tale of friendship, love and guilt. This ambitious project with actors, mimes and musicians has been created in collaboration with UCL Neuroscience Professor Kate Jeffery and inspired by interviews and workshops with organisations such as the Alzheimer's Society.  While the medium of performance may be an unusual resource for the transmission of science, it shines a light on issues around memory that offers a new perspective. What was the inspiration for this performance? The Nature of Forgetting started with a question:

what is eternal? Or more specifically what is left when memory is gone? To find answers we dived into the world of memories and forgetting.  We collaborated with UCL Neuroscience Professor Kate Jeffery to explore what it means to forget and what actually happens in the brain when we forget. We also interviewed older members of the community as well as people living with dementia and their carers to create links between the science and the real human experience. Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas? I think performance is a good trigger for fascinating discussions because it helps us to develop our empathy. It helps us to put ourselves in someone else's shoes and see the world through his or her eyes. With The Nature of Forgetting, we don't pretend that we portray on stage what it is like to be living with early onset dementia, but we give a glimpse of what it can be like. We provide a change of perspective and that change can be enlightening and lead to the public discussion of ideas such as why providing extensive care for people living with dementia, what sort of care is needed and also how to train people to be more dementia friendly. 

It is as if the role of the artist was to reveal or unveil inner truths about the human condition and share the result of his or her exploration with an audience. Performance seems to be a rehearsal for life. How did you become interested in making performance? I first trained as an actor and then as a director and then I fell in love with Mime. To me, Mime is about making the portrait of something (an thought, an idea, an emotion...etc) with something else (a body, an object, the voice...etc). It is about creating metaphors on stage to communicate, and I find it to be the most beautiful and powerful thing in the world because it triggers the audience's imagination.

With The Nature of Forgetting, our main question was: what is left when memory is gone? We did not find the answer. We could not find the answer. So we made a show about it, in other word we created a metaphor to give a flavour of the answer. And that flavour turned out to be more real and tangible than any answers. Is there any particular approach to the making of the show? As a company we work very collaboratively, we take time and we constantly open the doors of our rehearsal room to share/test our work. We engaged with a lot of people throughout the development process. A lot of the work happened in rehearsal, but many discoveries were also made while researching for the project, interviewing experts in the field of memory and public health, engaging with people living with dementia and their carer.

When in the rehearsal room, we started by moving and improvising. A few objects became very rapidly central to the piece like the wooden school desks, for instance. Most of our initial little scenes did not make much sense and were completely unrelated. It is only little by little, through constant and regular adjustments and regular dramaturgy sessions, where we questioned every choices, that very slowly a piece appeared. It seems very similar to sculpting in that sense. It was a process of constant refinement. And it still is. Does the show fit with your usual productions? Yes and no. Yes, because we sweat a lot. It is very physical and visual and I think people will relate to the work in a deep and intuitive way. The whole piece is also being supported by a live musical score specially composed by Alex Judd.

No, because we have never had so many things and performers on stage. There is a lot of stuff, so it is not as minimal as our previous productions, where only a couple of objects were used to their maximal potential. It is also our most narratively driven piece to date. What do you hope that the audience will experience? I would like the audience to come out of the theatre with both a smile on their face and a tear in their eye, having experienced the fragility of life. What strategies did you consider towards shaping this audience experience? I tried to give a real portrait of what it means to forget. By real, I don't mean natural or naturalistic but true. It comes back to the idea of creating metaphors on stage and how these metaphors can help  us get closer to the unspeakable truth that we are trying to communicate to the audience.

Director Guillaume Pigé comments, The Nature of Forgetting is not about dementia. It is about the fragility of life and that eternal ‘something’ we all share that is left when memory is gone. Our collaboration with Professor Kate Jeffery and our interviews with people living with dementia and their carers have resulted in a life-affirming journey into a weakening mind, where broken does not have to mean defeated. The development process for The Nature of Forgetting lasted for 16 months, funded by Arts Council England. The piece is co-commissioned by the London International Mime Festival, The Point and South Hill Park. Established in 2009, Theatre Re is a London-based international ensemble creating thought- provoking, tangible and poignant work. Its shows examine fragile human conditions, in a compelling, physical style embracing mime, theatre and live music. from the vileblog http://ift.tt/2rGRt7u

[jeremystrele]

Patricia Callan & Peter Bakacs of Modernist Australia

Patricia Callan & Peter Bakacs of Modernist Australia

Creative People

by Lucy Feagins, Editor

Patricia Callan and Peter Bakacs have been running the Modernist Australia it’s various forms since Trish founded the website in 2008. Pictured is their own mid-century home in Ocean Grove, Victoria. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

The brilliant Modernist Australia website.

Trish handles ALL the editorial and social media, while Peter looks after the website design and visuals. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Inside their Ocean Grove home, a Besser brick dwelling designed by Eoin Barnett. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Trish researching for the site. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Their love of mid-century modern architecture extends to art and furniture too! Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Their light and airy dining room. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Monstera goals! Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Peter and Trish at home in Ocean Grove. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

Have you noticed the groundswell of support for mid century architecture lately? First it was Sirius (in Sydney), then the Lind House in Melbourne (temporarily safe – hurrah!). It seems all across Australia, we’re finally wising up to the inherent value of homes and buildings designed in the ’50s, ’60s and even ’70s. After all… this era was a remarkable and formative time for Australian architecture, and when these houses are gone,  they’re gone for good!

One couple who have spent the past (almost) ten years advocating in their own way for Australia’s mid century history are Patricia Callan and Peter Bakacs. The pair have been running Modernist Australia in its various forms since Trish founded the website in 2008. It’s a truly FANTASTIC site, and an incredible resource for mid century enthusiasts. Well worth following on social media, especially as a home buying resource, or simply for a daily fix of mid century eye-candy!

The husband-and-wife duo both have fine art backgrounds, having both studied Ceramic Design at Monash in the 1990s (Pete focusing on clay, and Trish on hot glass blowing after a year of Sculpture at RMIT).

When Pete is not commuting to Melbourne a few days per week for his full-time job as a web designer, or handing that side of MA, he likes to paint (with a mid-century slant, as you might have guessed!). The talented artist is actually opening his first solo exhibition, ‘The Fast Can’t Lose‘ at Outre Gallery in Melbourne today!

The one-woman marvel behind ALL Modernist Australia’s editorial,  Trish, works part-time in an unrelated field and works on the website every chance she gets. ‘Hence it is not the full site it could be…’ she adds modestly, ‘however, the kids are off to school next year, so we’re hoping to ramp it up a little!’

The family lived in Seddon for 13 years, but moved beachside to a roomier home in Ocean Grove in 2013, with their twin girls who are now aged five. Fittingly, the Modernist Australia headquarters is their amazing 1979 besser brick home, which was designed by architect Eoin Barnett.

We recently visited the duo at their beautiful home, and had a chance to chat to Trish about their brilliant website.

How did you go from studying Fine Art to launching the  Modernist Australia?

Studying fine art sets you up beautifully to work in call centres and admin jobs for years which is what I have done (though I made art in fits and starts). Pete went back to uni and studied multimedia at RMIT, and now is a lead designer at a tech company. Having kids of course takes up time, as does having day jobs, but the busier we are, the more we get done, if that makes sense!

Was there a specific moment that inspired you to launch Modernist Australia? And how has it evolved?

I first focused on mid-century modernist (MCM) homes creatively with an art project in the late ’90s. Being a real estate browser for years I became frustrated that so many architect designed homes were not being sold for their design and craftsmanship merits. This was the 2000s, when MCM styling and furniture was becoming big, but the architecture – the houses these items were coming from – were (and still are) being sold for scrap.

Having a web designer at my disposal, I decided to make a small website to house my rants and showcase the homes which were disappearing before our very eyes. This has evolved into about four different versions of website, forays into holiday rentals and a bit of guest blogging, radio appearances etc.

For someone who isn’t so familar with your site, can you explain what MA is all about?

Modernist Australia (MA) uses existing real estate listings to showcase great MCM, mostly domestic, architecture across the country. It can be used in several ways: as a home buying resource or for design and renovation ideas, as platform for preservation advocacy or for straight up eye-candy. We are fairly broad in what we include as ‘Modernist’, but stay within the perimeters of classic mid-century; 1940s – 1970s. As non-experts ourselves, we aim to elicit broad discussion, because good design is for all, staying accessible and (hopefully!) funny.

Who else is involved in producing all that wonderful content?

MA is essentially my show; I choose the homes, write the commentary and post them up and manage the social media. Peter helps with the technical aspects – the web design, the stats, any issues which may arise with images etc.

How do you source homes and stories to feature; do you have a particular process or criteria?

I’ve learnt in which suburbs MCM houses most commonly  appear, and I web search broad areas of the country with keywords, but mostly now people send us homes they have seen or are selling for inclusion on the site. And we have literally hundreds of homes just this year we could have listed but have not been able to fit in. I try to keep it as nation-wide as possible and show a variety. It would be easy to post nothing but million dollar homes from just Melbourne but that doesn’t reflect the breadth of work, nor philosophy of Modernist progressives who wanted good design to be part of everyone’s lives.

What do you hope to achieve from running MA?

We want to influence mainstream thought by reminding everyone that these houses are beautiful, practical places to live and for the first thought to not be to knock them down. We’d like to see the same desire for MCM furniture and decor afforded to these brilliant, considered residences. I’d especially like the wider public to start thinking about design, even for new builds, to be for actual living not just surface appeal.

The highlight for us has been the resonance of ideas and a growing community who have found each other. The confirmation that we are not alone in our appreciation for this era of design, and that many people are interested in creative output which is stylish but also skilfully created and lasting – not just buying trendy ‘stuff’. The only drawback is being able to keep up with it all. I suspect some people think we are an organisation, though it’s really only me and so I have to constantly juggle emails, social media messages, requests for renovation help, listings and social media stuff at a certain pace to keep the momentum going.

How have the online content and social media revolutions impacted upon MA ?

We have about about 70k page views, per month, but social media has made us who we are. We began the Facebook page around 2011 (14,200 followers) and Instagram began only a couple of years ago (9,700 followers) and both are without question the best method to alert everyone of new content. Social media also provides a platform for commentary which we don’t have to moderate, everyone is very nice and respectful – thankfully!

As you are authors of a website about incredible homes, we’d also love to hear more about your special dwelling?

With twin toddlers we had been looking to move out of the city for more space and fresh air. We had glanced at a few homes down this way and nearly forgotten about this one. Pete came down by himself for an opening and called me immediately and said we had to buy it.

Like many late Modernist brick homes it has a pervasive calmness. Designed to capture sunlight in the day and a moody darkness at night. The carpet, concrete and timber ceiling means it is never clattery or echoey, just soft and cosy all year round. Plus the kitchen is almost identical to the one in my childhood home. As it was only a beach house before there wasn’t much to do but move in our things, though we have built a bungalow out the back as Pete’s studio/home office.  We don’t want to crowd the space so everything is fairly considered, be it from the op-shop or more high-end name pieces. We have a couple of paintings: a Jon Langford, which was a wedding present and a small Ray Crooke, which we also love.

What or who are some other Australian websites, MCM enthusiasts, and creative people you enjoy following?

1. I am always following the local MCM community, specifically Victorian Modern (on Facebook) by architectural historian Simon Reeves who is hilarious and learned in equal measure (watch this space for a possible new contributor to MA!), project home expert Steven Coverdale at MCDA (on Facebook) and any local preservation groups we can find.

2.  I love textiles, so right now am very keen on American fashion label Ace and Jig, lots of drooling and not much buying unfortunately.

3.  We are huge supporters of our local creatives and craftspeople. Geelong and the Bellarine has a great mix of some very cool kids and old-school purveyors and we want them to flourish. Places like: Union Street Wine, Frank and Dollys, The Pivotionan Cinema, and Boom Gallery.

Can you list for us some of the top resources that you turn to when you’re in a need of creative inspiration?

1. Music is a huge factor in our lives (oh to be able to buy records every day!) and depending on what I’m writing, what Pete is painting or what breakfast the girls might be eating there will always be something playing to accompany that.

2. I regularly check Architecture AU and the annual Houses Awards to get excited at the next bunch of architects and their work. It makes me happy about the future.

3. I will always return to some of my favorite design publications from the Mid Twentieth Century, especially my collection of Sunset books from the 1960s and 70s. It’s astounding how architecturally wonderful the ‘everyday’ suburban homes in these books are.

What’s next for Modernist Australia?

Who knows?! Everyday is a new idea.

We do have a lot of inquiries about sympathetic renovation and we’d certainly like to help more with resources for that. But there are also book ideas, podcast ideas, festival ideas, complete commercial sell-outtery or maybe we’ll pack it all in and I’ll start painting too.

BELLARINE PENINSULA QUESTIONS

Your favourite place on the Bellarine?

The Barwon River Estuary and Barwon Heads/Ocean Grove beaches.

… And our little house; we never want to leave!

Where was the best meal you recently had in your area?

Basil’s has been the recent winner – we had a lunch with friends and kids recently and could have stayed all day. The Paddock in Wallington and coffee from White Hart in Ocean Grove are also consistently great.

Where would we find you on a typical Saturday morning?

Thinking I should be going for a glorious long walk on the beach, but actually typing up a listing for MA and planning breaky at one of the above.

What’s The Bellarine’s best kept secret?

The north-facing Corio Bay views and Salt Lounge in Queenscliff for damn fine cocktails.

‘The Fast Can’t Lose‘ by Peter Bakacs October 6th to 15th Outré Gallery 249 Elizabeth St Melbourne