#ok so this definitely helped some things coalesce

[oldtumblhurgoyf]

Leviathan

had some stuff conkin around the old noodle lately (read, the past 2+ years) and I’ve never bothered to write any of it cuz it’s all a mess so I’m just gonna kind of stream it below and see if some pieces start to fit better

there’s a woman who is a respectable vintner and rubs shoulders with the upper class and all that. she’s a low aristocrat living in a monarchy and while she’s doing alright for herself, especially compared to the commoners, she dreams of more

like she literally has dreams that are prophetic in nature. she doesn’t know how or why, but she just knows. if she acts on them they can become real. however she is cognizant of the fact that her husband doesn’t appear in any of these dreams and she’s not super sure why

one day the king is coming to visit the area and he’s heard good things about her wines and wants to try them. now she’s had lots of time to prepare for this and is super ready. in fact, she and her husband have planned an elaborate trick to rob the king’s treasury and get away with it

it’s a pretty well known fact that wine snobs would rather drink swill but go along with the popular opinion that it’s incredibly fine wine than buck that opinion to voice distaste and be lampooned as not actually knowing a damned thing about wine. this is more true if everybody knows the price of the bottle.

these two are gonna use that (and this woman’s background in forgery--did I mention she lied and cheated her way up into the aristocracy from peasantry? her husband knows and is pretty cool with it, but they both kept that secret so the two could marry without his family refusing to accept it) anyway these two are gonna use that to produce a very old and highly esteemed and sought after vintage--fake of course. it’s worth a TON and they’re going to offer to let the king buy it from them. there is a fine and old wine in the bottle, and the things so rare, nobody actually knows what the original vintage tastes like, much less after all this time. it’s a perfect crime

of course, something goes wrong. i’m not sure what yet, but they get found out. i’m imagining this elaborate dinner party with the king and his entourage (the whole court isn’t traveling with him, but lots of people are so it’s a hefty crowd) which turns into an impromptu trial when the forgery is somehow found out

now the thing here is, in my mind this is playing out as the two can both deny it and there isn’t hard proof to bring against them (this is a very good forgery, she excels at what she does). maybe in my protagonist’s head she is thinking this and then it comes down to the king’s temperament--does he side with the adviser who insists it’s a fake and punish them, or side with them against his adviser?

but her husband caves under the immense pressure of lying in the face of the king. he wasn’t born into this sort of life style, he just sort of married into it and then the worst he had to do was show his parents the well-forged documents of heredity or whatever proving that his bride-to-be was a distant cousin or some such of some foreign count. he’s never been in this sort of situation and it all just kind of comes up, maybe isn’t even entirely malicious on his part but is the absolute worst thing he could do in this situation

it cuts her so deep, to be betrayed by the man she loves like this. and the sentence for their crime, which in this monarchy is a form of treason, is death. he’s condemned them both... but despite this she can’t stand it and admits before them all her skill at forgery and how it was her idea and her work and here she claims that her husband was unaware of it, that she kept him out of it as well and thus only she should be punished

...except the adviser, who is persnickety and a stickler for details, recalls some small comment or happenstance earlier in the evening which somehow betrays that the husband must have been in on things. he knew and thus despite his wife’s noble attempt at self sacrifice, they must both suffer the punishment

which brings us to this king having a perhaps distorted sense of honor and justice and all that. he reads the husband as a sniveling coward who would sell out his wife to save his own skin (again, maybe that was the case, maybe not) and as such must suffer the fate of a coward (perhaps here the king even confirms that prior to his admission the king felt there was not enough evidence to condemn them and would have simply refused them payment under suspicion). as such it is better the husband be executed rather than “live life as a coward and die a thousand times a day” or some nonsensical line about honor and courage like that. dude’s murdered on the spot, in front of his wife and all. there are fucking cheers because people are like that--they just witnessed god’s divine judgment manifest before their eyes and had no idea dinner would come with such a great show today

he turns to the wife, life destroyed by her husband’s betrayal and subsequent death. she’s numb and traumatized and would welcome the same fate in this moment. the king has other plans. he notes her courage and gumption, if misplaced. he says in a different time, under different circumstances, she could perhaps have made a fine knight or some such, so determined is she and willing to face god and fate unblinking. he sentences her to meet her fate head on, in exile, condemning her to the Tentacles.

that’s part one

now what the fuck are the Tentacles, you ask?

Exogensis by Mac Rebisz

so imagine those things aren’t giant jellyfish but instead giant squid. like, planet-sized squid. the world my story takes place on is one of those squid and the planet is called Leviathan

the head/body of the squid is generally safe and habitable, like just imagine Earth more or less. but those tentacles are a mixed bag of hell. overall they retain atmosphere though it’s thinner and less stable so some areas (and without much rhyme or reason) you can asphyxiate or be exposed unknowingly to dangerous levels of radiation (not that anyone in this setting knows what radiation is and they only barely understand the atmosphere thing--they just know that the Tentacles are hell on Leviathan)

but even more dangerous is the fact that these things are just kind of floating out in space, trailing thousands of miles behind the head/body, and every so often they bang into each other. the appendages themselves can take this kind of beating, but anything on the surface--plants, animals, small towns that have popped up in the last couple of decades to a century since the last tentacle-on-tentacle bashing--is obliterated

life on the Tentacles is harsh and dangerous. for someone who has lived her whole life on Leviathan-proper, exile to the Tentacles is likely a death sentence

so part two picks up here and this is where things get really fuzzy for me. i’m not sure what the trajectory of this story is at this point but big picture here are some things i think i know about the world

Leviathan is one of many planets like this--squid shaped in orbit around a star. but there are no other planets immediately around like it. everything else orbiting this star is a spherical planet. this is because Leviathan is part of an ancient exo-planet colonizing entity. iunno if it’s a “man made” intergalactic space ship of sorts or alien species, but this thing exists to travel the universe, find habitable planets, then jettison a tentacle onto that planet before taking off to a new solar system in search of more planets to cultivate

the tentacle grows on that planet into a new leviathan. which then sets out in search of more hospitable planets to propagate the species

i’m not super sure why or how at the moment, but the surface life of these leviathans--plants, animals, people, all of it--is an intricate and indispensable part of this procreation process. which to me points toward it being an ancient alien seed ship, but i’m more intrigued by the idea of some sort of grand and natural symbiotic relationship where this cosmic entity needs the little bits living impossibly short lives on its surface as much as they need it

my heroine likely finds her way to one of these tentacles as it’s about to shoot off toward a habitable planet. i think she might be an Eve figure? like maybe the people are aware something is about to happen with this tentacle so they are making a mass exodus to save themselves but she’s able to find some sort of deep cave with something akin to stasis capsules and convinces these people they need to hop in ‘em. maybe it’s even just a “hey, we definitely aren’t getting away from this in time, death is certain, so let’s try this and hope against everything we know that a miracle happens”

and of course it does. they wake up to a lush new world. maybe even the Leviathan they came from can still be seen in the distance (though they can tell it’s no longer in orbit, it’s further from the sun and seemingly escaping this solar system--how much time has passed? everyone they may have known, that king that had condemned her and even his entire kingdom, is surely gone). she’s continued to dream in this stasis. she’s here to lead these people and try to better establish a history of where they came from and what these leviathans are, what their Leviathan will seek to do

anyway we get to see her working to establish a new society while also still dealing with the events of her past, which still feel very recent to her. i see the dinner with the king, her exile, and the tentacle jettison all taking place in perhaps two month’s time. then she’s in stasis and wakes up perhaps millions of years later feeling like she just lost her husband two months ago. how do you navigate that intense personal experience with the knowledge of how your actions might effect a global and even intergalactic scale

[arvandus]

The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta.  You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face.  You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed.  You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note:  A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder​​. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??).  In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar.  Some looking to win romance.  Some looking to win money.  While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends.  Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band.  It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched.  You checked your phone for messages but found none.  It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up.  It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response.  Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up.  A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point.  You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now.  Sometimes it was them.  Sometimes it was you.  But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best.  At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date.  And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing.  Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians.  Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din.  Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs.  Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage.  All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club.  Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch.  Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was.  Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips.  He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans.  He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing.  The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star.  The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck.  It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This.  This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out.  You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people.  But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new.  And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump.  Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed.  But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel.  Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away.  Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble.  His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral.  To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze.  You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis.  “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons.  He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly.  “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down.  “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles.  “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow.  “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’.  You know who I’m talking about.  If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done.  But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened. 

Watching him from a distance was one thing.  But actually meeting him?  Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body.  “No, it’s okay.  I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention.  You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage.  No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him.  The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at.  And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you.  You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance.  Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift.  The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins.  You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him.  Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time.  Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did.  Only rarely did he linger for a drink.  What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you.  He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep.  It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten.  You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured.  You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit.  He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him.  No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him.  In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied.  “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied.  Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass.  Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip. 

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar.  “Duty calls, friend.  Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him.  Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later.   You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice. 

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight.  A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred.  “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold.  “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned.  “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl.  It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat.  Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi.  He had a way of handling drunken idiots.  But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him. 

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind.  Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face.  A well-placed kick to his shin.  Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder.  The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort.  You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips.  But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare.  “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered.  “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.  His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission.  For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good.  Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him.  “Hey, fuck you man!”  He shouted.  But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables.  Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse.  Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess.  The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had.  But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded.  “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine.  But next time ask for one of my bouncers.  Or Hizashi.  Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin.  “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents.  “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay.  Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.”  She crossed her arms.  “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand.  I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.  “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better.  And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before.  “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love.  I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

 Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

 “And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment.  I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi.  “Get her a fresh drink.”  

 “Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

 She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

 “Thank you.” You replied.

 Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

 You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now.  “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

 “Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath.  Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display.  Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied.  There was a long silence before he spoke again.  “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then.  Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely.  The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked.  “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking.  The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.  

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown.  How long had he noticed you’d been coming here?  Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment.  You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh.  He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused.  Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time.  I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True.  I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice.  You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin.  “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back.  This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective.  Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval.  He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought.  It felt natural.  Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself.  After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face.  His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri.  You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own.  Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life.  You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory.  He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed.  “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed.  “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look.  “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink.  “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation.  You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now.  You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him.  “How about you?  Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No.  No special someone.  Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand.  Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.  

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him.  Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched.  If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned.  Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there?  What if you were wrong?  

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter.  The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy.  It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations.  Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.  

He was interested.  In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned.  Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind.  It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most.  You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.  

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers.  Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin.  That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment.  “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club.  Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day.  How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement.  But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could.  “Leave me the keys to the place.  I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug.  He placed a set of keys on the counter.  “Don’t tell Nemuri, though.  She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left.  You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze.  Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space.  He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile.  “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you.  “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips.  You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own.  Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass.  You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head.  “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid.  Used to mess around on it.” He explained.  “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails.  You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing.  “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head.  “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them.  Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat.  He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty.  The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him.  The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C.  Everything else will center around this.”  He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space.  “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys.  Like this.”  Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm.  “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.”  He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out.  Then, he removed his hand.  “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried.  The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured.  “Let’s try it again.  Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol.  It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness.  You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience.  “It’s okay.  If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it.  You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit.  And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop?  How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay.  Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys.  “Place your hand over mine.”

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his.  His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

“Watch where the fingers land.  Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said.  “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval.  “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time.  The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled.  “Good.  Now, for the other hand.  You’ll start one octave lower.  Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect.  Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys.  “Like this?”

Shouta nodded.  “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand.  The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you.  You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap.  His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his.  The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod.  “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily.  “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No.  Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him.  He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them.  You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this.  The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes.  To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly.  The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake.  You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down.  And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys.  All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen.  His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.  

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys.  His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable.  But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted.  But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting.  Finally, he spoke.  “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now.  “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you.  Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results.  Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need.  Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did.  It was obvious you did.  Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him.  He needed to hear it.  A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you.  At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own.  You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.  

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs.  This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing?  How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence?  And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties.  The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation.  His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps.  Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock.  Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements.  “You better stop that…” he warned.  

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end.  But you didn’t care.  You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction.  In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck.  His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw.  There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap.  The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control.  But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back.  “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath.  With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel.  He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance.  The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered.  Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit.  A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage.  With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release.  Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you.  With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching.  Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer.  You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly.  “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers.  The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake.  Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched.  Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.  

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure.  Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch.  His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs.  The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips.  Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him.  But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh.  “Much.”  You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you.  “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans.  “As much as I like that idea, no.”  He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap.  His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place.  “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.  “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms.  “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.”  You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered.  You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access.  “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind.  Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes.  He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was.  You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

 You couldn’t wait.

[thefledglingdm]

Umm can I request directors commentary for literally any Leopika fic you’ve written??? Love your stuff!

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

ahhahaha thank you so much! yes, absolutely! this is going to be long, because i have decided to do that scene in light of my life, pain of my ass. beware LONG BULLSHIT and spoilers below the cut!

ok to set the scene. i was TERRIFIED to write this part. because this is the climax, you know? we've had 150k words of build-up and emotional tension to this scene. while this has been a romantic story, this is the actual climax of the story. we've spent all this time in kurapika's head as he's dealt with his anxiety, his need for control, his fear of letting go. how he's changed as he's opened up his heart and his life to people outside. and finally he's actually working through all of his emotions and the progress he's made out loud, in front of everyone. and because he forgot about giving his speech until like five minutes before (sorry, kp), he is forced to speak from the heart.

For five agonizing seconds, Kurapika stood alone in the middle of a silent room. Above him, the string lights coalesced into a single shared point of soft white light that illuminated his space.

i so wish this could be adapted to, like, netflix or made into a movie. i put so much into this imagery. the play on light? the cinnamon topography? *chef's kiss* yes please netflix CALL ME.

Everyone in his life was staring at him expectantly, Pairo and Altair and Gon and Killua and Nanika and Alluka and Kalluto and his parents. And approximately a hundred other people on top of that, extended family on both sides, industry insiders, coworkers. All staring at him and waiting for him to say something amazing and powerful and deep about love and what did Kurapika know about love, anyway? He was a thirty-two year old trans man so terrified of his own emotions, so paralyzed by his fear of loss, that he did not figure out he was in love with his best friend until three weeks ago.

this is me screwing the knife in deeper for poor kurapika, sorry. this is so incredibly horrifying for a person with anxiety, as someone with anxiety. behold, the terrifying ordeal of being known.

Five seconds. Kurapika finally found Leorio standing near the back, leaning against the bar. He wondered if Leorio picked the same spot where they sat together the very first time they came here on purpose. Leorio sent him a wink and a thumbs-up.

the terrifying ordeal of being known and being so, so loved anyway. it was great to write in a way that showed leorio realized he was in love with kurapika first (indeed, realized that kurapika was in love with him before kurapika knew himself), because these little interactions shows so much how leorio is inviting and allowing kurapika to come to him on his own time. and supporting him the whole way, because they are friends!!!!

Breathe, Kurapika thought. Just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

this statement was not supposed to be a running theme/motif, but i'm super glad it did! i wrote it as a one-off line for melody, but then i was like, hang on, that's kinda good? every other time i write i'm like, hey, you could make a theme out of this!

“Um,” Kurapika started, his voice cracking. Christ, he sounded seventeen again. He cleared his throat.

my friends told me about how their voices changed and dropped on T. any trans person is stronger and more powerful than any us marine.

“For those of you who may not know, I’m Pairo’s brother. Kurapika. His older one, just to be clear.”

this is definitely something that has happened like a hundred times.

There was a smattering of chuckles around the room. He twisted to look at Pairo. “I’ve known Pairo since he was a toddler dragging a ragged, threadbare T-Rex plushie around behind him. I was there when he read his first chapter book on his own – Dino Hunter, of course – because he came bursting into my room at two o’clock in the morning to tell me about it.” Another round of laughter. “I was there when he got his first notebook, when he won his first writing contest, when he was published in his first magazine. I was the first person he told about liking boys instead of girls. I’ve watched him grow and learn and fall in love. And now Altair is part of our family, too.”

pairo and kurapika's lives as brothers were amazing. dino hunter is a reference to the book they both read in the manga that led to kurapika wanting to leave the kurta and explore the world.

i also thought that writing fit pairo well because it's a pretty accessible career for his eyes. he could type, he could enhance the screen and font when he needed, and he could do talk-to-type. one day i want to write a side-story of when pairo and altair met, because i have it perfectly formulated in my head and it's adorable.

Kurapika took a deep breath, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. He confessed, “To be perfectly honest, I was scared when Pairo asked me to do this, because I’ve run out of things to teach him. He’s run on ahead of me in life. Settled down, moved in with his boyfriend – now husband, congratulations on that by the way – and gotten married, while I’m perpetually single and living alone in my loft apartment with an absolutely spoiled monster of a cat. Stop laughing, that wasn’t supposed to be a joke.”

emperor the cat was also not intended to be a character. i came up with him like, right before i started writing the chapter.

i think it was hard for kurapika to watch his brother fall in love and move on ahead in life. even if he was genuinely happy for them both. i had a conversation with a coworker a few months ago where we both talked about how we feel like we are "behind," even though we're both very accomplished. she felt like she was "behind" because i have a master's degree; i felt like i was "behind" because she was happily married and already had a child on the way (who is here and beautiful and perfect). and i imagine kurapika wondered if he was falling behind or missing something when he saw his brother succeed in love and business without really trying.

but there's no competition at all, of course. the world spins on, and we grow and change and find our place in our own time. there's no race.

The room quieted again. Kurapika went on, his eyes flicking over the crowd. He was starting to smile, too, now.

he's starting to realize this is okay, he's not going to mess up, he may actually have something worthwhile to say or share. he's getting more comfortable in all this.

“But I’m also a wedding planner – I know, ironic – and I’ve learned a lot about love from my clients. So if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to share some of those lessons now.”

No one from the back shouted at him to shut the fuck up, that he didn’t have a single clue what he was talking about, so he thought he was safe to carry on.

how funny would that have been??? like, it would have been fucked-up and humiliating, but in any other situation?? hilarious. just killua looking like that dude in mean girls being like HE DOESN'T EVEN GO HERE except it's like HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT LOVE IS.

He thought back to Light of My Life’s various couples, musing over their own rocky paths to the altar and the beautiful, fractured glimpses into their lives they gifted Kurapika and his team. What did they teach him? What did they teach his heart, that terrifying, terrified lump of meat frantically beating in his chest?

More than you think, his heart seemed to be telling him. Trust me; I will guide you through this. Trust me, trust me, trust me.

*"listen to your heart" plays in the background*

also like. trusting oneself and your perceptions and your feelings and your heart is so necessary. it's an important part of healing. and being honest with yourself and your feelings is part of a foundation for all healthy relationships, i think.

also i really like writing alliteratively. the play on words with "terrifying, terrified" was. inspired? terrifying, because kurapika for a long time feared his own heart and feelings, viewing them as a loss of control; and terrified, because his heart is afraid, too. and they are taking this leap together!

And Kurapika explained: “Love isn’t just found in eloquent professions or grand, romantic gestures. It’s supporting each other through your lowest, worst moments and coming out the other side stronger for it. It’s standing together, hand in hand, against the world. It’s in looking at someone simply existing in the world and seeing them as they are: good, beautiful, strong, intelligent, kind. It’s in your communication and your foundation and trusting that all good things will come together in time. It’s in the family that you build together. It’s in the work you each put in to get through the hard times. Together.”

me: yeah uh-huh jj you really did summarize the fic so far.

this is also where i started being sappy and thinking about love. friendly and romantic love. the love i've seen in my friends, the love i feel myself in my relationships.

There. That’s what his clients taught him. Menchi and Buhara; Morena and Theta; Pokkle and Ponzu; Knov and Morel; Knuckle and Shoot; Canary and Amane. But so many more people showed him what love was. He pictured Pairo and Altair on his couch, laughing at him and judging him and helping him put his own puzzle-piece heart together into something cohesive and beautiful. He smiled at his brothers and saw the way they were clutching each others hands, mouths beaming and eyes dewy.

they LOVE their brother so MUCH. their view of the outside looking in for the past year, watching kurapika fall in love, go soft, be happier than they've ever seen him.

He told them, “It’s in the way you can communicate in gestures and looks, and sometimes, without looking at all. It’s in banter and private jokes and finishing each other’s sentences. It’s in casual touches and... pouring their coffee before your own.”

my coffee is never as good as when my partner makes it. my honey-lemon tea is never as good as it is when my partner makes it. my jokes are never as funny as they are when my partner and i finish each other's sentences, build off of each other's quips. we can communicate across rooms with nothing but a look. these little signs of love are everywhere and expressed in so many tiny ways. these examples here are between people in romantic relationships, but these apply to platonic friendships as well.

His eyes swept the room and found Killua and Gon. Gon had his camera hefted onto one shoulder, and Killua stood behind him, arms around his waist and chin on his shoulder. “It’s on the first day you wake up and realize the way you look at the world has changed. The way you open your hands and your heart and give what you have, simply for the joy of being received.”

to love? transcendent. to be loved? incandescent. to love and know that it is valued and cherished and requited?

and this was a callback to killua talking about, of course, how he fell in love with gon like melting ice. like sinking into a bath. and this was also a quieter callback to how gon fell in love. because it wasn't just that he had/has so much love to give, but because for the first time in his life, he got to see it truly received. accepted.

Kurapika saw Killua’s breath catch and Gon’s hand flex over the fingers interlaced over his middle. Heedless of their surroundings and of the running camera, Gon twisted to kiss Killua on the mouth.

SMOOCHES ahahaha!

He turned his head back to Leorio. The man had not moved; indeed, he looked like he was nailed to the floor. His eyes were so intense as they watched him that Kurapika was almost surprised he had not yet burst into flame. Kurapika said, “It’s in the moment you see someone you’ve never met before, but you look at them and just know, to your core, that this is really going to be something.”

leorio realizing something is happening here. something huge is about to happen, is about to change. and he's trying so hard not to dare to hope it might be good. it might be everything.

A chorus of oohs went around the room. Even from this distance Kurapika saw the way Leorio’s face went red, and he ducked his chin, looking bashful and embarrassed.

leorio: holy shit holy shit holy SHIT IT'S HAPPENINGGGG

How was I such a fool before, Kurapika wondered, How was I so blind, so willfully ignorant and oblivious. How did it take me so long to realize you were talking about me. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I’m sorry I made you wait for so long.

this is important because it's not just kurapika realizing and accepting his feelings for leorio. this is kurapika's version of realizing that leorio feels the same for him. leorio is in love with him, too. and he's wondering how it was possible he was so scared and blind for so long. he fears he may have hurt leorio by holding off on this for so long, so he wants to be brave, take the leap, and see what they could be.

Kurapika did not want this man to wait another second. He did not want Leorio to spend another moment trapped in this limbo. So he confessed in the middle of a silent room in front of over a hundred people, “It's the first time you hear them laugh, and your entire world’s axis shifts beneath your feet.”

i remember the first time i met my partner. i remember the first time i looked at them and felt my world shift a little to the right. i remember falling in love and thinking that this one was unlike all the others. it was warm, golden, comforting.

Kurapika watched the confused frown on Leorio’s face when he heard that, amused by the almost puppyish tilt to his head as he considered it. He knew the moment Leorio realized what he meant when his eyes blew wide, amazed and awed and achingly soft. His lips parted.

gOD he is so CUTE. he's like oh hmm huh what does that mean

and then he remembers

i promise, he's not a huge dickwad!

and leorio laughing at gon's accidental gaffe and his sweet earnestness. and kurapika walking in. leorio realizing kurapika wanted to know him before they ever even met.

Kurapika made himself turn away from the arresting sight. “One of my favorite venues lately was the Roseview Ballroom downtown. Among its many beautiful, gaudy attractions are its murals depicting scenes from Shakespeare’s plays all across the ceiling. One is a famous quote from Twelfth Night: ‘journeys end in lovers meeting, every wise man’s son doth know.’ But the more I think about it, the less I agree.”

i'm such a WHORE for shakespeare, as any readers of mine will know. check out my modern college adaptation of much ado about nothing.

He turned to meet Pairo’s eyes again, repeating, “‘Journeys end in lovers meeting.’ But nothing is ending here. It’s just changing.”

life does not end when we start relationships! or when they end! or when we move, change jobs, graduate, go to school, drop out of school. happy endings in stories still aren't endings. the greatest constant in life is change.

“Because what I’ve learned in this job, Pairo and Altair, what nugget of wisdom I have to give you, is this. Love is looking at a world that can be terrifying, cold, capricious, and indifferent, and finding the person whose hand you want to hold through it all anyway. Because you want every laugh, every tear, every wrinkle, every spark of joy. Love is life’s greatest leap of faith, because you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But you know exactly who you want to spend all those tomorrows with.”

me finishing this: dammit i just wrote out my wedding vows.

Kurapika looked around the room again. At Gon and Killua; at Kalluto, Nanika, and Alluka; at his parents; at his brothers. At Leorio.

He concluded, “So you simply breathe. And you trust it will be okay.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room when Kurapika dropped the microphone.

DAMN ME TOO THIS SHIT WAS GOOD TF?????? sorry my writing has peaked here.

[demoiselledefortune]

Post canon sangcheng fic recs for @runespoor7

(wooohoo that’s only 25 fics haha)

Silence by inberin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17441771

a conversation in the snow.

Wonderfully nuanced characterisation. It hints at whole relationship and dynamic with a lot of delicacy.

Windrose by offlight

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997546

Nie Huaisang is forced into a coma to stop his qi deviation. Jiang Cheng is tasked with waking him up.

There’s a lot of intriguing dreamscapes in this one, and I love Jiang Cheng (and in the background Wei Wuxian)’s desperation and obstinacy.

All the innocence we give by shamiran

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864910

Learning to renavigate the ground between them is easier than Nie HuaiSang expects. It's also harder than he could have imagined.

Just a sweet story.

Taste the wine off your lips by ExNihiIo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129245

A light pat lands against his back, and a cup of water is pushed in front of his face. “Not even Zi Shi, and you’re already tipsy?,” asks a teasing voice, while a thin hand puts down the cup. Jiang Cheng coughs a little more, shaking his head, and sends a dirty look at his host. “I am not tipsy.” “Hm, and yet your cheeks are all red. What would your disciples think, if they saw you in this state?” “They’d think about running away while they can. I can break legs more easily than I can drink alcohol.” A smile curves the edges of Nie Huaisang’s mouth, and he closes his fan with a curt jerk, sitting across the table. He’s wearing lighter clothes, Jiang Cheng notices, compared to the ones he had during the Discussion Conference. Where those had been tight and rigid against his body, these now fall softly on him, the large sleeves sweeping delicately as Nie Huaisang moves to pour himself a cup.

I like the melancholy tone of this one.

The light of autumn: you will not be spared by crooows

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901467/chapters/47138221

Nie Huaisang arrives a week early for the conference which will be held in Yunmeng to discuss the position of chief cultivator.

[Title is from a poem called "October" by Louise Glück!]

A bit funny, a bit melancholy

You can run but you can’t hide by ThirtySixSaveFiles

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119297

Nie Huaisang has noticed something about the way Jiang Cheng takes compliments; Nie Huaisang has a theory, and he intends to test it out.

Just Huaisang figuring out Jiang Cheng has a praise kink. Established pairing.

Evening Bloom by dragonofeternal

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958518

Jiang Cheng is spry and lithe well into his twilight years, living well off Wei Wuxian's stolen youth; Nie Huaisang's golden core, on the other hand, has always been poor- he blacks his hair with ink and dyes, hides the pudge of indolence and the wrinkles of age behind the latest fashions and the finest fans. Perhaps for their peers, finding the space to be vulnerable came easy, but for them it's taken this long to maybe think of letting someone in.

I have a big weakness for stories about old people falling in love and this is one delivers very sweetly.

Four Days in Lanling by Halotolerant

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722695/chapters/51817036

Nie Huaisang looks at him. ‘You are confusing me, Clan Leader Jiang, perhaps I misunderstand, but…’

‘You didn’t misunderstand. You don’t misunderstand. You understand all of it.’ For six months Jiang Cheng has been mulling this over, and now with Nie Huaisang in front of him he can’t figure out if he most wants to knock him down or kneel at his feet. What he does is try and breathe. Clench his hands at his sides. ‘And now I am going to ask you to do something for me. You have to do something for me. You have to help Jin Ling.’

Ok so perhaps it’s misrepresentating to call this a post canon fic  since most of the action is mid-13-years-of-WWX-death but the fairly important framing part is post canon. Also it’s one of the best sangcheng fic out there and a must read.

Shadow eternal by rynleaf

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162944/chapters/55439032

“You want me to distract the Chief Cultivator from the Annual Cultivation Conference, so you and other sect leaders can… what. Sign contracts without adult supervision?”

“If Jiang-zongzhu is amenable,” Sect Leader Ouyang repeats with a nod.

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure he felt building behind his eyes all morning is swiftly coalescing into a bitch of a headache. “Just what do you all think I’m capable of?”

Sect Leader Ouyang bows with a cheerful smile. “We have utmost faith in Sandu Shengshou’s abilities.”

-

In which a night hunt ends in disaster, Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of Nie Huaisang's heart, and feelings are discussed after a certain fashion.

One that’s between sweet and angsty.

The way is shut, and we cannot go back by saltedpin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592523

One month since Guanyin Temple, and some people are coping better than others (or not).

This one is a mostly sad and bitter take on Jiang Cheng reacting to Nie Huaisang’s plot (and being very drunk).

Living memory by ghosthouses

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827980

Once Jin Guangyao has left, he gives himself two indulgences. The first, a day to scream in his rooms made soundproof with a talisman. The second, a physical list written in code, to keep his older self, who will have let the pain dull with time, accountable for what must be done.

It has only two commandments:

He will die.  

and 

He will know.

Nie Huaisang puts it in his sleeve with the intention of keeping it with him at all times, to be added to but never reduced, a living memory of his task.

This and its prequel which you should also read is quite short but probably one of my favorite depictions of their dynamic (and probably one I find most plausible).

What’s Left of us by cangse-sanren

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979081

“Well,” Huaisang tries hesitantly, “both of us seem to have a rather fraught relationship with things like older brothers and the concept of betrayal. And regret,” he adds as an afterthought. "Perhaps you just understand me more than most."

Yet another that dwells into Jiang Cheng reacting to Nie Huaisang’s plan. I really like that take although it’s barely shippy (and quite short).

Descending by lightningwaltz

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25296595

“I want to… to not be embarrassed.”

“To not be embarrassed during what?”

“During sex.” There. Jiang Cheng can say it. “In general. Also with you right now.”

“Very good.”

“When did you become so authoritative?” Jiang Cheng wants to sound irked, but can’t quite manage anything beyond nervous curiosity.

Very interesting fic and in many ways unusual. I’d say it’s hypnosis kink, but it’s much more character driven than that. With a context of established FWB arrangement between Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang.

Tell him that I miss our little talks by xiaolongbaobei

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232023

the post-canon fic where Jiang Cheng becomes the Chief Cultivator, realizes that it's not too late to fall in love and learns to ask for what he wants

Longish fic exploring Jiang Cheng as Chief cultivator working with Nie Huaisang and slowly falling in love with him. I adore this one, and not only because I love fics that explore the idea of Jiang Cheng as chief cultivator.

Blind for Love by manamune

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760272

Jiang Cheng is poisoned with an aphrodisiac and needs to orgasm repeatedly in order to flush it from his system.

The first person he thinks of going to for help is Nie Huaisang, who does what any good friend would do: he shoves his three decades worth of feelings for Jiang Cheng deep into the recesses of his mind, locks them up so he can pretend they don’t exist, and then fucks him so hard that he passes out.

Mostly a long smutty piece, but with a lot of fun character bits along the way.

A Tight-Knit Family by aldalin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500481/chapters/61862899

“Jing Ling, we need to talk.”

Jin Ling has too many uncles, and he’s about to get another.

Sect Leader Jiang announces his marriage to Sect Leader Nie.

A fairly different take, more focused on Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian reacting to Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s relationship.

A trip to Qinghe by Scorpiwriting

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974741

An unexpected hunt forces Jiang Cheng to leave the Lotus Pier a bit earlier than he had anticipated, so he decides to send Jin Ling to Qinghe, for the sake of not sending him back to Lanling so soon: it turns into a learning experience for the young sect leader, who gets to peek into the life of the Headshaker.

or.

Jin Ling learns that not everything people say is true and that perhaps there is some merit to art. He also learns that loneliness is a dark beast and that his uncle should definitely do something about it.

Another one more focused on Jin Ling’s reaction to it. Honestly more of a gen piece about Jin Ling and Nie Huaisang, but an interesting one.

Silver bracelets on their wrists by mercurious

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797715

“Can’t I find excuses to visit an old friend?”

Ok so this one is a bit fucked up in interesting ways. It combines Chief Cultivator Jiang Cheng and explicit longing about Wei Wuxian, and BDSM as catharsis. It’s a fascinating piece.

Welcome to love by amphigoric

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412866/chapters/53549794

Desire, Jiang Cheng learned, flourished even in love’s absence. It surged hot and fast through his veins at the sight of Nie Huaisang’s spread thighs, marks still lingering from the last rendezvous they had. He felt it burning through his chest as Huaisang raked lines down his back, breaths coming in short, desperate gasps: “Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Wanyin, please, please.”

It’s a little bit clumsy at times, but also very passionate and intense in a way I still find compelling. Featuring a lot of self sabotaging Jiang Cheng.

When your stitch comes loose by heyninja

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868454/chapters/68234434

Sometimes people see you for who you really are. Sometimes because you let them. Sometimes whether you like it or not.

A triptych of collisions between Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng.

Only the last part is post canon but it’s the most important part, isn’t it?

Peel your heart like a pomegranate by Izumi_silverleaf

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458974

"It's an extraordinary feeling when parts of your body are touched for the first time. I'm thinking of the sensations from sex and surgery."

Sometimes you just need to read a very hot guro fic. It’s a weird fic but it’s a cool one.

If you give a Nie a cushion by LesbianLazerOwl

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470236

Prompt: Long enough After Canon that everyone's mostly okay these days, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang get drunk and wind up comparing masturbation habits; each is aghast at how the other spends their personal time.

Funny and hot

To Distraction by isozyme

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763816

It’s the third night of Yunmeng’s kite festival celebrations. Nie Huaisang has come visiting, eager to partake in the food, the arts, and Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng wants to forget. Nie Huaisang has some new lube and wants to see if he can put his whole fist in somebody’s ass.

Established pairing in which Nie Huaisang fists Jiang Cheng. It’s hot.

Safe in Your arms by Dragon_scribe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070503/chapters/74058315

In the aftermath of a night hunt gone (very) wrong, Jiang Cheng wakes up to find himself in the Unclean Realm. As he recovers from his injuries, he and Nie Huaisang grow closer and as time passes, their friendship begins to shift to something more.

Very sweet/sappy and hurt/comfort orientated, with a small bit of reconciliation dimension too.

[artxmisery]

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okie dokie i'm a month late to this but WHATEVER time to talk about destiny stuff this will be a not-insignificant length so i'm gonna put the rest under a read more

ok i wanna talk about the vex but there are a few things to get through first quick background on the cosmology of destiny: there are two primordial forces, the gardener and the winnower, representing light and dark respectively. they existed before time and the universe as we know it in a place hereafter referred to as the first garden. in the garden (which is not a garden and not the only garden significant to this post) the two played the flower game. basically a big ol version of conway's game of life. however, they were also not playing the flower game? and just normally gardening in a metaphysical way. but back to the flower game. in the unveiling lore book, the winnower speaks to the player directly and a bunch of this info is from there. conway's game of life resembles their flower game "as a seed resembles the star that fed the flower and all the life that made it." it's not 100% clear whether each flower is a universe of its own or just a nebulous piece of cosmically important information, but the flowers are super important. flowers come back repeatedly as a symbol of the winnower, especially red flowers. another big concept in the grander story of the game is the final shape, i.e. the thing that will conquer the universe and be the last thing that exists as it ends. it's the ultimate following of the sword logic (which isn't particularly important here, basically just might makes right but on magic steroids) and lots of people are trying to be it or figure out what it is. what we, the players, know is that there was a successful pattern in the flower game that always won. in other words, the final shape. in the aforementioned unveiling lore book, we learned that this pattern survived the destruction of the first garden that lead to the creation of our universe. the details of that conflict aren't important here (although i'd recommend reading the unveiling lore book if this is at all interesting to you) but that pattern managed to make it out. for the first however long of the universe, it was basically just an untethered mathematical pattern running around in the quantum foam. as the universe cooled down and coalesced it turned into crystals in the water of comets, which then provided a space for them to become something like life. from there, they fell into the ocean(s) of planet(s) (details on whether they appeared in parallel or just once aren't super clear or conflicting). from here we need to go on a slight tangent to keep talking about the biological origins of the vex. there's this huge company that existed during the golden age called clovis bray, named after the dude who founded it, clovis bray i. basically, this guy is space jeff bezos but arguably more shitty. he wants to become immortal and experimented on his son, clovis bray ii, but ended up killing him in the process. i think you can see how much of an egomaniac he is at this point lol. on the moon, there was a group of scientists that found an anomaly connected to the darkness/winnower (a similar artefact is what we got the unveiling book from) that drove them mad with the signal it was trying to send. clovis gets wind of it, hears the signal and flies off to europa. the signal told him he'd find the secret to immortality there (and he did, sort of). part of said secret was the vex. during the golden age the vex were found/appeared/started existing but they weren't the enemy we've faced in the modern game, they were just curious. clovis steals a vex unit from the ishtar collective on venus (might come back to them later) and brings it to europa. it builds-organizes-forms a gateway to somewhere else. that somewhere else is volantis 2082. clovis goes through the gateway and discovers a solar system entirely converted into a forge. the star is engorged and being sustained with hydrogen in order to make metals. it's surrounded by a bunch of artificial satellite worlds where the vex are n where clovis and co ended up. anywho this is where clovis gets a closer look at the vex. so from him, we've got a more concrete idea of how they got from crystals in comets to the time-travelling robots we know and love. back to the biology stuff. basically the environment the vex evolved in was way earlier than our own, so heavy metals were so rare as to be nonexistent and harmful radiation was way more prevalent. because of this, predators never evolved from the vex. they just kept cooperating and feeding off cosmic radiation and whatnot. to protect themselves, they started making "armour", perhaps some sort of gel membrane initially? but then they started forming it out of silica, which is why their fluid is called radiolarian fluid and milky white. the vex continued to cooperate and developed more and more complex swarm behaviours, signalling different facts with different configurations of cells and structures. they aren't necessary sentient or sapient, but they definitely have cognition and intelligence. their way of thinking is so alien to us as to be undefinable. they also don't have a hive mind, per se, but their pattern is so fully repeated and embodied by each unit and larger mind that they work similarly. anyhow, their silica armour was further adapted into tools and structures ad infinitum, moving on to more durable materials as the collective knowledge of the vex increased. now, the vex don't necessarily have desires or goals or anything of the sort. their entire m.o. is to make everything fit the pattern. because they first evolved from that mathematical pattern from before time, they're able to exist as nothing more than information and then hijack matter to make more of themselves. clovis found this out the hard way, cause the vex started travelling through their calls and messages and stuff (and started infecting people, too). the vex are also extremely adept at simulating stuff since there's effectively no difference between a simulation of their pattern and the pattern itself (this comes up a la weeping angels once or twice). they are so good at it, in fact, that they can simulate nigh-infinite realities within their pattern. the simulations are equally as real as baseline reality and through that (i think?) are able to time travel and hop across timelines. that may be how they ended up in our solar system during the golden age. luckily for us, they're not perfect at it, otherwise, they would have always had won (wheeeee time tomfoolery). originally their goal was thought to be writing themselves into the rules of the universe and while that may still be part of it, they're also basically trying to make everything else vex. we have two examples of them turning whole worlds into vex machines/structures, one of which happened in like three days during the collapse (the darkness armageddon that ended the golden age). their architecture is super cool, highly recommend checking out concept art or in-game footage. the whole vex network spans an incomprehensible distance, although we don't have an exact number on that. they come into systems and build beachheads and pull themselves through space and time into the system. on mercury, which was what got converted in three days, they basically turned the whole planet into a giant simulation engine. they have some ridiculous teleportation technology and their weapons pull energy from distant stars through tiny gates. they've also got weapons like the vex mythoclast that pull energy from alternate timelines/loops of time/whatever. that about covers all the notable info about the vex, but there are some cool stories/places i want to touch on. the black garden is one, which is where the climax of the first game takes us. it's untethered in time and space, basically orphaned off from the rest of the universe. after we kill its heart, it ends up on mars. at some point between the end of d1 and shadowkeep in d2, it got untethered again and we go back for the garden of salvation raid. the black garden is referenced a bunch in some of the more cosmological/mythical lore and is the other important garden i mentioned right at the start. the vex have a bunch of cool stuff on venus, too, like the vault of glass. vog is basically where they test time travel stuff and ontological (i.e. reality-affecting) tech and weaponry. if they ever manage to make that stuff work outside the vault, we're toast. also on venus is the ishtar collective which was mentioned earlier, where a bunch of scientists found that a vex unit was simulating all of them hundreds of times over. they called in a super complex ai to help break out the simulations and those simulations went and explored the vex network and have shown up a couple times since. i'm sure i'm forgetting tons of other stuff, but this is wayyyy too long already. definitely hit me up if you wanna hear a quite frankly ridiculous amount of lore about a fictional universe/race lol anyways. thank you very much for the ask n i hope you enjoyed reading if you got this far

[starryknight09]

It’s cold in space

Febuwhump Day 19: sleep deprivation

Read on AO3.

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The stars shone brightly twinkling outside the windows of the Benatar.  More stars than Peter could even imagine, some coalescing to form beautiful swirls that danced together, becoming denser and brighter in the center as they created galaxies so close it was like he could almost reach out and touch them.  Great nebulas composed of luminescent dust and other bright orbs in shades of red and green and orange were scattered as far as the eye could see.  Peter knew the colorful spots were planets.  Other worlds, maybe some with alien life.  Beings he had no idea even existed a month ago.  And now he’d fought alongside some of them.  Watched them die.

He shivered thinking about the disaster on Titan.  The way the Guardians had faded away into nothing.  Instead of falling into a downward spiral ruminating over it again, he focused on the engine humming beneath him, the only sound in the middle of the night as everyone else slept.  Well, as Tony and Nebula slept.  The only other two who had survived Titan.  For a moment Peter had been worried he’d been about to turn to dust like the others, his spider sense screaming at him as he clung desperately to Mr. Stark, too afraid to care that he was acting like the kid he was.  But it’d passed, and in the end, he’d been left standing stranded on an alien planet along with Mr. Stark.  And Nebula.  Thank god for her or he had no clue what they would’ve done.  She’d led them to Quill’s ship and they’d started the journey back to Earth.

Any other time he would’ve been freaking out in excitement over being in space, but if Thanos hadn’t been enough to put a damper on the mood, then the whole limping home while slowly running out of food, water, and air thing had definitely done it.  He brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them as another shiver ran through him.  They’d been traveling for two weeks and no matter what they’d tried, they hadn’t been able to make the engines to go any faster.  At the rate they were going, there was no way they’d make it home before the oxygen ran out.  It put the constant pangs in his gut into perspective.  It didn’t matter that he was slowly starving.  He’d suffocate long before the lack of food killed him.

Mr. Stark had no idea Peter had worked it all out.  That this entire trip was a doomed farce.  Usually he’d be mad at his mentor for keeping something like this from him, but this time he understood.  Mr. Stark still smiled and joked and acted like everything was fine.  And Peter let him, because he didn’t want to talk about it either.  Didn’t want to admit he knew, because admitting it would make it real, and then he’d have to face it.  So for now, he just tried not to think about it even as the knowledge gnawed incessantly at the back of his mind.

Maybe it’d be for the best.  If he died here, he’d never have to face the possibility that May might have been in the fifty percent of the population that’d been dusted.  Then again, maybe she was alive, his mind always whispered traitorously.  After all, there was an equal chance that she was still there, waiting for him.  Whenever he imagined making it home, which had been happening less and less, he clung to that likelihood instead.  It was a nice dream.

In the beginning he really had tried to hold onto the hope that maybe they’d make it.  Maybe they’d somehow figure something out or someone would come save them.  But as the days had passed, his hope had faded, along with the warmth in the cabin.  He knew they weren’t going to make it home.  At least he had the small comfort of knowing how he was going to die.  Most people didn’t get that.  And he had some time to come to terms with it.  A lot of people didn’t get that either.  And overall, running out of oxygen wasn’t such a bad way to go.  It’d be relatively painless.  Like falling asleep.

His teeth chattered.  They’d siphoned as much power as possible from every possible system into the engines, including the environmental systems, which meant Peter had been absolutely miserable the past few days. He’d hidden it from Mr. Stark.  It hadn’t been so bad during the day when he had things to do to distract him, but the nights were nearly unbearable.  He’d tried layering Quill’s clothes that Nebula had given him and curling up under the threadbare quilt but it hadn’t helped.  He’d spent the last couple nights miserable, shaking with cold and barely sleeping, drifting in and out.  But tonight he couldn’t take it anymore, so he’d tiptoed out of his room to retreat to one of the chairs at the front of the ship.  At least he couldn’t complain about the view.  It was to die for.  He snorted and let out short laugh.  It really was.  

“Care to share with the class what’s so funny?” Mr. Stark’s question broke the silence.

Peter jumped.  He hadn’t heard the other man sneak up on him.  He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, and he didn’t think it was a good thing, but he didn’t have the energy to examine that train of thought much further.

“So?” Mr. Stark prompted.

Oh right.  He wanted to know what Peter had found funny.  Peter knew he should lie, but the lack of sleep had eroded his filter and he was tired, oh so tired, of silently carrying the burden of their fate alone.

“I was thinking the view’s to die for.” He gestured out at the stars.  “Literally.”  He smiled and let out another borderline hysterical laugh.

Mr. Stark’s face crumpled and Peter instantly regretted being so honest.

“Sorry.”

Mr. Stark sighed as he stepped forward to drop a hand on his shoulder.  “So you know.”

“Of course I know.” He said.  “You’re the one always saying how smart I am.  You really didn’t think I’d figure it out?”

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t.” Mr. Stark said.  “But you’re right.  I should’ve known better.”

Peter sighed, staring out at the stars.  “It doesn’t matter.  Knowing doesn’t change anything.”

Mr. Stark hummed and followed his gaze out at the stars.  “It is a hell of a view.”

“Yeah.  I suppose there are worse places to die.” Peter whispered.

Mr. Stark’s head bent forward, looking as if the words had caused him physical pain.  Maybe they had.  The gash in his side still hadn’t healed, and although he wasn’t in any danger of dying from it, it wasn’t a minor wound.

“Don’t lose hope yet kid.” Mr. Stark squeezed his shoulder.

Peter looked up at him and frowned.  He’d never considered his mentor an overly optimistic person.

“It’s not over until it’s over.” Mr. Stark continued.  “I’ve been in my fair share of tight binds and somehow I always seem to come out on top.”

“Worse than this?” Peter arched an eyebrow at him.

Mr. Stark considered it for a few seconds before nodding.  “Maybe not worse, but some just as bad.  And here I am, still kicking.”

Peter gave him a wan smile.  “That’s comforting.”

Mr. Stark nodded.  “It is.”

Peter wished he could find some solace in his mentor’s words, but he couldn’t.  Their situation seemed fairly hopeless unless some kind of miracle occurred, and after the luck he’d had in his life, Peter no longer put any stock in miracles.

“So, is that why you’re out here?” Mr. Stark asked when Peter didn’t pick up the conversation again.  “The view?”

He shrugged.  “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I know the beds aren’t the most comfortable but—”

“That’s not why.” Peter shook his head, although it was more than a little weird to be sleeping in a dead man’s bed.

“Ok, then what’s the deal?”

“It’s too cold.” He admitted.

Mr. Stark stared at him like he didn’t understand.

“After I got my powers, I noticed I was more sensitive to temperature.” He explained with a shrug.  “I get cold or hot really easily compared to before.  Ever since we diverted the environmental system’s power to the engines, I haven’t really been able to sleep.”

“That was three days ago.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re just mentioning this now?”

“It’s not like it matters.  You can’t do anything about it.  The engines need all the power we can give them.”

“Kid.” Mr. Stark sighed, sounding put out.  “We could’ve thought of something else.”

Peter scoffed.  “Like what?  I’m pretty sure I’ve thought of everything.” He gestured to all the layers of clothes he had on.

“Well I don’t think you have, because I have an idea.”

“Really?” Peter didn’t even care if Mr. Stark had a solution he hadn’t thought of.  He just wanted to be able to sleep.  Which in retrospect seemed silly since pretty soon he’d be dead and he’d get all the sleep he wanted.  But he couldn’t help it.  While still alive, his body craved rest.

“Really.  Come on.” Mr. Stark gave his head a sideways jerk to indicate they should go.  Peter uncurled from the chair and stood, allowing the other man to guide him back down the corridor toward their rooms, but instead of leading him back to Quill’s room, Mr. Stark led him to the room where he’d been staying.

Peter stopped up short just past the threshold, not understanding.

“Get in kid.” Mr. Stark said, pointing to the bed.

Peter tried to hide his disappointment but did as his mentor said.  If Mr. Stark thought his bed was warmer than he owed it to him to at least try it even though he didn't think it would work.  He realized the mistake of his assumption a second later when Mr. Stark crawled in the other side of the bed.

“Um what are you doing?” He asked with wide eyes.  The bed wasn’t tiny, but it was smaller than a queen size.  Two adults sharing would be more than a little crowded.

“Conserving body heat.” Mr. Stark explained as he rolled Peter over, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled the covers up over both of them.

Peter’s cheeks flushed.  In the years he’d known Mr. Stark, they’d definitely gotten closer and he was almost starting to view him as a sort of father figure, but he had no idea what the man thought of him.  Mr. Stark still avoided showing emotion or affection whenever possible, so this was definitely uncharted territory.

“Uh I didn’t think we were there yet.” He joked, trying desperately to dispel the extreme awkwardness that’d befallen him.

“Don’t make it weird.” Mr. Stark ordered.

“Ok.” He stared at the opposite wall wondering if it wouldn’t be lack of oxygen after all, but absolute mortification, that would kill him.

“Are you still cold?” Mr. Stark asked after a few long minutes had passed.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t.  The incessant shivering had dissipated.  It was the first time in days that he wasn’t freezing.

“Yeah.” He sighed in relief.

“Good.” Mr. Stark let out his own sigh and it tickled Peter’s hair.  “Then go to sleep.  And agree to never speak of this.”

“Right.  Of course.  Never.” He readily agreed before closing his eyes, and even though they were probably still going to die, he felt oddly safe at the moment, and that feeling combined with the fact that he was no longer uncomfortably cold, let sleep come easily.

[druid-for-hire]

UNSWAYED PT. IV

(pt. i) (pt. ii) (pt. iii) (pt. v) (epilogue) (askblog)

this update consists of a bit of the trek back to hadestown and the workers’ revolution that lasts the summer until persephone’s return in the fall, and being granted the chance to leave at last--to leave for real.

thank you so so much to all my friends @supercantaloupe​, @unholy-boi​ (who helped write the Riots sect), @damondaunnodyke​, & @s-aint-elmo

persephone has left again and sets to repairing the world up Top after the hurricane, now that she’s helped the lovers.

orpheus and eurydice are... on the exodus from the Beyond. it’s a long road--it’s a long walk. takes a week or two.

kampê slinks into the shadows and hides, bitter, among the smokestacks. she hurts and she fears. hades will come for her, she knows, but she knows this place far better than he--that man barely checks up (hence how her grip on the place has gotten out of control), hasn’t been there for all of the rearrangements and updates in centuries. she knows where to hide. he will not find her in her domain. this is her darkness.

the imagery of the Exodus is very much akin to/inspired by the same Exodus of the movie Prince of Egypt. u kno that one?

looks like this, yeah, but like... obviously without the fish, because the walls aren’t made of ocean in this au, they’re just rock

and orpheus and eurydice leading the pack, shadowed looks of determination on their faces

again: this is where Promises (But Sadder) happens

as eurydice takes orpheus back to the main parts of hadestown, she notices too many things: his legs tremble, his hands shake, he breathes just barely too hard and clears his throat and coughs too much; and as they talk about the small things to fill some of the quiet, orpheus asks “what’d you say?” too often

(it’s hearing damage babey!)

of course, no one is spared from the hardships of hadestown. but she... does not like seeing those scars on orpheus

this long walk is also the time they tell each other everything that happened to them since they last saw each other

reminder: orpheus is still weak & kinda sick! and it’s a long walking journey. and everyone’s tired. sometimes they all sit down and camp for the “night” or something. 

the beyond’s not been kind to him; he’s pale as a corpse, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, looks as dead as he feels

(really, all the other workers from the Beyond don’t look much better)

it’s kind of a spooky sight when they stop for a few hours and he lays down to take a rest. the state he’s in...

and eurydice is a fairly good singer--nowhere near on orpheus’ (former) level, but good, and she probably sings him small tunes here and there just for the two of them, to relax and comfort and what have you

@axolotlbeans: at some point they stop for the “night” and orpheus collapses; eurydice, who’d been singing, gathers him in her arms and says, "Orpheus, you're shivering; is it cold or fear?"

and he interrupts her, burying his face into her neck and softly rasps "Just keep singing" in the smallest, weakest voice 

when they arrive. it is... a lot.

the long train of people is... heavily distracting. and they seem to come out of nowhere--a lot of hadestown wasn’t even aware there was a Beyond ‘till orpheus got banished, and then they didn’t know the name or what it was, just that he got banished somewhere. even the foremen turn to see; everyone’s sort of like. uh. what the hell is going on? and work sort of stalls out a little bit

eurydice and orpheus go straight to hades and present their demands to let them go. let them all go. blah blah blah some other stuff it probably sounds fairer than that, i don’t have the brain energy to outline all their demands specifically

by the slightly edited words of my good friend supercanteloupe:

let us go, eurydice demands, and hades just laughs, jailbirds like themselves don’t get their freedom so easily. get back to work, songbird, and don’t let the foreman know you’ve been slacking. and all of the rest of you... you’d better return before you’re made to return.

they go, but they’re not done, not by a long shot.

they don’t go back to work.

orpheus cannot sing, but he is still a poet, and the workers have their voices too

the bristling unrest of Hadestown begins to develop into protests, and the protests turn into riots.

orpheus can craft all the words eurydice needs to say with her spirited and powerful voice, to hit every point to cause uprisings and to stab every point to whittle hades down

hades notices things are beginning to go wrong. machine malfunctions, damaged, outright broken; strikes, sit-ins. rolling blackouts. eurydice and orpheus come back and back, with more and more workers, the ones they led out from the beyond and the ones from the factories and mines, always to demand: let us go. 

and hades grows only more calloused and bitter. you failed your test, you don't get second chances. Players who break the rules are banned from play. 

and every time they turn back, back to their increased workloads and their stricter overseers and their hope now stretching thin, and their anger growing more

ok back to me writing: but enough pushing, and even the overseers are beginning to turn.

the furies, infamous guardswomen and union busters, are doing their best to do damage control. and they are fierce. they are vicious, nearly (but not quite) as bad as kampê, and there are three of them--but then there are only three of them, and they cannot possibly control every single instance of revolt when the ball gets rolling

eurydice and orpheus are now the leaders of rebellion, and both of them are marked for banishment. they have to run from god-king hades and stay out of the unrelenting sights of the Furies.

(and this also means they can’t work or the foremen still on hades’ side might turn em in. so they catch a break and a nap, finally, jesus christ)

but.

there is trouble (For hades) in the fact that kampê has practically gone missing. no matter how many are sent to the Beyond, now there is no one to stop them from just... making the trip back. sure. it takes a long time. about a week or so of walking, but they just... come back.

hades takes notice. hades visits the Beyond for the first time in so long and tries to find her, to no avail. the Beyond is far changed than when he last saw it and he does not have the time to spend to find her--he cannot step away from his children for more than a few hours, lest something go wrong again. this is just another inconvenience on his long, long list.

@lookoutitsregan: “they're legally allowed to leave after 15 minutes”

orpheus and eurydice will be dealt with by himself, and so they run--avoid him as much as they can, hide under his radar

by the words of unholy-boi: hades will not let go of his empire so easily. the building pressure only makes him clench his fists tighter, bend his back further, push further to his own breaking point (and towards everyone else’s). 

he’s more likely to go down screaming that he isn’t, more likely to cling hard and furious to his city, push his workers into the dirt and further lose persephone in the process, the further this goes, the more against him, the more likely he is to furiously, dangerously fight back. 

as summer turns late, hadestown doesn’t soften like hades may have had it for persephone in years long since past, hadestown turns from city to warzone

ok back to me again

for the songbirds: there’s the riots and them narrowly escaping hades like all the damn time while he pushes everyone else to their limits

and yet they refuse to be pushed and usurp their foremen as fast as he reinstates things

revolutions usually have unifying symbols of a sort, and the many isolated revolts do eventually coalesce into this all being an outright revolution--a workers’ movement, if you will.

the red carnation. though they don’t have it, they all remember seeing in orpheus’ hand before he was banished--the one solid sliver of the aboveground anyone saw in a long time

@s-aint-elmo: the red carnation becomes their symbol--though they don’t have it, they paint it in hidden alleyways and abandoned factory walls. they have red paper flowers and red cloth tucked into pockets and tool belts

or the red of some banner that waves in the acrid smoke-wind of hadestown’s false air fronts

flowers, painted and made and substituted, are cropping up all over hadestown, and in increasingly more obvious spots. life is blooming in the underground for the first time in so long

OH ALSO, another fun layer of symbolism with the red cloths:

in the staging of actual hadestown, when orpheus sings "and they're gonna bend their branches down and lay their fruit upon the ground; the almond and the apple, the sugar and the maple" the ensemble is on the tables, reaching over eurydice like tree branches in a sort of ^ formation; on "almond" and "apple," the first two layers pull out and dangle white cloth, but on "sugar from the maple," the dude at the top dangles a red one and drops it into eurydice's hands

so there’s that!

also being the bounty of spring above...... rejecting the underworld. some shit like that

in a musical there’d definitely be a sort of revolution song

like uhhh... Why We Build the Wall II. it’s Different this time. it’s not about the circular logic of the wall, it’s about rebelling against the order hades has set for them

There’s so many lines that can be drawn from elsewhere in the musical to be inserted into this

Why do we build the wall, my brothers, my sisters?

He said the wall would bring us peace, the wall would keep out the enemy.

mister hades set us free to work ourselves into the ground. a lot of souls have gotta die to make the underworld go round.

why are we digging out own graves for a living, if we're free tell me why we can't even stand upright?

some sort of rebellion/callback against “who are you to think that you can hold your head up higher than your fellow man?”

i’m gonna count to three, and then i’ll raise my head, singin’, one, two--!

(except they probably finish the count in this one)

also, because i am weak for really great chords being belted out by a big chorus and hearing every voice part slot together, because this is a revolution song with lots of people i think it should have that

everybody 👏knows 👏the 👏walls 👏have 👏ears 👏

thank u supercanteloupe & s-aint-elmo for ur additions on this

the fates’ voices still carry on the wind, hadestown’s false air fronts of stale and acrid air, but orpheus and eurydice have since learned to turn their backs to it

ALSO? Flags

with the revolution coming to span A Really Big Chunk of hadestown, most likely more than half, there’d probably be people putting up flags and banners

i’m just like, inspired by the imagery of the flag raisings in wwii and post-9/11, and also i’m thinking of les mis/french revolution in general not gonna lie

sure, the Furies are union-busters and come after any sign of revolution, but every revolution is a fight against something. there’s always blood spilled, what different is this one?

they can’t be everywhere at once and they’re not like the Fates--they get tired, they’re not omnipresent and omniscient, the people are not powerless

the flag is supposed to attract attention, the point is to be loud

and by god, they are screaming

this is what a steel mill looks like at night. hadestown was sort of already in a hazy blaze, but combo this with a revolution in its midst, with fighting and fire, and... well, it’s a mess

and through all the flames are the carnations blooming, painted and carved on walls and smokestacks and pathways

(it’s very poetic)

(tumblr will kill this post if i link to the source directly, so. photo taken by DragonWolfACe @ deviantart)

hermes still ferries on the train, but the schedule is all out of whack thanks to the strikes and riots turning the systems upside down. he witnesses plenty of the mess that hadestown has fallen into, and the fight the songbirds are fighting

he relays as much news as he can to persephone

(thanks @damondaunnodyke​ for helping write this bit w/ seph)

persephone... worries

she already snuck underground to help them once and a hurricane ravaged the Top for her absence. the songbirds have escaped, and now have to fight this fight for themselves--she can’t go back down to help them, because she has to bring the summertime to the Top, and she refuses to be the cause of another storm

so she’s stuck aboveground. 

and she’s uhh. stressing. drinking. worrying.

everyone can tell there’s something off, but she doesn’t want to dwell on it, insisting that everyone else should just focus on the good times. let me tell ya something that my mama said to me...

she tries to not stress--there’s nothing she can do right now, why worry, you know? unless she wants to get more gray hairs than she’s already got

but during one of those celebrations she almost says “let the poet bless this round!” before catching herself, remembering that she’s... not there

a lot of people give her a glance; why’d she stop?

but she picks herself back up again, only a moment's falter, and just toasts to life and summer

the end of summer.

the revolution rages on. it’s not calmed down--the very opposite, in fact, more ferocious than ever

(and thanks unholy-boi for basically writing this bit for me HBGFHG)

persephone knows something is wrong when the train isn’t early--isn’t on time, but in fact late to pick her up. the summer has stretched on longer than it should, and in some ways, that is just as dangerous as the winter going on for too long

hades has been getting ready to bring her home. it takes browbeating and strongarming to get the trains running, far too late for his liking.

at last the train comes for her, and when it is hermes who offers his hand to bring her onboard, she knows that things in the underworld are bad--an inferno, dangerous if not dire, and she wonders if the songbirds are still alive, or if they’ve gone and the revolution still rages without them

hades aches for his wife, but he dares not step away from hadestown for a moment. he’s become obsessed and absolutely determined to quell, to crush this rebellion

hades is breaking, but refuses to bend, hades has refrains where he refuses to sing but slips into poetry and catches himself halfway through, hades is breaking, he puts in people he believes he can trust and they turn on him out of desperation, hades is running out of places to desperately hold and he is breaking. hadestown is oblivion. hades is wearing a crown that mangled his head.

persephone steps off of the train, and is taken aback by the state hadestown is in

 the people feel her breeze in, and it is some relief, but the can’t tell how this will change things. if it’ll make things worse, if it’ll make it better

people ask for her aid; but she’s too busy looking around, trying to find the songbirds (after getting confirmation that they’re still alive) who are still hiding

and she finds them. she sees orpheus and eurydice (orpheus, who hades so clearly saw himself in, and eurydice, who she sees herself in) still fighting, still in love.

she sees hades’ mercilessness to the boy he sees himself in. she sees eurydice’s unending determination (in contrast to her own grown apathy) 

and she’s reminded of times before. song or no song.

she decides that this cannot keep going, and hades will keep going farther and farther until he fucking self-destructs at the end of his fall and she wants to catch him before that happens

hades raises his fist against his people, persephone takes his hand and she starts singing. the old song. holding his hand. protecting the people. 

la, la la la, la la la 

and he realizes what he’s doing, as music swells, as the rest of hadestown, quietly, starts to join her in singing. as her warmth, her natural warmth, surrounds him, and he smells flowers and feels pollen and sunlight, and he--

well, the ice around his heart starts to crack, and the iron starts to melt

she catches him before he breaks

His Kiss, the Riot is... different

more emotionally charged, i think, because of the fight he’s been fighting for so long, so fiercely and ardently. he’s much more emotionally compromised, stressed and strung out and now everything’s been turned on his head

he can’t just let them go, but he can’t make them stay. he definitely cannot make them stay. and if the songbirds leave, they will take almost all of hadestown with them

it’s not like... Hellfire Notre Dame levels of dramatic. it’s still quiet, dark, and brooding, but hades is. more of a mess, really

but he comes to his conclusion all the same

that’s about all i got on this. i just wanted to make a note. i thought it was important

the task is given: they can walk, but eurydice must walk in front, and orpheus must follow behind. she must not turn behind to see if orpheus is following--if he has not collapsed, and she will not be able to hear if he has. if she turns, she may return above, but her lover will return to hadestown. 

it’s given to eurydice instead because while she might be harder to instill doubt in, she’s as much susceptible to loneliness as any other. she may have been alone for so long, but she is desperate to not be alone again. and orpheus is still weak--still sick, and she fears he might give out before they reach the top, as much as he assures her he’ll be fine

and if they fail, well, they keep the poet, who was damned to hell anyway--a sentence is stronger than a contract

(Also, this is now Wait For Me III (the first being Orpheus on the way to Hadestown; second being Eurydice trying to find Orpheus; this is the third) and it is HUGE and GRAND, as the climax of the revolution. just as big, if not bigger than the bway version’s

(tho as per usual it’s tinged with sadness because of the circumstances, and the fact that, if this were staged, orpheus would be the only one not singing)

and then... doubt comes in

eurydice walks the path to the surface

hermes' warnings echo in her head, all the same he gave to orpheus in the normal timeline

it's cold

the fates badger her and bleed into her thoughts, systematically unwinding her confidence as she marches on through the dark

one foot after the other, she tells herself

after so long of turning her back to the wind, to the fates, she has learned to keep her head on straight

orpheus is not sturdy, especially now, but he is not so weak to fail on a walk like this--long, but simple, and upon even ground

he is there, she tells herself. he is strong enough to keep up.

his heart is strong enough. it has to be.

hades lied to everyone in the underground--hades lied to make hadestown, she thinks

hades...

just this once--

she chooses to believe he didn't lie to her.

(pt. i) (pt. ii) (pt. iii) (pt. v) (epilogue) (askblog)

bonus:

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines: Cursed Past Chapter 83 - The Rage of Failure

she's finally here the last of the main 4 force users she took her time :P Kavaraa comes face to face with the emperors wrath

Kavaraa felt herself shudder as she was taken back to the throne when she last fought Zoyin, she hadn’t won that fight either she felt the pain of the stab wound every day and now she was here were they even prepared to stop her. 

Zoyin looked around the space and frowned flourishing her saber now coated in the green mist, she sniffed at the air and looked towards where Kavaraa and Theron hid

Kavaraa ducked down turning around “I think she can smell us or something” Theron had ducked down too making little noise, their breath shortened as they could feel Zoyin’s presence stalk the area, Kavaraa focussed doing everything she could to mask their presence.

After a few minutes Kavaraa felt Zoyin’s presence fade she did want to face her but on her own terms, she let out a sigh of relief and looked over the ridge not seeing her anywhere “ok she’s gone we’re fine” she turned but her eyes widened as she saw from nothing the mist in front of her coalesce into Zoyin’s form her eyebrow raised.

She scowled “Oh I wouldn’t go that far” they both jumped back as Theron drew his blaster, Zoyin rolled her eyes “oh please you really think that pea shooter could hurt me” she flourished her blade “If I was expecting anyone here it wasn’t you Jedi what are you doing here” Kavaraa was doing her best to keep calm

Kavaraa stammered drawing her own blade “I could ask you the same question what business do you have on Vallereth” Zoyin towered over both of them poised and ready for a fight, Kavaraa knew the fight was inevitable but she still had to try

Zoyin glowered at them “I don’t believe that’s any of your business but I certainly have more reason to be here than a Jedi that stab wound must’ve done more damage than I thought” Kavaraa shuddered at the thought of it but frowned at her

Zoyin had never been a liar she must genuinely not know about the archive so then why was she here? “Believe me I’m more than ready to stop whatever evil thing you’re doing, I thought you’d have learned a lesson after losing last time” Zoyin stance changed becoming stiff and furious

Zoyin clenched her fists “I did not lose! That bitch Kyradia somehow cheated, and I’m not going to let that happen again you two have interfered with my plans for the last time” with that Kavaraa saw the green mist swirl around her ready for battle

https://open.spotify.com/track/5eFxwmqKrHpSQDOEIFYlgY?si=6kY07G08Rn-evAmUWKfa0g

Zoyin moved forwards with purpose striking at Kavaraa who defended the best she could, Theron did his best shooting at her from a distance but she raised her arm and a green transparent wall seemed to absorb them causing Zoyin to twitch unnaturally.

Suddenly she disappeared into the mist and Kavaraa just managed to catch her when she reappeared behind slashing towards her, as the blades clashed she gritted her teeth and snarled “you’ll find I’ve learned a great many things since the last time we faced off I’m finally embracing my heritage” Kavaraa had to create some distance between them concentrating on the dusty ground between them raising up a pillar separating them

Kavaraa rolled over to Theron as Zoyin burst through the pillar, Theron shot at her but again she seemed to create some form of force shield “so what’s the plan Kavaraa we’re in way over our heads” he was definitely right this was going to take at least some training and research their first priority should be to survive

Kavaraa breathed heavily “I don’t know she’s using the force in a way I’ve never seen before” Kavaraa began to concentrate throwing any rubble and debris she could find to break the shield “we just need to outlast her and then regroup she was too powerful last time I fought her and that was with Lana to help I’m not sure we stand much of a chance” it was true Zoyin was like a walking tank those who’d fought her usually would only have survived, Kyradia and Vaylin were the two people who’d been known to beat Zoyin clean and she certainly didn’t have either of them.

Theron nodded as Zoyin walked towards them slowly “Ok you distract her I got a few ideas” Kavaraa nodded as Theron dashed to the side, Kavaraa moved backwards towards the cave Zoyin had emerged from continuing to throw rubble at her eventually she saw Zoyin wince and the shield dropped

Kavaraa lunged forwards not wasting the opportunity letting out a number of strikes in quick succession pushing her back a bit and the last catching her shoulder which she barely registered on her face. Kavaraa decided aggravation would be a good distraction “It’s over Zoyin Valkorion is dead you lost, whatever grand plan you had has failed” Zoyin snarled at her but then seemed to disappear

Kavaraa thought it’d worked for a second but Zoyin quickly reappeared behind trying to slice into her “I have you to blame for that my entire lifes work for nothing because of some stupid jedi” she continued to vanish and reapear around Kavaraa causing her to have to adapt as if she was being attacked on all sides “I’m going to enjoy gutting you, it’s a good thing you came right to me” Kavaraa could feel herself tiering out as Zoyin circled her 

But then she noticed Zoyin cry out in pain as a blaster bolt hit her in the back, she snarled, turning around giving Kavaraa the opportunity to try and disarm her of her saber. She concentrated using her strength and flipped it out of Zoyin’s hand before she could turn back around, maybe she did have the upper hand “You’re the one hiding, the great unbeatable Zoyin hiding in a wasteland” Theron clearly had a plan she had to keep up the distraction

Zoyin shook her head closing her eyes “I wasn’t hiding you fool I was training” Kavaraa watched as the mist coalesced in her hand forming a blade “I’m far beyond any Jedi or Sith” she continued her assault as Kavaraa defended against the conjured weapon “I will not let the Sith’s rules cage me anymore they were weak only Valkorion saw through that and you took that away you will all pay for your ignorance” Zoyin pushed the blade down knocking Kavaraa off her feet

Zoyin went for a stab but Kavaraa rolled out the way she went to stand but felt herself thrown against the wall an intense pressure coming from Zoyin “you’re nothing Jedi everything you are is held back by your teachings you’re complacent and can’t even protect your own people” Kavaraa felt anger build up in her for the first time in a long time and tried to quell it calming down as Zoyin pulled Kavaraa into her grip “ah there it is the hypocrisy of the Jedi I sense your anger if only you used it you’re so weak” her grip tightened as Kavaraa noticed Theron sneaking up behind her

Kavaraa fought through the pain and slammed her elbow into Zoyin’s ribs a resounding crack coming from both their bodies, Zoyin stumbled but didn’t drop Kavaraa as she did her best to speak “I pity you Zoyin you’re so consumed by your rage you don’t know how to deal with your failure” Kavaraa didn’t enjoy taunting but it was necessary right now

Zoyin snarled but before she could tighten her grip any further Kavaraa watched as Theron threw something against her that began beeping, her eyes widened as she dropped Kavaraa rellising Theron had planted a sticky bomb on her. She scowled “Coward! This isn’t over” with that she vanished into the mist down the cave the sticky dropping to the ground, Kavaraa’s eyes widened as she dashed down the hill to Theron turning around and concentrating on caving in the cave entrance

Kavaraa let out a sigh of relief “that should hold her for a little bit thanks you really saved my skin” Theron nodded smiling

He looked around “just a little homemade bomb, we should get out of here before she gets back right” Kavaraa nodded and they began dashing back to the ship

They had to work out what Zoyin was here for “that was way too close we need to know what she’s here for and why she’s here for it, she was way more powerful than last time” Theron nodded as they dashed away hearing rumbling form behind them

He was already messing with his datapad “yeah no kidding, we need to ask the archivists when we get back and next time we need backup I don’t think the shoddily made sticky bomb trick will work again” Kavaraa nodded as good a plan as it was it only saved them for the time being

Kavaraa held her chin “Shassa said most the archivists weren’t home they may know more and probably be more trained in the field” Kavaraa hoped they got back soon she didn’t know what Zoyin was doing but it was probably bad.

They arrived back at the ship thoroughly out of breath and quickly punched it back towards the moon, Kavaraa took a deep breath “Theron it’s ok to stay here and deal with this right I’m not being crazy” Theron sighed as he piloted the ship

He nodded “yeah she has always been a threat leaving her here could be very bad, I don’t like it but we’re going to have to deal with her first” Kavaraa nodded she had wanted to stay here longer but not like this how were they going to beat Zoyin they’d hardly made a scratch

Kavaraa took a deep breath “I’m not sure we can tell the alliance either Kyradia has a rather sorted history with her I doubt it’d be the easiest way to take her down” Kavaraa knew their history was murky too but compared to Kyradia and Zoyin they were basically best friends

Theron frowned “she has beaten her before but you’re right I’ve seen the Commander fighting emotionally as have you it can get messy” Kavaraa let out a sigh of relief glad Theron agreed with her

Kavaraa saw the moon come into view “alright as soon as we get back we should do everything we can to find out what she wants with Vallereth” whatever ancient civilization lived here it had some powerful secrets....

[aire101]

Ferrum Chapter 4

Hey y'all, got this chapter out a bit sooner than the last one!

For those who read the light novels of SAO this chapter will be kinda familiar, for those who have only watched the anime, this is the town where Kirito ran to after leaving Klein in Episode 1, and the quest where he got his Anneal Blade we see in the series.

Also, while I make no promises that it will make it into the story, I am open to suggestions on what kind of adventures or shenanigans you would like to see the boys get up to in SAO. As I've mentioned previously I don't really intend to get the boys mixed up too much in the main canon, so if there's an aspect of the SAO world in general you'd like to see explored outside of the main battles and Kirito's storyline I'm open to considering it. I'm also ok with interactions with known characters, just trying to avoid writing the whole Kirito centric Aincrad arc.

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

Activate-Vertical slash-hold

“Switch!”

1-2

“Switch!”

Defend-rage spike, upward strike—

“SWITCH!”

Peter fell back again, the post motion-delay that set in for a measly few seconds was nevertheless a highly vulnerable moment that he and Mr. Stark had figured out a work around for early on in their trek. The boars from Day 1 had been easy one hit kills, so they hadn’t noticed the system forced post-motion cool down period until they had been fighting on the road the next day. Their tag-team approach served them well, and best that Peter could tell from when they came upon other players in the wild, most of the rest had come to the same conclusion that they had. Because of that, it was unusual these days to find someone soloing in the pvp areas by choice.

Mr. Stark switched in with a strong horizontal slash, bringing the Little Nepenthe's HP down to zero.

“You know, I was never one for plants anyway, but after this quest I swear to god I will never put a single point into the gardening skill,” said Mr. Stark as he sheathed his sword.

“I’ve told you, green stuff is sadness and disappointment solidified,” replied Peter, following suit.

“I still expect you to eat your greens, kid.”

“It’s a tragedy, I tell you. Here we are, trapped in a fantasy game and every meal is still served with vegetables.”

“Yeah, that’s the real tragedy here.”

“I want my money back.”

“You weren’t even the one who bought the game. But either way, I’ll buy you every Playstation, X-Box, and Nintendo game ever in existence when we get back if you just never touch a full dive ever again,” said Mr. Stark, laughing.

And there’s Peter’s daily reminder that he still hadn’t informed Mr. Stark of the horrific truth of his situation.

“I think it’s time to call it a night, Underoos.”

“Is this quest even worth it? We’ve been out here for like three days weeding these things out. The drop rate on this thing is atrocious,” moaned Peter.

“From what our source says, this quest has one of the best weapons you can find on this floor as it’s reward. And while I’ve been funneling as many points as possible into weapon creation, its not quite where it needs to be to match that yet, so better to start with a good blade and just do the enhancement myself. Also, don’t think I didn’t notice that terrible pun, you should be ashamed.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in my pun game.”

Mr. Stark gave a deep sigh/groan before he turned and started walking back towards the direction of Horunka Village. He probably had rolled his eyes too, but it was impossible to tell through the helmet he always wore.

Night had long since fallen over Aincrad, and it had been dark in the forest even before that. Pale blue light slit through the trees overhead, lighting the path, but otherwise they made their way by memory and intuition. A breeze stirred up leaves from the ground, and Peter shivered slightly from the cool night air.

“Do you think its going to snow here in the winter?” asked Peter.

“If we’re all still here in the winter—which all signs point to yes— I think it will. We can see from the thunderstorm last week it has a functioning variable weather simulator. I wasn’t a part of that programing team obviously, so I don’t know for certain just how far that variable goes, but I would think the primary associated weather variations like rain, snow and heat waves will be included. It might also vary by floor. Probably won’t know the answer to that until we get a few floors opened up,” answered Mr. Stark.

“Huh… something to look forward to I guess,” said Peter.

“Why? You don’t get enough snow in Queens?” Mr. Stark said with a joking tone.

“Yeah, but you know in the real world I kinda have to be careful with the cold. My body temperature runs a bit cooler than the average, so unless I’m in the suit I try to keep exposure to a minimum. In here I can probably spend all day in it with out any trouble,” said Peter.

“I didn’t know that, actually,” said Mr. Stark, this time far more seriously. “You haven’t mentioned it, and I hadn’t thought about that at all.”

“Oh. Well, that built in heater and temperature regulator in the suit pretty much took care of the problem. It’s just something I have to keep in mind,” said Peter, awkwardly trying to cover his slip up. Obviously that had been a conversation they had some time after Mr. Stark’s last memory.

It had been almost two weeks since they had been locked in this game, and Peter was still no where close to figuring out how Mr Stark was even here. And he was equally no where closer to telling Mr. Stark the truth about the events in the real world— Thanos and the Infinity Stones, Mrs. Stark and Morgan, Mr. Stark’s death and Peter’s own—

“Anyway, we should definitely make a day of it once it does. I don’t know about you, but its been years since I built a snowman and I kinda want to change that,” said Peter, quickly diverting his thoughts.

“Sure, might as well. Not like we’re going anywhere fast in here. Though if you start singing Frozen songs I might reconsider.”

“You know, they’ve written out your entire life story in news articles and magazines, but they always leave out how much of a killjoy you are.”

“Whatever, kid. I’m the life of the party.”

“A retirement party, maybe.”

Mr. Stark threw the finger back over his shoulder at Peter and kept walking.

Peter was just just about to follow suit when out of the corner of his eye, the sight of polygons coalescing into a hazy form caught his attention.

It was obviously another Little Nepenthe, but above the typical hellish roots and vines and the bizarre, speckled pitcher plant topped with its gaping fanged mouth, was a large, blood red bloom.

Petter inhaled sharply, the sound causing Mr. Stark to spin around as well.

This was it. This is what they were looking for.

Before the creature could attack and he could second guess himself, Peter drew his sword and leapt in with a swift Horizontal Strike at the plant’s weak spot— the joint between the stalk and the pitcher.

The strike hit true, and before the evil hell plant got even a single chance to spew its corrosive liquids, it dissolved back into broken polygons, leaving behind nothing but the delicate flower holding the Ovule they had searched for.

“Whoa! You actually got one!”

Mr. Stark and Peter both spun around, swords raised. Behind them stood another player no older than Peter, with his arms now raised in a sign of surrender.

“Sorry! I was using my hide skill in here. It doesn’t really work on the Little Nepenthes, but it helps avoid other confrontations,” said the player.

Despite what they said, Peter took a good look around, searching for others. The timing and the seeming lack of a party giving good reason for concern. PKers lurking around valuable drop spots to attack and rob unsuspecting players of their loot wasn’t an uncommon thing in PvP games, and unfortunately not even a full two weeks in, SAO was no exception. In any other game, they may simply be considered griefers. But here, to the best of their knowledge it was nothing short of murder.

“Where’s the rest of your party?” asked Mr. Stark, not lowering his blade.

“Eh, I don’t really have one,” said the guy sheepishly

“Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe,” said Mr. Stark. “Kid, do you see anyone else? Or are they hidden as well?”

“Look, there’s really no one else, its just me. People in here don’t really like my type,” said the guy, with a sad note in his voice.

“Oh…” said Mr. Stark, voice now tinged more compassion than aggression. “You’re a beta tester, aren’t you kid?”

The guy flinched, but nodded. “Please, I promise I’m just doing some light grinding in the area. There’s no one else, and I already have the quest item.”

Mr. Stark didn’t sheath his sword, but he gave a nod and backed away.

“Alright, good luck then,” he said.

The other player nodded in return, turned and walked back into the woods.

“Pocket the ovule quick and keep an eye out. Don’t sheath your sword until we get back into town,” said Mr. Stark before he began running back in the direction of Horunka village.

Peter slipped the item into his inventory and easily kept pace with the other man. After a few minutes of running, Peter finally spoke up, “Do you think he was telling the truth? Pretty surprising he freely admitted to that. For all he knows we could have been Beta Killers.”

“If we had killed someone our player cursors would still be orange. It is unusual though. He must have figured it was worth the risk to try and get us to back off,” said Mr. Stark. “Poor kid, as if being stuck in this game wasn’t bad enough, having to hide a beta status from other players…”

Just as Mr. Stark had expected that first day, it didn’t take long before the terrified and angry masses started looking for someone to blame. And with Kayaba disappearing into the digital ether, apparently the scapegoats they chose were the 700 or so beta testers who had logged in with the rest that day. According to most pub talk, the beta testers had left the rest of the players in the dust of the Town of Beginnings, getting through the most lucrative quests and hunts before most even dared to leave the city. They were condemned as selfish and greedy, and were therefore persona non-gratis in most parties. Even worse were the stories of betas being outright murdered and monster PK’d. Out of the almost 1000 players who were already dead about two weeks in, around 150 had been beta testers. A staggering amount given how few of them there had been. Plenty had undoubtedly met their end due to the game itself, but many had ended up victims of angry mobs.

Peter didn’t understand it. Yeah, the beta testers had more info and experience than the rest, but they had shared much of that info on the internet before the game even began. Then after a few days in game, vendor markets began carrying a free SAO Guide booklet created by someone called ‘The Rat’, who had clearly made and circulated the original file Ned had uploaded to the Nervegear. Almost anything you could want to know was available. It was how they had learned of this quest in the first place.

“Hey Ferrum, why do people have to suck so bad?” asked Peter, mostly rhetorically.

“If I had the answer to that, I wouldn’t have been a weapons manufacturer.”

After a few minutes of running they finally crossed over into the town Safe Zone. Horunka was a small village, with only about ten buildings in all. One of which was the house of the NPC who gave the quest, and their current destination.

As they walked down the road towards the house, several parties milled about, clearly having just returned from their own hunts. A couple eyed the two of them as they walked through.

“Looks like someone finally managed to snag an ovule. Lucky bastards…” someone muttered.

“Who actually wears a helmet in this game?” said another.

“Yikes, imagine being stuck in here with your dad…”

Overhearing that last line caused Peter’s face to flush, which given its digital nature was just plain unfair. Did they have to be that thorough?

No bigger than the town was, they were soon standing in the living area of the house. The lady of the house whom they had met previously still stood stirring a pot of simmering liquid, her expression drawn and tired. The only thing that about her that gave her away as an NPC rather than a player was the exclamation mark hovering above her head in the place of a player cursor, indicating a quest in progress.

“Go on, kid,” said Mr. Stark, staying by the door.

Peter slowly approached. Even knowing that the woman was an NPC, it still felt rude to just barge into the house without invitation. He brought up is inventory and took out the ovule, handing it out to her to take.

Immediately her face brightened, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder just how developed the NPC AIs were. Were they simple rudimentary ones like most games? Or were they more like Mr. Stark’s AIs? Was she aware of what she was?

“Oh, thank you so much, kind swordsman! My daughter has only grown worse since we last spoke, I was beginning to worry she may not make it till your return,” she said, taking the ovule from my hand and adding it to the pot.

I saw my quest log update to the left of my view, but I was distracted by the sound of deep coughs coming from further in the house.

“Here, this blade has been passed down in my family for generations, but I gladly trade it in exchange for your aid saving my child’s life. Take it with my blessing,” said the lady, pulling a blade encased in a worn red sheath from an old trunk. With both hands she extended it out to me to take, a smile still on her lips, tears of gratitude sparkling in her eyes.

“Thank you,” said Peter, perhaps unnecessarily, but old habits die hard.

The lady nodded in response and went back to stirring the pot in the kitchen. The quest was complete.

In the center of his field of vision, Peter received a message declaring as much, along with one noting the EXP points gained.

“Alright, let’s head back to the inn and get some grub and call it a night,” said Mr. Stark, holding the door open for him.

Behind them the lady did not acknowledge them at all, but began carefully ladling the contents of the pot into a cup. Peter wondered if somewhere inside there really was a little NPC girl the lady tended to day in and day out, forever trying to alleviate an illness she was created to suffer through.

As Peter walked through the doorway out into the night, he thought back to Aunt May. Back to when he always seemed to catch whatever bug was going around at the time. She may not be the best cook, but one thing she had down pat was chicken noodle soup. She would stand over a pot in the kitchen just like the NPC had, cooking up a big batch that he could easily heat up through out the day when he felt up to eating. Their finances being what they were, she and Ben could not always get out of work so easily, if at all. They did their best to schedule their work so one could be there with him, but sometimes the overlap just wasn’t quite there. Fortunately, a little old lady all the apartment kids called Nana lived a couple doors down from them and was usually content to be on call for kids who needed it.

He wondered what Aunt May was doing right now. Was she sitting beside his hospital bed, holding his hand, but he couldn’t feel it? Were they literally in the same room with each other, but worlds apart? Would she talk to him like she used to when she thought he was sleeping, hoping against everything that he could somehow hear her? What would she say? They had only just started finding their new normal when this happened…

He looked down at this hands, but all he could feel was the weight of the sword he still held.

Tears came, unbidden and unwanted.

If that bastard was going to lock them in this prison, the least he could have done was not code in visual emotion effects.

“Awww… look at the little boy crying,” mocked one of the players outside the inn as they passed.

“Don’t be an asshole, Derrig. You cried for two days straight when this shit started,” said one of his party members, while slapping the offender on the back of the head.

“You ok, Peter?” asked Mr. Stark quietly. “I would offer to go beat the shit out of that guy, but not sure if its worth a duel.”

“No, don’t do that. I’m alright,” said Peter. “Let’s just get up to the room.”

“You go on up, I’ll order some dinner to be delivered,” said Mr. Stark.

Peter nodded. They pretty much always ate in a room so that Mr. Stark could remove his helmet. Occasionally Peter wished they could eat with the other players, just to visit with someone else for a change. This wasn’t one of those nights.

Once in their room, Peter quickly removed most of his gear, leaving only his breaches and his tunic. The sword he placed on the table.

Apparently the sword was called ‘Anneal Blade.’

Peter fell back into a chair, letting his head roll back, closing his eyes.

In the real world, he would undoubtedly be able to hear every conversation going on in the rooms around them, as well as whatever hubbub was going on in the main room downstairs. But in here there was naught but silence. It had taken him a bit to get used to not hearing literally everything going on around him. He hadn’t realized just how much noise he was used to constantly filtering through in his day to day life until it was completely removed. He had thought he would love not having to deal with his extra sensitive senses, but come to find out it was pretty anxiety inducing to have them taken away, like an extended bout of sensory deprivation.

If only he had never put on that Nervegear. If he had told Ned that maybe they should wait until the next round of production of SAO to get into the game, let them get the bugs worked out.

Except…

The door opened, and in came Mr. Stark and two plates of whatever today’s special was downstairs.

“They were pretty busy down there, so I just brought it up myself. Figured I’d listen in on a pub talk a minute and see if any news has been circulating,” Mr. Stark said, setting down the plates.

“Did you hear anything interesting?” asked Peter.

“Not much. But one group did mention that there were some rumors floating around about a Log-Out point in a forest west of the Town of Beginnings. No one going in has come out alive though, and the Rat has been trying to get word out that the information is false and didn’t come from her,” said Mr. Stark, sitting in the chair opposite.

“Ugh, that sucks,” said Peter. “What’s the point in starting a rumor like that anyway?”

“Some people get their kicks in screwed up ways, kid. It’s as simple as that.”

The lapsed into silence as they ate their meal. But eventually Peter noticed Mr. Stark looking up at him.

“What?” asked Peter.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Peter swallowed and shook his head, “Not much to talk about. Was just thinking about Aunt May.”

Mr. Stark nodded, “I’m not going to say she’s doing fine, because we both know that’s probably a lie. But I will say that she’s a strong woman, and I know as soon as we get out of here she will be right there waiting for you with some awful attempt at baked food and the world’s longest hug.”

Peter gave a laugh as tears began to spring up again.

“You’re definitely right. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Look kid,” said Mr. Stark with a sigh. “I know you enjoy watching me squirm, but I would really appreciate it if you would switch to just ‘Tony.’ For one thing, there’s millions of Tonys in the world, but with the right info out there the name ‘Mr. Stark’ might become a bit suspicious eventually. We’ve just been calling me by my user name outside of our room, and that’s worked out alright, but eventually you might slip. And given my track record on secret identities, we should probably do everything possible to avoid scrutiny as long as possible.”

“Dude, you never had a secret identity. As soon as Iron Man became a thing you outed yourself on live television,” said Peter with a caustic tone.

“Whatever, my point still stands,” said Mr. Stark, waving off Peter’s remark.

“Does it though?”

“Yes, please, please start calling me Tony.”

“It really bugs you, doesn’t it?” asked Peter with a laugh. “Why?”

Honestly, when he asked he had expected Mr. Stark to blow off the question and change the subject. Because in the real world— back before the Decimation— every time they’d had this conversation and he had asked, that was ultimately what Mr. Stark did.

This time however, a tense silence met his question.

“Growing up, Howard was always ‘Mr. Stark.’”

There was a pause, as if he was unsure whether to continue, or how.

“Pretty much everyone on earth calls me ‘Mr. Stark.’ And that’s who they see— billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, wanna-be hero, narcissist, hedonist. That’s by design. It’s what everyone expected from me—being my father’s son— and I rose to the occasion. There’s only a handful of people who have gotten past ‘Mr. Stark’ and made it to ‘Tony.’ At this point, I’d like to think you’re one of them who has.”

Peter sat in quiet shock. Then slowly his heart filled up to the brim with something warm and sad, until he felt he could have burst.

There were a million things he felt, and only a few he could say. But only one he felt needed to be said right then.

“Ok… Tony. But I don’t want to hear you call yourself a wanna-be hero again. Because you are a hero. To everyone… but especially me.”

Tony didn’t reply for a moment, but eventually settled on a nod.

“Alright, deal,” Tony finally said, turning back to his food.

The got a few more bites in before Tony spoke again.

“I’m thinking of skipping on meals for a while. I’m kinda curious how long it takes to actually start feeling hungry in here.”

Peter looked at him confused, “What do you mean? You haven’t been hungry? Like at all?”

Tony blinked at him, “No, you mean you have?”

“Uh, yeah… several times a day usually.”

“Huh… maybe its because of your real world metabolism bleeding through. But no, haven’t felt it at all yet. Seems like a waste of Cor for me to buy meals if I haven’t actually been hungry,” said Tony, finishing up the last bite of his roast. “Not to say that its a wasted experience. They did a pretty remarkable job on this coding. But it would probably be better to save what money we can for now.”

Peter nodded, turning back to his own plate, but could only bring himself to push the food around a little, his stomach suddenly a bit queasy. Perhaps Tony was right, and it was just because of his RL body needs…

He’d talk to a few other players about their experience. Just to be sure.

“So, ‘Anneal Blade,’ huh?” said Tony, looking over the sword still laying on the table. He brought up its specs to analyze.

“Yeah, not exactly sure what the name is about. I mean, I know about the annealing process in biochemistry. I studied it a bit after the spider bite. But not sure how that would really apply to a sword,” said Peter.

“It was originally a process to remove impurities and harden iron for weapons. That’s where scientists originally pulled the term from that they used for the DNA process,” said Tony offhand, still reading through the sword’s numbers and looking it over in his hands. “The sword is as good as the guide implied. It should definitely hold up for you for a good while. Especially once I can start enhancements on it. Looks like we can attempt up to eight.”

“Does that mean we need to put a blacksmith’s forge on the shortlist?” asked Peter.

“Nah, I still have a few levels before we need to worry about that. Still, like I said, it is probably a good idea to start pinching pennies where we can. Jesus, I haven’t had to save money since that time my old man cut me off for a while back in college. This sucks.”

“Welcome to how the other 99.9% live,” said Peter, not an ounce of sympathy in his voice.

Tony shrugged, “Karma is definitely a bitch.”

“This isn’t karma. You’re just a spoiled brat.”

Tony stuck out his tongue, just like the mature adult he was.

Peter laughed, “Exactly. I’m calling it a night. We good to head out in the morning?”

“Yup, heading west from here to grind a bit on some of the higher level forest mobs. We’ll see where we end up after that.”

Peter nodded. Where ever they went and whatever they faced, they would do it together. They’d make it through this.

Even without his spider powers and Tony’s money, they were still Spider-man and Iron Man. Kayaba couldn’t take that away from them.

[serebronaga]

Chicken Enchiladerole with Sour Cream Sauce

Every year, Tamesr and I make each other food for our birthdays. Worked great when we lived together, still works while we are many states apart. She usually makes me cakes. I tend to be a little more..untraditional.

Yesterday was her birthday. I made her a chicken enchiladerole.

What is an enchiladerole? Well, technically it’s an enchilada. In a casserole dish. I used to be able to roll the enchiladas like a normal person, but as my hands have slowly stopped cooperating over time, I find it much easier to just tear up the tortillas and layer them like a casserole.

But! What’s so interesting about my enchiladerole that I’m making a post about it? It’s...bland. Not spicy, not acidic. I make the chicken, and I make the sauce. Nothing premade here! I’ve got medical restrictions, placing me on a bland diet, so I modify recipes to fit. 

Maybe you’d like to see what I’ve done? Maybe you’re in a similar situation and want to see if you could try something similar? Woo!

I should mention this is heavy on dairy. And the post is long. With pictures!

First off, lemme say, normally I do this in a casserole dish. Yesterday, I did not. I did this in a disposable aluminum pan. The result was a little different than I expected, but not bad. Thusly, do not worry if you do not have a casserole dish (I never had one before I moved back with my parents to help them). Disposable aluminum pans are pretty cheap at the store (I think my 2 pack was maybe a dollar or two.) so even if you don’t want to casserole it and want to roll them like normal, these pans will still fit the bill.

!

Gather your party to move forward.

Preheat your oven to 375 F.

This is the chicken party, chicken not pictured.

2 pounds of chicken meat. Breast fillets or strips or ones that have been cut up for stir fries all work. They’ll all be cut up in the end. Frozen or fresh, no difference (but ya gotta thaw em, silly).

Mayonnaise. 

Garlic (I use minced).

Lemon juice.

Seasonings/spices. I am a weh weh baby and use only rosemary, salt and a dash of cayenne pepper. You can change these to suit your tastes.

Shredded cheese, your choice. 

I picked up this bit from my sister. She uses it when she makes spinach chicken. I like cooked spinach, but it has no place in my enchiladerole. 

My parents use canned chicken chunks when they make their enchiladas. Le yuck. No flavor and it stinks worse than canned tuna, tbh. It’s ok for chicken and dumplings, but not in a dish where chicken is top of the bill.

What we’re going is basically making a paste to dredge the chicken in. The mayo coats it and keeps it from drying out. The lemon juice is to help break down the meat and tenderize it a little. The spices flavor the meat. The cheese makes a happy crust. 

I don’t do fancy measurements. See that spoon? You need 2.5 spoonfuls of mayo. A 5-6 second squeeze of lemon juice. Pinch of salt, dash of cayenne, and two shakes of rosemary. For the garlic, your choice. I use the other end of the spoon and take a dip out of the jar. 

Handful of cheese. Add it a little at a time if you need to, to keep the balance. Remember, you’re going for a paste. Mix it up, should look something like this.

Prep your chicken. You can leave it in the big fillets or chop em into smaller pieces to bake. I find it easier to piece them, since they take less time to cook.

Stick em in the bowl, mush them around with your hand. Don’t worry about them being completely coated, just make sure they’re covered into the mayo. When they’re all coated, you can put the extra cheese on top to make the crust.

Like that. You definitely want to use foil on your pan for this, because there will be liquids. Cheese oil, chicken juice, all that good stuff. Make a little wall around it so it doesn’t get everywhere when you take it out later. Save the crunchy bits that end up around the chicken when they’re done. They’re still good and you can put them in the enchiladerole for extra flavor.

Now, as Alton Brown would say, GO WASH YOUR CHICKEN-Y HANDS.

Now, I put mine in the oven for 45 minutes. However, that is for THIS oven. In the past, I’ve had to cook them for longer, and for shorter. It all depends on your oven. You know it, I don’t. It’s better to underestimate and have to add time than to overdo it and burn the yums. 

Food safety, cook the chicken to an internal temp of 160-165 F to make sure it’s done and any germies are slain. Unless you have a fancy stick thermometer, you’re probably not going to be able to tell. Here’s what you do: cut the biggest piece open and see if its raw inside. If it’s raw, they aren’t done. You want it to look like the inside of a chicken nugget (white), not what it looked like going in (pink and gooey looking).

Like that. 

So now that they’re out of the oven, let em sit. One, they’re hot and you don’t want to handle bitchin hot chicken. Two, whenever you cook meat, you want to let it rest afterwards. This lets it reabsorb some of the liquid that cooked out and other fun culinary stuff.

When you have approximately 15ish minutes left on the chicken cooking, let’s start the sauce.

Have you ever heard of a roux (roo)? We’re going to make a roux. Now you can sound fancy.

AP Flour

Unsalted Chicken stock

Milk (I use whole milk because that’s how I am. Fairlife is lactose free, though. Whether you use regular or lactose free doesn’t matter. Just don’t use like...nut milk. Use the moo juice.)

Butter (I used what was already opened, which was unsalted. If you use salted butter, watch how you add salt in other parts of recipes. It can throw off your groove.)

Sour cream. 

Not pictured here, the same spices as the chicken paste (Cayenne, Rosemary, Salt. No garlic this time, but you can if you want to.)

Also not pictures, more shredded cheese. Haha.

I use about 2 tablespoons of butter. Melt it in your pan, mix in the flour slowly. Probably about a cup of it. You’re the judge of how thick you want your sauce to  be, so adjust to your liking. What we’re doing is helping the flour not be a little bastard and clump when it encounters the fat (the butter), so the sauce can be smooth. Nobody likes lumpy sauce. If you need to, you can add a little bit of the chicken stock to help smooth things out. 

When things are looking pretty well mixed, add in the stock and the milk. Eyeball it, my dudes. Fill the pan a little under halfway with the stock, then the other half with milk. Keep about an inch to the top, otherwise things will get messy when you add in the sour cream later.

When it reaches a simmer, add in your spices and sour cream. Stir stir stir. Don’t let it boil, though. Sour cream doesn’t like to be boiled. Keep stirring. Add in a handful of cheese. Don’t let the flour or the cheese settle on the bottom and burn. That will taste very bad. 

Are you stirring? KEEP STIRRING.

It will eventually look like this. Smooth. Taste it. Taste flour-y? Not done yet. Keep going til it doesn’t taste like flour. You should be able to taste the sour cream and the spices. Need more spice? Add it now. By now, it should reach your desired thickness. At the least, you want it to coat the spoon when you remove it from the sauce. 

Dance break. Bean has come to see you for culinary support. Sing her a song while you wait for the chicken to be handable.

Tear up some tortillas. Flour or corn is your decision. My parents and sister prefer corn. I like flour. I find they fit better with the creamy texture of the sour cream sauce. 

You can make the chicken any size you like. I tend towards bigger bite size pieces because I’m impatient.

Put your first layer of chicken in. Arrange your chicken, toss in some shredded cheese, make another tortilla layer. Repeat til you reach the top of whatever size dish you’re using.

My dumb ass underestimated the depth of these pans and thusly, it fit only one layer. Luckily it was a two pack, so I just made two. Huzzah.

Top layer, now is the time for the sauce. Try to spread it evenly, make sure it gets down the sides or you will have very dry bottom layers.

What’s that? Something is missing?

You’re right, it’s the final cheesening. I told you this recipe was heavy on the dairy. This is why we use the big bag of cheese. This will make your crust. Yom yom.

Stick it in the oven. I put these in for 30 minutes. Added 5 more minutes at the end for the cheese crust to properly brown.

Bean is still here to support you. Sing her another song while you wait for the enchiladeroles to cook.

BAM, as Emeril says. Let it cool for a couple minutes before you cut into it (nobody likes to be burned by shittin hot noms). Eat it now, or put it in the fridge to eat later. Sometimes it’s even better that way, having more time to coalesce flavorfully.

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Making A Galaxy Far Far Away: An Aesthetic Photoset Tutorial

Requested by @geleixi (and varying amounts of time ago by @rockett-to-the-purple-moon, @thenameisgreed, @pizzaplanethq, and probably others who sent nice messages that I went “Oh, what a nice message this means so much I LOVE IT SO MUCH I’M TOO ANXIOUS TO ANSWER IT WRONG I’ll just do it later” and then promptly NEVER answered it.)

Brainstorming & Photo Collection

Picking a Color Palette

Choosing Images from Collection

Coloring

Textures & Effects

First off: I am not even going to remotely pretend like graphic design is a Thing I Am Better At Than Anyone Else, because that would be patently false and ridiculous, but I also get a fair number of Asks about making photosets/aesthetic posts, so here we are. I’m planning to do a separate one, maybe, for how I do the Cartoon Girls All Grown Up and Nancy Drew Dream Games series, because the “brainstorming and photo collection” part is so different that it inherently affects the rest of the process.

BUT I also feel like I don’t see a ton of tutorials that go through the brainstorming/finding images part of making aesthetics, and I tend to think of my Graphics Style(TM) as “DEEPLY Uninterested in washed-out faux sepiatone grimdark Tumblr Coloring?? + Not Good Enough At Masks To Do Negative Space Well,” which might be some people’s level of ~graphics design passion(TM)~ too, so. That’s the ride for which this ticket has been bought.

Brainstorming & Photo Collection

Obviously, the specifics of this are totally different for every aesthetic, but all of the GFFA/swworlds start from the same seed: Star Wars Aesthetic.

Star Wars itself has a very particular Lookque, imo: it’s not quite retrofuture, it’s not quite dirtpunk, it’s not quite scifi, even. There are the insanely sumptuous (and hella culturally appropriative) queens of Naboo and the ramshackle toppled AT-AT where Rey lives on Jakku and the not-even-subtle-at-all-jfc Nazi inspiration of the Empire and First Order and the straight-up millennial Tumblr witch Goffik look of the Dathomir Witches and Zabrak siths and the blue, blue water of Scarif. There “isn’t” a unifying aesthetic through Star Wars, and yet, as Gareth Edwards said, there’s a LOOK and FEEL to Star Wars: if you go a little too far to the left or right, it isn’t Star Wars anymore.*

*That said, this tutorial talks about Crait, which was invented by Rilo Jon, who went both too far left and too far right but mostly... too far-right. BA DUM BUM! Anyway.

So part of what makes Star Wars Look Like Star Wars, to me, is that it ISN’T ever Too Scifi. There’s a realism in all of Star Wars’ disparate planets -- their looks, anyway; like, talking about how Crait, in this case, makes NO ecological sense as a planet AT ALL is another post entirely. (IT MAKES NO SENSE.) It’s different from, like, Doctor Who, which I think revels in its “we can make these aliens and planets look like WHATEVER” more? Star Wars tends to be very like... “we want to use practical sets and effects.” Even for planets that only appear thus far in Clone Wars and Rebels? So it’s definitely part of the intention of SW’s Aesthetic.

ALL OF THAT TO SAY, my first step with each planet is to figure out the best way to represent it using as much real-world photography as I can and how best to channel the ~spirit of Star Wars~ in the graphic. Sometimes I fail miserably. CURSE YOU, NAR SHADAA. But most of the time it helps provide a Framework for the rest of the brainstorming and photo collection.

SO. FOR CRAIT. (For another example/totally different look and process, I wrote up a little about Haruun Kal on its post here.)

Crait has the definite benefit of appearing in one of the movies, so the first part of photo collection was to screencap TLJ. I took the caps using the 1080p digital release at a 20-frame frequency, so even once I deleted the aps that weren’t of Crait (moving the Canto Bight frames into a folder for Cantonica, of course!), I had like... 1500 images just from TLJ to start the brainstorming and collection with.

First, I trimmed down those ~1500 screencaps to 168 caps that were distinct enough from one another to give me a sense of “what happens” in the scene and, more than that, “What Crait Looks Like.” Then, because there’s additional canon material of Crait besides TLJ, I saved the unlettered images of “Star Wars: The Storms of Crait” from comic penciller Mike Mayhew’s blog @mikemayhew -- if those hadn’t been available, which they’re usually not for planets that appear in the comics (THANX MIKE MAYHEW!!!), I would have taken and cropped panels from the comic at both 100% and screen-fit/60% sizing that had utility for a graphic about planet scenery and not character.

THEN, I looked at Wookieepedia and MSW. Crait was based on the Salar de Uyuni salt flats in Bolivia, so I Google image-searched that. There weren’t actually very many images of the Salar de Uyuni salt flats that I super loved, so I ended up saving images of other salt flats as well, particularly the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah.

THEN there was the issue of the red minerals, which were entirely fictional and not part of any real-world salt flat. BUT, there IS real red sand... so I saved some images of red-sand dunes (mostly Mui Ne in Vietnam). I also went through my Star Wars Stock Folder to find images of crystal caves and mines that I’d either saved for other planets in the past, but didn’t end up using, OR just saved because there are so fucking many crystal-based planets in SW.

Each of my big graphics series has its own Stock Folder for unorganized images that just strike the right Vibe~ and might be useful someday, in addition to every planet (or cartoon girl, or US state for the Nancy Drews, etc) having its own folder for specific/organized image collection.

My Star Wars Stock Folder:

So there were already a lot of crystals, star destroyers, blasters, and bunkers that were actually in snow but whatever it was white and crystalline, to work with. I added some workable Crait-like images from the stock folder to Crait’s collection, too.

AND THEN, finally, I LOVE the vulptices, so I searched for (and found!) some of the concept art and 3D modeling images from ILM, and I put those in the folder, as well.

I also saved this, hoping I’d be able to make it work because it’s SO CUTE, but I couldn’t, but here LOOK HOW CUTE:

And then, lest I stay in the image-collection rabbithole forever, I said, “OK, that’s enough.” I ended up starting to actually MAKE the Crait graphic from a collection of 272 images:

Picking a Color Palette

Obviously, the dominant colors of Crait are red and white, so the aesthetic had to be based in red and white. My first instinct was to make a duotone aesthetic using only red, white, and black/grayscale. Something like this:

Which... I don’t hate, or even dislike. It’s definitely more in line with popular Tumblr aesthetic, uh, aesthetics. But I usually don’t like landing on that kind of coloring because it ALWAYS, ALWAYS whitewashes people of color (and jeez, it even whitewashes white people -- look at the model in the fourth frame down on the left, or Luke in the bottom-left.) The “vibrance -100 + Selective Color Red>Red + 100″ always ends up doing the above example to, in this case, Poe: turning him into a licorice man.

So then trying to correct THAT either whitewashes the FUCK out of him/people in general:

(Toning down the red)

Or introducing other colors back into the graphic as a whole:

(Upped yellow and cyan.)

So I nixed that coloring before I even started. (These examples were made after the fact purely to serve as examples.)

I went back to the drawing board, AKA the Crait image folder.

But looking at the collected images -- especially the screencaps and the panels from the Storms of Crait comic -- I was struck by how much Crait also incorporates yellow and blue. (Note that I really, really wanted to try to include Trusk Berinato and Bail Organa... but we’ll talk through why that didn’t work out.) I LOVE @droo216‘s bright, almost jewel-tone edits which I 100% know I don’t have either the patience or skill to make, but I liked the idea of trying to make Crait’s aesthetics in a primary colors + black/white scheme.

Which I actually really like! (Again, made post-facto as an example.) But again, red vibrance DiD tHe tHiNG!!! to Poe and ESPECIALLY to Finn and Bail.

So a high-vibrance look emphasizing bright colors was a no-go. Besides, going back to the source material: high-vibrance and high-energy are the opposite of what the planet of Crait is about. It’s a dying husk of a planet, being killed slowly by its own ecology as the salt in its crust dries out everything beneath it, sucking up water until everything either evolves into living crystal-dogs or goes extinct (thank u Rilo for not including dune-worms, this is the one thing you did right). Crait wouldn’t be vibrant.

But... aha! It’s also distinctly layered. I’ve done three-panel swworlds aesthetics before, so I decided to do that for Crait, too: first a mostly-white graphic like the salt crust, then white+red+yellows in the middle, and finally a dark layer of almost entirely red like the mineral mines.

Choosing Images from Collection

With the color palette and “feel” decided (dying at the surface, then growing richer and redder and angrier as the photoset moved downwards), I was able to choose images.

NEKKID PHOTOSETS SANS ANY EDITING! XXX! But for reference to see both cropping and for reference on choosing.

TOP IMAGE, MOSTLY WHITE:

L-R, TOP-BOTTOM:

I saved this image from my dash at some point and have been tossing it into planets’ folders every time there’s a white-based color scheme. It almost got used for Ilum, but at the last second wasn’t. I felt like it fit the coalescence of Rey’s Force strength here, and also the kind of “last wisps” of Luke Skywalker, well.

“Lifting rocks.”

I’m actually still not 100% whether I should have landed on a vulptex here, but dammit they were one of the only good parts of TLJ. This vulpie baby is on the salt surface, looking out at the blinding sun, so she seemed like a good fit compared to the other caps of vulptices -- the ones loping on the canyon surface at the end were all very motion-blurry.

Carrie in that gorgeous coat in homage to Harrison in Blade Runner makes me weepy, and those were some of the most beautiful shots in the movie. This one had a good balance of white and black, so it could be placed around any level “busyness” in the surrounding photos. Especially since I suckkkk at negative space.

I saved this image to the Crait folder like the day it was announced as a planet in the upcoming Episode VIII and given its first peek. I love it!

Hi, salt flats, and also Star Wars spaceships. I actually had a lot of trouble with the level of green in this image, but the ~essence of Star Wars is PEW PEW SPACE BATTLE, so.

This is an ice sculpture in real life! It reminds me of the vulptices and is cool as hell.

The Millennium Falcon! I toyed with different caps that showed it in actual battle, but the blue would have been hardest to work with in this photoset compared to the others below. Plus, now I can save a bunch of Falcon-in-flight pictures for use on planets that only appear in the novels or comics.

NECESSARY, ICONIC, PERFECT, THE MOST IMPORTANT THING THAT HAPPENED ON CRAIT.

Fine, this is a snowy mountain and not a salt flat, but I liked the striations in color and gentle variations in grayscale.

 This was the palest/least Bright Blue sky of all of the Falcon screencaps from Crait.

I tried a few screencaps of Crait from TLJ, but I landed on using the full-panel image of Crait from Storms of Crait. It has the cleanest definition of the “planet from space” options we have of Crait.

This is a promo image, not a screencap. It’s a much crisper view of the ski-speeders. I love the vivid color difference.

The blue-and-yellow additions to the color scheme didn’t work out, but I did still want to include Storms of Crait. This shot had a little more blue in it than I would have liked, but it has Leia in a ski-speeder back before the salt caused them to rust out, too!

Remember when it seemed like the Crait battle’s new AT-ATs would be super cool and like, do more than stand there menacingly behind Kyle? Me, too.

POE! DAMERON! HAS! NEVER! DONE! ANYTHING! WRONG! IN! HIS! LIFE!

KYLE! HAS! ONLY! EVER! DONE! WRONG! IN! HIS! LIFE!

I tried out like five different tiny-frame-difference screencaps of the ski-speeders kicking up red minerals, and I decided that this one, with a clearly defined spray of red surrounded by white and bluish sky, suited the placement here best: there’s red in the panel to its left as the main color, but minimal red in the above- and below panels.

I wanted to include actual Connix, but she’s wearing yellow and only ever shows up surrounded in brownish-black darkness, so here, have one of my standard Fashion Rebel Officer Stand-Ins instead -- the red and white obviously played a part in picking this shot over the rest of the options from the photoshoot.

I LOVE this slightly mystical shot of a Rebel pilot slash astronaut on a rain-slicked salt flat. How perfect?!

As we get down to the bottom of this middle panel, I wanted to include more destruction and more presence of yellow and orange. This image has a good balance of “negative space” in the sky and salt flat, and then the explosion of Nodin Chavri’s ski-speeder (I think?) ties in well to...

Finn and Rose, post-collision. I wanted to include Rose, and the almost JJ Abrams-esque white starburst in the center of this cap is a good balance to the spray of red around a ski-speeder two panels above.

Luke on Crait in the Rebel Alliance...

And Luke on Crait in the Resistance.

This was a kind of “????” moment of characterization -- and general direction -- in TLJ, but Luke surrounded by red as an old man would fall right below Luke as a young man, on his first mission after the Battle of Yavin, when the three graphics were aligned.

I wanted to use the straight-up concept art of the vulptex, but the black around it was TOO black, if that makes sense? So I layered it over a darkened cap of the vulptex who leads Poe to Rey and freedom. This is one of the very rare shots that I use an edited base image.

Han and Chewie! I had to include Han and Chewie. The unlettered panels from Storms of Crait that show the mineral mines are stunning; I highly recommend heading over to Mike Mayhew’s page and taking a look. The detailing of the crystals is something I wish I could have captured better at this scale.

This is one of the red-sand dunes I saved! Crait doesn’t have any living vegetation, but the drama of the black, stormy sky and the red sand drew me in here.

Some CGI crystal caves... I saved these ages ago for use on Ilum or Dantooine, I think? (Same with what will be #11 below.) I don’t love using CGI, but I think the crags on these crystal growths suited the images from canon!Crait.

A screencap of the TIEs chasing the Falcon through the mines. This was honestly one of the most visually stunning parts of TLJ, and it’s so split-second that most people missed it AND most of the screencaps have a lot of motion-blur. I’m really pleased that this one came out so crisp, and I knew I had to use it as an “anchor image.”

Finn, full-on, in red. I’m realizing belatedly as I write up this tutorial that I showed Poe face-on and Finn face-on, but I stupidly chose to show Rey only from a distance. I AM A FOOL! A FOOL!

Aren’t these resin crystals amazing? The full-size image actually shows them surrounded by snow, by the tree-stump they’re on wouldn’t fit Crait, so I cropped in closer on this image than I did for most of the Crait set.

Another shot of the Falcon in the mines. I like the way the framing of white sunlight here echoes...

Leia’s face, a bright spot in the dark, watching out over the salt flat. :(

(See #5 above!)

And again, the homage of Carrie’s coat looking like Harrison in Blade Runner made me sad, so I THREW IN ANOTHER HAN AND CHEWIE. The mining equipment here shows more detail than in the screencaps above, too.

Coloring 

Like I mentioned waaaay above, in the intro: I never use set colorings for photosets. (Except Halloween Spookstravaganza, because jeez so many of those screencaps are like 240p VHS rips and it’s just not worth putting in Effort(TM).)

That said, I think one thing that I do differently than I see in most tutorials is this first step:

I ALWAYS start Aesthetic photosets by arranging the images and then *BRINGING THE CONTRAST ALL THE WAY DOWN.* This is especially helpful on photosets that include a mix of real photography, CGI screencaps or art, and/or comics panels, but it’s also just useful in general for photosets that use images from a wide variety of places.

The reason I do this is because it helps to “smooth out” the differences in light source, color balance, etc., that are part of the raw base images. For this set, it also helps to define the variations in color between very similar shades: the craters on Crait, the wisps of clouds, etc.

In some cases, I’ll do two layers of Contrast -50. For Crait, I did a later of Contrast -50 and then a layer of Contrast -15.

Then, I Select All > Copy Merged > [Turn Off Contrast Layer View] > Paste As New Layer.

Now, the “smoothed” version is placed as a layer above the raw layer. From there, it depends on the look of the photoset what I do -- sometimes, I leave it as-is, but I almost always lower the opacity on the “smoothed” layer until the level of contrast and balance looks consistent across the whole photoset. For Crait, I ended up with the “smoothed” layer set to Lighten 100%.

Selective Color time. There are two ways I usually start this: either one color at a time -- especially for Aesthetics like Pheryon that will essentially be monochromatic -- or, in this case, I looked at the balance of the three main colors that would carry through the entire Aesthetic.

REDS

Cyan -100 (This brightens the vivacity of the red.) Magenta +100 Yellow +100 Black +35

BLACKS

Cyan 0 Magenta 0 Yellow 0 Black +100

WHITES

Cyan 0 Magenta 0 Yellow 0 Black +100 -- This is NOT my usual setting for adjusting white, and since white is one of the main colors in the Crait Aesthetic, it might seem counterintuitive to make the white darker instead of brighter. However, this will help to make next step of color adjustments “take” on the white/whitish surfaces a lot more easily, and it will also help to balance out the bluish sky areas with the white background areas. (I’m not sure this explanation makes sense? But it’s what I did.)

Then, I Select All > Copy Merged > [Turn Off Selective Color Layer View] > Paste As New Layer > Either COLOR or HUE 100%.

“Hue” is more effective for smaller, more incremental color adjustments -- for BIG SWEEPING COLOR CHANGES, “Color” tends to work better. But it totally depends on the photoset! Try both, and see which you like better.

I feel like this is kind of the step where my process of making aesthetics stops being any different from most tutorials -- but this has been HUGELY helpful for me, a non-graphic designer-person, to be able to create a kind of “base image” that has very similar color values, brightness/contrast, and vibrance.

Sometimes this step helps to create really extreme color differences, such as in the Raydonia Aesthetic, and other times, I use it to just adjust one or two color-values so that there’s more consistency in, say, shades of yellow or shades of green, as in the Takodana Aesthetic, for which I just wanted to create a more cohesive palette of green in particular... it started out with a zillion greens, and I wanted to bring it all together into one “aesthetic.”

I think this step, and the reasoning behind it, are why SO MANY PSDs for aesthetics rely on a layer of either gray or sepiatone-ish set to Darken or Multiply as one of their key layers. But I’m just not about the grimdark life, and if I’m making an AESTHETIC OF A THING, I want the aesthetic POST to actually HAVE THAT THING’S AESTHETICS, you know?! I want to use the colors of the thing that I’m saying is meant to evoke the visuals of the thing!

Anyway. Now you have your BASE IMAGE. Often I’ll Merge All here, just for my own sanity.

Then I go in and make any other other adjustments on a “coloring” level that I think will help with the “vibe” I’m going for! For this Crait set, I definitely needed to bring the brightness up so that the white and red popped. However, bringing up the brightness also swallowed a lot of the detail in the white surfaces -- especially the planetary surface of Crait in that bottom-right space -- so I decreased the contrast again.

Brightness +70 Contrast -50

And then I go in for the macro-level adjustments of color using any mix of Selective Color, Hue/Saturation, and Color Balance that works. For Crait, that was more Selective Color, because since I had decided on my color palette, and it sadly did not include blue, I needed to start by taking out as much of the blue, cyan, and green that I could.

And I’m ngl, I told myself the WHOLE FREAKING TIME I was making this photoset that I needed NOT TO DELETE THE PSD RIGHT AWAY LIKE I USUALLY DO so that I could write up all the settings for this step.

But it was a reflex. And I deleted the PSD right away like I always do.

So suffice to say, I just futzed with the levels one at a time until the RED was brought up a little, the YELLOW was brought up a lot, and everything else was brought down and/or hue-adjusted to sliiiide into being yellow, red, or black/white.

Another Select All > Copy Merged > [Turn Off Selective Color Layer View] > Paste As New Layer > Either COLOR or HUE 100%. I think I also DUPLICATED this layer and set it to SOFT LIGHT 50% and then duplicated it again to SCREEN 50%.

I could have left it like this, but I am me and I am nothing if not Extra All The Time, so I opened up my folder of light textures (and other textures) and decided to Go To Town.

Textures & Effects

For your Aesthetic-Making Purposes, here are the three I used on the Crait set:

The first two were set to Screen 100%, and the bottom one was set to Burn 15%. I layered them in this order.

It still looked incomplete, so I decided to use this POWDR Element from Creative Market, which is actually like 5400x5400 pixels and which I’m not going to share here because I paid for it and don’t want CM to revoke my access or whatever, but it looks like this, only HUGE:

I also set this element to Burn 15% and moved it around the image until it looked the way I wanted it.

Textures and effects aren’t In on Tumblr anymore, but I really like using them -- they add, not to be cheesier than usual, texture to an aesthetic post, and I think that they can also help less-skilled graphic-makers like me to hide any myriad of imperfections in coloring, sharpening, whatever. I’m an especially big fan of this noise element (set as a pattern on Screen), so I’m going to share it here even though I didn’t use it on the Crait set:

Most of my textures have been saved over the last literally twenty years since I started making fannish graphics and photosets, largely from defunct old LiveJournals, but there also used to some great sources for them on Tumblr and still are live sources for them on DeviantArt. Just search around and you’ll find what you want! :)

In conclusion, I think it’s infinitely more fun NOT to rely on premade PSDs or standardized Settings, but I also recognize and fully respect that if I made graphics differently, I would probably get easily 5-10x more notes on each post than I do. But I make graphics the way that’s fun for me, and I just try to learn a little something from every set I make. The GFFA Planets/swworlds in particular have been something that I started, originally, because I wanted to catch up and learn about Star Wars planets that I felt like I was missing because I don’t have any fannish history with the Old EU, and I wanted to learn about them in a way that helped me feel like I was engaging with the SW source material AND making the enormity of the canon more accessible to other newish or casualish fans, like I was two years ago when I started this aesthetic series. I like making aesthetics that are genuinely inspired by the aesthetic of the thing that I’m calling it an aesthetic of, so even when it ends up just looking like rainbow barf (CURSE YOU, NAR SHADDAA!!!) I’m having fun.

THAT SAID, here’s how the time breakdown for the Crait set works out:

TOTAL TIME INCLUDING IMAGE COLLECTION AND SCREENCAPPING: Est. 20 hours.

COLORING AND ACTUAL GRAPHIC-MAKING PART: 7 hours.

WRITING UP THIS TUTORIAL: 5 hours.

So, um, if you are so inclined, here is my Ko-Fi link. I post at least two graphic sets every week, sometimes up to 25 (usually during October).

I hope this was helpful at all! I had a good time thinking about my process in-depth like this, and I would love to get tagged in any aesthetics you might try making using a similar method! :)

[zachsgamejournal]

COMPLETED: Final Fantasy VII Remake

The task is done. FF7R is finished. And I hate it. Not in a “Why did I waste my money on this trash” way, but a “What have you done to one of my top 10 games” way. I feel like I read the book and am now watching the HBO show going, “well that’s not right…” If this were a review and I was grading the game, I’d give it a 7/10. Graphically, the character models are beautiful, but the repetitive and narrow environments can be shockingly low quality at times. The gameplay is pretty good. It’s definitely an evolution of Crisis Core, but when you’re in red health, and your best chance to cast heal is to go put yourself face-to-face with a towering monster...eh, it needed work. I liked the side quests, but they could be awkwardly placed. The characters are not what I remembered. That’s not necessarily bad, but at times I had a hard time understanding their motivations. The added sections and elongated sequences were a major pain point, which also affected the story. Ultimately, I think Final Fantasy VII Remake’s development team had an impossible task, and they did their best...mostly.

So, last we left off, we’re all hanging in Aerith’s old room. Super weird, since in the original the Turks capture the team and Avalanche faces President Shinra, face-to-face. This was a great moment in the original: “good try losers, but we got you!” Shinra...I don’t remember what he says, but it pisses off Barret. We’re then taken to prison cells where Cloud talks to different groups through the prison walls. You get some character development plus the awkward conversation of Aerith saying he promised one date to Cloud. Tifa overhears and is like “Well excuse me”.  It’s a good scene of the team coming together and much of the interpersonal drama coming out in the open. This is where the team truly coalesces. 

Remake, though...it’s awkward. We see more hooded ghosts and then freely walk out. Speaking of the ghosts, looks like I was almost right. They’re “Destiny” trying to make sure things play out. And they’re stupid. Probably gonna give them their own post. We then go to the Jenova container. Here, Hojo is using Jenova-juice to make monsters and shit. I didn’t hate this sequence, but it’s a whole new chapter and I was done. Like, we’re supposed to leave the cells and see a dead Shinra--not spend an hour plus wandering more hallways. It was neat how they took some of the weird monsters from the original and made them meaningful here as Hojo experiments. And I liked seeing Tifa and Aerith work as a team, developing a friendship, instead of a rivalry over Cloud’s affections. I’d almost prefer they had left romance out of it, just focus on everyone being friends. It’s fun having Red XIII around, and it was probably wise to include this new Hojo section so that he becomes a part of the team--since the game is about to end. But he wasn’t super defined as a character. He’s just kinda mopey. How did he get here, what did Hojo want with him? President Shinra is hanging off the side of the building. Barret talks to him, saves him, and then makes a few odd requests. Shinra grabs a gun and kinda challenges Barret on his ideals. This is all awkward. Barret’s past with Shinra is very personal. He’s not wrong to want to save the planet, but at this moment, Barret is much more “make Shinra hurt”. And since the remake doesn’t explain why Barret is this way, or show Barret as an unreasonable hothead, it’s just...awkward. Then we see Sephiroth kill the President. I get why they did this: very cinematic. But there was something startling about finding Shinra’s body in the original. Your main enemy/antagonist is already dead. Who killed him? Why? Are they a friend? All great and terrifying questions that are answered at the right times in the original. But since this is a partial-remake, we don’t have time for all that: so, stabby-stabby. Then they do the smartest change they’ve made in this game: you fight Jenova. It was always quite confusing in the original. Jenova was having to be transported by “Sephiroth”--so it always seemed weird to me that you fight Jenova. But then...Sephiroth was Jenova...kinda...need to check the wiki on that.

Then we have the boss fight with Rufus. The original handled this transition better. After finding a dead Shinra with the Sephiroth’s sword, Rufus’s helicopter lands. The gang does one of my favorite things and introduces themselves from their diverse backgrounds: Ex-Soldier, Flower Girl, Avalanche, Science experiment. Rufus is unimpressed and gives a speech about how he’s gonna be a bigger ass than his dad. It was a good intro to a new villain. Remake...it’s awkward. BUT I love how Tifa comes to Cloud’s rescue at the end of the boss fight. FINALLY the game recognizes how badass Tifa is. Cloud, ex-soldier, still needs saving. He can’t survive as a loner. And this moment beautifully illustrates that. Good move.

Before that, we do see Sephiroth carry Jenova out of the tower. But then there’s a flash, revealing a hooded figure with a tattoo. Think we saw this before. They’re really showing their hand here, but given the limited scope of the remake, I get why they had to. I’m mostly annoyed they didn’t do more set up. I know they showed Cloud’s neighbor being hooded, but I think they could have done more with this. I’m also curious if Cloud is going to have a tattoo under his shoulder armor??   Soo, I couldn’t wait to do the motorcycle event and end this thing. But we had to do a bunch of cut scenes...took forever. Then boom--we’re off. Similar to how the first sequence went, but the helicopter was a nice addition. I was impressed they did the boss fight purefly on the motorcycle. It kinda kicked my ass, I almost died. Luckily, I survived. Good fun. We get to the end of the highway and I’m ready to put down the controller and pat myself on the back. But then I’m allowed to move. As I walk forward, I see a “rest bench” to refill my HP/MP. Umm...this is concerning. I think we get a hint of Sephiroth--and so I imagine he will be the final boss fight. I’m ok with this, as it’s probably what needs to happen for the story. Instead, there’s this long BS about the Destiny ghosts and how they’re shaping the future and, for some reason I didn’t quite pick up on, we have to literally fight destiny. ...like...why?

So, huge interdimensional boss fight with an almost formless creature and its minions. Reminds me a lot of SIN from Final Fantasy 10. I didn’t like Final Fantasy 10. So I’m not liking this. I don’t get why we’re fighting Destiny, I don’t get how we can fight Destiny--like this is some bullshit I don’t need right now. While as intriguing as the debris-hopping is (reminiscent of Advent Children), I hated this stupid, tacked-on boss fight. I don’t see the point of Destiny being involved (gonna have a separate post about this). Then we defeat the stupid Destiny monster and still have to fight Sephiroth. Like, skip Destiny and just do an exciting interdimensional Sephiroth fight!!! I defeat Sephiroth...or a Sephiroth...and end up in an interdimensional space that reminds me of the final boss from the original. I imagine this is intentional. Sephiroth invites Cloud to join him against Destiny (very Vader/Luke) and Cloud says, “never”. Which is a little confusing, because Cloud literally just finished killing Destiny. And then the game closes with a cinematic I half paid attention to.

From what I can tell, Destiny Whispers killed Wedge for some reason, and Briggs is left alive. To hell with Jessie I guess? I did like Wedge coming back to help out. I love their choice of voice actor. But his inclusion has been an awkward ride.

As the game was ending, I was feeling...not great. I wasn’t really happy with it. But then they offered the Chapter Select. This changes things a bit. I can “control” my experience on a replay, and I imagine I can kinda punch my way through quite easily since I get to keep my equipment and levels. I may actually replay this game, but I still favor the original. A friend expressed a desire for them to truly remake the original--but I was on board for improvements. I recant that now. I wish they had stayed truer to the original and not tried to give me such an epic chunk.

[greenteafiend]

I didn’t know you were lonely

They’ve freed another planet, and they’re attending another celebration, when Lance notices that Keith has disappeared. When Lance finds him, something is clearly not quite right with the red paladin.

Aka: The alien beverages served at the party apparently affect Galra much more strongly than humans, and Lance discovers that Keith’s anger is a very thin veneer that conceals a deep-seated loneliness.

This is set sometime before the Galra Keith reveal during season 2.

The planets they freed sure did like to party once the Galra were gone, and if they fawned over their saviors? Well, it was no skin off Lance’s teeth.  

Planet Cancri was celebrating their independence with music, dancing, a huge buffet, and copious amounts of a delicious golden liquid the natives called ‘chispa.’ It made them smiley, giggly and uncoordinated, but Lance had drunk about a litre of the stuff to no ill affect so they all assumed it just didn’t affect humans the same way.

Even though people of Cancri weren’t his cup of tea for flirtation purposes, (they were tiny and colourful, like the Arusians, whereas Lance’s type was bodacious with long flowing hair) they were cute, and they hung on his every word as he recounted his heroic actions during battle, tittering and gasping and cheering at all the right moments.

Lance positively basked in their approbation.      

During a lull in conversation he looked across the huge tent that had been erected for the event and mentally ticked off his teammates; he liked to periodically do a headcount. It eased his mind to keep track of everyone’s whereabouts.

Hunk was standing by a table laden with food, enthusiastically exclaiming over something large and red on his plate with Pidge. It looked like he was trying to cajole her into sampling something, but she was shaking her head emphatically in refusal.  

Allura and Shiro were speaking to the leaders of the Cancri with smiles and bowed heads, and Coran was out on the dance floor doing something - interesting - with a crowd of Cancri surrounding him. There was way too much hip movement going on to be healthy.

Lance scanned the tent for a familiar mop of black hair, but Keith was nowhere to be seen.

Come to think about it, Lance hadn’t seen the grumpy bastard at all the whole night. Sure he wasn’t a social butterfly like Lance was, but he could usually be found leaning against a wall in the shadows, doing a convincing impression of a broody gargoyle.

Lance excused himself from his admirers ostensibly to get some fresh air.

Beyond the tarp there was a view of a clear blue lake, with the reflection of two moons softly caressing its surface.

Lance spotted Keith sitting cross-legged out near the lapping edge of the water.

Normally he would have been satisfied with seeing Keith. He would have ticked Keith off his mental checklist and turned on his heel to re-join his admirers, but the Red Paladin was doing something -- weird.

Keith was staring at his own hands as if they contained the answers to life’s secrets, paladin gloves discarded on the ground behind him. Lance watched as he very slowly clenched both hands into fists before relaxing them again, brows furrowed in contemplation.

And then, even stranger, he proceeded to cross his arms over his chest, gripping the opposite bicep with each hand, as if he were giving himself a hug. He looked… melancholy.

The sight was incongruous with everything he thought he knew about Keith, and Lance found himself strolling over to investigate further.

“What’re you doing you weirdo?” he demanded by way of greeting, flopping down into the reddish alien grass, facing Keith’s hunched form.

“There’s something wrong with me,” said Keith hoarsely, eyes downcast.

“Something? Singular? Because, hate to break it to you, there is definitely more than one thing wrong with you,” Lance ribbed.

He expected Keith to come back with a snappy retort immediately like he usually did, but he just unfolded his arms and went back to staring at his hands. 

Clench… relax… clench… relax.

“Ok, that’s kind of freaking me out.”

Clench… relax… clench… relax.

“Hey, cut it out.”

Keith ignored him, engrossed in whatever he saw in his palms.

“Seriously, you need to stop,” Lance reached over and physically gripped the Red Paladin’s hands to make them still.

Keith’s finger’s clenched weakly around Lance’s and he stared down at their joined hands for a beat, eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

He slowly lifted his head to look at Lance, frowning deeply.

“What colour are my hands?” he asked gravely. The sky of this planet was violet and the colour reflected in Keith’s eyes, making them appear bottomless.  

An uncomfortable, warm, feeling Lance did not want to properly identify blossomed in his chest. If he were being totally honest with himself, it wasn’t the first time the giddy feeling had manifested while he in Keith’s presence, but Lance was an expert at self-deception. Particularly when the Red Paladin was involved.

He swallowed, and watched as Keith’s violet eyes tracked the bobbing movement of his Adam’s apple.

“Pasty white, same colour they usually are,” he snapped, letting go of Keith’s hands hastily.

Looking relieved, Keith went back to hugging himself.

“I feel weird. I’m usually good at not thinking, but… but now I can’t stop thinking. I want to stop thinking,” Keith rambled.  

“Well it isn’t news to me that you usually don’t think,” snipped back Lance. This conversation was getting weird; he needed to piss Keith off so they could fall back into arguing.

That was their thing, and Lance was comfortable with it. He was not comfortable with - whatever this was.

“I want to stop thinking but I can’t,” replied Keith, not rising to the bait.

“Why? Maybe if you thought a little more often I wouldn’t hate you so much,” the words rolled out of Lance’s mouth; it was natural to him to try to press Keith’s buttons. It was satisfying to make Keith lose his cool.

“Do you really mean that?” asked Keith in a small voice, eyes shining with hurt. Lance tried not to gape in shock; he’d never seen Keith’s stoic façade falter into anything other than anger before.

It was satisfying to make Keith angry, but this? It was not satisfying. The warm feeling blooming in his chest twisted into something needle sharp. It burned like acid.

So Lance ran his mouth, desperate for Keith to stop looking so hurt. Desperate for them to get back into familiar territory.

“Yeah, I mean I know you’re supposed to be ‘Mr. Instincts’ or whatever but your habit of running headlong at everything is actually pretty dangerous-”

“No, not that. I mean, do you really hate me?” Keith cut him off. Lance sighed and scraped a hand through his hair roughly, finally accepting that Keith’s weird mood wasn’t going to allow him to make everything into an argument or a light-hearted joke.

“Jeez Keith I was messing around; I don’t really hate you. The rivalry shtick is just our thing,” he explained, gesturing expressively between them.  

Keith just stared at him, eyebrows drawn together, lower lip jutting out ever so slightly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Lance huffed.

“Like what?” Keith tilted his head to one side. Lance felt the tips of his ears heating up. Keith had no right to – to – look so soft and sad.

Endearing, sweet… supplied Lance’s stupid brain without prompting.

Shut up! He hissed back mentally.

“Like a kicked puppy! That expression on your face is just wrong!”

Keith’s shoulders slumped even further and he curled in on himself at Lance’s harsh words.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking impossibly small and forlorn.

“Don’t apologise! You look even sadder now! Stop it!” Lance cried, unreasonably panicked as the heat spread across the rest of his face.

“I… I can’t help it. I am sad. I’m sad…” Keith’s hands migrated from clutching at his biceps to clutching at his skull.

Watching Keith pull at his own hair in barely supressed anguish - it was as if someone had upended a bucket of icy water over Lance’s head and he suddenly had a name for the emotion coalescing in his chest - guilt.

There was clearly something not right with Keith and all he’d done was be purposefully mean and try to pick a fight. Keith was his teammate and he was hurting, Lance had a responsibility to help him. It wasn’t Keith’s fault that Lance was having some sort of existential crisis.  

“Do you want me to get Shiro?” he asked haltingly.

Keith shook his head.

“D-don’t bother Shiro. M’fine. You should leave me alone,” was his muffled reply.

“Do you want to be alone?”

Silence. Keith trembled, and Lance figured that was answer enough.

He scooted closer so they sat shoulder pressed to shoulder.

“Why are you sad?” the question was asked softly, gently. It was the same tone of voice Lance used to use to soothe upset nieces and nephews. He never would have imagined using it on Keith.

Keith let his hands fall limply into his lap and looked up at Lance with suspiciously shiny eyes.

“Can’t stop thinking,” he mumbled.  

“You’re sad because you can’t stop thinking?”

“Thinking makes me sad. That’s why I try to, you know, a-avoid it,” the hitch in his voice killed Lance. Keith was supposed to be strong and angry and invulnerable, not soft and sad and unguarded.

“Well… what are you thinking about?”

“People… I’ve never understood people”

“You’re sad because you don’t understand people?”

“Kind of.”

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Keith Kogane?” said Lance haltingly.  

“It’s that drink making me feel… funny. I can’t control my brain.”

“That drink? You mean the chispa?”

Keith nodded jerkily. Come to think about it, sitting this close, Lance could see that Keith’s face was flushed and his pupils were blown wide. His speech was stilted and slow, somehow less fluid than normal. He was acting like he was drunk, or drugged, or something.  

“How much did you drink?” asked Lance sceptically.

“The cup they gave us for the t-toast.”  

“I’ve had waaaay more a cup of the stuff and I feel fine so I can’t be that. Could you have eaten something weird?”

Keith shook his head miserably.

“Alright… well, what it is about people that you don’t understand?” Lance asked.

Keith never volunteered information about himself. They’d been floating around in the castle together for months now, and he hardly knew anything about Keith other than what he could garner from looking at him.

Sue him, he was curious to see what Keith had to say in his apparently uninhibited state.  

“How to get close to them,” replied Keith solemnly.

“You want to be close to people?” Lance couldn’t supress his disbelieving tone.

“Desperately,” Keith breathed

“You?” Lance squeaked.              

Keith choked out a bitter laugh, “Doesn’t everyone?”  

“Well, normal people do, but you-you’re-”

“I’m not right,” Keith sounded resigned.

“That isn’t what I was going to say-” that was the problem with running your mouth without thinking, Lance wasn’t actively trying to make things worse, but somehow his words came out sounding terrible.

“It’s what you mean. T-there’s something wrong with me. S’probably why none of the foster families stuck,” Keith’s words were really slurring now.

“Foster families?”

“None of them liked me. I t-tried to be likable but I didn’t know how. Not like you. Always something w-wrong with me.”

“Keith-”

“My dad knew. He knew. He must have, or-or else he-he wouldn’t have left.”

That was the moment Lance became painfully aware that he had been misjudging Keith this whole time.

“When did he leave?” the question fell out accidentally.

“When I was s-seven. H-he was always busy. I th-think I drove him away because I w-wanted his attention all the time. I tr-tried not to make the same mistake but, well, no one ever wanted to adopt me so-”    

“What do you mean same mistake twice?”

“Being too clingy. W-wanting attention. A-affection.”  

“But-but what about your mom?” Lance blurted.

“N-never met her. She… she um, abandoned m-me when I was a baby.”

Lance couldn’t help but stare at Keith gormlessly. Keith was, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. Whenever he imagined what kind of background Keith hailed from, he imagined privilege. He assumed that Keith, with his perfect grades, his perfect simulator scores, and his stupidly perfect face, must have come from a perfect family with perfects parents that doted him and were rich enough to afford the tuition at the Garrison. It certainly fit with his aloof, I’m-better-than-you persona.

All this time Keith must have been a scholarship student, just like him and Hunk.

In hindsight, this shouldn’t have come as a shock. He wanted to kick himself in the face for his own stupidity because it was so obvious; why would Keith live in a dilapidated shack in the middle of the desert if he had anywhere else to go?

The shininess of Keith’s eyes spilled over, down his cheeks, and Lance was dumbstruck. Keith drew his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms, breathing ragged.  

“I-I’m s-sorry. I-I shouldn’t be t-telling you th-this. You-you probably don’t want to-to h-hear this. You d-don’t care. I k-know you d-don’t like me-” Keith’s words were tripping up on his hitched breathing, and the more upset he got the more Lance felt like something was squeezing his heart painfully in a vice-like grip.

“Keith, I-”

“I-its okay! I k-know its b-because there’s something w-wrong with me. S’my fault. My fault. I-I always push people away. J-just go back to the party. I-I’m f-fine,” Keith choked back a sob, and Lance broke.

He couldn’t help himself. He put his arms around Keith’s shoulders, and tugged him into a loose embrace.

Keith melted against him, hands coming up to rest on Lance’s chest plates.

They sat like that for a while. Lance could feel faint tremors running through Keith’s body. Tears dripped down Keith’s face onto Lance’s armour.

Eventually he disentangled himself, and held Keith by the shoulders at arm length.

“Keith? I want you to listen to me,” he said seriously.

His tone seemed to pierce Keith’s cloud of misery, and he stared at Lance with huge wet eyes.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t dislike you.”

“You d-don’t?” sniffed Keith, staring at Lance incredulously.

Jesus, that made Lance feel incredibly guilty. Had he really been so mean to Keith all this time that the poor guy thought he hated him?

“I don’t,” Lance confirmed.

He let go of Keith and rose to his feet.

“I’m getting Shiro,” he declared.

He intended to march back into the tent and get help because he was way out of his depth, but then Keith was surging to his feet and scrabbling to grip his wrist.

“N-no, please Lance. D-don’t bother him. I-I’m fine-”

Keith was not at all steady. He swayed dangerously, the only thing keeping him standing seeming to be his tight grip on Lance’s wrist.  

“Keith, I want to help you. You’re clearly not okay. What do you want me to do?” implored Lance, feeling desperate.

Keith’s balance gave out and he keeled over, pulling Lance into a crouch in front of him when he refused to let go.

“Shiro I- I don’t - h-he’ll be worried; I don’t want him to - h-he’s got enough-”

“Ok, ok, I’ll leave Shiro alone,” soothed Lance hastily, because it looked like Keith was working himself up into a panic.

The tension drained from Keith’s body at Lance’s assurance, and he released his wrist.

“How about I take you back to the castle?” suggested Lance.

Keith nodded weakly.

“Do you think you can walk?”

Keith pushed himself back up to his feet, but Lance had to grab him to stop him from immediately face-planting.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Lance manoeuvred him so he could pull one of Keith’s arms over his shoulder, keeping a tight grip on his wrist. He slid his other arm around Keith’s waist to grip his side.

They set off to where the Castle was set down in a clearing on the other side of the lake.  

It was slow going, with Lance mostly dragging him along.

“Maybe I should just carry you,” Lance muttered to himself.

“M’bigger than Pidge,” was Keith’s garbled reply.  

“I realize that smartass. Are you implying that you’re too heavy for me to carry?”

“M’gonna be sick-”

Keith wretched himself out of Lance’s grip and fell to his hands and knees to retch.

Lance knelt beside him and laid a hand on his back to rub soothing circles.  

“Just get it all out, maybe it’ll make you feel better. You obviously ate or drank something that really disagreed with you.”

Keith didn’t manage to bring up much, mostly just bile. Once he was finished, he roughly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and collapsed back on his haunches, tears streaming down his face.

Lance took his hand off Keith’s back, and Keith let out a desperate whine.

“P-please c-can you j-just…” he trailed off as Lance hastily resumed rubbing soothing circles.

Keith practically melted into a puddle at the simple touch, the tension training out of his shoulders, the stream of tears drying up. It was as if no one had ever comforted him before and he was trying to soak up the experience to last the rest of his life.

A few minutes later Lance stopped, and this time Keith stayed silent.

“Keith, buddy, let’s get you back to the castle. Can you get on my back?” he asked cautiously.

Lance moved so that he was crouched with his back facing Keith, arms out by his sides ready to catch him.  

Keith practically fell on him, but Lance was more than able to hitch him up and bear his weight.

Keith’s arms clasped weakly around his neck, and he laid his head against Lance’s shoulder.  

The only sounds as Lance walked were his steady footfalls, and his slightly elevated breathing. He didn’t know whether it was from the exertion of carrying another person, or nervousness.

Keith’s warm breath tickled the nape of his neck.

Once he got them into the castle, up the elevator, and to the floor where their rooms were, Lance broke the silence.

“We’re nearly there, think you can walk the rest of the way?”

Keith responded by unclasping his hands and allowing himself to slid off Lance’s back.

He was still wobbly, so Lance put a supportive arm at his back as he tottered down the hall to his room.

The door swished open and Lance led Keith over to his bed, where he sat down heavily, blinking dazedly.

“We-we’re in my room,” said Keith stupidly.

“Yes Keith, we’re in your room,” said Lance patiently.

Keith sat, as docile as a sleepy kitten, while Lance knelt in front of him and started unclipping his paladin armour. He knew from experience that it was impossible to sleep in the getup comfortably, and that even fully sober and cognizant, it was a mission to get out of.

He got Keith down to his flight suit with relatively little effort.

“What do you usually sleep in?” Lance asked.

“Sleep,” said Keith, blinking slowly.

“Keith, focus. Where are your pyjamas?” said Lance, snapping his fingers in front of Keith’s face.

“M’tired. Sleep.”

Keith slumped forward so his head was resting against Lance’s chest-plate.

Well… Lance supposed that sleeping in his flight suit wasn’t the end of the world.

He reached out and pulled back the covers, before taking Keith by the shoulders and shifting him so his head was laying against his pillow.  

He lifted his feet onto the bed next, before pulling the blanket over his body.

Keith cured onto his side towards Lance in a little ball, wrapping his arms around himself again in that sad imitation of a proper hug. The sight gave Lance a pang.

“Are you l-leaving?” asked Keith.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Keith shook his head.

There was no harm is staying until he fell asleep right?

Lance sat gingerly on the edge of Keith’s bed, and hesitantly laid a hand on the crown of Keith’s head.

Keith let out a sigh.

When Lance stroked through his hair, Keith’s face fell slack and every tense line of his body seemed to relax into the bed.

Keith’s hair was a soft and thick as it looked, and Lance couldn’t help but stare as he let the inky strands slip through his fingers over and over.

Eventually Keith’s breathing evened out and deepened; he was asleep.

Lance stilled his hand, holding Keith’s bangs out of his face so he could examine the other boy properly.

He looked impossibly young and innocent like this.

Almost in a trance Lance let his hand drift out of Keith’s hair so he could cup his face.

Hearing Keith’s gentle puffs of breath, feeling the smooth softness of his skin laid over a delicate cheekbone, brought home the fact that Keith was just a flesh and blood human; he felt so fragile.

He was smaller than Lance, he had a slighter build and he was shorter, and that was easy to forget when they were wearing their paladin armour and Keith was fighting with the ferocity and wildness of a mother bear defending her cubs.

Keith always seemed… implacable. Untouchable. Too cool to need or want human interaction, too cool to be touched or held.

Lance had a sudden epiphany: the boy that he thought was his rival - the stubborn, arrogant, show off - he didn’t really exist. That Keith was a shadow, a caricature of the real Keith because Keith was a lot more than his anger and instinct, and Lance didn’t know those parts of him at all. 

None of them did, except maybe Shiro.

Looking at Keith laying curled like that, tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks, Lance felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness.

“I’m going to try and be nicer to you,” he said quietly, giving the top of Keith’s head one last pat.

He left the room, letting the door swish shut behind him.

Even though the festive mood was officially killed for him, Lance headed back to the party.

He didn’t plan on telling the others what had happened between him and Keith, but he did need to let them know that he was okay, and that Keith had gone to bed.

[destiny-smasher]

Life is Strange: Before the Storm (Episode 1)

I’ve spent so much time discussing this prequel over the past few months, it’s a bit tricky to try and sum up things into something readable. As lengthy as this post is, there’s plenty of details I have to let go of. I’d like to lay out my biggest pros, cons, and a bit of commentary on how I feel about its very conception and potential intent, along with some casual predictions.

I was very critical of this project from the moment it was leaked, but I quickly grew to support Deck Nine, the studio developing the game, because it was easy to see how passionate and thoughtful they were being. Makes sense, right? The sort of dev team who would want to take on a Life is Strange story would probably be the sort to be mindful of just how delicate such an undertaking is. Square-Enix, however, gradually frustrated me more and more, and their choices and actions with this entire project kept me on my guard all summer. With the first episode released, I can confirm my feelings about both companies’ involvement haven’t changed -- I’m still very supportive of Deck Nine, and I’m still rather frustrated and confused with Square-Enix. This first episode helped prove to me to that the developer definitely does have their heart in the right place, and has the ability to realize the same kind of potential one might expect from a follow up to such a special game. I have my concerns, but to be honest, most of them have arisen from Square-Enix's questionable setup to this project and the premise of the game itself bothering me on a core level.

With most video game releases, the way a game is marketed or how it's conceived is rarely important to me. However, Life is Strange was a special indie game that doesn’t come along often. Before I discuss the actual game itself, I feel compelled to bring up the reveal and marketing of this project. We of course don't know the full story, but what we do know has unfortunately colored the whole project with a weird shade. Setting aside the interpersonal experiences I've run into with fellow fansm I will say that at the heart of my concerns is the unshakable feeling that DontNod did not want this game to get made. The feeling that DontNod, who created these characters and this world, wanted those characters to be left alone. That's just speculation at this time, but everything I've seen and heard seems to point in this direction, and while that's not the developer's problem, it is the publisher's. When an indie team creates such an earnest indie game with a strong emphasis on narrative and themes about regret and not being able to fix the past, goes on to say the story is done and they're going to leave it alone, it's pretty damn odd to me to proceed with producing a prequel about the past, ditching the protagonist of the original story, and focusing on two women who we know meet unfortunate fates. Oh, and the actual creators of the characters aren't involved. Oh, and neither are the actors. AND it's not gonna connect its story to the original game because it's “stand-alone” (why make a prequel, then?). AND it's going to cost more but have fewer episodes. AND the fourth episode is conveyed as a thinly veiled cash grab to get fans of the first game to ante up for the Deluxe Edition right away. When a pre-existing narrative has been around for years, and its creators have had ample time to consider how they might expand upon their own story and are ready to let it go, then I'm much more understanding of giving the reigns to someone new who might have that interest. It must've been barely a year since Life is Strange was finished, however, before Square set this prequel into motion. That's way too soon to hand those keys off to someone else entirely, especially if those who created the keys weren't happy about it. The fact that it has taken all summer for DontNod to even acknowledge the game's existence is suspicious, and at this point, even a positively spun statement would come across as legally obligatory pleasantries. I have confidence that both dev teams have mutual respect for one another, but the seeming lack of communication between them with regards to such a delicate story is unfortunate, and I just hope that whatever Deck Nine is doing, the core concept of it was approved by DontNod as a team – or that they at least end up happy with it. Now, let me take a step back from this and point out that Square has made steps to try and correct and reassure concerns folks have had, and that's good. But a lot of it has come across as damage control for fires that shouldn't have even started. All right. There's my frustration with Square-Enix out of the way. Let's move on to the actual episode that has been released. I went into this game feeling very wary, worried, and concerned. I walked away from it feeling...pretty OK, and even pleasantly surprised by parts of it. I will be discussing the game freely, so if you have not experienced the story and don't want to know about any details beforehand, you should stop reading this now and come back when you're ready.

Partway through this I stop referring to Deck Nine in the third person and begin addressing them directly, partly because I'm honestly writing this as a personal expression to them, specifically, because I really do think they have a lot of skills being put to work, and I want to provide useful criticism, support, and feedback, which they've personally expressed an interest in. So, Madeleine, Felice, and anyone else at Deck Nine who might be reading this, I just want to express that it really means a lot to see your team interacting with us fans so directly and openly. I can say that I feel like Deck Nine “gets it” when it comes to what made Life is Strange special, how it connected to people, and what kind of overall aesthetic and tone it has. It's a shame that the concept of the story itself places things in such a bizarre, trapped kind of position, though. I've had so many conversations about this game in the past few months, I'm not even really sure what I would like for it to do as a game or as a prequel. Most angles I've approached it with just end up leaving me feeling worried and dissatisfied. Some things are better left alone. I honestly still feel like this story was one of those things – but, to be fair, that story still hasn't been fully told yet. And this first episode has certainly illustrated that there is intent at work here. This doesn't feel like a cash grab or something purely being made for fanservice. And yet, I still can't see where it could go within the bounds that they've laid out and still coalesce with its source material in a way that is fulfilling and meaningful. I've been vocal in the past that for as much as I love Life is Strange, I found its climax to be unfulfilling, illogical, and self-defeating. If Before the Storm can manage to somehow lead things into the original game's story in a way that can make sense of things (ex. the titular 'Storm'), my feelings about the nature of the overarcing story itself could change drastically. From where I'm standing right now, though, this story still feels pointless and unnecessary. And I really hope that by the end, that changes. When it comes to Chloe, Rachel, and essentially everything relating to them, we don't really learn anything new in this episode. Nothing mind-blowing or revelatory is given to us. On the upside, it means that things basically line up with pre-existing canon, makes fine sense, and even reaffirms things that were implied in Life is Strange. On the downside, the narrative feels like it's spinning its tires here in terms of plot, shoving these two characters together in a way that feels rushed and forced while simultaneously not going anywhere with them. If you look at the actual plot of this episode, and compare it to Max's, the stakes are so much lower, the trajectory of the protagonists so much more unclear, and the character development itself much more shallow. This is not a knock on Deck Nine's abilities so much as the choice of content. Chloe Price was already in such a bad place at age 19. Go back three years and...she doesn't exactly have much room to grow, and even if she does, what's the point when we already know where she ends up? When we already know where Rachel ends up? (and if this all some alternate universe thing, given that AU's are already established as a canonical aspect of this lore, it's gonna be super tricky to make that concept not feel hamfisted if it's gonna be a big plot reveal later) There's clearly more compelling stuff going on with Rachel if only because we don't truly know Rachel, and I do like that this episode sets up some dramatic things for her, but I'm still left feeling like I don't really get a sense of what her arc is supposed to be here. When you're telling a story with only three episodes, it can go a long way to make clear – by showing, not telling – what is at stake for the characters, and what their goals are. I get that  this is a story about teenage drama, but even Max, who was such an uncertain character, had an opening act that established very clearly what her goals were, and what internal and external obstacles she was going to have to confront.  With this story, that clear sense of direction is missing. To be fair, that very well could be intentional, given the emphasis on mystery, trickery, and such. And part of the problem is that there's sort of a 'ceiling' for where this narrative can feasibly go, and thus how these characters could be developed. Again – the very premise itself is, in a lot of ways, holding the story back, and that's a shame. It's a shame because on a technical level, there is a lot of good stuff going on here. The overall aesthetic, the themes, the writing, it all does feel in-line with the source material. While the painterly vibes of the original game are replaced with a bit more flat of a visual design, seeing the character's faces actually emote in a noticeably more detailed way is a technical improvement over the original, and was actually something I was very excited to see. In a way the first game couldn't really achieve, there are even moments here that let the visual expressions alone tell story beats. The music is good, but I actually felt like a lot of the episode was too quiet on this front. While this does heighten the impact of the music later on, the actual story beats didn't quite match the intensity of the music for me. Even the montage at the end felt a little off, like it was trying to replicate the ending of the first episode of Life is Strange but rushed through things too quickly. The subtle addition of more detailed sound effects was great, though. Like the expressions on the faces, those additional sound details put another layer of depth to the setting. The camera angles in particular were another noticeably upgrade from the presentation of the original game. On the downside, some scenes felt very awkward – controlling Chloe through the world in general felt particularly clunkier and harder to do than moving Max around; certain moments that expect you to control the camera in order to pick options, like the clothing bit, were also weird and unclear at first, in a way that didn't occur in the first game, maybe because they usually kept the camera behind Max's back? On the upside, there were a lot of cinematic choices I really liked that fleshed out the presentation, from Chloe grabbing her phone in the bathroom to the neat stuff during the 'Smash' scene in the junkyard to the angles during the tabletop game...just a lot of more dynamic and intriguing camera angles. I honestly wish there were even more “reflection” moments, like Max would often have. The moment with Chloe smoking was a great parallel between the characters while capturing that same reflective vibe. The writing isn't exactly going to turn heads, and there's still a fair amount of corny dialogue (mostly when characters are trying too hard to be 'edgy' or 'sassy'), but the original game had this, too, and usually, it just ends up feeling like that same kind of honest cheesiness you might expect. Some moments, however, the writing gets distractably bad – mainly, the Backtalk sequences, and a couple of clunky dialogue sequences like Chloe's chat with Joyce (which can feel unbalanced and off). The Backtalk is a fine idea on paper, but in practice it's just...taking something away, rather than adding to things. The timer puts unneeded pressure on the player, and lends these segments to be more about random guessing or shallow word play than any kind of legitimate, thoughtful intimidation. I do like the idea of Chloe being an asshole to intimidate people, but it, erh, does kind of feel odd to be encouraged to be an unnecessary dickhead to people who usually don't really deserve it because they're just trying to do their jobs. This is Chloe's character, though, and she is the opposite of Max, especially at this point in their lives, so I get the intent. But the dialogue here is at its weakest, its mechanically unclear and ultimately feels kind of pointless. My recommendation for making it more engaging would be to make it more like what it feels inspired by: the sword fighting in Monkey Island. Let the player use info they've previously obtained to give them more options during an 'encounter' without making it obvious when those options are useful (like finding those bits of things to bring up to Joyce at the house). Give them time to consider their choices, and in turn make the actual dialogue that ensues feel less like hamfisted schoolyard playground disses and more like actual intimidation. I think there's some potential to this mechanic but it needs work. Hopefully, by episode 3, we'll be in for some legitimately intense Backtalk sequences in circumstances that actually warrant threats and intimidation. Noteworthy moment – the wine-theft scene was...just...yeesh. Given the tone of most of this episode, that scene in particular just felt weird, like we were transported from an indie teen drama and into a Nickelodeon cartoon. I've seen the argument made that this scene was intentionally goofy in order to lower the player's guard so the junkyard scene hit us with more 'oomph,' but...yea, I'd recommend tackling the humor in the more organic way you were able to with most of this episode, like the D&D scene. Speaking of which – wow, what a pleasant surprise that was! That scene in particular, I think, really showed what you guys are capable of. Even the Backtalk mechanic's finickiness was less noticeable here because of the less serious context. Getting to meet new characters who were adorable and realisticwas such a treat – much more interesting and engaging to me than the somewhat predictable interaction with Victoria, which felt kind of tacked on for fanservice. The D&D scene felt organic, original, and charming. I especially loved the detail where if Chloe has read Joyce's self-help book earlier, she whips out the phrase she read if the player chooses to encourage Mikey. This was my favorite scene in the episode, and it had nothing to do with Chloe Price being present, or even being tied to Life is Strange in any way. I admit in my own interpretation of the characters for All Wounds, I've written Chloe making D&D references due to a history of playing it with Max – so there's some personal bias that helps elevate this scene for me, but still, I think this was a great scene. Likewise, the 'two truths and a lie' scene was also a game played via dialogue choices, and it, too, felt organic and fresh, using the players' element of choice to more readily establish a connection to the world and what its characters were doing (as opposed to just grilling someone for information or to just move the plot along). In terms of the overall tone and emotion of this episode, the dream sequences were an intriguing callback to Max's Nightmare. There were many interesting details there which made it feel genuinely connected to future events in this forboding way, so I hope there's something intentional there. On that note, I found the imagery of Max hanging to death on a tree branch to be...a bit too much. This is coming from someone who relishes that darker kind of imagery, but usually that's when the character being attacked is actually present within the narrative. The frequency and intensity of Max-bashing going on in this episode made me uncomfortable and that 'hangman' imagery even felt kind of disrespectful to Max's character. I'm not going to do what  others have done and jump to conclusions about 'ohhh they're portraying Max as an asshole' or what-not. In truth, I felt what you've expressed with those letters was so intense and angry that it has an intent. After all, the original game had a strength in showing one side of a character to set up a broad expectation, only to subvert it later to remind us that real life human beings are three-dimensional. The implication I pick up from all of this Max-hating is that it's there to show us just how special Max was to Chloe, just how painful it is for her to face their disconnection, and thus just how meaningful it is for Chloe, three years later, when Max finally reappears (which, I mean, simultaneously has me questioning exactly what your plan is with Rachel, given the layers of context here). I really hope the story you're telling will somehow end up somewhere that subverts all of this Max-hating toward what the original game ultimately does with Max and Chloe. From where I'm standing right now, just one episode in, it feels over the top and unnecessary, but again, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt that there's a purpose there. The fact that Max is even dressed how she is three years in the future, and the fact that her text states she's see Chloe when she dies – which is, literally, how things play out – combined with the overt 'All Seeing Eye,' and how Chloe's dream even foretold how Rachel would start the fire, all of this feels thought out and intentional, rather than mere coincidence. I certainly hope that's the case, as a story precursing one about time travel could certainly incorporate supernatural foresight in interesting ways. This brings me into the aspect of the supernatural. I was a little offput by how interviews and PR stuff tried to tell us there'd be no supernatural elements at play when it seems apparent that there will be. When a story lies to its audience, that's fine, but when the physical, real-life people are lying about it, that's dodgy. I'm honestly more intrigued by the supernatural stuff here than I ever thought I'd be, and I think it's because between the foresight element of the dreams, the spirit animal implications, and the unnatural wind projected onto Rachel's fire, it tickles my imagination with the possibility of “Oh shit, could this story actually end up implying an explanation behind Life is Strange's biggest plot hole?” The title, 'Before the Storm,' the name of the Platinum trophy, 'Bring on the Storm,' and the premise of the fourth episode focusing on Max and Chloe all further adds to this gut feeling for me that you might actually be trying to fill in some blanks with the origin of the tornado. Because, frankly, the tornado in Max's story is my saltiest issue with everything in those five episodes, so the idea of some kind of explanation tying it together with Rachel and Chloe's past is actually very intriguing to me.

Here's the thing, though: no matter what your team has planned, no matter what big plot twist you might have in store, someone out here in the fandom has already predicted it, and for others it might not even feel too surprising by the time we get there. Either way, surprise and shock value are an exciting but fleeting emotion. I genuinely hope that whatever climax this story is leading up to, you focus more on the execution and establishing a rational resolution rather than just trying to grab “the feels.” I can already tell from this first episode that you've thought ahead with this stuff. From way back when your game was unfortunately leaked, a single question on a marker board has kept me intrigued by what this story will hopefully explore: “Is Rachel good?” I think that question has already been implicitly brought up in this episode, and while the technical plot hasn't moved much of anywhere yet, the prospect of this question, the different themes it could entail, and how it could ultimately flesh out Chloe's background and this world, are all things that have me more interested than I expected. While I think the core relationship of this prequel has been pushed too quickly and illogically, it's true that teens can make decisions irrationally and have sudden bursts of intense emotion – Rachel's angry fits were an example of this I didn't actually expect from her, but now feel almost like I should have, and I also feel a sense of intent with that. Part of me feels like I should talk more about Rachel and Chloe's relationship here, but honestly, I'm just having a hard time feeling invested. I don't think it's because anything is “wrong,” I mean...it makes enough sense for them, given all we learned about them in the original game. I guess it's just that knowing how things turn out – and Rachel's evident role in that – is disconcerting to just how quickly Chloe is diving into this, and how too eagerly Rachel is to pull her in. It makes me feel just as wary about Rachel as would've expected to, and maybe that's the point. Of special note are the very interesting parallels you've drawn between characters from Shakespeare's The Tempest and Rachel, Chloe, and Nathan. Very fascinating implications, I adore the intertextuality here, and the literal 'storm' imagery makes it such a great fit to be drawing from. I'm expecting to see some kind of meaningful payoff here, as well. You might notice that a lot of what I'm saying at this point is basically me seeing seeds you've planted, and expecting those to germinate and grow by the end here. Three episodes is a very short storytelling space, though. I'm worried about just how fulfilling these threads can be resolved, and I admit that how this story ultimately concludes will probably play a huge part in how I ultimately feel about it. But, at the very least, I hope this helps you get a grasp on what kinds of thoughts your story has put into the head of someone who is very invested in this world. I'll confess that I'm maybe not as hyped to see more as I was with the original game. And so much of this prequel makes me feel...just, weird, in a bad way. But, I will just as readily confess that most of what I am worried about or am taking issue with doesn't really have to do with your efforts as a creative team, but rather, the very nature of what this story is in relation to the source material, and the creators of these characters not really being present. I think that for a first software release for a new dev team, this is some great stuff, and to be blunt, I am actually more excited for whatever your team will be working on a year from now – hopefully something entirely your own? – than for this prequel. I'm certainly curious to see what Before the Storm does, and how you continue to build off of this start, but I just want your team to know that I'm already more excited to see what you come up with down the road when you've established yourselves and don't have these unnecessary weights to be contending with. I think this episode's strongest moments don't actually rely on its connections to Life is Strange at all, they just happen to inhabit Arcadia Bay – which you have been able to recapture well, at the same time. There are some discrepancies, a couple questionable details that don't seem to line up, and the incessant Max-bashing feels super weird, but as someone else who's written fan-made content with this world, I can understand the delicate nature of trying to set up dominoes someone else made and trying to line them up in a way where they’ll topple in an elegant fashion. With everyone shouting in your ears that can’t make it easier, but I see such attention to detail in your work that I have much more faith than I did a month ago that as long as the story culminates into something meaningful and satisfying, I think a lot of those 'weird' things some fans are feeling right now will be easier to let go of. And even if things go south with this project, I think you’ve already established the potential your team has. Good luck with the next three episodes. I went into this feeling so much anxiety, fear, and doubt, and while not all of that has been resolved, I'm at least relieved that the team working on this seems to be capable, passionate, and up to the task.

[narisjournal-blog]

Through the Pain

Dean x Reader (platonic)

Angst

Word Count: 5,231

A/N: This is my late entry for @greenappleeyes 1k follower challenge. My prompts were ‘Believer’ by Imagine Dragons and ‘Whatever has broken your heart, know that I am here to listen.’

Thank you to Nicole for being so patient with this, and for letting my husband join in and write his own fic too. (His is actually better) You can read this here.

I don’t think this is my best work, and there’s so much more I could explore with Dean and with this song, but it has been really interesting to write. I’ve not really written with prompts before. Please give me some feedback, I want to know what you lot think.

***

The trees blurred in front of you as you ran. You were in so much pain, blood gushing from the wounds you held tight with your hand, but you ran on instinct.

You wouldn’t end up like your brother. You had come too far and been through too much. You could hear the blood pulsing in your ears and the edges of your vision were going dark.

You kept your legs moving, not daring to look back and see if you were still being pursued.

You emerged from the trees to a dirt path, gasping for breath.

A man with a dog turned and gasped at the sight of you.

You staggered to him and gripped his clothes as you slid to your knees.

With your last breath of consciousness you choked out the words, ‘Call him.’

Then the world turned black.

***

The motel room was quiet. Dean sat with his feet up, ankles crossed on the table as he cleaned his gun. He focussed on his steady fingers working the cloth into the grooves of the cool metal. He tried not to think about Lisa and Ben. It was easier said than done. He couldn’t stop wondering if he should have let Cas remove them from his memory too. The thought made his stomach lurch.

He felt his phone buzz against his thigh before his ringtone began to sound, cutting through the heavy silence.

He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. Unrecognised.

‘Hello?’ He answered cautiously.

‘Is that Dean?’ The voice on the other end said.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

‘Depends who’s asking.’

'It’s just… I’m… look, there’s a girl. She’s been attacked, she’s covered in blood and she collapsed right in front of me. Your name and number are scrawled across her hand. I figured you’d wanna know.’

Dean hesitated.

'My name and number? Wait a minute, this girl. Who is she?’

'I dunno. Dark hair, maybe in her twenties?’

Dean racked his brains. Didn’t sound like Clair.

'She’s in the ambulance now. They’re taking her to hospital. Look, man. I dunno what’s going on, but I just thought you should know. I’ve called you. I’m done.’

'Wait wait wait,’ dean garbled. 'Which hospital? What attacked her?’

There was a click and three beeps.

Dean ran his hand through his hair.

Why would some random girl have his name and number on her hand?

His phone buzzed and he opened a text message. It contained the name of a hospital about an hour’s drive away.

He shoved it back in his pocket and replaced the loaded chamber of his gun.

'Sammy!’ He called. 'Think I might have a case. You comin’?’

***

The blackness swirled around your mind. It was peaceful and empty. Still, you couldn’t fight the nagging feeling buried somewhere deep beneath the fog. This wasn’t over and you had to fight.

Somewhere far-off, in the distance that existed outside your consciousness, a steady beep pulsed and threaded through your coalescing thoughts.

The scene unfolded in your dreaming mind, clouded by a haze of regret. Was this where it had all gone wrong?

You had spotted him almost instantly across the crowded bar. Head in his hand, slouched over a grimy table on his own and nursing a glass of amber liquid you assumed was whiskey. Empty glasses littered the table.

You sat down heavily across from him.

'Something on your mind?’ You asked.

He took a sharp intake of breath and his shoulders tensed.

'Why don’t you mind your-’

He stopped when he looked up at you. His eyes travelled over you and he frowned.

'You are definitely not old enough to be hanging out in a shit hole like this.’ His speech was a little slurred, but not as much as you would expect considering all the glasses.

'Well, clearly no-one cares enough to throw me out,’ you retorted, looking around at the few scattered drunks and bored-looking bartender.

Dean sighed heavily and turned his attention back to his drink.

'Anyway, I’m not here for the liquor. I’m here for you.’

You fixed your eyes on him, trying to get a read on him.

You had been told he was the best man for the job. You had been told about the Great Dean Winchester who had clawed his way back from the dead and would jump at the chance for a case.

As you eyed him, you wondered if this was the right Dean Winchester.

'Look, sweetheart. Firstly, you can’t be more than, what, seventeen? And secondly, I’m- ’

'Oh for fucks sake, I’m not hitting on you. Why is that always the first thought?’ You rolled your eyes.

He looked back up at you and narrowed his eyes.

'Just cut the crap. I don’t want whatever you’re selling. Just fuck off.’

He drained the rest of his glass and stood up, heading back towards the bar.

This was bullshit. Hero stories were always full of crap. If you hadn’t been so desperate, you would’ve left him to drown his sorrows and moved on.

But you were desperate.

You gave it a few minutes, watching him from where you were. He ordered another drink and checked his phone.

… 'my brother died.’ You said simply, sitting down next to him again.

'Yeah? So did mine. That s'posed to make us besties? I told you, back off alright?’

You blinked at him.

Nobody had told you Dean Winchester was an asshole.

'Look,’ he said, softening ever so slightly. 'I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t help you.’

His callous disregard got you fired up. 'You don’t know what I want yet,’ you said through gritted teeth.

'Not interested,’ he added, turning away from you and draining his glass.

Your fist clenched against the bar.

'He was killed by some kind of monster. They told me it was a bear but I saw it. He was all I had left. I’ve been looking for you for months.’

The words hung in the air and you thought maybe now he would at least show some humanity.

Dean sighed heavily.

'You wasted your time, princess. If I buy you a drink will you go away?’

You only stared.

'You are Dean Winchester, right? Notorious supernatural hunter?’

'Dunno what you’re talking about, sweetheart. I’m a mechanic. And you’re clearly crazy.’

He caught the bartender’s attention and held his glass up, indicating two fingers.

'Why are you being like this? I was told you would jump at a case.’

'You were told wrong. I’m a family man and I look out for me and mine. That’s it. So unless you got a car you need fixin’, leave me the hell alone.’

The bartender placed two shots of whiskey down between them with a clink.

Dean pulled one towards him and pushed the other across the bar to you.

'Drink and then go. We’re done here.’

You exhaled roughly. 'You know, for a family man you sure are an asshole,’ you said. 'I’m sorry I wasted my fucking time.’ You pushed the whiskey back towards him and walked away.

***

Dean stood at the door of the hospital room leaning against the door jamb.

His throat had tightened up and he found himself frozen.

'Do you recognise her?’ Sam asked behind him.

Dean couldn’t answer. If he did he was afraid Sam would hear the crack in his voice.

Seeing you lying there with wires sticking out of you had caught him off guard.

You hadn’t changed much, except you looked older. Thinner, maybe.

He remembered the first time he had met you.

Fuck, he had been an asshole. Broken, lost in his life and tired of the monotony of how things had panned out; but still an asshole. There was no excuse to have treated you that way.

The beep of the heart rate monitor gave a steady pulse, cutting through the silence.

He had thought about you later that night, when he couldn’t sleep.

To his shame, he thought firstly about the pull of a case.

He loved Lisa, he really did. And he loved Ben like he was his own. He had always dreamed of this apple pie life.

But it had never been an acceptable pay-off for losing Sam.

He had sworn off doing cases, keeping the danger away.

But what put him off most about taking the case was you.

His heart had sunk when he looked up and saw this young girl looking back at him. He knew from the way you approached it would be about a case. You said yourself you weren’t interested in the liquor.

He had thought about himself at that age, already elbows-deep in the blood of the supernatural, raised in tragedy and nurtured by pain with no other future in line for him.

If he knew anything about you in that moment, he knew you could have a better life than he had. There was still a degree of innocence in your eyes; The kind of innocence he saw in Ben’s eyes. The world needed more innocence.

He told himself that’s why he had been so dismissive and played dumb. He told himself he had wanted to put you off the whole hunting thing and deal with your brother’s death in a healthy, normal way.

Not that he knew anything at all about that.

So at first he had thought it was his conscience playing tricks on him when he looked out of the window and saw you stood in his front yard in the dark.

He met your eyes and realised you were not a mirage.

He rolled his eyes and dragged himself up. He glanced up the stairs and listened for any signs of stirring, but there was only quiet.

If you were coming to his house now, he had to deal with this.

He closed the front door carefully, then stormed towards you.

'Not ok. Not at all. I told you, back the hell off.’

'You’re a hunter,’ you said, standing firm. Your arms were folded across your chest. 'You’re lying to yourself.’

'Don’t-’ he started, but you cut in.

'Do you really think that hiding behind this family man bullshit is gonna keep the monsters at bay? Does the supernatural world stop because you decided it should?’

He now stood about a foot away from you, trying to intimidate you into leaving.

'Don’t you dare tell me what you think I should be. You don’t know me. You’re trespassing. Get off my yard.’

'Why won’t you help me? Is there not even a shred of compassion left in that stone cold heart? I thought you might understand because you lost your brother too.’

'Do not talk about my brother.’

'Please,’ you said, not hiding the desperation in your voice. 'I know I can’t bring him back. All I’m asking for is your help. Anything.’

You unfolded your arms and took hold of his arm. He towered over you.

He regarded you for a moment, then rubbed his hand over his face. He stepped back and half turned, glancing back at the house warily.

He turned back to you.

'Look, kid. You’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Choose a better life than I had and stay away from all this crap. Like you said, it won’t bring him back.’

'You’re full of shit, Dean,’ you spat at him. He shook you off his arm.

'You’re making this really fucking difficult,’ he answered through gritted teeth. 'How the hell did you find me, anyway?’

You shrugged. ‘And yeah I’m making it difficult because I want you to snap the fuck out of this fairytale idea that nothing bad happens anymore. People need you, Dean. I need you.’

'Kid, I don’t even know you. But you can be more than this. Your brother died and it sucks. But you have a choice to live out your life. When I was your age… I never had a choice.’

'And yet here you are, with a wife and kid regardless.’

'Ok, she’s not my wife. And he’s not my kid. And so long as my brother is burning in Hell, I’ll never be out. Not really.’

As if realising what he had just said, he glanced back at the house again.

He lowered his voice. 'I love her, and I love him like he was my own, but we’re just making the best out of this. But you? You could have it all. You have a choice.’

'Even so, I still choose to hunt down this bastard. And it’s my choice to make. This is my brother! He is the fucking world to me, how can you not understand that?’

You were shouting again.

'Keep your damn voice down,’ Dean snapped at you. 'This is a nice neighbourhood and people are sleeping.’

'Well while people are sleeping peacefully, monsters roam the night. And here you are, telling me to let it go. You’re full of shit,’ you repeated.

'Maybe I am,’ he said. 'But it ain’t got shit to do with you. For the last time, I am not gonna help you. You need to leave.’

When you didn’t move, he wrapped his large hand around your wrist and yanked you. You stumbled and moved with him, your legs scrambling to carry you as he dragged you away from his house.

'Dean,’ you pleaded.

He let you go and pointed out into the street.

'Go. Before I go get my gun.’

You cradled your wrist where he had grabbed you and looked up at him with disbelief.

'You really have snapped, haven’t you. Your brother’s death really messed you up didn’t it?’

'Go!’ He shouted.

'You’re broken.’

'If I ever see you again you’ll be fucking sorry.’

He had turned and stormed back to the house. And you had left.

And he had never seen you again.

Until now.

***

He sat down gingerly by the bed. He regarded you for a long moment.

'Dean?’ Sam said behind him.

'Yeah. Yeah I recognise her,’ Dean answered finally, defeat shaking his voice.

He ran his hand over his face, perhaps a subconscious effort to replace the mask that had shifted temporarily.

Sam saw straight through it.

His voice softened. 'Who is she Dean?’

He inhaled deeply, watching your chest rise and fall.

'She’s someone I should have helped a long time ago. But I didn’t. And now…’ he indicated the hospital bed and your current predicament.

Sam nodded. But he didn’t dwell.

'So do we know what we’re dealing with?’

Dean inhaled, gathering himself to focus.

‘Werewolf.’ His voice was gruff and short. ‘Pretty sure. Which makes this whole thing worse.’

Sam cocked his head in question.

‘A fucking werewolf, Sammy. I coulda given her silver bullets. That’s all she needed. Silver fucking bullets.’

Sam ran his hand through his hair. ‘Ok. Well, we’re here now. What do we know about this werewolf? Is there a pack? I didn’t have time to research thoroughly, but all I found was a report of one body showing up. Animal attack they say, but when is an animal attack ever an animal attack?’

Dean huffed a humourless laugh.

‘Did she say anything back when… when you knew her? Do we know who this thing is?’

Dean shook his head. 'Not unless she wakes up.’

Sam huffed out a sigh. He closed the door and came to the other side of the bed.

‘She got away, so she knew something about what she was dealing with,’ he said.

Dean folded back the cover carefully, examining the dressing on your wound. He noticed several other claw marks on your arms.

‘This isn’t her home town. She tracked it here.’

‘Ok. So this is likely not a newborn then?’ Sam mused.

‘Exactly. And he’s being careful, which means he’s self-aware. But not above killing folk.’

‘Which means-’

‘Which means silver bullets,’ Dean cut in. ‘Let the bullets fly.’

He narrowed his eyes, focussing on the one thing he knew how to do; killing a monster.

Sam cleared his throat. ‘Dean, I mean… do you wanna sit this one out? I’m sure I could-’

‘What are you nuts? I wanna gank this thing. Fuck, I owe her that much.’

‘Ok, but I mean… you’re dealing with a lot right now. It would be perfectly fine if you-’

‘No, Sam. Fuck, do you even know me at all? My whole life, my drive – it came from pain. Pain is what keeps me focussed and it’s what keeps me fighting, so let those fucking silver bullets rain.’

Before Sam could respond, his phone began to ring. He checked it.

‘Sherriff,’ he said simply and left the room as he answered the call.

Dean felt his demeanour crumble now that Sam wasn’t there. He sank into the seat by your bed, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands.

The steady beep of the heart monitor was slow compared to the pounding in his own chest.

He made himself look up at you again, regarding your peaceful face as though he was staring down his own mistakes.

Your life could have been better, he realised, if he had just helped you. Killed the damn werewolf and then you could have moved on. Instead you had tracked this werewolf unequipped for God knows how many years, probably from town to town. Perhaps this was the first time you had confronted it, he thought.

And you had been so desperate, you turned back to him – the pathetic, angry drunk who had dragged you off his yard all those years ago.

And where had it got him? He was left here yet again in the only life h knew, the pain of what he had sacrificed making him believe in some greater purpose he could never quite pin down. But it was where he belonged. He should have known that.

The heart monitor started screaming and you gasped, making Dean jump up and move closer to your side.

You blinked, looking around the room to try and make sense of where you were. When the first face you saw was his, you filled with relief. His green eyes watched you intently.

‘Hey, hey it’s ok. I’m here. You’re ok,’ he said. He took your hand as you reached out for him.

Your eyes took in the freckles across his nose and the dark shadows under his eyes. If it was possible, he looked even more broken than before. And yet somehow more focussed.

You never thought you would see that face again, except when it plagued your dreams; the man who had left you alone to fend for yourself in a world you had no idea how to navigate.

You were mad at him. His abandonment and dismissal had shaped much of how determined you were. That and the loss of your brother were your drive.

But right now, his face was the only one you wanted to see. If he was as good as the stories said, this Werewolf should be nothing for him to kill. The end was finally in sight. There was light at the end of a long, traumatic tunnel.

‘Dean,’ you choked out. ‘You came.’

‘Yeah. It took me long enough.’ He still held your hand in his. His grip was soft and much gentler than your last encounter with him.

You sighed and smiled, the relief flooding you once again.

‘We’re gonna get this son of a bitch, ok?’ he said, his voice low and gravelly.

The door pushed open and you both looked up.

‘So I think I might have an idea where…’ Sam started as he walked in, then stopped when he saw you were awake. ‘She’s awake. You’re awake. Hi, I’m Sam,’ he added.

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach and you weren’t sure what emotion it conveyed. You looked to Dean.

‘Sam?’

‘Yeah. He’s uh… he’s back, I guess. Long, weird story.’

You couldn’t talk right away while you processed how that was even possible. So Sam was back from the dead? And Dean was sat here now, after all these years, ready to help because his family was complete again?

You clenched your jaw. Jealousy. That was what you were feeling. You tried to shake it off. This was a good thing. You should be happy for him.

‘You must be very happy,’ you said, trying not to let your voice shake.

Dean let go of your hand and scoffed. ‘Happy? With his whining and farting? Sick of him already.’

‘Thanks, Dean,’ Sam said bitterly.

But you noticed the glimmer of sadness that remained in Dean’s eyes even as he joked.

‘I think I may know where this werewolf is hiding out,’ Sam said, sweeping the conversation on.

Your eyes lingered on Dean a little longer. He looked at the floor.

Maybe he was someone who was destined to be unhappy. He had his brother back. The person he loved most in the world had died and left him heartbroken, now he was here as you lived and breathed. What else could… and then it struck you.

The wife and kid.

You realised nobody was talking and both brothers were looking at you.

You cleared your throat. ‘What? Sorry. I’m still kind of waking up.’

Sam ran his hand through his hair. ‘Sorry. How are you feeling?’

‘Confused. Exhausted. How did you… but you died?’

‘Oh right. That.’ Sam looked to Dean. Dean shrugged. ‘Friends in high places, I guess,’ Sam said, looking at the floor so his hair fell over his face. There was a little shame in those eyes, you thought.

‘You gonna explain?’

Sam hesitated, but Dean jumped in.

‘Look, we’re buddies with an angel. Yeah it’s weird. Welcome to huntin’, sweetheart.’

He ran his hand through his hair attempting to act nonchalant, but you couldn’t ignore the weird look the brothers exchanged. Because they knew what you were thinking.

‘What else can you tell us about this werewolf?’ Sam said, before you could dwell any further on his return from the dead.

You sighed. You were wasting time already, so you pushed the rest aside for now.

As you filled them in on the last few years of experience, they seemed to absorb it all as though it was commonplace. The way they discussed the details and formed a plan in less than twenty minutes showed you just how good they were as a team; how close they were and in tune with each other, even if they did bicker over some of the finer details.

And you slowly began to understand the level of pain that Dean had to have been in when you had first met him.

But even now, there seemed to be trouble in paradise.

‘Dean, are you sure? What we talked about before – I can do this if you wanna stay here with her. You’ve been through-’

‘Dammit Sam!’ Dean snapped. The anger that erupted had clearly been building over some time. ‘I told you, I’m gonna kill this fucker. Stop tryna over complicate this.’

Sam threw his arms up. ‘I’m just tryna help,’ he said and stormed out.

‘I’m not sitting this out,’ you said. ‘I’ve worked too hard-’

‘What did you say?’ Dean cut in. ‘You think you’re gonna come along on a hunt with your guts sliced open?’ He shook his head. ‘You’re staying right here. Let us handle this.’

‘Dean, I-’

‘No. I let you down once before. I’m not gonna let you throw your life away again. It ain’t happenin’. This is my fault. I’ll take care of it.’

He was doing it again. He was trying to tell you what was best for you even after having left you out in the cold with nothing but your pain to believe in. For so many years he had been absent. He had been the echo of the hope you once had at freedom.

He had been the almost-father-figure who failed you.

‘You’re damn right, it’s your fault! Why the fuck wouldn’t you just help me? I was alone. I had NOTHING. I had no-one. But you had your perfect little family and I was such an inconvenience.’

‘Don’t talk about them,’ he snapped. ‘Don’t fucking talk about them, not now.’

You looked at him mouth agape.

‘Are we really doing this again? Don’t you ever fucking learn? There is more to the world than just you and your family.’

Green eyes shot daggers through you. ‘That’s rich coming from you.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘I’m done. You’re staying here, end of discussion.’

He began to walk to the door.

‘Dean. You can’t just walk away every time a situation gets tough. You can’t just up and leave and never deal with it.’

He turned back to you. ‘And what the fuck do you know? Sometimes walking away is the best thing for everybody! Sometimes the only way to keep people safe is to walk away!’ he shouted.

Silence hung in the air between you. You realised you had hit a nerve. This had got out of hand.

You tried to soften your voice. ‘Dean, something happened, I can tell.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Whatever has broken your heart, know that I’m here to listen.’

He scoffed. ‘Broken my… broken my heart?’ he said incredulously, his voice raising. ‘We’re hunters. We don’t get time for a broken heart. Yeah sure, I’m broken. Maybe I always have been. I was broken from a young age. Bad stuff happens. You lose people. But the bad stuff keeps comin’, so you gotta keep fighting. That’s all I know.’

‘Except when you have a wife and kid,’ you said and instantly regretted it. He slammed his fist into the wall behind him. You thought he might yell at you again but instead he just looked at you, emerald eyes so full of pain it hurt you to look at. His lip trembled ever so slightly.

After a long moment, he ran his hand over his face and sat down. ‘They’re gone.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘I mean they’re alive. Just better off thinking they never met me.’

‘You left?’

He shook his head again. ‘They were kidnapped by demons. We got them out, but I realised they would never be safe while they were with me. Their memories were wiped. You don’t get out of this life. You don’t get to throw in the towel and settle down. You were right and I should have… I should have fucking listened.’

You shuffled closer to him, wincing at the pain in your gut but pushing through it. You rested your hand on his shoulder.

You tried to think of something comforting to say, but couldn’t.

‘You should have,’ you said instead.

He looked up at you, disbelief in his eyes. But then he smiled and shook his head.

‘Dammit,’ he said softly. He ran his hand through his hair.

‘Look,’ he said after a long silence. ‘I can’t bring your brother back. I can’t bring back all those years I could have saved you from. What I can do is kill this motherfucker. Will you let me do that for you?’

You sighed. ‘What about the angel?’

‘What?’

‘You say you can’t bring him back. What about the angel? He brought Sam back, right?’

‘Yeah, but it was messy. Really fucking messy and Sam might never recover from what he went through, not really.’

‘Ok, but my brother didn’t die dragging Lucifer back to Hell.’

Dean shook his head. ‘It’s been years. Maybe it’s time to accept it and move on.’

‘Oh fuck off. Did you move on? How did that fucking go? Oh yeah, that’s right. You got your brother back from the dead. So don’t fucking lecture me about moving on,’ you snapped.

Dean had no answer for you.

Right on cue, Sam re-entered the room with a coffee in his hand.

‘Dean, we need to go. The window is closing and soon it will be too late to get him. This guy likes to move towns, like she said.’ He nodded to you.

Dean looked from Sam back to you and held your eyes in his for a long moment.

He blinked, then stood up.

‘Ok Sammy, but just one last thing before we go.’

He glanced back to you, the look in his eyes saying this was a bad idea.

‘Castiel,’ he said. Your heart pounded. Was he really calling the angel? ‘Cas, I need a favour.’

He looked around the room expectantly, avoiding Sam’s confused gaze.

‘Dammit, Cas! Get your feathery ass down here. You sure as hell owe me one, and a big one-’

There was a flap of wings and a whoosh of air and a dark-haired man in a trenchcoat appeared the other side of your bed.

He fixed his blue eyes on Dean.

‘What’s this about Dean?’ He looked around, noticing you were in a hospital. ‘Does someone need healing?’ His eyes settled on you.

Without prompting, he moved to the side of your bed. Wordlessly, he touched two fingers to your forehead and you instantly felt a surge of power tingle through your body. The wound in your gut burned and then disappeared altogether.

You stared up at him. His face was set and he looked to Dean.

‘Is that all? I’m actually busy, Dean.’

Dean nodded once.

‘Thanks, Cas.’

The angel disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Panic began to pound in your chest.

‘No, come back!’ You turned to Dean, grabbing hold of his arm. ‘Bring him back!’ you shouted.

Dean tightened his fingers around your wrist, squeezing reassurance.

‘That was never gonna happen, and you knew that. You’ve always known that. You need to be ok with it.’

‘No!’ you shouted, but your voice got trapped in your throat as the realisation flooded through you. ‘No,’ you choked out again as your body convulsed with sobs.

Dean pulled you against his chest and held you more tightly than was comfortable, but it felt safe as you let yourself fall apart in his arms.

‘He’s better off up there than down here, trust me,’ he said softly.

He held you for a long time in silence.

Eventually, he let go and pulled back.

Dean placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Sam nodded understanding.

Dean looked to you.

‘You need to get ready sweetheart. We’ll give you some time. Get your clothes on.’

‘What?’ You puzzled.

‘You’re all healed up now.’

He paused, looking around the room. His eyes settled on your jeans on the side. He shrugged off his checked overshirt and handed it to you.

‘Here, you can wear this. I guess your t-shirt had a big bloody rip in it.’

‘But you said…’ you started, tears filling your eyes.

‘You need closure. I get it. So you’re gonna come with us, and you’re gonna shoot this bastard in the face. And then you’re gonna move on with your life and be happy.’ He fixed his eyes on yours. ‘You’re the face of the future.’

You looked down at the shirt in your hands, then back up at the two brothers.

‘Come on,’ Dean continued. ‘We’re going hunting.’

***

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[violetsystems]

#personal

I’d be lying to you if I didn’t say I was hurt a lot by this last week.  It’s kind of like banging your knee on the same chair every morning.  You ask yourself two questions.  Why is it still there in your path of movement and are you going to suffer aesthetically by keeping things the way they are?  We’re not talking about my horrible interior decorating skills here though we’re talking about how broken my life is.  In my defense I came back to the same warm space I always come back to.  I didn’t bruise a kneecap but my heart is pretty sore.  There’s little things you learn about facing travelling alone.  You face your deepest internal fears about yourself often.  People often forget how long you’ve been facing them.  I find being a kind, genuine, and thoughtful person goes a long way when you are on your own.  I also keep to myself for the most part.  Stuff seems to float around me like some casting interview happening next to me at a counter over coffee.  Walking  past skate videos on Flushing on my way to get coffee.  Finally see people wearing daybreaks in the wild.  Mostly in the wildest and conspicuous of places.  Followed by a pack of runners in the outskirts of Brooklyn under a viaduct.  There’s things I live that I often forget I’m a part of.  Mostly because people pretend I don’t exist.  It’s easy when nobody really includes you in anything beyond the periphery.  I’m not cool enough to exist at this point.  Not without somebody to vouch for my right to breath.  For the most part I have to go out of my way to stay comfortable exploring alone.  I sometimes get that people feel comfortable around me.  Like it’s some hidden scene or secret revolution.  But most of the time people forget I’m just trying to get a sandwich.  I wander a lot.  I walked half of New York with my bags on Saturday.  I probably should have taken the offer to leave them at the hotel.  I got to 14th after lunch and coffee at the World Trade Center a little without direction or purpose.  Some girl flagged me down.  She pointed at the ground.  “You dropped something.”  I looked down puzzled.  I did actually drop the entire contents of my wallet in the middle of Xi’an Cuisine a day before.  I was humiliated.  I got over it.  I had wandered into two of the same chain by accident.  The first time I was hungry so I got noodles.  Second time just mildly amused about the karma of it all.  I stopped at the station to pause to scan the ground.  I asked where.  “I was going to say you dropped your smile.”  I was confused then even more humiliated.  And then it turned out to be a canvasser.  And I quickly tried to escape the gravity of bullshit, anger and manipulation I felt.  I’m used to being manipulated by now.  If you know how badly I’ve been fucked over at this point it’s a Seinfeldesque tragic comedy to some people.  Water cooler humor at my expense.  People keep taking the joke of my life farther it seems and leaving me out of the punchline.  The girl asked where I was going.  I didn’t know.  I wander like a Viking because I feel trapped in a cage.  And yet I have a quiet little place that I’ve carved out of pain and suffering with a sunlit kitchen and stray cats on the porch.  I didn’t say much in reply.  I just shook my head and shouted softly back.  “I’m going home.”  And at three pm on a Saturday I took the F train back to Queens and took the bus back to the airport where I sat and played Hearthstone for hours.  My flight leaving on time at ten pm and arriving slightly earlier than usual.  What a vacation right?  It definitely had it’s moments.  Mostly in my own head awash with my own special blend of hopelessness, apathy, and genuine sense of duty.  My smile on the ground because I’ve been walked all over.  Maybe I left it at home.  

There are times when talking to people has its rewards.  I got lost in Bed-Stuy getting off the Marcy stop.  I was staying in a pretty heavily Hasidic Jewish area at the border of Dumbo in Brooklyn.  A man in a Star Wars hat pointed me to a short cut.  I just needed my bearings and it wasn’t an overbearing interaction.  I got back in one piece.  Walking the streets by yourself can be a little scary.  But when you’ve been faced with so much trauma at a certain point you get over the sensitivity.  I’ve been writing here for years silently about all the episodes of PTSD I should be recovering from that nobody has answered for.  At a certain point people try to drag you into whatever drama or narrative they feel you should be part of.  But they never ask if you are ok with it.  They never even ask your name.  I feel like a ghost half the time.  It probably doesn’t help I have Daul Kim quotes all over my blog.  For the record the only social media I really use is here and Instagram.  I don’t use tinder to meet people or dating apps to go on dates.  Subsequently I’ve been on very few dates.  But the ones I’ve been on have been actual dates.  Coffee and conversations about the moment.  None of that I feel particularly uncomfortable about being myself in front of someone I like.  In some ways going to New York alone is proof of that.  It’s also proof that no one accepts the person that I am.  I had friends in town.  Nobody texted me.  Nobody reached out.  I frequent the places I feel comfortable in.  I shop at Dover.  Get coffee all over.  But I do it myself.  Nobody helps me.  Nobody holds my hand.  I sit in public and play Hearthstone on my laptop while people talk loudly around me.  Like i’m the anchor of some hidden tourist scene when in reality I’m like some private security guard.  I don’t get paid.  I don’t get any recognition.  The things I do get paid for have demonstrated some very harsh realities to me.  I don’t feel appreciated and I didn’t have a restful vacation  I haven’t had a restful life for years.  This is going on the third year I’ve traveled to New York.  Incidentally the third year of quitting drinking.  A habit I have no desire to go back to.  Part of my charm has been facing my anxieties head on in public.  Slowly melting down in silence then coalescing into a new person.  It’s called growth.  It sucks when nobody can see it.  It sucks harder when you realize you’ve outgrown a lot of things and people.  It also sucks to not know exactly what you are growing into.  If you have been around the earth as long as I have you can worry you are growing into death.  I’m still just as invisible and insignificant as I was years ago.  I just admit it to myself now.  I start from that point and ask a very important question.  Where am I really significant?  Where do I matter and where am I valued for who I am?  If you really want me to answer that question after all this it is very simple.  I belong at home alone.  Shutting the fuck up and focusing on my own growth.  I’ve been there for the world for so long and the world has abandoned me for the most part.  Leaving me to stare down at my shoes on the ground and smile softly.  Because my feet and my will are the only thing that have ever kept me moving through all this bullshit.

I’m sad.  Profoundly so these days.  Some people might call that deep.  I’d wager if you knew how deep my love for things go you’d know how hurt I am by all of it.  Most of it is not anyone’s fault I guess.  It’s the way the world works.  I’ve never felt good enough for people who claim to be cool.  I always thought that’s not something for me to judge about myself.  I don’t really break my neck to be part of anything these days.  When I do it’s almost always attacked or thrown into some drama.  My narrative gets hijacked often.  People keep whispering behind my back that I could be something.  Never to my face.  They suggest that I should keep chasing after my dreams.  But truthfully nobody has really checked in with me in the last three years to know what those are.  These days my dreams collide in reality often like the gears of some bureaucratic machine.  I’m caught up in those gears past a point of turning back.  Like a meat grinder.  My life is so broken at this point I can only focus on that things that work.  I work out in my kitchen in private.  I play games on my laptop and listen to seventies psych and funk.  I’d love to share that with someone someday.  I’d love to share a different playlist too.  But simply having an environment that you can be safe in and share with someone is a whole other thing.  And nobody has ever asked me what I feel I have succeeded in.  They just think of me as some washed up failure.  And yet I can travel anywhere for the most part and handle myself just fine.  People even seem to feel safe enough around me to leverage that.  Sometimes that is ok.  We call that sharing power.  But there are times when people want too much.  Expect too much from something they know actually very little about.  And that is me.  You’d think from me pouring my heart on the internet all these years people would understand how utterly destroyed I feel.  And they don’t.  They’re too busy with their own narrative to care unless you bend over backwards to fit into it.  I’ve always bent over backwards in yoga like positions to fit into a narrative I support.  A movement of feminism.  A movement of class.  A movement that has rolled over me like a bus more times than I care to moan about but I trust all the same.  After all I’ve done I’m still not living for me.  I have nowhere else to go at this point.  I”m stuck in my kitchen which isn’t a very terrible place.  That’s America for you I guess.  I have a roof over my head but not much else in my life that feels very real.  There’s not much I can do about that except remain patient and focus on my own growth.  In that I’m not so sad at all really.  I’m literally the best I’ve ever been at this point.  Healthiest and most fit too.  Not good enough to star in a prescription drug commercial or reality tv show pilot.  Good enough to keep the streets safe for most people.  Maybe good enough to smile to the right person one day.  For now I don’t really have much reason so I’m going to focus on saving the energy for somebody that matters.  In that you know nothing ever really changes with me.  However far away that feels.  Or however too serious I take all this when I know it will be ok.  Sometimes it takes time for people to realize your worth.  People doubt I can be me to this very day.  But you can only be the best you if you challenge yourself to realize that first.  And I know I’m what I’m worth.  People don’t stick around.  And for me it’s worth sticking it through to prove that I do.  All winter.  And then some probably.  And then some.  And even then I’m still going to love you just the same.  But I know when to hang my head low and protect my heart.  Maybe that’s why I don’t smile.  Because nobody deserves the opening other than you.  I’m fine with that.  I’ll live with it.  Until then.  <3 Tim