#so I wonder where that pro human idea came from

[eorzeashan]

do you think humans developed rituals of intimacy for their beloved sith back in the days of the ancient sith empire....do you think they invented a way to be closer to them even without the Force and in mind of it....do you think they became so prized because they loved them bordering on worship....

[tteokdoroki]

"i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me." + rin for the ask game !!! ily aali ❤️

☆༉ — RIN ITOSHI: 0-800-HOT GUY-HOTLINE.

line. ❛ i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me. ❜

extension. fleshlight/sub!rin itoshi, gn!reader + nsfw/mdni 18+.

things to note. sorry this took so long, i got very distracted and psychoanalysed rin for smut… again lol !! enjoy !!

rin has always been bad at communicating.

one could say that his stagnant ability to get his needs across is down to the rocky relationship the pro player has with his eldest and only brother. he finds it difficult to speak his mind and match words to emotions — whenever he tries it’s like someone has stuffed cotton down his throat acting as a blockage that physically prevents him doing the one thing he needs to make the human connections he’s craving. 

except with you. you make things easy. you provide rin with the space to feel his way through experiences without chastising him where he goes wrong or turning your back on him like sae once did. the younger itoshi has learned a lot from you that makes him, in his own way, want to try — want to please you by trying and talking through his thoughts and feelings.

just like you’re doing right now.

“how does it feel for you, baby?” you say with pride, a smile full of both pity and adoration splays across your face — your expression fond. it’s always a surprise to rin, how easily fondness and tenderness come to you when you put him in a position to sin. 

the way you’d gotten rin into this very same and compromising position, his legs spread wide and back pressed against your plush bed, had been too quick for him to comprehend. you’re a picture perfect vision between his milky but toned thighs, the sight of you there makes his cock pulse to life — his pink tip shiny with a layer of precum that dribbles pathetically against his skin. 

he wonders how it’s so easy for you to get him like this, lazily pumping his aching shaft through the squishy sillicon flesh light. when you’d first brought it home, the younger itoshi brother was completely against the idea of using it, but to this day he often finds himself forcing himself to push through his shyness and ask you to use it on him. of course, no amount of lube and ribbed rubber could replace how you feel, but it doesn’t mean rin doesn’t enjoy the way you torture him with the toy.

you press white hot kisses to rin’s pelvis, dragging your tongue along his body in the shape of your  name as if to ink your claim on him and push apart the apex of his thighs to spread the soccer player further. the action has an embarrassing amount of heat flashing through rin, frying his nerve endings and burning away his resolve until he growls down at you impatiently. 

a look of disappointment flashes across your face but disappears just as quickly as it came. his chest tightens. “use your words, baby.” you coach rin through the frustration that lingers in a thick fog across his brain. his bulbous and blistering cockhead peaks through the clear toy and you spit down onto it, using your thumb to rub the frothy mix through his slit with hungry eyes. 

“fuck,” rin breathes shallowly,  cursing from above you. he feels like he’s on fire, melting from the inside out and even you swear that you see red swirling in his aquamarine eyes. his chest rises and falls rapidly, moving so fast that he thinks his heart might burst and you’ve barely touched him. 

leaning down, your lips graze over his tip this time, their plumpness mapping out its sensitive layer of skin. on instinct, rin’s hips buck forward to push his gooey cock against the seam of your lips, coating them a layer of his salty-sweet arousal. “breathe baby,” you remind him in a whisper as rin flinches at the contact. you give the base of the flashlight a squeeze and another gentle grin illuminates over your face, rin fighting back a high pitched and dreamy moan just as his head hits the pillow with a dull thud. “deep breath and try again for me, i know you can do it.”

the soccer player does as you ask, inhaling deeply and filling his lungs with fresh air despite simultaneously fighting back tears. “feels,” he manages through the thick ardour clinging to the ridges of his throat, swallowing down the lump there. rin runs his fingers through the sweaty locks matting to his forehead and tries to gather his thoughts over the sound of his slick dick being jerked to high heavens in your warm hand. “good, really good. hah, i-i’m—“

testing the waters, you kitten lick at rin’s tip every time he languidly fucks it through his special toy. eventually, you take him into the wet cavern of your mouth, allowing his precum to pour against your tongue like an erotic flash flood. “good boy, rin. thank you for telling me,” you say, pulling off of him to catch your breath. “you know i love it when you tell me how you feel.” 

he replies with somewhat of a desperate gargle, throwing an arm over his face as it flushes pink at the praise. “i love you.” he bleats.

“i know, baby. i love you too,” your hand speeds up, mostly coated in heavy and clear strings of rin’s precum and the lube from his flesh light. he looks so fucking pretty like this, shiny with sweat as hot salty liquid slips down the apples of his cheeks. “you always try your hardest for me rin. makes me so proud. makes me wanna look after you. i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.”

taking note of how rin grits his teeth, you fist what you can’t fit, between your fingers, and take a mouthful of him him once more — letting him fuck the soft epithelium on the inside of your cheeks. rin chokes on his wails and whines, feeling a familiar pressure build up in his core the more you sloppily make out with his cock and jerk him off with the soiled flesh light. 

“i-i can’t,” he stutters, barely holding himself together through his sniffling. “i can’t…” 

after crawling over rin’s shaky frame, you pry his hands away from his face — cooing down at his puffy eyes and mussed up hair, not daring to let up on pumping his creamy cock through the flesh light. “yes you can,” you goad attentively, finding his lips — using your teeth to tug his bottom lip away from him before capturing him in a messy, mouth watering kiss. rin whimpers at the taste of himself on you, bitter and slightly sweet, angling his head up to kiss you better. “you can do it baby, i’ve got you.” you purr hotly. 

he laps into your mouth, rolling his tongue over yours in the most eager way you’ve ever seen him, working with you to swallow your pleased moans while you take on his pathetic laments. “‘m gonna…” rin slurs over the saliva that weighs down his tongue and ties to the roof of his open mouth as you palm him harder, faster — the crude mix of his precum, your spit and lube from the flesh light slinging around your knuckles. “f-fuck… gonna cum. ‘m gonna cum!” 

“that’s right, baby, let go for me. cum for me, rin.” you command with a delicate air, your voice low and loving. that’s all it takes for the walls that rin has built up to come tumbling down, reaching his high. he cums hard and with a whiny shout that you coach him through, painting your hand with viscous hot layers of white that spurts from his ravaged, bright red cockhead. “oh wow, you came so much, baby. s’this all for me?” 

“now you’re pushing it.” finally coming down from his orgasm, rin finds himself too weak to push you away despite his  embarrassment — allowing you to pamper and fawn over him like you always do. he doesn’t hate it, nor will he admit how adored you make him feel. “thank you.” he mumbles quietly, warmly.

blinking up to meet his tropical ocean eyes, you cock your head to the side — effectively distracted from cleaning rin up. “for what, honey?” 

“taking care of me,” rin states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his cheeks burn red. “or whatever.” 

“don’t be silly,” you say, “i’ll always take care of you. my baby.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hey Hi! I wasn't the one who asked you for this but it really is amazing!!!

It would really be great if you made a second part, and in case you don't, I still just want you to know that I loved it!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/yaut-jaknowit/743233269339914240/gonna-have-to-fly-in-here-on-the-speed-of-light?source=share

Lost Your Mind Part 2

Pairings: Pel (Male Yautja) x AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 2601

Summary: Time to figure your new life out in a different, robotic life. You learn how your new body work while being able to stay up with Pel, working side by side during hunts.

Author Note: Thank you! I really appreciate all the love. I hope this was a great second part.

Masterlist

Ao3

Throughout a week, it has taken you time to relearn how to walk. Your mind was programmed how to with organic limbs yet this robotic body was different. The weight threw you off. The legs were longer, feet slightly bigger. Everything was off from what you originally knew. So, here you are, using a hand on the wall for support.

Pel was nervous to let you roam the halls by your lonesome. It took some time to convince the Yautja that you’ll be okay. It’s just walking. If you fall, its not like it would hurt you. Pain was nonexistent now. You’ve learn a notification will pop up on the side of your vision, telling you you had been damaged in some sort of way. But, there was no pain.

That could be seen as a pro or con in anyone cases. In your second chance of life, you took it as a pro. No more annoying aches or headaches or even when you broke a bone while hunting.

Hunting. Now, Pel says, you could easily keep up with him on his hunts. No more choking for air after running for miles or worrying about your scent alerting to prey. You even moved nearly silently. Then, without a heart or lungs, there was no worry about prey hearing you as well. In this new body, you’ve become the optimal predator. All you need was a guiding hand to relearn everything.

Your mate had help turn off the ability where your processor answered every little question. That had become incredibly annoying. It drove you nearly over the edge into a bout of rage and destroying the ship. All you wanted was your thoughts to be your own. Not some of computer in your mind.

With one foot after another, you relearn how to walk. You took the chance to meander to the cockpit and stopped at the entrance. Pel was in the pilots chair and sat crisscross. His head turned over his shoulder to find you now in the room. The Yautja sat up taller, mandibles clicking happily. Your own face lighting.

“Hello, love,” you wobbled over to him without the support of the wall. Once in reach of his chair, you gripped onto the arm rest. “What’s the plans for today?” A week had only passed but fragments of your memories had resurfaced. Not all of them. But the emotions are what you held onto. The love and adoration you and him felt for each other. And, in a life like this now, you needed every last drop.

The Yautja in question chirped and purred then rubbed his forehead against your shoulder. “Whatever you want, little one,” he replied in a smooth tone and found your gaze. His eyes shone brightly in the dim lights of the ship. You used your free hand to gingerly cup his cheek and hold his head.

A thinking expression pondered over your features. There was still much to unlock between the two of you with your new robotic body. To see its limitations.

You leaned down nuzzled your nose against where his own would lay if he were human. “Why not teach me some basics with weapons? I’d much rather learn from you than the internet. From there, I can choose which one fits my hand the best,” you offered and pulled back to stare into his yellow eyes.

He purred and nodded his large head. Dark tresses swaying with the moment. “That is a wonderful idea, mate!” Pel slipped off of his chair and rounded the furniture to stand at your side. His hands came out to steady you but stopped short. The corners of your lips tweaked into a small smile.

Pel was finally learning that you need to do this on your own. That’s the only way you can be able to grow into the new person you’re designed to be. You can read on his face it’s taken a lot for him relent and allow you space. He’s a lot more open with his feelings, desperate to make you feel safe and comfortable in your home.

“I’ve got this, love. Just give me time, I still haven’t fully figured it out just yet.” You pushed off of the chair and stood up.

Standing is easy. That didn’t require movement. The walking portion was fine. When you tried to figure out how move without falling face first onto the ground… that’s where you struggled. Half of you wanted to turn back on the dictionary portion of your brain. But, you stayed strong. Life’s hard. Clearly since you’re in this position and nearly met their god of death in unfair circumstances.

The dark brown and beige Yautja stayed hovering at your side, hands at the ready. His yellow eyes watched carefully as the two of you made your way towards the weapons room.

Many of his trophies sat out on display here. A show of prowess. Some of them, you knew the two of you hunted together. Slowly the memories returned. The only plausible reason was the trauma of the event hiding them away. But if they were coming back, that’s all that matters.

An array of weapons decorated the only wall lacking trophies. Pel mainly wields a Combistick and bow and arrow for the hunts. That doesn’t mean a hunter shouldn’t be prepared. He has everything else on hand for whatever a hunt may call for.

You stopped to stand in front of the wall. Your eyes raked down each meticulously placed weapon, but nothing called out to you. In your memories, they were still hazy. You couldn’t tell which one you used before. Maybe this was chance to choose anew? To choose something that required more strength. The robotics that formed your body offered more strength than ever before.

Heat washed down your back side as two hand rested on your shoulder. The powerful jaw of your mate settled down on top of your head. “What favors the eye of my mate?” he asks. A soft purrs tumbles out of his throat and spills into the air. You reached for one of his hands on your shoulder and carded your fingers through his own. The two of you holding hands now.

“That, I don’t know. Nothing speaks to me.” An idea comes to mind. “I would love to see you wield each one, show me what they can do,” you suggested and brought his knuckles to your mouth for a kiss. Killing two birds with one stone. Figuring out which one was the best for you and to see your mate in action, flaunting his gorgeous body. Oh, you couldn’t wait for the show.

He let loose a rumble that acknowledge of his pondering. Then, he placed his own mock kiss to your head and stepped around you. “Alright, I shall display their uses.” The way he struts up to the walls was handsome. “I’ll show you the Combistick first. Every Yautja has one in their collection as it’s the first weapon that train with.”

Not only does he have one but three. Since it’s part of his main collection, he must have multiple may one break or if he stupidly loses it. At that point, he should let Cetanu take if he does that. Such a unblooded mistake that would cost him his life in the heat of a hunt.

A collapsed Combistick and pulled down from its hold. A single press of a button unleashes the weapon to the world. For such a weapon to be able to squeeze into a small form then grow like it does was amazing. Your eyes flashed with wonder. Then, the brown Yautja began to twirl it as if it was an extension of his own body. The moves fluent and perfect. The alien may be considered young for his species, but this was his life. The way of his people, his culture.

For the remaining hours of the day, Pel showed what each and every single weapon in his collection could do. It was hard to choose. All of them seemed great. Some better than others. You pondered the entire time, raking over each weapon carefully until two finally came to you.

Tiger claws and claymore. A strange combination to work together with. You would use the claymore as your primary then have the tiger claws as your secondary. Of course, the Combistick would also be part of your weaponry. Not that Pel would allow for you to miss that important part of the training.

Despite your slightly larger stature, Pel takes you to a weaponsmith. One he’s known for a long time.

The town around you is bustling with life. Your hand is entwined with Pel’s as the brown Yautja leads you through the alleyways to stay away from the roaming crowds. With another week and a half of walking under your belt, you’re able to calmly walk about without needing support. Not like you could run and sprint just yet. It’s a start though. A good start.

Though, you won’t be able to train with a weapon yet, Pel wants to get the jump on forging said weapons. It’ll take time for them to be crafted. Hopefully, his goal was by the time Vo completed the job, you would be ready. If not… he would just hide them and gift them to you when you were.

Pel swiftly took you through the back ways and knew the perfect places to slip past the crowds. It wasn’t long before the two of stopped in front of a old, clearly worn building. He takes you inside before the two of you could be swept out into sea.

Warmth washes over your artificial skin, warming the circuits underneath. A bell alerts the occupants to your appearance. Pel’s hand on the small of your back urges you forward towards the counter. He leans against the carefully crafted wood and trills a Yautja call.

“Pel?” a voice calls out from the back of the building. It wasn’t a moment later before an unknown species of alien stepped out. A rag in her hands that wiped off the grim that coated the skin. “Look who it is. Long time, no see. I thought you had perished on me.” She stopped short of the counter and crossed her arms. Four eyes met your optics that swiftly analyzed every inch of her.

“And who is this?” she questioned and scans her steely gaze up and down your robotic form. “He almost looks… human but his skin, it’s metal. Has those pesky humans finally created something worthwhile?” Your eyes narrowed on her bulky form. Despite no only being human physically any more, you took offense to her words.

A hand rested on your shoulder and drew your attention away from her. “Vo, this is my mate.” He says your name, easily rolling off of his tongue. “There was an accident that involved some bad bloods. I couldn’t lose him just yet.”

Her gaze softened. “Oh, I heard about that incident,” she trails off, head bowed down for only a moment before she meets his gaze again. “No one deserves what those scums did to all of those humans. Even if I despise the squishies.” Your tense shoulders relaxed at her words but that only got you thinking more about what happened. Pel wouldn’t say.

The brown Yautja dipped his head, understanding her words. “Yes. With my mate, I couldn’t lose them so quickly after we become permanent mates. So… I had their brain and heart transferred into this new body. It’s been a process.”

She hummed and finally met your optics. “My condolences, human. I am glad you didn’t perish yet. But, you better keep ol’ Pel happy. He deserves it.” You didn’t know whether to be offended or just brush off her comment. If only she knew what memories you’ve unlocked held of your of him. All the things you did together. The love you shared with each other.

“He is. More than anything in the universe,” Pel answers for you and tugs you closer to him. You turn to nuzzled against him. “But, I request your service. For my mate.” His hand rubs up and down the length of your bicep.

The unnamed alien snorts and rests most of her weight on one foot. “Of course you do. You never come back just to talk.” A sigh left her. She picked up a pencil and a sheet of paper. “What is it you’re looking for?”

Pel glanced down at you. “It’s for my mate actually. He wants tiger claws and a claymore. I have one of each myself, but they aren’t designed for his size,” Pel explains and returned his attention to her. You carded your fingers through his own on your arm and laid a kiss on the back of his hand.

A brow was raised at you. “He’s kind of small for a claymore. Think that’s gonna work with him.” From the slight kind she offered you in the beginning, your face dropped into a glared. Pel tightened his hold on your hand to ground you.

“My mate can handle himself well enough. Now, will you do it or not?” His voice hardened in the classic roughness of a Yautja. Gone was the easy, laid back Pel you knew.

Both of her hands raised, pencil and paper in the air now. “Now, reel back on the anger. I ain’t demeaning him or anything. I just stating a fact.” She huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her way. “Alright. A claymore and tiger claws for the human.” She writes this down on the paper.

The two of them got into a deep discussion on the specifics. Most of it went over your head as you glanced around the small lobby of the weaponsmiths. It was homey and quite nice if the owner was being such a dick to you. You couldn’t believe she would say such a think straight to your face in front of your mate. Yet, she has the balls to do so.

When all was said and done, the two of you left the little shop and returned back to the safety of your ship. Once the ramp clicked its lock into place and stopped then crossed your arms. “Well, she was quite rude!” you steamed with a huff.

Your mate stopped and his shoulders sagged, your name falling from his mandibles. “She’s… I knew her father when we were both young. I was there the day she was born, by accident. She’s been around Yautjas her whole life.” He about faced and strolled up to you. His hands cupped your jaw. “Many of my species are rougher than I am. Meaner. Ruder. They take what they want, demanding it. I am considered soft, gullible.”

His words soothed you. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes. “For now, focus on getting stronger, faster. Then, you’ll be ready for your weapons. To go out hunting at my side once more. We’ll be an unstoppable force. No one would dare with us,” he proclaimed and pressed his mandibles to your cheek in a mock kiss.

“I will, love.” Your eyes slid open. His orbs filled with the love the two of you held for one another. “I’ll be beat you in a sparring match when I do,” you snarked off with a grin plastering to your features.

Pel barks a laugh. Not to demean you but at your attitude he loves. “Oh, I can’t wait for the way, my mate.”

[alex31624]

Duck Comic Reading Club Week 8: Dangerous Disguise

Ok, I'm finally finishing up the week 8 reviews. Let's go right away into Dangerous Disguise, is my first Carl Barks reading and I sure that is going to be greaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?

Humans? Regular, everyday, no question about it, humans? What the hell man? This is not right, no, no, no. Also...

Where in Dismal Downs are they? Crime Villa? Is this place safe for the babies?

Gosh… everything here seriously creep me out… anyway…

Imagine how mad Scrooge was at Donald and the babies that he actually sent them to another country. That crazy old bird is a pro hater.

After Donald mentioned the spies, HDL went crazy about it. They started seen spies in every corner, and drove Donald insane. In this situation, I have to be on Donald side, kids can be annoying.

I'm a grown man, and if that guy starts talking to me, I'd run to another city, but Donald thinks it's a good idea to help this stranger hiding under a pier.

Turns out that Donald passed a secret message to Madame Triple-X, professional spy. Spy that buries the message in front of witnesses that later recover that said message.

The kids show the message to Donald that takes the obvious choice, confront the spy.

Don, buddy, you're not PK here. Call the police.

Donald and the kids took the train directly to Chiliburgueria, just to realize that Madame Triple-X is in a plane to the same destination. Bad luck.

But the surprises are far from over.

Another spy is ready to take down the Ducks. But, do not worry, Huey has a plan…

He killed him.

Huey killed him.

Look at this. Look at it. That guy is dead, is deader than my dreams of Ducktales season 4.

Well, for reasons, Madame Triple-X is now in the Ducks' wagon. Donald tries to steal her purse, only to be discovered, and he and the boys are thrown out of the train. Luckily, they fell on a pond.

The kids complain, but Donald was one step ahead, because he now has Madame Triple-X's purse.

They now can make some lunch.

Madame Triple-X is also thrown out of the train, and is once again, face to face with our heroes.

And she proceeds to...

Oh, for duck sake!

Guys, the lunch thing was a joke! Don't eat the salami sandwich the evil spy offers to you!

And of course the sandwich put the Ducks to sleep. And of course Donald's neck fell directly on the tracks.

Thank God, the trainmen strike saves Donald.

Lucky.

The Ducks steal the train and arrive to Chiliburgueria where they find Donaldo.

So, Donaldo is a bullfighter, therefore, I hate him. I'm against that barbarism wrongly named culture.

But, the guy was taken down by his doppelganger, and treated by evil ten-years-old triplets. What a day.

Donald took Donaldo's place in order to capture Madame Triple-X, and I wonder…

Donaldo has the same voice impediment that Donald has? They look identical but, the voice… Donald voice is the most recognizable voice ever.

And back to the looks one second, how is that Donaldo looks exactly like Donald? I think Quackmore has a lot to explain.

After a bullfight where, thankfully, no bull was harm, Donald finally convinces Madame Triple-X that he's the spy. Only for Donaldo to break free and end the charade.

But then…

Madame Triple-X was a secret secret service member all along! And she almost fail her mission, because those damn Ducks.

Donaldo then, jump through the window. No second thought about it.

The Ducks then came back to Crime Villa to enjoy their vacation.

What can I said about this one? It was weird, and fun, and crazy, and stupid, and I loved it.

More of this, please.

[neostellarjpg]

if you generalize act 6/the retcon arc as "the worst part/narrative decision of homestuck" or genuinely say things like "it ruined the story" or "it ruined x character" or "it only happened to make x ship canon/because hussie likes vriska", you HAVE to smell my farts. obviously its valid to dislike it, and to question behind the motivation behind such a drastic story moment, but it's in bad faith and a huge waste not to even try to understand how it fits with the story's themes.

EVERYTHING matters. even the failures, even the wasted successes, even the things that don't "really" happen. because really, they DID happen. both the readers and the characters can see with their own eyes the ghosts of those lost timelines. "this version of the character is the REAL character." "this event happens in the REAL timeline." repeatedly and deliberately, the classification "real" is called into question; even to the point of tying into subjects like fandom and reader interpretation. characters in homestuck wave off this topic, but the structure of the story demonstrates the idea of "canonicity" to have very little meaning in the first place. there is a possibility of something happening, and the very fact of that possibility harbors its own strength.

the entire purpose of the multitimeline storytelling in homestuck is to frame the story as a single possibility of victory built upon countless failures. in the alpha timeline, an infinitude of bad possibilities are dodged, but there is an equally infinite loss of growth and personal potential.

the characters are trapped inside a story, and they suffer for it. skaia is an unfeeling god with unfathomable plans for its players. it exacts pointless cruelty, but also rewards handsomely: with the gift of existence. there's no throughline in its actions. there's no messaging. a lot of the time, the point of sburb appears to be "personal growth." but for whom? certainly not the billions of innocents wiped out on whatever planet the game appears on. and at what cost? contradictorily, at the cost of many players' lives. if the real purpose was to nurture all players to their personal potential, then surely with its inexplicable omniscience and infinite powers of creation, things would end up this way.

i view homestuck as a very hopeful and pro-human story, but also nihilistic, in a way. deaths are callous, happen casually and quickly (even comedically!), and often have no significance. success doesn't end with everyone happy, or becoming the best version of themselves. outcome is arbitrary and without real meaning. the kids enter this story traumatized, get re-traumatized a billion times over, get chewed up, spat out, and wind up depressed or misguided. the line blurs between existence as a "reward" and as a "burden." it simply is, and no matter what happens next, the characters are stuck with it. after all, it's what they worked so hard for. and after they scrape and claw their way towards survival, once they end up on the other side, they are forced to look back, stunned at the amount of fight and determination that has completely left their spirit, wondering where it came from in the first place, and what it was really all for, in the end.

the retcon comes from the sheer force of will to create a better future. to keep fighting for an outcome where you and your friends are happy, painstakingly continuing to build upon a foundation of infinite failures. accepting that there is always another alternative, that sometimes things go wrong because you trap yourself into a binary way of thinking. and taking in stride that those mistakes, and the hindsight that comes with them, are essential in making the right decisions going forward.

the retcon is epic and it ties together a lot of big ideas of the story in a fascinating way. i am so sick of people casually treating it like this massive evil that has no redeeming qualities. HUFF my shorts

[five-rivers]

Cryptid Crawl! 7

“You… aren’t a cryptid,” said the man who’d been chasing Danny for literal miles.

“What?” demanded the other unbelievable human being, who hadn’t been all that far behind the first guy.  “Did these guys hire you to make us look bad?”

“Uh, no?” said Danny, who realized he’d said it like a question.  “No,” he repeated, more confidently, because this was the plan.  “I am making you look bad freelance.”

“That’s the wrong word, dude,” said Tucker.  

“It’s pro bono,” corrected Sam.  

“Pro bono.”  He nodded.  “Like Peter Parker.”

“Still the wrong thing.”

“What does Spider-Man have to do with this?”

“We both wear cool costumes and have our pictures taken, duh,” said Danny, not mentioning the superhero thing.  He started to peel the contacts out of his eyes.  

“What are you doing going around dressed like the Amity Park Phantom, then?”

Danny snorted.  “There is no Amity Park Phantom.  It’s just me and sometimes my friends messing around.”

Crawly’s face turned dangerously furious.  “It’s what?”

“This is like…”  He waved his hand vaguely.  “A prank?  Follow people around, spook them a little?  It’s something we do sometimes, for the bit.”

“The bit?  What do you mean, the bit?”

“For the joke.  You don’t think Amity Park is really haunted, do you?”  Danny rolled his eyes theatrically.  “I was going to do the same thing today, but then you started chasing me.”  He pointed accusingly at Bill.  “Like, you chased me for blocks.  It freaked me out.”  That last bit was hardly even a lie.

“Uh,” said Bill.  “Sorry?”

“I mean, I guess it’s your job, but–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Az, who had lost a great deal of his for-television veneer.  “If you’re not a ghost, how were you running that fast?  How were either of you running that fast?  That kind of speed isn’t possible for normal humans!”

“Yeah, duh, that’s because Bill is an ex-military super-spy!” said Crawly, leaning on Bill’s shoulder.

“I’m retired from the spy business, actually.”

“That’s not the point!” said Az, throwing his hands up in the air.  He then pointed accusingly at Danny.  “You!” he said.  “Do you have any idea how this’ll affect our ratings?  I can’t afford to go job hunting again!  No one will hire Jimmy!  He doesn’t talk!”

“Oh, yeah,” said Danny, unzipping the top part of the fake hazmat suit so he could shrug halfway out of it and tie the arms around his waist, “where are the other two stooges?”

Az spun on the spot and stalked away, followed by a good deal of the camera crew.  Then he came back, dragging his brother and Jimmy with him.  Danny’s eyes met with Jimmy’s.  

Danny’s ghost sense started to go off– And he swallowed it.  No breathing a bunch of weird blue fog in the middle of a sunny spring day on camera.  Nope.  Danny had to admit he was impressed, though.  That was a very realistic human disguise.  

“You,” said Az, “are getting interviewed, and you,”  he turned his baleful finger at Crawly, “are getting off our set.”

“What set?  This is an abandoned lot.  You can’t make us do anything.”

They started bickering.

Apart from one of the hosts being a ghost, and the others being bizarre enough that Danny was wondering if they would fit in in Amity Park, this was actually going quite well.  Neither show would have a coherent enough episode to make Amity Park interesting to any wannabe ghost hunter tourists.  Or cryptid hunters.  Whatever.

Gosh, the only thing they needed now was for the UFO hunters to come out of the woodwork.  Or was Hannah enough of one to fulfill that category all by herself?

Before Danny could decide, a massive pillar of green light originating from a couple miles away lit up the sky.  The sky howled and pulsed.  

“What the hell was that?” demanded Az.  “You guys saw that, too, right?”

“Yep,” said Ned.  

“Hmm,” said Jimmy.  

“Bill,” said Crawly, “I think this trip just became worth it again.”

They all left.  

“What,” said Danny, “was that?”

“Uh,” said Tucker, “I’m working on it.  Get Ember.”

“Ember?”

“Or Desiree or someone else who can either cause a massive distraction or unscrew reality because I am–”  there was a crashing sound.  “

“I’ll get her,” said Jazz.  

Danny jumped.  “Have you been listening the whole time?”

“Yeah, but it’s busy here, so sue me.  I’ll talk to Ember, just tell me what you need.”

“Hey, Danny!”

“Dani!” exclaimed Danny, looking up.  “Val!”  He paused.  “Are you sure you should be hoverboarding this close to the cameras?”

“Shut up,” said Val, “we’re here to give you a ride to whatever that was.”

“I’m on my way, too,” said Sam.  “Hold on, there, Tucker.”

.

Danny, Val, and Jazz arrived to see most of the Groovy Ghost Blasters Extreme unconscious and stuck to various walls with bright green goo and Tucker trying to hack the GAV and Danny’s parents nowhere in sight.

“Where are Mom and Dad?” asked Danny, jumping off Valerie’s board.  Valerie tapped her heels together, retracting the board as soon as he was off.  

“Chasing the tiger.  Apparently they think it’s a ghost.”

“Great,” said Danny, rubbing his hand down over his face.  “Sam’s not going to be happy about that.”  He jogged over to the Groovy Ghost Blasters Extreme and started checking vitals.  “Everyone looks alive.”  Now, he should get them off the wall and to a hospital or something.  Getting knocked out wasn’t generally good for people…

“What should I do?” asked Dani.  

“Uh,” said Danny.  “I don’t know, Tucker?  What was your plan?”

“Uh,” said Tucker.  He pointed at a trailer that held the ruins of several vehicles.  “Stage.”  He pointed at the smoking holes in the street.  “Mist from black ice?”  He pointed at the GAV.  “Lighting and sound system?  I don’t know, man.  I’m just making things up.  There’s no way we can hide this on our own.”

“The hunters are getting closer,” said Sam.  “It’d be great if I had some help slowing them down.”

“Okay,” said Danny, “okay.”  He ran over to the GAV and used his handprint to sign in.  Most of the controls were still locked out for him - no driving license - but it got Tucker that little bit forward.  “Uh, then, Dani, you fill up anything smoking with dry ice, Val, you and me, we need to get those guys to a hospital.”

“I think I’ll have to do that myself,” said Val, “unless you have a hoverboard.”

“To cut them out,” said Danny, producing a pair of Fenton Scissors from his pocket and walking over.  “Otherwise, that stuff won’t come off unless you take a wall with it.”  He spoke from unfortunate experience.  Usually, he’d just phase them out, but… witnesses.

Things had been going so well, too.

.

“Babypop is letting me perform in his precious city?” asked Ember, eyebrow raised.  

“Assuming you do it fast, yes,” said Jazz, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.  She was covered in flour, eggs, butter, batter in various states of mixture, and icing.  “You know that your performances were never the problem.  The problem was the mind control.”

“But he’s suddenly okay with it now?”

“He’s got to hide the results of a ecto-gun fight between our parents and trigger happy ghost hunters.  Tucker thinks their ATV trailer could be covered up as a stage.”

“And why should I?  If Amity becomes famous, maybe some of that spills over.  More people to hear me play.  More people to shout my name.”

“Do you want to be famous in your own right, because of your music, or because you’re a ghost?” snapped Jazz.  

“What do you think, babe?” asked Ember, leaning back towards the rest of the ghosts.  

“Do it, and show them the error of underestimating you!” said Skulker, around a mouthful of cake, and how did that even work, exactly?  Jazz just… ugh.  She didn’t want to know.  

“Okay, yeah, sounds good.  I’ve performed on worse.  I’ll take a look.”

.

“Maybe we should call an ambulance, actually,” said Danny.  Getting knocked out like this and staying knocked out was generally a bad sign.  

“And screw things up for whatever friend you’ve got coming to turn this into some kind of rock show?” asked Valerie.  

“It’s just Fenton Sleeping Gas,” called Tucker.  “According to the weapons logs, anyway.”

Danny briefly looked skyward.  “Why do they even have that?  I swear…”

“I have Ember on her way, better get Valerie out of there.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “just, uh.  Dani!  Help Val carry these guys, will you?”

Dani dropped another chunk of ice into a hole.  “On it!”

“Cool, cool, cool,” said Tucker.  “There’s so much stuff.  Why is there so much stuff?”

Danny wasn’t sure if he was talking about the code in the GAV, the weapons in the GAV, or the debris scattered all over the road.  In any case, there was a lot of stuff.  

But Valerie was flying off, and… “Sam, do we have an ETA on those guys?”

“You’re lucky they didn’t have cars,” said Sam.  “Halfway there.”

“Thanks.”  Danny transformed and started pushing stuff out of the way.  He also did the fastest structural ice-work of his life, covering up the trailer and making it look more stage-like.  He hid several of the gaping holes in the street– hopefully being filled with ice wouldn’t make them worse– and worked on putting out the few fires that were still going, despite Dani’s ice.  

Then he paused and surveyed his work.  It looked…

… Bad.  

Genuinely, there was no way around it.  

“Oi, babypop!” called Ember from above.  “What’re you doing chilling out when it’s time to rock on?”

Smiling at Ember was a new experience for Danny.  Maybe–

“Hey, uh.  That one terrifying camera guy is fighting a tiger, now, what do I do?”

The tiger.  The one his parents had been chasing.  

“Sorry, got to go!” he shouted.  

“Are you ditching me?” demanded Ember.  

“It’s not you,” said Tucker, “it’s the tiger.”

.

“That’s a tiger,” said Ned.  He might have been more concerned about the situation if the tiger wasn’t running away from Bill.  

“Hng,” said Jimmy.  

“Genuinely a tiger.  Just a tiger.”

“Hm,” said Jimmy.  

“You know what?  I’m done.”

“Yes!  Get it, Bill!  If we can’t have a cryptid we can at least get an anomalous big cat!”

“Hm?”

“Just done.  Done with this, done with the show, done with everything.  I want to retire and work on classic cars.”

“You can’t retire,” hissed Az, who was hiding behind Jimmy.  “You’re in your thirties!  And we don’t know what that light was, yet!”

Ned was very tempted to say screw the light.  

Behind him, the producer attempted and failed to call animal control.  

“Fine, we can go see what the light was about, but if we get there and it’s a kid in an iceberg–”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, like you never watch cartoons.”

“Yes!  Yes!  Now zoom in on its face.  I’ve never seen a tiger like this before, maybe it’s endangered!”

.

“Please, please set up,” begged Tucker.  “Please start playing.”

“Uh, no,” said Ember, crossing her arms.  “I’m not performing for an empty street.”

“You said–”

“I’d said I’d take a look.  So here I am.  Looking.”

“Ember,” squeaked Tucker.  “Come on.  You got free cake.”

“For staying hidden, yeah.  But that’s not my point, geek squad.  Don’t you think that me playing to absolutely no one would be suspicious?  No way this is a concert.  It’s a special effects test for later this week.  And you’d better believe that later this week, I’ll be collecting.”

.

Danny flashed into visibility in front of his parents and prepared himself for a very long chase.  

.

They eventually got hold of animal control.

.

“No, you can’t be here.  I’ve got it cleared with the city to test this stuff, and it’s proprietary. You’re lucky security is on break, so you’d better get your stupid cameras out of here before they get back.”

“But the light–” started Az.

“Pro. Pri. E. Tary.  What. Part. Don’t. You. Get.  Little T, how’s your martial arts class going, can you kick these guys out?”

“Uh,” said Tucker, who was honestly sort of impressed by Ember’s whole performance, improvised as it was.  But then, he supposed she had practice.  It must be hard getting a venue when you were dead and had no money.  Between how she’d altered the stage with her powers and what she was saying now, they might be able to pull this off.  “Maybe?”  He sized up the tallest of the three ‘Investigators.’ “Probably not, actually.”  Not without weapons, anyway.  

“Whatever, it’s not like that’s what I pay you for.”

“You know what?” asked Az, who was, at this point, staring dead-eyed into space.  “I’m done.  Let’s go get cake.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said since we got here,” said Ned.  

“Cake,” said Jimmy.  

“Oh, crud,” mumbled Tucker.  

“What?” said Sam.  He could see her head peeking out of an alley a few blocks down.  “Are they not buying it?”

“Worse,” whispered Tucker.  “They’re going for cake.”

.

“Hey,” said Crawly, as the tiger was loaded into the truck by animal control.  “This might have been a bit of a bust, but we can still go get cake.”

“Any day where I get to wrestle a cryptid tiger is a good day,” said Bill.  

“Uh,” said one of the animal control people.  “It’s a regular tiger, just albino.”

Crawly held up a finger.  “Hush, you.”

[moonshine-nightlight]

Potential Short Stories

hey, while looking to next year, i have a number of short stories I'm considering and i'd like to gauge y'alls interest in them and see if there are any that should move up my list.

these are all just the top ideas i'm considering at the moment and are subject to change when i get back to writing in Spring 2024, but i really want to know if any of these grabs ppls attention as often more interest in a story motivates me to write more!

see under the read more for summaries of each story in the poll

if ur interested in more than one, vote for your favorite and mention the others in the comments/tags!

See this post for a poll on short vs long stories!

See this post for a poll on long stories!

see below for summaries and minor details (titles subject to change - but i'm also lazy and hate titling things so maybe not)

Courtship Confusion: You’ve been working with Morgan for a couple years. A consummate flirt, you’d initially been put off by his whole charming deal, but now that he’s your best friend you’ve been wanting to see if he’s still interested in dating you. Unfortunately he’s not picking up your hints. Before you give up, a pair of visiting concubi remind you of cultural differences when it comes to dating. Maybe you’ve both been misunderstanding each other. Maybe it’s time you set the record straight.

Modern w/known non-humans, ReaderxMaleSiren

Quid Pro Quo: You’d thought the only remotely positive about your husband’s death would be that you wouldn’t need to deal with your terrible in-laws anymore. Then you found out that demons were real and your husband’s family had made a deal decades ago trapping all their descendants in service to one. You manage to set up your own deal with a different demon: if you help Adriel figure out who is embezzling from his realm spanning organization, he’ll help you figure out how to get your kids free of the contract. After hitting dead end after dead end, you finally think you’re both getting somewhere, but will it be enough?

Modern w/secret demons; ReaderxMaleDemon

Goddaughter: You thought you’d seen the last of your family when you left—you’d certainly done everything you could to cut ties with them and with your father’s enemies. Unfortunately, they finally seem to have caught up with you—running into you by chance in the grocery store of all places. Now you and your daughter have been captured, you’re tied up while they’ve taken her who knows where, your father is just as useless at protecting you as always. Then you hear a familiar voice. What on earth is your neighbor, Vee, doing here? Why does he know your father? And why does he sound positively…demonic?

Modern w/secret demons; ReaderxMaleDemon

Bedwarmer: When you heard your Chancellor had died in battle and his lands given to a mountain orc who’d practically won the battle singlehandedly, you weren’t sure what to think. When the steward put out the call for a bedwarmer for said new Chancellor, you figured species didn’t matter much after all—powerful people were all the same. Still, the role came with a year reduction in indenture for whoever was selected from the candidates. You’ve never had any problem with no strings attached sex so you add yourself to the list. It’s not until you meet this Kor’Shearda and are chosen that you begin to realize how wrong you were.

Fantasy w/known non-humans; ReaderxFemaleOrc

Runalong: Sometimes you feel like you’ve spent your whole life on the move. Shuffled from one place to the next with no real say in the matter. Is it any wonder that on those long car rides from somewhere that just started to become familiar to somewhere brand new and unknown that you might imagine a companion along side you? And what does it mean that now you’re an adult and you still think you see them sometimes?

Modern w/unknown non-humans; ReaderxGNSpirit

Feral: You’ve been so happy living on your own in the little house you inherited, you didn’t even mind the strange stipulations in the will about hanging plants and markings on fence posts. You were never particularly superstitious. Or you weren’t. Strange noises at night, eyes that glow, tracks around the porch—it’s all starting to freak you out. What could be lurking in the shadows of your yard? Is it all your imagination? Or does something—someone—mean you harm?

Modern w/unknown non-humans; ReaderxFemaleHellhound

[sweet-honey-tears]

🪶Nice to Meet You☕️

Hawks x GN!Reader - FLUFF

How did you and Hawks meet?

PLEASE READ: Story does talk about how the five sense (touch,taste,sight,smell, hearing) can be over stimulating. I by no means mean to offend or anger anybody if I inaccurately represent this. I’m not to well informed of this subject so I’m always open to learning more if anyone wants to reach out🤍

Sasha is not a actual character FWI- don’t wanna confuse anyone

Readers Quirk: Sensory- Subjects five sense (touch,taste,sight,smell, hearing) are enhanced. One’s sense are always slightly enhanced, but subject can choose which one. In moments of intense stress, all sense could possibly be at peak performance due to the flight or fight response within the human body.

Warning: Swearing, Slightly subjective themes but only in one line.

He met you at one of those 24 coffee shops. This one was a smaller business one though, with only a few people working at a time.

Working at 3 am did wonders for your mind, so you honestly didn’t even think anything of it when a man dressed in a black hoodie(hood up) with a pair of red wings walked in. His fingers made quick work to pull his hood down and comb through blonde hair. A medical mask on.

“Hi welcome to CaffineLine, what can I get for you tonight.” You had smiled sweetly, your voice light. When your iris caught golden ones, you hummed quietly to yourself. You couldn’t deny it, the man was rather handsome. With tan skin and warm honey hair. But this job has taught you a lot about people. Looks be damned, people can be awful and you’re not about to be creepily-flirted with or threatened.

The man chuckled a bit at your sleepy welcome. “Late night, huh?” He questioned.

“You have no idea.” You smiled, palms pressing into the counter. So far so good, seems like another friendly customer. “But hey, I get discounted coffee so it helps.” You smiled, pushing off slightly.

“Oh? Do you have a favorite you’d recommend?” The man smiled, giving you a rather handsome grin. ( he found it funny, you still had not recognized him. I mean the store even had a drink named after him- after a couple of popular heroes)

You hummed lowly, thinking over certain options. “I the Chickadee”

“The Chickadee? What’s in that?”

“Oh, it’s like a spring drink.” You say before continuing after a pause. “Which tells you nothing about it.” You laugh lightly, putting a hand on your forehead.

“No no, it’s fine. It’s late, I'm not blaming you- I can barely remember where I parked right now.” A joke, considering his wings but it seemed to go over your head.

“ So it's kinda like a chocolate, coconut, caramel iced coffee with added whip cream if you want.”

“Sounds good I’ll take that”

“Alrighty! Can I have a name for the cup- ah I don’t need that.” You laughed a bit, realizing it was only him. No one would accidentally grab his drink.

“No, it’s fine, my name is Hawks.”

“Alrighty” you scribbled his name on the cup.

Hawks watched you dance around, getting his drink ready. “If you don’t mind me asking, where’d the name come from?”

“Ah well, I actually came up with the name Chickadee.” You beamed over your shoulder. “I thought it sounded really cute and the drink is popular around little kids since it tastes like a Girl Scout cookie.” He watched you top it with whip cream and caramel. “And because it’s bird related, kids relate it to the pro hero Hawks- and can be persuaded to get this one instead of that one.” You gestured your head to the hero list of drinks. The ‘HAWKS’ one in bright red lettering.

“Why persuade them?”

“It has Red Bull in it, so I try to steer really little kids to our Chickadee. Less trouble on the parents” You joked cheerfully, handing him his drink. In that split transaction, he watched it click. The way your eyes so slightly widened, as you took in his face and wings. Your mouth opens slightly, before turning upwards into that smile you had when he first walked in. “The wings really should have given it away, huh”

“They usually do, but I appreciate the normal interaction.”

“Well, I try.” You smiled, hands back on the counter. “That’ll be 3.46.”

Hawks smiled a real bright one. No special treatment. He handed you a ten and stuffed a twenty in the tip jar.

“See you around Chickadee,” he said, lifting his drink as a goodbye salute before taking a sip. “Wow, that is good.” He whispered leaving.

->-----////-----<-

“Hey there Chickadee”

“Hi, there Big Bird”

Hawks paused for a moment before snorting, “Big Bird?”

You shrugged and smiled at him, “Seems fitting but I don’t think it’ll stick” you teased.

“Hm, maybe not.” He hummed, walking up to the counter. He was in a black leather jacket, his medical mask hanging off his ear.

“How was patrol?” You asked, moving around the small kitchen to warm up a sandwich.

“I mean I talked with the angriest kid alive”

“I saw that.” You gestured to the TV in the corner. “ A little gremlin isn't he?” you joked. It’s caused Hawks to chuckle slight. You Put both a warm sandwich and a steaming drink in front of him.

“New?”

“Yeah, steamed milk with cinnamon and cardamom. The owner's son came up with it. The sweetest little boy I’ve ever met.” You smiled.

Hawk's face flushed slightly at the sweet look on your face.

“Sounds great.”

->-----////-----<-

“Hey Chickadee, are your socks on inside out,” Hawks questioned. He was sitting across from you behind the counter. His feathers moved around, maneuvering to help you pick-up. Since you refused to have him actually help you- but that doesn’t stop his feathers.

You paused, the rag in your hand stilled as you looked down at your feet. Your work shoes were stained with coffee and whatever else.

“Yeah, they are. My quirk is Sensory.” You turn to him, giving a sad smile “It means my five senses are enhanced and it’s sometimes-.” He watches that smile drop slightly, your eyes back on your feet. He can see you wiggle your toes, and the cringe on your face. “-can be overstimulating,” There was a moment of silence, Hawks searching for the right words to say. “But, I mean I can have super smell and sight, so that’s cool. But on days like this, I just go with touch or taste. It’s easier than overwhelming coffee, or ringing from doors.” You rocked back and forth on your heels before you picked the rag back up.

->-----////-----<-

“Ack!” Your ice drink fell on the counter, the bright colors spilling over. The dried fruits and berries made a rather artistic mess over the space. Your hands covered your mouth as you ducked your head, shaking it back a forth. Tears welled in your eyes. Hawks, who had been on the other side of the counter moving the chair back into place, hopped over instantly. Sensing there was no coffee burn- I mean your drink had ice in it. His wing propelled him over, almost wrapping around you.

“Chickadee, are you okay?” His tone was filled with worry, golden iris scanning you.

->-----/After/-----<-

“So you had a sensory overload with your taste?”

“Y-yeah. And it was one of our newer drinks too.” You chuckled lightly. The sour taste and acid feeling still lingered heavily on your tongue. “It can sometimes be a hard to control what sense is getting a little boost.” You smiled slightly, almost soundly. “When I was younger, I even had quirk canceling stuff.” You laughed a bit.

->-----////-----<-

“Breaking news, CaffineLine is currently being held-”

->-----////-----<-

Your heart was in your throat as one of the men laid waste to a table. Your eyes watered from the intense heat coming from the melting metals and wood. These men weren’t known villains, not like the league, but that didn’t stop them from being dangerous.

“Where the fuck is he!” The same man yelled, you watched his bright orange iris glow as his palms started to turn red.

“Well, no one will be able to hear him if you keep destroying shit, Carter!” The other man yelled. You could feel the floor almost move like someone caused a ripple in the water. Your breath caught in your throat, and the vibration shot up your hands and arms, through your bones.

Your lungs contracted as you pushed your body closer to the counter you were behind. They were looking for someone. They didn’t want the money in the register or tip jar. They wanted ‘him’

“Are you even sure he’s even coming?”

“Yeah, he’s been spotted here over the last year.” You stared at your hands, the feeling of the cold tile grounding you. Your chest rose and fell in a quick motion. Too much! Too much was happening! They saw him come here all those times. They saw Hawks here- they want Hawks!

Every sense you had seemed to be shaking, grabbing onto anything it could. Your vision seemed to quake from the intensity of zoning in and out, seeing each line in your fingers and nails. The cold tiles worked through skin and bone, and every piece of clothing you wore made you want to scream at the feeling. The smell of coffee beans became an acidic poison making your eyes water. Then the sound, every scared heartbeat, and breath, every whimper from a child and hush from an adult. Then the light sound of wings.

“Ya know, you’ll have to pay for everything you touch.”

The calm voice caused your shoulders to slump, and your breath to be still. You shuffled to the edge of the counter, the scratch of clothes becoming almost painful but you needed to see him. You peered over to see him. Red wings splayed out and a cocky smile upon his lip. But you could see the tension in his shoulders, almost hearing the sound of tensing muscles. Sunny eyes scanned the room, likely taking in the civilians present. Till they landed on you, they stayed, lingering. Hawks watched the shaky-ness your eyes held. How your pupils dilated. His eyes flickered back to the man in front of him.

“You finally arrived!” The man with orange eyes yelled. His hand trailed another table, and a bit of fire spewed in chaotic lines. “Now we can have real fun!” The sound and smell of burning caused you to cringe back.

“Geeze, I already have one fire gremlin to deal with.” He heard you snort as he used your line, “I swear, it’s like I attract the hot ones.” Hawks quipped. His voice was flirtatious as he winked at the man. The sound of your laughter caused his shoulders to drop, and his muscles to loosen. It causes your sense to dull a bit, the tones of his voice bringing you a bit from your cliff. But it also caused anger. Your happy laugh caught the attention of the other man.

“You think this is funny, huh?” He questioned, walking towards you. His voice was calm. Like he was talking to a scared animal.

“Hey now, let's leave them out of this-“

“Would you shut it!” The fire spread through the tables, trailing to the ground near your fellow civilians. Hawks lunged in the direction, his wings giving a strong flap to put it out. to his surprise the fire did go out.

“I see” the man approaching spoke. “You must be the one he keeps coming to see every night” The ground under you rumbled and growled. Your body almost became limp from the intensity of the vibration. Your eyes caught on to flashing red wings, watching them sling sharp red daggers at the other man. You clawed at the tile floor to try and drag yourself away, but couldn’t.

You felt a tug on your shirt collar, being hoisted up to the man's chest and held there. His hand rested on your chest. “You poor thing,” he cooed in your ear. The sound sent a cry from your lips that caught Hawks's attention, an unconscious man now hung from his hand. His feather shot up, dancing in the air in his head-

“I wouldn’t or I’ll liquidate their organs and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” Hawks stilled, his eyes scanning around again before landing on possibly you. His feathers sweep back into his wings. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. They're cute, huh? I can see why you kept coming here.” The man jarred, sending a light vibration through your body. But your quirk, the stress, and the fear caused it to amplify. It was like someone shook you with every ounce of strength they had- trying to pull a sound from a broken maraca. You cried out, gasping for air as tears trailed down your cheeks. The action causes the man holding you to tighten his grip. “Fuck they’re loud. Though-.” You watched his face morph into a smirk through tear-laced eyelashes “is that why you like them?”

Hawk's face tightened at the comment, but his eyes gazed past the man’s shoulder.

“You know, if you want their number, you should just ask.” A woman’s voice spoke from behind. The man gazed back. But you sensed something coming, the feeling of the atmosphere changed ever so slightly. “It’s impolite to just grab.”

At that moment you felt it. You felt every muscle in the man’s body shakes with such intensity you wondered if he used his quirk on himself. You heard his heart start racing. You saw the airy vines of purple loop themselves around your hands and arms, avoiding your skin and clothes with precise care.

“Yeah…what she said.” Hawks quietly spoke as he rather quickly walked to you. He carefully prided you away from the man, pushing you to his side a little too closely to be some random civilian. His Carmen wings wrapped around you, as almost a slight shield.

->-----////-----<-

Your body shook, and ripples of shivers seemed to cascade down your limbs. Your fingers pulled tight on the blanket around your shoulders, your back leaned against the ambulance. The EMTS had already given you the go-ahead to leave if you preferred but didn’t push. Other shaken civilians need to be checked. Some had burns from the intense heat of the melted table.

“How are you, Chickadee?” Hawks stood in front of you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His cherry eyes glided over your hunched form, watching you ever so slightly loosen your grip on the blanket.

“Shaken, but I’m okay. Are you alright?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? I saw you fighting the other guy. Are you okay?”

“Heh, I’m an okay kid. Worry about yourself right now, okay?” Hawks spoke with a smile yet his eyes scanned the world around you.

It was a bit chaotic, at least to your standards. Cop cars and ambulances were only a touch away. People were getting interviewed and questioned, some by cops, others by the media. You could see flashes from the cameras in the distance, the photos likely going to reach the news for the pure fact Hawks arrived on the scene. The bright lights seemed too intense, almost unnecessary. Why take photos like this? When people felt vulnerable? It seemed cruel.

“Hey Chickadee,” your eyes shot back to Hawks, his slight movement forward catching you off guard. His voice also seemed different, a little quieter and deeper.

“Yes?” You scooted yourself forward a bit, ensuring the conversation would stay between just the two of you.

“Listen, you can say no and nothing will change, okay?”

“Okay” Your chest seemed to tighten, like a weight laid on it almost. But you hoped, almost praying he would ask you what you hoped.

“Would you like to get lunch sometime? “

“Yes.” Your answer came out faster than you wanted, but your voice was still very soft as an after-effect. In theory, your voice would have come out a lot louder, more chipper. Your cheeks heated up at your eagerness and Hawks laughed. The smile stretched his face at your reaction.

->-----////-----<-

Extra Part of the story: a bit angsty

“You finally ask them?”

“When did you get so interested in my love life?” Keigo joked. He wanted a second for the other hero to catch up.

“When you started looking happier. And acting like a teenage boy.” Keigo glanced at her, taking in Sasha’s appearance. He knew she was being serious, but trying to give him an out in the case.

“Yeah…”

“I won’t tell them, Hawks. I know the commission doesn’t want you dating” Hawks didn’t respond. “But you also know the Wings isn't legal,” She chuckled lightly, causing Hawks to smile a bit.

“How are they by the way?”

“They're good, pains died down a bit.”

“That’s good to hear, I wouldn’t mind flying with them again. If they can keep up that is.” Hawks felt a playful shove to his arm, responding by slapping her with his wings.

Sasha shook her head, smiling before both his and her phones went off. Pictures already appeared of the incident that had just happened.

Hawks Come to The Rescue!

Hawks Appears-

Hawks Saves-

Hawks-

Hero Hawks and Shiver-

A photo of the area showed you in the background. You appeared hunched, the camera lights getting outlines of your face. It was a small thing, something most people wouldn’t even notice. But both Keigo and Sasha did.

“I won’t tell them, Hawks,” Sasha spoke more sternly, her fingers clutching her phone, her thumb swiping up to exit the article. Hawks caught a glimpse of her Home Screen. A younger Sasha and Wings hanging on each other. It was before they broke Wings’ wings. “They don’t deserve it.”

“Neither did Wings.”

“Yeah… neither did Wings.”

[detailtilted]

hi! I'm sorry if you've talked about this before, but I've been wondering how you enhance the spn con videos. like, how does it work? cause your videos look amazing, especially in comparison to the previous footage!

Thank you so much for being interested enough to ask!

At a very high level, the visual enhancements to the original videos themselves are made by running an upscaling program and then manually adjusting color-related settings in my video editing software. Sometimes I also fix aspect ratios if the original videos are squished.

Below are way more details than you probably ever wanted. 😅 I’ll put my very long answer after a break...

Upscaling

The very first thing I do when I start a new video is to take all the video sources I can find, pick out the ones I think I'm most likely to want to use, and see if I can get them to upscale. This is actually one of the easiest parts of the whole process, at least in terms of the actual time that I myself have to put into it. The computer does most of the work.

The upscaling is done through a software program. I don't actually have any idea, but I imagine it might be a dumbed down version of the type of software that movie studios use when they create upscaled Blu-ray releases of older films. I know the obvious question is, “What’s the software program?” I’m a little scared to say it without some explanation first, because it has “AI” in the title. I know and understand (and agree with) why AI is such a hot button today. However, this is not generative AI where it generates a new work out of nothing, and it’s performing a function that a human could not reasonably do.

The way I understand it, it runs an algorithm to analyze all the frames in the video and figure out how it can remove some of the visual “noise” and also add missing details to some frames based on what it finds in other frames. It then updates every single frame in the video. The videos I’m currently working with have 30 frames per second. A 30-minute video would therefore have 54,000 frames. For a human to compare 54,000 frames and make all the tiny changes required to each one would be… impossible I think. So anyway, after that long preamble, the name of the software I’m using is “Topaz Video AI”.

There are a variety of settings you can tweak, so I focus on upscaling one video source at a time because the same settings that work with one source may not work for a different source recorded with different equipment. I try different combinations of settings to small sections of the video until I find settings that seems to return noticeably improved results without adding any weird distortions. Sometimes I have to give up and proclaim the task impossible. If the video has too much noise and/or not enough good detail already there for it to work with, then it won’t upscale well. I get much, much better results with original video files than I do with files from YouTube. I think the videos were compressed when they were uploaded to YouTube and lost some of their quality.

If I find a setting that works, I tell the software to apply those settings to all of the videos from the source I'm currently working on and then leave my computer to crunch through them. That can take hours, and it makes my computer sound like it's preparing for liftoff, but it doesn’t require my involvement. I’ll often let it run overnight, then check it the next day to see if it came out ok. Sometimes I have to go back to the drawing board because I find parts of it didn’t come out well at all, but usually if the sample looked good then the full result also looks good.

Then I take my next video source (another set of videos recorded by a different person on different equipment) and repeat the process.

Color Corrections

This is all done in my video editing software. I’ve been using Adobe Premiere Pro. There’s free software out there that might be a better choice. I tried one early on and didn’t do very well with it, but I had no idea what I was doing. Video editing is new to me. So for me, the advantage of using a very popular software program was that there are tons of answers out there for just about every question I’ve ever thought to ask. Now that I have more experience, maybe I’ll give some of the free options another try. I have to decide whether or not to renew my current license at the end of the year and the price is pretty crazy, especially considering it's only for a limited period of time.

So… back to color corrections. My original attempts at this did not start out well. My first set of videos were the CHICON 2007 videos and those colors looked fine to me, so it never even occurred to me to adjust colors. When I moved on to Comic-Con 2008, I was confronted by a bunch of badly red-tinted and green-tinted videos and I thought, “Hmm, I wonder if this video editing software can do anything about that.”

And I tried. I drove myself absolutely mad. I’m not good with colors in general, I’d never worked with color adjustment settings before, and my eyes were going crazy trying to figure out if I was making things better or if I was just creating a new variety of bad. I put out a plea for opinions/advice here on Tumblr with some screen shots showing what I’d done so far, and sensitivehandsomeactionman came to my rescue. They took one of my screen shots and adjusted the colors in their own software to show me what could be achieved. And it looked amazing. Having that example to reference was a huge help. It was still a challenge for me, but I eventually got pretty close to what they did.

I’m not as good at it on my own, but I learned a lot through that process that I’ve been able to apply to my subsequent videos. I think every video I’ve worked with since then has had at least slightly wonky colors, so I've had a lot more practice. There are a bunch of complicated color-related settings in Adobe, but eventually I found the “Lumetri Color” panel which has a simpler set of set of controls consisting of a few sliders that let you adjust between two opposites until you find the right balance.

One slider is for Exposure and it basically changes the lighting from darker to lighter. Then there are two color-related sliders. One shifts between blue and orange and the other shifts between green and purple. I play around with those sliders until I think the colors look more natural, focusing mostly on their skin tone. Then if needed, I’ll adjust the Saturation slider a little to tone things down. For the most part, playing with those 4 sliders usually gets me something that I think looks decent.

Some videos are more difficult than others though, and I still consider this to be very much outside my wheelhouse. When I announce a new video on Tumblr, I usually display a comparison image of the original video versus the enhanced. Those help me see that the end result does in fact look at least a little better than the original. Sometimes after staring at the video for hours on end, I start to doubt.

If there are any wonky aspect ratios making the video look squished, that’s a really easy fix by just changing the scale percentages for that video in my video editing software.

All The Rest of the Work

All those things I just babbled about probably take up only 25% of the time I spend on each video. Less if the videos don't give me much trouble with upscaling or color adjusting. I could write another book about the rest of the process, but what I've already typed is probably overkill as it is so I'll try to be brief since this stuff isn't as much about the visuals anyway.

This is when I move on to the process of choosing which videos to display at which times and editing everything together into one (hopefully) cohesive video. I also try to choose the clearest audio that covers most of the panel. Audio changes are very noticeable, so I try to minimize them and use a single audio throughout the whole video as much as possible. Often the audio you’re hearing was from a different video than the one you’re seeing.

Once I have all the footage edited together, that’s when I start adding the subtitles and the extra content. These things are by far the most time-consuming part of the process, especially the subtitles.

I hope this answered your question. Thanks again for asking! If I didn't answer your question and if you want to risk having another book typed to you, let me know. 😅

[dapperbasil]

OC Smash or Pass

Got tagged for this by my lovely @prettycatgirlwinter, and she specifically came and requested our boy Zacharias.

(Art by @/wildbasil and @/mountainashfae)

I don't really have anyone to tag but if you want to say I tagged you because you want to do it feel free. ^_^

Info dump, pros, cons are all under the cut. As a warning I am not normal about him so it's a bit of a read.

Gender: Male (He/Him, Cis)

Sexuality: He doesn't quite get it but the proper word would be bisexual

Clan: Ventrue

Affiliation: Camarilla (until it isn't)

Apparent Age: 38

Actual Age: 151-160 (I only know the decade he was embraced. This is as of 2003)

Pros:

Objectively Hot. (Appearance 4 in VTM, where 3 is the upper limit of human capability)

Brilliant mind. He has multiple degrees and a special interest in law. Often times the smartest person in any given room. Could definitely win you any court case or get you out of police trouble.

Wealthy, and more than willing to use his wealth rather than horde it. It can always be earned back one way or another, after all.

Loyal to those he would consider himself close to. There's not very many that fit this descriptor, but if you do he will never betray or intentionally harm you.

In the future gains enough political power that little can stand in his way. Going from a well loved Prince to a powerful Baron does wonders for job security.

Will go all out for anything he views as important. Parties, deathnight gifts, dates. He does not do things in halves, its all or nothing.

Neutral:

Has Dominate and is more than willing to use it. For you or on you, both are options.

Wears glasses only because he knows he looks more attractive with them on.

Somewhat vanilla, mostly through lack of experience otherwise. Is willing to try most things if you ask though.

If you see him there's a Jimmy Buffet looking Malkavian probably not too far away. Will get offended if you are mean to the Malkavian.

Cons:

Stubborn as a brick. Blame his clan, blame his sire, blame him. He's very set in his ways, and no amount of attempted convincing will change this.

Competitive to a fault.

Good with social cues, but only the ones he wants to be good with. Either he doesn't notice or he just doesn't care.

OBLIVIOUS. It takes a lot for him to notice genuine romantic sentiment, where it either has to be entirely too obvious or is fully spelled out for him.

Terrible at romance. He will make an attempt for you, but don't be surprised if the most he can manage at first is compliments and gifts. He'll never run out of date ideas, but there's no telling if they'll actually end up good.

More willing to risk other's safety than he should be. Wounds heal, so long as you're still alive. Just don't die.

*Slaps him on the back* This Ventrue here can fit so much unresolved trauma in him.

So secretive its not even funny. He's not a closed book he's a book in a library in a vault under 24hr security surveillance. You'll only know what he wants you to know.

Obligatory Manipulative Ventrue line here.

Extremely possessive and jealous. He will shower you with attention, but makes it clear that you are his first and foremost. He doesn't want to lose anyone else he loves.

[bookofmirth]

hi! i have a kinda strange question about the bonus chapter with az, bryce, and nesta (so pls ignore this ask if you haven’t read it yet and don’t want to be spoiled!!) there’s a conversation in the chapter where bryce explains what bombs and guns are, and at first azriel responds that such horrible weapons shouldn’t exist, then later nesta says something along the lines that it doesn’t matter if terrible weapons exist bc people will hurt each other regardless. (hopefully i didn’t switch azriel and nesta’s opinions, i lost the source that i read the bonus chapter from lol). do you think this was intended to be a commentary on gun control/gun laws or am i reading wayyy too deep into things? that’s how it came off to me and i had mixed feelings on which side sjm was trying to portray as right since she ends with nesta’s statement and doesn’t really bring up the issue any further. because yes, people will try to find ways to hurt each other, but it’s definitely a lot harder without easy access to guns. or maybe it was meant to show the different worldviews that nesta and azriel have, more about their characterization than a political commentary. idk i’d love to know your thoughts!

Okay this is such an interesting question because on the one hand I actually did think the same thing? It was just too similar to arguments people make irl about guns for me to ignore. But on the other hand... I sorta blinked, and then moved on.

It was Nesta, here is the quote (from my Walmart copy that showed up today woohoo):

"And people would still kill each other, even without those weapons," Nesta said gravely. "The wicked will always find a way to hurt and harm."

Honestly, I don't think we are reading too much into it because Crescent City as a series has already been posing these sorts of questions. sjm has had these characters make some very clear statements on politics and disadvantaged groups (e.g. humans) and terrorism and what are "appropriate" ways to rebel in this series.

It's really important not to confuse an author with their characters. Just because she writes a character who says X, doesn't mean that she as an individual also believes X. So imo, trying to attribute a character's political stance to her personal stance is very slippery. I say that because I don't think we could take Nesta's statement and say that sjm is pro gun rights or something, you know? SJM didn't make this statement, her character did. Writing fiction is not an implicit condoning of the actions within that work of fiction.

The philosophical stances that these characters take on the conflicts within this series is one of the things that turns me off from it. It's inconsistent given the context, what we know certain characters experience simply because of their identity, and... I think I've mentioned this before? But hosab really doubled down on the idea of respectability politics, to me. Respectability politics, for anyone who doesn't know, is the idea that if people just acted polite, asked nicely, and stopped being rude or mean, then they would be granted all the rights they ask for. Which is absolutely ridiculous and a tool for control. But the series really has me questioning whether sjm thinks it's a legit demand to make of people who are being disadvantaged, given how the narrative treats the human rebellion (and any other fae or angels or whoever who tries to rebel against the Asteri). Like if the human rebels just stopped blowing things up, maybe the Asteri and Vanir wouldn't oppress them so hard, jeez!!!

That's a fancy way of saying Bryce's stance on discrimination annoys the fuck out of me. Not just hers, but many of the characters' stances.

That is only somewhat related to your question, but I hope you understand why it came to mind haha. While I do hesitate to attribute any specific political leanings to an author because of what they have written, I do think that is makes more sense to wonder in CC than in her other series, given that politics, discrimination and stratification are major themes of the series.

If you have thoughts about what I said, I am curious to hear them!

[obligatoryidolblog]

Bitter Hands (Kim Hongjoong - Ateez) Part 1

Genre: Series that includes darker themes, will include romance, future smut, paranormal themes, and angst

Pairing: Hongjoong/reader

Warnings: references to mental instability, arson, and abuse

Summary: Hongjoong, freshly on hiatus and off a personal breakup, decides to take a sabbatical in an out of the way place where no one knows him. He goes in hopes of finding himself again, but ends up instead finding a strange artist who calls herself Mama, and her assistant, a young woman with a deadly past and an aching desire to escape it.

A/N: This is a complete rewrite and rework of a series I started before.

Masterlist

Hongjoong walked up the treacherous hill, chewing his lip. He was enjoying his sabbatical in this small American town, but he was still antsy. Shaking his head, he looked at the shops he walked by. This was a tiny town, but full of artists and oddities in human form. There was just a touch of European flavor, with the added benefit that practically no one would know him. He just had to make sure no one found him here. He needed a break.

Pausing, he looked in a window, his attention caught by an easel with a canvas on it, angry slashes of black and red painted on it, softened by gentle sweeps of yellow. Stopping, he stood on the sidewalk, studying the painting for several minutes until he saw the little sign next to it. In elegant calligraphy, the sign stated that the shop offered classes in abstract painting twice a week. Pursing his lips and absently feeling for the phone in his pants pocket, he mused.

This could be a good distraction, a way to decompress. Wandering the shops and parks was nice, but he needed something to focus on. He’d already nearly cleaned out the local library. Taking a breath and nodding to himself, he opened the door, walking in. A tiny, older woman swathed in layers of material and smelling strongly of patchouli and weed looked up from her sketch pad with a smile.

“Hi there,” she said in a surprisingly youthful voice, setting aside her pad and charcoal, wiping her hand on one of her many folds of material. “What can I do for you?”

Dredging up his ‘I’m so charming’ smile, he forced himself to speak, “I was wondering about the classes. The painting ones?”

Her smile widened and she stood, walking over, reaching out to pet a cat on the counter beside Hongjoong that he hadn’t noticed.

“Have you ever painted before?” she asked, leaning in to kiss the top of the cat’s head.

Shrugging, Hongjoong wished she would just give him a flier or something. He hadn’t come to this town to talk, nor to get to know people. He came to get away.

“I have, but I’m no pro. I’m just looking to fill some time,” he said with an uncomfortable glance at the cat which suddenly sat up and stared straight at him.

The woman’s eyes turned to him, a spark lighting them, and she looked him over, then said, “I see. Yes, I think I see.”

Straightening, she walked around the counter, gathering her faded brown hair at the nape of her neck and twisting it into a knot. Her voluminous sleeves fell back, and Hongjoong’s eyes caught on several small star shaped tattoos scattered on the inside of the woman’s wrists. For some reason, it held him fascinated, until she dropped her arms to lean on the counter.

“My name is Aster,” she said, looking directly into his eyes for the first time. “But pretty much everyone calls me Mama.”

Reaching over, Aster plucked a piece of paper from a toppling pile shoved between a stack of books and a giant ceramic frog. She slid it across the counter in front of him, motioning for him to move closer.

“I think the beginner class would be perfect for you. We have one tonight, in fact,” she said, glancing up from the paper to see the discomfort on his face.

Hongjoong was suddenly unsure about this idea. A class would be filled with people. He’d be expected to interact. And this Aster seemed far too personable. She would never allow him to quietly slip in and out of class without speaking to anyone. He could feel the 'I’ll fix you’ vibe rolling off of her stronger than the pungent scent of weed.

After a moment of silence, Aster said, “How about this… you come in and check the class out tonight for free. Just come and see if it’s for you.”

With a girlish giggle, she added, “I promise, I won’t make you introduce yourself to the class or force you to stay.”

A grudging smile spread across Hongjoong’s face. Maybe he was being ridiculous. He hadn’t been hassled since he had come to this quiet little town, so why was he still determined to remain reclusive? Shaking his head at himself, he reached out to take the paper from Aster that gave all the details of the class.

“Alright,” he said, his bright smile shining once more before he turned to the door, “I’ll be here tonight.”

“I’m counting on it,” he heard her call as he exited the shop, reaching once more reflexively for his phone.

He folded the paper, slipping it into his pocket and refusing to try to decipher what her parting words meant.

Stop overthinking everything, Hongjoong.

Drawing in a deep breath, he looked around and decided that he was done with his wandering for the day. Pointing himself towards his hotel, he mused silently on his mental state, and his increasing wish to be simply left alone. As he walked and thought, his fingers traced the edge of the folded paper in his pocket, the other hand gripping his phone tightly.

***

Sighing and falling to the bed he had officially marked as off limits to the cleaning crew of the hotel, Hongjoong shoved a stack of books off the end with his foot, taking a certain joy in the series of thunks as the books hit the plush carpet. The painting class started in a half hour, and he was still arguing with himself about going. Rolling over, he scrubbed at his eyes and huffed. He wanted to go. So why wasn’t he already dressed and heading out?

Because he was scared. He knew it. He knew that he knew it. But fuck if he wanted to admit it. His head turned to the clothes he had set out carefully when he had arrived back to the hotel. They were passably clean, and didn’t have too many wrinkles. Eyes narrowing and lips pressing together, Hongjoong stood and grabbed the clothes, tossing them to the floor with the rest of his belongings. Turning briskly, he snatched up a rumpled t-shirt and tossed it to the bed. If he was going to go, he wasn’t going to go to the trouble of trying to look presentable.

He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. And he wouldn’t have anyone think he was trying.

***

Aster looked up as the door opened, and smiled. Of course he would be late. And dressed as messily as he could be. Shaking her head and motioning for him to take the empty stool in the back of the room, she turned back to the student she had been talking to.

“_____, it’s like I keep trying to tell you. You have to let go and let the emotions flow,” she said, patting you on the shoulder.

“Ugh, I am hopeless at this! Why do I keep coming here?” you replied, reaching up to shove your hair back and smearing paint on your face with the paintbrush in your hand in the process.

Chuckling, Aster said in a pointed tone, “Because you need to be here. You’ve got to open up some way, darlin’.”

Groaning, you turned a pleading look up at Aster and asked, “Isn’t there some other way, Mama? I suck at painting. Majorly.”

“Dearest, you do not suck. You just have to give in to the inner vision. Let it out,” Aster shot back, shaking her head.

Curling your lip in frustration, you muttered, “My inner vision is showing me getting up and tossing this canvas in the damn trash where it belongs.”

Throwing her hands up, Aster said, “Okay, so paint that.”

Turning from you, Aster headed for the young man in the back of the room, ignoring the grumbled curses behind her. The man was looking around, his booted foot tapping silently on the floor. So he was nervous. Why was he so withdrawn? Coming to sink to the stool beside him, she turned a friendly smile to him, not surprised to see him return it with a tight lipped grimace she was sure he meant to be a grin.

“I’m glad you came,” she whispered, turning to look out at the class, sensing that he didn’t like to be looked at too closely.

Shifting uncomfortably, he murmured, “I said I would.”

Nodding and looking down at the floor with an understanding smile, she said softly, “I know. But I can tell you have misgivings. I am glad you overcame them. You’d be a great addition to the class, I’m sure of it.”

She felt him stiffen next to her, and looked over at him. His mouth was set in a straight line as he continued to look across the students, all painting, some silent, some humming along to music only they could hear. She watched as his eyes pause on a few canvases, interest lighting them past the studied distance he was trying to keep.

Taking a shot, she asked in her quietest voice, “What’s holding you back?”

He straightened, finally turning to look at her, then slid his eyes away, saying in a tone of obviously forced indifference, “I just don’t want to socialize too much. I came to this town for a rest from people.”

Watching the emotions play across his profile, she nodded, saying, “Okay. But you don’t have to socialize to paint. Painting is personal. It comes from the soul. As you can see, no one here really talks much.”

Sighing, he looked down at the phone he had pulled from his pocket, then replied, “I know. I’m being foolish. But I just don’t want to be in the same room as other people, even.”

Aster’s brow wrinkled as she watched him clench his teeth. She was going to have him in this class if it killed her.

***

Hongjoong tried not to look over at the older woman watching him so closely. He wasn’t sure why he was telling her these things. He was doing exactly what he had been telling himself not to do. He was talking to her, telling her about himself. His eyes drifted back up, and he saw the reason for his disconcertion. He wouldn’t look at you again. Aster had been talking to you when he’d walked in, and his eyes had immediately been locked on you.

Dragging his gaze away, he forced himself to look at the canvas of one particularly accomplished man in the back row. The very last thing he needed was to be attracted to some woman. Distance. He needed distance from women. Inhaling deeply, he turned to look at Aster. The older woman was still studying him, and he shifted his gaze away again, uncomfortable. Hongjoong knew he was being irrational, but he simply felt that he needed… really needed time to just be alone and center himself, get to know himself again after going on hiatus.

So many expectations were mounting around him, plans and visions of a future that he was starting to question whether he really wanted. It was far past time for Hongjoong to withdraw, look inward, and reevaluate his life. Sighing, he picked at a loose thread on his crappy shorts, and made up his mind. He hated being indecisive.

“Alright, I’ll take the class,” he said, ignoring the delighted exclamation from Aster.

He was doing this for himself, to fill his mind with that white noise that took over when he was creating something, that sense of thinking of nothing and everything at once, without meaning to. He wasn’t doing this to please some aging hippie. Glancing up, he told himself firmly that he most certainly wasn’t doing it to see the young woman tapping the end of a paintbrush to her lower lip, if only once more.

***

Slowly striding back to the hotel, Hongjoong mentally cataloged the supplies he would be buying the next day for the painting class. It was a basic list, but he had to keep his mind occupied. He refused to dwell on the surge of all-too-familiar attraction he had felt upon seeing you in Aster’s classroom. Now was not the time for yet another broken heart. And isn’t that how it always ended? Hongjoong may be lucky in some areas, but love was certainly not one of them.

Love? Where had that word come from?

He had no right to even be thinking that word. You were some random woman he had seen once. Fuck. Glutton for punishment, that was him. Hongjoong seemed to love nothing more than to wallow in the pain of fucked up romantic idealization. With a sigh he shook his head at himself. He wasn’t going to do this. You would remain a stranger, and he would keep his mind on the artwork. No mooning over you from afar, no building up some dreamy version of you to place on a pedestal in his mind that would only topple the moment he actually got to know you.

And getting to know you was totally out of the question. He had gone far enough out on the getting-to-know limb with Aster. He really wanted to feel more uncomfortable about that than he did. This Aster, the self-styled Mama, was a danger to his solitude, and that solitude was key to his current tether to sanity. Focusing on the hotel rising before him, he shoved away memories. He wanted nothing to do with his past right now. That was behind him, and he was done with thinking about it.

The future was all that needed to concern him now. And to decide what path to take for that future, he needed to stop everything he was used to doing, change all his habits, immerse himself in a new situation. He needed to figure out just who the fuck he was and what the fuck he wanted. Snorting, he smiled down at his feet. All these years of hard work, years of thinking he knew it all, only to discover that he didn’t even know who he really was. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking sad.

Drawing himself up, he reasserted to himself that he wasn’t going to go down the same path. He’d only just signed up for a class. That was it. He would make damn sure that he didn’t get caught up in you.

Blinders, Hongjoong. Put on the blinders and ignore her. She isn’t even there.

With a groan, Hongjoong pulled open the door to the lobby of the hotel. He already knew better. He couldn’t lie to himself. Already he had thought of you the entire walk back to the hotel. Heading to the elevator, he chastised himself. As the doors slid open, disgorging several occupants, he waged a silent war with himself. How does one stop thinking of something when one has to think of it to tell themselves not to think of it? With a deeply felt sigh, he stepped into the small box of an elevator and pushed a button.

_____. Aster had called her _____. 

And damn it all, he was doing it again. A ding sounded and he stepped into the hallway and headed for his door, weighing the effects of ripping out his hair with a chuckle. One of his hands automatically raised, touching the ends of his ragged locks, and his smile faded as memories of the day he’d chopped it all off rose. No, nope, no way, he was not going to think of that day, or any of the ones before it. That was the past.

Forget it, Hongjoong. It’s over. New place, new adventures.

He opened the door to his room with a sigh, knowing that no matter what he told himself, his past wasn’t going away.

***

Holding a paintbrush up, Hongjoong squinted, studying the tip. Huffing out a sigh, he rolled his eyes, dropping the paintbrush back to the bin with a grimace. He couldn’t concentrate on this with that jackass over there going on and on. Who knew that the art supply store was the local hangout for pretentious assholes who wished to loudly regale each other with tales of their own genius?

Just get your shit and go.

Hongjoong pressed his lips together and looked down, trying his best to tune out the nearest pretentious jerkoff, who was loudly lamenting to his equally asinine friend of the large canvas his cat had used as a scratching post. Shaking his head slightly, he ran a finger over the tip of a velvety camel hair paintbrush.

Just as he was lifting it, he heard an inquiry in a voice that made him freeze. It was you. Turning slowly, Hongjoong gripped the paintbrush tightly. Yes, you were standing at the counter, asking the old man behind it about a special canvas you’d ordered.

“Sorry, _____,” the old man said, “I ordered it, but the guy who stretches the custom canvases hurt his arm. It’ll be at least a month, darlin’.”

Heaving a sigh, you looked down, and Hongjoong’s eyes traveled over your form as you slumped, saying softly, “Don’t worry about it, Teddy. I’m just going to ruin it anyways.”

Not realizing he was slowly inching closer, Hongjoong tried to pry his eyes from you, but was unable to as the old man squinted at you, asking in a gentle voice, “Honey, if you hate painting so much, why do you keep spending money on these canvases? You ain’t letting that Aster bully you into this, are you?”

“No, I just… have an idea that I can’t make work,” you answered, a haunted look entering your eyes that tugged at Hongjoong’s heart. “If I could just paint like I want… And Teddy, you know Mama is trying to help me.”

Hongjoong finally realized he was openly staring and sidling closer, and ducked behind a shelf, listening and watching through the hanging tubes of paint.

“I know, honey, but you have to want her brand of help,” Teddy said, raising an eyebrow. “Now, normally I would be all for letting your bottled-up mess out on a canvas, but you got a lot more to spill out than most of us do.”

Snorting and shaking your head, turning to the door, you said, “Which is why I need a big canvas. Gimmie a call when it gets in, Teddy. And give Jim a kiss for me.”

Hongjoong found that he could breathe normally again when the door closed behind you, the wind chimes hanging from it tinkling merrily. Jerking his eyes back to Teddy, he watched the old man shake his head and sigh deeply. Mind racing with the need to know more, all thoughts of distancing himself lost in the rush of seeing you again, hearing you speak, he quickly gathered up his supplies, no longer being as picky about brushes. Stumbling forward, he dumped the jumble in his arms onto the counter and looked up at Teddy.

The old man smiled at him, reaching for the first tube of paint and bringing it to the scanner, saying, “Well, you must have quite a project planned.”

Licking his dry lips, Hongjoong said in rather a rush, “No, actually I am taking a class from a local lady. Aster. I think I just saw a lady who is in the class in here…”

He trailed off as the man scanned in more items, holding his breath to see if he would offer any information.

“Oh, yeah, _____ is one of Aster’s students. Aster is a hell of a teacher, son. Just be sure that she is only out to teach you painting, and not some life lesson,” Teddy said with a wry chuckle. “That woman thinks it’s her life mission to fix everyone she meets, whether they want her to or not.”

Grinning, Hongjoong replied, “Yeah, I kind of got that vibe. Is she trying to fix _____, too?”

Looking up from the mixing tray he was trying to find the barcode on, Teddy studied Hongjoong’s face for a minute, then shook his head, saying with a gentle smile, “Yeah she is. _____’s a pretty girl, son, but she’s got a lot to straighten out.”

Lifting a corner of his mouth apologetically, Hongjoong replied, “Don’t we all?”

Pressing a button and dropping the last paintbrush in the bag, Teddy raised an eyebrow, saying, “Son, take my advice and forget _____.”

Freezing for a moment, Hongjoong looked at the old man, then sighed, slumping and reaching for his wallet, muttering, “I’ve been trying to tell myself to do that since yesterday.”

***

Walking from student to student, Aster gave them each as much attention as she could, but she was acutely aware of the huffs and mumbled curses from the back of the room. Glancing up, she watched you lift a paintbrush, load it with color, make a sweep, grimace, curse, drop the paintbrush then lift another and start all over again. A tiny smile broke as she turned her eyes to the man beside you, who was watching you just as secretly and attentively. It was probably a bad idea to sit Hongjoong next to you, but Aster just had a feeling…

The entire class jumped and turned as you slashed too hard at the canvas, knocking over the container of paint thinner beside you, yelping, “Son of a bitch!”

Aster straightened and headed for you, smiling and shaking her head. You would never get past all of this if you kept holding back.

“Sweetie, just calm down,” Aster said, laying a hand on your shoulder, stilling you and shooting a look at the rest of the class that told them all to turn around and get back to their canvases.

Luckily, most of the class knew you. Hell, most of the town did, and most of them understood all too well your moods.

“Dammit, Mama, this is just not working,” you said, raising a paint covered hand to run through your hair. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be getting out of this besides a whole hell of a lot of frustration.”

Handing you napkins to wipe up the spill, Aster gave you a pointed look, saying softly, “Yes, you do know. One of these days you are going to crack wide open, and you’ll thank me for having an outlet for it.”

***

Hongjoong argued with himself mentally, but in the end he knew what part would win out. Dropping his paintbrush, he slid off his stool and knelt beside your muttering form, reaching out for more of the napkins.

Looking up in surprise, you paused, then said uncomfortably, “Thanks.”

He simply smiled tightly and nodded, helping you clean up the mess. What was he doing? Why was he getting close to you? Your scent was going to drive him mad. This was the stupidest thing he’d done… well, today, at least. Silently, you both wiped up the last bits of paint thinner, and then walked to the trash can in the corner, throwing the wet napkins in it.

You turned to the large container of thinner in the back of the room, but Hongjoong lifted it for you, saying in a tiny voice, “Allow me.”

Cutting an awkward look up at him, you looked back down at the cup in your hand, then held it out silently for him. He began to pour, then sat the large container down, moving back to his stool, followed by you to yours. He could feel you glancing at him, and forced himself to focus on the canvas before him that he was slowly and methodically filling with slashes of green.

Don’t look, Hongjoong. She’s trouble. You are here to let your own shit out, not get caught up in hers, too. Just paint.

But of course, he didn’t listen to himself. He couldn’t take it anymore, turning his head to find you scowling pensively at him, as he had observed you doing to your canvas throughout most of the class. At least you weren’t cursing at him, he supposed.

“What sort of accent is that supposed to be?” you finally asked.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, confusion washing over him. You had just spoken to him… to ask about his accent?

“Well, you obviously aren’t from around here,” you huffed, gesturing with the paintbrush in your hand. “So where is your accent from?”

Giving you another tight, fast smile, he replied, “Not around here.”

With that he turned back to his canvas, his heart racing as he heard you pause then huff. Well, you were cursing him now. His eyes were glued to his work, but his mind was now a million miles away. Why would you be asking him questions? Was it polite conversation because he’d helped you? Swallowing thickly, he told himself that whatever it was, it was dangerous. He wasn’t proud that he had offended you with his short reply, but he was proud that he’d managed to control himself.

You get to know her any more and you’ll regret it, Hongjoong. It’s time to put an end to this crush. Right now. She can do you no good. None of them ever do.

Chewing his lower lip, he loaded another brush with a deep eggplant color and set back to work, softening the green slashes with gentle sweeps and caresses of the purple. This is what he was here for. Not to lose his head over another woman who would only cause him more grief.

***

“She’s killed people.”

Hongjoong froze, his hand wrapped around the cell phone in his pocket, his foot halfway out the door. Blinking, he turned to find Aster cleaning up after the class, all of whom had already left. You had stormed out, and Hongjoong had busied himself with carefully putting away his canvas in order to avoid you. But now, as he was the last one to leave, Aster bursts out with this… random declaration?

“What?” he asked, his face wrinkling in confusion.

Sighing and setting down a palette, her back to him, Aster looked to the floor and repeated, “She’s killed people.”

“Um… who has?” he said slowly, wondering vaguely if this was some joke.

Aster shook her head, then turned, motioning for him to come sit. For a moment he merely looked at her, debating. Hongjoong knew that this discussion was only going to pull him further from his promise to himself to remain reclusive, but damn the woman, she certainly knew how to get someone’s attention. Why even bother fighting with himself? Of course he was going over there and talking to the self-titled ‘Mama.’ Wasn’t it so much easier to distract himself from himself that way? Who needed this self-exploration?

Oh yeah, you do, Hongjoong.

With a grimace Hongjoong went with the foregone conclusion and made his way over to the stool Aster had motioned for him to take. She looked at him with a serious expression, one that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This change in her usual warm nature was creeping him out in a big way. Which gave him pause. How had he come to know enough about this woman to know when she was acting funny?

Good job, Hongjoong, you really kept your distance, didn’t you?

As if she could read his thoughts, and hell, he would almost believe this old hippie could read minds, she smiled softly and sat next to him, saying, “You’ll hear the story sooner or later, whether you want to or not. It’s practically legend in this town. But legends get twisted and embellished, so I figure you should hear it from a reliable source.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that logic. As good as he was getting at talking to people, he’d probably hear every story the town had. Pushing away the mental chastising, he nodded, wanting her to go on.

Turning her eyes to the floor once more, Aster folded her hands over the small convex of her stomach and said, “This may be a quaint tourist town, but it’s still the south. There are certain things that happen in these woods… well, let’s just say that people here aren’t always quite… right.”

Raising an eyebrow, Hongjoong mentally snorted. That was putting it mildly. He’d seen entire families without a mouthful of teeth between them all. He’d seen a young boy with blank eyes pick up roadkill from the winding two-lane road on the outskirts of town and hug it. The town itself was charming, but the surrounding areas? Frightening.

“Well,” Aster went on, her brows wrinkling as she studied a paint drop on the floor, “_____ was raised in a hell of a home. Her family did the best they could, but money is scarce around here, and it was even scarcer in her home.”

So, she was talking about you. Hongjoong’s heart sped, and he leaned forward slightly. He’d been waiting for someone, anyone to just fucking tell him why everyone seemed to treat you with kid gloves.

“They didn’t have a heater, so they used the fireplace all the time,” Aster said, glancing over at him, then focusing on the paint drop once more. “I guess that’s where she got it. _____ was always a firebug. Damn near set her house on fire more times than I can count.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Hongjoong realized that he wasn’t breathing. He was intent upon the story, all thoughts of keeping to himself washed away in the soft ebb and flow of Aster’s words.

“Well, soon she was on to other people’s houses. They always caught her pretty fast, but no one ever tried to help her,” Aster said, a touch of anger lighting her voice. “If someone had taken a damn interest in the poor kid…”

Silently, Hongjoong urged Aster to go on. But she seemed to have forgotten that Hongjoong was there. For a long moment she glared at the paint drop on the floor, then shook herself.

“Either way, it only progressed, and when she was sixteen, she set fire to a house,” Aster said, the anger draining from her, leaving her voice quiet and hollow. “Ola May Hawkins. She was eighty-four when _____ set her house on fire. She couldn’t move very fast and… well, the firefighters got there too late. Freddy Tomlinson, one of the volunteer firefighters was in the house trying to get Ola May out… it collapsed.”

Hongjoong winced, seeing it all as she spoke in that soft, steady voice. His past, his poor, lamentable past that he was running so far and so fast from… it seemed paltry now. How selfish and narrow minded of him to think that he’d had it so tough. And how stupid of him that it would take the image of a frail, white haired woman and a young man going up in flames to make him see that he was being so self centered.

Turning to pin Hongjoong with her sharp eyes, Aster said, “_____ was in jail until she was twenty one. They didn’t want to let her out, but they had to. She went to a lot of therapy, though she swears none of it helped. She has been bottling up the pain at what she did for three years now. She’s in denial so deep that she simply refuses to acknowledge that period of her life existed. She needs help, Hongjoong. And I think you could help her.”

Her last words broke the spell her voice had held him under. She wanted him to help you? Hell, he could hardly help himself.

Feeling the shock spread across his face, he slowly stood up, saying, “Look, it’s a sad story. And I admit I was interested in _____. But I can’t help anyone. I am just here to get away from everything. I am only in this class to paint.”

Hongjoong felt his hackles raise as Aster stood too, slowly facing him, once more studying him in that severe way. He was not going to play along with her schemes. He had warned himself about getting to know more about you just for this reason. If he knew anything, he knew that when he was mysteriously attracted to a woman, she had to have some major fuck up, some screw loose. It was just his bad damn luck. The worst possible prospect in miles would be the woman he automatically wanted.

Turning his attention back to Aster, he felt his skin prickle as she narrowed her eyes at him, then said, “Hongjoong, you can’t run from yourself, and you can’t run from where the gods want you to go.”

There was a pause, and Hongjoong’s heart thudded in his chest. What the fuck did that mean? Backing up a step, he quieted his mind, shouting a million different meanings for her words. Damn his verbose brain. Not every fucking thing in the world was deep and layered. Sometimes calling a duck a duck simply meant it was a duck. Now, if he could only convince himself of that.

Raising her finger to wave it in front of his nose, Aster said in a final tone, “Son, one of these days you are going to have to face things dead on, instead of hiding in that head of yours. You can’t think and dream your life away.”

And that was the most terrifying thing he’d heard yet.

***

Stepping outside, taking a deep breath of the clean air, Hongjoong tried to calm himself. Aster’s words still rang in his ears, even after she had shaken her head in disgust at him and told him to go on and go. The last thing he wanted was her voice of reason. Fumbling his phone from his pocket, he leaned against the building, unlocking the phone, the light of his screen bursting through the dark night. Hongjoong looked at the text message he kept open, allowing the pain to dig deeper into his heart, then jerked, quickly extinguishing the light of the screen.

You stepped out of the shadows, your eyes glued to the phone in his hand. Hongjoong quickly stuffed it back in his pocket, and you finally looked up at him. Your eyes turned cold once more, and he stared unknowingly, subconsciously trying to find what it was that drew him to you so.

“What are you doing still here?” you asked, crossing your arms and striding closer.

Exhaling a hard breath, Hongjoong replied, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you retorted, “That’s none of your business.”

Trying to regain his tenuous mental stability, Hongjoong straightened, cocking an eyebrow and shrugging, saying, “Same to you then.”

Turning his back, he headed for his hotel, feeling your eyes boring into him. This made no difference. Your story was sad, yeah. And you were pretty enough. But he had his own life to attend to, no matter how much smaller his troubles seemed by comparison. You weren’t worth the heartbreak that always came of his crushes.

But just as he was leaving your earshot, you said softly, “She told you, didn’t she?”

Hongjoong’s feet stopped, and he cursed silently to himself. These blasted women knew exactly what to say to stop him in his tracks.

Without allowing you the victory of having him turn to look at you, he said casually, “Yeah.”

But he had to turn as he heard your voice, smaller and devoid of the rancor he’d thus far heard it filled with, “Dammit. She tells everyone. Just for once I’d like to get to know a person without having them know my life story first.”

Laughter rang out, and Hongjoong realized vaguely that it was coming from him. Your words… they were words he himself had said, and not long before his escape from Korea to this American town. It was too much, too coincidental. Damn Aster and damn her words. You jerked your head up to look at him, your scowl returning once more.

“You think it’s funny?” you hissed.

It was all Hongjoong could do to reply. The universe just loved to throw him curve balls, didn’t it? Every time he thought he was in control…

“No. It’s not funny at all,” he choked out, calming his laughter. “Not in the least. I’m laughing because it’s all I can do now. Come, have a coffee with me.”

***

Hongjoong studied you as you sat across from him, dissecting your features, trying to determine what it was that drew him so inexorably to you. You were attractive, certainly. But no more or less so than many women he knew. Your strides were long and your hands twisted together nervously as you had cut your eyes at him while you both had walked along the dark sidewalk to the one diner he had found in this damn town with decent coffee. When you had slid into the booth in the back of the diner and ordered your coffee, he had begun his study of your face, and you had in turn taken up a great interest in your own chewed fingernails as they drummed on the table.

Finally you muttered, “You don’t have to stare.”

Great, Hongjoong, you’re freaking her out. Smooth.

Chuckling bitterly to himself, he nodded to the waitress who set down your coffee and then replied, “Sorry. Guess I’m not the best at conversation.”

Cocking an eyebrow up at him, you gave him a crooked smile and shot back, “I’ve noticed. You gonna tell me where that accent is from now? Or you gonna make me guess?”

Damn it, you were cute, and he simply couldn’t figure out why. What was it about this shadow of a woman that woke the part of him he was here specifically to kill?

Sighing, he figured he may as well get the part he was dreading out of the way. “I’m from Korea. I am a musician there. Well, kind of.”

He knew he was rambling but he just wanted the part where you realize that he’s famous out of the way.

Famous. Fucking hell, Hongjoong, get the fuck over yourself. Famous. Dear god, how disgusting.

Your eyebrows drew together and you cocked your head to the side as you studied him, and he waited for you to recognize him, his eyes meeting yours in defeat. If there was one thing he hated most about being an idol, it was these moments, the sudden shift in energy as people realized who he was. He wasn’t sure he could ever get used to it. He was simple Hongjoong, the kid who was a hyper nerd, who wrote too much music in the middle of the night and cared too deeply too quickly. He wasn’t a fucking idol. He was a lost kid.

“Korea, huh?” you asked and his breath stilled as he waited for your next words. “Guess I don’t know much about music outside of the old stuff I’ve always listened to. What’s your band’s name?”

Breath releasing in a puff, he chuckled for a moment. Thank god for the Middle of Nowhere. “It’s called Ateez. We aren’t too well known, I guess.”

You shrugged and gave him a wry smile, sipping your coffee and muttering, “Well, just because I don’t know you doesn’t mean much. As you can guess, I’m fairly well sheltered here.”

Your expression turned bitter and he leaned forward, watching your gaze become distant. Quickly, he spoke, “Well, honestly, I kind of came here because I thought no one would know me. I needed a break from the world.”

Snickering, you met his eyes once more and shot back, “Well then you came to the right place. This town is basically an alternate dimension, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

You began to drum your fingers once more, watching them closely as you went on, your brows drawing together again, “Everyone here knows everyone else, and everyone knows everyone else’s business.” You glanced up and your voice had a soft hint of desperate wistfulness as you murmured, “Do you know what I’d give to be able to walk around this town and not have everyone know exactly who I am?”

For a moment, he sat in silence, then shook his head, laughing wryly again, then saying to your look of consternation, “I do. I came here exactly for that feeling. I came to escape. I told myself I wouldn’t talk to a single person and I’d enjoy the fuck out of it.”

You blinked for a moment at his candid reply, then shyly looked down into your cup of coffee and muttered, “Well, looks like that didn’t happen.”

Snorting, he took another sip of his coffee and raised a brow at you, nodding his assent. It hadn’t gone according to plan in any way at all. Hongjoong was supposed to be mending himself and his broken heart and instead he was sitting across from you, dreaming of reaching out and tucking the lock of hair that was hanging in your face behind your ear.

You’re a damn fool, Hongjoong. A complete idiot. This is not going to get you anywhere but in the same position the last one left you in.

Sighing and shaking your head, you set your cup down, met his eyes, and asked, “So how did Mama rope you into her class? If you were here to be a hermit, you sure chose the wrong woman to take a class from.”

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered, setting his empty cup to the table and motioning to the waitress for a refill before turning back to meet your eyes. “I just noticed her sign in the window and decided it looked like fun. Guess she should add to her advertisements that she also teaches life lessons.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed your hair back, looking to the heavens and moaning, “Tries to, at least. I still don’t know how the hell painting is supposed to help me not be crazy.”

Eyes trailing the curve of your exposed neck, Hongjoong replied absently, “You don’t seem crazy to me. Just frustrated.”

Sighing, you met his eyes again and he was startled to find yours sad and unguarded as you said, “Nice of you to say so.”

You shook your head, then hitched up a smile that had Hongjoong’s heart thudding in his chest as you added, “But then, you can’t be entirely sane yourself. You leave a big city to come hide out here in this hellhole. What’s your story, mister musician? What’s Mama trying to fix on you?”

Hongjoong huffed out a dark laugh and shook his head. Was he really going to do this? Was he going to sit here with this damn woman who set fires and destroyed canvases and tell you about how he felt like a stranger in his own skin? How the woman he thought was the love of his life had left him? How he felt like an impostor, a fake? How every time he stepped on a stage and bared his soul he also shook with the fear that the world would truly see him?

Yep. I’m doing this. Because I’m a weak fool and she’s so damn pretty in this cheap fluorescent light.

Leaning back, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I am a fuck up. I love singing and dancing but I am terrified of failing everyone. Meeting fans scares the shit out of me because I feel like at any minute they’ll realize that I’m just some loser who lucked into an amazing career. My ex decided that loving me when I wasn’t active in a popular group was too hard for her, so she just wasn’t going to do it at all anymore. I’m 24 and I still feel like a dumbass kid fumbling through life.”

Hongjoong closed his mouth on the flow of words that tumbled from him, and slid his eyes to the table as he finished lamely, “Guess I’m not entirely qualified to talk on sanity, huh?”

A smaller hand entered his line of sight and gripped his own fisted hand. He looked up quickly, to find you smiling gently at him, turning his insides to mush before you intoned, “No. You’re batshit crazy, too.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Hongjoong broke into laughter, joined by you as you patted his hand and pulled away, leaving a tingling warmth. He watched you laugh, and the inner voice of warning was muffled fully. Damn it all, you were cute and he was unable to stop himself. He liked you.

Of course. You knew this was coming. It’s your MO, right? Distract yourself in any way you can, right ?

Hongjoong’s internal chastisement was forcibly quieted, and he leaned forward, smiling at you fondly, and said, “Yep. Batshit crazy.”

***

You hunched your back against the wind, pulling your jacket tighter around you. As you looked back, you swallowed hard as the light of Hongjoong’s cell phone lit his face once more as he walked away from the diner. Taking a deep breath, you slowed your heart rate and took in the lean square of his shoulders as he headed off in the opposite direction.

Oh girl, you got it bad. Just remember he’s not sticking around for long, and anyways he’s some sort of musical big shot. Calm your panties, honey.

But you knew that there would be no calming. You had already agreed to meet him the following day at the little classroom behind Mama’s shop. This was a bad decision and you knew it, but as you watched the beautiful man stride away, his blue hair disappearing into the night… well, you knew it was already too late to look back. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you turned, shaking your head and heading towards home.

Hongjoong. Fucking pretty boy Hongjoong. Just my dumb ass luck. And just like me to instantly want to jump his bones. _____, you’re a complete jackass.

As you walked, your surroundings fled before the memories rushing over you, and your feet went on autopilot as you gave in.

***

You had never been the type to notice men or their attempts to garner your affection. You existed in a constant state of distraction, your mind always filled with the crackle and pop of fiery, tormented memory. But the fire was doused the moment Ed Lawrence had pulled into town in a beat up pickup truck and had given you a crooked smile.

Ed was everything you hadn’t needed. Fast with his words and even faster with his hands, he’d taken your virginity within a week and even faster had drowned out the memories of what you had done and the place they’d locked you up afterwards. The world was rosy and it was shaped like a slick man with passionate kisses and a penchant for illegal money making. You had known that Ed sold drugs, but what did that matter in the face of his ability to make you completely forget all the horrible things in your past?

You never partook in the shit Ed sold. Why would you need to? You were high on love and in a haze of lust. Nothing mattered but your next hit of Ed. Until the “hit” became literal. The first time Ed had hit you, he was drunk and you had just asked him to come to bed. His fist had struck your jaw before you even caught the movement. Full force, he knocked you back, the flames leaping to life again, cracking, popping, hissing angrily as you tried to see the seething man above you.

“I’ll come to bed when I’m fucking ready, you clingy bitch,” the words had been muted and filtered by the roaring inferno inside of you, and you knew then that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d hurt you, but you also knew that you would allow him to hurt you over and over if only he would silence the flames in your mind once more. A meek apology had found its way beyond your lips and you had spent your first night alone in bed crying since you’d met Ed.

It took a year for you to finally break your addiction, and it was all thanks to Mama. The old hippie was a nosy, prying gossip, but you could only love her for it. Mama’s nosiness had saved your life, after all. You had found legitimate work to support Ed’s ever-growing alcohol habit, and it just happened to be in Mama’s shop, cleaning and helping the old woman with her paperwork. You knew Mama had an inkling about what was going on; it seemed the woman always knew. Be it intuition or the “knowing” certain women in the damp wilds of the south seemed to have bred into them, Mama picked up pretty fast. The day that you came to work with a poorly concealed black eye was the final straw.

Setting aside her joint, Mama pointed to the stool across from her and said, “Young lady, sit your ass down.”

You blinked at the aggressive words from the inveterate pacifist, then slowly sank to the stool.

“Look, _____, I know that you have been trying to skirt around this for a while, but I can’t sit back and watch this anymore. Do you need help leaving him? Are you scared?”

Your breath had caught in your throat, your boundaries trampled by the old woman swathed in scarves and smoke across from you.

Finally, you opened your mouth, “I … I guess I love him. He helps me.”

Raising an eyebrow, Mama gestured to your eye and drawled, “Darlin’, that brand of help ain’t no good for anyone. Now why don’t you tell me the real situation. You know I care for you, honey, I just can’t stand to see you done like this.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words forced their way through the lump in your throat, as if Mama was pulling them from you like a fisherman reeling in a large catch. You told Mama all of it, how he quieted the raging fire within you, how you were the one using him, how you would take any abuse to shut away the burning memories that only he could turn the lock on.

The words died, and you opened your eyes, only then realizing that you had screwed them shut as the words poured forth. Your gaze met Mama’s, and you took a shaky breath at the intense look on the normally gentle face of the woman before you. Silence stretched, and you felt your blood pressure steadily rise until finally Mama spoke.

Narrowing her eyes, she inhaled sharply, then her eyes bored into yours, feeling as if she were speaking the words straight to your very soul, commanding it. “Okay, _____. This is what we’re gonna do. First, you’re leaving that piece of shit. You are gonna move in here. You can stay in the loft above the studio. Secondly, you’re gonna find another way of coping, darlin’. No more hiding. No more trying to beat this pain out of your head, literally or figuratively.”

You blinked, trying to take in Mama’s rapid-fire words, then asked softly, “How? What can I do? Mama, I can’t…,” your voice trembled and you wet your lips, steeling yourself and clamping down on the flames springing to life in your mind, “I can’t let this out. I only know one way and I can’t… I can’t.”

Mama’s face lit, almost suffused with a preternatural light, as she leaned in to say in a confident whisper, “Honey, you’re gonna paint it out.”

***

You huffed out a chiding laugh as you walked down the street, shoving away the memories.

Paint it out. Well that was a damn bust.

You would be forever grateful to Mama for getting you away from Ed. But her plan of having you paint out all the pain and anger and pure fucking regret that you felt was simply not going to happen. Teeth gritting, you once more turned to the vision in your mind that you couldn’t for the life of you put on canvas. Brows furrowing, you crammed your hands in your pockets and shoved that thought away, hearing the lick of flames at the corner of your mind.

Forget that. Let’s think about Hongjoong, instead, right? That’s how you deal with things, isn’t it, _____? You focus on someone else. Someone like this beautiful man with a mane of blue hair that perfectly captured the light in just the way to distract you from your canvas all evening. He was beautiful. Radiant. And he knew about you and he still sat in that booth across from you and laughed at your shitty jokes. Damn girl. You’re one hundred percent a fool.

Sighing heavily, you turned to the stairway that led up the back of Mama’s studio and headed in to destroy another canvas, this time with piercing spots of deep honeyed brown surrounded by flashing strikes of blue.

***

Hongjoong took a heavy breath as his shoes crunched through the grass in front of his hotel. This evening had certainly not gone as planned and he ran his parting words over and over in his head.

“See you tomorrow, at the studio?”

Fucking hell, Hongjoong, you come here to find yourself and you pounce on the first pretty distraction that crosses your path. And she just happens to be some sort of pyro. You really know how to pick ‘em, don’t you? First Eunmi and her aspirations, and now this. Jesus, you’re even comparing Eunmi and _____ now. Cool it, dumbass.

Groaning, Hongjoong rolled his eyes, ignoring his internal monologue and putting his phone away as he reached the doors to the hotel. This wasn’t what he had planned but fuck it. You had caught his attention and he had already slid down the path towards getting to know you close enough to truly like you. Pyro or not, you were funny, and you were pretty and you didn’t give a shit whether his latest album flopped or whether his own insecurities ruined his career or whether he made a fortune off his group.

You just gave him that quixotic smile and made fun of the way he drank his coffee. You studied him like you were memorizing his face, and not to capitalize off it, but because you wanted to see beyond it. You’d asked so many questions, dodging all the ones he’d volleyed back at you. Hongjoong had been as elusive as he could, not because he wanted his privacy as he would in an interview, but because he didn’t want you to see what a broken, sad fool he was inside.

Well, she’s gonna find out soon enough, as much time as you seem to be wanting to spend with her, genius. You can’t hide the fact that you’re a fucked up sack of crap for long, Hongjoong.

“Oh shut up,” he mumbled to himself, opening the door to his room and flinging himself to the bed.

Wherever this led, whatever messed up crap it ended up bringing him, Hongjoong was just going to go with this. He could do nothing else. You were too enticing, you called to a part of him that he thought Eunmi had taken with her. Rolling over to unlace his shoes, he felt a smile curl the edges of his lips. He’d see you tomorrow.

Oh lord, you’re a goner, Hongjoong.

He was, and he couldn’t make himself care anymore.

[kamreadsandrecs]

Title: Singer Distance

Author: Ethan Chatagnier

Genre/s: literary fiction, historical, science fiction

Content/Trigger Warning/s: parental abandonment

Summary (from author's website): The odds of the planet next door hosting intelligent life are―that’s not luck. That’s a miracle. It means something.

In December 1960, Crystal Singer, her boyfriend Rick, and three other MIT grad students take a cross-country road trip from Boston to Arizona to paint a message in the desert. Mars has been silent for thirty years, since the last time Earth solved one of the mathematical proofs the Martian civilization carved onto its surface. The latest proof, which seems to assert contradictory truths about distance, has resisted human understanding for decades. Crystal thinks she’s solved it, and Rick is intent on putting her answer to the test―if he can keep her from cracking under the pressure on the way. But Crystal’s disappearance after the experiment will set him on a different path than he expected, forever changing the distance between them.

Filled with mystery and wonder, Ethan Chatagnier’s Singer Distance is a novel about ambition, loneliness, friendship, exploration, and love―about how far we’re willing to go to communicate with a distant civilization, and the great lengths we’ll travel to connect with each other here on Earth.

Buy Here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/singer-distance-ethan-chatagnier/18754404

Spoiler-Free Review: Gosh but I wish this book had been able to live up to what it was trying to do. I can see it, can almost smell it, tbh, but DAMN does it not follow through.

Pros: the language is really genuinely lovely. The narrator’s voice isn’t DISTINCT, but it’s quite lovely regardless. The author certainly knows how to paint images, and string them together in a way that makes for lovely reading. I got to hand that to them.

I’ve also got to hand to them the concept behind this novel. While the idea of communicating with aliens isn’t a new one, I kind of liked the spin presented in this book: pre-radio, using Earth’s surface like a giant signboard to talk to the aliens living on another planet who happen to communicate in a similar way. It actually makes a certain kind of sense, though the environmental damage is staggering (and is briefly touched upon in the novel).

What I DIDN’T entirely like about this novel was it felt so navel-gazey in an almost self-indulgent way. I liked the attempt to explore the concepts of distance - not just between planets, but between people, and between the self and memory. It also attempts to tackle the concepts of wonder and awe and curiosity, All interesting, of course, but there’s a meandering feel to the plot that feels like the long road trips that are described in the first and latter third: like blank spaces between origin and destination. The plot, such as it is, consists of all these musings and ideas but they aren’t held together by, you know, ACTUAL PLOT.

Another thing that’s unfortunate about this novel is how the female characters get lost in all that navel-gazing. At a certain point I found myself wishing that this story was being narrated by one of the female characters instead; maybe then there’d be a bit more dimension and depth to this book than the narrator was providing.

And then there’s the ending. Gosh, but that ending landed about as well as an untrained person trying to imitate Simone Biles and just. Failing utterly. I can see where it’s trying to go, I can see what it’s trying to do given everything that came before it, but it plopped right into the middle of a cliche and I was reading that last line going: “That’s it? THAT’S IT?!” Honestly disappointing.

Overall, this is a novel that has Ambitions, I guess, and tries to get there with truly lovely language that’s quite pleasant to read, but damn does it get lost on the way - and, worse, that ending does NOT stick the landing. YMMV I guess, but I’m largely disappointed by this.

Rating: two equations

[margridarnauds]

You're so right about AI being bland and how everyone should use it instead of imagining what it is and isn't but I cannot touch ChatGPT with a ten foot pole after spending months next to the only man I Literally Cannot Stand at work use it for everything from Listing Pros And Cons Of Living In The City For A Conversation I'm Having In Person Right Now all the way to This Is Basically A Search Engine, Right? I've Never Heard of Cthulu Before, I'll Ask ChatGPT Who Came Up With It And What The Stories He Wrote Are.

Oh yeah, absolutely!

Like, my take on ChatGPT is just...it isn't glamorous, one way or another. But the people who borderline worship it are extremely annoying specifically *because* it isn't glamorous. I can at least get the fear-mongering more, especially since we DO have this phenomenon where something doesn't have to be *good*, it just needs to be *convincing* for people to use it over human beings. (See: Google translate.) I know that people are absolutely using it to, say, write books and stuff. (I think that a lot of the concerns re: fanfic don't...hold up as much as people think, like this so called wave of people plugging in hundreds of fanfics, just because anyone who's used ChatGPT knows there's a character limit. It could be they're using another one, but I think that a lot of people just enjoy stoking fandom's anxieties over this sort of thing.)

Basically my approach isn't "use ChatGPT religiously" or even "like ChatGPT"; it's more..."realistically understand what it is and isn't so you can frame your criticisms correctly instead of relying on a bunch of Tumblr posts by people who have ALSO never used it."

Tl;dr: You're valid. AI bros still annoying.

And now for my Hall of Fame (using things from the last...month or so instead of farther back because it HAS gotten slightly better):

Top female Celticists:

(1) Miranda Aldhouse-Green: Female Celticist, definitely doesn't deserve to be at the top given that she isn't...really...widely respected...in the field. Like, I'm not going to say more because we're talking about currently living scholars, but...there are others who deserve top prize.

(2) Dáithí Ó gÓgáin - Famously not a female Celticist.

(3) Barry Cunliffe, decidedly not a female Celticist.

(4) Anne Ross, see Aldhouse-Green. (Also...that book....is not highly regarded in the field.)

(5) Máire Herbert - FINALLY a female Celticist who's also widely respected and whose work holds up strongly. I sure hope that this isn't the only time this hap-oh, wait.

(6) Proinsias Mac Cana - Not a female Celticist.

RIP to Nerys Patterson, Robin Chapman-Stacey, Catherine McKenna, Charlene Eska, Rachel Bromwich, Cecile O'Rahilly, Elizabeth Gray, Maud Joynt, Natasha Sumner, Elizabeth Boyle, Ranke de Vries, Katherine Simms, etc. etc. etc. Barry Cunliffe is a more important female Celticist than them.

Philippe Égalité voting for the execution of Marie Antoinette...which is amazing when you consider that he was imprisoned at the time and awaiting his own execution, only a few weeks after Antoinette's. (He was a busy man.) Clearly ChatGPT liked the musical.

Ruairí Ó hUiginn is a wonderful scholar, but I think he's a little too busy working at DIAS to be the head of the Department of Old Irish...in Cork...where he has never lectured. And I feel like current head of the department of Old Irish, John Carey, might have a few things to say about that.

When I asked it to write a sequel to Romeo and Juliet and it gave me a baby who defies the laws of...basic...biology.

Basically the moral of the story from these shouldn't JUST be "ChatGPT is flawed" but more "It CAN actually be useful for coming up with ideas, the same as a random name generator, and it's very fun to torment with false information, but just like a random name generator, don't put more stock in it than it's worth."

[itsupermanti]

I’ve had this idea for how I would do a My Hero Academia Superman AU.

Introducing, the

MY HERO SUPERMAN AU

Here are the key points that I would like to make for this AU:

In this AU, Izuku is the unknowingly heir of two great legacies since his birth. The legacy of his parents, Hisashi and Inko, who were known to the world as the unlicensed heroes, Superman and Wonder Woman.

In this AU, Hisashi was born the Kal-El of this universe’s Krypton who was sent to Earth to save him from the planet’s destruction. He was found and adopted by Chiyo Shuzenji, aka Recovery Girl, and her husband Josuke Shuzenji, who raised him with the values that all people can choose to do good, they simply need a light to guide them towards a better tomorrow.

After learning about his adoption, Hisashi would leave his family farm in the countryside, being guided by a crystal found with him in his ship, leading him to create the Fortress of Solitude and training with Jor-El to control his powers.

Once his training was complete, Jor-El encouraged him to return home and resume his human life, so that he could answer the question, “Why do you wish to help them?” Jor-El encouraged Hisashi to, “Open your heart to them. Find out why you wish to be their champion.”

Hisashi was reluctant of becoming a pro hero, since he knew that the Hero Association would want to find a way to contain him and turn him into their personal weapon should they realize how powerful he really was and where he came from. Josuke encouraged him to simply do what he thought was best, and Chiyo gifted him his first costume, based on a dream she had of him, a great man soaring through the air. He would had his family crest to the chest.

Hisashi would initially act as a vigilante, only use his super speed and super strength to get around and fight, and not use his heat vision or ice breath, since he knew that people would wonder how he would be able to wield such abilities.

He would eventually draw the attention of Nana Shimura, and her daughter Inko Midoriya. For this AU, Nana would be the daughter of Hippolyta and Zues, making the equivalent of Diana Prince. This would make Inko the granddaughter of Zues, with her attraction quirk coming from her father.

Inko was the one who gave him the name Superman, and she and her mother realized early on that he was different, that he held back his power. They would confront him and tell him their own secret as a sign of trust.

Hisashi fell in love with Inko as soon as he saw her and told them his story, and why he was reluctant to show what he could really do. Inko would be the one to encourage him to show the world that they can be better, to remind why heroes came about in the first place, to not be afraid, “I wish it was okay for you to fly.”

Hisashi would take those words to heart and begin to show more of his powers while fighting villains, as well as truly helping people in everyday life, from talking down suicide jumpers and would be thugs, to providing relief aid in the aftermath of a natural disaster.

Inko would then take it upon herself to use the powers she inherited from her grandfather to help as well, and debut as Wonder Woman.

Hisashi and Inko would work together, both as hero/vigilantes, and as investigative reporters for Musutafu Hero News. They quickly began dating, and were quickly married.

They would continue their heroic work together, with support from Nana, but despite her public support of them, All Might was still wary of them, for showcasing multiple abilities. The public’s support of them would continue to grow with time, until the day that the whole world was shaken to its very core.

Doomsday would come to Earth, and many pros would be beaten into submission, including All Might, until Superman killed him, seemingly at the cost of his own life.

Superman would receive an honorary funeral ceremony, with the Hero Public Safety Commission hoping to be able to inspect his body, only for the body to go missing.

Hisashi would return to Inko, revealing that he was simply put into a coma. They then decide to retire, with the world believing them both to be dead. They would have Izuku a year after these events.

The events from the series go about the same, with Izuku proving himself worthy of inheriting One for All to Toshinori, and inheriting the quirk the day of the exam.

However, in the middle of the exam Izuku awakens his Kryptonian abilities thanks to One for All and Nana’s spirit jumpstarting his powers, allowing him to score enough points to break All Might’s record, and easily save Ochako.

After the exams, Izuku tells Inko about his new abilities, and she calls Hisashi. They decide to tell Izuku everything. He is initially overwhelmed, but Hisashi assured him that he is not a freak, and that they will always love him. He encourages Izuku to stop looking down on himself and that with their powers, “We can save them Izuku. We can save all of them.”

While training his new abilities, they learn that Izuku also has Telekinetic abilities that can be used to augment his Kryptonian powers while low on sunlight.

Once the school year starts, Izuku is much more confident and evens asks Ochako out on a date after the events of the battle training. While out on their date, they encounter and rescue Eri early and she is placed in their custody, with Hisashi and Inko spoiling her in order the earn the title “favorite grandparents”.

During the events of the USJ, Izuku goes all out and defeats the Nomu faster than All Might ever could in his prime.

This leads to All Might becoming suspicious of his successor.

The Sports Festival is announced, and Izuku uses it as an opportunity to reveal himself to the world as “Jon-El, the Superboy, Son of Superman”. While many in the audience are left in shock and fear at the kind of power he can potentially wield with such heritage, Ochako looks on with happiness, having been told his family’s secrets, unafraid of what others might think of him.

He gains much approval throughout the Events not just for his power, but his sportsmanship as well. He inspires Shinso to keep working hard and knocks some sense into Shouto, as well as breaks Katsuki’s underserved sense of superiority, and wins the Sports Festival.

He takes on Gran Torino’s internship, who learned his secret from Nana herself. He confronts Stain and openly challenged his unrealistic standards for heroes, proving that he was genuinely insane.

All Might’s paranoia has grown to the point that he believes Izuku to being manipulated by All for One in order to close to All Might, with his paranoia made worse by Recovery Girl and Gran Torino acting as if nothing is suspicious at all and refusing to elaborate.

The Final Exams come around, and All Might reaches his breaking point when all of his attacks don’t even faze Izuku, leading him to go on a rampage trying to hurt him. This forces Izuku to subdue him by force with a punch to the head, shocking everyone there with the fact that he was strong enough to do so.

He becomes dejected when he realizes that his class becomes afraid of him, but recovers with encouragement from Ochako, who declares his love for him, and Eri, who looks up to him in the same way he does Hisashi.

All Might is then berated by Recovery Girl and Gran Torino for lashing out, and inform him that Izuku is Chiyo’s Grandson as well as Nana’s, and that he can be trusted.

The events of the Training camp occur similarly to the canon, and the class is introduced to Inko and Eri, who tag along. Izuku gets Kota to open up and see heroes in a new light.

The League attacks and initially overwhelm the pros there, until Inko arrives, having been called by Eri, and reveals herself as Wonder Woman. She easily pushes the villains back and makes short work of the nomus. Izuku also makes quick work of Muscular by showcasing his telekinetic abilities to target his body’s vital points, and rendering him unconscious. Bakugo is still captured, same as in canon.

When the public learns of Bakugo’s kidnapping and confronts U.A. over it, Inko steps up and berates everyone there for accusing U.A. of being negligent over their students’ safety, instead of letting them focus on finding and rescuing Bakugo.

The group of students go out to rescue Bakugo themselves with Inko’s help. All Might confronts All for One, only for Inko to rush pass him and begin wailing on All for One for killing her mother, showing that her strength is slightly above All Might’s prime.

All for One manages to subdue her and hold her in place with his quirks and was able to weaken Izuku when he flew in to help with a chunk of Kryptonite. He reveals that he knew that Hisashi wasn’t human and that he was still alive, since he was the one who had really scarred All for One with his heat vision. He begins to beat on Izuku and forces Inko and All Might to helplessly.

He is about to deliver the fatal blow, when Izuku unleashes a telekinetic pulse that pushes him, and frees Inko allowing her to destroy the Kryptonite. And just as All Might is preparing to use up all of his power to confront All for One, a voice from above calls out, making everyone freeze out of shock and awe, “That’s enough!”.

Hovering in the middle of the air, with a presence akin to a divine being about to render their judgement, is the thought to be dead hero, Superman in a new suit. He makes quick work of All for One, and as All for One hangs defeated in Superman’s grasp, he yells out in defiance, saying that he was dreaming if he thought that he would surrender to an extraterrestrial being like him, with his declaration having been heard by the news crews nearby. Hisashi then knock him out with a punch.

Hisashi floats in the air, seeing and hearing the shocked and fearful words of those watching, shocked that he was alive all this time and afraid of his extraterrestrial origins. All except for his family, especially Inko, who all smile at him fearless, and he is reminded of why he fell in love with her, and reveals his greatest secret to the entire world.

“My name is Kal-El of the planet Krypton. I was sent to this planet as an infant by birth parents in order to save me from our planet’s destruction, and raised by a loving couple as their own son. You all believed me to have died in my battle against Doomsday, but I simple retired to be with my family. Know this, though I am an alien, I grew up on this planet. Earth is my home, it’s people are MY people. I’m still the one that you all called Superman, the man you all chose to be your champion.”

He and Inko then reveal the sources of their powers, and that the El family crest is a symbol that stands for Hope. Overtime, the world begins to accept them as heroes, with new heroes appearing with abilities that are much more powerful than quirks, with some not even having any at all!

I’ll determine what happens next at later date. But I’ll go more into detail over the Midoriya/El Family;

Hisashi Shuzenji Midoriya/Kal-El:

He looks like an older Izuku with black hair and blue eyes. His personality and powers are akin to Rebirth Superman. He is kind, courageous, compassionate and more human than any other pro. He truly embodies the principles of hope that tomorrow can lead to a better world. He is capable of moving or destroying entire planets, flying through a red sun, and can power through the weakening affects of Kryptonite. He is the counterpart of Clark Kent/Kal-El.

His original costume(he eventually goes back to wearing it):

His second costume(worn when he confronts All for One):

Inko Shimura Midoriya;

She is much like Rebirth Lois Lane, with the calming presence of DC animated universe Wonder Woman. She is fearless when it comes to facing the unknown and is accepting of others. She is nurturing by nature and wears her emotions on her sleeve. She is still prone to her bouts of intense crying like in canon. Her powers are akin to Rebirth Wonder Woman, and she does everything she can to ensure that hidden truth always comes to light. Her hair turns black when she uses her powers due to magic. She is primarily Lois Lane’s counterpart, with Nana being Diana’s primarily counterpart.

Her Original Costume:

Her Second Costume(worn when she revealed herself at the training camp):

Izuku Shimura Midoriya/Jon-El;

He much the same as Canon Izuku, and when his powers awaken, he begins to take on personality traits of both Teenage Jon Kent, and New 52 Superman. He wants to be able to help everyone, including the villains he’ll end up facing as a hero. He is a man of action and leading by example, earning him the title, “Teen of Tomorrow”. He’s powers are on the same scale as New 52 Superman and Superboy, and can use them to the same proficiency as Infinite Frontier Jon Kent. He has telekinetic abilities that he can use the simulate his dad’s powers when low on Solar Energy. He loves Ochako and their adopted daughter Eri,

and will make whoever harms them come to regret it.

His hair slowly started turning black and his eyes turned blue after his powers awakened, to show his Kryptonian genes becoming dominant. He is Jonathan Samuel Kent’s counterpart.

His Original Costume:

His Superboy Costume:

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 5.2.2 “The Ancient History of the Sewer”

...Huh. I’m not totally sure what to make of this one.

We learn that people, usually criminals, really do inhabit and hide in the sewers. The mines and miners are a literal presence.

Hugo describes the sewer as the place where all the traces of the things people do in secret on the surface and then lie about come together and tell the truth. ..Which is fascinating, because it might be the first time this novel has actually cared about people telling the truth? It’s a very pro-lying novel!

I definitely feel the looming of Napoleon III’s dictatorship in all this: Hugo talks particularly about political murders and bad political actors of the past showing their truth in the sewers, and I suspect he’s pointing that idea at a much more present example. I also see why, in the face of dictatorial euphemisms and doublespeak concealing horrors, he might fantasize about a place where the truth is unconcealed and unconcealable.

It’s also strange though, because in a literal sense, none of this description is true? I’m sure you find odd and suspicious things in the sewer! But he’s postulating a kind of archaeological omniscience that just isn’t true of archaeology, in the sewers or otherwise. Sure, you find a rotting rag, or the evidence of a crime. But it’s not really within human capability to trace it to some particular person or event, any more than you can do that with evidence you find on the surface. There’s something morbidly compelling about all the things people tried to hide rolling together in the dark, but it’s not actually a source of information for actual humans.

In many ways, this chapter most resembles the last stages of Fantine’s descent, when all the illusions were stripped away and there was only bitter survival left. Most of all it resembles her grave, with it’s “promiscuity of dust.” There, Hugo assures us that God will not be thrown by the jumbled bones and knows how to find the soul. And something similar may be true here, where God knows what everything is comprised of and where it came from.

But, we’ve been assured, the God of Hugo’s universe sees all that happens on the surface and in men’s hearts anyway. So who does the sewer inform, and of what, if not man and not God?

But maybe that’s exactly the wrong question. This isn’t a police-procedural novel, it’s fundamentally a gleefully anti-police-procedural novel. If the sewer actually informed anyone of its secrets, that would be a terrible thing and the novel would condemn it. It would be no better than another Gorbeau house.

So the value here isn’t about telling secrets, it’s about being in a place where one no longer has to keep them, because one’s only companions are other people’s equally dark secrets.

Which will certainly inform Valjean’s interaction with Thenardier in a few chapters.

But I wonder if there’s any relief or absolution for Valjean here, in coming through a place where he can be free of regarding himself as the worst thing. I wanted that for him on the barricade, where everyone else was a criminal by definition, but he didn’t find that there, or look for it. But maybe there’s something like that for him here. His first thought on entering the sewer was that it was just like the convent, a place where he felt a sense of relief because everyone was punishing themselves to expiate sins, the way he always felt he needed to.

If nothing else, he doesn’t have to mask anything about himself here. The novel doesn’t care about telling the truth, but Valjean does--as we’ll see later when he “confesses” to Marius. (His idea of the truth is very biased.) He really does seem very tired of lying.

I don’t know whether it’s good for him or bad for him yet, but I am starting to see evidence he may be part of the kinship of secret and buried things that Hugo is describing.