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wkemeup · 3 years

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Sunrise (5)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.3k warnings: really flippin sweet fluff, more book recs a/n: to avoid confusion - the manner in which Bucky lost his arm is different in this series than in canon 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

For the first time since Bucky was discharged from active duty, he had a routine again.

The curtains were open before he took a shower in the morning; sunlight streaming in through the windows and casting a gentle glow over the apartment. It touched over books piled high on the coffee table, pillows neatly lined on the sofa, and blankets folded over the arm rest. Steve had nearly done a double take the first time he made his usual beeline to whip open the curtains to expose a dusty and unkempt apartment, only to find Bucky making coffee in the kitchen, freshly showered, and the sun shining high in the sky.

It had been almost a month since his first attendance at book club and he’d gone through nearly a book a week just to have the excuse to visit you at the library again for another. You’d given him your number after his first trip to the library with a binding promise to text you if he was held up in his apartment in pain again. You’d sworn to bring books straight to him and read them aloud if you had to.

You had laughed as you said it, like it was only a joke. Bucky had nodded along, but if he were honest, he would have liked that very much.

He’d arrange for times to meet you at the library at the end of your shift where you’d always have a book waiting for him. There’d be a few sitting on the shelf you’d set aside, but without fail, he always opted for the first one you presented to him. You hadn’t led him wrong so far.

After, though neither of you directly proposed it, you’d often find yourselves back at Luciana’s. It was like your feet simply carried you there, a silent agreement to spend as much time together as you could, even if you were both too afraid to admit it out loud.

He came to understand why Sunday was your favorite day of the week. Bucky started to take it upon himself to meet you at the library to walk you to the VA where he fulfilled his word to help move the couches before the usual members arrived. The look of surprise on your face when you bounced down the library steps and caught sight of him leaning on the pillar a few steps away from the busy sidewalk had been enough to convince him to never leave your side again.

Your smile was one he’d learned to memorize. He conjured it when the strangers bumped into him on the sidewalk threatened to collapse his racing heart entirely and it pushed him further. It was enough to convince him to keep going beyond the safety of his apartment walls and it was worth it every time. Just to see you smile at him like that.

***

“Have you started it yet?”

Bucky blinked a few times, reminding himself of his surroundings. You stood on his right side in line at Luciana’s behind a couple of tourists who were having a hard time discerning the difference between a cappuccino and an americano. He raised an eyebrow, confused, and you gestured to the book in his bag.

“Oh, I just flipped through the pages so far,” Bucky said, pulling the book from his bag; thick black cover with a small white illustrated creature staring up at the stars. Everyone's a Aliebn When Ur a Aliebn Too written by an author that seemed to go by a name as misspelled as the title, Jomny Sun. “It looks like a children’s book?”

You grinned and your shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s somewhere in between. You have to trust me on this one. It may seem young on the surface but it’ll tug at your heart strings. Hold your judgement until you’ve actually read it, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, nodding. “Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you. Just curious where you’re leading me on this one.”

“Be blind, Bucky,” you sang, teasing him. “I won’t guide you into a creepy forest or the bottom of the ocean, I promise.”

“Oh good. I was starting to worry.”

It was strange to feel so light again, but there was something about your presence that allowed him to let go of all the weight he carried. He could set down his baggage at his feet for just a minute to give his back a break, to stretch out his muscles and find relief in the solace. You would have offered to carry some of it yourself if he’d asked— of that he was certain. But it was a heavy load, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for you to see what was inside just yet.

The bell to the café rang behind him and a mother and her young son walked inside. The little boy held the woman’s hand as he scrunched his nose at the smell of the coffee, pouting up at her. A bright red backpack hung off his shoulders, Velcro ties over his tiny sneakers. The soles lit up as he walked.

“Mommy, I want to go to the playground,” the kid whined and Bucky watched you laugh to yourself from the corner of his eye.

“We will, sweetness,” the mother replied calmly. She bent down to brush the hair from the boy’s eyes. “Mommy just needs a bit of caffeine before we—”

“Whoa! What happened to that guy’s arm?” the kid gasped, a mixture of shock and amazement in his tiny little voice.

Bucky tensed up immediately, every muscle in his body turning to stone. When strangers noticed his arm, he was usually met with unwanted stares and hushed whispered, but children were a whole different story. They had no filter, no sense of the unspoken rules garnered by society; they were driven by their own curiosity and something as trivial as politeness did not get in the way of that.

“Oh, honey,” the mother gripped tight to the boy’s arm, lowing her voice in hopes Bucky hadn’t heard him, “you can’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?” the boy replied innocently. “Where’d it go?”

Bucky could feel your eyes on him, studying for his reaction, but he couldn’t offer one. He was stone, after all. A frown tugged at your lips to see the sudden distress wash over him and he felt an aching puncture of embarrassment deep into his stomach. It only took the mere mention of his arm to wipe him to a blank slate, to throw him back to the battlefield where it was torn from his body. Any unexpected reminder of it usually did.

You nodded at him, offered a small smile, like you were trying to tell him it would be alright. Then slowly, you turned around and knelt in front of the boy.

“Hi,” you said sweetly, catching the mother off guard.

“Do you know what happened to his arm?” the boy asked, must to the dismay of his mother.

“Mason! Oh God, I am so very sorry,” the mother quickly apologized, flustered as she desperately tried to hush the boy. He pressed his face into his mother’s arm.

Bucky stole a glance over his shoulder to find you kneeling on the floor beside the boy, smiling at him as he clutched a plush triceratops to his chest. You tilted your head at him, trying to get a better look at the boy.

“You want to know what happened?” you asked softly. He nodded, arms wrapped tight around his stuffed toy. You glanced up at Bucky and his eyes narrowed on you, heart beating a little faster, stomach twisting, before you turned back to the boy. “He did something really brave.”

Fuck.

Did you know?

Did Sam tell you?

Bucky’s legs started to feel weak.

“You like superheroes, huh?” you continued, pointing at the image of a man in a red cape flying on the boy’s t-shirt. The boy nodded shyly. “They swoop in and save the day with their super strength or magic powers, right?”

The boy started laughing, he was smiling again, standing free from his mother’s hold. She was staring at you like you were akin to one of the characters on the boy’s shirt. Bucky felt the stones cracking around his body, freeing him from their grip.

“Is he Super Man?” Mason whispered, glancing up at Bucky with such wonder, it took him by surprise. The boy was so small, no older than four years old. Bucky didn’t know the last time he’d even talked to a kid that young and yet here you were, at the boy’s level, making him laugh and smile and easing the concerns of his mother.

“No, he’s not,” you laughed for a moment. Then, you softened, gathering the boy’s attention again. “My friend here doesn’t have super powers. So, when he saved someone, he got hurt. But I think that makes him very brave, don’t you?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically, grinning so wide Bucky wondered how it was possible your smile could be so infectious. The mother mouthed a soft ‘thank you’ in your direction as the boy quickly changed subjects to the sprinkled donut he was going to eat for snack. She caught Bucky’s eye for a minute and nodded at him, almost in appreciation. He pressed his lips to a thin line. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything back.

You ordered his usual coffee and one of the freshly baked muffins, then a drink and a pastry for yourself. In Bucky’s distraction with the kid, he hadn’t noticed you pay before he had a chance. He felt like he was in a bit of a trance as you led him back to a table in the far corner of the shop, away from the windows and the customers.

“You alright?” you asked as you slid into your chair opposite him.

“Did Sam tell you?” Bucky blurted out before he had a chance to bite his tongue. It was the last thing he wanted you to know about and he had half a mind to storm up to the VA just to rip Sam a new one before he shut himself off in his apartment for a few weeks.

It was the reason for the reoccurring nightmares that hadn’t let up in the last month, even when he’d started to have more good days than bad. They’d celebrated him for what he’d done, given him a medal, and thanked him for his service. The very thought of it made him want to vomit.

“Hey, hey, Bucky look at me,” you called gently, your voice at the end of a dark tunnel. He blinked, adjusting to the light. “Sam didn’t say a word about what happened. I had a theory and I made a guess. You’re clearly a good man. It didn’t feel like much of a stretch. That’s all.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, staring down at the muffin as he picked at the paper cup. He heard you sigh, surprised that he couldn’t find a single sliver of impatience in your voice. When he looked up again, you smiled sweetly at him and asked him about Alien – Aliebn? – book; quickly lost in tangent of your favorite pages and moments you were excited for him to read.

He was grateful for the change in subject, but more than that, it gave him a chance to just admire you. There was nothing strange about watching a woman, studying the intricacies on her face and the passion in her voice, when she was speaking right to him. He nodded along, doing his best to actually take in what you were saying, but he was so easily distracted by the brush of steam touching your nose, the press of your lips into your cheeks, the lines on your forehead, and the way your eyes seemed to light up the entire city block.

The kid, his arm, and nearly six years of combat were quickly forgotten when he had the chance to watch you like that. You hardly let him get a word on, too caught up in your own excitement for the novels you placed in his hand, but he didn’t mind. He preferred to listen to you anyway. Your voice had a calming presence about it; soothing and gentle, loving and joyous. If it weren’t for the clock hanging on the wall above your head, he might have sat there all night with you.

“We should probably head over,” he pointed out reluctantly, gesturing to the clock as it approached six.

You frowned, following his gaze to see the time had slipped by quicker than you realized. As you began to clear off the table, throwing the scraps in the garbage and setting the mugs on the counter for Luciana, Bucky began to wonder if maybe you would have sat there all night with him, too. If only he could find the courage to ask.

***

Bucky removed the clip from the book, closed the back binding, and slumped back into the cushions. The room was still pretty quiet, everyone’s noses still down in their books as the soft strum of Simon & Garfunkel played from the speaker by the coffee table. He glanced over at you as you sat beside him, a little closer than usual, though he didn’t mind. Your hip brushed his every so often when you adjusted position. It was a kind of closeness that left him wanting more.

You were only halfway through your own book, but you could clearly sense him watching you because you slowly looked up in his direction, a pointed smile on your face.

“You were right,” he admitted, his voice a hushed whisper in effort not to disturb the other members. “Surprisingly deep considering it’s a children’s book for adults.”

“Hey maybe we need pictures on our pages, too,” you whispered back, teasing him with a nudged to his right shoulder. He laughed, leaning back comfortably against the couch as Tony’s eyes glared over in his direction from the top of his book. He pressed his lips together to keep quiet.

You snickered into Bucky’s shoulder, lips pressing against the sleeve of his jacket and he had never wanted to remove that layer more in his life; to actually feel the imprint of your mouth instead of just the press of your face, to feel the heat in your breath breathe through the thin layer of his t-shirt. He shivered.

“Alright kids,” you said aloud, setting your book on the table. “Times up for today.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n! I’ve only got one chapter left!” Clint whined, stretching out dramatically along the table he was laying across.

“Glad to hear it, Clint,” you smirked, hands planted firm on your hips. “Finish on your own time.”

A couple of ‘ooo’s rang out and it reminded Bucky of his days sitting behind a desk in class in grade school and a kid would get called up to the principal's office. Clint took it in stride though and seemed to bask in it, throwing up a pose in face of the chorus.

The crowd quickly dispersed after that, though a few of the older members lingered behind to update you on how far they’d gotten in their books. Bucky watched you from a distance as he started to move the couches back into place, mesmerized by the glimmer in your eye as you spoke to them, a soft hand resting on the crook of their arm, nodding along with a smile on your face – always so genuine in every interaction, in every bone in your body.

Bucky had practically finished arranging the entire room by the time you walked back inside. Your jaw dropped, wide eyes meeting his.

“You didn’t have to do all that by yourself!”

Bucky shrugged. “How long were you doing it on your own before I came along? Take the help when it’s offered, Y/n.”

You smiled at that. “Still. I appreciate it.”

“It’s really nothing,” Bucky said simply.

He hadn’t felt a drive like this is years. Not even before his final tour and the destruction that came with it. He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to want to lift even the smallest of burdens for someone else just to see the weight slip from their shoulders, just to see them smile. He found himself wanting to carry everything you had, even if it started with arranging the heavy furniture of the empty VA library.

You chewed on the edge of your lip as you watched him approach the door, your jacket in his hand. He had wanted to hold it open for you, to let you turn your back and slip your arms through the sleeves, but it just wasn’t something he could do with one hand, and instead, he placed it to hang over your forearm.

A longing for a world in which you met him before his body had been put through the shredder ached deep into his gut. It started to push a frown onto his lips, but then your voice broke through and he shook it away.

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the door and he nodded, following closely behind.

There was a sudden nervous energy in the air he didn’t expect, and for once, it wasn’t coming from him. He glanced over at you as you walked in line with him to find you fidgeting with the zipper of your jacket, hands wringing into the fabric, and hair falling out of place and down into your eyes. You exhaled a few tense breaths as Bucky opened the main door for you, following behind as you stepped out onto the side walk.

The two of you stood there for a minute, neither one making a move to leave. You kept glancing back at the VA, then to your watch, barely able to look in Bucky’s direction and he started to feel that familiar twist of anxiety in his stomach.

“Hey, are you oka—”

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you blurted out before he could finish, biting down quickly on your lip as if to stop yourself from saying more.

Bucky froze, confused. He glanced down at his watch. It would be dark soon. “Now?”

A flash of embarrassment quickly passed over your features and Bucky’s stomach dropped.

Was it possible that you just wanted to spend more time with him? That maybe you could crave his presence the same way he did yours?

“N-No, no, you’re right. It’s late. I’m sorry,” you muttered quickly, arms folding protectively over your chest. You kicked at a stone on the sidewalk, watching as it rolled over on its side. “I should, uh, I should head home then. I’ll see you later, Bucky.”

“There’s a park nearby,” Bucky offered before you could turn away. You lifted your head.

“Yeah?” A cautious smile hung on your lips as you stepped closer to him.

Bucky nodded, trying to push away the shaking in his hand. “Yeah, come on.”

A couple minutes passed by in silence as you walked along his side. Every so often, your knuckles would brush up against his hand, a nervous laughter between you as you pulled away. It happened so quickly each time, he never had a chance to respond. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure he would have had the courage to twist his fingers into yours, hold your hand tight to his own, feel the warmth of your palm and guide you along the cobblestones to the small space of greenery amongst brick and steel and concrete.

“I hope you don’t mind me keeping you out late,” you said slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you waited at the intersection to cross the street.

“Not at all,” Bucky replied sincerely, offering you a small smile in hopes to ease your nervousness. Part of him wished he said more, maybe told you that spending time with you was the best part of his day or that you were the reason he was getting out of bed most mornings, but it was too big of an admission. It could scare you away and that was the last thing he wanted. Before he had a chance to decide, the light turned and you stepped out onto the street. Bucky followed closely behind.

The entrance to the park was bordered with a dark metal fence, an arch way carrying over the brick walkway decorated with flowers and vines. You crossed underneath, pausing to stare up the twisting of the leaved through the pattern in the arch, a delicate finger reaching out to touch the tip of a petal. You looked back at Bucky with a smile twice as wide on your face and he hung his head, a breath of a laugh in his chest.

The park was mostly empty for a Sunday evening. The last remaining streams of sunlight lit up the greenery, touching over the flowers and the reflecting into the pond at the center where a family of ducks were waddling along the edge. You seemed to like that, watching how the babies followed the mama along the rim of the water. Bucky turned to his right to find you imitating their walk, chasing after them until they stepped into the water.

Meanwhile, Bucky found a bench sitting under an old oak tree. Its branches hung draped over the bench enough to provide a shadow from the closing sun. It faced the west side of the park, where the sun was setting just over the tops of the buildings and illuminating the sky in brilliant shades of golden orange and vibrant reds.

“You want to sit for a bit?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the bench. His feet were a little tired from walking through Brooklyn all day with the library, the VA, and now this. It was more than he usually did these days – not that he minded. He’d happily allow his legs to be a little sore if it meant more time with you. He’d walk through busy streets for miles if it was you he was walking towards.

You plopped down on the bench on his right, sinking into the old wood. You glanced over at him, hiding behind a strand of hair that had fallen down into your face.

“Thanks for amusing me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, chuckling to himself. “You act like I don’t want to be here.”

“I know, I know,” you laughed, swinging your feet off the side of the bench. “It’s just... and I hope this isn’t a strange thing to say but... I just like spending time with you. Wanted a little more of it today, I suppose.”

Bucky swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly very dry. His heart stammered a bit inside his chest, butterflies causing chaos in his stomach, but it didn’t make him want to run. He felt no drive to escape, to push those sensations so far out of reach he turned back to the numbed and empty version of himself he’d been occupied by for months before he met you. They were frightening feelings, yes, but they were pleasant ones, ones he welcomed and invited inside.

“You can have as much of my time as you want,” Bucky said as the words fell off his tongue. No filter, no second guessing. No chance to bite his tongue. You looked up at him with a kind of hope in your eyes that made his cheeks start to hurt from how much he was smiling.

You settled back in on the bench, gazing up at the sunset as it lowered behind the buildings. Brush strokes of softer tones blended into the fading blues in the sky, giving way to the moon and stars as they emerged beyond the clouds.

He glanced down at your hand as it rested on the bench by your thigh. There was hardly even a breath of air between his pinky to yours. You were so close; it would only take one instant of courage to bar the space between you.

Be brave, Barnes.

Testing the waters, Bucky allowed the very edge of his fingers to brush over your knuckles. Your skin was softer than he’d remembered from that first handshake in the VA nearly a month earlier. He felt your breath hitch like a jolt of electricity had rushed though you, though you didn’t tear your eyes away from the sunset. Your thumb ran a tender line along his hand as you turned your palm up. Bucky swallowed.

He slipped his hand into yours, curling his fingers to the space between your own, and for a moment he just let himself feel.

He felt for the slight give in your hand, the twitch in your movements as you settled in against him. He felt the gentle sway of your thumb as it painted a line along his, comforting sweeps like you were reminding him you were there. He felt the chill in your skin – cold hands, like he remembered from before – and the heat of his own.

Then, your head on his shoulder. Your legs crossed towards him as you leaned in closer and he made no efforts to move. A gesture like that would have thrown him in a tailspin before he met you; to be this close to someone, to anyone, to sit in the vulnerability of allowing someone to know and feel him.

He looked back up at the sunset. It had nearly dipped below the horizon now; only a few glimpses of color remaining in the sky and the shine of the lamppost just a few feet away.

You sighed in a contented hum, circling your free hand to rest on the inside of his bicep, hooked around his arm. You held him against you like a teddy bear, just wanting to feel more of him.

It was a strange sensation, he thought; this new urge to want to give you as much as his body could offer.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you

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troublesometrollhunters · 3 years

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Masked Meetings

(Another Douxie X Reader because favorite boi and also I want to go to a fancy Masquerade Ballroom dance while someone tenderly cups my cheek)

Hisirdoux is sweeping Merlins study while the wizards out when his thoughts wonder to you. As he clutches the broom brushing the dust into a nearby dustpan he smiles softly.

Every time he saw you his heart soared. Your voice was like a sweet melody and if he could play as sweetly as you spoke his music would be known throughout the kingdom. Sighing trying to get back to work he pauses. The sunlight leaked through Merlins glass paned windows making the stone floor a kaleidoscope of colors. Your smile was similar to these colors he mused, they lit up a room. Blushing and shaking his head he closes his eyes but it didn't help. Hisirdoux could see you so clearly dancing through the castles hallways fabric swishing around you as you twirled over the carpet.

Eyes snapping open in shame blinking repeatedly to wish the image away he puts the broom against the wall deciding he's done for the day.

Running his hand over one of Merlins desks he tries to think of anything else other than you. Picking up books off the ground putting them back in their places on the shelves or stacking them on tables so they'd be out of the way, Hisirdoux pauses when he sees a scroll. Humming intrigued he ran a finger over it before the ink glowed. Merlin was working on something new and he hoped some magic homework would make him get his mind off you. After all it was absolutely ridiculous to fantasize about you. It could never happen.

You were a noble who lived in the castle after a tragic accident. It was rumored you had magic in your blood line but nothing had been confirmed. He wouldn't doubt it though. He fell under a spell every time he saw you.

You were Arthur and Morganas neice and had been moved here after your castle was lost to war. Depsite the tradegy you seemed perfectly content with your new life here. He'd often seen you laughing over a joke with Morgana or talking idly with King Arthur. Realizing his attention had wondered from the scroll he cursed trying to get back to work. Noticing his hands were covered in ink he paused seeing he'd doodled all over Merlins notes. Panicking he picks up the scroll and marches across the room before throwing it into the fire place.

Watching as the orange flames burn the paper and seeing the ink dribble down the page as the fire hissed he sighed in relief. He couldn't be in love with you. He couldn't.

~~~

The next day Merlin hadn't noticed the missing parchment or at least he didn't comment on it. Archie had thankfully been out and hadn't seen what he'd done but the cat had been giving him strange looks all day.

Was it really that weird for him to complete all his chores? He didn't think so.

"The room looks nice Hisirdoux." Merlin states and he beamed taking in the attention and compliment from his master. However it's short lived. Merlin turns towards the young mage with a thoughtful glance. "King Arthurs hosting a ball." He says.

"O-oh?" Hisirdoux stutters. If there was a ball no doubt you'd be there as well. After all Arthur was your uncle, as a noble it'd be your duty to attend. Merlin gave Hisirdoux a knowing glance before shaking his head turning towards his scrolls.

"You should invite someone." He hums. "Arthur permitted us to go. If you have a friend you should attend with them." Leaving the room after that Merlin slips Douxie a piece of parchment. It was an invitation but only one.

Looking at his master confused he noticed in Merlins hand were the notes that he had burned. Face red he began to stutter wanting to explain himself but Merlin was already gone. All that was left was the single invitation in his hand.

Archie hummed hopping onto the desk next to Hisirdoux as he stared at the fancy paper.

"I beleive that's Merlins subtle way of saying you should ask them. After all they already have a ticket." Archie hums. Hisirdoux nods absent mindley tightening his grip on the invitation. A masquerade ball, masks meant no one would know who they were. That meant he could ask you out and then spend all night with you without anyones judgment.

How hard could this be?

~~~

He chickened out. He chickened out. By Merlins beard he made a complete ass of himself and left before you could get mad at him.

He had gotten flowers! He had made a poem! He even brought his lute to sernade you! How did it all go so wrong?

He was so nervous his magic made the flowers rot when he tried to hand them to you. You didn't seem angry but you were very confused holding the stalks. And he made it so much worse! When you went to ask what happened as any sane person would do he began to blubber nonsense like a fool. He practically spoke in tongues! Then he had spent hours on that poem for you only to look like an idiot and scramble all the words up. It was just such a mess. Not to mention when he brought out his lute to try and fix his previous attempts his hands were shaking so much it was off tune.

He decided to stop dragging the torture on and ran off not wanting to see your reaction.

Archie followed after him and as Hisirdoux stopped to take deep breaths his familiar nuzzled him. He purred softly against his masters neck as Hisirdoux held his lute. As his thumb brushed over the wood engraved into the instrument he sighed. His hand went in his pocket and reading the poem he'd written you he closes his eyes to keep from crying.

Radiant as the sun, mysterious as the moon, and strong as the stars is what he'd called it. You were just so many things he couldn't pick one so he gave you the sky hoping maybe just maybe that'd be enough to win your love.

"Hisirdoux they would have loved it. It's not your fault." Archie tries to make him feel better but Hisirdoux only did this to himself. He should have known courting you would only end in failure. After all Arthur loved you. And he hated magic. Hisirdoux was only alive because Merlin saved him. He was a street rat. A lowly orphan. He had nothing to offer you.

Crumpling the poem into a ball he signed throwing it down the hallway.

"Come on Arch we better get ready." He mumbled disappointed. He may have failed to ask you but Merlin still expected him to attend and he couldn't fail Merlin too.

~~~

Hisirdoux looks into his wine glass frowning. The suit Merlin picked for him felt strange. It was so different from his usual garb and his reflection he couldn't recognize himself. The black suit with fur and blue undershirt underneath was strange. He wasn't used to this many layers. And the shoes. They were so uncomfortable.

Shifting he adjusts his mask, the blue feathers almost coming loose from his jostling.

Mask finally in a position he liked, he places the chalice down and glances around the room. You still hadn't made an entrance and he prayed Arthur hadn't set you up with somebody else. Feeling discouraged at the fact he couldn't ask you and you might come with some prick noble person Archie hums at him.

"Well at least they won't recognize you in a mask." The familiar states trying to lighten his masters mood.

"No funny Arch." Hisirdoux scolds as he keeps looking for you. "Besides I think the whole talking cat gives away who I am." Archie chuffs before adjusting his glasses. Hisirdoux was right of course but Archie was only teasing, no need for rudeness.

"Hisirdoux try to have fun tonight." The familiar suggests before jumping off the table and slinking off into the room. Sighing Hisirdoux watches him leave before looking to the floor again. You still hadn't arrived yet. He hoped as a masked stranger he could ask for one dance. One dance and he'd feel better about everything. But he had a feeling fate would be unkind tonight and he may not get his chance.

Hearing the music stop he pauses before turning his head. Gasps rang out from the crowd and meeting your eyes Hisirdoux joined them.

Oh. You looked like a deity.

As you descended the stairs with Morgana and Arthur he couldn't help but stare. You were brighter than the moon, the stars, and the sun. He would give you the entire world and even then he knew it'd never be enough. You deserved everything.

Lost in his thoughts about you inching closer to the ballroom floor his breath hitches as someone grabs his hand. About to protest and he's dragged into the endless sea of dancers and as masks, dresses, glitter, and gold twirl around him he looses sight of you.

Trying to get out of the dancers so he can make his way to the wall to try and find you again to try and explain he pauses when your suddenly in his arms.

Your mask gave away it was you and he grew nervous as your eyes looked into his.

"(Y-Y/N)?" He can't beleive it. How... How had this happened?

"Hello Hisirdoux." You greet and his entire face goes red as he spins with you. The orchestra music swells and he's in awe watching you dance.

"I ummmm I wanted..." Smiling at him you wink mischievously as he dips you.

"I know." You hum and he smiles. Of course you did.

"Lets go somewhere more private." You suggest as he blushes. Pulling you back up from the dip he nods and you two continue to dance but your slowly making your way to the edge.

~~~

When no ones looking you both slip away sneaking onto the balcony. The stars shine and the moons full lighting up the night.

Smiling you slip off your mask before tilting your head to stare up at the various stars, eyes wide in wonder.

"I never was one for dances and the like you know." You state feeling the serene light of the moon wash over you. "It's only fun when you chose to do something not when someone forces you to." You add.

Your hand grips the balconies terrace as you lean forward to feel the cold air. Hisirdoux stands next to you and slowly he takes off his mask as well showing off his handsome face. As you were passed from partner to partner you looked up and saw his hazel eyes.

It was a miracle since he was the only person you wanted to see anyways.

He nods understanding in a way. Fiddling in your pocket you pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

"You know I was hoping you'd ask me. When I suggested to Arthur Merlin and you should come it didn't take long for him to give in." You hum slowly uncrumpling the paper.

It was a poem. One addressed to you. The one he'd crumpled up and thrown away.

"I... I tried to ask you but..." Scratching the back of his neck and chuckling nervously you begin laughing.

"I had a feeling." You hum watching his face go bright red.

"He Hisirdoux?" You ask and he looks at you face burning.

"Hmmmmm?" He questions and you smile the privacy giving you bravery. Cupping his face you lean in heart fluttering as your lips press together.

Pulling away face pink as you stare at Hisirdoux he blinks several times before smiling. Leaning in he places his forehead against yours. One of his hands tenderly cradles your cheek as he smiles at you.

As you hum closing your eyes smiling, his heart flutters.

Your smile makes the night brighter than any stars ever could.

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snowwhitelass · 3 years

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New Outlander Game Coming – Talking with the Game Designers

By: Erin Conrad, June 15, 2021

Gamers Corner, TV News

Outlander game, Sony, Starz Outlander, Variable Outcomes

Who wouldn’t want to dash around the Highlands with Jamie, trying to be his favorite, and rescuing him from trouble on the way? That definitely sounds like a fun time, even if all you can do is dream about it. Or IS that all you can do?

NO! Sometime this fall, a brand new board game will debut – Outlander The Series! Designed by the husband and wife team of Matthew and Ashley Killeen, the game will let you play with a bunch of your friends, meeting familiar faces along the way, and getting in and out of all kinds of scrapes. The game will be available for holiday shopping, so you can start to set up your Outlander game nights now. I had the opportunity to talk with Matthew and Ashley about the development of this new game, and learned some details.

From the game’s marketing information: “His fate is in your hands! Step through the stones of Craigh Na Dun and run through the Scottish Highlands with the handsome Jamie. The year is 1743, and the outlaw James Fraser is at your side as you navigate the thrills and dangers of the Highlands. Use your wit, reach the right locations, make the right friends, and gather the items you need, all while keeping Jamie out of the hands of the many who would do him wrong. The gallows await fair Jamie (or worse!) should you fail. Fulfill your destiny, and win his heart. Only then will victory be yours!”

Outlander is the Killeen’s first big franchise game. “From a business point of view, it’s something I always wanted to do,” Matthew said. “I enjoy games with an IP license attached, TV show or movie, and I have designed prototypes that might be good for Ghostbusters or Star Trek. I really wanted to get into that.” Ashley knew Matthew was interested in trying a licensed game, and said “I’ve been watching Outlander, you should make a game based on that.” Matthew hadn’t yet seen the show, so he said “you do it” – and she did.

Ashley didn’t get into the show until season three. “The first version (of the game) was based on the book, because I thought that might be the avenue to go. But it ended up being more layers to secure the book rights than TV. We heard back from Starz/Sony quickly, and the show and book were similar enough that I didn’t have to change too much from initial design. I swapped out characters and items that didn’t translate from one to another. Jamie still has same event encounters, the same enemies. It’s nice to look at both sides, to really put in all those little hidden tidbits from show. I’m hoping that fans of the show will enjoy all those subtle things that I’ve put in. But the other thing we wanted to make sure was that it was not dependent upon being familiar with the show, because the last thing you want is a game with Outlander masked on top of it that doesn’t play as anything on its own. And having a lot of friends who knew nothing about Outlander, how could I get them to the table?”

Matthew said, “One of philosophies for the board game stuff was that I’ve seen games that were maybe like a movie spin on top. Is this fun or exciting because of the game, or just because of the movie or tv show tie in? And one reason, the biggest reason why I got excited was when I first played it, I had never seen the show. I knew nothing about it. I had never seen the characters, and yet, I still enjoyed it. It was a good game.” Ashley added, “He has since seen the show.” Matthew continued, “That’s another thing that’s always bothered me. I feel like if a certain publisher or game designer makes something but doesn’t know the back story, that’s lazy. As soon as I found out we were going to do this, I watched the show. I know all my lore now. I was obviously able to play the game again once I knew the show and the lore, and it made the game play better.” “You understood my decisions,” said Ashley. “Exactly,” said Matthew. “Whether you know the show or not, it’s a good game.”

Ashley discussed their process: “I started December 2019. This past December, we were finally able to go forward. We got the contract from Sony in November. It was a long process! We got approvals for the design of the game, and access to the virtual library. We could figure out images that would go with the components we had.” Once they had that, Matthew figured out the graphic design for the game.

Was Sony/Starz helpful? Enthusiastic? Ashley said, “They were enthusiastic. They didn’t really have a board game. They had Destiny Dice, but that wasn’t the same thing.” (For my review of Destiny Dice, a game that came out a couple of years ago, click here.) I’ve had reservations about this previous game, so I asked how they overcame the failings of that one to make this new game. My concern with a platform like this is that the show is so big and layered – a group of women will come together over a glass of wine or three, and are they going to be able to figure it out easily enough to have a good time in an evening? Ashley feels that the new game will let us do that. “The idea behind this was that we wanted to bring everybody to the table – people whose board games lives consisted of Scrabble for their whole lives, and those who have played campaigning, like Mage Knights, epically, every week. We want to bring both those sets to the table. It should be intuitive enough once you’ve figured out the first turn order. It’s the repetition of that, it’s just your personal strategy that changes on what you choose to do, but the game play isn’t going to change on you as you go.”

She added, “But there’s enough in there that if you are an experienced board game player, you’re not sitting there bored waiting for the next thing to happen. That was our goal, as many people at the same table as possible enjoying it at the level they’re at. You can have the game player who knows nothing about Outlander, and you can have the Outlander fan who doesn’t play board games, and they will have a good evening. We also tried to be strategic about the length, because you don’t want to have just a tease of a game, because then you can’t be really invested and immersed in that world, but we also know, especially being parents now, you don’t have time to spend four hours on a game. That’s not going to happen any more. What’s a good length? If you can watch an episode of Outlander, you can play a round. So we wanted to find something that made sense. A lot of these pieces, once you apply a little logic to it, they fell together really nicely.”

This is the first “franchise” game the Killeens have designed. The fascination with board games started in 2004, and in 2011, Matthew began to design games as hobby. “I enjoyed playing, but in between then I was going to school and forgot about it. As school was winding down, I really got into it. I created an educational game called Witchful Thinking. We’re both teachers, and when doing practicum, the teacher (that he was working with) had kids doing games for math. but they were really boring, and the kids didn’t like it at all. I remembered I had a game that worked for this! I started looking at my business from a professional point of view, filling in gaps in the market. I wanted to bring people to a table they hadn’t been to yet. Witchful Thinking is a card game – witches brewing potions, teaching math – subtraction, addition, pre-algebra, and more advanced math. It was a great educational tool.” The company has more ideas – they have an upcoming Kickstarter for a game called Tennessee James, an Indiana Jones parody (learn more here). Matthew says that the company expects to bring out many more titles – “Between the two of us, we have a backlog of designs.”

When do they expect to have this out? Matthew said definitely for the Christmas season. “I am working with manufacturers right now, trying to iron out some of those details, but we’re going to be moving into manufacturing right now. It depends on how long it takes to do the mass production plus shipping, but I would estimate this would maybe in stores (or online retailers) by October. That’s probably a good estimate.”

Did they do a lot of testing? “We needed especially non-Outlander fans to play this game. The Outlander fans, it didn’t take a lot of convincing to get them to play,” said Matthew. “Even before there were pictures on the cards, they knew the board, they knew the characters. So even if you had a blank piece of paper that just said Murtagh on it, they know what it means. I wasn’t worried about the Outlander fans, and the game play is pretty intuitive, once you go through the steps. So once you’ve done a round, you can keep going around, no problem. So we were just like, ok, you don’t know what these names mean and where these places are, but you’ve got a bit of the information, are you on board? And so far the reaction has been, yes, I feel like I’m playing a game, even if they don’t know who Jamie is or anything like that.”

He continued, “The tall and short of it is that this that this has been play tested thoroughly. It’s not broken, and the most important part is that it’s fun.” Ashley added, “It’s a nice balance of cooperative, nobody wants Jamie to come to any harm, but you still want to be his favorite. So you can get a little catty, and that’s what makes the fun. You’ll be adding something a little stronger to your tea nights once you start playing that way.”

Matthew said, “One of my strategies for play testing is that I like to try different strategies each time and see what works and what doesn’t .Ashley laughed, “You played mean one time.” “Yeah, it’s my wife, I’ve got to play nice, right? But one time, I didn’t play nice, and I took a competitive edge, and it was awesome,” he said. So players, remember that!

“When I was working on Witchful Thinking, I was looking to put it into Walmart and Target. But they don’t want to talk to the independent company, they want to make sure they’re getting multiple products from the same distributors. So we want to make sure that the distributors that we get are also trying to get the game out there. I do have distribution in the US for Witchful Thinking, and they’re excited to take on this one.”

What was your favorite part of the game, as you play it, I asked? Ashley said, “I like the QuickSave. This is a component we have because Jamie is always going to move in a predictable pattern, and the three villains he’s trying to avoid – Black Jack Randall, the Redcoats and the Watch – those are all the Meeples that are going to be moving around. As you are collecting friends along the way, if you happen to be en route to an Encounter, you can use the special abilities from your friends. So maybe it’s Dougal who is going to be discarded, and that will be a Quicksave to put Jamie back in hiding, so the game’s not over, you haven’t captured him yet. I like that idea, the Quicksave. So you’re strategizing, not just for what’s going to give you a lot of Favor from Jamie to try to win his heart in the game, but where are these people going to help me if Jamie is in a pickle. Because he’s going to get himself in a lot of pickles.”

As he does on the show, I said! Ashley continued, “And as a designer, that’s a fun way for me to tie in the personality of the characters. There’s a reason why they have the values that they do. There was a little argument between us in the design phase, because I made Willie – Willie Mackenzie from the first season – he has this hidden kind of superpower that most of the time, he’s a bit weaker, but when the danger level’s up, he’s strong. Matt was criticizing that, ‘he’s a minor character, why is he so strong?’ But you haven’t been paying attention. Because when Jamie’s in Wentworth, it’s Willie who’s willing to go. So that’s his power, when things are toughest, he’s the one that can save the most. I was having fun finding those little nuggets, the lore, that fans love, and if you’re paying attention to how I’ve designed it, you’ll start seeing like why you get more Favor in some places, or more Wit, or why you have the saving abilities.”

The women playing will like seeing that, I agreed. “I think that we’ve got it so that your favorite characters, from S1 at least, this is just in the Highlands, you’re going to see them, I think they’ll do you proud,” Ashley says. “We’re still excited about it, even though it’s been a year and a half doing it, so I think that says something about it, that we can still be passionate about it, little choices like that, I think the game has life.” Ashley told me that she has ideas for additional Outlander games to follow each season, so this may go on for quite a while!

As their cute kids came into the room, I asked if game design was full time, or is this an extra job? Ashley said, “I’m a full time teacher, so I’m squeezing this in between the report card writing and the classroom stuff. With a bunch of changes with Covid, it’s made more sense for Matthew to stay home, so we decided to go all in, make this run for itself.” Matthew said, “I can speak from the graphic design standpoint – I didn’t design the gameplay, Ashley did that, but I offered suggestions here and there, it was her decision on things, and she made some great decisions. And between that, I did the playtesting and the graphic design in January and early February, I’ve put in hundreds of hours, not just with the graphic design, but also the business stuff too, figuring out social media posts, getting things approved by Sony, talking with the distributors. So this has been not just like a full time job, but overtime, I’ve put in some serious hours for this.”

Since this is the company’s first big license, I asked if is this something they want to continue. “Absolutely,” Matthew said. “And I knew that when I turned this into a hobby back in 2011. I enjoy making board games. I enjoying making movies, watching movies, reading books, all that stuff. I needed some sort of creative outlet. And this was it. I enjoy tabletop games, so I found a business that I’m passionate about. But I found over the years, since I am a small business, I had to learn everything. I can do the game design, I can do the graphic design, the IP stuff, social media, the PR, distribution. I have all those experiences, so if I can continue this, I’ll be very happy.”

Price point for the game should be $48.99 CA (US equivalent is about $40). And it will be available in the US, and more – Matthew says, “The territories we have with Sony are Canada, USA, UK, Australia and France. We’re a small family run company, but at the same time, this is a big license. So we want to do the fans proud, we want to do this IP proud, so we want to give the biggest reach that we can.” Ashley said, “We’re limited because we’re not the distributors, so once we put it in those hands, it’s really up to those stores that want to put it on their shelves. So until we know where they’re placing it, I can’t tell you ‘oh, pick it up here.’ ” Matthew agreed. “I have experience with all of that, so when I made Witchful Thinking and released that, I had a hard time getting distribution. So I went store to store, city to city, and I made those contacts myself. For me as a business owner, I’m not just one of those owners who throws money out and does it. I have experience in all these aspects. So when this game comes out, let’s say that distribution doesn’t have as far of a reach as possible, I’ll make it happen. With Covid especially, the online market is important.”

“From a business standpoint, we’re a new company,” Matthew said. “It seems that we’re very new to this but that’s not really the case. This game has been been in development for a long time, and between the two of us we have 20+ games in prototypes. So we definitely know how to make games, and make games fun. And the fact that we’re both teachers, I think makes it even better. Because as teachers, we have to know how to sell to an audience.” ” And explain the games,” Ashley added.

PRE-ORDER THE GAME RIGHT HERE! Three if by Space has the game available for pre-orders in our Collectibles shop!! Click here to go to the pre-order page!

#outlander board game #three if by space #sony #outlander starz #starz outlander #outlander game #scottish highlands #craigh na dun

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braindeacl · 3 years

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World Turned Rainbow | Eilidh & Metzli

SETTING: Crest Works Art TIMING: Last night. PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh and Metzli have some fun in the gallery. WARNINGS: Drug use

Approaching people had been particularly daunting the past few days. Most of the wounds had finally healed, but Metzli still appeared a little worse for wear. Even sporting their favorite suits, they hid away. Keeping to their office, they worked on the new budget they acquired thanks to Bex. Who they had drank blood from, twice now. With a groan, they pushed aside the pestering thoughts and the even more pestering paperwork to talk a walk in the gallery. Today they would greet their patrons as they usually did, today they would start anew.

Hair lively bounced with each clack on the tile floor, welcoming every person they saw in the gallery. There was a new rotation of works, so the place was filled with more people than usual. Some were the artists themselves, and some were intrinsic minds that delved into the art world, seeking to gawk at works they could not create. Maybe even seeking a small escape into the images depicted on canvas and stone alike.

As Metzli made their way to the back of the main gallery, a fair woman caught their eye. She was studying their painting, possibly even admiring it. Their smile grew, making their rounds until they reached her, saving her for last. “Good afternoon,” They greeted her with a smooth and gentle voice, trying to make a good first impression. “I see you’re enjoying my masterpiece. I have another just down that way, but this one is much more special.”

Those walls still pressed against her skin. Clung to Eilidh like a lover’s embrace. But love was not returned. Instead, it was stolen from her; left her hollow. Determined to render her a copy of that underground prison. Or to fill its own cavity. But it was endless and she was finite and could only give up so much before she was nothing. And that nothingness knocked on her door. So, she ran from it. All across town. Filling her mind, her soul, with all it could offer. So the knocking was harder to hear. So the cavern had other things to steal. Mindless wandering led her to the gallery. A first encounter. Not that she wasn’t interested in the arts. She just preferred the creations of nature than to canvas. But it was new. And she needed new. And these walls didn’t cling to her.

And luckily the creations of nature weren’t far. Imitated upon the canvas. From a distance, some could be mistaken for windows. Stuck in time. But close inspections always revealed those telling brushstrokes. Eilidh passed by these frozen windows—peering into days long gone. A stroll through time and space. Until an outlier arose. Less of a window to the world, more like a window to the mind. Though she did wonder the truth of its depiction. A living raven didn’t seem interested in suits, but a decayed one might. Was there one right now, somewhere, enjoying a three-piece? Ponderings stopped with a voice. Like a cool stream after a hot summer’s day. Eyes followed its trajectory—found a matching visage. Peppered with signs of distress, but a delightful visage to look at, all the same. Attention took turns with the creator and the creation, noting how both sported a dashing ensemble. “Oh? ‘Cause you two match?” A chuckle tickled her lips.

“I was going to say it was because you were looking at it, but that response is a thousand times better,” Metzli replied delightedly, their smile growing wider at Eilidh’s witticism. It wasn’t often that someone caught them off guard like that—in such a positive way at least. Upon further inspection of the woman, she was almost certainly a whole foot shorter, but they did have a soft spot for those too small to reach their head. “Beauty and wit, I like that. I’m Metzli Bernal, creator of that painting, and owner of this gallery.” They adjusted the cuffs of their sleeves before clasping their hands behind their back.

“Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” They asked, leaning in slightly with an aura of not only attention, but intention. Regardless of whether or not Metzli would strike out once again—because somehow everyone they flirted with was taken—they didn’t care. Finding solace in simple connection and idle prattle was becoming a frequent thing. Something they could get used to, especially if the people of White Crest were all this funny and intriguing.

Beauty and wit! They were certainly obvious in their intentions. It was charming and refreshing, the forthrightness of it all. Burst of a chuckle shot from Eilidh’s mouth, exposing her gapped tooth smile. “Ah, owner! Flirtin’ a common tactic for business reasons? Or’s this personal?” Despite the implied accusation, her tone remained light. A soft jab if assumptions were true, or an open door for following coquetry. The name held a ring of familiarity, though she could not place its source. Not uncommon, this was a small town after all. Metzli grew closer—a slight adjustment in posture, but height resulted in them nearly hovering above. Eilidh leaned in turn, fitting in that space below their head. Keeping those eyes locked upon their own. Held it there, before a finger pressed on their abdomen. “Got a button loose.” When they fell for her trick, that pressing finger switched from abdomen to nose, flicking it. “Bloop.” Something rumbled in her chest, it sounded amused. “Call me Macleod.”

“It certainly can be,” Metzli replied, shrugging and snickering softly. Her gapped smile was endearing, leaving them with a buzzing in their stomach. How strange, they thought to themselves. “But this approach is for personal enrichment. It’s not often that I get a patron with your charm.” It was true. Eilidh’s lightsome approach and attractive features had a pull that was like a moth to a flame.

Falling for the juvenile trick, Metzli returned the laughter and enjoyed Eilidh’s in return. It was only then, when listening to her entertained reaction, that they heard a lack of something. A lack of a heartbeat. The pull grew even stronger, prompting them to continue, “It is an absolute pleasure, Macleod...” Metzli motioned for a handshake, pulling in her death-ridden hand to plant a small kiss to the back of it. “Wait a minute. Macleod. Why does that sound familiar?” They asked, a look of recognition painted on their face. Her name sounded so familiar, but they’d never seen her face before. Wouldn’t be hard to remember. “Have we met?”

A brow quirked in amusement. The charm was thick and loud, and Eilidh let herself be washed up in it. A wonderful distraction. And perhaps a bit of fun for later. “And I don’t often meet someone so blunt.” Especially in this town, a place of many secrets hushed on the wind. She understood the need; took part as well. But it often bled into the personal. This person seemed untouched by it all. Easy to read. At least, that's what she told herself. And she liked what she was reading. Her hand did not feel their lips press—too soft to combat the numbness. But eyes saw the motion, replicated a warmth on the back of her hand when Metzli met it. When head returned upright, she saw that flash of recognition play out in their eyes. Mirrored in her own mind moments prior. “Likely. Small town. Hard to avoid anyone. Got any one-nighters you can’t place a face to?” Spoken in jest, though that exact situation had occurred to her in the past. Blink. Something stirred in the back of her mind. A something that would solve the puzzle, and she knew it would, and it knew it would. But it stayed just out of reach, on the tip of her tongue. Then it finally fell to the back of her throat. Her head cocked curiously. “Mushrooms?” Tone implying the word may as well had been a nickname for an old friend.

“I don’t think I’d be able to forget a face like yours,” Metzli said cooly, smiling as bright as a summer’s day in July. “Besides that, I’ve managed to strike out consistently due to everyone being in a damn relationship. No one likes to have fun anymore.” A mocked frown plastered itself on their face, rolling eyes that settled once more on Macleod.

Their brow arched, “Mushrooms!” This time excitement tethered itself to their voice. Macleod was the woman they grew an innate interest in over something as simple as the internet. “Ah! Yes,” Metzli hands clasped together and gestured in victory upon finding the answer. “I was greatly disappointed that we never got the chance to meet. This’ll do though.”

Space was subtly decreasing between the two, unbeknownst to Metzli, they were leaning in further. They were so much taller, so they naturally had to do so in order to be as close as they wanted to be. Well, as close as was socially appropriate. “You wouldn’t happen to have any on ya?” They asked, narrowing their eyes with playful curiosity. “We could have a little fun right here.” Their left eye winked, with a grin that knew how stupid they were being. It was all for Eilidh’s amusement, just so they could see that smile.

Another trait of small towns—committed relationships were frequent. Or there was someone else on the mind, yet to be entwined. Eilidh didn’t mind the potential baggage the latter brought. She rarely stayed anywhere long enough for it to cause issue. “Everybody does know everybody. Just gotta know where to look.” She winked. “New in town?” Ding, ding, ding—assumption confirmed. There was the beginnings of another smile at the connection. Seems fate intended them to meet. All obstacles be damned. Like that night. “Right…” Mind flashed to the tree, to the darkness, to the nothing, to the…

……

Air grew tight, walls closed in. Eyes tried to focus back—saw the walls were made of fabric instead of dirt. Instincts pricked and snarled. Head struck forward under its thrall, thumping onto the other’s chest. When the two pair of eyes met again, old spark had returned in Eilidh’s. “Like how you think.” Spoken as if the previous action hadn’t transpired. And mind so cloudy, part wondered if it actually had. Her hand dug into a pocket, fishing out the drug of choice. Bits here and there, remnants of a larger pile recently reduced. Another distraction. Bag wiggled, as did her brow. “Got enough for a hit.” Unknowing it may be of use, in those moments alone, her stake was left back at her trailer. But she always carried a blade, strapped securely to a thigh. And knew it well, if the need arose. Until then, she’d enjoy the fun this Metzli could provide. They seemed to be full of it.

The impact to Metzli’s chest made them exclaim in surprise, “Oof! Ow!” The wounds from the eventful night with Milo made themselves known, making the space grow as they stepped back and gathered themselves. Before doing so, Macleod looked a little frazzled herself, but there wasn’t enough time to dwell on that or their wounds when she pulled out her bag. “Yeah I’m definitely pretty fresh. I’ve only been here eight months.” Eyes darted about the gallery. There were too many people to do anything privately, but they were feeling pretty lively today. Shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, settling on a decision.

“You wanna do it now, cariña?” Metzli began to tease, their lips curling into a mischievous grin. Their accent binded to their words, embarrassment showing on their face for mere moments. “We can give these paying customers a real show. A performance piece.” A cold hand brushed against the wall near their painting, leaning sultrily, no longer imposing on Eilidh’s space.

Eilidh’s mind travelled back to the woods, to that destined spot. But eyes perceived the crowd, the bodies swarming the walls. Mind’s premonition would be left unfulfilled—own body deciding to remain amongst the others. The others so unexpecting of what was running between the two’s thoughts. Of the fun that would be had, a few paces away. Fun for them, at least. Another amused rumbling formed at the idea—compelled her to stay. To let them lose themselves, right then and there. What would be unlocked, in those frozen windows covering every surface? She was excited to know, to see. “Hope you got insurance.” Voice light and playful, but there was a steadiness to her gaze. Implying a hint of truth. Hands worked swiftly to reveal the mushrooms to the stale air. Brittle lilac wanting to break, and it did so gladly as she separated a chunk into two. “Fuck the customers. Just focus on me.” Her piece slipped passed her lips, down throat. Other half remained in her hand. But she offered it to Metzli, almost pressing it on their lips.

Eyes widened, shock and surprise from Eilidh’s excitement and subsequent approval covered their expression. Her tenacity was unlike anything Metzli had seen before. With no regard for her surroundings, their lips curled into a smile, watching Macleod take her piece. They were really going to do this. Perhaps their impulsivity and lack of thought on the matter was going to rear its ugly head at them later, but they didn’t care. At least, a part of them didn’t. The other, more responsible half that adored the gallery cared a lot. Insurance was something they definitely had, but they couldn’t imagine what damage could be done right now. Not when Macleod was offering their piece to them.

Silencing that irksome voice, Metzli leaned forward, “The customers aren’t the ones I want to fuck. So I’ll gladly focus on you.” Their voice was low, raspy, and wanting as they ushered the mushroom in Macleod’s fingers to their lips, using their teeth to take it and then standing erect to chew and swallow.

Maybe this would be disastrous, maybe this would be detrimental to their gallery; or maybe, just maybe it was the fun they needed to unwind and feel free for a while. Finally relaxing into the decision, a hand slid up Eilidh’s arm, “You want to give them a show? Bet we can scare them into leaving.” The hand slid back down and brushed away to rest back at their side. A chuckle escaped the confines of their throat, and they pushed away from the wall to stand closer and wait as the mushrooms took effect.

Brows rose and fell in unison. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” Despite attention being placed on that surrounding congregation, eyes did not leave Metzli. Short, airy laugh rushed through. Disturbed a bit of fabric on their suit. “Seems bad for business. But, since you don’t mind.” In the dwindling window of normalcy, Eilidh took a fleeting moment to refamiliarize herself with those glimpses in time. Gaze returned to one that piqued the most interest. And grew irate when others had fallen to its thrall. Hand brushed against Metzli’s arm—as theirs had done to hers. Almost tickling against the skin. But it ended with a hold—teeth flashing—and she led the two of them over to her favored painting. As distance grew short, teeth flashed again. But their intentions were different for these other onlookers—snapping and cracking in a threat. Murmuring amongst themselves, they hurried over to another section of the gallery. Clearly satisfied, she beamed back at Metzli. “Let’s start here.” The smile remained, strong and firm, as a warm trickled down her head. Fell down into her eyes, melting the colors of Metzli’s suit together.

Watching Macleod snap like a madwoman at the patrons, a breathy giggle surfaced, one that Metzli had never made before. It was unrestricted and high, echoing in their ears as amorphous colors blurred past them. When they came to a halt, the world tilted and a hand grabbed firmly onto Eilidh’s shoulder to keep balance. Another giggle brushed their throat, the sensation a buzz that sent a chill down their spine.

With their faltering focus back on the Eilidh, the colors on her clothes melded together and hummed so powerfully that it reached the surface of Metzli’s skin. It made their suit jacket and tie grow in weight, a weight they wanted to remove, so they did. Their jacket and tie fell to a heap on the floor and the outside onlookers continued to murmur, furrowing their brows in confusion. Undeterred, their dress shirt became halfway unbuttoned. “Your wish is my command, Macleod.” Fangs greeted her as their mouth formed a toothy grin, eyes glowing red as the excitement peaked. Only Eilidh could see, Metzli’s back faced the patrons.

Cold lips suddenly pressed against those matching in temperature. Arms wrapped around in a firm embrace. The voices surrounding the two grew louder and more disturbed, followed by one of their employees asking Metzli what they were doing. Breaking away, they said, “New performance piece. Don’t mind too much.”

Her eyes remained transfixed on the painting. Watched as stagnant waters became rapids. As a sudden wind breathed life into dead trees. Fronds turned fingers—reaching out to Eilidh. Passed the frame, into the air. Entwined around her arms, gripping her down into the fixed window. Bursts of colors; bursts of sounds. Drenched in rainbow and symphony. Crash of cymbals carried a familiarity. When she followed that déjà vu, found the source was her own throat. Overcome with giggles—harmonizing into an ensemble. Her hands danced to this music, fluttering by her face. Other hands found her, different from the ones before. Pulled her out instead of in—into an embrace. Mouth found a partner and those giggles reverberated down both throats. Tongue soon followed, over two sets of teeth. Finding its own match, intent on staying.

Until a familiar click.

Mouth and teeth snapped shut, barely missing snapping Metzli’s lip in turn. A sizable crowd had formed, but Eilidh’s eyes easily found the perpetrator. Betrayed by the sheen of camera’s lens. Every spectacle had its memorabilia. Her lips peeled back. Teeth shook under the snarl stampeding out. All things heightened, even anger. One swift step, and she was close enough to grip the camera. One swift tense, and it cracked and snapped under her fingers. Clattering to the floor in unrecognizable bits.

“Everyone out! Get everyone out, Richard. And go home. Everyone goes home. This is a private performance.” Metzli commanded, seeing how Macleod responded to her picture being taken. It was hard to focus, colors and shapes melding together harmoniously, making their skin vibrate. The customers and employees only saw their side profile, a method they were using to hide their vampiric features. Everything continued to shift in their line of sight. They felt like they were floating, forgetting the small interruption already and pulling Eilidh back into them. Everyone was shuffling out already, fear halting any other captures from being taken.

Macleod’s features seemed to jitter, a comfortable sight, even bordering on satisfying. “Forget them. The gallery is ours now.” Metzli pulled her face to lock eyes with her, gently taking her chin and guiding her face. The dance of hums increased, all the paintings joining in on the ensemble to create a euphonious experience.

While Metzli stood obscured, the crowd could not even attempt to ignore Eilidh. Teeth still bared—exposed to air that forced salivation. Dripped down her chin. Mouth turned waterfall, and when she looked down a river had formed at her feet. It gushed out, lapping at the departing crowd. As eyes returned to them—bodies weaving in and out—she threw the remaining chunk of camera in her hand. It meddled with those bodies, lost to that flow. Brought the giggle back to her lips, despite the reasoning lost on her. The sound felt good on her ears, and they hardly noticed when departing footfalls stopped. Alone.

Attentions turned from the emptiness to the beauty beside, gentle touch instructing. But the wild still claimed Eilidh. Gentleness was not returned; she leapt onto Metzli with a hunger. Mouth met them, as mouth did when hungry. But it was with lips instead of teeth. And the world was rainbow again.

#wickedswriting #world turned rainbow #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. metzli b.#drug use tw #// the title on the doc is 'metzli FINALLY gets lucky'

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 10.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 10

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You’ve woken up after the possession without remembering how it went, nor did you remember yourself confessing for the witcher. Three wishes were said with an comfortable feeling that seemed irresistible for you and for the white wolf himself too; leading into having renowned stress and frustration for Geralt with tensions that seemed to be carnal deep inside.

Warnings: Sexual tension. Frustration from both. Reader being one naughty woman for some bum staring and keeps on bothering a sleeping Geralt. Soft, soft, soft, Geralt of Rivia. Anxiety filled reader. Captain America is mentioned.

Words: 7.6k (SHEEIT. THIS IS LONG AF. WHAT THE HECK TATA HAHAHA. I WAS TOO HAPPY THAT THERE’S SOME TENSION NOW. HAHA! I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT!)

A/N: Smut will be up soon. (Maybe around chapter 14-16) There will be! Patience is a virtue, bb’s! Also, this is one of my favorite chapters that I’ve written! Heehee! I hope you’ll love it! 💖

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM! (Some Gifs are from demivampirew)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

After the aberrant incident with your Djinn, you'd happen to wake up in the arms of the witcher. Geralt didn't know what happened; nor does he have any as to what explanations can be said. Nobody knew your wishes, not even yourself as you woke up sitting on a saddle; with Geralt's arms surrounding you in a warmth that tells you he was protecting the person in front of him; which was you.

He'd deeply pondered about it as the gang hiked back towards their path going home. What was the reason that you've been possessed by some sort of pneuma? Better yet, what have you really wished for?

All he remembered was your ebony eyes that consumed you from that time being. Though, drinking black blood was ticked off the list because he never even gave you the opportunity to try it nor is it possible for your tiny frame to take the elixir with no immunity like his.

You were definitely possessed; but then it left once you'd given him a barf of black smoke as explained by the bard who saw everything before his eyes.

He wasn't sure of it, but he couldn't be steadfast that the spirit wasn't in your body anymore; keeping you as a host. Though, the bard's explanations interprets that you've given the spirit to him.

Geralt would rather much prefer that than for you to painstakingly have it.

Hence, there was still a lot of questions especially that you woke up like finding a djinn never happened. Those words that was whispered out of your lips sounding like Elder speech.

He'd only understood the first word you've said which was 'Cáerme,'.

It meant Destiny. The word he hated the most.

The latter shouldn't have searched for the Djinn in the first place and just chose the latter option, but he just had to be so stubborn for wanting to flip the bird back at destiny who was trying to play him like a puppet and also at Durriken who began to spat shit back in the Tavern.

"Geralt," Jaskier extolled as the witcher walked Roach out of the forest. The way his pitch turned higher; sounding so mesmerized by the image he was seeing. The vast meadow sitting before him as a petite stone house castle appeared before them. Their wooden cavern long gone as another house has been magically changed; a stone house that probably had a second floor and rooms to provide for the whole family.

The bard gasped and stood in the middle of the field, his eyes shimmering in delight as he loomed before the new house; arms all wide as he exclaimed, "THIS IS SPLENDID! A MIRACLE, INDEED! What did she even wished for?!"

You were oddly silent. For Geralt, it was strange as he'd noticed that the first thing you've asked when you woke up in his arms was 'what happened?' as your eyes were weary and somehow filled with fatigue.

Your quietness was disturbing him to the fullest because he was fond of how you were always asking stuff whenever you see something uncanny in the midst of trailing down the path; which your naivety and curiosity lead to having a Hirikka living in his home. But, now; you were just staring out of nowhere as you sat on the saddle.

All your energy has just been taken from you when you've woken up in wonder; leaving you drained.

"What did you wish for, midget?" Geralt asked out of nowhere as he yanked on Roach's reigns as the horse galloped forward, towards an unspecified small, stone castle that you weren't accustomed with.

You've cocked your head to the side, squinting your eyes back at the larger house sitting in front of you and at the question that the witcher has asked, "What? I haven't yet. We were about to go to the swamps, remember?"

It was a sapped response that made the witcher hum in wonderment; shrugging to himself as the horse maneuvered to the side of the house to see that he'd still acquired his stable but not made of wood; but made in stones.

The house totally looked sumptuous to Geralt's surprise. He was used to the penurious looking stuff, but not the lavish life. He'd been sleeping in brothels before, had no home and friends other than his horses. Yet, life seemed like surprise him to the fullest.

"You've already made your wishes and we have already went to the lake," the witcher surly grumbled, his voice vibrating against his chest as you could hear the cavernous timbre that surely always does give you a touch to the spine.

Howbeit, once you've heard the velveteen gradient passing through; the effect was rather much profound. Kindling with the sparks that seemed to give your spine a shiver.

Totally bewildering, overwhelming and suddenly pleasurable.

"I...didn't? What are you saying?" you softly chided as your body went stiff by the patent purl of his effect on you. The witcher detected your body turning rigid like you've been shot to the head; yet he paid no thorough heed to it as he thought you've just shivered from the benumbing breeze of the night.

You've felt shifting from behind and noticed Geralt who'd gotten to jump off his horse first. No movements were made other than you who was stupefied at whatever stupendous feeling you were having. Beseeching peepers peering down at the witcher who had his beautiful amber eyes on you; silently watching like a hawk with his expression stoic but somewhat pliable that only you had the liberty to.

Very weird indeed.

"Jump." the witcher ordered, his voice sending more overwhelming ripples of shivers that made you subtly shake your head but it was noticed by Geralt as his mouth formed a firm, thin line; eyebrows slightly creased together from the reaction he got.

You timidly hauled your leg off his horse. The witcher's robust fingers spontaneously grabbing onto your hip before you could even jump then fall to the ground; like an instinctive reflex coming from the man himself, carrying you down with no effort. You were gently placed to the ground with much caution.

The wavelet of pleasurable specter traveled through every parts of your body, involuntary stepping an inch away from the latter which has made his hands stay where they have been, cocking his head to the side as he blinked in confusion.

He stared at his fingers far too long; seeming to be feeling what you were also feeling as of the moment. But, he never planned to tell; thinking that it was just probably the side effects of what has happened prior to the Djinn incident that has occured.

"Ughm," your heart was beating fast, giving you an unrewarding feeling when you've subtly moved away from the witcher; your actions never liking what it did when you've felt weight laid upon your chest, making you want to groan out loud in ire, "T-Thanks,"

Geralt could only raise a brow in silence from your reflexes; a weird abrupt feeling of frustration spreading through his chest but he paid no regard as he wanted something he couldn't quite understand.

The witcher was the first to leave, his mouth in a small frown by whatever was irritating him. You tailed behind Geralt stepping foot on their door step with quick marches. From the moment you've thrown yourself in the space of their new humble abode, you were awestruck as you've scanned the whole place with stupefaction.

The interior design of the whole house was in cardinal and wood brown, floor in stones. Geralt stood in the middle of a rather medium sized living room, thoroughly inspecting the place with his scrutinizing amber eyes with Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby entirely delighted by the miracle that has been given.

You've stood behind Geralt, his Herculean back shown to you as you were staring at it far too long. A sudden thought for wanting to see his body bare which earned a mental slap for your untamed brain.

What were you just thinking right now?

The brooding witcher puttered an exquisite groan to himself, a phantom of satisfying prickle of your stomach giving your insides a warmth that seemed to slowly become insufferable as he'd turned around to meet your doe-eyes; guilelessly peering up at the witcher who was all colossal and strong.

"Tell me your wishes---" he firmly started, roughly spitting out his demands when Geralt met your vindicated gaze that could get him antsy. But, now he was just beyond feeling irked. His gaze simply falling on your lips that held nothing but kindness; those lips that he suddenly wanted to savor all night long.

What was wrong with you both?

Geralt exhaled a calm breath; tightly gritting his teeth as he sharply snapped his eyes away from your vermillion, "---right now. If I were the Djinn,"

Kolby was yelping in the background in his own way; the Hirikka way. Albeit, Jaskier was trying to avoid the harmless monster as it was trying to stand in his path, asking for something from the bard, "No! Bad Hirikka! Stay away!"

You've given the witcher a look of peculiarity; studying how rigid his stance was before you. Eyes closed and seeming to be breathing deeply. The latter couldn't help but take note of how unyielding your scent have been, a sudden feeling that he couldn't withstand and just want to bury his nose in the crook of your neck.

It made Geralt hum a dangerous and displeased short-lived grumble deep inside his chest.

Lemon with a hint of peony. His new favorite scent since the moment you came running off the forest.

"Why---"

The witcher has sharply cut you off out of the blue, jaw clenching as he'd fluttered his eyes for you to see; piercing, obscure and penetrating. "Just tell me, midget."

Those eyes seem to always take your breath away; maybe even your soul as well because of those lascivious thoughts whispering inside your head; scorching your spirit to the fire wanting to be flamed.

"A..A bigger, better house for your family," you hesitantly murmured, soft and quietly which made Geralt's eyebrows twitch. The sound was delicate and utter convincing for him with a perilous want to satiate.

The type of satiation that he wanted to covet; all night long.

It was definitely sudden and treacherous.

Jaskier gave you both a once over across the kitchen, eyes bulging out of its sockets when he'd noticed it was bigger than what they had before; more comfortable and homey. Kolby was trailing behind the bard like he was his shadow which was still being ignored by the lean man himself, "Which explains why we have a small castle house right now, thank you very much, small rat! I can now bathe without Roach staring like he wants me to breed him,"

Jaskier's laugh was loudly resonating around the house which accompanied with the silence you were having with Geralt. One thud and you've noticed the witcher came closer, glowing amber eyes solely on your small frame as he continued his interrogation, "And the second?"

"Enough...food and clothes for everyone,"

Jaskier has seen a basket full of apples, oranges, grapes and everything you can ever wish for. His face twisting in oddity when he'd given the basket of apples to the Hirikka who'd devour it like he has been famished. The bard continued to listen, hearing Cirilla's loud stomps of excitement coming down the stairs of their new two-storey stone house, "Kolby is certainly loving it," he cajoled, stepping away from the Hirikka with a cringe on his face before looking at the princess who was now twirling around with a new pretty yellow gown that she held to herself; a huge beam on her face, "---Also, Cirilla."

You've stayed rooted on the ground, accepting the witcher's presence like it wasn't giving you the shivers and a weirdly palpable desire for wanting him close. Closer than you can ever imagine. Geralt also wanted you nearer, maybe even more. A lot more. Your irresistible scent clouding his mind as he'd taken several steps closer, your scent crashing his palates like a damn delicious snack he'd wish to devour.

The latter lowly whispered crude profanities to himself when the 'want' was starting to get to him. It wasn't like this before; the cravings and utter such. Only for tonight. He ceased his steps once he was an inch away from your feet, looming before you like a skyscraper as you've felt the heat of his stare totally irresistible as time goes by.

It was creating an enigma for your silent mental thinking; heedful of keeping your thoughts in a haywire.

"The last one?" It was a mere grumble, a volume that only you could hear as you were thoroughly enchanted by those amber eyes trying to burn your vindicated soul.

"The happiness of all, especially...yours," your heart was running a mile as you were consumed by the fire in his eyes. You softly stuttered with utmost sincerity. Never wanting the overwhelming sensation to go away as he was now closer; seeming that your desire to touch him was turning deep-seated.

You wanted to touch his face. Badly. The warm feeling threatening you to do it.

But, it seemed like the witcher was also feeling the same way and was somehow more immune to the irresistible repulsion. You've seen his eyes faltering, changing into a look of frustration, anger and depletion as he snapped his head away from you. The veins to his temples throbbing as deeply growled to himself; fighting off something he was feeling that you couldn't decipher.

Then, it was like he'd broken the spell as he abruptly shifted away from you; shaking his head. The overwhelming sensation changing into dismay and pain. His reaction sparking you to feel downhearted. Shouldn't he be happy that you wished for his happiness as well?

You've blinked back at the witcher with a frown, the way his eyes shun away kept your heart at bay, pondering of the fact if he felt it too or was it just another one of your ridiculous hallucinations? There were voices inside your head, screaming that you've told the witcher you liked him, though you never remembered when and where.

Maybe, it never happened?

Hence, why does the idea felt incorrect?

Jaskier, a great eavesdropper; managed to slid his way to where you both were. The bard's ocean eyes raking both of your rigid forms like you were acting pretty strange. Especially, the witcher who seemed to be having an internal battle within himself, "Alas! It seems like this is the wish that broke my heart because the witcher doesn't appear happy at all,"

Geralt gritted his teeth as he spoke; clearly upset of your last wish as he was glaring you down. The sudden change of his attitude making you scrunch your nose in dismay; his frustration seeming to also be given as you had your fists on either side, huffing out a breath; "You didn't wish to go back to that earth you call your home?"

"By the sound of my last wish, I think I did."

"It didn't sound like it," the witcher roughly spat. Bruising that selflessness and naivety of yours with his simple words. You crippled under his fierce gaze and felt yourself thwarting, "I really did! I didn't want to be selfish and wish for myself! Coming home makes me happy! Obviously, it would've been for you too based on how persistent you are in throwing me away! If I did say that to the Djinn then I should've portaled back home already!"

The sudden high-pitch timbre of your voice was an accident. You didn't mean to burst like a mad man at the witcher who had been wincing since the moment you've spat spiteful words after words. You were utterly infuriated; from the heavy, unrelieved feeling and also disheartened by how he was strong willed about how you should go back to where you came from.

Jaskier was rooted on the ground. Hands fidgeting over his cup of water, tapping the lid when you've started dropping a bombshell back at the unnerved witcher who now had a stoic expression carving his features once again; giving you each other looks as his mouth was in an 'O' form, staring back at Geralt; waiting for another mistake that he could do because he was that type of lout as Jaskier knew.

But, to the bard's surprise; his expectations had been high as he waited for the witcher to yell back like how he did to him back in the days; accidentally hurting his heart.

Yet, there was no angry witcher coming forth.

"You should've been more specific," Geralt calmly murmured, audibly sighing from the anger you've poured down on him; leaving Jaskier to his astonishment, "---you're too fucking selfless," the latter went on with his gruff rumbles, shaking his head in disdain as he turned his heel to drop his heavy metal sword on a medium sized brown mahogany table, "---to even include us in your wishes,"

Cirilla was nowhere to be found; currently in her room as she was jumping on her pretty large new bed. Jaskier wearily blinked back to the both of you who seemed to be in a mess; nodding to himself from the moment the witcher was the first to even calm down when you were maddened.

The simple action was enough for Jaskier to get blown away because he rarely does that when someone was proving a point to the witcher, especially when the point was actually about his rickety attitude that he couldn't control. The bard left you both to your argument, never wanting another quarrel and trying to cease the war by waving the white flag.

His firm and calm response made you feel bad. Totally bad especially when you've seen his frown. Howbeit, you were pondering why was he even thwarted about the fact that you included them in your wishes when he should've been thankful?

Witchers were complicated, you thought to yourself. The pent up aggression now leaving your body when you've tried to reason out to the witcher; though, it was still there deep inside. You just tried to shake it off.

You've tread on the heels of Geralt; throwing questions after questions as you were hot on his wheels, "But, did we get the Djinn?" First. "What happened?" Second. "Are you really not going to answer me? Is this a part of your brooding charm, then?" Third.

He'd ceased his steps before the first block of the stairs, your forehead hitting his beefy back. You've immediately hissed at that and caressed the part that was hit, silently groaning out for being an annoying idiot.

The witcher wasn't moved at all.

You were beyond awestruck from how you were acting. You've never been seeking for his attention before yet here you are; kindling with his patience.

"I'm sorry," the guilt was eating you alive. Your sudden caterwaul and needy attitude making you feel strange. You were never like that. Ever. You genuinely apologized to the witcher, biting at the pillows of your chapped lips from the anxiety, "---I didn't know you want me to leave that bad, Geralt."

Still, no answer from the witcher. Albeit, that was his problem with each passing day with you; the thought of you leaving was slowly penetrating his will on watching you go. He was slowly hating to see you leave.

If Destiny was hearing his thoughts, it'll be celebrating by how she was playing her cards right. It's what she wanted from him; from Geralt.

To accept his destiny. As always.

"---Also, thank you." you continued, trying to communicate with the silent hunk of a man, "---For always saving me when I should've been killed already,"

You've given him a small, sad smile without him even looking. Catching you off guard when he'd momentarily turned around to see a partial of his apologetic amber eyes.

"I---"

Though, it seemed like destiny didn't want that from Jaskier's brash interruption; Geralt didn't have the chance to continue what he wanted to say. A subtle roll of his eyes as the bard hollered from the second floor, being happy as a box of birds when he was welcomed with a bed that seemed so comforting to sleep on. He was just looking through the set of rooms; deciding to give Geralt the chambers that had wider windows then leaving to catch up on the others. There was also a pretty much medium sized bath room that took up most of the proximity of the home itself.

It was rather fantastic.

"THERE'S ANOTHER SPARE ROOM! HOWEVER, IT IS PRECISELY ONE ROOM DESTINED FOR ME!" he shouted from above, hearing him uttering out the most unfamiliar words he'd excitedly said as he continued to yell, "---YOU ARE AN ANGEL SENT FROM AN UNKNOWN PORTAL, Y/N! I SEND MY KISSES TO YOU! MUAH!"

Geralt's features was masking in complete fatigue and dismay; sighing from the bard's horrible interaction.

You bit your lips together, beaming back at the witcher who had a tight scowl on his face as you'd stealthily stepped back; planning to flee from his presence. Your thoughts thinking that maybe he was already annoyed, "Okay then, I'll give you your wanted silence."

You've side-stepped, cautiously aware of how heavy his gaze rested upon you. But, you were too bashful to even look back. Nervous that he would notice that you were already deeply fond of him.

But, something inside you says he already knows which is why it added more butterflies in your stomach; lately becoming uncontrollable and raucous.

"Where are you going?" Geralt bluntly questioned, you've ceased from escaping within his presence and gave him a look that tries to state the obvious, "To my chambers?"

The brooding witcher cocked his head to the side, curiosity filling his cat eyes. His lips twitching for a smirk to carve because your reasoning was hilarious, "The kitchen?"

You gave him a tight crease of your forehead, finding his queries rather abrupt and weirdly strange because he seemed to be pointing out that it wasn't your room and so you've laid down your opinions and viewpoint, "I know you were kind enough to lend me your bed because I was wounded. But, I think the medicine still works like a miracle and---"

Therefore, it was enough for the witcher to simper. The strange sentiments of keeping you close as he tries to sleep assaulted those strange senses that continues to give him impelling decisions.

"No," Geralt wanted to wince. It was not what he wanted to say. His crooked smile fell when you eyed him like he was a weird one, "What do you mean, no?"

"You can have my bed,"

The latter's nose was scrunched, subtly snapping his head to the side as he lowly cussed, "Ugh, fuck." when that was abruptly said out in the open.

He wanted you with him. On his bed. With reasons that can get him to sleep and also because of that feeling he couldn't get off his chest.

You puckered your lips in quick ponder, before shrugging to yourself and suddenly sleeping on his bed seemed to be normal, "Okay--What?"

Geralt calmly exhaled a breath, blinking back at you with a scowl as his body went stiff; uttering his next words with contrived annoyance, "You can suffer from Jaskier's lute strumming in the middle of the night; non stop like a dragon in heat," his teeth gritted against each other. Though, you didn't notice that and was more heedful of his anomalous attitude, "Is...Cirilla's room not available?"

The witcher shook his head, to the question sent and for his random actions, "You can't always sleep in her room," pause. He'd started again with doubt dripping in his baritone pitch, "---There are...peril instances that may occur when she is deep in her slumber,"

You clicked your tongue, "So, I have no choice but to sleep in your bed?"

"Hmm."

All you've gotten from him was a raise of his brow and a low menacing hum that seemed displeasing to the ears, "I think that was a yes," you avoided his intense golden peepers, thoroughly tentative of how your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your long mustard colored sleeved sweater; his demands giving your heart another blush, "---You are acting...weird today, Geralt."

With you stating the obvious ignited a grudging groan from the latter. Words were in a surly rumble as he languidly spun in his booted heels and took his flight up the stairs. His heavy, muscly weight making the floors creak with every step he takes; following him from behind, "Fine. Sleep with Kolby for all you want."

The way up was steep and narrow. Having an ounce of space for the person below the latter when he walks up. You were lost in wonder as your focal point was fortunately on Geralt's abounding derriere that made your mouth dry. 11/10, you rated inside your brain. Totally A+ with that tight leather pants he wore. He had a better bum than you, which made you look back at your own tushie, lighting up a scoff to your disappointment.

"---He seems quite unstable before we went to go get that faux of a Djinn,"

Halfway up the stairs, the witcher ceased. Sensing something was going on as he slightly turned his body to see you staring straight at his tushie. Geralt eyed you down in confusion, his amber eyes skeptical as he just caught you ogling at his firm glutes. The witcher couldn't help but scorn, seeing your mouth shut and in awe from what you were seeing.

You've blinked back to see him staring you down with that guileless curiosity of what you were just doing. Maybe staring at a witcher's bum wasn't exactly the brightest idea when he had heightened senses. A loud clear of your throat got him smirking before he continued to ascend.

"You--You called him Kolby!" you stuttered and tried to ignore that you were caught red handed by the witcher. You went after him and feel the blush creeping up your face, "Don't--Don't you turn your back away from me when I'm talking to you, Rivia! "

Your eyes scanned the way up the stairs, utterly surprised to see their house magically transformed into something better, "---So, I really did made the wishes already! Your house has a second floor right now?"

A crane of your neck as you watch his dirty, tousled hair bounce with every step you take. Those buns of his also jiggling when he took his final step and you couldn't avoid but silently give a chef's kiss; understanding how he was ravishing and utmost pleasing to the eyes of women.

Until your foot caught the ends of the stairs and you stumbled. One knee falling flat on the floor and a loud thud erupted from your clumsy accident. Too much bum staring. But, it was probably worth it. "Oh---Geralt! Ow!"

There wasn't much struggle as the witcher effortlessly grabbed your weight in one second; keeping you still as you were given a whiplash by those spellbinding eyes.

The witcher had one knee dropped to the ground, never hesitating to give assistance to your dextrosity. You were a lummox when you were bashful and shy; uttering out the most ungraceful confessions, opinions or even being an utter clutz because your fingers fidget from the embarrassment.

"So fucking selfless with her wishes and utterly cloddish,"

Geralt checked your bandages in haste, straightaway pulling the hems of your sweater in the right, respectful amount to see them all bloody and looking like you've stitched them open because of your accident. Touching you seemed to be the least of his worries when you've arrived; like he couldn't feel the prickling, delightful sensation that he pours out on you whenever he does.

He was prettier up close. You mentally thought to yourself, charmed by his handsome features when his focal point was on your bloody bandage, "You need those bandages changed, midget." he grumbled the thought out loud, slightly craning his head as you had the advantage on the position you both have; meeting those curious doe eyes like you wanted more from the witcher.

Something insatiable, pure and peckish.

Faces close in proximity, trapped in a spellbind that you both completely had no power in. His warm breath hitting your ajar mouth, slightly filling the curiosity you had for the witcher.

You've raked the small scars on his face, imperfections that made him more striking; wondering how many flaws did he have to take to become a monster-slayer in their world as you remembered Cirilla's stories about him. What more scars did he held on his body in which you find him still delightful.

The gap between the both of you was perilous. There it was again, the sensations that you both were having; yet no one was willing to risk.

"Geralt?" you softly whispered against the his lips; watching those eyelids of him fall shut when he'd craned his head to see your eyes staring right at him. Those gorgeous eyelashes that had been given to him; rather than to a woman like you. It was unfair to see how gorgeous he was up close.

Lemon. Peony. It was enticing for a witcher. Bringing him to a haven he didn't thought there was.

From the moment he'd heard you softly say his name, he'd slightly fell back; seeming to be caught in a vulnerable state. You've finally seen his eyes that was now filled with ire; like he was struggling with something within himself, "Hmm?"

"Did I...do something?"

The witcher exhaled a breath he has been holding, your scent catching his senses as he tried to imprint your scent by heart, giving him the advantage that it helps in making him calm and at ease, "No," he gruffly mumbled, breaking the spell and dragging his sky scraping height to the fullest; standing up with a frown on his face by wanting to achieve something that shouldn't be dreamt of, "Not at all."

Vulnerability would answer his curiosities and the witcher didn't know if he was ready yet because the last time he did, it got his heart broken.

You've had sleepless nights. Even more than you can ever imagine back in your apartment. The insomnia was kicking you in the ass for a thousand times as you kicked and stirred in your sleep, beside a witcher who has been giving your heart a marathon.

Just his breathing was keeping your breathing and heartbeat erratic.

There it was, the desire of having the big witcher close to you as he slept on the other end of the rather new large bed, his strapped, broad back away from you looking like the space he'd given himself was rather too little for his large frame.

It was funny to see him struggling with the small space as you've twisted and turned for the hundredth time. You couldn't hear anything other than the eerie, buzzing sounds of the night. Jaskier finally had shut up from creating new epics and strumming on his lute, so to say; it was probably three o'clock in the morning in their time.

You were wondering if that was how the witcher slept. Only on one position; never moving like he was dead. It has already been two hours and you had nothing to do but tap on the mattress with your fingers and stare at his clothed back. Did he also have scars on his back too? you mentally thought to yourself and gently turned your body to look at the wooden ceilings.

Sleep wouldn't consume you tonight. You'd rather have a different type of sensation that would consume you all night. Your breath hitched at the thought of that, wordlessly dragging the sheets above you to wrinkle your nose from the damaging ideas inside your head. Your soul probably tutting because of how you've become from the moment you've fainted and remember nothing.

There was a sigh. Your head snapped towards the witcher who seem to shift in his side of the bed, placing a hand underneath his pillows as his face was morphed into distress. He couldn't sleep at all because you were restlessly moving like a worm, also for the heavy feeling tugging at his chest since the moment he'd woken up from being attacked by the djinn.

"Geralt?"

He didn't answer.

"---It's cold, like really cold." with that, he deeply sighed; never planning on opening his eyes. The latter was hoping you would stop turning around the mattress and also for the uncomfortable feeling resting on his chest with every breath you take.

"Not for me,"

Geralt knew you were pouting at his response; but he paid no heed and tried to silently have his slumber. The brumal temperature of the night never giving him a headache because his body heat was taking it nicely as it was also helping the heat that began to start from his chest up till the every end and nerves of his body; making him groan to himself when you've unintentionally whimpered to yourself when he'd rejected the idea of closing the windows.

The sound you make was making him crazy.

Also, the clothes he was wearing to sleep was making him crazier; even hotter than it was supposed to be.

"Geralt," he grabbed onto the pillows a little more tighter, drowning himself in the fluff of his pillow as you continued to disturb him because you somehow couldn't find your own sleep as well.

"Yoo-hoo~ Beefy Legolas?"

It went on and on. Your twists and turns also did as he finally had to tiredly grumble.

"Let me have my nap."

You were lucky your wound was given medicine because it wasn't hurting anymore. An elbow on the bed to support yourself as you peeked to see Geralt's shiny hair glimmering beneath the candle light. Tempting you to give care and probably spend a little time tugging at it as well. Those thoughts make you shake your head, clearing your throat as you asked the witcher with utmost purity lacing your tongue.

"Geralt, can I braid your hair while you sleep?"

"No."

"Did you bleach your hair then? You know, it’s like a way of coloring your hair and such---"

"No."

You softly huffed in disappointment, lower lip jutting out as you sighed from the energy and itch that you couldn't fight off, trying to see if he had his eyes opened but his burly form was making it difficult. You could only see his back and ivory hair, "Where's the gym? I mean, obviously you do go to a gym with that...build. Except, if you're given a serum like Captain America's..."

The latter lowly grunted in response; making your spine shiver from the sound as he does so. You've suddenly swallowed the saliva down your throat, wincing as you subtly held onto your chest; feeling it strangely grow a temperature hotter. You shake your head to try and ignore the uncomfortable feeling.

"You are talking in riddles that I couldn't comprehend, midget."

Geralt audibly sighed, turning his sturdy body to see you wide awake and innocently blinking back at the latter. Acting all guiltless like you weren't just trying to wake him up. He exhaled an exasperated breath; amber eyes glued to the ceiling with a grimace on his face.

"So, you're...awake?" you innocently stated the obvious, trying not to act guilty that you were anxious about a lot of things and your brain doesn't seem to cooperate with your body.

"How can I sleep when you keep tossing over and over," the latter rasped before languidly turning and facing front to you. His eyes searching for whatever was keeping you awake; pondering why your energy level was at the top. Totally too much for his wearied ones, "---I'm starting to regret why I offered you my bed," he gave a soft shake of his head as he comfortably dropped his head on his fluffy pillows, watching you drop yours at the same time. You've welcomed those golden peepers drilling with your emotions; setting fire to your insides, though you've never told anyone but yourself.

"I told you so. I have insomnia when my anxiety strikes like a bitch,"

Geralt had his eyebrows in a tight knot, "A what?"

"I can't sleep." you honestly told, breathing out your frustrations as you've felt the witcher's stare heavy on you, "It's just so...cold,"

He gave a small, tender smile. It was unconscious, the witcher didn't know if he even was smiling when he had hunches onto why you couldn't sleep. Based on how you were giving him bear hugs up all night when your fever went high, a leg on his robust ones; face nuzzled on his clothed, wooly chest; he knew you were a cuddler.

Howbeit, nobody also needed to know that he had his fingers raked in between your hair like the witcher was brushing it to make him sleep.

Like it was calming him down; making his breathing steady and at ease.

"You want something." he simply graveled, thoroughly amused.

"W-What?! No!"

Did he know what you were thinking? Especially those promiscuous ones? Or only the part where you wanted to be near him as you slept?

The latter scoffed, his smile turning crooked as you've seen those teeth eventually showing as he beamed, "I didn't thought naive midgets lie. I must say, your flaws are surprising."

Albeit, despite of how he was making your stomach flutter wildly; this brooding man gives you comfort in such a weird way.

Adoration was definitely a complex part in life that nobody can ever explain. A diversity in their world and also in yours.

"You need a hug." the witcher stated as a matter of fact, knowing that it was what you needed as you continued to fidget and tap on the mattress with your fingers.

"Maybe," pause. You've peered back at the man who kept giving your heart beat a difficult time; being drawn to his amber colored eyes, enraptured by his presence as you were caught in a spell that he could only give.

Only him and nobody else.

Geralt seemed to be a good listener and so, you've done the inevitable as he was the only person you've shared a bed with for all your life. Other than your mother when you were younger. He was the only man you've approved of having your personal space infiltrated.

"I had...stuff toys and a big pillow back in my home. It was the only thing I could hold for me to sleep. The only thing that can keep me company in a cold day," you started, shifting your eyes away from the witcher who was on the far end of the bed; waiting for you to continue like he always does, wanting to know what was inside your head.

Curiosity always leads to something else.

"---So, I must say that it helps with my anxiety and insomnia. Thinking that I have someone to hold; someone to protect me from all the sadness, rejection or disappointments that seem to love me throughout my life,"

"Are they beasts?" you glanced at the latter, studying him if it was a joke. But, all you see was a determined witcher who was patiently waiting if his guesses were correct.

"Anxiety and Insomnia?" Geralt gave a quiet hum as an answer.

"What? No. Definitely---Well, maybe. If you think of it that way. They keep your mind unstable and problematic. Fifty percent would want you thinking about things that should've been left forgotten. It ruins your sanity,"

"It is a beast then,"

You've given him a small smile, memorizing each curvature of his face; never wanting it to be forgotten. The way his eyes peer back at you in curiosity for whatever you wanted to say like hearing you talk was his entertainment and pleasure.

He'd watched you move closer, letting your curiosity get the better of you as you've felt his hot breath fanning your face in a way that could give you warmth in the midst of the brisk night; his windows never closed shut and feeling him closer than you can ever ask for was giving you the warmth you needed.

A warmth that could take those horrid thoughts away.

"Tell me your stories," you softly urged him on, his voice seeming to be soothing. The only ones that could pacify your jitters to shut down.

The witcher blinked, appearing to be off-guard but utmost compliant nevertheless, "About?"

"Your monsters. The ones you've slaughtered," you joyously smiled, your eyes turning crescent shapes as it felt as if it was the moon that was giving Geralt light to his night sky, "---It might be helpful if I want to become a game developer of something,"

"I've only shared stories with my horse,"

You placed your palms under your head, craning fully to see those eyes piercing through your soul; satisfying your cravings for having him close than you can ever wish for, "You mean, Roach? You talk to your horse?!" a soft exclamation was all it took for Geralt to give a short scoff.

"Merely, now because I have Jaskier and Cirilla. But, prior before they came around; I only had my horses to talk," pause. "---You wouldn't want me talking about how I hunt monsters, it'll bore you to death,"

You firmly shook your head to show him your will-power in hearing those interesting stories he had. A monster-slayer who had boring stories? You doubt. Just learning the back stories of a main character's game was interesting, no doubt that Geralt's stories would even get you gasping from all his slaughters, "I love all types of stories," you cordially whispered, eyes twinkling underneath the candle light as the witcher blinked back, "---Also have read ones that weren't of a penchant. Yet, I've grown to love them."

With little effort of bringing out the big guns, Geralt obediently complied. The deep baritone of his pitch lulling you into having your slumber. He'd talk about his latest hunts and quests; learning about monsters that you didn't know existed. Mostly deadly as some has taken him down and eventually lead him to being poisoned. You've frowned at that, but he'd reassured you that his scorching trials created him to be immune to any poison that was harmful to humans.

He was mutated after all and it made him more compelling.

Geralt has stopped his lullabies when he'd reach at the point where he had tried saving a town called Blaviken; quietly simmering down as you were suddenly perspiring like a dog in heat and heaving deep breaths.

"Midget." he firmly stated, studying your face when you've fluttered your eyes closed as you started listening to his stories. You've nestled closer to the witcher who had a wince on his face as he was perplexed by the sudden drops of sweat that was forming on your forehead. "---Are you alright?"

You gave a quiet chortle as you've felt his breath fanning your forehead, "Maybe,"

His medallion rested on your forehead, realizing that you were cuddling him a little too closely but the bear of a man didn't seem to care, "Your answers can always leave a person guessing," he grumbled more so to himself as you felt him shift on the mattress. Curious as to why his big, rough, calloused fingers were behind you; his hand that he has used to hold a sword and yield for those men to be butchered.

His hand that had magic was now raking through your hair, gently and slowly combing your hair as it was giving you succor and protection.

"You're not...uncomfortable?" you hesitatingly asked, voice smaller and quiet as his body was taking in your small form. The witcher had his eyes closed now; like he was in peace, "I've done far worse than to be scared of giving people hugs,"

"But, this is called cuddles and chill because you're hugging and talking me to sleep,"

"Is that what it is now? Is that what its called in your kingdom?" you've heard him tease, his lips curved in a way that tells you he was poking fun at your modern references that he certainly didn't know.

His fingers continued its ministrations; how gentle he was made your heart beat drum so loud that you could hear them ringing in your ears and you were sure Geralt could be hearing it. You gawked back at the latter, "It won't be called Netflix and Chill because I swear it has a different meaning and---"

Geralt quickly cut you off, abruptly opening his eyes to give you a compassionate look in his eyes, "Cuddles and chill it is, then." you've bit your lip in an attempt to shut your mouth.

"---Sleep, midget." the once brooding witcher demanded before giving your spine a satisfying shiver as his thick fingers raked on the hairs of your nape as he patiently untangled those locks away, "Those beastly creatures you have won't slaughter you while I'm around,"

Inside both of your chests, there was still that insatiable feeling that you couldn't comprehend. However, the fire dissipating an ounce by the tiny bit of wholesome intimacy you've gotten; was just the rattles of one's cage because there was always more.

More and more you'll be willing to take.

Hence, It was a full moon and wolves howl whenever the moon shines bright against the brumal, cold nights as a cicatrix began to shine which has rested in between the valley of your breasts.

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! PLEASE DO LEAVE FEEDBACK IF YOU’VE ALREADY READ THIS OR EVEN PRESS THE REBLOG BUTTON OR LEAVE A HEART. IT’S FINE WITH ME. THANK YOU! HOW TO BE GERALT? MIDGET KEPT ON BOTHERING HIM. XD

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fullmarvelheart · 3 years

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Monsters & Pancakes

Pairing: Avengers x Enhanced!OFC

Word Count: 2,462

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death and familial loss.

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 3! I hope you all enjoy the story as well as the characters! Image is not my own. All rights go to the original creator. Sorry this took so long to get out! I hope you enjoy reading it!

Series Masterlist

I slowly begin to wake and curl more into the couch. My body feels less heavy than it usually does, more alert. That alone has me feeling uneasy before I realize I'm on my couch... not my bed.

I shoot up in terror knowing fully well that he did something to me, that Loki made me pass out. Though, the fast movement throws me off balance and I end up tumbling to the floor. While pushing myself up with a groan, I hear hurried footsteps rush towards me on the floor.

"What in Odin's name are you doing on the floor?" He chides somewhere behind me.

"What did you do to me?" I sneer while turning towards his voice.

"Just a simple sleeping incantation." He tells me while nonchalantly crossing his arms.

"Why?" I growl while forcing myself to stand. He sighs while rolling his eyes.

"For one, I was brought, somehow, to this place, against my will might I add. So, my trust in you was not and is not very high. Another reason I kept you asleep, after I explored to make sure it was safe, was because it appeared that you needed it." He explains in a very frustrated tone. I take a deep breath.

"I guess we're even then." He looks at me curiously. "Both being kidnapped by the other..." I elaborate.

"Not quite..." He states while I cock an eyebrow. "Your name... I still do not know it."

I sigh while trying to run a hand through my very knotted dirty-blond hair.

"People call me 'Saddie'." I tell him while walking to my room to retrieve my brush.

"You didn't answer my question." He huffs.

"Yes, I did." The retort comes out more bitter than intended but I don't care to change it.

"I asked for your name, not a nickname. I told you my name without the added titles."

"'Of Asgard' isn't an added title?" He groans at the sarcastic remark while I carefully brush the wavy tresses.

"Your name?" He asks again, though annoyed.

I sigh, not wanting to say it out loud.

"No need to tell me, you just did." He chuckles darkly from the hallway.

"What?!" I yell.

"Don't worry, Sadira, I think it's a very unique name." I feel my face grow hot with anger and notice the lightbulbs starting to flicker.

I storm out of my room only to spot him standing frozen in the hallway, staring at the flickering bulbs.

"Do NOT use that name!" He turns around to face me quickly. "And stop reading my DAMN MIND!" I scream.

He holds his hands up in surrender.

"I give you my word, not to do that again." He tells me.

I scoff.

"I don't know if I believe you."

I brush past him and make my way to the kitchen. I haven't eaten since before I left for work, however long ago that was. As the thought of food crosses my mind, my stomach growls painfully and I resist the urge to groan because of it. God, I want something sweet.

As I begin to prep my meal. I see Loki leaning on the doorway, just observing.

"Do you want anything?" I ask, my head deep into the refrigerator.

"Sure." I hear in reply. "As long as you don't poison it." I half-chuckle.

"You never know..."

I begin to pull ingredients together and place them on the counter.

"Why did you teleport into the middle of the street?" I ask while focused on the food in front of me.

"Huh?"

"Well, you suddenly appear on Earth in the very early morning, looking very upset or unnerved for whatever reason, and then appear to want to blend in. Seeing as you're wearing... what do you call it... ah, Midgardian clothes, instead of what looked like a cape when I first saw you. It looks to me like you're on the run." I explain.

"You saw that?"

"I saw everything. The beam that brought you here and everything that followed until you spotted me." I say, while waving a spatula around as I talk.

"But why did you think I was on the run? Maybe you are yourself." My eyes snap up to meet his. "You have nothing personal in here. No pictures of family... friends, no images at all. Not even a plant." He pries while moving closer to me.

"Because I have none."

"What?"

"I have no friends or family." I growl while tightly gripping onto the spatula.

I move my eyes back onto the food I'm preparing in order to prevent the tears in my eyes from spilling. And I try so hard as to push them back.

"Now, are you on the run?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"In a sense... Yes. Are they actively looking for me? No. No harm will come to you because of it."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in at his explanation.

"Who are you hiding from?" He asks, carefully.

"Too many people to list." I chuckle darkly as I put the mixture into a pan. "Mainly HYDRA though. Unfortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn't been able to completely rid the world of them." I grumble.

"Ugh, S.H.I.E.L.D." He grunts with such distaste.

"I take it you've encountered them." I state while looking at him from the corner of my eye.

He hums in acknowledgement while I flip the item in the pan.

"Well I haven't, but I'm grateful for them nonetheless. If it wasn't for S.H.I.E.L.D, HYRDA would still have me. And I don't want to imagine the horrors that would come from that."

I begin to plate what I had prepared before washing and cutting up some strawberries.

"What is your favorite fruit?" I ask faintly.

"What?"

"Do you have a favorite fruit?" I ask again, though slightly annoyed.

"No, none that I know from Midgard." He says, very confused.

I hum while taking a can of whipped cream from the fridge.

After stacking two pancakes, I drizzle the cut strawberries on top before adding a spiral of whipped cream and a drizzle of maple syrup. I pass the finished plate to him along with a fork and knife before doing the same to my plate. I walk to the fridge and put all the ingredients away, but not before spraying some of the cream into my mouth.

I look back at Loki and notice he wears a disgusted expression.

"What? My house, my rules. And besides, it's for good luck." I defend while stabbing my fork into a piece of a pancake.

He scoffs but says nothing. I shake my head and continue eating. My thoughts begin to wander to all the events that occurred today, when I gasp.

Loki gives me a strange look as I run over to the living room and turn the TV on the first news station I find. The Q-Ship is still being played all over each network with the headlines reading "Attack on New York City". Various "experts" talk and give their predictions of what it means or what's going to happen. I scowl at the stupidity of those so-called "experts". The really have NO idea what the hell is going on.

Tony Stark's face shows up on the screen as the title reads "Missing". I hope that he's still alive, still in the fight. I know we'll need him. I mean, they'll need him.

Hpmh "we'll"...?

I am NOT getting involved in this anymore.

The image then changes to Cull Obsidian and Ebony Maw giving their oh-so nauseating "rejoice because of our presence" speech. I growl at their faces immediately causing the TV and the lights to begin to flicker.

"You know the Black Order." It's not a question but a statement. I turn to face Loki who has an uncertain look on his face.

I sigh, but say nothing to confirm or deny before looking back at the TV. What's the point? The answer is already known.

"Saddie... How do you know them?" He says inching closer to me. I can feel the spike of his heart-rate, I can feel his fear as if it was my own. Though, some of it is my own fear too.

"I guess that's who you're running from." I half-heartedly say with a chuckle. Though, I'm not even sure I'm correct.

"How do you know Thanos?" He asks slowly, cautiously, scared of a reaction. My reaction.

And he should be, because at the mention of his name, I begin to shake uncontrollably.

"Please... Please, don't. You don't want to know." I croak, shutting my eyes from the new tears in my eyes pushing to be set free.

Before either of us can do anything, the screen changes to "Possible Alien Attack in Scotland".

"Now why the hell would they go to Scotland?" I ponder out-loud with tears still rimming my eyes.

My eyes widen in slight fear before I pivot to face Loki.

"When was the last time you faced the Black Order?" I question quickly, harshly brushing off the lone tear that fell.

He flinches from my sudden actions, but remains silent.

"You're running from Thanos and his children. What happened to cause you to run?" I push because I need to know. If this is what I think it is, I'm not safe anymore, no one is.

Still there is silence...

"Tell me!" I scream at him.

His face scrunches briefly before he sighs.

"The day I arrived on Midgard. Ragnarok happened to my realm, Asgard. Me and my brother, Thor, we escaped with our people. Then Thanos arrived, he wanted the Tesseract. Inside was one of the six Infinity Stones. They're-"

"I know what they are. But did you just give one of the stones to him?! Why would you even consider that?!" It can't be the same Thor as... No, no it's just a similar name. Focus Saddie!

"I didn't! Not at first! He already had one! He had the Power Stone, and he had my brother! And he was torturing him for the stone! You have no idea what that's like. To bargain for the life of someone you care about!" His words send a dagger to my heart and I feel the burn of tears in my eyes again.

"I have every idea what that is like! That is why I have no family left!" I scream, the lights start flickering again.

Silence envelops the room again except for our raging breaths slowly calming down from our shouting.

"Balance... That's what he calls it. Where there is an entire population, Thanos will leave half. Two planets in a system, one remains untouched. Two siblings..." I trail off and only one tear rolls down my cheek. "You were the sibling that should have died... weren't you?" My voice soft with sadness and understanding.

He says nothing, he doesn't need to.

"You need to tell your brother you're alive." I say choking back a sob.

"What? I can not simply do that! You have no ide-"

"STOP SAYING THAT! I lost my twin sister because of that monster!" I scream. "I am in your brother's shoes. I mourn the loss of my sister everyday! I blame myself! He needs to know, he needs to know you're still alive!" The tears have been rolling in uncontrollable waves down my face before I inhale a deep breath and exhale, slowly willing myself to calm down.

"There are more Infinity Stones on Earth... That is the only possible explanation for his presence here." I reason while the tears slow.

I kneel down and extend my palm on the ground. Reaching my power outward, I let myself connect to the Earth. It's over-powering and extremely painful to do because of my limited practice, but I persist.

"What are you-"

I let myself slip into the feel of the world, the magnitude of power it possesses, but I feel it. One form of power that exists above all else on this planet. The only Infinity Stone on Earth. I gasp, call back my abilities, and fall backwards. The power surges, then every electric source in my house flickers to black. I sit in the dark silence as I still can feel the stone somewhere in New York, somewhere close by. The power goes back on and I turn to a stunned Loki.

Tapping into the city's power supply, I try to recharge my energy as quickly as I can before sitting up, and pushing past the annoying man in my living room.

"Where are you going?" He calls out as I throw the door open to my room.

"There's an Infinity Stone still on Earth. Either the Black Order, or Thanos will be there. I'm going." I tell him as I drag a chest from under my bed.

"What?! Are you mad?!"

"Possibly..." I mutter to him as I throw the lid open.

Possibly? Try undeniably!

Yeah, I'm so not getting involved in this... dammit.

Inside the chest various knives, daggers, and even my bo-staff lie waiting to be used. Most of the metals are specifically designed for me by the Mad Titan himself. Smiling to myself at the comfort my weapons bring, I use my power to throw Loki out of the room and shut the door. After locking it, I begin to change, but not into one of the garbs I wore while my sister was still alive.

Instead, I slip on the suit HYDRA had made for me before I escaped. It's a navy catsuit that almost resembles Black Widow's own one. I zip it up to my neck then pull on black lace-up boots and my black fingerless gloves. I arm myself to the teeth with several small knives, four daggers (the two largest, from my time with HYDRA, rest on my thighs), and the bo-staff that extends into my favorite duel-bladed weapon.

Sealing the chest back up and returning it under my bed, I unlock and open the door to which Loki stumbles in. Apparently, leaning on the door was smart. A very, very, smart idea indeed.

He scoffs at my thoughts when he regains his composure. Though, I recall telling him not to read my mind anymore, I have more important things to do than to yell at him. Instead, I settle for an eye roll.

Looking me up and down as I place my long hair into a high ponytail, his mouth hangs open as he stares. I ignore the goosebumps that erupt under his gaze. Wow, do I need more male interaction or what? Mentally chastising myself, I clear my throat, bringing his attention back to me, or to my eyes.

"Please don't do anything destructive while I'm gone." I practically beg before teleporting away.

Chapter 4

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muthaz-rapapa · 4 years

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Rewatch: Mahou Tsukai Precure Ep 3

Hey hey hey~!

I made it to Sunday with another MahoPre post again! Praise me, won’t you?

*bows extravagantly* ( -∀-)シ

ALSO, HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO ALL YOU GREAT MOMMIES OUT THERE!! WHERE WOULD WE BE WITHOUT YOU?! (｡^▽^｡)/ ♡

Yaaaaa, you know the animation quality really went up when not only the new transformation sequence was top notch but the episode it debuted in was as well. Really! Everything was so sparkly and purdy~

Like Mirai and Mofu-chan’s excited faces, kyaaaaa~! xD

Ahem, so we start off with Mirai calling home and let’s just say she’s very lucky it was Grandma who picked up.

I don’t know how long Mirai’s been gone but judging by how Grandma’s first question is about Mirai’s search instead of asking where she is right now, maybe she hasn’t been gone too long to raise any alarms yet.

In any case, the beginning of the phone call was hilarious cuz though Grandma shares Mirai’s belief in witches and magic, I’m pretty sure she never expected for Mirai to be contacting her from another realm, much less hear that she’s become a witch herself.

She’s like “Huh? Wut?” xD;

And then there’s Mirai. Oh god, Mirai.

She really is the type to spill almost every detail out in a jumbled manner and gesture frantically on the other end of the line even though there’s no way her Grandma can actually see her, lol I do the same thing when I talk over the phone

Meanwhile, Headmaster and Riko are just standing awkwardly in the background, watching this girl play charades in front of a crystal ball.

(^ ∀ ^ ;;)

Anyways, despite all the rushed explanations, Mirai wants to attend class here and asks for permission.

Naturally, any normal parent/guardian would say “no” because first of all, what the heck is she going on about? Flying brooms? Magic World? WAT? Did you hit your head while playing or something?

I mean, even the most understanding person would just assume Mirai found a new friend at the playground who introduced her to some secret hangout or whatever and that Mirai just wants to stay out longer to have fun, that’s all.

But nuh-uh! Mirai’s really in the Magic World right now and she really wants to enroll in magic school for the rest of spring break!

Miraculously (and again, she is so lucky it was Grandma who picked up), she does get the okay.

Grandma actually believes Mirai will be alright with these strangers in some foreign place she’s never heard of. She’s never met them, there’s no address or even a phone number she can call to check up on Mirai. For all she knows, her granddaughter could’ve been tricked and kidnapped by some shady hoodlums.

But over the phone, it doesn’t seem that Mirai is any danger...and since she sounds so eager, well then, alright. Grandma chooses to trust Mirai.

Cue joyous, major squee-able hug! <D

But on a serious note, PLEASE DO NOT ALLOW THIS IN REAL LIFE, OKAY?!

(O_ O ;;)

It’s somewhat forgivable in an children’s anime where things are more idyllic and even Mirai’s situation is an exception among exceptions because of plox.

But if your kid is asking to stay out in some vague location with people who don’t have your trust to look out for their well-being, then you get in your car or call the police or do whatever’s necessary to bring them home immediately!

...come to think of it, I wonder how Mirai’s parents reacted when Grandma told them the news. By the time Mirai got back home, they seemed pretty cool with it but Mirai should’ve at least called them every day (off-screen) to ensure she’s alright so that they didn’t have to worry a lot while she was away.

I dunno, please don’t mind me too much on this matter. I'm just very sensitive when it comes to the safety of children, that’s all. The news and living in the city scared me into being cautious.

Honestly, I wouldn’t mind becoming an Uber driver as long it’s a magic carpet I’m flying.

But I’m not sure what the insurance policy on that is like and it doesn’t look like there are seat belts either which is a tad bit concerning. Hmm...

Bouncy-wouncy flippy-floppy Mofurun~!

Look at this happy bear~! She’s having the time of her life!

Ugh, my heart~!!! x3333

I believe this is the first time Mirai’s had the chance to tell Riko something about herself and it’s quite nice that Riko was the one who (sorta) initiated the interest this time around.

We all know what Riko’s like. She’s not fond of people being too chummy with her because if they get to know her, they’ll learn how bad she is at magic as well. That’s why she’s always trying to maintain a distance. Trying not to interact with others too much and not volunteer too much info about herself so she can uphold an image she doesn’t really possess and protect where she’s most vulnerable. Tsundere defense mechanism in the works.

For her to reach out to Mirai, even if it’s only out of some courteous small talk and minimal curiosity, maybe it means she’s gradually becoming more comfortable. At least in Mirai’s company, there’s no need to have her guard up that high and she can talk to someone normally for once.

Mirai, on the other hand, is the honest type through and through and is thrilled to share anything about what she loves.

Her bright, sincere personality and close relationship with her grandma shows how well she was raised because no matter how wild or out of this world Mirai’s thoughts can get sometimes, those closest to her never ridiculed or made her think less of herself for that. That’s why she’s almost always able to face anything with open optimism. She’s free to be unapologetically herself because she has that kind of reassurance.

It’s a security that many people would die to have.

And Riko is one of those people.

Listening to Mirai talk warmly about her grandmother brings a slightly lonely expression to her face because Riko doesn’t have anyone like that. No one whom she can talk to about anything and everything, no one whom she can show her true self to without fear of being judged by them.

No one to call a real friend.

Well, guess what, Riko? Ya got right one in front of ya, dont’cha? Hahaha~!

She just doesn’t realize it yet.

Moving along, damn, the whole island is occupied by magic merchants and their shops!

Diagon Alley can’t even begin to compare!

Yep. If there’s any Precure universe I want to live in, it’s definitely this one! 8D

At the center of the giant square, of course there’s a statue and of course there’s a story to go along with it and of course, there’s an old man (by the name of Mr. Hook) just waiting to tell that story to whoever’s new in town.

Nevertheless, this story is a rather interesting one in respect to the Linkle Stone Ruby that’s set to appear later.

The Merchant Alley is where people gather to sell their trades and goods. It’s a place where they can share the work they’re proud of and passionate about.

And Ruby is the Linkle Stone of what? Passion.

So the Passion Flame was pretty much the Linkle Stone Ruby all along and it returned to remind the people of the magic they still have within themselves.

This slightly debunks the idea that the Linkle Stones will only appear when Precure do but it doesn’t change the fact that Ruby’s true form didn’t manifest until Mirai and Riko came to the Alley.

Anyways, on another note, isn’t it an extremely heartwarming thought that even though Mother Rapapa has been gone for centuries, her magic hasn’t disappeared and that it still extends itself to help people when they’re in need? Even now, Mother Rapapa still loves and wants to protect the world she defended with her very life which just goes to prove that the most ancient and most powerful magic of all is indeed, love.

Love never dying means magic never dying.

Aaaaahhhh~, that’s so beautiful! *sniff* <’D

Aww, but I wanted to hear about Pegasus Lane!

( •́ ∧ •̀ )

Ok, ok, maybe some other time.

At least we got Riko taking Mirai’s hand to lead her away instead. Me is a happy gurl~ <3

But then Mofurun says she smells something sweet and duh, it’s clearly Ruby sitting in the statue’s lamp but they don’t know that yet so they all assume it’s just the cotton candy from a street vendor near by.

Well, their reaction was adorbs anyway.

D’aww, omgawd, look at Mirai, trying to tug Riko in the direction of sweets and Riko having none of that. Kekekeke! xD

Ok, before we go in, I just want to say that I adore Francois and all the fabulousness he’s packaged with!

But more than that, I love how he’s always so kind to people who visit his shop, especially the girls. He’s always eager to give them the best fashion he can offer and since he learned his trade in the Mundane World, it’s probably safe to say he isn’t at all prejudiced against anyone from there either.

But also, also...!!

He knows how to recognize CUTE when he sees it!

Oh yea, Francois is my spirit animal.

Poor Mofurun, though. She looks so traumatized. xD;

My daughter is soooooo cute! Don’t you agree?

*pokes you in the back with ten needles* (*°∀°)

Man, if I could do magic......I would probably still go out to buy clothes instead of making them myself. It’s less about not having the talent to design and more about gathering the material that would be a pain for me. I’d rather leave that to the professionals.

That said, since it’s magic we’re talking about, I hope retail prices are a lot lower over there since production requires less manual labor. Or should it be magical labor?

Well, it takes less time if an outfit can be fitted and finished within the hour so that’s a plus at least.

Mmhmm. *nods appreciatively*

I wasn’t lying when I said this uniform is one of my (if not the) top favorite school uniform designs across all Precure seasons.

The colors, the plaid bows, and ugh, the HAT!!

...I wanna be a witch, too. TwT

Honestly, Francois is just one of the best recurring characters. Period.

He’s so thoughtful, going the extra mile even when he doesn’t really have to. He’s not in it for the famous name or money, he just wants to make sure his clients look good and feel good looking good.

What an artisan!

(Btw, Mofurun still uses the same pouch when Mirai grows up and I just find that so awesome because they’re continuing to treat a gift from Francois with such care~ <3)

I mean, fixing a loose button is a small task. Hardly worth mentioning but with Riko falling so often (*discontent Riko noises*), you’d think Francois would be exasperated about her always ruining her clothes.

Nope.

He just goes and sews it back in place without charge, gently telling Riko in his own special way for her to be more careful.

Riko doesn’t miss the sentiment behind his words and really, you’d have to be blind to not see how all the people Riko knows really care about her.

More locals to meet and this one is Todd and he sells produce!

Not much to say about him other than he’s a nice dude, offering Mirai a sample of what a Frozen Clementine really tastes like.

lol, oh Riko, don’t take it so personally. These things happen. <D;

Also, that’s two strikes for Riko today. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town was aware of how clumsy she is.

At least, none of them are mean about it or deliberately poking fun at her. Riko’s just a little too sensitive is all.

Again, the shifts through Riko’s many faces when eating clementines are fun to watch.

It’s okay, Riko! You’ll get there eventually!

Wouldn’t put it past an eccentric, old man like him to do something like that.

I mean, I’m positive that the Headmaster’s character is partially inspired by Albus Dumbledore who also fits these kind of descriptions so yea...

YEA.

Meanwhile, I am living for the savageness that Cathy is unrepentantly laying on the Deputy Headmistress concerning her stickler-policy/no-outsider opinions.

Nothing against the Deputy Head since she does come around eventually but hell yea, Miss Sassy Crystal Ball! xD;

Next up is Gustav’s, where Mirai gets her own broom!

God, I love this broom so much. It’s simple but so charming!! Perfect for a young witch!

Nooooooo, Riko-chan~

That’s not what she meant! (^ ∀ ^ ;;)

Ooo, that’s three strikes now!

Riko really can’t catch a break, huh?

I wonder how many times everybody in town has heard this reply, lol

Y’know, these shopkeepers have known Riko since she was little so for them to comment on Mirai accompanying her today just further supports the idea that they’re always watching out for her however they can.

Riko’s an awkward kid who’s trying too hard to act and see through the eyes of an adult and that’s why she blunders so much.

But perhaps, if they were to point that out too directly, it’ll just make Riko feel more ashamed or make her more stubborn than she already is.

If that’s true, then I’d like to think they all agreed to just give Riko her space and let her grow into it in her own time. They’ll still support her every now and then (because she needs it) but they won’t overdo it to the point where she’ll notice and misunderstand it as an remark on her poor skills in magic.

Anyways, at least Gustav seems happy to see Riko’s finally got a friend to spend time with. As much as Riko’s unsure about calling Mirai her friend, no one’s going to deny that Riko not being alone anymore is a good thing for her, hehe~

They got to eat cotton candy, after all! YAY~!

Gotta say, this might just be the best way to eat cotton candy cuz it just levitates a little above your hand and you don’t have to worry about holding onto a stick and then the candy melting onto the stick and your hands getting messy cuz of that and whatnot.

Also, it really makes it look like you’re munchin’ on a cloud. Cute, right? :D

So far, Mirai is having a superb day. She got the whole magic user starter kit and it really feels like she’s become a witch now.

But as Riko says, it takes more than just looking the part to be a genuine practitioner of magic.

I wonder if she realizes how contradictory she sounds here because if she knew that all along, then that would label her search for the Emerald as hypocritical.

Though it’s possible she only realized this after coming back from her recent trip to the Mundane World empty-handed.

Still, there’s no doubt the Emerald’s profound and mythical qualities would be desired by many, including those who are efficient in magic. Nobody is really sure what it’s capable of but since it’s reputed to be the rarest and most powerful of the Linkle Stones, we can at least expect it to live up to its name in some way.

And when Riko overheard the Headmaster talking about it in his office, well, who can really blame her for shooting off to go find it then?

If anything, had she found it, Riko probably would’ve used the Emerald to figure out why her magic seldom worked out the way she wanted it to. Then from there, she’d do whatever she could in her own power to make herself a great witch.

...Maybe.

Mirai, however, is more impressed by how brave and aggressive Riko is on fulfilling her dream.

In fact, she’s more amazed by Riko than the Emerald itself and doesn’t think her search for the Emerald sounds ridiculous at all.

To her, Riko is a hard worker and she should be acknowledged just for how much effort she puts into becoming a witch worthy of respect.

But when she asks what Riko means by stuff like “excellent” or “splendid”, even Riko’s not sure.

Of course, even if you have a good amount of magical prowess, that doesn’t automatically mean you’re a great magic user.

Rather, it should be how you use your magic that determines whether you are great or not.

I guess that’s why Riko suddenly turned that question back on Mirai. Because as of this moment, she’s only looking for ways to cast her spells without them backfiring on her. She hasn’t given much thought on what she can do with magic once she does have it in her hands.

Riko doesn’t have an answer yet. And because she doesn’t want to appear like she doesn’t, her walls go up again in an attempt to prevent anyone else from realizing how unsure she actually is inside.

But you know what?

Mirai’s not sure about her own dream either.

She’s never thought of it before now and nothing really comes to mind just because she’s asked out of the blue like this. However, that doesn’t really bother her.

It’d be awesome if one day, she can find something to dedicate herself to like Riko does...but until then, there’s no need to rush or stress it. If she’s meant to find it, then she’ll find it eventually.

Having a dream should be a wonderful thing, after all. It’s not something you must have but something you want, something you choose to pursue.

I believe that’s what makes Riko so special in Mirai’s eyes. Because despite all the doubts and hardships that come with it, Mirai can tell Riko truly cherishes her desire to become a fine witch some day.

If she didn’t, Riko wouldn’t have needed to try so hard. But she did and is still trying because she really wants it. That is what earned her Mirai’s admiration.

Not sure if those feelings reached Riko but at least it seems that she knows Mirai respects and understands her to extent in that regard, which then draws out a smile from her as well.

Cuz c’mon, it’s just nice to talk these things out with a friend.

That’s right, they’re definitely friends now.

They’re laughing together and the atmosphere is very light and pleasant and happy.

Just look at Mofurun, the perfect mood indicator. If that’s not enough to show how well our girls are getting along, then I don’t know what is.

Ugh, unfortunately if there’s a good mood going on, a mood ruiner is never too far off.

This time it’s Sparda and she introduces herself by stealing Mirai’s Diamond pendant. *GASP* BAD! >:(

Demands are made for the Emerald’s location, Mirai loudly defies the villain again and villain decide to wreck things as a response. Yada yada yada, same old, same old.

Except with them missing one Diamond and unable to transform into Precure, they really can’t do anything to stop Sparda.

As the situation becomes grimmer, so does the anger start to build within Riko as she surveys the damage of the town.

We even get a mini-montage of a younger Riko (OMG ISN’T SHE THE SWEETEST LIL’ WITCH-IN-TRAINING?!?!? KYAAA~!!! xDD) on her first time visiting all the shops, essentially telling us how many important memories she’s made here and how much the people who helped her mean to her.

This finally, finally makes her blow her top.

How dare this cretin selfishly trample all over the innocent people trying to do their daily jobs peacefully! How dare this insect woman make a mess of their community, a place where everybody works so hard to support each other, without remorse!

That is absolutely unforgivable!!

...but at the same time, Riko releasing her anger is just what they needed. Her feelings are now fully synchronized with Mirai’s...

...which causes the Ruby to awaken and reveal its true form to them.

Hmm, this is really fascinating because we can interpret it to mean that passion, the idea that the Ruby represents, is linked to many emotions and not just a strong sense of love towards something.

Or you can say even “negative” emotions like anger or sorrow can also be proof of a very strong love.

Considering that rage and passion are often symbolized through flames and fire imagery, I’d say that the connection between those two is really appropriate for these turn of events.

But moving along...

THE BIRTH OF RUBY STYLE~!!!

(⋈◍＞◡＜◍)。✧♡

I’ll go into my thoughts on this design another day but ahhh, I do so love this Form Change to death. Have a hard time deciding if this is my top favorite among the MahoPre forms.

As for the battle, well, sad to say this one wasn’t worth writing home about either. And I think the animation quality dropped a little around this part of the ep. Not sure why there’s a sudden inconsistency when there wasn’t that much “fighting” going on.

But again, I’m not here to write about the battle scenes (until maybe post-Felice debut), which are more or less the same anyway so I’d just be repeating myself if I were. I’m here for the chemistry between the girls, the character studies and so on.

Some key highlights, though, because I couldn’t ignore them:

Mofurun catching the Diamond back like one would catch a home run ball.

I’M SO PROUD OF YOU, MY BABY!!!!!

This kick.

This kick is everything.

Miracle and Magical grabbing each other’s hands to help propel their feet at the Yokubaru.

And then the ice thawing immediately upon impact, a call out to the Frozen Clementines they always eat and further demonstration of symbolism of passion through fire because heat melts ice.

Looks like this might’ve been the first time Riko was successful in using this type of magic. Too bad you can’t really eat it. But not that you’d really want to, lol

Then Ruby Passionale and another day saved.

Yay~

And now everybody’s witnessed the legend in the flesh!

lol, Miracle being polite to the crowd while Mofurun is trying to hide her face ("No pictures, please-mofu!”) and Magical is so close to freaking out cuz they gotta get outta here before their transformations become undone and their true identities are found out and ohhh, we don’t want to stick around to find out what that’s gonna be like......

...so they leave by leaping to the rooftops.

Classic.

Later that day, they go to pick up Mirai’s broom and aww, that’s so nice of Gustav to give her a cute ribbon as an extra service!

It comes in both her and Riko’s colors, too! How did he know?!?!?!? 8D

And he even gave one to Riko to match with Mirai!

Ugh, Gustav is so awesome. I want to buy him a steak dinner.

I’ll buy dinner for any character in story who helps me ship my ship, hahaha! xD

Hehe, my lovely girls~

I love them soooo much. <3

Mmkay, I’m done for the day. I think I can manage to do one more post for next week. Then we’ll see what happens from there cuz I’ll be going back to work soon.

#mahou tsukai precure #asahina mirai #izayoi riko #mofurun #cure miracle #cure magical

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easyfoodnetwork · 3 years

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Mushroom Hunting at the End of the World

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While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

I’d been staring at the ground too long. That’s most of what foraging is, by the way. It’s ignoring the blue sky and the trees to focus your gaze on the dirt. I was walking through cobwebs, surveying the woodland floor for almost an hour, when I finally saw one: a tiny, pale chanterelle mushroom sticking up near the trail’s edge. It looked sickly, or at the very least elderly. Perhaps it was a sign that this section of the woods was untraveled, or maybe nobody had ever thought to pluck it from its habitat.

I peeled it from the ground with my paring knife and placed it into my netted, purple sack, which once housed grocery-store red onions. This lonely mushroom wasn’t the haul, mind you, but rather an indicator. When one chanterelle appears, more will follow. A few steps off the trail and they emerged in droves. Soon, my bag was filled with corpulent, spore-bearing fungi — big chanterelles with deep-orange hues and fantastical shapes, like something a Nintendo animator might draw.

Walking back with my giant bag of wild mushrooms, I ran into a couple, the first people I’d seen that day. We all scrambled to put on our masks at the distant sight of one another. “You get some chanties?” the man said in his familiar, spectacularly unusual Pittsburgh accent. “It’s a gold mine out there,” I said, trying unconsciously to disguise any hints of that same Pennsylvanian elocution. After they disappeared back into the woods, I put my mask in my pocket, where it stayed for the rest of the hike. For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

A few years back I had tasted some wild mushroom conserva courtesy of my cousin, Andy, during a trip to my hometown in Pennsylvania. Andy is a budding locavore, a self-taught forager, and a mad scientist in the kitchen. His passion is infectious. Eighty percent of the meat he consumes, he hunts himself. He cures venison and butchers whole pigs in his garage.

That first spoonful of Andy’s mushrooms, meaty chanterelles salted in a strainer, then simmered in white vinegar with gothic-looking thyme and peppercorns, is preserved in my mind, so much so that I can access that memory whenever I want. The dim lighting in my parents’ dining room, Andy standing in the kitchen with his arms confidently folded, the sound of the Mason jar lid spinning loose, and the immense joy of my first bite — stocky chanterelle mushrooms, piquant vinegar, gentle aromatics, and then the brilliant opulence of olive oil, used to preserve the mixture.

I asked Andy if I could take a jar of them back home to Los Angeles, and he obliged. Every so often, I unscrewed the lid for a small bite. I would close my eyes and feel the cold air in my hometown. If I listened carefully, I could hear the train whistles in the distance. Those mushrooms became a portal to my hometown, a culinary object so emotionally resonant, so distinct from the food I bought at my grocery store in California, that I always longed to forage and conserve a jar of my own.

I began to miss rural Pennsylvania as the pandemic encroached into summer. Like a lot of people, I felt trapped in the big city, and so in June, I went home. In Pennsylvania, everybody’s houses are set at a distance, but everyone barters home provisions, ranging from venison pastrami to crooked cucumbers to gargantuan zucchini. The summer is when the Amish sell sweet corn, and when the berry farms open their orchards. The old-timey ice cream shops end their winter break, and people start roasting whole pigs and marinated legs of lamb. It was also not lost on me that a hot, wet climate is the ideal condition for chanterelles, and that this would be the perfect time to chase that dragon: the jar of preserved mushrooms.

Once I began mushroom hunting, the calm followed. I embraced foraging, an oft-maligned word after the chef-bro boom of the 2010s. If your reaction is to recoil, you’re not alone. Before my mushroom-hunting days, I usually laughed when I saw the word “foraged” on a menu or in a magazine. Oh, did you really go out foraging, m’Lord?

The first time I went, I rode in the passenger seat of Andy’s car, down the winding rural roads of Amish country. To be honest, I didn’t immediately connect with foraging; the experience felt educational. Of course, when you’re dealing with something that can be either good in a stir-fry, consciousness-expanding, or deadly, education is important. Poisonous mushrooms actually look evil, though, an offer of good faith from Mother Nature. They often have a sinister gray or red color, with warts and scales reminiscent of the toxic fungi in fairy-tale illustrations. Andy made sure to teach me enough that I didn’t end up hallucinating through the woods — or, worse yet, dead.

People in my hometown definitely don’t fall into the stereotype of knuckle-tatted, beanie-wearing “foragers,” but they’re pretty keen on the good mushroom spots. There’s an old Polish woman, for instance, whose stiff, territorial energy I can feel whenever I show up to Gaston Park the day after a rain. Because I didn’t want to move in on another gang’s turf, I had Andy show me a few of his favorite areas. Still, it didn’t feel right: These were his discoveries, not mine. I wanted to make my own way. I wanted that excitement of stumbling across a rare mushroom, of encountering a field of freshly sprouted chanterelles. I wanted to find my own mushroom haven, and so I went to Hell’s Hollow.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

Hell’s Hollow is a national park and trail in New Castle, Pennsylvania, about a mile down the road from my childhood home. Apparently, it’s called Hell’s Hollow because some time ago a man fell asleep in those woods, and when he woke up, he was convinced that the place he was in was actually Hell. Are the woods deep and dark? Sure. Spooky at night? Yeah, of course. But, Hell? As in the place where sinners go and are tormented for eternity? Like, Satan-owned and -operated Hell? I scoff at the idea whenever I pass the old wooden sign for the trail. What kind of idiot would think that the woods is Hell? It’s beautiful out here. I mean look, there’s a flowing river. Why would the Devil keep a freshwater source in an eternity of suffering? Rule No. 1 of Hell must be to stay hydrated. Rule No. 2? No running.

Hell’s Hollow has been a constant throughout my life. When I was a kid, my mom and dad let me splash around the creek trying to catch minnows and small crabs. When I was 10, I gleefully collected rocks and declared that I was going to be a geologist (my family would be disappointed). As teens, my friends and I smoked shag weed and smashed cans of Mountain Dew together like Stone Cold Steve Austin there. The point is, I’ve been wandering around Hell’s Hollow my whole life, and it never dawned on me that I would ever find myself foraging there. But sure enough, it was my spot.

I did not expect hunting for mushrooms to clear my head the way it did. People say that about prep work, by the way. They say that peeling potatoes and kneading dough lets the mind wander and alleviates stress. But, to me, prep work is just that: work. Dicing onions pierces the eyes, lemon juice stings, and I will always associate chopping parsley with the incoming threat of a dinner rush at one of my restaurant jobs. When people say that cooking soothes the mind, they’re not taking into account all the people who do this shit for a living. What are those people supposed to do to get away from themselves? For me, I found that wandering in the woods alone with a sense of purpose was exactly the thing I needed to weather the fire tornado of anxiety the pandemic had produced.

The act of foraging, a completely unchanged activity in a pandemic, possesses the acute ability to make me forget about the state of things entirely. Specifically, it was easy to forget about a global virus. Hunting for mushrooms in the woods alone is already distanced; there are no guidelines to follow. Walk down the street in Los Angeles and you’re immediately reminded that restaurants are shut down and live performance spaces are shuttered. But in the woods? Go ahead — sneeze full force in any direction you please. Let off some steam, pal. You’ve earned it. Sure, I had a mask, but it stayed in my pocket on the off chance that I ran into another human being, though I was more likely to spot a deer.

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

This wasn’t just a way to pass time, mind you. These weren’t nature walks I was taking. There’s a sense of ambition at the core of mushroom hunting. Purpose, the thing so many of us have felt without this year, I suddenly possessed. When there’s purpose, there’s a sense of reward, and when I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible. All my energy is focused, my aim clear. Instead of staring at the ceiling in my studio apartment, I found myself scanning the ground for edible treasure. The dopamine you receive from finding a cluster of chanterelle mushrooms in the damp woods is immense, somehow both frivolous and survivalist. There’s a real sense of childlike treasure-hunting tied to foraging.

Take the elusive cauliflower mushroom, Sparassis, which is as rare as mushrooms come. They grow sporadically; their appearance is psychedelic and aquatic. It looks coral in a way, like a living, breathing self-sustaining organism that belongs at the bottom of the ocean. Jarring, then, to find one surrounded by leaves and mossy logs. The mushroom itself is wavy and ethereal, with petals like a flower. It’s so rare that when Andy and I found one, he jumped in the air with excitement. For seven years he had been hunting for a cauliflower mushroom, and he finally got it. His triumph felt like my triumph, and in a way, it was. Later, I fried the petals of the cauliflower mushroom in oil and ate them salted. The texture was outstanding and the flavor delicate, like a homemade noodle but with the specific earthiness of a fungus. “How many people are eating a cauliflower mushroom right now?” I thought.

I felt like jumping in the air like Andy when I spotted that lone, feeble chanterelle in Hell’s Hollow. To reach that first chantie was a hero’s journey, past a path that leads to a dazzling waterfall, down a steep hill, across a stream, and through a tunnel of decaying trees. The air starts to cool down and a trained nose can begin to smell the faint notes of mushrooms in the air. Clusters of chanterelles appear like small towns; they are golden trumpets that politely announce their presence with colorful glee. Oyster mushrooms grow shelf-like on the sides of trees, and chicken of the woods, these endlessly useful and tasty orange half-moons, light up your eyes like a gorgeous sunset. That’s the thing about wild mushrooms — once you see them, you can’t unsee them. After an education in foraging, you’ll be forever scanning your surroundings, trying to manifest treasure.

As I carried back my sack of mushrooms that first time, I thought about that man who woke up in Hell’s Hollow in the night. How must he have felt? Aimless, one would assume. Probably searching for a way out of the darkness. Disoriented, without a clue where he might be in relation to the outside world. Maybe that’s what Hell is. Maybe it’s quite simply feeling lost and alone. The pandemic can feel like that, as though you’re traversing an endless dark wilderness hoping to catch a light in the distance that’ll guide you back to society. But is that a new feeling? Hasn’t it always been that way? Maybe all of life has just been wandering in the dark.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2JUbLZq https://ift.tt/3korg8w

Getty Images

While the rest of the country focused on something other than the forest floor, I started foraging for chanterelles

For about 30 seconds, I was reminded that the rest of the world was focused on something other than the forest floor.

daveynin/Flickr

A view from the Hell’s Hollow Trail in McConnells Mill State Park, Pennsylvania

When I’m hunting for mushrooms it feels like I’m achieving something tangible.

Anyway, I’m glad to be walking through the woods with a purpose.

Danny Palumbo is a comedian and writer living in Los Angeles.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2JUbLZq via Blogger https://ift.tt/38Dk0DK

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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erraticrandomficwriter · 4 years

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Flashes of the Past - an Underworld Plot Bunny

This night was the same as most – the dreams were the same as most. Only now they grew more frequent. The images in her dreams – in her nightmares – haunted her ever since she was a child. A woman tied to a pillar looking upon a man chained to the floor before the sun shone upon her and burned her alive. As a child these nightmares were terrifying and as she grew older she realized the woman she was growing to be was the same as the woman she was watching die over and over again...

Anya Corvin awoke with a gasp just before her alarm went off. She slammed her hand down upon it with more force than necessary before getting out of bed. Anya went into the kitchen of the apartment she shared with her twin brother Michael to get some coffee before getting ready for work. She absentmindedly brought the coffee pot over to the sink to fill with water as her mind flashed back to the nightmare she awoke from. Anya was so focused on the flashes that she didn’t even realize the pot was running over.

“Another nightmare, Annie?” Michael could just tell by her zoning out that was likely what happened. He turned off the water, took the pot from her, dumped some of the excess water out and tended to the coffee.

“Same as always. I can’t believe I’m actually longing for the dream with the killer clowns. At least that one makes sense.” Anya grabbed a couple of the mugs from the cupboard and set them upon the counter. Her mind was about to wander again but thankfully Michael spoke before it could get too far.

“The downstairs neighbors still think we’re married.” Michael knew that would spark enough of a conversation to keep Anya’s mind focused for a little while anyway.

Anya scoffed with crossed arms as she leaned back against the counter. “I know we look nothing alike, but how many times must we explain it to them? I swear it’s like a fetish to them or something.”

Michael couldn’t argue with her there. “You might want to get ready. Don’t want to miss the subway.”

Anya looked at the time and back to the coffee that wasn’t finished yet. “But…but…the coffee…”

“Will be ready and waiting in a thermos when you return.” Michael plucked her thermos out of the cupboard for good measure.

“Have I ever told you you’re my favorite brother?” Anya beamed as she returned to her room to get ready for her shift at the hospital – the same shift she shared with Michael.

“That hardly feels like a victory when I win by default!” Michael called out to her just as she closed the door and kept his word by getting the coffee ready for her so they could get right out the door.

Meanwhile, Anya needed a moment to compose herself – to center herself before changing because she couldn’t shake the feeling of her nightmares this time and didn’t know why.

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The rain poured down from the sky as Michael and Anya made their way through the crowd to get to the subway. Once they descended the stairs, Anya removed her hood and wrung out her long, dark hair. “Remind me to invest in an umbrella one of these days.”

“Like you’d ever use it,” Michael chuckled in reply. “Knowing you, you’d only remember to bring it on sunny days.”

Anya narrowed her eyes at her brother. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“You must hate it all the time then,” Michael laughed back as he weaved through the crowd to get to their train that had just arrived.

Anya was right behind Michael and almost bumped into him when he stopped suddenly. “And here I thought zoning was my thing.”

Michael had seen a woman that captivated his attention for a moment but as soon as Anya spoke, he was centered once again. “Sorry, I just…nevermind. We’re going to be late.”

Anya and Michael were just about to get onto the train when suddenly they heard a man bellow out the word ‘Bloods!’ before rapid gunfire.

Upon hearing the gunfire, Michael darted into the train car with Anya and dropped to the floor with her. Michael made sure he was over Anya so if any bullets went flying their way that he’d be hit instead of her.

Anya didn’t want Michael to be hit either but his protective stance was so firm that he wasn’t going to budge. It wasn’t until they heard a woman cry out that Michael moved slightly. They both saw an innocent bystander laying out on the platform after being hit in the shoulder by a bullet. The twins shared a look with each other – a silent conversation – and they both agreed they needed to help her.

Michael had something to make clear first, but didn’t get a chance to tell Anya to stay behind him before she quickly darted out of the train car while the gun firing paused due to likely reloading to get over to the woman. Knowing that time was limited, he went right after her.

They slid the woman away from the center of the platform against the wall and Anya pressed down upon the wound while Michael assured her she would be alright. Anya didn’t share the sentiment because the woman was tremoring badly, almost like she was seizing. “It’s like she’s having an allergic reaction to the bullet.”

Neither of them had time to figure that out because one of the gunmen appeared out of nowhere and grabbed hold of Michael. Before either could react, the gunwoman who had captivated Michael’s previous attention started firing at the man who had a grip on Michael and thus Michael was quickly released.

Anya, keeping one hand on the woman’s wound, used her other to hold onto Michael’s arm. “What the fuck?!”

Michael shared her sentiments and was just as confused as she was – not to mention shaken up, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. Instead, he just worked with Anya to make sure the woman didn’t lose any more blood than she already had before the paramedics could arrive.

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After breaking up a ‘rabid dog fight’ among his Lycan ranks, Lucian goes to the ‘laboratory’ area of their underground lair to check upon the status of their most recent Corvin capture. Lucian arrives just as his Lycan biochemist Singe removed the Corvin’s blood. “Any progress?”

Singe brought the blood over to a beaker as he replied with, “Let’s find out.” After running the test he found this Corvin was also negative for the Corvinus strain and informed Lucian of such. “Negative.”

Lucian was not pleased by this news in the least. This process of elimination was taking far too long. He needed the last Corvin on the list…he needed both of them.

Lucian went over to the board outlining the Corvinus line through the generations and locked upon the photograph of Anya with Michael. “And her? Any explanation yet?”

“She is human,” Singe explained as he crossed off the name upon of the wall of the failed attempt. “Twin to Michael Corvin. How she looks like the woman you knew, I cannot explain. There are stories of Doppelgangers and reincarnation, of course, but I do not know if they are true. We live in a world of Magic and Science, so anything is possible.”

Lucian looked away from the photograph – the echo of the woman he loved – and got back to business. “She may also have the strain?”

“If Michael does it is almost definite.” Singe reiterated a fact he and Lucian already knew, “I need both their blood. To leave no stone unturned, I need them both.”

One way or another, Lucian would make sure both Michael and the one named Anya would be retrieved…for more reasons than one.

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Anya ran a hand through her hair as she walked down the hallway with Michael toward their apartment. “I cannot believe we both actually went to work after what happened at the subway.”

“Honestly…neither can I.” Michael slowed his pace when he heard a telephone ringing and held his arm back to keep Anya from going past him. Why? Because the ringing was coming from their apartment…their open apartment. “Stay here.” He knew Anya was about to argue with him, so he made himself clear. “Stay here.”

Anya held up her hands in defeat and waited out in the hall while Michael went in to check it out. It’d been like this since they were kids – Michael was always the one looking out for her, protecting her, and keeping her out of trouble. Of course Anya would always do the same for him when she could, but he was definitely the protector in this ‘twinship’ of theirs.

Anya was quite literally twiddling her thumbs in the hallway until she heard a loud thud and a woman’s voice demanding to know why ‘they’ were after them. She darted into the doorway only to stop when loud roaring and thudding was coming from the ceiling and Michael was running out of there like a bat out of hell, taking her along with him.

Michael had no idea what was going on but he quickly came up with a plan. According to the unusually strong woman, someone was after him and Anya and apparently they were there. He thought for the moment it was best to split up so he quickly said, “Take the stairs!”, while he went to the elevator. Michael figured they’d expect them both to take the elevator, so making Anya take the stairs would give her a little more time to get away. At least that was his hope.

Anya didn’t have time to argue with Michael so she split off from him and took the stairs. She quickly went down flight after flight, the echoes of roars and gunfire seemed to circle around her until she made it to the bottom floor’s exit.

Anya burst through the doorway just in time to see a man…a creature drove his teeth into Michael’s shoulder. “Michael!” she screamed and pulled with all her might to get the man off her brother. When the man turned around and looked at her with unnatural blue eyes and fangs, she froze with a gasp. It wasn’t because of his eyes or his fangs that made her freeze…it was his face. She had seen his face before almost every night in her nightmares…in her dreams. “It’s you…”

Anya was pulled from her shock when the gunwoman from the subway appeared and dragged Michael away from them. “No!” She tried to run after them but wasn’t able to due to the man grabbing hold of her.

“Forgive me,” he requested before hitting her head against the hallway’s wall, rendering her unconscious.

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When Anya awoke she was in some sort of…place. It was cold and damp and likely an abandoned subway station or something. All she knew was that it looked like something plucked out of a horror movie with the shackles hanging from the ceilings, an Frankenstein-esque table, and dingy lab equipment everywhere. “Michael?” she called out as her vision fluctuated with her pounding headache. “Michael?!”

Someone entered the room through the plastic curtains at that moment, but it wasn’t Michael or the man who she saw in her dreams. It was another man who looked annoyed with her…annoyed and angry.

“Shut up!” he seethed before backhanding her across the face.

Anya gasped from the sudden hard impact and practically jumped out of her skin when she heard a loud growl coming from the man who bit Michael. The man ordered the one who hit her never to do it again or else he’d kill him. Anya tried to get up and get away but couldn’t for two reasons – she was very dizzy and she just realized her wrist was shackled to a chain to the wall behind her chair. Things were not looking well.

The man who bit Michael crouched in front of her and reached out to move some hair from her face. Of course she recoiled because of everything, but relaxed just slightly when he assured her that he wasn’t going to hurt her again and apologized profusely for doing so prior.

“Who are you? And where is Michael? Where is my brother?” It unnerved Anya that she questioned who the man was before asking about her brother.

“My apologies, based upon your initial reaction I thought you knew who I was. I am Lucian and presently I do not know where Michael is, but I intend to change that and reunite you with him.” Lucian moved some hair out of her face and stared into her eyes. Despite being human they were Sonja’s eyes. Despite being human, everything about this woman was Sonja. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Anya replied as she moved her face away from his lingering touch because all it did was make her flash back to her dreams. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

“I will answer your questions as soon as I get my own answered.” Lucian was disappointed that she didn’t know who he was and that disappointment led to frustration. He picked up an empty syringe and went over to Anya. “May I?”

“You want my blood? No fucking way!” Anya bolted to her feet and instantly regretted it because her head was pounding once again, so she had to sit. When Lucian moved to help her back down, she didn’t try to stop him. In that moment she decided to compromise. “If you want my blood you have to answer my question. Do we have a deal?”

Lucian smiled at this, he couldn’t help it. He didn’t mind waiting to know if she carried the Strain as well since he already knew Michael did thanks to the blood he retrieved during the bite. “We have a deal.”

Anya closed her eyes for a moment and let the images of the dreams filter through before asking, “What do you know about a man shackled to the floor as he watched a woman upon a pillar being burned alive?”

Lucian was shocked by her question. How could she possibly know about Sonja’s last moments if she wasn’t Sonja herself? “Why do you ask?” That was all he could think to say in the moment.

“I’ve been dreaming about that moment for as long as I can remember. When I grew older I realized I was the woman I was seeing and when I saw you…you were the man. Do you know anything about this?” Anya needed to know and she felt like he was the only one who could tell her.

Lucian looked away for a moment as he debated upon what to say. Finally he spoke by saying, “If you want to know everything, it is going to take some time.”

Anya raised her shackled wrist to make her point. “Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” She believed Lucian when he said he would reunite her with Michael. Anya couldn’t explain why she believed it, but she did, so now she wanted to know everything. And everything was what Lucian told her…

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End Part 1

#underworld plot bunny #anya corvin

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thirdchildart · 5 years

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Hi there, I love your art/boards a whole lot!! I really want to be a storyboarder once I graduate, but sometimes I find it hard to create interesting/visually appealing boards, instead they look a bit flat and lifeless. Any tips on how to incorporate interesting perspective/composition?

So! Composition! I’m gonna start out with a disclaimer: any of these suggestions can be broken for artistic expression. These are starting points when it comes to building an interesting dynamic scene! BIG POST. CLICK THE READ MORE!!!

Composition is the arrangement of SHAPE, LINE, CONTRAST, or COLOR that leads your eye in a path around the screen. You don’t want the audience to search the screen for info--they should find and follow easily.

FIRST THOUGHT: Where in the frame?

Where does your eye go on each of the following images? And why? Can you connect them to a sensation or emotion?

Faces will draw attention. Movement will draw attention. Bright against dark will draw attention. Dark against bright will draw attention. And, despite size, we will look at in-focus items first.

Avoid creating static, balanced shots ON ACCIDENT. Avoid straight lines, perfectly stiff characters, and perfect shapes. Let your characters lean, slump, slouch, reach, stretch. Act in a mirror! Act out your boards. Now, you can use precise/stiff drawings and symmetrical shots for style on purpose (it’s Wes Anderson’s signature). But if you don’t make an effort to put flow and rhythm in your composition, it will feel static and dead. Organic, living, designed shots will have imbalance, they will have weighted area of the screen, and interesting use of blank spaces.

The movie screen has 5 specific areas most action takes place in: upper right, upper left, lower right, lower left, and dead center.

Since the point of a film is to cut from one shot to the next to the next to the next, we don’t want our audience to work too hard searching around the screen for their next point of information. So to avoid static, square compositions, story artists will think of the screen split into thirds.

And keep our points of interest along those lines, and those dots.

You can break out of this of course, but be kind to your audience. If you direct them to the far side of the screen, be kind and bring them back! Even with messy, simple drawings, I can help your eyes follow a simple story: Person lights a lighter.

We look at faces first--even ‘symbolic’ faces. Those two dots? You know they are eyes. You probably looked at the face first, then traveled down to that NEW blue spot in frame two, so I took you in for a closeup in panel 3 to get more information about this point of interest. Did I leave the new point of interest in the same spot? Nah, I bumped in a little closer to frame center. This leaves your eye readier to jump to my next shot more easily.

SECOND THOUGHT: What’s the Line of Action?

When you looked from the eyes to the lighter in their hand, you followed my Line of Action for that composition.

Line of Action in an art sense is the path your eyes travel to gain the information in an image. We usually start at the point of highest interest (a face, a bright spot in the dark, a green stone on the yellow sand) and then look around the frame to see what else we can learn.

When I storyboard, I focus on 4 basic lines of action: vertical, horizontal, diagonal left and diagonal right. Below are some examples from movies.

Your eye can travel up and down one character, move back and forth between two points, or following around the screen to gather multiple pieces of info.

Put the characters in a clear and interesting distance from camera. How much of the screen does your character fill up? Do we need to see their face, their body, or the set they are standing in the most clearly? Does their body language act more, or subtle facial cues? Here’s those same shots with JUST the characters blocked in. To you, what different information does each piece represent? What does the feeling of someone very far from camera say vs a face SO CLOSE we can see their pores?

Things moving through frame can also follow these lines! Having something move closer or farther from camera can give you more interest.

THIRD THOUGHT: How do my shots stitch together?

For very short shots cut close together, I use my line of action to make sure your eye is heading towards the next point of interest after the cut. If the eye is moving left, the next shot should have focus on the left side of the screen.

Mad Max: Fury Road has lots of beautiful, varied compositions--but always keeps the point of interest super close to DEAD CENTER, so eyes don’t have to travel far at all to follow the fast action!

In a slower scene, with longer cuts like a conversation, I’m fine with letting the audience bounce left and right, like watching a tennis match. BUT I want each of those slower shots to be something slightly different and interesting either by changing the composition or acting (but this post isn’t ABOUT acting, so none of that today!!!!)

Hey, guest star time: Every Frame a Painting, can you talk to us about shooting conversation basics?

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UE3jz_O_EM

(ALSO WATCH ALL OF TONY AND TAYLOR’S VIDEOS TO LEARN SO MUCH MORE THAN WHAT I COVER HERE)

A simple scene doesn’t mean complete repetition of shots. You can have similar compositions with slight differences that make them more interesting. AND we’re gonna back that up with an example drawn by one of my favorite board directors, Johane Matte.

Original found here: https://www.deviantart.com/rufftoon/art/Last-Airbender-Spoilers-02-170233494

Now, if your interest is built off of acting, repeating shots is a-ok!

Take this sequence from the West Wing. If you are unfamiliar with the episode, it’s Thanksgiving and Charlie, the President’s aide, has been trying to find a new carving knife for President Bartlett. Charlie has presented MULTIPLE knives throughout the episode, and the President has turned down every one so far.

youtube

https://youtu.be/LQlUVfz_qbg?t=21

I’d split this scene into 3 parts, plus a transition out.

Part 1: President and charlie banter, same energy level as they enter the scene. It’s a classic walk-and-talk that West Wing fans know--they switch around spots as they walk, are sometimes close, are sometimes far. It’s fun and interesting!

Part 2: The characters plant, and have a small face-off as Charlie respectfully confronts the president. Most of the shots are the same--it’s a shot reverse shot with the patter-patter-patter of the dialogue driving the cuts.

Part 3: When the emotion gets more intense, we cut in CLOSER and really let the actor reactions land.

Transition out, they say goodbye and Charlie walks away.

Now this is a simple scene driven by dialogue and the personality of each character. We don’t need EXTREME shots or incredible close-ups. This scene has solid blocking, clear compositions, but isn’t flashy--it doesn’t need to be.

So...when is it time for flash?

THOUGHT FOUR: ACTION AND FIGHTSSSS!!!!!

LINE OF ACTION. SO IMPORTANT. You want your action to happen fast? Lots of cuts, lots of motion, lots of EMOTION!??! Guide the eye!!!!! GUIDE the EYE.

Here’s a breakdown of a short fight sequence from Voltron. This features only the silhouette of the two characters, and how much of the ground we see. Forget the story and characters for the moment--focus only on these two enemies andthink of the following questions: How much of the screen does each character they fill? WHAT side of the screen are they on? How does their size or position change from shot to shot? How does their size or position change INSDIE each shot? If the camera were held by a real person, how high or low would it be?

FIGHT SCENE!!!!

youtube

Now watch the screen and ask the same questions but add in this: How long does each shot take? When does the camera move, and when does it stay still? And what emotion does that convey?

FINAL THOUGHT: How to apply...?

I’ve asked a lot of questions throughout this post. Now it’s your job to ask yourself those questions every time you storyboard a scene.

#long post #animation #storyboarding #storyboard #composition #otternauts

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spacemilkies · 5 years

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klaus tries to bring his lover back by manifesting their soul in their body but doesn’t quite get it right ? sorry, hell is my favorite temperature

title: whispering lilies

summary:

they said it would all come back to you with time.

but what if there wasn’t anything to remember.

a/n: a bit of an angst warning in this one. but i mean that’s what you asked for,, right?? it’ll be a rough ride but i hope you like it!

You say you remember him.

Even when you don’t. Because this happens to be the one time where lying is kind of okay.

Lying gets him to smile, even when it’s a little broken. You get the feeling that it was self-stitched together, because it’s always crooked and splitting at the ends. He must have done most of it while he was in pain, but you try not to think too much about it because he’s still seems to be.

And you’re the reason.

The man you’ve come to know as Klaus is supposed to be your lover. At least that’s what everyone tells you. It’s what he shows you when he brushes kisses against your brow and leads you by the waist. He shares the his -your bed confidently as if he belonged there.

He probably did. Just because you were a mismatched puzzle piece didn’t mean that everyone else didn’t have their place.

Sometimes when he’s not looking, you tug at your hair until it nearly tears, and dig your nails into your palms until it’s on the verge of breaking the skin. It all hurts, because its suppose to. They say that emotions trigger things- memories.

But you don’t feel much except pain. Its starts at your heart and vibrates to every part of your body. You try- try so hard with every breath in your body to just remember.

It shouldn’t be this hard. Most children can remember what they ate for breakfast so why can’t you recall the man who so comfortably shares a house with you. But nothing filters across your vision but a static grainy image of what you guess is reality. For all you know you’ve just been staring at an error message.

But you’re broken so its fitting.

You pretend that you don’t believe it when he hushes you. Shaky hands cupping your cheeks while he showers you with kisses. Sometimes it’s just the simple touch of you that brings him comfort. But you ruin it when you speak.

You never understood how easy it was to shatter someone’s whole world with the sound of your voice.

So for the most time you try not to. You just grin and bare it. Later at night, you run your tongue against the indentions your teeth have left behind. Each one is like reading the brittle surface of braille. A tattoo of questions hidden from sight so that they torment you only.

What is your name?

How old are you?

If you’re alive, then where is your life?

These are things anyone should know but you don’t. And you know it’s not right.

But you smile because that’s the one thing that does seem okay. He’s happy because you’re here, so shouldn’t you be pleased to see the same?

He certainly makes you feel safe. Not from bodily harm. He offers a more meditative form of reassurance, as if his presence is wide enough to stop you from falling into the void. The net is stitched with all his little promises.

About how much he loves you. How he can’t live without you. That you’re the most important person in his life.

But to you, they’re just words. Like lyrics of a song on the radio you might have heard before. You can’t keep up with the verses, but the chorus resonances something with in you. Perhaps if you remembered the artist or the name of the song, you might have looked it up and better prepared yourself for the next playing.

When you walk through the house, you notice a lot of things. He’s told you before that they’re yours too so that you can touch them. Sometimes you catch him checking certain items with a close inspection, as if he can tell where you’ve been and trace your day.

On other occasions, you think he places them himself to trigger a reaction.

But as far as you’re concerned everything is his. There are some generic things- like towels, candles, or ambiguous socks. But most of them you come to recognize his mark.

Whether it be the scorched lighter, broken watch or the wedding band.

These are things he keeps at his bedside when he’s home. Early in the morning you find yourself looking at them, hoping they would spill secrets.

You’ve never seen him smoke, but you smell the after taste sometimes when he returns home. You assume he does quite often from the current state of the lighter. If you could go out on your own, you thought about replacing it for him. It doesn’t look like it would hold anymore fuel but he never discards it. Maybe it doesn’t? He’s never used it in front of you, so perhaps its more of sentimental value.

The watch confuses you a little. Not because it lingers despite its lack of use. For some reason the time and date set in stone feels like it could have importance. Maybe you, him or both. You’re not confident in either to make assumptions. It doesn’t seem like a very expensive model but he still treasures the hidden value.

The ring is more than self explanatory and you rarely dive into the implications. You know he’s waiting for you. The matching pair is tucked away in the drawer by your side. It’s a physical indicator because he can’t read your thoughts.

But he doesn’t say anything about it so you don’t either.

There are times that you think you remember. It’s more actions than thoughts. You find yourself making things to eat that warm your mouth in ways that doesn’t only imply the heat. When you watch television, you often flip to the same channels even if you don’t know what’s going on in the series.

They’re all things that make up a person.

Not you.

But someone important to this household. To him.

You want to be that person.

You look like them, based on the portraits scattered through the home.

It gives you hope to know that they were happy. That at some point in his life, that person was someone to covet.

It’s all a daring dream that you don’t feel equipped to make the jump for.

He never berates you or shows any signs of anger. He’s always gentle with you, to be exact.

It’s when you catch him in the late hours curled on the bathroom floors that you see what you really do to him. You’ve been to the hospital enough to know what medication is for. But you don’t recognize those pills and the symptoms don’t give the impression of healing.

You don’t encroach because its not your place. You don’t interrupt because you’re the reason.

Why add fuel to the fire?

He has siblings. A lot of them, but you never see them all at once. Actually, you’re sure there are some you haven’t met.

You know about Ben and Allison from occasional visits. Diego sometimes brings donuts. It’s always the same flavor. You don’t really like it but you chew and swallow.

You don’t remember the others names, but you think if you saw them in public you’d recognize them. It’s nice to know that in some aspects of being lost, someone could find you.

It’s Ben who makes the most repetitive appearances, so naturally it’s him that you hear it from.

It was an accident. But aren’t they all?

You supposed that some people died from intents, but in this case it was just a case of ‘the wrong place at the wrong time’. You read about the reports and news headlines, matched the spoken injuries to the scars on your body.

But these marks were yours. You didn’t know how you got them, but just because someone wrote them down somewhere didn’t mean it was your reasoning. Maybe its because its the autopsy report that has a name on them, your name they tell you but you forget it often. It’s not the way you’re supposed to remember, but you found the sheet of paper anyway.

Because that can’t be right.

If that person is dead. How can it be you?

“Are you hungry?”

Ben’s voice interrupts your thoughts in a way that you know is intentional. He’s lingering in the entryway of the office, but his gaze is elsewhere. You know he’s aware of what youre reading again but he doesn’t make a comment about it because you don’t. It’s your secret.

Finally something of your own.

Carefully, you put the papers back where they belong, fitting them into their individual drawers and folders. Then you’re rising to your feet and exciting the room. You’re not hungry but you agree, because his shoulders hold a little less tension when you do. Or maybe it’s because you’re further away from the study.

It’s in the middle of the longer days that you ask Klaus why he stays. Because he doesn’t have to. He had any easy way out but he didn’t take it. Instead he’d clung to you tightly and branded you as an impossibility.

Of course, its because he loves you. You know it without the words tumbling over his lips. You don’t understand the emotions, but you recognize the actions of it. He lived through the pain just to be beside you.

But you ask the same question again. And again.

And again.

Before it dawns on you that you’re not expecting his answer to change. You’re hoping that it doesn’t. Because outside of this little world, you know nothing. He’s guided your steps, deciphered your rambles, kept you afloat.

You’re scared to think about what life would be like without him because it doesn’t feel like life at all.

You still don’t know who you are.

When you look into the mirror, you see someone but it’s not you. Because everyday it’s someone different.

You identify them all.

The Button Nose.

Little Scar on the chin.

Baggy Eyes is a frequenter.

The sun plays tricks on you. Changing the colors of hair and highlighting streaks. You name them too. Because each one is important to you.

You can remember those.

Sometimes he catches you looking, smile foamy from his habit of putting too much paste on his brush. It splatters when he talks, it speckles the mirror but he ignores it.

He mentions a lot it the same attributes that you do, but his words are more placement then just scenery.

‘You once let Allison dye your hair, but the process got mixed up and it was green for three days.’

‘There use to be more freckles on your cheeks but I think they faded over time.’

‘Tried to talk you into a nose piercing. Would’ve been so hot but no.’

He means well, but your smile falters because he doesn’t see you. He sees what you had been, or maybe what he thought you could be again.

You wish you could see what he saw. Maybe it will make it easier.

For now you just try to ignore the pimple growing on ‘Button Nose’.

When you meet Five, it’s unofficial. You’ve been getting hints that you aren’t supposed to. At least not yet.

He doesn’t seem dangerous but his name is like glass and everyone is concerned you’ll get cut.

Maybe you do a little, when you answered the door. Klaus was still in the shower and you weren’t inept.

When you peeped through the hole, the disinterested face watching back didn’t scream familiar but danger wasn’t heard either. So you let him in trying to explain Klaus whereabouts-

But he isn’t here for Klaus.

“You’re just hurting him and yourself.”

It’s blunt but edge is just sharp enough to cut into you. Biting against the skin of your soul and the first drop of blood hits the floor.

“You won’t ever be that person again so there is no point in trying.”

Drip.

“But leaving will just make it worse. You’ll just worry everyone that way.”

Drop.

“You were smart before. ‘Can at least remember that much.”

He levels you with a look, one so cold and calculating that it’s hard to believe anything other than himself was part of the equation.

In that moment you felt like he could take you away from here- would take you away if it factored in his favor. The consideration was there, swimming beneath the surface but in the end he only scoffed and pulled away.

Drip. Drip. Drop.

“You’ve been here long enough to know what he likes. So stop making him believe he failed.”

Drip.

“Maybe you’re them, maybe you’re not. But you’re here now, so do something about it.”

Drop.

And then he’s gone.

“Why are you just standing in the hall?”

He’s still damp from the shower but not enough to prove haste. In fact he’s still relaxed and unsuspecting, if not a little concerned.

“You alright? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice is a bit shaky on the last word, but you’ve gotten use to the tremor.

When you throw your arms around him he stumbles back in surprise but maintains his footing.

It’s disfigured and a little rash but it’s an emotion, your emotion. You don’t call it love, because it’s not quite that.

It wears a similar disguise but it doesn’t fit you right.

Your hands never seem to make it past the hem of the sleeves but he doesn’t catch on.

Your kisses are the right tempo now that you’ve learned his rhythm. It’s easier to arch into his touch when you know where it’s heading.

You remember his name. Chanting it with confidence, while encouraging his body to slide against yours.

It feels like less of an act when you’re enjoying it, and he is too.

There is a shift in the house, in your relationship. Dates back to the unspoken visit from Five. Klaus wants to investigate the change but you don’t give him the opportunity to scavenge.

Now you speak before he does, reach for his hand and guide it to yours.

You tell him you miss him.

You tell him you want him.

But you don’t tell him you-

It feels like less a ruse when you don’t say it, even when the actions paint the picture fit you.

Maybe it’s easier for him too. He knows this body, he remembers what it felt like to be stroked just there or nipped under here.

Perhaps he prefers it when you don’t say it.

The echo of the past sounds better in his head.

#the umbrella academy imagine #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #the umbrella academy oneshot #tua headcanons #Anonymous

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supergenial · 4 years

Text

The Byleth Diatribe

clickbait title: if you thought Byleth was creepy, wait until you read this!

Intro

In the past couple months it's really gotten my attention the fact that some people cannot stand looking at images that depict the teacher character from fire emblem three houses (Byleth) with their students in a romantic manner. They arrive at this disgust due to the parallels it traces with real life teachers who take advantage of their students. While I don't share this sensibility, I do think it's an interesting topic to think of so I'd like to explore why these people are correct in their conclusion that Byleth is creepy, but entirely wrong in their logic-path to it.

1) Byleth is just not an actual character

To address the elephant in the room, Byleth is literally a non-character. In a game filled with wonderful dialogue that fully exposes character motivations for a massive cast, it's hard to think of this one silent teacher as a real character that normally exists in that world. Byleth's "character" is purely an afterthought to their role as the Player Avatar. Surely enough in previous installments of the series you had Robin, Corrin and Kris, but their situation was partly different.

Robin and Corrin were proper characters as much as every other character in their game. They held conversations with the other characters, they expressed themselves in regards to the events that happened to them, some would even dare to argue they were better written that some other characters in their respective games if only because their heightened importance to their respective plot lines inevitably helps them have more dialogue, and even a bad writer has to stumble into writing something good eventually which means in some scenes they’re able to overcome the barrier of being bland by design.

Byleth however has none of this. At best they're given 2 or 3 text choices at any given time, and any bipartisan conversation that involves them is more of a soliloquy by the other character, with the player input being largely irrelevant to the flow of the conversation aside from changing the very immediate reaction that follows that same input.

As such, the notion that Byleth is a creepy teacher who's grooming their students to be their personal sex slaves is misconstrued in the fact that Byleth simply has no real motivations, hence no intent. It is equally as valid to assume they could be a straight laced no-nonsense teacher or a deviant who preys on children, because no conjectures can be traced to their personality, as it doesn't exist. We can't deduce what is it that Byleth wants out of life because the avatar has no life and exists purely as a videogame terminal. We don't know what they enjoy outside of the very few things we the players are allowed to do as the character, which is why so much Byleth fanart involves fishing, cooking, or drinking tea, the few hobbies we indulged in while playing as them.

There is however something innately perverse about Byleth, it's just not the fact they're a teacher, but rather the fact they're the player.

2) Player avatars are inherently creepy, and so are dating sims

Fire Emblem is a fantasy game. In Fire Emblem games you will not only find unreal things like dragons and magic, but also straight up impossible things such as kind-hearted rulers that care about protecting and improving the lives of their constituents. The three real main characters in this game all have pure motivations and genuine desire to improve the world (yes... even Edelgard). As such, we can expect the same purity and lack of reality from a hypothetical Byleth that has a personality. It's fair to assume they'd be legitimate teachers with no creepy intentions who, through the vicissitudes of life, end up inadvertently falling in love with their students. In a fantasy land where every "good guy" is pure in nature there is no concern of Byleth grooming Dimitri, or of Edelgard forcing some ill intentioned quid-pro-quo with her right hand strategist whom she is obsessed with, because it's simply fantasy where everyone is nice and pure so things just magically always work out.

There is however an insidious factor lurking over this fantasy land, and that is the player. An omnipotent being who decides who lives, who dies, who gets married to who, and who stays alone because we just don't like them that much. The player can send Ashe to get the last hit on Lonato, just out of morbid curiosity to see what is the special dialogue that they have in that situation. The player can recruit Felix and then have Felix kill Rodrigue in the crimson route, just to see what hilarious quip will the son bark at the father. And of course, the player gets to decide who gets married to the lifeless slab of meat and bones with no emotion that is the Player Avatar. If anything breaks the idea that these characters are well written or realistic, it is the fact that they can all fall in love with someone who cannot communicate with them, all because of the emotions they magically choose to believe the avatar has, or rather, we choose to make them believe it.

In a "set" story like fire emblem echoes or path of radiance, the epilogues have little to no variety because the characters will just be themselves regardless of the player's input. No matter how much you want to see Celica's reaction to Faye getting together with Alm, that is simply not going to happen because their bond is set in stone, it cannot be altered, it is a "set" story. Likewise Nyna in new mystery of the emblem will never, ever fuck Sirius regardless of what she or the player wishes. Three Houses on the other hand is more like a playground than a book, the player will mess with the lives of these characters until they get bored of them, seeing every possible unlikely combination programmed into the game just out of curiosity to see what the characters will say, to squeeze out every last bit of "Content" that the game has until they get bored of it and move on to something else, effectively reducing the characters from "characters" to mere consumables.

Hence why I can't help but laugh at the notion that Byleth is creepy by nature of being a teacher when they're so much more than a teacher and so much more creepy than a creepy teacher. They're an in-game god (hell, lore-wise they're also a god in every ending except crimson). Byleth can quite literally mind control other characters into loving them as long as they're given enough flowers and tea. Look at Sylvain's C support with Byleth and tell me if it's natural for a guy like him to fall in love like that after saying he wants to murder Byleth (surely enough, it's even creepier for players to fall in love with him because of that support, as Sylvain is an extremely interesting character but only in his other supports).

This is why you see people saying that Felix and Annette are a great couple, or that Marianne and Dimitri are made for each other, but you don’t really see people saying that Byleth’s pairing with x is cute. When two proper characters interact all the way to their A support and fall in love that way, you’ve actually seen their story develop, you can feel happy for them. Pairing Byleth with a proper character fulfills your desire to monopolize that character and get a neat special artwork of them, but has it really been a good story and feel like this is a good conclusion for them? No. (I’d be willing to say Byleth and Dimitri do make a somewhat good couple though, but that point would be much easier to defend if Byleth could actually communicate properly)

It wouldn't matter if Byleth was a 15 year old teacher, or a 17 year old student that's a peer to the classmates, or if all of the classmates were older than Byleth AND teachers instead while Byleth is a student. By the mere nature of the player input and Byleth's lack of character, the pairing is screwed up to begin with.

What I'm getting at is that pairing Byleth with Catherine or Shamir is equally as fucked up as pairing Byleth with Dimitri (I would argue moreso because come on... Shamir and Catherine are totally girlfriends and you're just squeezing yourself in, have some respect).

In other words Byleth is only creepy because you are creepy. You're playing a game where you can date people who cannot possibly refuse you. Even if you remove that factor, you'd still be playing at making children fuck each other in whatever way you see fit. Something is wrong with you. You're the only impure factor affecting this game.

3) Fire Emblem will always suck

This is my favorite series of games but come on guys, you know fire emblem will always suck if you care about this kinda thing. In fire emblem fates Corrin has a wide variety of about 9 flavors of incest to choose from. In fire emblem awakening Robin can marry an amnesiac woman with head trauma who can't even speak complete sentences and is entirely dependent on him to subsist. The fanbase has grown so twisted they actively wanted Byleth to get married to Alois, a married man with children, and were disappointed when they didn't fuck in that paired ending (though I understand getting upset about the lack of gay supports, but hey that's just yet another way in which fire emblem chooses to suck).

Hell this is the fanbase that considers Berkut and Rinea to be a cute couple, what the actual hell guys. Go ahead and criticize the games but as long as the shipping simulator is included in the series, the games will always be creepy in their very nature, and guess what: the shipping simulator happens to be one of the most popular features and the one that people say it's the best written part of every game, so go figure if they're going to remove that.

ps: if you want a fire emblem with no paired endings, path of radiance has your back, it is my favorite! and if you want to avoid supports altogether, try Radiant Dawn, that's some good stuff.

4) Just for fun: the actual most fucked up ships in the game

-Lysithea with Linhardt, Byleth or Hanneman, or anyone.

When I recruited Lysithea in my first playthrough I didn't know she was a strong unit, instead I simply did it because I saw this sassy lost child wandering the halls and just really didn't want to kill her. I wanted her to live on and see her have a happy epilogue. Imagine my surprise when I reached the epilogues and it turns out she just simply dies shortly after the story if you don't pair her up with anyone. The exact one thing I wanted to avert was having her meet an early death, yet the game simply has her die anyway.

At the end of my deer playthrough I was all set to click on Hilda when I realized, wait a minute, Lysithea is going to die if I do this, right? And that is in fact the case. She can only live by supporting Hanneman, Lindhart or Byleth, and I had not recruited those two. So I click on Lysithea but it's kind of a tainted click isn't it? Not that I dislike her or anything, but once you throw in that additional motivation the scales have been irreversibly tipped in an unpleasant manner. I have effectively been guilted into picking her.

On to a third playthrough. I see Felix has really cute supports with Lysithea, but I can't have them supporting each other because I know she still meets an early death with him. And Lindhart, well his supports aren't bad and he's a great guy but they're certainly not as fun supports as Felix's. Hanneman fortunately doesn't seem interested in that way when you pair him up with Lysithea (not that he has any restraints when it comes to his supports with Dorothea...) so you can still have that as effectively a "solo" end for her in which she lives, but it's still kind of messed up. By giving her the Hanneman ending I'm condemning her to miss out on love for the rest of her life so that she can live on, but isn't love the reason we live on to begin with? Overall, I'd say Lysithea x Lindhart or Byleth is certainly a creepy support in the very nature that you have to do it or else you're a murderer, because you had the power to prevent this death and chose not to.

-Flayn with literally anyone

Imagine if a grown adult man could disguise himself as a high schooler, infiltrated a school and got married to a girl less than half his age. People would hate it, people would riot, Intelligent Systems would be over. But that is Flayn everyone! Fire Emblem is no stranger to the stupid trope of "little girl who's actually hundreds of years old", but I'll argue that Flayn is markedly different from Nowi. Nowi is most definitely a cartoonish fantasy character, who still acts like a little girl despite being hundreds of years old. She's literally bait for pedophile nerds with a flimsy shield in her supposed age, which she and her fans openly flaunt as if it really meant anything when the intent of her character is so transparent.

Flayn on the other hand is a legitimately mature character (as far as maturity goes in this game...) who is pretending to be a high schooler to get hitched with a student, all while hiding her real age entirely on purpose. An actual wolf in sheep's clothing (or dragon in sheep's clothing in this case...). And she can s-support literally every single male student except for Hubert (for story reasons) and Sylvain (for Sylvain reasons). Not only that but she doesn’t support any females other than Manuela, her fellow cougar, and she doesn’t support any of the older men like Hanneman showing she’s only interested in young blood.

But hey everyone! Flayn is just the little meme fish girl trapped in the mcdonalds playplace so we all give her a pass right. Overall though I'd say her creep factor is still significantly lower than Nowi's if only because her design isn't a chore to look at.

-Rhea x Byleth

This is some galaxy brain 5D chess grandmaster type of shit I tell you. Capitalizing on the sickening mommy fetish that's been rising up recently internet the crackhead team of geniuses at intelligent systems decided to pull Joker's Trick on people who are into that kind of thing. First they have her be the oldest non-wrinkled character, then they give her Kikuko Inoue as a seiyuu (famously known for often playing mom roles), then they give players that one scene where Byleth rests on her lap like their kid, and then? Then the game tells you Rhea is the daughter of Byleth. Wait a minute, what the hell? I can't even begin to think this one out because at this point my brain has turned to tofu and I am forever perplexed by this turnaround, hats off to intelligent systems for their ultimate jest.

After fates and this I positively cannot wait to see what new incestcoaster they'll turn my guts inside out with in the next entry of the series, Fire Emblem is truly the finest series of horror games disguised as jrpgs.

Obviously, this post was written in jest. I don’t actually believe you’re an inherently creepy person for playing fire emblem, nor do I think Flayn is a predator deviant (hell I don’t even think Nowi is that bad). I just found it truly interesting how people’s sensitivities can activate in these fictional settings (and do think those sensitivities should be respected) but when I try to activate those neurons my mind ends up in a whole different place. So yeah, just having some fun.

Also check out the rest of this trilogy with Three Houses sucks actually and Three Houses is good actually. I seriously hope I never feel like writing anything about this game ever again.

#fire emblem #deep analysis #character study

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furederiko · 4 years

Video

youtube

"Shin Sakura Taisen Rekidai Kayoushuu" Review (Part 2)

SEGA boldly (or is it a risky move?) introduces new Kagekidans that represent new cities with this game. Not one or two, but just THREE for now, with a fourth one debuting later in the Spring TV series. Track 4 to 6 of the album are specifically slotted for these new heroines...

Contrary to reports in various sites that had reported them as such, in my opinion, these are definitely NOT character image songs. Kouhei Tanaka-sensei has openly referenced them as "[City Name] GEKITEI". So these sit in line with Paris Kagekidan's "Mihata no Moto ni" and New York Kagekidan's "Chijou no Senshi". Whatever happens to those teams, by the way? Hmmm...

One might argue that unlike "Shin GEKITEI", only one member sings these songs. But they seem to forget one thing: Sakura Shinguuji sang solo on the first vanilla version of that song. I don't know what the future holds, but there's a possibility that in the sequel(s), we might get another take of these songs that incorporate other members of their teams. For two of them, at least. We'll just have to wait and see. For now, let's embark on a globetrotting journey!

Niji no Kanata (Other Side of the Rainbow) by. Huang Yui (Sumire Uesaka)

As soon as I heard the full version, I wasn't completely sure how I felt about it. Surprisingly, I think I enjoyed the short MV version better. When SEGA started releasing one MV after another, starting from Berlin to this one, "Shanghai GEKITEI" totally stole my attention. I proudly declared it as my favorite of the three. Perhaps because the verses felt more concise (with less instrumental parts) that made it sound more... kickass? Even though it had a somewhat odd lyric, which you will understand why. This full-length version somehow exuded a different vibe. The verses were longer, which was the bit that I'm not too fond of. On the other hand, the lyrics flowed better and made more sense. And then there's an issue with Yui's voice. She had a playful and childlike tone in "Aratanaru". Assuming that's her who got the shortest line in the interlude, of course. I prefer the more gallant take that she used here, but the inconsistency threw me off. Suffice to say, I had to hear it a few times to finally get the hang of it. But goodness gracious, the Chinese vibe, which was even stronger (that should be obvious, I know! Ahaha), never failed to win me over. Just like the verses, the instrumental portions were also longer, thus giving it a slower and elegant pace. That serenading sound of Erhu just hit my soft spot every single time, likely resonating with some part of my genes. Combined that with a blast of modern instruments, and it blew me away. I sure want to see a live orchestra perform this with a Chinese theatre dance to accompany it! Its lyrics, courtesy of Ouji Hiroi, carried a similar message of Teito, Paris, and New York themes. Protect the city, its people, and seize the dream. Why does the title use 'Rainbow', though? Especially considering 7, while being a good number for a relationship, is considered as unlucky in Mandarin (ghost month). The key is in the kanji for 'Rainbow', because it is also known as 'Hong' or 'Jiang', the name of a two-headed dragon in Chinese mythology. And what does the symbol of Shanghai Kagekidan look like? Yep, a DRAGON! So while in Japanese it literally translates as "Other Side of the Rainbow", the context also points to it being "Other Side of the Dragon". Even though it might take me a while to get used to this, and it's no longer my number one, it's an amazing piece nonetheless. I'm old, so I'm not familiar with Sumire Uesaka's pop songs. But so far, I haven't heard her sang a song like this. As Kouhei-sensei had stated, these new "GEKITEI" were composed to challenge the VAs vocal prowess. That seems to be the case here, to which Uesaka did a great job! PS: Wikipedia told me that Uesaka is a fan of Russia. I wonder how she would feel if she was cast as a leader of the Moscow Kagekidan instead?

Entaku no Kishi (Knights of the Round Table) by. Lancelot (Manami Numakura)

Just like the previous song, I had a completely opposite reaction to this as well. It honestly took a while for me to like or even understand the London Kagekidan theme when its official MV first came out. This full anthem also sounds different but in a far more positive light! How so? The second Westminster Bells kicked off, my mouth grinned so wide. Then the music slowly developed into that familiar tone, but continued to build up even more with meticulous touches and flares of fanfare, horns, trumpets, and an electrifying mix of the electric guitar. And suddenly I was transported into the medieval era, with images of brave knights flashing on my mind, en route for a battle to protect the land. Daaaang... Kouhei-sensei totally knows how to make something sound so graceful, yet gallant and rich, huh?! A sensation that young'uns nowadays would easily call 'EPIC'. My lingering issue with this song remains as-is: Manami Numakura's voice. Don't get me wrong, she is a wonderful VA with a unique vocal tone (Kohaku in "Dr. STONE", right?). I'm just not a fan of her singing voice, never was since her Idolmaster days. Even when it's my least favorite part of the song, that tomboy-ish charm blends perfectly with the song and gives it a distinct sound. The end result is something that continues to delight me and puts a smile on my face. Oh, what about the title, you ask? I think it's obvious enough. London Kagekidan is clearly based on the tales of King Arthur. Arthur is (likely, the code-name of) its blond-haired, high priest-dressed Captain, while our female lead here is the loyal Lancelot. It intrigued me when the lyrics, by Shouko Fujibayashi, mentioned 12 knights just like its lore. Does the team really have that many members? Assuming it will feature in the sequel, that would be fun to see. Then again, Idolmaster started out with 10(+1) idols, so I'm sure Lancelot would fit along just fine! Hahahaha... PS: Do you think that echoing bell at the intro and interlude sound convincing? Well, Kouhei-sensei said they actually recorded it at the actual location! Another good reason to appreciate this song.

Kurogane no Hoshi (Iron Star) by. Elise (Nana Mizuki)

*standing ovation* This. This IS a SCARY song! And by scary, I mean what a challenge it IS to pull off. Imagine trying to do at least an okay job at this in a karaoke booth? Godspeed. Nuh-uh, I don't think this song will work without Nana Mizuki's powerful vocals. Not just because I'm a fan of her, or have always wanted her to be part of this franchise. But I love Elise because she adds that much-needed heavier tone to the cast. Her brief but scene-stealing lines in "Aratanaru" proved that notion. You could easily recognize her voice amidst the chorus. If you think the short MV version (the actual first 1:20 minutes) that you see above already sounds amazing, just wait till you hear the middle part of this song. It slowed down, with various strings gently swayed you to enter another realm. Then it went FULL OPERA, with a piercing vocal work that would send nothing but genuine shivers to your soul! Goosebumps. All the time. The music had clear influences of Wagner's compositions, and those who are at least aware of classical music (or have seen "ClassicaLoid Season 2" Hahaha) would probably notice that almost immediately. Song of Valkyrie, anyone? Because of that, Kouhei-sensei personally did the arrangement for this number, seeing that it required a full-blown orchestra ensemble. Sensei showed the first part of the music sheets during one of the Teigeki Report, and I had a feeling it must've blown away everyone who saw it. I mean, Seijuurou Kamiyama's VA Youhei Azakami was literally jaw-dropped. He also revealed that Nana went above and beyond on that last high note, hitting it longer than she was supposed to, in time for the grand orchestra finish. Seriously, goosebumps. It is certainly one of the highlights of the album, and you DEFINITELY need to listen to this. Also, this is the only Kagekidan theme that I'm not sure can work as a group song. It IS still a Berlin Kagekidan song, proclaiming the might and power of the team that started it all. But can it be performed by a team of Hoshigumi? Dealing with that complicated lyrics by Shouko Fujibayashi ("...Schwarzer Stern, kurogane no hoshi..."), and fast-paced tempo will undoubtedly leave them breathless. Now I'm patiently counting the days to see Nana perform this in a live concert! Mindblown... PS: By the way, original Hanagumi's "Dream/Yume no 1 Pound" and Kanadegumi's "Enbukyoku, Kimi ni" came to mind when I tried to analyze this song. Presumably due to that middle part, which is true to Kouhei-sensei's style. You'll be hearing that magic touch of him again in some of the next tracks.

Next: the curtain rises for the Shin Hanagumi ladies!

Video is available on SEGA Official Youtube Channel. "Shin Sakura Taisen" is produced by SEGA, and RED Entertainment. Credits and copyrights belong to their respective owners.

#music #review #sakura wars #Sakura Taisen #Shin Sakura Wars #shin sakura taisen #project sakura wars #awesome #mind blown

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sugaxjpg · 6 years

Text

the library

⤷ As a worker of Heaven’s Library, you cherished the ones who followed rules — from the simple act of remaining silent throughout their visit, to the enforcement of the place’s rigid enquette. After all, guarding the everlasting shelves that held the history of every soul that ever lived was quite meaningful by itself, but could turn into a life-threatening task if not taken seriously.

So, if you adored rules so much, how could you allow yourself to fall for an angel?

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Angel!AU

✓ Filed under: angst, fluff

✓ Words: 11,210

Author’s note: (Kind of) a short story for a change. The place I based this one is the Admont Abbey Library in Austria. Truly a heavenly world. Some characters changed from the last time I posted but, other than that, the story continues to be the same.

⤅ Now.

Impregnated with the rich fragrance of paper and cinnamon, the Library burgeoned around your figure with the lovingness of sempiternity, bathed by the alabaster and auriferous ornaments of its decorations. In the midst of dirt particles that waltzed in the fresh air, one companionless book oscillated in the suspended atmosphere, tracing slow-motion pirouettes in space. Its untouched pages opened and moved in silence, magnetized by an invisible golden string that guided the object towards its destination — a shelf’s number far too long to be pronounced, too lost amongst those infinite corridors to be found quickly. By most people, that was.

Mesmerized by its quiet waltz, you watched as the book traced its course over your head, soon entering the premise of the private universe behind your figure. From where you stood, arms placed on the expanse of the snow-pigmented marble counter, you could watch as it proceeded into the depthness of the corridor, then disappeared behind a corner. You never got tired of it: even if humans were born everyday, the arrival of new and immaculate books always brought you a profound sentiment of hopeful optimism, of new beginnings—

“Here’s my favorite person in all of paradise!”

Just as simply as that, your daydreams were cut short when the man’s delicate voice found its way to where you stood, inducing you to turn away from those abysmal white corridors to glimpse at the newcomer with infantile curiosity. Combined with a calm suspire of alleviation, you stared at the presence that ever so patiently walked towards you and allowed yourself to present an amicable, welcoming smile, “How can I help you today, Jungkook?” you inquired.

He must have seen something sarcastic lingering in the quintessence of your speech, for the corners of his lips moved downwards for a breviloquent second, “You act as if you’re not happy to see me every single day, century after century,” he said playfully. Soon, though, he noticed that the phrase he presented you ignited some sort of cynical reaction from your part: eyebrows moving into a frown, smiley lips trembling with uncertainty, “Okay, I apologize. I know you’re stressed over everything that’s going on.” he rushed to add.

You sighed, shaking your head in an unspoken negation, a way to scare away the clouds of his baseless doubt, “Tell me about it,” your words came out with a certain dose of irony, but even that could not camouflage the quiet lament that echoed in the background of your syllables. As much as you adored your job deeply, there were instances that truly tested how far your motivation could go, and those past visits had been precisely that, “Let me guess, books from Limbo again?” you asked.

Jungkook placed the palms of his hands over the cold stone, feeling as it sucked out the fathomless heat of his celestial figure. For a place in paradise, he always thought that Library was awfully devoid of warmth and vivacity, “You’ve guessed it,” the angel agreed with forced excitement, chuckling at the endless circle the two of you had been trapped in, “I don’t know what’s happening with Heaven lately, they are going through this huge archive cleanse and now they want to see if there are more souls to save. Or something along those lines.” he admitted, sure you would question that constant visiting once again.

His eyes fell to follow the ethereal lineaments of your roseate lips as you responded, “How benevolent of them,” you spoke with endless sarcasm, aware that other motives hid in the penumbra of such uncommon decision. Using your years of experience as a basis for such ponderations, you guessed that one pertinent reason for cleaning the lower levels would be to open space for more souls to come — and that was never a good sign. “I can’t believe we’re talking about the same good guys that sent down the Black Plague.”

Jungkook instantaneously exhaled at that bothersome recalling, rolling his eyes as the images of a tragedy-permeated past flooded his brain, “I’d rather not remember that,” the angel breathed out, clearly irritated at the connotation they brought along — for a heavenly worker, you had always thought Jungkook was too dangerously cynic for his own well-being; openly cynic, at that, “but I suppose we can’t change the past now. Can you fetch me that book?” he asked kindly, eager to switch subjects.

“Of course I can, it’s my job,” you playfully agreed, presenting the angel with a smile that sucked out all the lassitude from his immortal body — every time he looked at you, Jungkook came closer to understanding why humans devoted themselves to finding art within every fragment of reality, to create images that resembled the paradisiacal elegance that he then saw before himself. “just tell me the full name, the time and date of birth, and I’ll find your copy.”

But of course, he already knew how that process went — even if he could not quite comprehend it even after numerous explanations from your part. Truth was: not even you could find the correct terms to elucidate the process that occurred within your head, nor the expansions of your spirit that traveled through those auspicious and resplendent corridors. It was like an alteration in reality, a chimera: your sight would mercurially run through every crack of shelves, every lacuna in between books to find the correct story for your customer.

The object, too, lured you in like a siren’s harmony. It was odd how its pages wordlessly called and guided you into its presence like it had a magnetic field of its own; a single book in focus amongst the turmoil of a nebulous sea; an oasis of equanimity in a immense desert of torment.

Within every peculiarity that existed amongst the walls of that pallid Library, an endless garden of withering stories decorated shelves that stretched into the infinity of time and space; book covers that were painted by profound shades of violaceous and cimmerian, indigo and cantaloupe — every combination ever conceived, embellishing the tales of every human soul that ever walked the merciless soil of Earth. To you, the decaying semblance of that quiet environment metamorphosed into what you could only see as a bruise, a wound that would eternally mark humankind itself. Just as them, that place was apparently flawless, but profoundly twisted in its pernicious essence.

At times, as you moved in between the snow-painted shelves, lonely bronze statues accompanied your path with utter impassiveness — the figure of an archer; of forgotten philosophers; of angels. One of those truly caught your attention, for part of its face shattered and forgotten on the dirty ground, sculpted wings appeared to have started to melt slowly. Even if it was elegant in its own despondent manner, its presence only added to your sensation of forever being watched by a higher, merciless power. You tried to ignore it, tried to play it off as being a mere allusion to the myth of Icarus, but sometimes you could still feel its piercing eyes burning to the back of your consciousness, guiding you towards self-censoring — in Heaven, nevertheless, paranoia was never baseless. It was better being safe than sorry.

“You always save my life,” Jungkook’s enamored voice brought you back to your position, inducing you to blink twice, thrice; attempting to hold back onto the ties of the substantial world. Instantaneously, you looked down at the marble surface, where his slender fingers pushed in your direction a piece of yellowed paper. In it, the information that would guide your towards your personal treasure. “this is what you need.”

Your gaze fell down to meet the raven-black ink of the the written information. In it, a messy handwriting — which you quickly recognized as being your superior’s — had gifted you with the individual’s name and, right beneath it, the date of his birth. The soul’s name did not ring any bells, but you did not expect it would.

You hummed quietly as your eyes drifted shut, mind shooting and circumnavigating through the gargantuan collection of archives that expanded all across your microscopic silhouette. Names came and went in a paroxysm of indistinct titles and ancient pages stained by time, the numbers of the corridors conglomerating into an incomprehensible mixture of locations as you flew past their magnificence. The unknown mortal’s storyline cried for your reach in with soundless laments for clemency, inducing for you to blindly follow its position with phenomenal precision.

“That must be around corridor five hundred and twenty two thousand... three hundred and forty seven stands to the right…” you mindlessly mumbled, focusing in the halcyon shelves that appeared in your head. Your consciousness reached closer to it, buoyantly flickering over the uncountable amount of covers before, at last, finding your target: the only book that had its margins clearly defined, emanating a colorless glow of its own, “Yeah, I see it… marked with an L and everything. It’ll be here in a second.” you told him.

And, just like that, the trance was concluded.

Once you opened your eyes, you found yourself back at the balcony, looking deeply into the eyes of the angel. Jungkook smiled fondly at the girl before his enamored gaze, stars of his fascination shimmering within his obsidian eyes, “Even thousands of years later, I’m not tired of watching you do that.” the man confessed.

You limited yourself to laugh at that. Sometime along those self-perpetuating centuries, the wonders and amazement of dashing through that construction had lost its initial thrill, now just feeling like another — yet slightly more interesting — task, “Still, I am very tired of doing it,” you told him. However, Jungkook must have not realized that it was only partially veridical, for his gaze adopted a more focused, preoccupied semblance. “Come on, I’m joking. You know I adore what I do.”

Partially.

“I am aware,” the angel sighed, placing his elbows on the marble counter. Lackadaisical, his gaze traced the cold stone that mushroomed beneath his touch, following an invisible path towards where your hands laid atop of it. In a lightening of desire, the angel wished desperately to place his palm over your own, caressing the skin he learned how to love so dearly, “Will you ever take me around the place again?” Jungkook then questioned, looking back at you.

Apparently taken by surprise, you discontinued your ponderations momentaneously, pouting as his question echoed timelessly through your brain, “What for, exactly? You’ve seen the books, it’s not like everyone here has Napoleon’s storyline,” you counterclaimed.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” an infatuated smile effloresced on Jungkook’s incarnadine lips as he admitted his desires with a feeble verbalization, his voice holding tightly to the symphonic harmony of his spirit. During the breviloquent instants of hesitation that followed, the honeyed illumination of the alabastrine Library melted over his sanctified lineaments, immersing his skin in the golden hue that monopolized the strands of his silk-like hair. You always thought Jungkook was just that — auric, cherubic.

Nevertheless, you could not allow yourself to succumb to his elegance at that instant. Matter not how deeply your sentiments ached for your lips to find comfort within the space between his own, there were instants in which the toxic mingling of paranoia and stone-cold reason monopolized your desires, “You’re spending time with me right now.” you cut his hope short.

Jungkook shook his head in denial, his dark hair trapping the incandescence of the outdoors luminescence, “You know what I’m talking about,” he forcefully pushed that subject forward.

Deep breathing, focused irises — within every action that embellished your being, he could see that his companion was growing irritated at his unwelcomed pressure, “ Jungkook, you know what I think about that,” you began, feeling your throat growing dry just by verbalizing such claims. In a reflex, your eyes darted towards the humongous, silvery doors behind his curved figure — it was closed, the world was silent, but you knew you were never wholesomely alone. “It’s dangerous. Especially for you.”

As if he was expecting those words, his subsequent phrase already hung with certainty at the tip of his rosy tongue, “I am not scared,” the angel said.

“But I am. We can’t play with things like this,” your response came out bordering on a cautious hiss, voice progressively getting lower and lower. Nervous, you just wished for his book to reach you two quicker, but its usual languorous pace usually made those seconds unbearably prolonged. “You know what would happen if someone found out.”

The smile he gave you, as much as it was supposed to be soother your worries, only served for your uneasiness to increase: even if Jungkook attempted to mask the phantasms that haunted his spirit, you could practically hear them howling behind his teeth, conforming your assumption that even he, in all of his forged courage, was aware of the devastating consequences your position could entice, “No one will find out, it’s just you and I here,” regardless, he continued to speak on, leaning his head to the side. “Darling, you deal with the entire human section by yourself, you have practically only one visitor every day, which is me.”

You shook your head in transparent disagreement, forcing your voice to remain below a hushed whisper, “You make it seem like we are safe and sound up here,” you told him, leaning in closer to his position so the angel could hear your better — and the angel only. Countless times had you done that for other, more lovable, reasons, but now everything appeared to be so secretive, so wrong. “This is Heaven, Jungkook: we are being watched all the time. Besides, your superiors come here frequently enough for me to feel sick every time that door opens.”

The simple, mundane act of referring those creatures caused for unwanted recallings to emerge within the controlled tides of your contemplations: those slender, well-dressed figures that crossed the white-bathed halls with the grace of a swan, moving in your direction as if they were the emperors of the universe. Power and respect emanated from their phlegmatic expression, knowledge beyond your imagination dripped from their colorless — sometimes violaceous-stained — lips as their request for a mortal’s story echoed in the space between them and you. You were the ruler of the world that existed within those ivory walls, but, upon their arrival, you were merely another piece of a larger, much more complex puzzle.

Then and there, as you felt like a easily-crushed worm beneath their omnipotent simulacrum, you were certain that creatures like you were never truly left unwatched. If free-will was a subject of constant debate for humankind, angels and heavenly workers were aware that they had no right to use their own.

Muffled, the sound of Jungkook’s shoes moving around the polished floor pulled your back onto his presence — if compared to his superior’s aura, his flame burned in such a vacillating manner, weak even, “Have they said anything to you?” something coruscated within his crepuscular gaze as he looked at you, holding the scintillation of his hidden worries as he awaited for your hesitant words to depart from in between your pursed lips.

Speech oscillating with reluctance, you leaned a bit backwards, eyes moving away from his own to watch the blades of achromatic lambency that sliced the unfluctuating air. Countless times had you two went through similar conversations, but you could never quite convince him of your reasons, “They don’t need to say anything when it’s just that clear. We are doing something that borders on treacherous, that goes strictly against Heaven’s code of conduct,” you elucidated. “It's just… Jungkook, I'm a Library worker, you're a server of the Lord. There is a hierarchy in place: if someone is going down, it's me.”

However, that was not precisely true: it was much more manageble to promote an angel to take over his position than to train another librarian to care of Heaven’s collection, for the trust and responsibility that came along with your job was far too great for even the most experient of celestial beings. You had been there since the beginning of time, watched its expanse grow bigger and more stuffed with idiosyncratic stories, and no one could be as trustworthy, even with a millennia of preparation.

Jungkook shook his head in slight annoyance, licking his lips, “You surely cannot believe the words you’re saying. My love, you—”

Your stare darted back to him instantaneously, “Don't call me that so openly,” you interrupted.

At that, his mouth fell shut. Jungkook looked profoundly inside your eyes as if there was a treasure waiting to be discovered, a piece of your amaranthine soul which only he could perceive amongst the turmoils of your collected facade. Jungkook looked at your as if the mere gaze you two shared could hold the benevolence and amorousness he caged within his chest, the touches and gentle caresses neither of you would ever be allowed to present freely.

He looked at you as if he was not a being who had the entire universe to contemplate, but as one who solely saw the pieces of beauty that appeared before his curious pupils; perishing at the corners of your lips; awakening within the pendular movement of your irises. Jungkook looked at you as if he was nothing more than a mortal, as if his time by your side was constantly near its terminal stages. As if they would never have the embrace of perpetuity, as if your intertwined hearts were as ephemeral as the countless stories that embellished those fathomless pallid shelves. And, mayhaps, they were.

Jungkook looked at you with infinite adoration — absolute wonderment, heartsickening admiration, excruciating purity; terribly mortal love.

But also foolish, naive hopefulness, “Love, listen to me: everyone knows that you're the best in your job. They wouldn't throw you out, even less go through the danger of training another angel to take care of what you do up here,” the man guaranteed with endless determination, sure that the words that left his mouth held nothing but the clemency of truth. Surely, that might have been the case back then, but things changed quickly in the neverending tides of Heaven. The two of you were nothing but disposable, “even if someone found us out, you'd be safe.” he concluded.

You suspired at that, running one hand through your hair — his claims clearly did not console your preoccupations. More than that: they appeared to set your paranoias aflame, inducing for the licking fire to burn the corners of your panicked contemplations; a ticking time bomb ready to destroy their builders, “What about you?” you counterclaimed, voice falling into trepidation. Never once had you thought the Library felt so hyperborean, desolated.

Jungkook appeared to grow confused at the brusque inquiry, “What... about me?”

Biting down on your lower lip, you took a step back away from him. Again, you found yourself silently wishing that his book could arrive sooner than the words would leave the arid desert of your throat — nothing more than a frivolous request, regardless, “Code of conduct, page twenty-eight, paragraph fourteen,” you recited, placing your two hands on the corners of the counter. Mayhaps for support, or because you required the contact of that gelid, polished surface to keep you chained down to the arrhythmic progression of your contemplations. “Under absolutely no circumstance can two celestial beings engage in any sort of non-business relationships. Those include, but are not limited to: sexual relations, partnerships against heaven, unnecessary friendships, romantic love...”

“Friendships and romances only—”

“—Cause rebellions,” you interrupted promptly, not gifting him with the seconds he necessitated to formulate a suitable response. You had memorized the Code by that point, for it was one of the few pieces of writing you had been allowed to go through — which, you came to comprehend, was quite a clear move of Heaven’s mind-washing mechanism. “Paragraph fifteen: in case the previous rule is disrespected, both parties will be taken to trial under the threat of immediate execution or—”

“—Exclusion and removal of grace,” Jungkook stole those words from your mouth, causing your speech to fall into respectful silence. In more mundane terms, as you once had to explain to a very confused guardian, that meant that the angel would be casted down to Earth as a human, which was one of the worst punishments that could be given to beings like them, right beneath relocation to Hell, “I know the Code. I'm still not worried. They wouldn't cast me down, and you're far too valuable to be taken away from this Library.” he rephrased his previous sentences with even more security.

Simply as that, your shoulders fell in a silentious indication of defeat: you stood by your ground, but could not avoid the astringent guilt that took over your chest once you saw the manner his expression had grown distressed at your constant avoidance. It was a matter of safety; of life and death — that was what you told yourself continuously in a faithless attempt at self-convincement, for you would rather have Jungkook looking at you with such heartbreaking mannerisms than suffering with his hypothetical absence, or your own eternal punishment.

“Nevertheless, I'm not taking any chances,” you shook your head, biting down on your lower lip. With that final negation, you swore you could observe his spirit shattering into agony.

Abruptly, you finally experienced the presence of the desired book slipping along the air, materializing behind a shelf just at the end of the main corridor. It was like being immersed in a furious river, but having a blockage placed between you and the currents — it interrupted the flow of the ethereal universe, standing out like a pulsating cut in a mortal’s skin and warning you of a misplaced piece, “Here... is your book,” almost timidly, you cleared your throat, slowly turning around to reach out for it. Like a docile animal, the object moved closer and landed on your palm a few seconds later. “Please ask your superiors to return them quicker, it's hard to organize around here if there are so many copies missing.”

Without meeting his eyes, you turned back around and handed the copy to the angel, who merely agreed in return, “Will do,” emotionlessly, Jungkook’s voice reverberated past your figure, entering in dissonance with the sorrow that sung within your spirit. Something had switched in the land that encompassed you, a venomous blanket that covered the two, intoxicating your souls with the pernicious touch of regret. “Thank you, and have a nice day.”

Dry and unimpassioned, his artificial syllables of departure indicated that your stance had truly caused him pain. You breathed out and, “You too, Jungkook.” was all that you managed to vocalize.

In a matter of two deep inhales and a few steps against the marble ground — which deliberately got farther and farther away —, you recognized yourself unaccompanied in Heaven’s Library. This time, asymmetrically, the rhythmical sailing of soaring books could not tranquilize the affliction that engulfed you; the ethereal resplendence of the conflagrant sun could no longer warm your cold skin. An aspect had switched in the thick of those elements, the balance that measured your fate had slightly moved downwards with the ponderation of your decisions, near rupture.

The two celestial beings had once made a promise, and they had broken it.

⤅ Then.

Jungkook had always thought everything in heaven seemed, for the lack of a better term, blurry. Between the images he contemplated and the light and shadow that built them together, lived a myriad of shapes and glows that he could never quite characterize, but accompanied him regardless of his approval. It was as if different tenses coexisted at the very same instant, actions sometimes delayed by mere seconds, but when placed on top of one another, turned into a kaleidoscopic progression of phantasmagoric forms. It was both dream-like and nightmarish; comforting and threatening. Hallucinatory, even.

The angel had noticed that chimerical illusion centuries past, but there was one instance that truly stood out amongst his recallings. It happened on one recluse section of the Library, on the opposite side of the entrance, and gave him view of the unfathomable meters that laid beneath those marble-ornamented halls. Never once had Jungkook dared to venture down to the lower levels of the archives, for simply standing there — staring down at the abyss that books succumbed to — caused for him to feel the trepidation of its emanating energy. Down there were the stories of humans sent to Hell, the souls that lingered in the thin line that separated malevolent spirits with the demonic creatures that tortured them for eternity.

Mind wandering past the lands of his preoccupation, he realized that he was standing by your side amongst the endless shelves of Heaven’s Library, yet staring at the mouth-like crater before the two of you — those white steps were dangerously similar to a creature’s teeth, the waltz of coordinated books appeared to be a tongue moving in its interior. There was something about those endless stairs drowning in penumbra that felt like a forewarning to him, the image of the consequences he could face if he was not careful enough. Even if Jungkook was not exactly someone that observed signals where there were none, he could not shake away the impression that such peculiar instant was flawlessly architectured to present him with his current situation.

On the limiar of paradise, Jungkook had a taste of infernal consequences.

“Let’s not fall in love,” the angel had breathlessly requested you that day, experiencing the ponderation of his shattered heart gradually — then mercilessly. Like a rain that progressively metamorphosed into a storm, the cosmos around him felt claustrophobic to endure; reticence was too thundering for him to think properly. He was scared. In manners he could not comprehend, he was.

From his peripheral vision, he saw as you lethargically moved your gaze away from the lower levels of the Library, somewhat spellbound to its villainous radiation. Even before your words had escaped your half-open lips, Jungkook was certain you had seen the same fate as he did, hiding just in the corners of that shadowy realm, “We cannot,” you had responded, lamentation and remorse curling its compassionless claws around your throat. You two had made it that far by being extremely cautious, nothing should be altered now. It could not, “It’s one of the few rules we didn’t break yet.” you added.

That very same day, the two of you were interrupted by a newcomer that was — very impatiently — searching for the story of a particularly controversial historical figure. As a consequence, the two were unable to give the proper goodbyes to one another, for you had to quickly return to the entrance and assist the sanctified being. Instants like those made you remember, even if ephemerally, of a special passage you had once read amongst those uncountable stories: the hardest goodbyes were the ones a person never received. Especially after such important oath.

Or, at the very least, what appeared to be an oath. Sooner or later, even that rule was broken.

Perhaps by coincidence, perhaps by fate, but precisely four Earth months had ran by when the two of you decided to succumb into adoration. Underneath the condensed adumbration of a secluded shelf, you chuckled, placing your palms against Jungkook’s chest and playfully pushing him away, “Jungkook, I have to get back to work,” you quietly exclaimed.

Features slightly covered by a thin veil of shadows, Jungkook smiled in the most profound of infatuations, even though he was cognizant of your words long before it had been enunciated by your roseate, slightly swollen lips. The outline of your features were simply sculptural, he once told you, equiparable to the finest forms of art to his humble point of view, “Me too, but you don’t see me complaining,” playfully said the angel, moving back to find the solace of your kiss, “You don’t know how much I missed kissing you.” he breathed out, mouth caressing yours as he spoke.

The kiss lingered on your lips like a butterfly’s wings trembles against the wind — oscillating, shivering — sending the radiations of pure amour through your slumberous perceptions. If you could, you would stay in his arms forevermore, “Jungkook, be careful. Keep your voice low,” you warned, glancing at the position of your slender fingers that had now moved up one of his shoulders. If you had not been so anxious yourself, the sensation of his muscles tensing up beneath your skin would have never called your attention. “we have rules for a reason.”

It was clear from the way a frown took over his features that he did not share the same trepidation that took over your spirit, “Stupid reasons for stupid rules,” Jungkook then pouted, appeared to be almost childlike for a moment. Surrounded by the auriferous luminescence of a secluded version of paradise, Jungkook discovered his mind to be lost in your presence, and all he ever wanted was to immerse himself in it, “Okay, okay. Just one more kiss.” he requested.

And, surely, you consented.

Permeated my amour and devotion, the loving touch of his velvety lips felt like the gentle touch of a feather, the compassion and enthusiasm of a fresh, yet warm day amongst the numb seas of your relinquished realm. With their eyes closed, the two could only experience as their immortal spirits caved into the beauty and enchantment of one another, each and every second used to explore the kindness the other could give. Your heart was drumming frantically to the symphonious harmony of your enamored embrace, passion irradiating and rooting throughout your body—

A muffled exclamation from his part echoed against your mouth, causing for him to move away from your kiss. It took you a couple seconds to comprehend what had occurred, but, when you did, you could not help but to melt into a diverted smile, “This is your book.” you told him, looking at the object that had just hit Jungkook on the back of his head.

He lost no time turning around and taking it in his hands, eyes momentaneously glancing to the “L” that marked the position of that special soul. No minor inconvenience caused by that book against his head could be compared to the headache that was dealing with such creatures.

What he verbalized, nevertheless, was a simple, “This is my book,” followed by a quick flicker of his stare downwards. The object felt peculiarly heavy, pulled by the gravitational field of his worries. It was abrupt the manner how every particularity about you companion seemed to crash down upon his cognizance, robbing the rhythm away from his heart and inducing for his consciousness to morph into a psychedelic waltz of forms and alien sentiments, “I’ll be on my way, then.” he cleared his throat, fighting to keep it all in.

In the expanse of the moment that followed his sentence, however, Jungkook came to understand an element of your presence that he had been neglecting for some time now — tracing the pathway from your angelic lineaments to the diaphanous contours of your silhouette, he found the true meaning of salvation in your eyes; understood that the profound allurement he had felt for was not merely interest. It was much deeper than anything he had ever experienced aforetime, much more filled with desire and affection. He did not want to leave you behind, but to feel the taste of forever by your side.

Ask me to stay, he faithlessly thought. Nothing more than a naive dream.

If you felt the same, you masked it fairly well. As you crossed your arms before your chest — a defensive, almost shielding gesture — you hummed in agreement; your gaze, too, falling to the amber-covered book in his hands. “You should be, there are tortured souls waiting to be saved.”

He scoffed at that, eyes gazing at the golden letters that ornamented the book’s title — whoever that person was, must have done something quite remarkable to get such beautifully decorated cover, “They mostly will be waiting forever,” the angel said, clearly skeptical at the prospect of divine clemency. Before him, though, you had grown clearly preoccupied by the way his frustration dripped through his choice of words. “What? Most of these aren’t getting through the first stages of trial. Out of the hundreds we took so far, not even twenty were saved.”

You breathed out, “It’s hard to take souls up from Hell, they are trapped in this… hole of hatred and savagery,” the mere enunciation of that place’s name left an astringent taste hanging at the tip of your tongue, the pestilent connotation infecting your brain with bothersome memories. Your frown took over your thoughtful expression as your eyes trailed around the immaculate shelves, searching for a way to escape from those terrible remembrances. “They usually get worse than what they started. It makes no sense to combat evil with more evil.”

Only once did you have to travel to the lower levels of the afterlife, but you never forgot the nightmare that crawled amongst that relinquished, nefarious world. Atop of the ferruginous redolence of fresh sanguine and sulfur conglomerated with the horrendous, calamitous outcries of castigated souls, laid a devastating atmosphere that did not allow for your to formulate proper conceptualizations. You could practically feel the endless yells for clemency as crawled their way in your veins and reverberated inside your skull, digging profoundly into your very essence, hopelessly imploring for your to save them from that self-perpetuating pandemonium.

Jungkook shrugged, “Yeah, not the wisest punishment mechanism, but who am I to judge? I just follow orders,” and, after that, he hesitated. There was a primordial impulse within him that begged for the angel to terminate the overwhelming space that expanded in between your bodies, to simply touch the softness of your skin, to dive into your kiss forevermore — and that was precisely what he chose to do, as he kindly placed his palm against your cheek, moving to place another gentle, timid peck on your mouth, “Most orders,” he lightheartedly added. He could swear by the name of his Father that, if Heaven truly was blurred, you were the only thing in focus.

Overwhelmed by his sudden wave of tenderness, you chuckled as the other angel moved closer to place another small kiss on your lips, “No, don’t even start, Jungkook,” you told him, even if parts of your essence whimpered and cried for your to do otherwise. You, too, wished to spend forever by his side, but some things were merely impossible to achieve. “You have work to do, and so do I.”

The man groaned, but did not move away from your welcoming aura, “Fine, fine,” Jungkook accepted his fate, hugging the cantaloupe book against his chest. For a moment, he almost looked human — which both enthralled and terrified you, “In the name of Heaven, you act as if you won’t miss me.” he complained.

That, you thought, was something you could never agree with. Every time you spoke to your lover, there was an undistinguished feeling that awoke in the cage within your chest: the perturbation that accompanied your heartbeats, the profound enchantment that was cultivated in the melody of his smooth voice. You felt as if you were drowning in Jungkook every time you two found the warmth of the other’s embrace; as the phantasm of your memories morphed into the elegant waltz of the substantial world. His touch was no longer a reverie, but the star that illuminated your eternal soul, “I will, you know I will,” you confessed promptly, hoping that your emotion was perceptible past your every syllable. “You’re back everyday, nevertheless.”

“Careful there, don’t take me for granted,” he warned, but his tone did not carry any true weight. Back then, the possibility of your wonderland being torn to shreds almost seemed preposterous to conceive — the two of you were oh, so invencible; the mental picture of the lower archives was nothing more than a forgotten joke, an over-exaggeration, “Wipe that pout out your pretty face, come here.” cutting his own thoughts short, he pulled you closer.

However, the previous savouriness of honey that pulsated in between your lips could no longer be found. As the breviloquent moment of your departure kiss echoed throughout the infinity of your love-filled perceptions, the two of you had broken your oath, the final chain that held you from decaying into the temptation of devotion. No words had been spoken, no oscillating, lip-quivering confessions were left to be heard — the angels had fallen in love then, had taken a bite of the prohibited fruit and overlooked the perfection of Heaven to dive into the grace of one another.

When the two of you separated your mouths by a few centimeters, there was a second in which your eyes met, and the wordless certainty was mutually understood: both were staring straight at the barrel of a gun, but were still blind to what could pursue their impulsive — humane — acts. Was the pleasure of infatuation worth the impending doom of its flaws? Back then, your answer would be a doubtless “yes”.

Now, things were different.

More than that, Jungkook vouched he could envision the most prosperous, most magnificent version of himself reflecting in every minor curvature of your smile. It was as if his essence was perishing and being brought to life by the mere meeting of your interlaced spirits, the constant lessons he learned just by standing by your side. He would like to convince himself that the sentiment that effloresced within himself was nothing more than a virginal fondness, but he was certain that it was, in fact, an ephemeral adventure, “Have a good day of work, love,” he spoke before he could stop himself, forcing his feeble body to take a step backwards.

Then, you adored the name he referred to you, “You too, Jungkook,” you slimed, shoulders falling underneath the touch of such graceful word — love: such a paradoxical emotion; such reasonless guardian, “Until tomorrow.” you spoke.

Following a deep exhale, the angel responded with a dainty, “Until tomorrow.”

Nevertheless, once, tomorrow never truly came.

⤅ Now.

Consequences eventually arrived. Shortly after your minor argument, Jungkook disappeared from the realms of Heaven.

Primordially, you chose to find reasonable excuses for his absence. Centuries past, the angel had taken a few weeks off to work on undisclosed subjects for his superiors, and ended up being simple, futile rendezvous that only served to germinate anxiety within your apprehensive rationalizations. Drifting past the abstract frenzy of your overly-suspicious thinking, you would be able to see the silver lighting of reason that would convince you of just that: Jungkook might have simply gotten a different task, and that solely.

He was okay. He had to be.

Still, you missed him like nothing else in the world, could not bring your own ponderations to move away from the ghost of his presence. You missed those love-permeated caresses in the thick of floating books and amaranthine shelves; the pathless conversations you two held as you explored the most various sections of that infinite Library. You missed the melody of Jungkook’s euphonic laugh as it danced meters underneath the beautiful paintings of forgotten cherubins; heart ached for the touch of his infatuated kisses. You longed for the bliss of your forged ignorance before you ever noticed your feelings for the other angel; yearned the epiphany of realization.

Unquestionably, you missed those days — moreover, you held firmly to the remembrance of that unexplored and unstained sentiment of a deep, pristine love. Now, all you had were shattered fragments of naive optimism and the unspoken, constant prayer for a miracle you were not able to see. With your emotions being crushed beneath the weight of his departure, you still forced your conceptualizations to funnel towards the possibility of Jungkook’s return: for every rain was followed by the resplendence of sunshine, no storm could last forever.

Though, deep down, you were aware that those forged certainties were nothing more than futile explanations for a reality you would never allow yourself to face. More often than you would ever accept to admit, you would find yourself murmuring silent prayers of mercy, attempting to find some sort of force to go through the following days. Opening and closing, the entrance mocked your continuously, filling your with ephemeral hope just to tear it all down — those arrogant, swan-like figures walking in your direction; their noses high and expectations low.

No: an entire world of soul-crushing quiescence was all that you were allowed to obtain. Without Jungkook there to keep you company, each detail of that once magnificent landscape had metamorphosed into a sepulcral universe, a deep crimson wound that pulsated constantly, reminding you of the pain you ever so faithlessly attempted to overlook. Once so warm, the lights that dripped over you were now soulless and anemic; the dust particles that appeared to be buoyant ballerinas were nothing more than irritating insects that surrounded you. You felt so small and insignificant; felt like a pathetic mortal.

Then again, you might have acted like one.

Through it all, you were humbly glad that your position came with the presence of an Earth calendar, otherwise there would be no way to measure the days that ran by while Jungkook was gone. Perhaps by coincidence, perhaps by fate, but precisely four Earth months had passed when you received the first news about your loved angel.

“Could you find me this mortal’s book?”

At the very instant that unknown timbre ruptured the disharmony of your solitary ponderations, you were aware that the stranger before you was nowhere near the man you ever so eagerly awaited. From your peripheral vision, you could perceive the darkness of his silhouette, a posture that was far too rigid to belong to the lower levels of Heaven — he was a wound in that immaculate space, an unbelonging soul amongst the silence of solitude. His presence there was incongruous.

Reluctantly, you flickered your attentive gaze upwards, forgetting the open pages above the counter. you could not properly elucidate the manner your contemplations rapidly evanesced, flying away from you as the exquisiteness of that stranger was gradually absorbed within your unfocused mind. Unlike most guests that would come to the Library, the newcomer was dressed in an all-black suit, a raven-like being amidst an ocean of ivory walls and diaphanous ceilings. The world around him was as bright as a pallid constellation, but he sucked it all inside his own darkness, casting around his figure the penumbra of a black hole.

Dark clothes were only used by two sectors of the afterlife: demons, and the ones who dealt with them. Taking into account that no diabolical creature had permission to cross the gates of Paradise, you guessed he was the latter. Not that such deduction brought your any sense of comfort.

Clearing your throat, you woke yourself from that momentary reverie, nodding as his question returned to you, “Oh, of course,” you managed to speak out, watching as the man placed a piece of paper over the marble, then gradually slided it towards your side — his knuckles were reddened, morphing into a hue between the violaceous and the rufescent, and the image sent shivers down your spine. “Let’s see what we have here.”

In the breviloquent moment that followed his action, you were cognizant of how his sculptural delineations entered in resonance with the translucent phantasms of your shapeless recallings ― the creature before your was, in the oddest of ways, familiar. Not in regards to appearance, but in the way his aura appeared to suck you in, an abysmal fall that you could not help but feel thrilled to experience. His eyes — vortexes of cimmerian — were deep and attentive, dripping the mesmerizing knowledge he had complied through all the years of his immortal life, profound caliginous irises shining dimly with the colorless luminescence of the ambient. Strands of onyx-colored hair fell over his arched eyebrows, contouring his perfectly outlined face as a tiny smile sprouted on his full lips. Every detail about him seemed absolutely ethereal, serpentine — threateningly alluring.

However, as your eyes read the information he had given you, his momentaneous spell was broken, “Limbo?” your gaze flickered upwards.

The stranger hummed, not losing eye contact with you for a single instant — those angels always did that, constantly thought the assertion of dominance was a relevant part when visiting the lower levels of Paradise, “Yes, Heaven is making a cleanse,” he told you, repeating the vague words you had encountered time and time again. There were secrets that hid in the dark strands of his perfectly placed hair, rufescent poison that dripped in between his full, perfect lips. For a celestial creature, there was far too much obscurity surrounding him to leave your at ease. And, as he spoke again, it was like you could hear Jungkook’s ghost echoing inside every word that departed from his mouth, “Do you have everything you need?” he inquired, almost impatiently so.

Once anew, you cleared your throat, posture growing rigid, “Yes, yes, just… just a second,” you stuttered, closing your eyes and rapidly diving into the hazy edges of your non-material search. The process took place in a couple of seconds on that occasion, for that special copy was recently added to the collection, making it extremely easy to discover, “It’s... coming up.” you told him, still unsure about his crepuscular presence.

The man, however, appeared to grow impressed at the velocity of your acts. Instead of anxiety, he saw only proficiency and ability, “That was quick, you must work here for some time.” he complimented frankly.

Perhaps it was just your impression, but you did not take such comment as a positive opinion, but more as a pat on the back for doing the minimum — you were growing tired of superior angels looking down upon creatures like you, acting as if doing their job correctly was already worth of astonished praise, “Ever since the beginning,” you forced yourself to remain cordial, which was not too hard to do. Mentions like those were bothersome at most, but did not awaken any sort of negative feeling within you. “Though, even after all this time, I believe I haven’t seen you around. You are...?”

“Yoongi. I’ve been replaced for the cleanse,” the man responded promptly. He, too, appeared to grow more comfortable — gradually, of course, but was a welcomed change of atmosphere, “I’m usually on trials, not taking paperwork around.” he elucidated.

“That explains your attire, I suppose.” you pointed out.

He hummed in agreement, “Not my favorite either, but it's what I get for working with demons.”

Not precisely a surprise, but a pleasant reassuring of what you had suspected aforetime. Mayhaps his odd attitude was nothing more than his persona being slightly rusty to work with other benevolent angels, instead accustomed to the filthy creatures that inhabited the underground realms, “Hell trials, then.” you concluded.

“They are a thousand times more interesting than anything we could see up here,” Yoongi said smoothly, as if he had memorized that sentence from justifying his job so many times. As someone who encountered the most various levels of heavenly workers on a daily basis, you did not hold any sort of prejudice against his position, but mere curiosity. “there is more adrenaline then simply reading a list of good deeds and sending souls into paradise, believe me. Most of my friends say it’s just my humanity coming out to experience some sort of justice, but I don’t see it like that. Someone has to do the job, I don’t see an issue if I just happen to enjoy its outcome.”

You could not help but chuckle at that, finding it at the very least odd that such pure creature would find interest in the damnation of mortal souls. Some angels had sadistic roots, as ironic as that could be, but you did not recall experiencing such open confession before, “I believe you, don’t worry. Up here at the Library, there are some files about those trials in a different section, and I've read a few,” you told him, at last seeing the opening you had been expected to verbalize your worries. “Usually it’s Jungkook who comes around, though. To get the books.”

At that, his semblance succumbed into the shadows of his skeptical doubt, “Jungkook?” Yoongi repeated with a certain speck of reluctance.

One star of hope scintillated inside your gaze, “You know him?” you could not help but question, taken aback by the possibility of receiving any sort of news from his part. So much, in fact, that you could not precisely measure the excitement that was casted over your features, corrupting your collected demeanor with the sentiments you could never be permitted to present.

Yoongi, however, did not appear to grow cognizant of your change in demeanor, for his full lips — rose-shaped and rose-colored — suddenly fell into a curvature of vacillation. Regardless of his sudden lack of focus, you should not grow too comfortable around him, for someone who worked with demons was surely observant of the most slight deviations of conduct, “I… not personally,” he paused, eyes falling to the marble counter for an instant. You could not tell if the hesitant action was genuine, which preoccupied you to the very core. “I only know his name, and, after everything that happened…”

You waited for an instant to see if his speech would resume, but no other information came to further characterize the events he was so vaguely referring to, “Everything that happened?” you echoed, impulsing his phrases to continue flooding the room.

His chest rose and fell with the dramatic breath that overtook him — his mannerisms were oddly mortal-like, if you had to say so. Usually, those acts were common within the angels of lower condecoration, not the superior ones, “You don’t know?” Yoongi calmly questioned. Was it pity that you observed beyond his ambiguous gaze, or were you merely projecting the reflection of your own inner worries onto a stranger?

No paranoia in Heaven was fruitless. Alarms had set off within your mind as you swallowed dry, growing uncomfortable at the hesitation that fell in the spacious hollowness between the two celestial creatures. His aura was somewhat suffocating to endure, dense and consolidated as if you were faithlessly attempting to breathe underwater. The errors of his presence was as obvious as a torn-out painting, the roots of fear pulsating inside your veins in disconex bargains for the unknown angel to simply leave, “No, I don’t think I do,” you cleared your throat. “I can’t really leave this place, you know?”

One more time, Yoongi took a profound inhale, hand moving to scratch the back of his neck. Those were not humane mannerisms, but spurious ones: he was trying to gift you with a sense of compassion and empathy, something that angels did not show for one another. He was ridiculing you, “May our Father help me. I hate telling the bad news,” the man whined, but his gaze no longer found your own.

Liar — he adored it. After all, what could motivate a pure angel to decay into infernal trials if not the false notion of justice, what could motivate him to be relocated to his position if not the perfect choice for his mission? In the name of everything that was sacred, every piece of that puzzle begun to form a shuddersome picture within your conceptualizations; presuppositions conglomerating into one furious torment of exasperating realities. Yoongi was there as the personification of a forewarning, the lightning that indicated the upcoming thunder.

Atmosphere growing thicker with apprehension, you could only request for him to continue with a weak, “Please do. I want to know.” which was, too, made of unrealistic sentiments — or, better yet, the absence of such. Yoongi showed you false remorse; you showed him apathy. The two of you were just playing parts of a much more evil, unsympathetic spectacle.

And, with his succeeding words, the curtain fell.

“Jungkook was casted down a few weeks ago. Earth.”

Silence. With a second that lasted between a heartbeat and the prolonged hours of a sunrise, that moment was only filled with pure, unstained silence. Shock came and went in waves, sending your mind to work on its full force then succumb into numbness, fingers feeling both cold and warm when placed against the counter — mayhaps for support, mayhaps for a touch of reality, “He was w-what?” you struggled to get out. Your words did not appear to be real.

Yoongi answered with a breathless lament, “Yes, I know, I had the very same reaction. Angels being casted down isn’t something you see every century,” the stranger suspired, but you could not help but feel as if his tone echoed from meters above, or perhaps from under the seven seas. The universe seemed to be deadened and obfuscous; cold-blooded and unjust, “If I’m not mistaken, it was something about social misconduct, inappropriate relations. I don’t know the details, sorry.” he explained further.

Panic. That was a sentiment you knew of, but never truly experienced ― there was no proper reason to. Using the information you had gathered throughout your everlasting days, you could tell that it was a terrible sensation that grew from the bottom of one’s breathless chest to the edge of their tremulous fingers, turning their entire figure in a paroxysm of numbness as it did so. Such trepidation was claustrophobic, suffocating; induced for levelheaded thoughts evanescence into nothingness as an overwhelmed, exhausted heart ever so faithlessly attempted to follow the arrhythmia of such terrible situation. That sensation should feel like gelid fire — both burning one’s spirit and congealing its victims to the bone.

Per contra, now your position was a drastically different. Now, your trembling lips found it difficult to formulate proper sentences, your mind working on its maximum speed to control your heartbroken tone, “Do you know if he is… if he is okay?” you managed to vocalize, wishing that the newcomer could not find any traces of your abysmal dismay waltzing within your voice.

Coruscations of doubt momentaneously shone in the background of Yoongi’s gaze, but he managed to keep his feeble ponderations to himself as he gifted your with an answer, “You know what they say, no human is ever okay,” what was supposed to become a lighthearted joke rapidly morphed into a bottomless dread within the cage of your trapped spirit. Never once had the Library felt so gargantuan, so permeated with malevolence — as if you could feel every centimeter of its golden marble perishing into nothingness, decaying into the horror that took over your soul.

An apathetic nod of comprehension was all that the dark angel received in return. Vaguely, you could feel the presence of a book appearing at the bottoms of your consciousness, the object that ever so gracefully danced in the same air that now intoxicated you. You felt nothing but disgust and consternation.

The two lovers had been blissfully ignorant in a sea of poisonous vipers, had reenacted the expulsion from the Garden of Eden and now they were facing the consequences for their treacherous acts. But of course, there was no excuse: the celestial creatures knew that it was against every Heavenly commandment to enter those types of relationships — if a mere friendship was seen as dangerous, a romantic rendezvous would be seen as a straight up offense against everything correct that ordered the hierarchy of paradise. The two of you had been fools to believe they were invincible.

May the Heavens have mercy on me, you thought.

Amongst the vexation of your mental distress and a muffled, “I think that’s my book,” that came from the man’s part, you inquired if his presence was there to guide your towards your own, personal punishment.

But no: you had already grasped the penalty being inflicted upon you, had understood that Jungkook was the one who received the blissful ignorance of an eternal circle of human lifes. What you would get was much, much worse than any earthly or hellish punishment. You should have known better.

The anguish that lacerated your spirit was easily camouflaged as you swiftly turned around, hand reaching out to grasp that mortal’s story, “Yes, yes it is,” you mumbled, almost to yourself. As you turned back to the angel, an aspect of his presented personality had suffered a transmutation, for you could no longer discover any fragments of fake empathy you envisioned just a few seconds aforetime. Just as your mask of impassiveness was growing weaker underneath the ponderation of your misery, his semblance of pity was cracking under his villainous inclinations. “There you go, Yoongi. Please tell your superiors to—”

“—Return it quickly. I know the story,” the tenebrous angel interrupted your speech with endless delicacy, causing for your upcoming words to perish in the shallow space within your arid lips. Even though you could feel the sourness in Yoongi’s tone taking over the preoccupied edges of your nebulous mind, he still managed to keep his voice under absolute control ― something that both amazed and terrified you to the very core. “They have been hearing you, don’t worry about it. The process itself is long, but we are doing it the best we can to keep everything organized.”

They have been hearing you. Of course they have.

In the moment your eyes fall to accompany the way his hands reached for the book, a term effloresced in your mind: stained angels. That was how the afterlife referred to the cherubic creatures that adopted malevolent, demonic-like temperaments to work in the lower levels of Inferno; they, too, succumbing into mortal degenerations — from luxury to pride; from violence to taking pleasure in suffering. Some claimed it was a necessary step to judge the sins of humans, others were certain it was a “controlled corruption of grace” which only served to tear their race apart. Now looking at Yoongi, you understood what all those stereotypical characteristics meant: he was bathing in your distress, for he felt it with perfect saturation inside his own essence.

Consequently, the recognizement of his sadistic tendencies served to mask your ache with a veil of fury, “Sure... I understand,” your voice came out steady, your gaze did not falter away from his bottomless one. Worst than him were the ones who coordinated his visit, who judged appropriate to give your the news by such putrid vector, “Yoongi, just one more thing,” you requested.

Elevating one of his eyebrows, he paused. “Yes?”

A quivery, dubious exhale departed from your mouth as you ran over each and every letter on your subsequent words, unsure of the consequences they would bring, “This… cleanse,” you then vacillated, swallowing your hesitation dry so you could hold his gaze a bit longer. An indiscernible sensation flickered in his stygian eyes, and you felt as vulnerable as ever. Yet, oddly frustrated. “is it only happening in the levels of Hell, and Limbo?”

Yoongi was encompassed by a crepuscular, impenetrable aura as the inquiry found his ears. Continuously, you wondered if the lines of concentration that appeared in his forehead indicated that the man was aware of your prohibited adventures with the now fallen angel; if the hints of threat that danced at the delineations of his roseate lips meant something other than his lack of patience — the wicked pleasure that accompanied celestial justice, perchance, “Oh no, we are going extremely deep into it,” lethargically, the angel leaned his head to the side, studying you ― you had always despised how his kind did that, how his dark orbits held such infinite, overtaking wisdom. No matter your age, what mattered at that instant was his experience, the life he lived beyond the fortress of your duty, beyond the paradisiacal alabastrine walls of that stuffed Library. “Heaven is being thoroughly… purified.”

Yes. Of course it was.

Your roseate tongue moved in between your lips to lick the dryness away from them, every piece of your trembling spirit battling unseen wars to keep your tone steady. There was no protocol to follow, no rules to reinforce ― your voice got caught in the endless void of melancholy that expanded within your throat, the claws of fear preventing those hollow words from finding their way out, “That’s… that is very wonderful. Benevolent.” you formulated carefully.

Yoongi hummed in agreement, eyes shining with something you could not elucidate, “It is,” he spoke, taking the book up to his chest ― its adumbral scarlet cover resembled blood when placed against his ebony suit, an image that only served to set your panic aflame. Jungkook could bleed now, he could feel in the flesh the torturous paths of mankind, “We have rules for a reason, don’t we?” he smirked, breaking your worries at the spot.

“Jungkook, be careful. We have rules for a reason.”

You looked back up. Never once in your life had you used so much of your concentration to keep your semblance devoid of any sort of emotion, “Certainly,” you spoke out, glad enough that your tone did not shake with the mere connotation of that word. Innerly, a mixture of anger and defeat cursed the Heavens that surrounded you for stabbing your heart, then claiming you had no chance to bleed without pointing at your own guilt — you were alone against the system you once had taken shelter under, utterly relinquished of assistance.

You had been so, so ignorant.

Yoongi’s lips curled upwards in a geranium-colored smile. You could vouch that the delight that dripped from his gaze was perfectly induced to mock your pain even further, to show that your anguish was nothing more than welcomed, enticed by a system that was fueled by reprehension, “You’re a very trusted worker, so I wouldn’t worry too much about what we do. Keep doing your job well and you won’t be caught in the radar,” he told your with diaphaneity, amusement bathing every word that departed from his throat. He was the first one to break eye contact, but he had already found his victory moments before, “Have a good day, YN.” he wished you.

Had you ever gifted the man with your name? You could not recall, “You too, Yoongi,” you responded, automatically so.

It was there, you could feel it now.

Barely noticing your actions, you turned around and faced the endless halls of mountainous shelves and the currents of waltzing books that moved in brownian motion. Pathless, your eager eyes darted around the room, which appeared to be closing off around you, morphing into a tunnel of confusion as your weak and tremulous legs gradually took steps deep into that alabastrine universe. The pastel figures painted on the ceiling appeared to laugh at you with all their endless grace, watching as you moved like a zombie through those corridors, searching for a lover that could never be touched again.

Your tranquil steps morphed into a rushed pace, and then you were running. Everything seemed too torpid, too claustrophobic — you did not know where you were heading, but you were aware something was calling you to run past those shelves, to take corner after corner in the search for an intangible persona. In some way, you expected everything was nothing but a malevolent joke — perhaps a minor warning for your to change your conduct — and that maybe, with a simple blink of an eye, or even the turning of a corner, you would discover your angel, with all his characteristic elegance, smiling tenderly at you. Arms and heart open to take you in.

However, you were aware that you would never find Jungkook again. Not in flesh, at least.

The progression of your terror-stricken heartbeat seemed to pulsate through every piece of your insubstantial body, verbalizing prayers inside your ears and exploding in storms of sorrow in your chest; the dizziness of exhaustion slowly finding its way around the ephemeral adrenaline rush. In all its magnificent expansion, the heavenly Library was asphyxiating. Floating books and golden shelves surrounded you from every angle, reticent gods that ever so mercilessly cornered your running figure in a maelstrom of infinite pathways covered in dust and despondency.

Shaky laments reverberated in the thick of the ivory walls, decaying into fragmented requests for clemency as you found your way deeper into its realms. The universe metamorphosed into blur as you grew nearer to your unforeseen destination, guided by the unspoken calls of your pain. If asked, you would not be certain about how long you were there, stumbling towards something you did not know existed; being closely watched by the bronze statues that you despised with so much force. Every step was a struggle, every new shelf presented you with more corners to turn. It was a labyrinth with no ending. A soul with no salvation.

Until, at last, you found it.

For a instant that lasted eons, your legs were turned into gelid stone by the claws of hesitation and denial. Now and then, in an ephemeral speck of understanding, you finally grasped what that unnamed human meant when they said that the hardest goodbye was the one they never got; you finally grew to feel the heart-tearing distress that motivated humankind to create masterpieces about a lost companion; to poetize about the departure of the soul.

You understood the pain of love in its rawest, most primordial ways.

You seeked for balance by placing your back against the shelves; craving for something capable of pinning your down to reality as your consciousness slowly drifted away from your grip, cognizance running in between your fingers like thin sand. In a volcanic explosion of melancholy, you cried out, hands mindlessly reaching for him, pressing him against your chest. Quivering fingertips and cheeks wet by the tears you were not aware you had been crying, your breath was cut short by a wave of anguish and melancholy you had never before experienced, thorns upon thorns that pierced your skin and tore your essence apart.

After what appeared to be hours wondering an endless world, you found his shelf, found his number; both numbers far too long to be easily pronounced. Before your eyes, laid the book that caused for your existence to shatter into pieces, those three simple words that had catalyzed a new, human story to take shape.

Jeon Jungkook. Earth.

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ahiddenpath · 6 years

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Digimon Adventure Tri Stage Play Reaction

Guys, this is not an analysis: this is my feels and obnoxious comments while viewing the stage play. My initial goal was to use these notes to make an analysis, but they’re too funny/stupid/wow to hide from the world. I typed these notes in real time, stopping the play whenever I had a thought. It’s the closest I can get to having you watch me watch the stage play without using videos. I will write an actual meaningful post soon, but for now, have a confused and jumpy/unpolished blob of feels.

The other thing I want to say is that I didn’t edit this after I wrote it, except for surface editing (grammar, spelling) and clarifications (mostly adding more names). So if I formed an impression at some point, that’s what I really thought in that moment; I didn’t go back and change it.

That said: this will completely and totally spoil the stage play. SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS! Read on below the cut (if you dare; it’s almost 4K words long and full of images).

Hidden’s Digimon Adventure Tri Stage Play Reaction

I am immediately not buying that Mimi wouldn't want to camp in the bungalow. Isn't this the kid that went to Tokyo Tower instead of patrolling Tokyo because the tower has AC? I guarantee she'd whine an hour in about wanting the bungalow, but wouldn't allow Koushiro to point out that she made this choice for all of them x__x

Did Mimi just... just throw the laptop? How bratty can you get? I... wow, I really hope they don’t treat my Mimi so poorly the whole play.

From Sora's speech, I can see that nostalgia will be a major theme here, which, to be fair, is appropriate, lol! Nostalgia is pretty much why we’re here.

TAICHI! It’s so good to see you get your big bro on again, lol??? Hikari: "I'm not a kid who needs to wait for you to walk home with me."

Taichi: "What? Why not? WHAT'S WRONG?! CONFIDE IN ME!" He’s so aggressive and clumsy about it, lol??

Taichi: "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A STUBBORN BLOCKHEAD."

Jyou, amiably: "You, of course! Wait-" I'm like 15 minutes in and I have already decided that Jyou is my favorite (not surprising lol).

Jyou: "YOU ARE IN DANGER, TAICHI. I HAVE NEVER SEEN YOU STUDY." Oh lord, Jyou is bashing Taichi with the stone of foreboding. Is Jyou okay? Is he quite sane? He isn't, is he. Do you see that gleam in his eye? No, no. He is gone and gone indeed. Jyou’s actor is A+++

Annnnnnd oh hey, it's Yamyams doin' jamjams! I can dig that bass, is he actually playing? Oh hey, he's gonna sing for real, he's- Oh my god, stop! ABORT! He's terrible, hahahaha?!?!?! IT BURRRRNSSS!!!

OH MY GOD HIS BAND HATES THE BAND NAME AND THEY'RE SPEAKING TO HIM IN FRENCH WHAT IS THIS

Wait wow what is this weird ass vibe between the bros? Teeks is accusing Yams of not visiting... Did Yamato have that habit to start with? Hmm...

So Takeru says, "I don't want to see us go our different ways." I've mentioned it over and over, but this feeling is so important to me. It's something I want to write an entire fic around. On the one hand, it's such an easy topic, given the subject material. On the other, it's where my brain keeps going. So... Let's see what happens!

Also: Takeru: "Stay hidden, Patamon!" *puts Patamon on his head and skips offstage* Takeru, sigh...

OH SHIT IT'S ETEMON, saying Taichiiiiihehehehe like a creep ass creeper. He done got beef, too.

Annnnd we cut to everyone reacting because Mimi has no supplies (did you all not bring any?). What I like here, though, is that Jyou can at least talk to her without getting shut down. Poor Kou-chan -__-

Koushiro: "We're amateurs, is there anything we should watch out for?" OH I DUNNO, MAYBE ETEMON IN A HAT AND A VEST god damn I know this is supposed to be funny, but they all look like idiots-

Koushiro: "That old man had a feminine way of speaking" Says the dude being portrayed by a male actor FOR THE FIRST TIME-

Koushiro: "Taichi-san, you're the closest thing to a caveman we have-" Ah, bless.

(At this point, my husband is pointing out while playing Destiny that the puppeteers do really good digimon voices, and I'm explaining that the digimon voices are pre-recorded, lol).

ANNNNND Mimi is whining for supplies that she forbade people to bring. I am shocked.

Jyou is talking about how he wants to help digimon by being a doctor, by saving and protecting, and my heart is growing three sizes. Best Chosen, y'all.

But oof, the atmosphere got so heavy... Why do these kids refuse to talk about what they want to do??? Jyou remains refreshing. Also, I'm just noticing how Koushiro turns his entire body around every single time towards whoever is talking? He leans in, too. It's both cute and unexpected (I would expect much more reserved body language, but I get that this is a play and that's what you do).

HAH! Only Jyou can see the shooting star because he's the only one with his shit together! I love that, lol! (Also, is that really Tailmon's voice actress? Hmm...)

NO, ETEMON HAS KOU-CHAN, BAD TOUCH, BAD TOUCH although really it's painful that we're still pretending they can't recognize Etemon.

Koushiro can't read the room... Well, at least that's familiar, lol!

(At this point, my husband is asking what I think, and I'm stuttering over how annoyed I am at the ‘not-recognizing-Etemon’ gag. My husband is laughing at me and saying I'm at a loss for words. Thanks, love.)

HOLY SHIT did Hikari and Mimi just use the tired "scary stories" trope to bring up the Dark Ocean? I'll give 'em points for that. I AM INTRIGUED, let's go!!! Oh. Oh, they broke it off. They're not doing anything with it. That's... sigh. Thanks, guys. (Caterpillar Sleeping Bag Mimi is cute AF tho).

Hmm, right now I'm thinking that Mimi's actress is so lovely and so lively and really feels like Mimi, but... I also can't stand how they wrote her so far. Throwing Koushiro's computer, talking over him, not allowing him to point out when she's contradicting herself, immediately requesting the supplies she forbade people to bring... This stuff annoyed me in Adventure, but she was 10 and in a situation I would have strongly struggled to handle. But now she's literally... Making problems for everyone... For nostalgia's sake... At age 16? I'm so torn, lol, because the acting is so good but ahhhhh... Let's see how this develops...

Hmm hmm, I'm listening to Sora talk about how she doesn't wanna grow up, either... Darling, you're already quite grown up, lol! Lovely lady. I love how the digimon puppeteers echo their puppets, I can't get enough of watching Agumon's puppet and performer while Sora speaks. They really did a great job!

I think I'm about an hour into this, maybe a little less? 45 minutes? So far all that's really happened is that we've established that the characters want to be together as Chosen Children, and that with the exception of Jyou, they aren't emotionally or mentally prepared to seriously think of a future beyond that. I'll be the first to say that this a compelling and interesting topic, and it's something I've wondered about for them, but... Shouldn't... more things... have happened by now? Hmm... I understood that this would be an issue from Sora's very first bit of dialogue. No one in the audience needs this much expansion and repetition, particularly with so few new ideas and so little momentum so far. Tri is intended as a love letter for fans of Adventure, yes? Mostly adult fans? We don’t need this much repetition to understand, we truly don’t...

Ah! Now Yamato is talking about Jyou and how to become an adult, finally dropping some new ideas in. Love ya, Yams. And ahh, man, Taichi is just... screaming all of his lines? The actor is so sweet and cute, but the delivery... I'm pretty sure it's supposed to reflect that Taichi is putting up fronts like nobody's bidness, though. Yamato ain't buyin' it (Yamato is Almost Best). I really want him to grunt, "Tell the truth or shut up." XD XD GRUNT GRUNT.

Augh, god, I can't take this tho? Literally EVERY TIME someone tries to say something that will move the plot forward or inject some vulnerability into this play (except for Papa Jyou), they change the subject. I'm about halfway through now and this has to be at least the 10th time we've been blocked from useful information and deeper thoughts with this method. Tri suffers from this same issue, though... Their plot is such that they can’t sustain tension if issues are faced in a natural way, so they CHANGE THE SUBJECT or DROP A LEAD or IGNORE A LEAD, etc, etc. Here it's mostly saying, "Well what about you?" or screaming someone else's name, which... Subtle??? Ah, Taichi's latest method of not saying anything is to ask Yamato to play his harmonica... Oh my god, he's playing Walk on the Edge! Okay, okay, you got me, stage play. Hahaha, I remember Yams being better at playing a harmonica, tho!!!! (I keep picking on this poor dude who is asked to do all of the awesome shit Yams can do, sorry my dude).

Taichi: Should we sleep?

Yamato: Let's talk some more.

Taichi: (shit! fuck! He remembered I'm dodging-) YES BECAUSE HE ISN'T AN IDIOT EXCEPT WHEN ETEMON IS ONSTAGE OMG SOMEONE HELP ME-

Ahhh, and they fade out... With no forward movement. THANKS. I mean we established mood, touched on Taichi/Yamato’s relationship, and set up the problems that will be address later (I assume), but... It’s so drawn out...

And now Koushiro is drawing on the ground with a stick, bless you, are you trying to compute something? Sigh... Ah, bless, Tentomon is intervening, haha!

But... As right as Ten-chan is, he's also... Wrong? XD DON'T TELL YOUR FORWARD MOVEMENT MACHINE TO POWER DOWN!!! Annnnd yes! We're an hour in and SOMETHING IS HAPPENING! I am so ready for something to happen. (Tony: "Can we handle the stimulation, though?")

Oh god, the kids freaking out over their partners acting weird, Gabumon's stage hand collapsing... God, right in the feels, I'm almost mad about how easy it is to get an emotional response this way, lol! We just love our babies too much, lol!

Wow, Yamato lost it at Kou-chan... You know, we think of Taichi as carrying a lot of pressure (and rightfully so), but Koushiro carries just as much, as we saw in Kokuhaku. He's not magic, Yams, he needs his tools, and he doesn't have 'em. Related: Although I don't much care for how it happened, I definitely would love to read/write/see a story where Koushiro has no computer and has to adapt, though. I'd also love to see one where a new tech wizard appears and he questions his role, but that's a whole' nother thing.

EWW OH MY GOD DON'T UNDRESS ETEMON MIMI WHAT THE HELL, bleeeeehhhhhhh... Oh god, he thought his outfit was obvious... Well, you see Etemon, somewhere in the last 6 years, the kids completely lost their ability to read situations x__x (I get that this is a joke, I really do? But???)

Oh huh, so they're claiming Etemon wandered the Dark Ocean for 100 years? Didn't he... Come back in Adventure as MetalEtemon? Is he referencing his second defeat? ?????

OH GOD POWER RANGER ETEMON WHAT IS HAPPENING. Haha it's kind of cute that he's like, "Eh I don't know these two (Hikari and Tailmon). I don't think Metaletemon saw them? But honestly I don't remember. I think he was around Jyou and Mimi mostly?

Wait shit are we seriously doing the actual conflict part WITHOUT JYOU AND GOMAMON? I am so mad right now. I kind of feel like they'll burst in at some point??? I hope...

...Etemon has a song and dance number. I am rolling on the floor in pain with the Chosen. I'm doing it, guruguru mawaru- No, NO, YOU PUT TAICHI DOWN- Goddamit how many bad touch jokes do I have to make-

OH THANK GOD, is Jyou coming back? THANK YOU DIGI JESUS! (Tony: "Wait is your favorite back? Did he leave? It sounded like he wandered off and now he's wandering back in again."

Gomamon: "YOU'RE BEING GROSS JYOU" honey, oh child, you ain't seen nothing yet. Oh bless him, he's so happy, can we just watch Jyou bounce around in joy please and no more singing power ranger monkeys? I take back my complaints about nothing happening, haaaaaaaaaaaalp me Senpaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiii

Oh lord Etemon's back WHELP. Oh shit, oh shit that Obon joke, THAT'S THE BEST JOKE IN THIS PLAY, isn’t it? We can't beat that. Should I... leave?

Taichi, in Etemon's gross ass digital Wonder Land: "What's wrong, Hikari?" WHAT'S WRONG?! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE-

(My husband has informed me that I'm growling. He tells me that, when we were watching Gravity Falls and Mabel tries to tempt Dipper and the others to stay in the perfect imaginary world Bill made for her, I said, "What is she, Satan? Tempting them to stay here in comfort instead of facing danger to save everyone?" This is a similar scenario, and it's one of the few things I didn't like about Gravity Falls and OH NO, TAICHI IS THE MABEL OF THIS SITUATION, HELP!!!! Oh thank goodness, Taichi's done with this too, whew, okay, okay, breathe, stop growling).

Oh God, the Agumon puppet looks dead without the puppeteer, that's actually really awful? These puppets are amazing, guys. I cannot say enough good stuff about the execution with these puppets.

Hmm, Taichi just begged for mercy, and Etemon is unimpressed... Reminds me of the fandom after Saikai. I wonder where they'll take this...

HOLY SHIT Taichi is losing his shit! I won't say that all of that stammering and dodging earlier is accounted for here, since most of the characters did it to some degree, but it's nice to see the payoff within the same piece (instead of waiting months for the next Tri film and forming your own conclusions in that time period). I'm actually happy to see a screaming breakdown like this...

Man Koushiro speaks SO QUICKLY, dude, slow it down!!! Ahhh, he says that we're granted whatever we want here, so Etemon is probably trying to trick us by having us hear Jyou. SOMEONE IS THINKING USING THEIR BRAINSSS I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!!!

JYOU IS HEREEEE TO SAVE THE DAAAAAAYYY THE NEW DIGI JESUS, JYOUUUUUU!!! (And while I 100% agree that you should be cautious, Kou-chan, c'mon, he arrived saying that you made his phone go off on the train and it made him feel awkward, that's pretty much proof that it's Jyou, lol!). OH AND NOW KOU AND YAMS ARE ROASTING JYOU, classic.

Koushiro finally takes a stab directly at the heart of this... It's not even about being children and avoiding adulthood; it's about not wanting to leave August 1st. I realize exposition is Kou's job, but I didn't expect him to be the one to lay it out after all of this dodging. I’ll be honest, I’m so pleased with Koushiro in this stage play so far? I love how he moves, I love how quickly he speaks, I love that he’s able to come out and say this. I wasn’t into the way the play used him spouting off numbers to indicate intelligence, but that’s a nitpick compared to the ground they gave Koushiro here.

JYOU. JYOU. EVEN IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE IN YOURSELF, KOUSHIRO, I BELIEVE IN YOU. He continues to be THE BEST, I am in awe, I bow before Jyou.

OH MAN is Jyou gonna work his awkward magic on Yams? Where's my freakin' popcorn. Oh, well, hell. Yama said he... doesn't wanna talk. *rubs forehead* Great. Entertaining. THIS IS FUN I AM HAVING FUN *curls up and cries*

Okay so now Taichi is freaking out and Koushiro is trying to talk to him (roughly 70% of this stage play is someone trying and failing to talk to someone else). But I really like what Taichi says here- "I have nothing to hesitate about." We all know this isn't true; Taichi is hesitating all over the place right now. Let's see where this goes! (Please let it go somewhere this time, lord above). WAIT- WAIT- ARE YOU SHOWING ME KOUSHIRO POINTING FINGERS AT TAICHI'S BULLSHIT AND SAYING "I'VE BEEN BY YOUR SIDE FOR SIX YEARS!!" AND THEN CUTTING AWAY?!?!??!?!?!?!? RAAAAAAAHHHH is this an aneurysm? I think this is what an aneurysm feels like. You can't drop lines that good and then CUT AWAY FROM IT GOOD LORD IN HEAVEN-

Sigh, tsk, groan. Hikari, Teeks. Whacho got for me? Whoa, I swear Takeru has been a second away from sobbing ever since Etemon revealed himself. You... you okay, buddy? Can I, uh, get you anything? I love how much Hikari has her shit together in contrast. Oh, and Takeru is about to say something usefu- ohhh, another cut. God, I have a headache.

Hmm, Sora and Meems are cracking, too... Sora says, "It was simpler when I was everyone's mom. It's not like me to decide on someone or something." I really need to hear Mulan's Reflections in the background right now...

Mimi saying "I want to do SO many things!" is refreshing my soul. I know she's one of the most shippable Chosen, but honestly, if not for the fact that she has a kid that is clearly biologically hers, I would assume that she's too busy doing EVERYTHING to have a family. My headache recedes just a touch.

Hmm... I actually really like what Sulky (Yams) is trying to say here. "I don't want to be with everyone because I'm Chosen. I want to be with Gabumon because he's my friend," basically. Part of me sides with Jyou- dude we all get that, it's not a shameful secret- but another part of me... Deeply appreciates that Yams can separate his duty as a Chosen from his bond with his digimon. Gabumon is his best friend, his number one. It doesn't matter if Gabumon can't fight, if Yamato can never digivolve him again. It doesn't even matter that he's a digimon. It just matters that they're friends, and that they be together somehow, which may seem a more tenuous position by the day. ...Now I'm sad. Well played, stage play. This moment is wonderful.

...Annnnnnd now Yamato is overacting to hell, and I'm laughing instead of thinking and feeling, was that supposed to happen? Sigh. I still don't understand why he has to be SO SECRETIVE about it, but I mean... That's our Yams???

And now we're back to Kou and Taichi, and they're pulling at each other's throats, as they will, and honestly this is the only "NOW KISS" moment for me, but where was I-

In all seriousness, I really like that the person to finally, FINALLY get the truth from Taichi is Koushiro. That's how it often was in Adventure too, yes? But I almost feel like Taichi's breakdown here is a reflection of what fans said in Saikai. Taichi in Adventure always took action (although he grew so much during Adventure, I'd argue the version of himself he's referencing now wasn't there by the end of Adventure?). He can't fight in Saikai because he's concerned about hurting people/property/the tenuous relationship between humans and digimon. He can't take action... But the ability to see that is an indication of growth, not regression. Will he understand that here?

Ok god, Agu-chan is dropping some truth bombs... And the way he and his puppeteer crawl... I swear these goddamm puppets will be the death of me.

Agu-chan, can you do me a solid and STAMP THIS ALL OVER EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE KIDS PLEASE AND THANK YOU?!

HOLY SHIT IS THAT A METALGRAYMON PUPPET?! THEY HAD THAT SHIT ALL ALONG AND THEY BRING IT OUT WITH 20 MINUTES LEFT?! WHAT WOT WOOOOT?!??! I cannot believe I'm seeing this. And I love how heavy and cumbersome the huge puppet feels. Like, I always felt like Metalgreymon would be huge and slow, right?

Etemon, I was done with your shit a LONG time ago...

WAIT he is admitting that he was Metaletemon previously. So... when... exactly did he fall into the Dark Ocean? Sigh. This is one of those "Let it go, Hidden" things, isn't it. Uh, wow, I am totally unfamiliar with Kingetemon. That's... a... thing.

The use of screens and images in the stage play are really fun! It must have been awesome to see this show in person O__o;;

OH SHIT, Yamato arrives in a cloud of smoke, that's how you KNOW shit is gonna go down!

OH MY GOD OMEGAMON ONLY GETS A HEAD OH MY GOD I'M DYING (Tony: "HEY do you know how big that thing's supposed to be?!)

KOUSHIRO IS WEARING THE GOGGLES I'm down. HIDDEN IS DOWN! REVIEWER DOWN!!!!

HOLY SHIT JYOU'S "A" ON HIS MOCK TEST WASN'T REAL okay this is also a Good Joke, I applaud. Also I am LOVING sassy Koushiro in this? His way of being sassy is to do it in a way where you're not quite sure if he is trying to be a butt or not, which is 10000000% yes lol (In contrast, Izzy is intentionally awful usually lol).

Annnnd I was right from the start; Jyou is carrying this entire thing, lol. Oh my god, the delivery on this?!?!??! AMAZING.

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA. LAUGHTER. THEME SONG. DRAMATIC POSE. I THINK THIS IS THE END SHOT YOU GUYS.

Now the actors are coming out to speak!

THIS. LITTLE. SHIT. I love him? I... I love him. The snark is strong in this one. I... he is so... so beautiful. I... I think I might be in love? (This at least indicates that I wasn’t alone in thinking the computer toss was too much???).

YAMATO’S ACTOR JUST SAID "DON'T SAY GOODBYE," Well played, son. I like the cut of your jib.

AHHHHH OKAY OKAY I have no idea how I’m going to analyze this. My surface thought is that this play features a lot of the emotions and inner thoughts of individual characters that can’t fit into Tri, and that (I personally think) Tri suffers from a lack of. Because there isn’t really ship bait and maneuvering around a new character and plot, we’re able to see relationships that feel much more familiar to Adventure than we often see in Tri (ie, Taichi worried about Hikari, Koushiro worried about Taichi, etc). As you noticed, I’m very unhappy with the way the play pushes the payoff back as far as possible, cramming it into an AMAZING twenty minutes or so... But I loved those twenty minutes.

Also, Koushiro feels waaaay more like Koushiro than he does in Tri, except for Kokuhaku. As your local insane Koushiro fan girl, I am standing and applauding and screaming and crying. NO PERVY KOUSHIRO. NO FASHION DISASTERS. Just Koushiro being supportive and apt and sweet and trying so hard. I am refreshed. I am younger.

And the passion and love and energy that went into us, so visibly in human form... I can’t describe how wonderful the actors and the puppeteers were. And even though I kind of hated Etemon, his actor was incredible.

So the stage play has amazing points and really irritating points, but on the whole, it’s my second favorite thing Tri has given us (following Kokuhaku). I will try to write about it more smart-like soon! If you got this far... I’m in awe, lol! High five, my friend!

#digimon stage play #digimon adventure tri stage plat #digimon adventure tri stageplay #digimon stageplay #trispoilers #tri spoilers #tri reactions

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