#me- I Challenge You With Three Different Varieties Of Grey

[messers-moony]

Fame & Glory | S.B

Paring: Young!Sirius Black X Fem!Potter!Reader

Summary: Y/n Potter goes through the Triwizard Tournament.

Word Count: 3.4K

Every couple of years, Hogwarts hosts the Triwizard Tournament. An event in which three wizards from the neighboring schools - Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts - compete against each other in a variety of three different challenges. There would be one winner and one person from each school.

These three people compete in complex challenges to surpass to the next one. Whoever wins, in the end, gains the Triwizard Cup and an immense amount of glory. It was for these reasons that a group of five mischief-makers were intrigued. They called themselves the Marauders.

James and Y/n Potter were the so-called leaders of the group. The twins were a dynamic duo and didn’t do anything without the other. Sirius Black had joined them in first year after barging into their compartment unannounced on the Hogwarts Express. They later met two shy boys who went by Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew after the sorting.

James sported circular glasses, had unruly brown tuffs and hazel irises. Y/n had h/c hair and glorious e/c eyes. Sirius had silky smooth, dark brown - almost black - hair that when grown long enough curled at the ends. His eyes were a stormy grey, but some days could appear a stone color. Remus was lanky and had his messy fringe of sandy blond hair. His eyes were a beautiful fern color thought. Peter Pettigrew was stocky. He had blonde hair and blue eyes.

Nonetheless, they all loved a challenge.

The competition happened in their fourth year, and it was open to everyone of all ages. Sirius had watched in fear while Regulus placed his name inside of the cup while gripping Y/n’s hand tightly. She had assured him many times that everything would be okay. Sirius couldn’t bring himself to place his name inside, but James and Y/n could.

Both of them had placed their names in at the same time. It undoubtedly worried Sirius to no end. His girlfriend was putting her life at risk, for what - glory? She already had glory. The Potters were one of the most respected pureblood Gryffindor families in all of London, just as the Noble House of Black was the same but for Slytherin.

A week later, they were all sat on the perimeter of the Great Hall. A substantial rectangular room, its length longer than its width but huge, nonetheless. The ceiling was always charmed with the current outside sky, and not to mention it was a rather tall ceiling - three yards, one would guess. The floor was concrete, and the tables were made out of dark wood, four of them for each Hogwarts house.

However, they all were dismantled into tiny bleachers sat on the perimeter. There were three levels, and the Marauders sat on the left side of the room, watching as everyone filed in. Sirius had a death grip on Y/n’s hand. She could feel his palm become sweaty with anxiousness, and she swore he was going to explode soon.

“Siri, it’s okay, I promise.” Y/n assured, and Sirius shook his head, “What- What if you get chosen? What am I gonna do?”

Y/n smirked, “You’re gonna watch me win.”

“Not if I get picked,” James tutted, “Then I’ll watch you lose.”

Remus sighed, shaking his head with a smile on his face. The two twins had always made everything a competition, highest marks, getting essays done faster, Quidditch, everything was a competition with the Potters. Moments later, Dumbledore had stepped onto the platform holding the Cup as he began his speech reiterating everything in his previous speech.

He called for silence, and they watched as the blue flame turned red, releasing a bit of parchment with the name, “The member from Durmstrang compete it in the Triwizard Tournament is Drago Bozhidarvo!”

Men yelled as a boy with golden locks and hazel eyes stepped forward. He was tall but muscular. Y/n assumed he was a sixth or seventh year. She couldn’t quite tell entirely. He screamed charisma and charm. The perfect prince girls dreamed of. Y/n wasn’t enamored. She had her Prince, a mischief-maker like herself, a daredevil. He was anything but a rule follower.

Another name had been released from the red flame, “The member from Beauxbatons compete it in the Triwizard Tournament is Alexandrine Fabien!”

A sequel of squeals followed as a rather petite woman stepped forward. She appeared to be young, possibly a third year. But she had beautiful, glossy long brown hair and cobalt eyes that gleamed in the low light of the Great Hall. Many of the boys swooned over her. James almost snorted - she was nothing compared to his Lily.

Finally, the last name spewed out from the cup, “And finally, the last member from Hogwarts compete it in the Triwizard Tournament is Valorie Holland!”

A Slytherin female - go figure. Valorie was the definition of a Slytherin. She was cunning, ambitious, and desperate to prove herself better than others. She was a half-blood, which drove her to show her other colleagues she was just like them. Her hair was chocolate brown, and she had eyes to match. She was a taller girl who was in her fifth year. Her Slytherin friends shouted and whistled for her as she hesitantly went with the other winners.

Sirius had allowed himself a breath of relief Y/n, Regulus, and James were safe from the tournament. Dumbledore continued to speak until something stopped him in his tracks. The once blue flame had turned red once more; another piece of burnt parchment rose from the fire. Dumbledore caught it without a worry and read the handwriting on it.

“Y/n Potter…”

It was so low barely anyone heard, but it made Y/n stop in her tracks, “Y/n Potter!” The Professor exclaimed again.

James froze in his spot, and Sirius felt like he was going to sob, “Blimey, Y/n go.” Remus pushed her forward, and she stood.

Hesitantly she walked toward Professor Dumbledore, and he gave her a look of suspicion. Sirius was struggling to withhold his tears. James was too busy being frozen even to try to comfort his friend. Remus was trying, but it was no use. Regulus was staring at his older brother from across the room in shock. Despite everything, Regulus quite liked Y/n.

“No!” Sirius croaked, “You can’t take her!”

“Mr. Black-“ McGonagall tried.

“No! I won't let you take her from me!” Sirius bellowed as tears finally streamed down his cheeks, “This isn’t fair! There’s only supposed to be three!”

McGonagall sighed, “Mr. Black, it is best you calm down. Everything will be handled in due time.”

Remus nodded, “We understand, Professor McGonagall. Don’t we, Sirius?”

Sirius didn’t answer, but that didn’t matter. It was evident that the headmaster of both schools were furious that Hogwarts had two people. They all went down to the four champions, and Dumbledore held a wand to Y/n’s neck.

“How did you do it?”

“P- Pardon me, sir?”

Dumbledores eyes narrowed, “How did you make your name come out?”

“I didn’t!” Y/n whined, “I promise!“

McGonagall placed a hand on Dumbledores shoulder, “She mustn’t have done it. Leave her be, Professor.”

The wand held to her throat was withdrawn, yet she stood there frozen like an ice statue, shivering with anxiety. Y/n took steps toward the other contestants giving her glares. The hardest one coming from the female Slytherin upset that Y/n had taken her glory.

It was a quiet walk back to the Gryffindor tower. Prefects had already gone to bed, and it was silent other than Y/n’s shoes clicking on the floor. The halls were dark and only lit with moonlight. When she walked into the Gryffindor common room, she saw a figure lying on the couch with a blanket around them.

She knelt beside them. Dark brown tuffs stuck out on the pillow and pale white skin contrasted. Their cheeks were flushed just barely, and dry silver streaks were left on their cheeks. Lips were swollen just the tiniest bit but still noticeable. Gently, Y/n kissed their forehead cause them to stir awake.

“Y/n…” His voice was creaky and hoarse, but it made her smile, “Hey, Siri.”

Sirius didn’t respond but pulled her closer to him. Y/n took it as an invitation to lay with him. She opened the blanket and laid with her back to his chest. Sirius hummed and placed his arms around her waist, holding her to his back. Y/n allowed one of her hands to put on top of Sirius’ on her abdomen, rubbing them softly.

“Love you.” Sirius muttered, overcoming with sleep but placed a kiss on her shoulder.

“Love you too, darling.”

They both fell asleep together on the common room couch. It was a dreamless sleep for them both, which was uncommon for Sirius. Typically some form of nightmare would haunt him in the night, but with Y/n held tightly against him - he felt safe. The following morning they woke up to someone sitting on them. Sirius groaned and tried to push them off, but to no avail.

“C’mon, lovebirds, wake up!” James’ voice echoed.

“Merlin, James.” Y/n rubbed her eyes, “You’re heavy.”

James feigned offense, “How dare you! I am as light as a feather.”

Sirius snorted, “Whatever you say, mate.”

“Could you get off us, please?” Y/n queried, “I’d rather you not break my hip.”

James hopped off them both, and they both sat up, “Then you could match Moony!”

Remus threw his copy of the Daily Prophet at him making James rub the top of his head, “Ow!”

“I’m hungry.” Peter announced, “Let’s go.”

Business went as usual for the next couple of weeks until the first task appeared. Each contestant was to go against a dragon who was given a golden egg to protect. It was a long couple of hours while the others went before Y/n. She could hear the people in the stands, along with the other contestants fighting their dragon.

Y/n stepped out of the tiny cave and saw the colossal creature patrolling the egg. It was a dark purple color, almost plum with brilliant green eyes. The beast itself was huge it’s wingspan was way over just a couple hundred feet. The body was just as long. Y/n swallowed as she approached it quietly.

Truth be told, she didn’t have a strategy. All she had was her wand and her mind. Dragons were territorial of what they were given, so Y/n supposed that I’d they were given something else to protect that could forget all about the original item. Her dragon finally noticed her and began to chase her around the arena.

She began to run and jump over the stones on the ground. They were extraordinarily uneven, and at one point, she slipped. Her back landed extremely hard on the concrete, knocking the wind out of her. It took her two minutes to recover and allow air into her lungs. Sweat was pouring from her face, and she was breathing heavily.

Y/n kept running and jumping over cracks until she had enough time to conjure a spell. Pointing her wand at one of the rocks, she muttered an incantation to transfigure it into another egg, similar to the other, just without as much shine. Instantly the dragon took to it, nuzzling its nose with the plastic material.

Quietly but hastily, Y/n took the original golden egg while the dragon fascinated the other new object. People in the arena screamed and cheered for her now that she held up the golden egg. Professor Dumbledore sent a spell to make the dragon sleep, allowing her an easy exit to the little cave she had entered through.

That night the Gryffindor common room partied hard. James was always known for making extravagant parties. People were overjoyed with Y/n’s success on the first task, but when she opened the egg, it screamed. She was quick to close it again, and the party still went on.

It was extremely late when they all decided to go to bed. Sirius and Y/n curled up on his twin bed. James was snoring loudly. Remus was tossing and turning. Peter was sleeping like a rock. Y/n held Sirius close to her chest, letting her more petite body engulf him. Sirius allowed the tension from his body to slip away and just be consumed in the way he felt against his girlfriend.

Weeks later, in the winter months, the second task was due. Remus had figured out the egg ages before Y/n decided to even think about it. He had told her to submerge it into the water, where she found the second clue. The Marauders all sat in the dorm talking about particular strategies which, in the end, Y/n would drink a water-breathing potion brewed by Sirius.

He had just handed over the Potion when a knock echoed in the dorm, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah!”

Frank Longbottom entered the dorm - Head Boy, “McGonagall needs Sirius Black in her office.”

James gave a low whistle, “What’d you do now?”

“Dunno.” Sirius shrugged.

Leaning down, he kissed Y/n on the cheek before leaving the dorm. She tried to stay up and wait for him to return, but she fell asleep. When Y/n woke up, Sirius was still missing from the dorm. It gave her a weird feeling in her chest as she walked down to the Black Lake for the second tournament. She stood at the edge of the wooden platform in the middle of the lake, holding the potion in her hand.

They began to count down, and she swallowed the potion whole. Then Y/n jumped into the lake. It was freezing cold, but thankfully she could breathe out of her nose. Y/n swam around the lake until she heard murmuring. She approached the sound and found four people tied to the bottom of the lake sleeping. One of them was Sirius. Quickly Y/n shot out and grabbed her wand, tearing him from the bottom of the lake.

Y/n grabbed onto Sirius and began to swim up when eventually they hit the surface. Sirius coughed up water, and they both swam to the wooden platform where James was holding towels for them both. James wrapped them both up in towels, and Sirius was pushing back his sopping black hair back.

It resulted in Y/n winning the second task. Sirius had congratulated her with a long kiss on the mouth full of passion that made James gag. Within the next couple of months, the third task would be approaching. In the last month before school, the third task would be completed. It was a giant maze made from bushes at least thirty feet tall and magical creatures inside that made Y/n shiver.

Before the task, James took her in for a tight embrace, “You gotta win this, okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/n nodded, “I got this. I’m a Potter. I can do this.”

James smiled, “That’s my sister.”

He kissed her on the forehead before Sirius tackled her into a hug, “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks, Siri.”

“Just be careful,” Sirius reeled back to look at her eyes, “This is extremely dangerous, and I dunno what I’ll do if something happens to you.”

Y/n kissed his cheek, “I’ll be fine.”

Finally, Remus and Peter gave her a hug wishing her good luck. She smiled gratefully at them and stood at her entrance of the maze. Since Y/n was in first place, she got a head start. The maze closed up almost immediately after entering, making her insides churn together unpleasantly—Y/n’s wand at the ready as she went through the maze.

It felt like hours of left and right, up and down. But eventually, a curse was thrown at her making Y/n jump back. There she saw Valorie Holland - the Slytherin contestant. Her eyes were glazed with something unfamiliar, but she didn’t have time to contemplate. Valorie threw curses at her left and right while Y/n had to block them all.

When Valorie got distracted by a noise, Y/n made a run for it straight forward. She was bent over, out of breath, when she looked ahead and saw it. The glowing blue cup at the end of the trail. With her last bit of strength, she ran towards it to only find Alexandrine Fabien at the cup and seemingly at the same time.

“You get it. I’ve won everything else.” Y/n confessed, but Alexandrine had a look of guilt on her face.

“That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I don’t need glory or fame,” Y/n retorted, “My family has enough of it.”

Alex looked contradicted, “Together, then?”

“Together.” Y/n agreed.

They both placed their hands on the cup but ended up somewhere else. It seemed to be in the middle of a plain. Y/n could tell they were in London from the sticky, humid air. The same air she and James played Quidditch in over the summers. Alex and Y/n turned at the sound of a voice.

“Y/n Potter, is it?”

Y/n shivered at the deep, rumbling voice, “So you’re the famous Potter in the prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” Y/n questioned, “Those- Those aren’t real.”

She could feel his chuckle before she heard it, “But they are, sweetheart. And you,” He appeared from the woods, “Are a threat to my mission.”

“Mission?” Alex sent Y/n a worried glance, “What’s your mission?”

“No need for information.” He replied calmly, “I gave you as much as you need.”

A silent curse was thrown her way in a green light Y/n’s body went limp to the ground. Alexandrine screamed at it, now shaking in her boots as she was face to face with this monster. The man in the black cloak approached Alex slowly, drawling on every step. She held her wand out shakily, but the man just put her arm down.

“I have a job for you.”

“A job?”

“Take Potter back to Hogwarts,” The man ordered, “Tell them that Voldemort is here to claim what’s rightfully his.”

Alexandrine didn’t question his orders. Instead, she took Y/n’s cold hand and accio’ed the cup to her. The cup - now known as a portkey - took them back to Hogwarts in the middle of the arena where they had started. People were cheering for the Hogwarts and Beauxbatons champion. Until they saw tears fall from Alexandrines cobalt eyes, her knees buckled, and she fell beside Y/n’s limp body.

Headmaster Dumbledore saw Y/n’s limp body and ordered everyone to stay back. But no one could’ve stopped James Potter from running to his sister. He was tripping over everyone without apologies, and no one could hold him back. Professor McGonagall tried to hold him back, but he squirmed out of her arms until he had his sister's head tight to his chest.

“Y/n…” James pleaded, “Wake up!”

Everyone went silent as James cried, “This isn’t funny anymore!”

James looked to the crowd, “She’s- She's just playing a prank on us.”

Sirius stared at James’ face, a mixture of grief and tears, “Sirius, she’s- she’s just playing, right? You guys- you guys must’ve planned this!”

“Mate…” Sirius muttered, trying to hold back his tears, “We- We didn’t plan anything.”

It hit Sirius at that point. Wet streaks were falling down his cheeks as he approached Y/n’s body as well. Her once hot body was now ice cold. Sirius could remember drinking up her body heat that past winter in front of the fire because he always ran colder than usual. His heart was beating so fast he thought he might faint.

James was sobbing uncontrollably, and no one could pull either boy away from the dead girl. Sirius was nosing at her neck like a dog searching for a pulse. James was holding tight onto her hand that was below freezing. Alexandrine was sobbing hysterically as her headmaster turned her away from the sight.

After the event, Dumbledore had spoken to Alexandrine, James, and Sirius. Dumbledore explained to the boys what had happened, and James broke down in tears again. Sirius was numb after the whole affair. He had just lost his soulmate, his everything. Sirius had been sulking behind a tapestry when Regulus had come to sit beside him. The first time they had interacted since Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor.

James began to keep her legacy going of helping others. The pranks had stopped completely, and he began to protect every first year from curses being thrown at them. Lily saw James’ protectiveness and his kindness. During fifth year Lily gave him a chance, and they worked beautifully together.

The Potters did earn their fame and glory, just not for the right reasons.

#Sirius x you #Sirius x reader #Sirius x y/n #Sirius black x you #Sirius black x reader #Sirius black x y/n #Harry Potter imagines #Harry Potter imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #James potter x you #James potter x y/n #James potter x reader #James x you #James x reader #James x y/n #Remus lupin x reader #Remus lupin imagine #marauders era #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #marauders fluff #marauders #triwizard tournament #the goblet of fire #sirius black imagine #Sirius black #James potter #Remus lupin #Peter pettigrew

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #i said chapter 7 by the end of august and we cut it kind of close but we made it B)

[theolsentimes]

Mary-Kate Olsen's Singular Style

She came to fame as a twin, but the actress's cultish look is entirely her own. Here, with Lauren Hutton, she pays homage to another fashion inspiration, Grey Gardens. Written by Laura Brown, with photography by Peter Lindbergh (Harper's Bazaar, 2007)

VIEW GALLERY

Mary-Kate Olsen may be the only young actress who breezes into her local Starbucks wearing towering, fashion-fierce Balenciaga boots, who arrives at her latest premiere (in Mary-Kate's case, for the new season of Showtime's Weeds, in which she plays a devout Christian with a pot fetish) sporting an oversize cross, and whose favorite band is Led Zeppelin. She may, in fact, be the only young actress who knows who Led Zeppelin is. MK, as she is known to her friends and family, is also a punctual and professional sort. She arrives for a poolside tea in Los Angeles 10 minutes early, ordering a hot chocolate while explaining her fetish for all things sweet — "I'm a candy girl, like Tootsie Rolls and Swedish Fish" — and objecting when the waiter tries to take the sugar bowl away. She is wearing a nautical striped T-shirt (her mom's, from the '70s), tucked into two black Wolford slips rolled down and turned into a tight, Robert-Palmer-video-style mini, and multicolored sparkly Christian Louboutin stilettos. She's just had her hair colored, returning to a sunnier shade after some experiments with both peroxide ("I woke up one morning and was like, I want white-trash hair today") and the dark side (an auburn-haired near-Goth moment last year). She's carrying a large black fringed leather Prada tote — she doesn't do small bags — and her fingers are covered with rings, most notably two vintage coiled gold snakes stacked on top of each other. ("They remind me of twins, sort of double headed.") Altogether, the effect is less her famed "bag-lady chic" than an edgy, body-conscious, and, yes, sexy silhouette. If she weren't 21, she could be 40. And French.

Few people need reminding that Mary-Kate — with her twin sister, Ashley — literally crawled into celebrity aged nine months (courtesy of Full House) and has not been out of the spotlight ever since. She has been a celebrity for more than two decades. Perhaps that's one reason she seems as if she came out of the womb worldly, the textbook old soul. "Yeah," she says with a small shrug. "I get that a lot." With all of that attention and all of the money (her and Ashley's company, Dualstar, has famously become a "billion-dollar business"), Mary-Kate could easily have ended up the type who wears pink terry cloth and carries a variety of small dogs. "Could you imagine?" she says with the politest version of a snort. "No way." She credits her exceptionally close-knit family (she has five siblings) and, interestingly, early stardom with helping her keep her perspective. "I think it helped that I started in front of the camera, so it didn't come as a shock. If I was a teenager and was thrown into the spotlight, I don't know how I would react, to be honest." Though the tabloids are all too keen to brand her a skinny, nervous deer in the headlights, in person Mary-Kate is easy in her skin, confident and surprisingly tactile, curling up in her seat and touching you on the arm to make a point. She laments the generic style of most actresses and cites only men as style inspirations: "Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp. Men, they just dress the way they want, and they don't think about Who Wore It Best." She doesn't much care for Who Wore It Best, noting she avoids those pages by "wearing vintage so often. I just dress the way I feel instead of looking for what's the new handbag." If Mary-Kate and Ashley have their way, more people will be wearing clothes and carrying bags the way they do. They have just shown the fifth collection of their ready-to-wear line, the Row, and recently launched a contemporary label, Elizabeth and James, named after a sister and a brother. The Row's holiday collection (in stores next month) is a slick mix of skinny leather pants, razor-cut blazers, butter-soft, slouchy tees, and a destined-to-be-cultish pullover fur. Lauren Hutton, who stars in the Row's Spring '08 look book, says, "The clothes are extraordinary. A man I was with just loved them. The pieces are just so genius, soft like a baby's skin. Simple minimalist stuff, but really spectacular." Mary-Kate, designer, faces an interesting challenge. She has to marry Dualstar — which has made its fortune selling tween-tastic DVDs and pastel Mary-Kate and Ashley T-shirts at Wal-Mart — with her increasingly edgy and subversive taste. Dualstar executives, some of whom have worked with her since she was a child, often nag her, mom-style, about pulling her hair back "or wearing a color," she says with a laugh. "I had this event recently, and I was like, They're going to be so happy that I'm wearing ... purple. I actually have to think about those things, though, you know, so I don't get trashed." Get trashed sometimes she does. Hutton says, "Once in a while, she'll wear something and I'll think, Oh, baby doll, take another look. But to have the bravery, to take the chance to do that, is pretty wonderful. She is making her own way, which is hardly ever done in Hollywood." Of Mary-Kate's penchant for gigantic Balenciaga heels, Jenji Kohan, the creator of Weeds, says, laughing, "I'd be like, 'It's Tuesday. Do you really want to be wearing those shoes?' But she pulls it off." Designer Giambattista Valli, a friend, says, "She likes to take risks, but because she has such strong personal style, she always manages to make it work. Even if she had nothing on, she'd have style." And MK chic is spreading. "Sometimes I'll look at people or at a magazine and I'll do a double take because I'm like, Oh, my God, that's my outfit, but that's not me," Mary-Kate says. Playing with her wire-rimmed aviators, she jokes wryly that she should have bought shares in Ray-Ban. (She and Chloë Sevigny pretty much brought back white '80s Wayfarers.) She tends to fall in love with a look, then wear it until she's done. "If I put together a good outfit, I'll wear it for three days and then switch it up with a blazer," she says. "I still love my vintage jeans, my tights, and my pants, though." She didn't start wearing heels, in fact, until a couple of years ago: "I kept watching Ashley walk around in them so gracefully, and I'm such a klutz. But I ended up loving heels, and I don't usually take them off." She wears precisely one pair of flat shoes: Chanel's knee-high patent-leather gladiator sandals. This season, it's Balenciaga's fall collection — all of it — that has Mary-Kate obsessed. She is close to designer Nicolas Ghesquière and says, "He is so talented, but he's the nicest, most down-to-earth guy, and that makes everything he does more brilliant. I bought everything, but I haven't got anything yet," she says like a girl impatiently waiting for Christmas. Will she wear the new pieces with her infamous clodhopper boots? "Uh-huh. Wore them the other day, actually." Mary-Kate always goes with her gut, even if some people (back to those tabloids) don't quite get it. "The tabloids say things about me? What do they say?" she asks archly. "People are going to write what they want, and everyone's going to have their own idea of who I am. But I'm not trying to be friends with the people who are reading them, really." After a rough couple of years filled with near-forensic scrutiny of her weight, she'll have you know that she does eat. "This is not going to sound good," she laughs, "but I like making crispy tofu sticks with peanut sauce. I love my sashimi and my salmon and my vegetables." She observes, "Stress plays a big role in how I look day-to-day. I've always been very active — Pilates, yoga. I grew up horseback riding every day for hours. I love dancing. I usually last longer than anyone on the dance floor." A common image of Mary-Kate has her emerging from a coffee joint with an oversize cup. "I always get creamed for having my Starbucks cup," she says, sighing. "But the only time people get photos of me is when I'm getting coffee, when I can't sneak away from the camera." She also resents the pictorial implication that she and Ashley are dilettantes. "They take photos of us going into our offices, and it's 'Mary-Kate and Ashley shopping again.' But I'm going to work for eight hours, and we're working so hard. ..." She trails off. "It just shows how people want to think of you." Mary-Kate is not above celeb watching herself, however. Newly obsessed with Victoria Beckham, she notes she avidly watched Beckham's Coming to America documentary: "She's running around in a bikini and heels, and I'm like, Oh, my God! I do that, too!" How positively Grey Gardens. "I run around my house naked with heels all the time. It's so funny. All my friends will tell you I love running around in kimonos and jewelry or naked with jewelry." More people will be watching Mary-Kate soon, thanks to her role in the Emmy-nominated Weeds. "I am a very good Christian girl," she says with a wink. "She has her moral beliefs — and she happens to smoke pot." Of her newest cast member, Kohan adds, "Mary-Kate is complicated. She's a big celebrity, a huge media icon, but you have to separate the media images from someone who has the same issues, the same desires, as anyone else." Of course, Mary-Kate's image, in all its incarnations — from high fashion to small screen — is her strongest asset. And she has yet to settle on one. "I feel like I've lived 10 different lives already and I'm only 21," she says, almost as a reminder to herself. "But I also feel like I'm entering a new chapter." One thing on which she is clear, though: She doesn't need to be looked at all the time. What would she do for a day if she were invisible? "I would probably go to a restaurant with my friends, who would be able to see me, of course," she adds pragmatically, "and I would sit outside and enjoy a nice lunch with them. Then I would walk down the street." The old soul takes a sip of her little-girl-sweet hot chocolate. "That's what I would do."

#Mary Kate Olsen #mary kate and ashley #Ashley Olsen #harper's bazaar #magazines #articles #photoshoot

[thedamageofherdays]

This is my first weekly reading log. I've been reading some incredibly lovely fics so I figured why not share that excitement with others :) Just a little warning that most of the fics this week are explicit. My favourites are marked with 🌻

🌻 SPELEVINK by Ginny_Potter @hipsterdiva [Stucky, 9k, General]

Bucky’s back. He’s leaving me messages through IKEA plushies, Steve texts Sam. jesus christ, rogers, Sam texts back.

Or, Bucky lives in an IKEA Tiny Apartment, Steve is a dancing monkey once again, and somehow they find their way back to each other.

🌻 I Want To Teach You A Lesson In The Worst Kind Of Way by fandomfluffandfuck @fandomfluffandfuck [Stucky, 61k, Explicit]

Bucky is not an arts major, not even close. He's getting his master's in Biotechnology with dreams of going into the sort of half related medical field of biotechnology prosthetics, inspired by a childhood pet, a three legged cat called Alpine. However, the schooling system (one that normally he doesn't mind too much because he's that much of a nerd) demands that he take a variety of classes; even if they don't pertain towards his immediate interests. An art elective is one of those required unrelated classes. He's not interested.

Not yet anyway; whether he likes it or not he might end up discovering an interest in art. Or. At least an interest in the professor teaching the art credit fulfilling class as it pertains to his... non-school related interests...

i got it bad for you by howdoyousleep @howdoyousleep3 [Evanstan RPF, 4k, Explicit]

“Yeah? Older?”

“Yeah yeah, just…I don’t know, the beard? This fucking hair? Just…I don’t know— older,” he manages to chuckle nervously, gasping into Chris’ mouth when their squirming leads their dicks into lining up beautifully. Seb aches, yearns, mouth watering as he mewls, both hands in Chris’ hair as he licks into Sebastian’s mouth.

And then Chris pulls back, breathes hot on Sebastian’s cheek, his bottom lip, croons, “Like your Daddy?”

bet i look nice on you by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 1k, Explicit]

“C’mon, you said you wanted to feel, said you were up for a challenge,” Steve taunts lowly, peering up at Bucky from where he sits. “Daddy, want it. Daddy, wanna feel you for days,” he tacks on in a nasally exaggerated voice, one used with the full intention on making Bucky embarrassed, uncomfortable.

It works.

Aut Cum Scuto, Aut In Scuto by humapuma [Stucky, 33k, Explicit]

Bucky never thought he would find his Omega at just twenty-years-old. Mates usually found each other around twenty-two or twenty-three, so he was overjoyed to learn that their bond was so strong, they were drawn to one another early. Until Bucky's family attorney informed him that his Omega - Steve - was not only a long-time activist and a successful nurse, he was actually thirty-six.

Steve never thought he would find his Alpha. It had been more than ten years since they were supposed to come together, and he had long-since given up waiting. So, when a kid slammed into him on the street and tried to claim him, Steve was more than a little surprised.

Can these two overcome their differences, presumptions, and their pasts to find one another on the other side?

I didn't want the scars to show by Bittersweet_In_Boston [Stucky, 8k, Mature]

“This is Steve, one of my...co-workers,” Barton says teasingly. “Steve, this is James Barnes, the tattoo artist I was telling you about.”

Steve has heretofore been dumbstruck as he looks at James Barnes, because he is the most beautiful human Steve’s ever met, with the possible exception of Peggy 70 years ago. His long dark hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head, and it frames the face of an angel, with a long-aquiline nose, a wide sensitive mouth, cheekbones to cry over, and a jawline that could kill at twenty paces, covered with a light layer of stubble.

And most importantly, large grey-blue eyes that light up and scan over Steve as Barnes shakes his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” he says in his husky voice, and this is where Steve has to remind himself how to be a functioning human being in a society.

“Good to meet you too, James,” Steve says, his voice only cracking a little. James’ hand is warm and strong and dry, and Steve could happily hold it forever. He does let go after a few seconds like a normal person, however.

“Bucky. Call me Bucky,” says James. “Everyone does.”

“OK...Bucky,” Steve says, and this time his voice behaves.

🌻 grassroots by howdoyousleep [Stucky, 11k, Explicit]

Bucky has been waiting for a moment like this.

Under the guise of a work trip, he joins Senator Rogers in New York City for his good friend Sam Wilson’s campaign fundraiser for Governor of New York. All that consumes Bucky’s mind at first is Steve’s insistence on sharing a room, a bed, so much so that he is caught entirely off guard by something much less conspicuous—one Steve Rogers back in Brooklyn.

In just two days Bucky learns more about Steve than he could have ever anticipated, and although it’s only forty-eight hours, it begins to shift their relationship, blind to the two of them. From stories about his mama to where to get the best pizza in the borough, Steve shares a side of himself with Bucky that few have ever been able to see before…

🌻 I Can't Do Everything (But I'll Do Anything For You) by Musette22 (with art from rufferto) @musette22 [Stucky, 24k, Explicit]

Steve Rogers cares about a lot of things, but dating isn’t one of them – much to his fellow Avengers’ bemusement. It’s just never been very high on his list of priorities, falling somewhere behind his work, his friends, his hobbies, and that excellent pepperoni pizza from Vinnie’s on Flatbush Ave.

That is until one night, Natasha drags Steve out to a charity music concert by some hotshot singer that Steve has never actually heard of (which would surprise exactly no one, seeing as Steve is still partial to his records and his radio plays). And as soon as Steve lays eyes on Grammy-award winning musician and international heartthrob James Barnes for the very first time, suddenly he wonders if maybe dating wouldn’t be so bad after all. Dating James Barnes, specifically, that is. The question is just: how does one go about that? Especially one like Steve, who’s never wooed anybody in his century-long life, let alone a man. Let alone a man with long, dark hair, tattoos all over his arms, and a fanbase that rivals Steve’s own.

It’s not like he can just go up to him and say something like, "You and me babe, how about it?"

#stucky #evanstan #fic rec #fic recs #reading log #r's reading log #my reading log

[bts-weverse-trans]

201125 Weverse Magazine ‘BE’ Comeback Interview - V

V: “I wish we were back with ARMY, laughing together” BTS BE comeback interview 2020.11.25

During V’s photo shoot, he’s wearing a different expression in every photo on the monitor. They create a tension and an anticipation because we have no way of knowing what he might do even one second later. But the result is cool from start to finish. It’s V.

How are you doing these days? It’s been a long time since you were able to see your fans. V: I’m not over-stressing about how I can’t meet the fans face to face right now. I just want to see them when it’s safe to meet. I think now, I can wait until then.

As your song says, “Life Goes On.” You decided to keep going on with your life. V: We have to move on. We can’t feel defeated forever. I felt a lot better after making some songs.

Other than working on “Dynamite,” you’ve spent very little time away from home. How do you pass the time when you’re by yourself? V: I really like just spacing out, so I’ll sit in my room doing nothing for hours. I could try putting on a movie, but then I couldn’t concentrate and would just zone out. When that happens, it’s kind of like I’m living without a thought or care in the world. Maybe I should make a song about all of this someday. Probably call it “Spaced.” (laughs) Anyway, these days I’m looking for ways to keep myself happy.

Have you found anything? V: Well, I’m listening to LPs lately. It’s getting to be Christmas season and I love snow, so I bought two or three Christmas LPs to listen to. I’m also listening to old jazz songs by Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. Frank Sinatra is cool, like chilled wine; Sammy Davis Jr. is crazy talented. (laughs)

So that’s the type of performer you find cool. V: Those two were also a big inspiration to me while we were working on “Dynamite.” Sinatra has all this jazzy body language, but he also threw some disco in there. And I imagined how Sammy Davis Jr. might dance if there were a mic on stage and he had to dance around it. They were a lot of help when I was finding a way to be upbeat and cool at the same time in “Dynamite.”

I guess making “Dynamite” must have been some consolation even when you couldn’t meet fans due to COVID-19. V: We couldn’t put on a concert and couldn’t see ARMY, so we were feeling more and more drained. It seemed like an endless battle. We really wanted to see ARMY feeling better, so we had to get back up on stage and make another album so that together we could beat this thing. I want to be the friend who’s always cheering ARMY on, but there aren’t many ways to make them feel better.

How was the whole “Dynamite” experience? You made it to the top of the Billboard Hot 100 and also had a chance to perform in a variety of different styles. V: Shooting the Tiny Desk Concert was a very natural process, which was nice. But actually, with the situation being what it is, we couldn’t really feel much. The day the news came out was of course thrilling. It was great, actually, all of us calling each other and some of us laughing and others crying: “We haven’t gone down the wrong path after all! Turns out we had a chance—it really was possible!”

While you were performing in “Dynamite,” you were also the visual director for BE. I’m sure you were unimaginably busy taking photos, but were you able to communicate well with the other members? V: We communicated smoothly, and I listened to all of their concept ideas and I organized everything around that. If we tried something too natural, it wouldn’t be conceptual enough, so we did our best to strike a balance.

You had everyone sitting in the middle, with the set arranged symmetrically around you. V: That was made possible thanks to everyone having their own ideas. There was no overlap between items, which actually allowed us to create a sense of unity by placing all these different props symmetrically. It wasn’t intended to be symmetrical; each member really did choose something unique.

In your room, you included a violin and a photograph. V: That’s a picture I took. I like photos and drawings, but if I had used any art then I would’ve been using that one particular artist’s work, so I thought I’d better use one of my own photos. I ended up choosing the violin because I learned how to play it but also because I enjoy classical and jazz.

So how do you feel it turned out? V: I made it, so naturally I like it. (laughs) Part of me thinks I should’ve tried something more conceptual. BE was supposed to give off sort of a magazine or poster feel since we didn’t shoot many of those, but it ended up having more of a natural feel to it. But I did think that the next time we try to make a photoshoot conceptual we should move away from that natural look a bit. The group explained their ideas clearly and they were simple enough to do, so I think it all went really smoothly.

It sounds like there were no problems choosing the songs for BE. How did you feel recording your parts on the other members’ songs? V: I like “Dis-ease,” which Hobi hyung wrote, but stylistically it was challenging. It’s really far from my own style so it took a long time to get used to. “Fly to My Room” used to be my favorite song, but it was also the hardest to sing. It was okay at first, until Jimin jumped in.

What about Jimin? V: Because I had to keep up with Jimin, the song went up maybe three keys. I thought I would die. (laughs) It started out as my favorite song, but it was just way too hard to sing.

But why did you have to sing that way? V: Jimin said he was sorry, that he couldn’t go any lower. (laughs) When I first heard the demo version, the key was perfect for me, so I thought it would sound great and I should definitely do it. But then Jimin said he wanted to do it too, so I said, “Great, let’s do it together.” Turns out we went up three keys. So I said, “Hey, what’s the deal? Should I just give up?” But, well, somehow it all worked out in the end. It was a happy ending. (laughs)

People might be able to hear that part better because it’s so much higher. (laughs) The tone of your combined voices and the way they contrast is really impressive. V: Yes, but all that aside, it was quite the struggle. (laughs) And the chorus is really long. I think it repeats, what, four times?

Yes, it feels like the chorus never ends. The production style is very unique. I like how the emotion is carried through the whole way. V: I agree, but it’s so long. The chorus turned out crazy, like I was kind of beating the melody into people’s ears. (laughs) The chorus is good, but the whole song’s melody is really catchy. Whenever I heard the beat, I was totally into it. The way the vocals pick up on the beat and the melody was so original and fun, I just had to do it.

What instructions did you give to the other members when they were singing on your song, “Blue & Grey”? V: I didn’t really have to give them instructions much. I told them it would be nice if they could think of all their problems and then try healing those wounds with their voices, since if they focus on those emotions, there’ll be more feeling in the song. They all did a good job expressing the emotions I wasn’t able to.

It seems like you intended “Blue & Grey” to be a melancholy song. I heard you had originally planned to put it on your mixtape. V: I wrote “Blue & Grey” when I was at my lowest point, when I was actually asking whether I could keep going with my work or not. Even the fun parts of work became a chore, and my whole life felt aimless. “Where do I go from here? I can’t even see the end of the tunnel.” Those kinds of thoughts hit me hard.

Was there a reason for that? V: It was when work was a major challenge. When I’m happy, I want to work, and when I’m happy I can put on a smile and see the fans, but there was just so much work to do. I’m an easygoing, you know, laid-back person, but I was stretched too thin and I was starting to sputter. What I mean is, I was having a really tough time, and thinking, “What’s waiting for me at the end? It’s important to be successful, but I’m also trying to be happy, so how come I’m not happy right now?” That’s when I started to write “Blue & Grey.”

So writing the song was sort of your way of bringing yourself some peace of mind. V: There was a time I was going through something like this. I was having the toughest time, but I couldn’t keep carrying that feeling around with me. Instead, I could use it as a kind of fertilizer. So I took care of that feeling by constantly writing it down in my notes. I just kept writing everything down, and when finally I felt like I wanted to try writing a song, I did. After the song was finished, I felt a sense of accomplishment, and that’s how I was able to let go of “Blue & Grey.” That was one way I wanted to try getting over my problem.

The songs you make or sing solo on all have similar images: night; loneliness; snow. V: I like nighttime and the late-night air, and when it snows, too. I liked those things since way back when, but lately I feel things like snow and the night air keep me alive. They may just be another part of normal life to other people, but to me, they represent very special moments.

That makes me think of the ending from “Blue & Grey”: “After secretly sending my words up into the air / Now I fall asleep at dawn.” V: I don’t really sleep well. I toss and turn and get caught up in a lot of thoughts. Even when I turn out all the lights, I can see everything clearly. I close my eyes, but all my thoughts spread wide open. Then I’m sleepy at work, and staring off into space when I’m alone, with bags under my eyes, but if I want to avoid that then I really have to sleep. Except, with the way I am, it doesn’t allow for it. I wrote about that in the first and second verses; a feeling like, “When I’m stuck thinking like this, everything is grey, and I’m all blue.” I wrote these feelings out as a song, and now that I’m thinking about it again, I’m actually over it. I feel a lot lighter. I sent my words out into the air, and now I fall asleep at dawn. You’re supposed to sleep at night, but I’m sleeping in the morning again. So I say “good night,” but it’s not actually a good night. “I pass out because I’m exhausted” kind of thing. It’s the emotions I felt in those moments that I wanted to express.

What do you hope hearing about that feeling will do for listeners? V: Rather than just some stranger telling them to cheer up, I think it’s better to say something like, “You seem depressed lately,” or, “Seems like these days it’s tough for you to perk up.” “Blue & Grey” is the same: “You’re depressed lately? Me too. We’re in the same boat. Wanna talk about how you’re feeling? You wanna feel better, right? I know, but sometimes it feels like you’re being washed away by a whirlpool of stress.” I want the listeners to hear me saying that to them.

It’s important to express your emotions right away when they’re so overwhelming. V: Yes. I usually write a lot of songs when I’m feeling emotional, but these days I have so many different things to do that I can’t really write anything. I tried to write something before when I had a little time, but nothing came out because the feelings I had were already gone. So I tell myself, “You gotta write a lot when you’ve got the feels!” (laughs) And then I open my notes app and come back to old notes, like, “Ah, so that’s how I was feeling back then? I see. Well, that’s how I used to be, I guess.” So I tried to write “Blue & Grey” quickly, as soon as a big feeling came on.

Then it’s important to revisit those feelings when you’re producing a song or choosing which songs to release? V: If you can’t bring the feeling back, you can’t make the song, either. I release a song if I feel it expresses who I was and how I felt at the time when I wrote it. Even if we record it perfectly, if the result sounds artificial, I would rather release another, more honest sounding song instead, even if it’s not perfect.

Are those the kinds of songs you selected for your mixtape? V: Um … I don’t know. This is my first mixtape, you know, so I feel a ton of pressure about it. I’m thinking all the time about what kind of album I should make so that I can feel satisfied with it. The title track is the title track, but everyone also says to just leave it as it is, but I keep getting the urge to keep putting in more and more.

You usually write and choose songs based on your emotions. Maybe the pressure to make your first mixtape comes from you having a hard time with that. V: I think it still has a long way to go. Maybe it’s because it’s my first mixtape, but it’s so hard. And I feel like it’s a little lazy. People tell me just to put it out and see how it does, but I’d rather know what needs to be fixed before I release it. I also don’t want the title track to be depressing. I want it to be positive and help people beat those depressed feelings. But it’s not easy.

That sounds a lot like what the members conveyed with “Life Goes On.” V: I think we showed the current situation in a very straightforward and honest way. We’re still going, going, going. And the going is tough. But it doesn’t end here. I wish we were back with ARMY, laughing together. I hope we’ll all be happy in the future and keep on doing our own best, cherishing our hope for our happy future.

Trans © Weverse

#bangtan #taehyung #weverse magazine #comeback interview #201125 #2020 #be album

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression Ep 60 - Complaints about TV eating contest. 

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, with this week's episode of The Freedom of Expression. Joe, Tasai, welcome. Uh, do remember YG who came on the show before, whose whole band caught Covid?

J: Yes

T: Yeh yeh

K: There's a rumor going around that he is going to run for election to the House of Representatives.

T: But, yeah...

J: His hairstyle was unique.

K: Yeah, haha

T: This is true, Kaoru. Its the truth.

J: Tokyo Sports have investigated?

T: We checked. He will run in the next House of Representatives election for Hiroshima Ward 3..

J: The by-election, right?

T: Yeah, the by-election ...He will be supported by the NHK party (The Party That Teaches People How Not To Pay The NHK Licence Fee). Hahaha

J: Incredible! Eh? You're laughing?!

K: Hahaha

T: Im just wondering whether he will get in, haha. Well, he has policies..he says that there is ¥1300 trillion worth of underground resources in the sea off Okinawa, and that it should be dug up and used for Japan.

J: Ehh?

T: And he'a using this policy to run in the election.

Kami: ¥1300 trillion, thats incredible, right?

J: Yes, Kami, it is, isn't it?

T: Yes, it is, Kami.

Kami: How much would we get out of ¥1300 trillion?

J: Well, ¥1300trillion? He's working for ¥1000 per hour, so he can't comprehend these big numbers.

K: He always takes the bait when it comes to money.

J: He really does.

Kami: Does it seem like we would get ¥1300 trillion?

J: It doesn't means we, ourselves would get it!

Kami: The guy who say's he'll give out ¥100,000, will definitely give out ¥100,000 right? *1

K: Give out ¥100,000? Haha

T: Like, the guy who gave it out*1...I wonder? Im curious to know how seriously he is thinking about it.

J: Yeh, me too. But, it is a unique policy.

T: Well, its a good thing to shine a light on issues from different viewpoints.

J: Well, since he appeared on this show, we'll have to keep watch and see what happens.

T: Yeah, keep an eye on it.

Kami: Its tough for his senpais too. Working under the same company, and having this happen.

K: I don't know what you are talking about.

T: Haha, right.

K: I just want him to do well.

Kami: Well, if he gets in, use your senpai status to tell him to give out the money.

J, T: Hahaha

T: Well, Tokyo Sports will report on it.

J: Yes please.

K: Ok, Joe...lets have this week's..

J: Yes, this week's news. This time its 'Complaints about eating contest on TV' - Broadcast on March 10th on TV Tokyo, the content of the variety show 'Uchimura no Tsuboru Douga/内村のツボる動画' has attracted criticism. The material broadcast contained a plan for Max Suzuki and others in the big eaters club, to challenge themselves to eat giant food. The plan caused suffering to this group of well-practiced big eaters. The place offering the food this time was sushi chain 'Kappa Sushi', who executed a plan to baffle the competitors with giant sushi, using the acronym TDMO (tabenikui demo meccha oishii/Difficult to eat but really delicious). They are said to have done a lot of research into this before filming. The food that appeared exceeded the viewers' already high expectations of what was to come. Dishes introduced included a tuna nigiri with 1kilo of rice and a giant slice of tuna on top, a three layered sushi with 500g each of sea urchin and salmon roe, and a 1kg salmon and avacado sushi with a huge amount of mayonnaise. Up until this point all the dishes had been evolved from the regular menu, but next to be seen was a sushi with 1 kilo of steak on top of 1 kilo of egg. Cries of 'Thats not sushi!', and, 'This isn't fair!' were heard from the big eaters themselves, and also from Uchumura Teruyoshi and gang, who were in the studio. After this sushi rolls were brought out with a gross weight of 7kg. A really tricky-to-eat squid and whole cucumber roll, as well as one filled with deep-fried items which nearly defeated the eaters in the end. The menu provided only just stayed within the rules. Viewers' concerns were also raised, such as, 'Thats not fair', 'I feel sorry for them with that fried stuff at the end', 'I thought they should have cooked the whole cucumber', and, 'They are showing the food no love'. In the end, it was probably the staff of 'Tsuboru Douga' who instructed the plan, Kappa Sushi merely provided the ingredients. It has been said Kappa Sushi have just been caught up in this. There were apparently a large number viewers who wanted this sushi chain challenge to be about simple, basic sushi, not meat or fried food.....Ah, there is a lot of eating challenge shows, isn't there?

K: Yeah, there is recently. Whenever you turn on the TV its either eating challenge or spicy food challenge.

T: Oh, there are a lot of spicy challenges, yeah.

J: I wonder if that means these kind of shows pull in viewer numbers?

T: It appears they do, when you ask anyone in the TV sector.

J: Really?

T: Yeah, they say shows about pets or food pull in the most views.

J: Ahh, yeh. Pets are interesting, but is it actually fun watching someone eat?

T: Well, I end up watching this kind of thing quite a bit.

J: Oh, do you?

T: It has an impact, a huge load of food.

K: Well, yeh.

T: And even these competitive eaters, if they look like they are suffering while eating, they feel it more. But if they make themselves look happy eating, its like the eaters themselves are evolving.

J: Oh, if you look happy eating, you can eat more?

K: TV channels and stuff used to be dirtier.  Like.. *imitates stuffing food forcefully into his mouth*

J: Haha, yeh. So that kind of style of eating challenge is disappearing?

T: Its quite different now. Like you just said, um, do you remember the competitive eater Akasaka (Takako) san?

K: Oh, yeahhh.

T: She was eating ramen with her glasses on, and her glasses fell off into the ramen soup, but she carried on.

J: Hahaha

T: In the past, people used to like watching that kind of real angle. But now, its all about eating a lot and enjoying it.

J: Ehhh? Really?

T: Joe, have you ever done an eating challenge?

J: I think I ate wanko soba a long time ago...but I can't really eat a lot.

K: Yeh.

J: To eat and eat just one type of food, its hard isn't it? If I had a lot of things to choose from it might be ok, but just continuously eating one food...like, wanko soba was difficult...and in this case, its like giant food...its not appetizing to begin with.

T: Hahaha

J: At my age I just wanna eat a little amount of delicious food.

T: Yeah

J: I'm over 52 years old...What about you Kaoru? Can you eat a lot?

K: Err..no.

J: Right?

K: Yeh, I can't eat that much.

J: Well though, if pets and food pull in the viewers...shouldn't we do an eating challenge on here?

K: Hahaha

T: We were lacking that idea.

K: But you and I have just said we can't eat a lot!

J: Kaoru, you have to eat with a smile on your face!

K: Haha

J: You can eat more if you smile.

T: Either that or we could get a cute cat in here to stroke

K:??? *2

J: Or, do an eating challenge while stroking cats!

K: Oh, incidentally, don't we have plans to go on location?

J: Oh yeah!

K: Well, it might be tough to do an eating challenge at that place though.

J: Ah, yeah. ???*3

K: We can't do it unless they are offering it.

J: But if we told them about it first..

T: I think there are quite a lot of places that do this though...like tempura challenges and stuff.

J: Oh no, fried food?!

K: Thats the kind of thing it is!

J: Well, yeah, haha.

T: Or stuff like dam curry, with a big load of curry, or tonnes of tonkatsu..

J: Uaghh.

K: I don't think we'll be able to eat that much.

J: Right?

K: We could manage a medium eating challenge.

T, J: Hahaha

T: Medium eating challenge?

J: Yeah, cause we naturally don't eat a lot.

K: We could just try one extra large portion of a certain thing or something?

J: That would be enough, yeah.

K: We could test ourselves to see if we could finish an extra large portion of one thing off the regular menu.

J: Ahh, yeh, that sounds good.

K: You'd end up leaving a a lot otherwise, right? 

J: Yeh, its a waste if lots is left over, so..

T: I remember one bentō store which did like an extra large bentō, a meat bentō or something. I can't remember what it was called now.

J: It'll be good though, 'Medium eating challenge!'.

T: Haha

J: I can't tell whether its great or terrible. haha With 'Big eating challenge' you get the sense they are really trying hard, but with 'Medium eating challenge' ...its like 'what..?' haha.

K: Isn't there anyone among us who can eat a lot?

J: Can't you, Tasai?

T: No, I can't eat that much either, well, when I was in high school though..there's Mcdonalds, right? We all bought about 35 cheesebrgers between us once, and I ate 20 of them *4

J: Really?!

T: But I was 18 then.

J: No, you can still do it, you are in good shape!

K: You could manage 10 though, right?

T: I might be able to manage 10.

K: Incredible.

J: Yeah.

T: I've never tried an eating challenge , maybe I should.

J: Ok, lets do it..we'll watch you, we could do it live.

T: I don't know if I could enjoy it though.

K: We would cheer you on.

J: Yeah, like 'You can do it!'

T: Really?

J: And then, I'm not sure, but we could have a woman in a bikini standing over here..

T: Ah, really?! Haha

J: Yeah.

T: What are you talking about...'a woman in a bikini'? hahaha

J: I don't know, haha. So you'd try to keep looking cool while eating...or something like that.

K: Hm, a food project..?

J: Yeah.

K: I wanna try it though.

J: Yeah, lets do it...Well, we're going on location first...but an eating challenge..

T: Like, if we do a live broadcast, I could be eating with you two chatting in the meantime. I won't talk, just eat.

K: Like, simultaneously?

T: Yeah, yeah, haha.

J: That sounda like it could work.

T: I'd just carry on eating, haha.

J: Ahh, but its tough on your health though. Still, I think we should try it, all of us.

K: Well, yeah

T: Yeah, lets try.

J: On the Freedom of Expression.

K: I think we can do it. Well, lets finish here for this week. Thank you very much.

*1,4 Not 100% sure im right.

*2,3 Couldn't catch/figure out.

To top page

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #translation #薫 #kaoru

[opbackgrounds]

so I was doing some research after watching movie 6...

...and apparently it was originally written as a comedy

Yeah, I was surprised, too

Baron Omatsuri is not my favorite One Piece movie—Film Z has too many of my favorite tropes to be usurped from that position—but I do think it is the most daring. Of all the supplemental material I’ve seen and read, it feels the least...One Piece-ish. 

Yes, that includes the noodle commercials. 

If you haven’t seen the movie and can stomach a little spookiness, do yourself a favor and give it a watch. Unlike movies like Strong World or Z that have the look and feel of a manga arc, Movie 6 transplants the Straw Hat Pirates into a world that doesn’t feel like a One Piece story, taking risks and exploring themes that would never fit in the manga proper. 

In addition to the obvious changes in art and animation style, there are supernatural elements that don’t make sense within the One Piece world. None of the Straw Hats win a fight—Luffy included, although he is heavily implied to have killed the big bad at the end. The moral of the movie, if it can be said to have a moral, is if you lose the people closest to you, the answer is to forget about them and make new friends. The story ends with many questions left unanswered and the main drama between the crew unresolved.

And, if you allow me to get philosophical for a moment, I wish there were more movies like it. As I wrote in my review of Novel A, I don’t go to supplemental material or side stories looking for a repeat of what’s in the manga. Oda has written 1000 chapters of One Piece—why not spice things up a little and try something different for a change?

I know the answer isn’t that simple, and by their very nature not all risks will pan out. There will be people who don’t like this movie because it’s different, both in look and tone. But there’s something to be said about a creator putting their heart and soul into a work and having it show in the final product. 

Which brings us back to the original premise. How does a movie go from a light-hearted comedy based on a variety show theme to...this

Baron Omatsuri was directed by Mamoru Hosoda and came out in 2005. To put that into perspective, the movie was in production when the Luffy vs Usopp fight was first seen in the manga. Manga!Luffy had not yet faced the challenge of an inter-crew disputes when the story was being written and boarded, nor did the creative team have the events of Sabaody and Marineford to see how Luffy would react to the loss of his loved ones. They were working without a full understanding of Luffy’s character, and to a lessor extent the character of the Straw Hat Pirates, and it seems like Oda was much less involved In production than has been in movies since Strong World and beyond. 

Likewise, Hosoda had just left a tumultuous situation at Studio Ghibli while working on Howl’s Moving Castle, and if this interview is anything to go by (https://instrangeaeonsblog.wordpress.com/2016/04/24/mamoru-hosoda-on-omatsuri-danshaku-animestyle-interview-part-1/) was going through a lot of personal shit when he was brought on as director. The script he was given was originally written like a variety show—something that was carried over into the various trials seen in the final movie—and meant to be a lighthearted affair after the relatively serious Movie 5 (which I have not seen am thus unable to compare tone). 

With that backstory in mind, it’s easy to see how the bickering and backbiting between the Straw Hats early in the movie is a metaphor for Hosoda’s time at Ghibli, which is something he admits to in the interview. Movie 6 feels different than any other One Piece movie because it’s the project of a man who has had to endure the loss of those who he was close with, at least in a professional capacity. 

There are moments in Movie 6 where Luffy doesn’t feel like Luffy. More than once a member of the Straw Hats ask him to intervene during arguments, moments Luffy either ignores or doesn’t notice. It’s a version of Water 7 where instead of fighting Usopp, Luffy ignores the underlying differences within his crew, and as a result loses everybody. 

The structure of the three trials follows a clear path of deterioration within the crew, the initial goldfish scooping game showing the Straw Hats at their best and inciting the jealousy of the Baron, the ring toss sowing discord among the crew even as they snatch a narrow victory, only for them to be utterly crushed in the third and final challenge as they’re unable help one another survive. 

It is somewhat implied that the Breaking of the Fellowship(TM) is magical in nature—that like the One Ring, the Lily Carnation was able to influence the Straw Hat’s thoughts and actions, but this is never stated outright and I prefer the more mundane interpretation: That without strong leadership the Straw Hats fell victim to the manipulative machinations of the Baron, and simply self-destructed as a result.  In the end, it’s up to the interpretation of the viewer. 

And speaking of things up to interpretation, I love how the Lily Carnation isn’t explained in the slightest. The plant that initially absorbs the Straw Hats looks more like the stem of a devil fruit than a flower, it for some reason rings like a gong when hit, and somehow is able to turn pieces of itself into facsimile of the Baron’s old crew who can somehow move around despite being plans. It’s weird, it’s wonderful, and the element of the unknown works so well in the horror-lite setting. 

My personal theory is the island somehow managed to eat a devil fruit which manifests itself as the Lily Carnation (which due to the L/R conflation in Japanese, is pronounced ‘reincarnation’, which I think is a nice touch of foreshadowing that may or may not have been intentional).

(Also, I can’t decide if little chewing animation it makes when it’s eating people or the weird bullseyes it makes when shit gets real are the most terrifying thing in the movie.)

Hmmm, tasty.

Anyway, this is getting long, so here are some final thoughts:

1) This movie has some low key fantastic outfits. The Straw Hats all look very cool without being over designed like a lot of recent movies. Big hat Robin is of course a fave, and makes me really want to see her in a Carmen Sandiego getup.

2) Screenshots do not do the animation of the movie justice. It’s very fluid and has a lot of excellent expressions/poses, although I admit the 3D is jarring at times. Do not let the art put you off if you haven’t seen it 

3) Also, I don’t think there’s any shading? Like at all? The movie does a lot of cool stuff with color instead. For example, the scene where Luffy initially loses to the Baron his skin goes all grey, and I thought it was because he was fighting at night, but it stays grey even in the better lighting of the underground tunnels and stays that way until he finds out the Straw Hats are still alive, where it returns to his normal color

4) There’s an extended Benny Hill-type gag when Luffy first chases after the little mustache pirate that’s perfectly timed to the music, and ends when Luffy just uses his power to grab him. The comedic timing is amazing and it’s probably my favorite funny moment in the movie, of which there are several despite the overall darker tone

5) The extended jungle shot from Nami’s POV? Very cool

6) I love how from the earliest scenes nothing is as it seems. The opening text is Robin reading the map, but the storm that’s seen on screen is the one that sank the Baron’s crew. Likewise the whole fancy city is shown to be fake panels early on, the goldfish catching game is a trap, etc., etc. It does a good job clueing the viewer in early that’s something’s very wrong on the island, even if they don’t realize it at first

7) I don’t think this type of movie would work in modern One Piece without somehow nerfing Luffy. Horror works best when the protagonist is weak and vulnerable, and that fits best with a pre-Gear 2/3 Luffy (same with the rest of the crew, tbh. I was waiting for Nami to use her lightning stick during the games, forgetting it hadn’t been boosted yet). 

8) I like how there are four captains on the island representing different levels of loss—the Baron has lost his crew and wants to destroy all others because of it, mustache pirate lost his crew and is willing to put it behind him to make new friends, Luffy has freshly lost his crew and hasn’t decided what path he will go, and coward dad hasn’t lost his crew yet but is at risk if he doesn’t change his cowardly ways

9) I think the reason why Chopper was the first Straw Hat to disappear is he’s the most likely to play the part of peacemaker. He’s also the only crew member needing rescuing at the end of the goldfish scoop game, when Luffy foolishly puts his life at risk trying to save him from drowning, just like he recklessly charges the Baron at the end of the movie. Except that time there was no Sanji to save him, leaving Luffy to get his ass thoroughly kicked

10) This is a very good Halloween movie, and I’m glad I watched it in October

#opbackgrounds #long post #movie 6 #review #one piece #Baron Omatsuri

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 2

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,024

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m just going to remind you that this sugar daddy fic isn’t about smut. I love smut but it’s not what I’m focusing on here. 

Bucky stood under the glass awning in front of the hotel, the neon green light illuminating the path to the automatic doors. He forced his eyes closed and listened to the sound of rain hitting the glass shelter.

It was just after 6:30 in the morning and he had been standing there for over ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to enter the building. He was sweating, trembling, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Every sound around him seemed amplified; cars honking, people talking or listening to music. It was hell.

He desperately wanted to take a cab ride back to Brooklyn and hide in his apartment. Bucky had a strict routine -get up at six, eat, shave, shower, go for a walk, etc- and he needed it to keep his mind focused and his body healthy. Though lately, his therapist had encouraged him to stray from his routine if he felt like it. And he wanted to, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

Instead he just stood here, stuck between two choices that terrified him. He could go back home and hate himself for taking the ‘easy way out’, or he could take the plunge and enter the building. He had come here on a whim, but now that he was here he felt as if he really needed to see you. He didn’t even know if you were working.

He looked over his shoulder, he could almost see the metaphorical pack of wolves waiting for him. It would be easy to give in and let them take him. He could go back to his old life, his old habits, or he could jump off that metaphorical cliff and hope for the best.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Bucky greeted the receptionist with a smile. He asked if he could have breakfast at the hotel restaurant and she agreed before leading him to the Bar Lounge.

The room was large, with row after row of square tables perfectly aligned. There were a few more private seats close to the bar and an oval buffet in the middle of the room. A woman in a dark grey suit scooped a small portion of scrambled eggs onto her plate next to two slices of toasted white bread. She raised her gaze to his and nodded in greeting.

The swing door that led to the kitchen burst open and Bucky turned his attention to the sound. You were carrying a large tank of orange juice to the buffet table, a pen tucked behind your ear and a piece of paper between your lips. There was a slight furrow between your brows as you set the tank on the table.

Your scuffed boots were gone, replaced by black ballet flats. Your pencil skirt rose up as you stretched to reach the highest part of the buffet. Bucky hastily looked away from your bare legs, not wanting to look like a total creep. Once you were done, you smoothed down your skirt and tucked your white shirt into your skirt.

Your hair was brushed away from your face and your lips were painted red, something dark and empowering, and it contrasted beautifully with your strict, uninspiring uniform, which only intended to erase any sense of individuality.

“Hi, how can I h- Hey, I know you,” you said, approaching him. “You’re Bucky.”

He bashfully looked at his shoes. “Yeah, hi.” He cleared his throat and raised his gaze to yours. “I was hoping to run into you. I, uh, I can’t stop thinking about our talk.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I was rude and brusque, and you were incredibly nice. I really feel like an ass.”

You chuckled. “It’s fine. Honestly, I was nervous, too. You should have seen me –I was a complete mess.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied with a grin. “Though you did say that meeting me was like choosing between a pack of wolves or jumping off a cliff.”

“Gosh!” You facepalmed. “See? A complete mess!” You gestured to the table behind you. “Have you eaten yet? Sit down, it’s on me.” He opened his mouth to protest but you cut him off. “You paid for the taxi. It’s only fair.”

Amused, he shook his head and followed you to the buffet table. Everything looked and smelled delicious. He spotted several glass cereal dispensers filled with frosted flakes, Cap'n Crunch, Lucky Charms and good old Fruit Loops.

“We also have French toasts, pancakes, croissants, turnovers, omelettes, eggs, four different types of bread with margarine, butter, jam, Nutella, or marmalade,” you said without pausing for a breath, “freshly sliced fruits, a variety of yogurts, granola, oatmeal, orange juice, apple juice, Danish pastries, muffins and a great selection of teas.”

“And that’s it?” Bucky asked, his face breaking into a teasing smile. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners right before he smiled.

You pouted your lips while you thought. “Actually no, we also have scrambled eggs –which, frankly, I don’t recommend. They come in a plastic bag and we have to heat them up in the microwave. It’s a little gross. You can try the sausage and bacon though, unless you don’t eat meat.”

“And coffee?” He found your flustered reaction to his teasing absolutely adorable.

“Yes, of course,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “That’s a pretty great buffet, though I’ll stay clear of the scrambled eggs.”

You took a few steps toward the kitchen and turned back to him, a little apologetic cringe on your face. “Um, how do you take your coffee? Expresso, Americano, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, mocha, ristretto-” you paused to take a breath “-or iced coffee?”

A laugh bubbled out of him. He couldn’t help it, you were just too endearing. “Black,” he said, grinning. “I know I’m boring.”

“Oh, no! You’re not boring,” you rushed to say, then realized what he was doing. “Ugh, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“A little.” His nose scrunched up as he said it.

You went to the kitchen to make his cup of coffee and Bucky began to browse the length of the buffet table. Scooping food onto his plate with only one hand proved more challenging than he expected, and he was glad that the lounge was mostly empty.

He could feel the lady in the grey suit’s eyes on him as he moved around. He set his plate on the bar, removed the glass lid, scooped up two hefty pancakes and stacked them on his plate. They looked pretty fluffy, it wouldn’t be hard to cut them with the edge of a fork. Then he replaced the lid and moved his plate closer to the maple syrup bottle.

He glanced at the woman who hastily looked away as if she hadn’t been staring at him the whole time. Annoyed, he kept looking at her while he poured maple syrup over his pancakes. He hated when people stared at him as if he were a freak. He narrowed his eyes menacingly and grinned to himself when she started fidgeting in her seat.

“You must really love maple syrup.”

Bucky paused at the sound of your voice, his features immediately softened. He looked down at his plate and realised he had drowned his pancakes in a gooey river of maple syrup. He must have spaced out during his staring contest with the business woman.

He had a strange look in his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and anguish. Finally his eyes found yours and you smiled warmly at him, making him fight back a blink. You pried the bottle out of his rigid hand, and he let you take it.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice weak.

You weren’t sure what he was apologizing for but it wasn’t something you were going to analyse right now. “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you. Best cup in Manhattan.”

He laughed, the crinkles were back. “You’re an angel.”

Bucky returned to his table and loaded his coffee with three teaspoons of sugar before he took a sip. He had always preferred sweet to savoury, and coffee was way too bitter for him.

There wasn’t much to do in the lounge. The television was behind him, the sound kept to a minimum. The lady in the grey suit left soon after and Bucky watched you clean her table.

You moved back and forth between the main room and the kitchen, going about your work and occasionally shooting him a smile. The food was good, not spectacular, but still better than his usual breakfast –two slices of toasted white bread with butter and a cup of coffee.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked, standing next to his table.

“Company?” he said with a hopeful look. “Please.”

You offered him a pained grimace when he gestured at the seat across from him. “I’m not allowed to sit. Sorry.”

It was hard to resist his puppy dog eyes but you needed to keep your job if you wanted to be able to afford your own place.

“Do you like working here?”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged. “I’m glad I have a job.”

“Sam mentioned you’re an artist.”

You shyly looked around you, you were the only two people in the room now. “I haven’t painted since I got this job,” you revealed. “I’m pretty sure my artist membership card has been cancelled.”

“Nope, those are for life.”

You laughed. “I hope so.”

You looked at each other before he asked, “Do you have any pictures of your work?”

You were genuinely surprised that someone wanted to see your work. Usually people offered a half-hearted ‘oh, that nice. I paint, too, occasionally” and changed the subject. You patted your pockets, searching for your phone, and groaned when you remembered that it was in your locker.

“I don’t have my phone with me but wait-” You took a napkin from the table and started writing. “This is my Instagram. I do a bit of everything, mostly landscapes and portraits.”

Bucky took the piece of paper and, before he could comment, a family of four walked into the lounge area. You apologized to him and walked over to the family, greeting them with a smile and asking them if they had a good night’s sleep.

The children looked like walking zombies until they spotted the cereal bar, and then chaos ensued. More people went down to breakfast and you didn’t have time to chat with him anymore.

He stayed a little longer, watching you help the kids pour cereal and milk into their bowls. A man who didn’t speak English very well asked you a question and you froze, trying to make him understand since you didn’t speak his language. Bucky smiled when you mimed the answer. The man laughed and gave you a thumb’s up.

There was something about you, something soft and caring, that made people at ease. Even when people started complaining that the platter of scrambled eggs was empty, you defused the situation so smoothly that they left with a smile on their face. It was the kind of person you were, kind-hearted and willing to help.

An angel.

When you looked in his direction again, Bucky was gone. You felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t said goodbye, but you had been so busy that even if he had been trying to get your attention, chances are you wouldn’t have noticed him.

Pouting exaggeratedly to yourself, you went to his table with your tray and a clean rag to collect the dirty dishes. You moved the unfolded napkin and what you saw underneath made you stop. You blinked, once, twice, three times, certain that you were hallucinating. You scooped up the bills and counted them.

$300

Your eyes were the size of saucers as you ran back to the lobby. You checked outside for Bucky but he was gone. You stood there, under the glass awning, with a bewildered look on your face, still clutching the bills.

Part 3

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

[fyeah-bangtan7]

V: “I wish we were back with ARMY, laughing together”

During V’s photo shoot, he’s wearing a different expression in every photo on the monitor. They create a tension and an anticipation because we have no way of knowing what he might do even one second later. But the result is cool from start to finish. It’s V.

How are you doing these days? It’s been a long time since you were able to see your fans. V: I’m not over-stressing about how I can’t meet the fans face to face right now. I just want to see them when it’s safe to meet. I think now, I can wait until then.

As your song says, “Life Goes On.” You decided to keep going on with your life. V: We have to move on. We can’t feel defeated forever. I felt a lot better after making some songs.

Other than working on “Dynamite,” you’ve spent very little time away from home. How do you pass the time when you’re by yourself? V: I really like just spacing out, so I’ll sit in my room doing nothing for hours. I could try putting on a movie, but then I couldn’t concentrate and would just zone out. When that happens, it’s kind of like I’m living without a thought or care in the world. Maybe I should make a song about all of this someday. Probably call it “Spaced.” (laughs) Anyway, these days I’m looking for ways to keep myself happy.

Have you found anything? V: Well, I’m listening to LPs lately. It’s getting to be Christmas season and I love snow, so I bought two or three Christmas LPs to listen to. I’m also listening to old jazz songs by Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. Frank Sinatra is cool, like chilled wine; Sammy Davis Jr. is crazy talented. (laughs).

So that’s the type of performer you find cool. V: Those two were also a big inspiration to me while we were working on “Dynamite.” Sinatra has all this jazzy body language, but he also threw some disco in there. And I imagined how Sammy Davis Jr. might dance if there were a mic on stage and he had to dance around it. They were a lot of help when I was finding a way to be upbeat and cool at the same time in “Dynamite.”

I guess making “Dynamite” must have been some consolation even when you couldn’t meet fans due to COVID-19. V: We couldn’t put on a concert and couldn’t see ARMY, so we were feeling more and more drained. It seemed like an endless battle. We really wanted to see ARMY feeling better, so we had to get back up on stage and make another album so that together we could beat this thing. I want to be the friend who’s always cheering ARMY on, but there aren’t many ways to make them feel better.

How was the whole “Dynamite” experience? You made it to the top of the Billboard Hot 100 and also had a chance to perform in a variety of different styles. V: Shooting the Tiny Desk Concert was a very natural process, which was nice. But actually, with the situation being what it is, we couldn’t really feel much. The day the news came out was of course thrilling. It was great, actually, all of us calling each other and some of us laughing and others crying: “We haven’t gone down the wrong path after all! Turns out we had a chance—it really was possible!”

While you were performing in “Dynamite,” you were also the visual director for BE. I’m sure you were unimaginably busy taking photos, but were you able to communicate well with the other members? V: We communicated smoothly, and I listened to all of their concept ideas and I organized everything around that. If we tried something too natural, it wouldn’t be conceptual enough, so we did our best to strike a balance.

You had everyone sitting in the middle, with the set arranged symmetrically around you. V: That was made possible thanks to everyone having their own ideas. There was no overlap between items, which actually allowed us to create a sense of unity by placing all these different props symmetrically. It wasn’t intended to be symmetrical; each member really did choose something unique.

In your room, you included a violin and a photograph. V: That’s a picture I took. I like photos and drawings, but if I had used any art then I would’ve been using that one particular artist’s work, so I thought I’d better use one of my own photos. I ended up choosing the violin because I learned how to play it but also because I enjoy classical and jazz.

So how do you feel it turned out? V: I made it, so naturally I like it. (laughs) Part of me thinks I should’ve tried something more conceptual. BE was supposed to give off sort of a magazine or poster feel since we didn’t shoot many of those, but it ended up having more of a natural feel to it. But I did think that the next time we try to make a photoshoot conceptual we should move away from that natural look a bit. The group explained their ideas clearly and they were simple enough to do, so I think it all went really smoothly.

It sounds like there were no problems choosing the songs for BE. How did you feel recording your parts on the other members’ songs? V: I like “Dis-ease,” which Hobi wrote, but stylistically it was challenging. It’s really far from my own style so it took a long time to get used to. “Fly to My Room” used to be my favorite song, but it was also the hardest to sing. It was okay at first, until Jimin jumped in.

What about Jimin? V: Because I had to keep up with Jimin, the song went up maybe three keys. I thought I would die. (laughs) It started out as my favorite song, but it was just way too hard to sing.

But why did you have to sing that way? V: Jimin said he was sorry, that he couldn’t go any lower. (laughs) When I first heard the demo version, the key was perfect for me, so I thought it would sound great and I should definitely do it. But then Jimin said he wanted to do it too, so I said, “Great, let’s do it together.” Turns out we went up three keys. So I said, “Hey, what’s the deal? Should I just give up?” But, well, somehow it all worked out in the end. It was a happy ending. (laughs)

People might be able to hear that part better because it’s so much higher. (laughs) The tone of your combined voices and the way they contrast is really impressive. V: Yes, but all that aside, it was quite the struggle. (laughs) And the chorus is really long. I think it repeats, what, four times?

Yes, it feels like the chorus never ends. The production style is very unique. I like how the emotion is carried through the whole way. V: I agree, but it’s so long. The chorus turned out crazy, like I was kind of beating the melody into people’s ears. (laughs) The chorus is good, but the whole song’s melody is really catchy. Whenever I heard the beat, I was totally into it. The way the vocals pick up on the beat and the melody was so original and fun, I just had to do it.

What instructions did you give to the other members when they were singing on your song, “Blue & Grey”? V: I didn’t really have to give them instructions much. I told them it would be nice if they could think of all their problems and then try healing those wounds with their voices, since if they focus on those emotions, there’ll be more feeling in the song. They all did a good job expressing the emotions I wasn’t able to.

It seems like you intended “Blue & Grey” to be a melancholy song. I heard you had originally planned to put it on your mixtape. V: I wrote “Blue & Grey” when I was at my lowest point, when I was actually asking whether I could keep going with my work or not. Even the fun parts of work became a chore, and my whole life felt aimless. “Where do I go from here? I can’t even see the end of the tunnel.” Those kinds of thoughts hit me hard.

Was there a reason for that? V: It was when work was a major challenge. When I’m happy, I want to work, and when I’m happy I can put on a smile and see the fans, but there was just so much work to do. I’m an easygoing, you know, laid-back person, but I was stretched too thin and I was starting to sputter. What I mean is, I was having a really tough time, and thinking, “What’s waiting for me at the end? It’s important to be successful, but I’m also trying to be happy, so how come I’m not happy right now?” That’s when I started to write “Blue & Grey.”

So writing the song was sort of your way of bringing yourself some peace of mind. V: There was a time I was going through something like this. I was having the toughest time, but I couldn’t keep carrying that feeling around with me. Instead, I could use it as a kind of fertilizer. So I took care of that feeling by constantly writing it down in my notes. I just kept writing everything down, and when finally I felt like I wanted to try writing a song, I did. After the song was finished, I felt a sense of accomplishment, and that’s how I was able to let go of “Blue & Grey.” That was one way I wanted to try getting over my problem.

The songs you make or sing solo on all have similar images: night; loneliness; snow. V: I like nighttime and the late-night air, and when it snows, too. I liked those things since way back when, but lately I feel things like snow and the night air keep me alive. They may just be another part of normal life to other people, but to me, they represent very special moments.

That makes me think of the ending from “Blue & Grey”: “After secretly sending my words up into the air / Now I fall asleep at dawn.” V: I don’t really sleep well. I toss and turn and get caught up in a lot of thoughts. Even when I turn out all the lights, I can see everything clearly. I close my eyes, but all my thoughts spread wide open. Then I’m sleepy at work, and staring off into space when I’m alone, with bags under my eyes, but if I want to avoid that then I really have to sleep. Except, with the way I am, it doesn’t allow for it. I wrote about that in the first and second verses; a feeling like, “When I’m stuck thinking like this, everything is grey, and I’m all blue.” I wrote these feelings out as a song, and now that I’m thinking about it again, I’m actually over it. I feel a lot lighter. I sent my words out into the air, and now I fall asleep at dawn. You’re supposed to sleep at night, but I’m sleeping in the morning again. So I say “good night,” but it’s not actually a good night. “I pass out because I’m exhausted” kind of thing. It’s the emotions I felt in those moments that I wanted to express.

What do you hope hearing about that feeling will do for listeners? V: Rather than just some stranger telling them to cheer up, I think it’s better to say something like, “You seem depressed lately,” or, “Seems like these days it’s tough for you to perk up.” “Blue & Grey” is the same: “You’re depressed lately? Me too. We’re in the same boat. Wanna talk about how you’re feeling? You wanna feel better, right? I know, but sometimes it feels like you’re being washed away by a whirlpool of stress.” I want the listeners to hear me saying that to them.

It’s important to express your emotions right away when they’re so overwhelming. V: Yes. I usually write a lot of songs when I’m feeling emotional, but these days I have so many different things to do that I can’t really write anything. I tried to write something before when I had a little time, but nothing came out because the feelings I had were already gone. So I tell myself, “You gotta write a lot when you’ve got the feels!” (laughs) And then I open my notes app and come back to old notes, like, “Ah, so that’s how I was feeling back then? I see. Well, that’s how I used to be, I guess.” So I tried to write “Blue & Grey” quickly, as soon as a big feeling came on.

Then it’s important to revisit those feelings when you’re producing a song or choosing which songs to release? V: If you can’t bring the feeling back, you can’t make the song, either. I release a song if I feel it expresses who I was and how I felt at the time when I wrote it. Even if we record it perfectly, if the result sounds artificial, I would rather release another, more honest sounding song instead, even if it’s not perfect.

Are those the kinds of songs you selected for your mixtape? V: Um … I don’t know. This is my first mixtape, you know, so I feel a ton of pressure about it. I’m thinking all the time about what kind of album I should make so that I can feel satisfied with it. The title track is the title track, but everyone also says to just leave it as it is, but I keep getting the urge to keep putting in more and more.

You usually write and choose songs based on your emotions. Maybe the pressure to make your first mixtape comes from you having a hard time with that. V: I think it still has a long way to go. Maybe it’s because it’s my first mixtape, but it’s so hard. And I feel like it’s a little lazy. People tell me just to put it out and see how it does, but I’d rather know what needs to be fixed before I release it. I also don’t want the title track to be depressing. I want it to be positive and help people beat those depressed feelings. But it’s not easy.

That sounds a lot like what the members conveyed with “Life Goes On.” V: I think we showed the current situation in a very straightforward and honest way. We’re still going, going, going. And the going is tough. But it doesn’t end here. I wish we were back with ARMY, laughing together. I hope we’ll all be happy in the future and keep on doing our own best, cherishing our hope for our happy future.

© source

#bangtan #v #m:weverse magazine #o:interview #201125

[marta-bee]

More Mary Thoughts

@wizardlysherlok replied to this post on AGRA/Agra parallels in Doyle-cannon and BBC-canon:

it feels like if AGRA was empty of full, it wouldn’t be right for john neither way: if it was full, it would the the great betrayal and also the “she wasn’t supposed to be like that”, the wife who lied immensely to her husband and(for god sakes) shot his bf. If it was empty it wouldn’t work either because it was boring and the same life john was trying to scape because it was making him unhappy...conclusion : Mary does not work for john in every way 

Ooh, a chance to talk about Mary generally! I’ve apparently got just enough codeine still in my system, and it’s close enough to the witching hour, that this seems like a fun topic rather than the don’t-poke-the-bear dread that usually falls on me when I speak her name in this fandom. Here’s hoping I don’t regret this come tomorrow.

Even in Doyle canon, I never particularly liked Mary’s story, which is meant as a judgment on Doyle and not some fictional woman. She’s clearly introduced because Watson --being a romantic-- needs a romantic partner, and for a whole host of historical reasons Doyle felt like it needed to be a woman. Any woman would do, apparently. And even without getting into issues of whether this is akin to queerbaiting, it also just makes for a very boring character IMO. Mary is the equivalent of a Bond girl : more saintly than sex-appeal, perhaps, but who only really exists as an object the male characters get to react against. There’s precious little of Mary specifically that makes any difference to SIGN.

I do like some of the grace notes Doyle gives her in later stories. I think there’s a reference in one of the stories that she had a reputation for being both kind and clever and women from her neighborhood came to her to help them solve their little problems, a sort of more everyday vision of Sherlock Holmes. But at least in SIGN she’s a walking trope and frustratingly little more. 

I think the Granada series was wise to leave her out almost entirely. (She only appears in the movie version of SIGN, and there is only a client.) She just would have been a distraction to the story they were trying to tell. In the RDJ/Jude Law movies she’s actually brilliantly done, somehow challenging and supporting their relationship at the same time. She’s also witty and daring and would not seem at all out of place in a Jane Austen novel with all that witty back-and-foth, and all three of them have this great chemistry. If ever there was an adaptation that screamed both Johnlock and Johnlockary (and of course Warstan), it’s this one.

Goodness, we need more fanfic about Kelly Reilly’s Mary. I need to write her again. She’s brilliant.

Which brings us to the BBC. I’m going to be very brave and say my biggest problem with her isn’t that she wedged herself into John’s and Sherlock’s relationship and somehow came away with the right to dictate its terms, even posthumously. It’s not even that she lied to her husband and manipulated him, endangering him and their child in the process; or that she shot Sherlock, or was an assassin who apparently went mercenary. All of that could be really interesting if done well! And really, I can think of storylines that would actually justify quite a lot of that. Even shooting, even killing Sherlock, even not being apologetic about it after the fact- I could write a story where that character made sense as a romantic opposite to John. I actually got about 10,000 words into one attempt, though I never finished or published it because the fandom was pretty toxic to anyone interested in a more shades-of-grey ersion of Mary at the time.

No, what really drives me up the wall with BBC’s version of Mary is they don’t really settle on any one version of her. Actually in each of the five episodes she appears in, there’s this radically different version of who she are and what motivates her: supportive friend; bride; sociopath assassin; government agent; martyr. The most sympathetic take on that I can give is that Sherlock himself is trying to figure her out and can’t make sense of her so keeps trying one mold after another. But whatever the intent, the effect is that Mary’s just ridiculously muddled for me, and I never really connected to her because I didn’t understand her. I’m not sure the show-runners did either. Seeing what Moffat in particular did with women characters in Doctor Who makes me think he genuinely struggles to find them interesting if they aren’t really... extra, for lack of a better word. John and Sherlock, being men, had their BAMF moments but also a psychology that actually made sense along somewhat normal terms; Mary had to be a super-sekrit assassin, and a rogue that was targeted by a media mogul, and the hero who saved Holmes and then did it again from beyond the grave. All of which would have been fine if it actually came from a coherent characterization. But BBC’s Mary was all BAMF and stunning reveals and little to no coherence that made that make sense, so her character never really developed any kind of a reality for me. My brain couldn’t make sense of her, so my heart never latched on either. In the end I was just left confused and frustrated

Even all these years later! I still don’t know what to make of her, and that’s just bad writing. I would love to have a Mary who lied from start to finish with John “Trust Issues” Watson, or who shot Sherlock to the chest where it somehow made sense. That could be fascinating. It’s not what we got, though; at least it’s not what I was able to get out of the show.

Here’s another thing that would be fascinating, and I’d really love to see in some adaptation; even this one, though I don’t think we’ll get it. Mary Morstan in 1895 makes some sort of sense even with a suspiciously close friendship between Holmes and Watson, because male friendships operated in a very different realm than heterosexual marriages did. There were different kinds of intimacies in that time, I think. But when you bring the characters into the modern world, it eems like a super-close friendship like Holmes and Watson seem to have, one that seem to emotionally resemble marriage even if there’s no physical/sexual component, would be a challenge to what any self-respecting modern woman would tolerate from her husband. I don’t mean because it makes John gay, and of course married people can have friends, but there’s something about John and Sherlock that in the modern world strays damned close to emotional infidelity. 

I mean, how can you have that without either weakening the relationship between John and Sherlock, or making Mary cuckolded in some sense? Now throw into the mix in this particular adaptation, even before Mary, John and Sherlock had a ... unique relationship. John would date and have sex (or not), Sherlock would be stuck in seemingly perpetual celibacy, but if Sherlock dared to date (and I think this would be true for a man as well as a woman) John goes into a disbelieving jealous rage. This strikes me as not normal male friendship, though it’s not romantic or sexual either. It’s queerplatonic af on Sherlock’s side, increasingly stretching the bounds of what can be called “platonic”, and for John, it’s kind of a monodirectional monogamy in at least an emotional sense. I mean, the man went and got married, but we all saw his reaction when Sherlock dared to (seemingly) date someone else.

Now throw a modern woman into that mix, trying to marry and start a family with one half of a duo in that truly fucked-up dynamic. Imagine what it would be like for her to exist in that world. You can imagine polyamory of some variety, or jealousy, or a very altered view from what the mainstream imagnes are the expectations of married life, or whatever spin you like to put on it. 

I guarantee you -- if done well -- it would be fascinating. And I’d very much like to see it. Or read it, or something. If you want to make that woman as much of a danger junkie as John, as much of a skilled, professional killer, wehther on the government’s payroll or a disillusioned former agent who refused to follow orders and was forced to “branch out” or even just a true psychopath who was utterly self-motivated and ruthless but still wanted to protect John or at least what John represented to her? 

Well, that could be fascinating, too. Even more so. There’s just one catch: you’ve got to actually tell the story. They never seemed to get around to that, and I think I’m still more than a bit bitter.

..... And apparently I’m rambling. Thanks for allowing me to talk about her a bit. I’ll shut up now. :-)

#sherlock holmes #mary morstan #marta blathers

[rlkalahari17]

Spring

Psycho Pass Fanfiction

Pairing : Kougami Shinya/ Tsunemori Akane

Rating : T

The narrative took place in post canon world of Psycho Pass, while the story took place in post canon plot of Psycho Pass First Inspector, please enjoy if you have time to read.

Chapter 1: Stay

Spring, as far as I could remember, the season itself became an important time for my mother; every single of her story begins on the fateful rainy day she met him, my father. Times pasts along with a row of mountainous challenges, she told me, every time by his side, she had never known fear, she only knows the perfect place to restore her puzzles, and his scent was a perfect balance and her calming treatment.

But it was also Spring, when my mother told me, that it was the time his letter reached her, and he was gone, she’s sure she’ll never see or nuzzle in his aroma again as her cases continues on and on like an endless walk of race. The Long Walk, at that she understands why that book became his favorite, no his life. She walked on the same path, before she knew it, and many people saw her eyes full of nothing but determination, something that my uncle noticed there was another mix there. But she knew her feelings very well, than others, she isn’t mourning, instead she’s becoming what her admired man always told, a strong and mesmerizing detective.

Then another Spring came, as she fled to an unknown part of the world, her words were shaky as she draws the story with her narration, the outside world is in pain, and she couldn’t bear to watch, telling me she’s a monster who’s not frustrated at the limb of a killed mother in her windows with her dying child in her hands. And those who barely eats, and corpses at the side of the street like it was common trashes which spreads everywhere, she couldn’t make out any faces of happiness, like she always curved every time her meals served in her favorite café. I gave my mouth to tell her, but then she started earlier, as she said that her admired man had never said she was a monster, instead she always has a determination to help, but it wasn’t mean as a hero, she did it in her own way, and that man was also attracted to that. He’s convinced even more, when more double strikes on him, as well as her courage to go against everything that doesn’t go according to the law, and she believed in it, it’s not idealistic, but it’s a faith.

Endless of Spring Rain, and her knees fell to the ground, she didn’t feel anything at all, at that time she had come to an understanding, she didn’t regret what she had done, and her hands holding to her chest, as she filled every inch of her heart, stronger than any feels she had ever experienced in her whole life. At that time, she finally found something, precious even more than her life, as she believes she could save so many people, she could save her friends, she could save her family, and she could save him. What she found was a track of the true society’s crime, and it lies beneath the ground, a place which become a giant cerebral network, and which the one itself that the society relies the law on, the System. And on that same beautiful day, she was untitled, as if she was just another folder of files long forgotten but kept in secret inside of a bunker, to shut itself, before being read by others, bars which kept her inside and far, but close on each of their eyes. She told me, only one thing that they didn’t know, that he believes in her, as he ran outside, in exchange of her place to resolve everything, until one day she could be proud sentencing it one day on her own feet.

When Sakura fell alone in another year of blooming Spring, she didn’t know what had urged her to take her steps quicker than usual, she wasn’t running, but it’s like a tap rhythm, quick enough, as if it was a gravitational pull, it’s not like she’s very relieved she was dismissed from her prison, instead she thought of facing them, but her sincerity to serve the law to people, and demonstrates justice is still strong. The doors felt like opening in a very slow pace, as if her birthday present wrapped in ribbon, at that time she had just remembered that was her birthday, she became grey as she thought it’ll be a lonely party, until she took a step outside, and gaze her head up, that was another feeling she had never expected to ever come in her life, telling me that she could cry any moment that day, but standing there, with his whole frame, his close presence, and she believed in her words once more when she had her last time call, he’s a very ordinary person, and all ever she could think when she saw him again. It is pulling her, but all she ever wanted to express whenever she saw him near, it was, “Welcome Home”.

That day was indeed April 1st and still having to confirm it, she thought he was a holo, as if he was a Fool’s Prank. He chuckled, and she was really annoyed with that, telling me, he’s the worst person to ever read her like a book. Never been telling me, but they did visit a nice small shop, at the boundaries of the city, she remembers her favorite aroma, telling me that she still orders or visits there often, a cheap restaurant, with varieties of Beef Meals, they weren’t fancy like any other restaurants, but the man did think the best place to serve her bored prison tongue. Telling her favorite toppings of each stray of the noodle, the warm and spicy miso had a nice curry taste on it, the best ramen she had ever devoured, telling me taking three bowls until it made the man felt broke. I gave her my laughter, she smiled, as she recalled his appetite was gone so he could only order one snap of big beef burger and request on eggs topping because he had his salary just yet that month.

Her gaze falling outside as she sipped her blend of fresh tropical, it’s like she follows the falling spring cherry blossoms. She sat at the table, as he organized the bill, paying on every single of their bites with his dimes. She said his words slipped when he suddenly put a paper on their table, those were another case’s files which were analyzed by the SAD at that time, even he told her in a cold tone as he sipped his own coke with an expressionless gaze, but his relaxed sharp features told her that he’s taking his time and having no worries on anything. Letting her know that these cases might be useful for her to warm up her detective instincts, of course she wouldn’t decline, and it’s her job. All the past cases, the Bifrost, Foxes, and Congressmen, it was all written there, she had known and take it easy to play the latter’s game. He laughed at all the unbelievable guesses she quickly gave, they didn’t really point directly to the culprits, just the greatest motives of each cases. It was all flowing easily, until she fell on the last piece of paper.

It’s written just today, the first fall of cherry blossoms in spring, it’s a free form of Enforcer’s living pavement, and she almost forgot to write down her confirmations once she received the file in her computer and printed it in her correction cell. Telling me that auntie is going to nag like rapping music in her head, and it did happen, but it was because of a different thing. The reason is when a slipping of a special instruction given to her, when the latter slipped it to her, another piece of important paper. To be honest, she’s actually confused why did she had to write it on paper, while she could just sent it digitally, then that other paper became the answer.

It has a nice aroma of mint and cherry blossom, a cold spring she thought, by the mixing scent she opened the enveloped message, reading to her heart’s content once she hold it with her two palms. Her eyes were enough of all the explanation, that’s what my mom told me, she’s still holding it, she didn’t know how it felt, but indeed it was an injustice. She get all of these rights, ordered to be free, and live all her life she wanted, when other people didn’t, when the man in front of her didn’t. His gaze was darken of course, she wasn’t the only one who’s furious, but it wasn’t about his psycho pass or anything about his hidden statutory, but she was pressured by these people, that he had yet known for sure.

She held her hands down on her thighs; they played her at best, gripping her brown trousers, as if clawing it suppressing her anger. His gaze at her was enough to make my mother noticed, then she held her head high up, and sentenced these words to him, “I didn’t need special arrangement of rights, trying to swept me away in an easy going life, I’m just going to live a life of a responsible had always been, believe in the law.” After that, she told me, when she looked at him, his gaze was sharp, telling me as if she was trapped there, telling me his eyes are steady blue, sky is the reflection of his, and she had the feeling of uneasiness, but she didn’t want to escape, instead she wanted to face him in a way closer. Then he cracked his voice open, made her jump a little from the silent moment between them.

“Be proud of every choice you make, your path has always been right,” she told me, that was his warmest or the correct adjective is the most sincere curve on his face she had ever took attention to, it only curled up another inside of her, she eventually replied his with hers, or even her best one after so long. Those letter words were not farewell, but another welcome, and she will be very glad and obliged if he allowed her to say those words that day.

“Then take a look at this before I prepared the car, wait here, I’ll pick you up,” He stood as he went away taking steps further to the parking lot, she told me that the view really dirtied her mind a lot ever since she got to finally had time focusing in his build for every millisecond of time, I told her not to tell any further than that. But then one thing she ever liked from his features were his eyes, they were most honest and easily to be read, and he had yet to realize that. Because she read them, as he walked away as well, something about him was being unsteady or alerted, something obviously annoyed him at the time. Knowing this my mom told me that she opened the file he gave to her and opened each pages of it, as she rested her chin on her palms. Confused and thinking if this’ll be a great mission she’ll face in the future as an enforcer, but with this collaboration.

She was surprised by the sound of a wheel screeching on the street, the black metallic plates reflected the sun lights, giving her a blind spot, as he opened a door for her, and she stood, walking pasts some dinner tables and accepting his help to take her seat in the car. He closed the door, telling me if he’s surprisingly a gentleman that day, but she shrugs it off as if it was a normal routine he had done, it’s his nature, when I obviously doubted it, it was a very sincere feeling instead. The road was a difficult silent, as she took a long time to think, she had scanned the whole documents as if getting big pieces, which leads to a very dangerous end of destination. Anything about it was enough, but she knows for sure, it was the chasing down of Peacebreaker, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs SAD was proposing a collaboration of Investigation Works with Ministry of Welfare and Health PSB, and hardly to believe the one who approves the proposal in the name of PSB was Homura Shizuka, the person who she had known to work with once she was in prison, a dangerous man she had talk to once, and she didn’t want to tell anything to the latter who sat on his driving seat at the time.

“This is going to be my first long case once becoming an enforcer.” She throws it as a joke, even though the latter didn’t glance at all, as he stiffens his shoulders at the time, she described that, his fingers kind of wrinkled on the steering wheel, this made him itching, and she knew what was that, as she gazes back to the city and the concrete streets, and keeping her curving amused smile on her face.

“You can smoke, it’s okay, I’d love to scent it after a long time,” He couldn’t help but gave a defeated sigh, as a pull of his side lips went up, as he stroked his jacket’s pouch and he grabbed his favorite brand, as well my mom’s taking a happy scent to, the Spinel gave a warm nostalgic feeling, she relaxed on her seat, another part of him that finally came in complete whenever he’s close to her.

“You took a breath on it a lot, just trying not to give you any further damage of health,” being considerate had always been the latter’s character, she’s obviously embarrassed at the thought he had known her bad habits, but she kept a defeated face, because just like him, she couldn’t help but to grab a stick out of it.  She mutters her gratitude, enough to make him not to worry, it was burnt for a long time, and both of them didn’t mutter any single words, as anything of the silence was enough of a comfort to save how lost they were. She’s enjoying each second, but it wasn’t wasted, it’s a gift, memorizing each of what they do that day, but another itching curiousity crept her in as she still stared down at the piled up important future matters paper on her lap.

“Have you thought another troublesome problem than that?” his questions cracked the silence, her gaze stared at him blankly, winking of one and two, as if a questioned look and confusion, but she did feel that she had just forgotten something, she told me that she squealed almost giving a hilarious little jump of the man once she remembered her forgotten task, the new living quarter’s location and personal home territorial data. She then started to look around for the paper everywhere, but then she was a little panicked in her voice and still keeping her straight serious gaze, then she made lots of noises and muttering “Where is it?”, when she finally said those words, he suddenly gave her the paper in front of her face, he put down his hands as he switched the wheel into auto-drive, at that time she had just skipped a heartbeat and telling me the worst she had ever felt in her whole life.

“Have you decided where to stay?” That was what he asked, a question she’ll never forgotten in her whole entire life until now. She then gave herself a gaze back down, as if she tried to imagine the dorms of enforcer there, and starts to think she would like to stay in the latter’s former quarter, and having a nice memory of their early days there.

“I don’t know but I think I’m going to stay at yo—“

“Stay in my flat, I have spare of futon and blankets,” it was a silent or a shocking one, none of them were barely moving or even breathing any words. It was all kept inside, and my mom could only look at him in all confusion, frustration, questions but most of all uneasiness. And she couldn’t help but opened her words.

“How am I doing that?” he’s giving a hard look when he gazes down, and his gaze is low but still sharp, realizing she chose the wrong choice of words, as if questioning his boundaries on her, she never meant that, hoping he didn’t get it wrong, she’s just very confused, until he broke and intrude her thoughts.

“Didn’t you read? It was written there, in this corporation, any enforcers could be supervises and ordered by both Investigation Department of each Ministries, cooperating hand in hand to keep each other from any equivalent of fatal dangers, enforcers may work or stayed on different ministries for more effective accesses in future investigations, some enforcers might be moved or kept in some positions of each ministries according to what had the superiors and supervisors of ministries’ decisions, this regulation system was applied as long as the case of Peacebreaker’s Remnants are investigated.”

My mom stared at him, her face is still straight but her brown orbs were glimmering and shaky, her face is still straight and unwavering, but these words were enough to shock her, as she knew the boundaries of enforcers very well, it was like the feeling when suddenly you received an expand of rights, even though the society had cast you out. But of course those reasons were only to distract her, when the right stung in her heart was his undirected words at her. And yet she had the urge of wanting to hear it more from him.

“I’m your superior, and I ask you to stay with me, you know now, I’m the one who’s equal to an inspector status here.” He gazed at her, another sincere smile on his face, she didn’t tell me about her reaction, but I believe it was a complicated mixture of expressions she made, but one thing for sure, I can see that she couldn’t help but to smile every content of her heart and returning it.

And that day, in the most unbelievable Spring and Birthday in her whole life, my mother finally reunites and since then she continues their unfinished chapter together, and she was even more happy to finally utter these words in her chest, “You’ll never walk alone,” to my father.

A/N : It’s my first time writing, and I hope I got lots of advice from fellow readers, thank you so much for reading this in your spare time, I’m so excited :), and I’m working on the last chapter of this fic, so there are 6 chapters that will be updated soon, thank you for reading this in your spare time!

#shinkane #kougami shinya #akane tsunemori #kouaka #psycho pass #fanfiction #akane x kougami #psycho pass 3 #pairing #otp #my otp for life

[tinytourist]

Nostalgic Christchurch

I had a training session in Christchurch last week for work and I convinced my flatmate, Alecia, to come along and make a trip of it. After nearly missing our flight, we arrived in ChCh on Wednesday night. Evan and Al (Alvan) met us for a sushi dinner and we closed down the restaurant while catching up and planning our weekend.

On Thursday I went into the office for the training session as Alecia bounced around various coffee shops and cafés doing her work. Alvan invited us to theirs for dinner where we were greeted by the scent of hearty spiced dal and homemade Roti. It was a restaurant quality meal, but fresher. I was jealous that Evan gets to come home to meals like this all the time!

After dinner, we rushed to the climbing gym. I was excited and intrigued by the wide variety of holds available for all levels. Each of us was working on our own problem for a while, attempting different methods until one by one, we conquered our challenges. It was a significantly fulfilling climbing session for me.

We dropped Alvan back off at their house and went to Countdown for some goodies. When we got back, we interrupted their flat meeting. At least we came equipped with wine. We drank that wine late into the night as we told stories, laughed, and had heart-to-hearts while sitting in the van in their driveway.

On Friday, Alecia and I took off from work to explore. We met up with my friend Jess from work and her family at C4 Coffee for some brekkie before making our way towards the Banks Peninsula. En route, we stopped at Birdlings Flat which is a grey pebble beach with rough, pastel turquoise waves.

The destination was Ngaio Point Track, an hour long coastal walk through bush reserves and two small beaches. One of the beaches was completely covered in red seaweed and smelled distinctly like oysters. We enjoyed expansive views of the Akaroa Harbour before saying goodbye to Jess and her family.

Alecia and I went on to explore the town of Akaroa. We walked along the waterfront, stopped at the lighthouse, and had a small lunch at a cute little French café called “Sweet AS”. So Kiwi! Then, we went to the Giant’s House which is a mosaic sculpture garden. Unfortunately, the last entry is at 3:45 PM - even on Fridays!! We were ten minutes too late, but we both vowed to come back to Akaroa to see it again.

We might’ve missed out on the art, but we certainly did not miss out on all of the culture. We made it to Barry’s Bay Cheese factory to try and buy a few cheeses and French Peak Wines for a tasting and vineyard view. There, we learned about the history of the French settlers in Akaroa. The French influence is still evident. Alecia and I went back to Christchurch where we relaxed before having a solid meal at Thai Chef.

On Saturday morning, we met up with Alvan in Lyttelton to explore the farmers market and grab brunch at the Shroom Room café. Lyttelton is a quaint port town surrounded by house-lined hills. After we ate, we went to Ben’s house for a few drinks before heading to Ferrymead Historic Park for Nostalgia Festival. It was a happy coincidence that we happened to be in Christchurch the same weekend as this music festival headlined by Kiwi artists. We were even able to buy tickets just a few nights in advance!

The concert grounds were lined with local clothing vendors and a wide variety of food and drink booths. We had a great time dancing to the different artists. LEISURE was the highlight for most of us. The irony of being able to experience this while most of the world is in some level of lockdown was not lost on me. 

After the show, we went back to Alvan’s friends’ house where Sophia taught us how to play the game Casserole. It involves each person writing down three things on three separate pieces of papers: a person, an action, and an object. There are three rounds: taboo, charades, and single word. You break into groups and the goal is to guess as many words as possible within 30 seconds. Each round ends when all the papers in the bowl have been guessed. We had a blast acting and guessing and racking our brains. 

On Sunday morning, Alecia and I went for a walk in Hagley Park, grabbed brunch at Unknown Chapter, and headed back to the park for some free music. Next, we walked to the modern art museum and saw a lot of interesting installations that made us think. We passed by the earthquake memorial on our way to the car and got to the airport just before our plane boarded.

#new zealand #christchurch #akaroa #nostalgia festival

[red-dia]

Dude BRUH the way you do contrast with color is inspiring. Like bruh, my colors tend to limited in terms of value. If you don’t mind me asking what tips do you have of doing that? *•*

Tbh………………colouring someone else’s artwork feels really different than doing your own art imo so I rarely overthink things enough to draw solid conclusions for that kind of stuff, if that makes sense? But if you feel like your colours end up being very limited, i would recommend that you experiment with three things;

- The saturation in general; if you only use “dull” colours, sure, you can get a good result but there’s a risk everything you draw ends up giving the same exact vibe. Really vivid colours can give great results too, but they can cause eye strain if you overuse them. Drawing with both in the same piece can be a bit challenging but I think you should give it a try; i personally think it’s a good exercice to figure out how you can balance colours, and even if you don’t like the result you’ll probably find a few things to add to your own artstyle! Or maybe try to do these challenges with palettes, they can be helpful to learn how to mix any colours together.

- The shading and lighting : Same as before, basically. Something kind of tricky about art is that if you draw a lot without thinking too much, you end up drawing things “by “efault” (yeah this is definitely about setting your light source as a random point with no depth in the upper left corner of your drawing. that’s how it is sometimes)

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing if you don’t give much thought about the way you place your light source, but if you’re aiming for more diverse artworks, you should experiment with them as much as possible, because it does make a difference.

(also, this is a classicTM, but using references does help! especially when you aren’t really inspired or you aren’t sure of how something works) 

When if comes to the colours you use for shading…. Examine them, and ask yourself if you could have picked any other colour. If the answer is no, I’d still say “maybe”; try with some other colour, maybe add a gradient with a different hue in the shading, whatever; it all depends on your artstyle, but sometimes throwing realism out of the window and messing with colours that should NOT be here can feel more satisfying than sticking with something “clean”, which can end up looking boring.

Even so, take some time to consider how even in natural settings, objects tend to absorb some types of lights, or reflect other colours, etc etc. For example, this is a picture taken on a very sunny day : you can see how the clock ends up looking blue instead of white because it absorbs blue from the water/sky, or how the sunny parts are nothing but warm colours, and the shadows are NOT some darkened shade of the colour, but a totally different hue in blueish tones. This is the kind of variety you’re definitely looking for when you want to highlight something in your art.

[for ref, the layer with the pic is at 80% of opacity to make my additions less hard to read, so the colours are a bit more saturated in the real pic]

And tbh, it doesn’t even have to be just with colours! To practice, maybe try to “colour” something with nothing but black, white and different shades of grey. It’s not easy if you’ve never done it before, but since it’s pretty challenging you’ll probably feel more at ease when you’ll deal with actual colours.

- If you line your art, maybe try to mess with that as well! I’m talking colours, but also opacity, thickness, etc. Making your lineart white in the darker parts of your drawing, or thinner where there are lightings, or adding some texture to it may give a different feel to your artwork. 

And that’s all I have to say on the matter. I’m not a pro but you can definitely gain a lot from experimenting with things out of your zone of comfort - Even if you think it looks bad at first or it feels uncomfortable, that’s.. normal, if you’re dealing with things you don’t really understand yet. 

Also I recommend you to check out this tutorial on twitter, it’s more visual than what I said and op’s art is gorgeous, you can probably learn a lot from it!

#im adding a read more bcs the pics kinda take space #as someone who hasnt completed a single drawing in months i feel like a fraud but oh well............. #i'm sorry if this is kind of generic though. I skimmed thru your blog to see if you had any recent art so my advices would be more constru- #ctive but i couldnt identify any so i did my best #other #asks #not hnk related

[jenner-benjamin]

Seen as Read

Parietal Poem written with acrylic paint on Moleskine sketchbook paper.

Seen as Read was a seven week online course hosted by SJ Fowler and offered the chance to explore a variety of visual poetry processes. Each week we were sent a presentation of source material, ideas and inspiration for the week ahead. We would then use this as a basis for investigation and offer our thoughts, outcomes and works in progress on a blog forum for everyone to share and comment on. 

The course introduced us to the study of visual poetry which I found extremely enlightening. There were aspects of the history of aesthetic linguistics that I had not considered until starting this course. On offering a definition of poetry Fowler explained that it was ‘language referent which doesn’t posit communication or information as its primary purpose’ - therefore a haiku and a scrawled note on the back of a receipt are both forms of poetry.

In the first week we were taught about the difference between phonograms and logograms; phonograms use individual written characters to represent sounds, whereas logograms are written characters that represent whole words. Examples of logograms would include; ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphics and Mayan scripts. I found the historical detail of this week to be very beneficial. I was not naive to how widespread visual poetry is around the globe, but had not considered how far back in time one could come across it. We were introduced to a plethora of artists and reference points that included the likes of Henri Michaux, Cy Twombly, The Voynich Manuscript and the Rosetta Stone (as well as some more obscure points of interest).

As an ode to the parietal poetry on cave walls, the first activity I indulged in was making my own poems with my finger tips. I explained how there was an acute closeness to the material when applying it directly with your fingers. This way of working mirrored the close-to-hand ethos that I explored during the three month lockdown earlier in the year.

Parietal Poem written with an ink stamp pad on Moleskine sketchbook paper.

After this exercise I chose to make my own sequence of logograms, taking inspiration from things found in my bedroom. I wrote these on exercise book paper and began practicing my invented glyphs. The rhythmic repitition of scrawling the glyphs over and over reminded me of my childhood when I was learning to write the alphabet on lined paper. The reiteration of writing the same character allows for delicate differences inferred by it being handwritten that the eye becomes drawn to. I intended to compose these glyphs in to poetry during the week but for now I quite enjoy them as they are.

An example of a repeated logogram on exercise book paper.

An example of a repeated logogram on exercise book paper.

An example of a repeated logogram on exercise book paper.

The second week was beneficial in encouraging me ask questions about the nature of writing. I do often fear that the work I make runs the risk of becoming relentless and contrived so this was particularly useful.

We were asked to ponder what is the visual character of writing? What is writing without semantic meaning? What is the capacity for an imagined language to mean beyond the representational or referential? This served as an excellent starting point for the week ahead. With reference to what Fowler posited in the first week’s presentation I would reiterate that writing without semantic meaning is pure poetry - it does not seek to communicate information as its primary purpose. I would also argue that an asemic written language can still ‘mean’ despite it being non representational or referential. The meaning might be entirely aesthetic, or it might be emotionally expressive, it might even exist as a means of translating a pre-existing language.

As a printmaker I have wrestled with where the process fits in the world of printmaking. Is asemic writing to be drawn or written only? Would repeating the writing through a print process detract from its agency as a handwritten process? I was stimulated by the prompt in the slides about formulating an alphabetical system that is pictorial or logogrammatic. Encouraged by this and my previous research into typography I decided to make my own asemic font. I felt the exercise would be a good way of marrying asemic writing with printmaking - my thinking being the font could be physically made and printed in a typesetter.

A translation of the first five letters in the first draft of my asemic typeface.

My starting point was going through my sketchbooks and portfolio to locate certain asemic characters that I had repeated over the months. It was this set of characters that I then digitised on my phone, attributing each character form to existing letters, numbers and punctuation marks.

Overall I found this exercise to be very successful as my first attempt at digitising my asemic language. Now that I have the app saved to my phone I can experiment with it further and design a cohesive body of abstract letterforms to print from when university reopens. I feel that this is the first step in potentially creating publications and artist books that find a common ground between asemic writing and printmaking.

‘Pangram’ - a sentence that uses every letter in the alphabet - first draft of my asemic typeface.

A selection of letters written in the second draft of my asemic typeface.

There is much scope for experimentation and a playfulness around the idea of the typeface being decoded. I could explore the dialogue between asemic writing being solely abstract and yet decipherable. I might be tempted to play on this in the same way Luigi Serafini did in his Codex Seraphinianus. With the existence of caesar cyphers and cypher wheels there is a wealth of opportunity for further consideration.

I came across weeks that I struggled with more so than others, in particular those based on art poetry and concrete poetry. I think that because the lines are so blurred between the subjects of each week I found that I was a little unsure as to how to approach them for fear of what I make not falling under the ‘correct’ umbrella. In hindsight I think the most fruitful approach would have been to read and research more and put less emphasis on creating, after all this was a learning experience and not a deadline for the next great work of art. 

I took a selection of lyrics from Enter Shikari’s most recent album ‘Nothing is True & Everything is Possible’ and made a series of monoprints on newsprint that I initially thought could be pasted on to a wall but in actual fact work quite well as a poem in book form. The lyrics work as individual loose leaves but when coupled with the repetition of the word ‘meanwhile’ they become quite powerful and moving. The poem reads as follows:

Meanwhile,

Masking weakness, masking woe.

We'll disobey our Frankenstein.

Meanwhile,

It's primal, it's tribal.

And I'll die.

Red sky at night, a shepherd's flashlight,

This isn't what I planned.

We orbit fast.

Meanwhile,

Search and seek,

I'm gonna track you down,

Search and seek,

A cosmic dance.

Now I see you,

I can't walk away.

Meanwhile,

I wish this was over, after dark.

Meanwhile,

Nothing is true,

You're not really here.

Meanwhile,

Give me a sign,

Why?

Meanwhile,

I no longer want to hide,

I am the judge,

I can hear alarm bells,

A crisis of creativity.

‘You’re not really here’ - monoprint on newsprint.

‘A crisis of creativity’ - monoprint on newsprint.

‘A cosmic dance’ - monoprint on newsprint.

‘We’ll disobey our Frankenstein’ - monoprint on newsprint.

Concrete poetry found me very much outside my comfort zone, my work tends to be more loose and free and I found myself thinking a bit more rigidly. I am used to working with a bit more expression and gesture, so this was quite the challenge. Nevertheless I made an attempt at some concrete poems of the many plants I have dotted around the place. These were made whilst isolating at home, I found that in times where I felt unsettled and uneasy it was good to have some positive growth in the form of plant-life keeping me company. These ideas are very basic and leave much room for improvement, should I wish to return to this method of working. 

‘Plant Pot’ - letraset on Moleskine sketchbook paper.

‘Cactus Pot’ - letraset on Moleskine sketchbook paper.

‘Ivy Ivy Ivy’ - letraset on Moleskine sketchbook paper.

‘Cactus’ - letraset on Moleskine sketchbook paper.

One of the later weeks of the course prompted the notion of scale. What would be the consequence of making poetry for a billboard wall? I have briefly discussed how my work tends to be quite intimate, typically taking the form of smaller tactile prints or books. The prospect of poster art seemed a bit daunting at first. What sentiment would the text offer when not only enlarged for all to see, but also in the public domain as opposed to the sometimes solitary book format?

I composed some poetry earlier on in the year as part of an artist residency at Bower Ashton Library that will be bound in to small poetry anthologies when the university studios re-open. For the purpose of this week’s prompts I made an installation in my bedroom studio, projecting these poems and corresponding drawings on to the walls at various angles. The results aren’t quite as I’d hoped or imagined but the chance to experiment with the concept was a welcome one, I am keen to return to this and develop it further. This week highlighted that there a multitude of ways we might interact with our audience and the value of looking at your work with fresh eyes. 

‘Your Mouth’ - poem projected onto an interior wall.

‘Black, White and Grey’ - poem projected onto an interior wall.

‘Two Men’ - poem projected onto an interior wall.

The final output I made during the course was an edition of artist’s books inspired by monostich poetry. I hadn’t heard of it before and wondered how I could make a book with just one line of text. I made monoprints of a line from the Spin Doctors' song, ‘Two Princes’ that reads, ‘if you would like to talk for hours, just go ahead now’. This varied edition of concertina books is a dialogue of sorts between the ‘two princes’, each side being a line spoken.

‘Two Princes’ - accordion folded artist’s book with monoprinted pages.

‘Two Princes’ - accordion folded artist’s book with monoprinted pages.

‘Two Princes’ - accordion folded artist’s book with monoprinted pages.

‘Two Princes’ - accordion folded artist’s book with monoprinted pages.

‘Two Princes’ - accordion folded artist’s book with monoprinted pages.

‘Two Princes’ - accordion folded artist’s book with monoprinted pages.

Participation on the Seen as Read course has been extremely beneficial. I have been tempted out of my creative comfort zone on more than one occasion, which is always a valuable tool as an artist. It teaches you to not rest on your laurels and even though you will most likely return to your favoured processes, you might bring with you a method of creating that you had not before. The most worthwhile aspect to take away is the contacts I have made. A handful of participants have agreed to continue our correspondence beyond the confines of the seven weeks and will proceed to critique and support each other on a similar online forum to that which we have used for Seen as Read. I hope that this is the beginning of an active role in joining in the global conversation regarding visual poetry.   

#practice #poetry #visual poetry #vispo #asemic art #asemic #asemia #asemic writing #concrete poetry #book art #abstract art #artistsbook #artists book #monoprint #printmaking #masters #mamdp

[subukunojess]

On The Edge of Living (Ch 1)

Archive of Our Own / DeviantArt / FanFiction

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical

Word Count: 5,511

Content Warnings/Awareness: Death, Blood, Possible Gore, Mentions of Abuse, Smoking, Suicidal Themes, Giant, Tiny, G/T, People, objects, and animals are getting eaten, Vore (don’t know whether to tag it as such), Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Found Family, Friendship, just everything is wild.

Pairings: Charles/Delia, Past Charles/Emily, hints of Beetlelands, hints of Lydia/OC

Summary: AU. Lydia Deetz knew her life would turn upside down when she moved to a supposed haunted house with her father and life coach. What she didn’t expect were two actual ghosts living in her attic or being cursed to be bound to a demon sealed in some ancient spell book.With a growing emotional demon by her side and the afterlife betting on their future, Lydia will travel from Hell and back to break the curse and find out where she belongs… if her new town doesn’t end up being rampaged first.

Here’s my entry for the Beetlejuice Big Bang!

This was a surprise project I decided to take on when I saw it on my dash and I wanted to challenge myself writing with word count in mind. I knew I wanted to write a Beetlejuice AU with a tiny Lydia and a giant Beetlejuice, so I worked from there. I also wanted to challenge myself by planning and organizing my story ahead rather than take it chapter by chapter. Although it’s been difficult, I managed to pass the required 10 K mark and plan out the gist of my story. As of now, I have the chapters figure out and I have at least 20 K, but at the moment I have three completed chapters. I hope to work on the fic during my free time. 

Thank you, @beetlejuicebigbang for giving me the opportunity to do this! Without further delay, here’s the first chapter of my fic:

Chapter 1: The Curse Begins

In life, people say that only death is certain. For the afterlife? Eternity, any suffering of some kind, and the places the dead end up. Depending on the soul and the circumstances of someone's death, a person could be sent to a variety of realms. There were different versions of Heaven, Hell, Limbo, and in some cases, a holiday world. This tale in particular resides in the living realm, Hell, and the Netherworld.

There were two major details that the living didn't know about the afterlife. The first one was that the Netherworld was like a creepy airport for the recently deceased, only that it was really a dark abyss that led to who knows where with no way of telling where anyone would end up.

The second thing? Demons are really huge compared to humans, dead or alive. In the living realm, they blended with humans physically to make situations easier. But in Hell? A demon's true height could range between seven feet to hundreds of feet tall. And Hell wasn't just a cavern of fire and brimstone either. It was the dark, grimy underworld of a city where slum lords lurked in the alleys and the air was polluted with a fiery, red haze. It was nine circles of everlasting torture ruled by cardinal sins and vices. And for a certain demon who spent most of her afterlife in the Netherworld, it was an empty and bleak waiting room in a large office building with the walls decaying and the air smelling of burnt socks.

Juno Shoggoth scowled as her heels clacked against the tiles of the hallway, walking to the waiting room while trying not to hunch over as usual. Once she had signed in with the receptionist, she took her seat and briefly pulled the cigarette out from her lips, letting the smoke ooze out from the slit on her neck.

"Why did he have to call a meeting now of all times?" Juno hissed, crossing her legs. "Doesn't he know my work schedule in general?"

As director of Netherworld Customs and Processing, it was her job to make sure that the transition from life to the afterlife went smoothly for the dead. Sure, the work was tedious and the woman would rather smoke for eternity than deal with tiny annoyances, but she was assigned to the position not by choice. She literally and figuratively grew from a civil servant spirit to a powerful demon overnight; one of her proudest achievements she had to admit.

Her biggest mistake was Lawrence.

Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth. Just thinking about his name made her blow another smoke ring and want a shot of alcohol. Like most other demons who were born dead rather than turned into one, Betelgeuse appeared after Juno had affairs with a demon and the demon left. She didn't like children to begin with, let alone raising something that acted like one. Regardless, she didn't have a choice either when a dead-born was involved. Dead-borns were powerful shifters with abilities no one dared imagine and capable of changing their size more smoothly than regular demons, hence the curses placed on them and the mandatory supervision. If every realm in existence turned upside down and the blame traced back to Juno, she would never hear the end of it.

"Lucifer is ready for you now, Miss Juno!" The receptionist's shrill, but deep shriek interrupted her train of thought.

"It's about damn time." Juno muttered under her breath as she threw her cigarette away and stood up. A red line of energy was drawn in front of the demon out of nowhere before splitting in two and opening as a doorway to Lucifer's office. She walked through the portal, the line disappearing as soon as she entered the room. Although she got used to the afterlife, Juno would admit that she didn't know whether it was a relief or unnerving that the room was a typical office one would expect a boss to reside in with a chair and desk, save for the hazy landscape of hell on the other side of the window in front of her. At this point, she didn't even bother wondering.

"Have a seat, Juno." A deep, gruff voice commanded from a leather swivel chair in a calm tone, causing a slight echo in the room. Juno sat on the wooden chair without fanfare, glaring at the window.

The ruler of Hell was arguably the most massive demon ever known, probably rivaled by Leviathan if they got into a mood. Big horns? Monstrous? Usually dwelled at the very bottom of Hell? Most of the rumors were true along with the fact that everybody knew not to mess with him unless they had a wish worse than death. Despite such knowledge, Lucifer appeared from the swivel chair on the other side of the desk, much smaller than normal and dressed for business. A simple black suit and dark red tie with golden cuff links. Dark grey medium length hair with large twisted horns of ivory adorned on top of it. Yellow eyes with pupils akin to a goat's narrowed as he fixed his collar and cleared his throat.

"I have a feeling you know the reason why I called you here." Lucifer stated, raising an eyebrow. Juno returned the action.

"You usually don't call me unless A) you’re redesigning the Netherworld in some way or B) Beetlejuice is involved. Something tells me it's the latter."

"Come on, Juno. Don't sound like I keep calling you because of that! You're a good worker. No nonsense. Telling it like it is while sorting out the souls. You're one of the few demons I could tolerate." When Juno didn't respond, the ruler of Hell continued.

"I just wanted to discuss what our plans are for Lawrence in the future, that's all." Lucifer shrugged. "Just to prevent repeated offenses from happening. Despite his... flaws, your son still has potential. Deceit. Torture. Power that some dead-borns don't have. I wanted him to become an official exorcist demon, but you insisted on having him as a Netherworld guide instead, even though he hasn't done it properly in centuries!" He brought a fist down onto the desk, the whole room seeming to tremble at the action.

"With all due respect, sir, we cannot give any more power and ego than the fool believes he has." Juno hissed as she pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. "If we do, both the Netherworld and Hell would be in shambles. And I believe you just want him to annoy one of your own headaches."

At that, both demons glared at each other and crossed their arms as they leaned forward. They stared at each other down for a while until Lucifer pulled back up with a sigh.

"... You're smarter than I thought." Ignoring the woman's tiny smirk of victory, Lucifer turned his back to her as he stared at the hazy city before him.

"You're not wrong. You got Lawrence and the Recently Deceased, I got the souls of the damned and the other cardinal leaders bothering me. Beelzebub especially. Always gloating that he's more powerful and mainstream than the rest. I figured that if he's with someone just as annoying as him, he'll settle down and we both get them out of our businesses for at least a decade or two. Maybe a century if we're lucky."

Juno scoffed. "That's going to be a problem since I banished mine to the world of the living."

"And how's that going for you?" Lucifer glanced back at the director, almost knowingly. "Knowing him, he'll find a way back to the dead. He always does."

“I can assure you that Lawrence is stuck at the surface with the living and suffering for it.”

Meanwhile in one of the several downtown areas of Hell, something was going down on one of the top floors of a ten-floor apartment.

In front of the building was a black Mercedes Benz with a fly painted on the hood, idle as the driver waited for someone. Inside the car, black sharp nails drummed against the wheel at a scattered and quick pace while the owner of said nails exhaled a buzzing breath.

“Why is he taking so long? There won't be much time left!” The driver growled in a high baritone voice that sounded as if it were melting like butter. His unruly, spiky orange hair seemed to hover over his pointed ears as his bright orange eyes narrowed at nothing specific on the street. He was tall, had dark tan skin, and a bit chubby around the edges with a pot belly held back by a sleeveless maroon shirt and ripped black jeans. The large fly wings on his back hummed against the seat, almost impatient. It was supposed to be a quick stop of supplies and nothing else. What was going on in there?

Just then, there were some muffled shouts until someone burst out through the front door lugging an overfilled burlap sack over their shoulder. The demon was a bit more than five and a half feet tall with golden eyes, pale skin, and wild green hair along with some yellow strands popping out. They wore a dusty dark grey coat over their black and white striped suit and green tie.

They then exclaimed in a masculine, gravelly voice as they scrambled into the front passenger seat, "Step on it, Bee!"

"It's about time!" The orange-haired demon groaned in relief as he slammed the accelerator and the car sped off, causing the other to almost fly out to the backseat, but he held on.

“What took you so long, Beetlejuice?! I’ve been waiting here for decades! Did ya get everything?” Bee inquired with a smile.

Beetlejuice chuckled and nudged an elbow to Bee, “It hasn’t been that long and you know it, Beelzebub. I should know; I’ve been waiting for centuries. And it isn’t my fault this time! A couple o' demons were late, some of the items were wrong, and I kinda-sorta pissed some of the demons off with a femur. Don't ask."

“Damn… my bad. We wouldn’t have taken this detour if dear old Satan and the rest of my ‘family’ didn’t seal some of my powers away! You take over a few séances and possess a large group of people for three weeks and suddenly, you’re the bad guy!” Bee snarled and shook his head before making a sharp left turn at an alley once he saw some shadows at his rear-view mirror.

“I know, right?” Beetlejuice scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sounds just like my mom. ‘Beebleboose, stop bothering the recently deceased and get a job!’”

Beelzebub laughed as he elbowed the dead-born demon, the yellow colors fading back to green. “See? We get each other, BJ! The only other demon who gets me would be my twin, but he’s more about locking his stash away and never using it. Not us. We gluttons know how to have a good time! Why don’t you move down here for the rest of eternity? We could be neighbors, roommates even!”

"As much as eternal suffering sounds awesome, it kinda loses its touch after a while, ya know?" Beetlejuice leaned back in his seat. "Doesn't it get boring torturing and killing souls over and over and they always come back? It's gettin' to a point where everyone expects it. I just wanna get out and have my kind of fun for a change! I wanna be with the living! I don’t want anyone or anything tying me down ever again."

"I hear ya, Ant-Wine. There's just something about the living that's so damn addicting. And I ain't just talking about tastes either! Why do you think I keep risking my existence for the biggest gluttons out there? And what's your job on the surface again? It sounds hilarious!"

"A bio-exorcist. Y'know how the living try to take out demons? I, a demon, take out the living for the dead." Beetlejuice jerked a thumb to his own chest with pride, then shrugged after thinking about it. “Granted, I can’t affect the living and I’m getting ghosts to make the living say my name, but it’s a good gig.”

“Well, ya don’t need to worry about that anymore once we get to the spot!” Bee assured him as he checked to see if anything else were following them, then sighing when they were in the clear. “I got some of my followers on the surface getting themselves into position. When we get there, I possess the leader, say your name three times, and we both get summoned into the land of the living. We scare and eat as much as we want, grow as we please, and we split the world and possibly the universe fifty-fifty!”

“Eighty-twenty.” Beetlejuice challenged.

“Seventy-thirty.”

“Sixty-forty, plus I get a Broadway musical and say-so on the merch!” The green-haired demon pointed finger guns at the other while winking.  

“Deal!” Both demons shook on it.

“Ay dios mio, is that what you were planning all this time?!” A tiny, muffled voice squeaked all of a sudden that almost made the two demons jump. Hearing the source near him, Beetlejuice blinked and glanced down at one of his shirt pockets. He reached to open it when a small head poked out of the pocket. A blueish-green head with long red hair that Beetlejuice recognized from anywhere.

"Teresa?! What are you doing here?" He exclaimed as he almost fell backwards in his seat. The woman in question stood up from her spot in the pocket and lifted her arm to point up at him.

"I could ask you the same thing, mi canalla! Here I am, riding and sliding in your pocket instead of taking my well-earned, once-in-a-death time break! Do you know how much paperwork I needed to file to get it approved?!" Teresa scolded while almost ripping strands of her own hair out, then sighed as she pinched her forehead and muttered in Spanish briefly. "I saw you leaving the Netherworld and I got worried, so I followed you and hid in here while you shifted."

At that, the dead-born demon scowled and crossed his arms. "There's nothin' ta worry about. I'm fine on my own!"

Beelzebub glanced from the wheel to see the tiny spirit and gave a slight smirk, reaching to poke her with his pointer finger. "Huh... So your guardian ghost is Miss Argentina?" At that, Teresa snapped her fingers and pushed the large appendage away.

"That's Miss Teresa Maria Argentina to you, buster! No touching!"  She craned her head up to the giant that carried her. “Who does this guy think he is, anyway?”

“This guy is the demon prince of Gluttony.”

Teresa scoffed, then did a double take and stared at Bee again. "Huh. Not what I expected for the king of all pigs."

"La adulación la llevará a todas partes, Señorita. And there's more to gluttony than just eating." The demon crooned, focusing back onto the street. “We’re in the age of excess, honey, and you’re a part of it whether you like it or not.”

“Oh no, I’m not going to be in your little scheme of yours! Which, by the way, will backfire!” Miss Argentina pointed out before crossing her arms in disapproval.

“You can come to the land of the living with us?” Beetlejuice offered with a grin. Before Teresa could reply, both she and the dead-born jolted forward when Beelzebub suddenly on the brakes. The three looked out the window to see an entire row of demons barricading the street. Some demons had motorcycles and their own cars while others stood with their hulking bodies alone. All of them came in different shapes and sizes. A particular demon who looked more like a chubby dragon in form stepped forward from the crow of angry demons.

“Beetlejuice, we got ya surrounded! Come outta the glutton's car. We just need ta talk!” The dragon demon bellowed with a brash voice.

Beetlejuice let out a laugh, his hair turning a bit yellow at the tips as he opened his window and waved. "Heeeeeey, Rosco! How's the femur?" A growl and glare was his only reply.

"Go on ahead! I'll see if I could blow these guys off and contact Mintaka to back us up! I'll catch up with you two when I can." Beelzebub ordered. Without waiting for an answer, he revved up his engine and made a sharp 180 turn. Magma spewed from between the wheels and created a large wave of molten rock, causing the line of demons to scramble away from it.

“Now!” Beelzebub shouted as Beetlejuice's door opened by itself. The ghost didn't need to be told twice. He flew out of the car and landed on his feet before he ran into a nearby alleyway. A few demons and imps who had avoided the magma followed him.

Teresa clung to the edge of the shirt pocket for dear afterlife as her giant mode of transportation moved quickly. Yes, she was dead, but that didn't mean she was immune to pain. It was also a force of habit.

Beetlejuice cursed at himself. It would've been much easier if he were at the surface and he could just teleport himself away. He didn't have that luxury in Hell. Seeing a wired fence up ahead, he had a plan. He pulled at his hair three times as if grabbing something, then he seemed to throw something invisible to his pursuers. All of a sudden, three clones of himself appeared in front of the demons, blocking them from their path as he leapt onto the fence and clambered up to the other side.

"Damn that rat!" One imp exclaimed in frustration. Beetlejuice smirked and continued moving. After a while, he came across an open clearing and an entrance to a burning park covered in glowing stalagmites. They were close to the summoning spot. The ghost with the most cheered, jumping into the air and pumping his fist. Nothing could ruin his moment! He took a few steps forward...

... only to get tackled by a large dust cloud consisting of Rosco and Beelzebub clawing and gnawing at each other. Beetlejuice snarled as his nails and fangs sharpened, trying to push both demons off of him while biting and scratching anyone who came too close. Teresa ducked down to the safety of the shirt pocket, questioning her afterlife choices. The ball of fighting seemed to stop when both Beetlejuice and Beelzebub grabbed Rosco by the shoulders and slammed him to the side of a building.

"Ha!" The two demons exclaimed in victory. The impact was so great, it caused the building to break in half and topple over, hitting the building next door. And the one after that. And the one after that. Soon, there was a giant building version of dominoes falling one by one until it stopped at a particular office building where two demons were having a meeting.

"BETELGEUSE/BEELZEBUB!" Two voices roared suddenly, echoing all over Hell and possibly the Netherworld as well. Both demons in question stood up straight, let go of the dragon demon, and winced in unison.

"Oh crap."

Before either of them knew it, the two demons and the spirit found themselves in Lucifer's domain, tensed and unaware of what would transpire. As Bee got dragged away in chains, Beetlejuice stood in the middle of the hallway and averted his eyes from Juno's sight, his hair and outfit turning a gloomy violet as his wrists shifted from the handcuffs behind him. Teresa stood on the director's shoulder, not saying a word.

"Why doesn't this surprise me one bit?" Juno stated calmly, only to shriek when Beetlejuice opened his mouth to speak. "You damn fool! You couldn't give me just one year of peace without screwing it up!"

"But mom-!"

"BUT NOTHING! I'll deal with you later." Juno raised the palm of her hand, causing Beeltejuice to stumble backwards and freeze. Without delay, she then took out a piece of chalk from her hair and drew a tiny door on the nearby wall. She knocked on the door three times with her pinky and the door opened up to reveal green mist. She then aligned herself so the ghost on her shoulder was in front of the entrance.

"I take it you enjoyed your relaxing break?” Juno asked in a saccharine tone. Not waiting for an answer, she exclaimed. “Now get back to work! We just got a bus load of casino gamblers who are probably going to fight with the football players and do who knows what. And no word of what you saw here to the others, understand?”

"Yes, ma'am." Teresa nodded as she held herself while trying to look as professional as possible. She strutted to the door, but stopped just as she was about to enter. She turned her head to look back at Beetlejuice who tried not to make eye contact with her. With a sympathetic frown, she gave a slight wave and made her exit, the door shutting behind her. Beetlejuice looked to the door and sighed, only to yelp when his handcuffs tugged him forward.

“Come on, Lawrence. Satan’s waiting for you.” Juno ordered, walking ahead past her son. She beckoned her finger and the handcuffs tugged again, forcing Beetlejuice to follow her. They went down the hallway and entered the last room which was filled to the brim with demons and imps like a courtroom. Most of them were either involved with recent events or were nearby. There were conversations between their groups until the Shoggoths entered the room, causing the room to become silent.

Juno took Beetlejuice to the front of the stand where the Cardinal Council sat in tall podiums waiting for him. The Cardinal Council consisted of powerful demons who embodied the seven main cardinal sins known to humans. Belphegor of Sloth was dozing off in his seat. Leviathan of Envy was writing a few notes to themselves. Asmodeus of Lust brushed his pink long locks with a comb and some help with a breeze he summoned. Mammon of Greed fidgeted with his coins like always. Beelzebub of Gluttony managed a subtle wave to the dead-born. Last but not least, Lucifer stood at the tallest podium. Despite popular belief, he had the honor of having both Pride and Wrath in his repertoire. Nothing changed about him except that he had more fur and goat features at the moment. Beetlejuice took his place in front of the council, but felt the force from his mother staying with him. Once everyone was accounted for, Lucifer cleared his throat and drummed his claws on the podium.

“Out of all the dead-borns we have in Hell and all over, you have got to be the most stubborn pain in the ass I ever met.” He started, glaring down at the dead-born.

"Lucy, hey! How ya doin'? Your horns look extra-curly today." Beetlejuice casually greeted with a wink.

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Lawrence." The goat demon deadpanned. Beetlejuice felt his handcuffs tugging him back and he glanced to see his mother's disapproving frown. Swallowing the negativity for now, he returned his attention to the one in charge.

"C'mon, Lucifer. Let's talk demon to demon, huh? Sure, I snuck down here to hang out with one of the most powerful demons in Hell and destroyed a few things, but what demon hasn't?" The ghost with the most laughed and shrugged. "Besides, it's not like the first few times I messed up here."

“Oh, where do I begin with that?” Lucifer asked in a sardonic tone before he pulled out a large scroll from behind his back and unraveled it. The paper dropped on the ground and continued to roll onto the ground, stretching out of the room and seeming to continue rolling. Yellow strands of hair started to appear on Beetlejuice’s head.

“Surely, you must be exaggerating!” An imp who stood below the podium exclaimed in disbelief, leaning over to read the long scroll.

“This is Beetlejuice we’re talking about. Am I? Let’s read a few random ones, shall we?” The ruler of Hell took out a pair of eyeglasses and placed them on before skimming to a random spot on the list. “There was the time that he and another dead-born managed to freeze all of Hell for a while because, and I quote, ‘We need to have a snow day’.”

"We really needed one!" Beetlejuice shot back in defense. "I've seen breathers enjoy those all the time and Mint owed me one!"

Lucifer chose not to answer as he continued, "You let all the hellhounds loose and insisted that Cerberus should go on a 'play-date'."

"Hey, what Spot and I have is something special! They and Sandy would get along great eating souls and all."

"They are MY pet!"

"Eh... you say 'pet', I say 'furry and fun three-headed acquaintance'."

"And let's not forget the 'food' incident when you somehow managed to make the Netherworld smell like coconut, Hell smell like guacamole, and nearly consumed a hundred souls assigned to a specific place in Hell!" Nearly every demonic being in the room shuddered at the memory.

At the last offense, Beetlejuice shuddered as he nodded in agreement. "Okay, now that was a mistake I will never do again. The last time I would ever make anything in the Lust district. We'll leave it at that! No offense, Azzy."

"None taken." Asmodeus muttered from his seat, not knowing whether to bleach the memory from his brain or keep it.

"The point is you've been causing trouble both here and the Netherworld for centuries despite your curse and I'm at my limit for the last time!" Lucifer sneered, rolling the scroll of crimes back up and making it disappear.

The demons, imps, and four members of the Cardinal Council talked amongst themselves. No doubt they were talking about Beetlejuice and how annoying he was. Beelzebub raised his hand.

"Hey, Satan. It was my idea in the first place. B-Juice was just going along with it. Can't we just lock him outta Hell for a while and curse me instead?" The demon of Gluttony offered. The demon of Pride and Wrath glared at him.

"Oh look at you, trying to act all noble!" Lucifer's voice went up a pitch as he clasped his hands in mockery before he dropped the act and adjusted his glasses with a frown, earning a glare from Bee. "Don't play cute with me. He'll just somehow come here and you two will cause mayhem again!"

"You took the words right out of my mouth." Juno commented drily. The mutters and clamor resumed until Lucifer smacked the side of the podium with his tail hard, causing the room to be silent.  

"What we need is a more... proper punishment. A curse that'll make sure you get the message through that thick skull of yours." With a wave of his wrist, a hefty folder of papers stamped with Beetlejuice's name on it appeared on the podium. Lucifer then started skimming through the file. This continued for a minute or two until his eyes widened at a particular page. He glanced at the dead-born.

"You're obsessed with humans, right? I believe you call them breathers in the Netherworld. You and Bee have that much in common."

No one said a word. Beelzebub averted his gaze from everyone, sinking into his seat as he wanted to be anywhere but there. Juno blew a smoke ring, keeping her thoughts to herself. Beetlejuice continued to glare at the ruler of Hell from his position. Lucifer placed down the stack of papers and took off his eyeglasses to stare at the other. He was silent for a moment until he gave a slight smirk.

"Since you like breathers so much, I should give you what you want. It is what you deserve, after all." He rubbed his claws against his chest before he pointed one at the dead-born. "Lawrence Betelgeuse Shoggoth, you are still banished to the world of the living and cannot say your true name, but I'm adding a few details so you'll stay put. The first one? I'm sealing you to the one item that'll be your downfall."

Lucifer snapped his fingers and a flame burst up from the ground, forming a specific shape. When Beetlejuice noticed what the shape was, he paled.

"No... Not that. Anything but that!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, yes that. Congratulations, you're going to be... LITERATURE!" The flames died down and a large book with a black cover floated in the air. Upon seeing it, Beetlejuice dropped to his knees and screamed dramatically.

"But I can't spell! You maniac!"

"And that's not all! You will be sealed inside this book for all eternity unless you can bond with a living person. It could be any type of bond as long as it's genuine and strong. I'll add some more rules for you to read at your leisure. Until then, only a breather who can read your book could set you free and we all know the chances of that happening!" Lucifer laughed, causing everyone to join him. He then turned to Juno, raising an eyebrow. "This curse alright with you, Juno?"

"Beetlejuice becoming the very thing he destroys? Now that's something I would like to see." The director of Netherworld Customs almost grinned at that. Her son stared at the ground, the purple on his body and hair getting deeper. Seeing that Juno had no complaints, Lucifer then addressed everyone else.

"All those in favor of turning Betelgeuse into a book and throwing him out, say 'Eye'."

"Eye!" Everyone in the room except Beetlejuice and Beelzebub raised their hands, some of the demons even held up their own eyeballs. Lucifer took a quick scan and grinned.

"It's settled. Majority rules. Time to go. Bye, Bug-Beverage!" With a sadistic glint in his eye, the demon ruler snapped his fingers. The large book floated in the air and opened itself, its pages flipping and glowing until it stopped at the center of the book. Once it stopped, a swirling vortex appeared on both pages, acting as a powerful wind current as chains shot out from the book and connected with the ghost's handcuffs to pull him in. Beetlejuice panicked.

"No, wait! I'll behave, I promise! Not this, anything but this! Satan, the things I do ta get a different beginning from the original source material!" Beetlejuice cursed as he gripped at the ground to hold himself from the wind current and chains pulling at him.. It only increased the suction, causing some demons and imps to brace themselves.

His claws dug deep onto the floor as he was dragged by his chains towards the book. Gritting his fangs, Beetlejuice reached out to Beelzebub and cried out, "Tell my story!" Before the gluttony demon could respond, the ghost with the most was sucked into the book and it slammed itself shut.

Everyone in the room applauded and let out a sigh of relief. With a deadpan expression on his face, Beelzebub got up from his seat.

"Well... that was fun." Bee yawned and rolled his eyes, pointing to the other side of the room. "I'm out!"

"Ah-ah-ah. Not so fast!" Satan crooned and grabbed the orange-haired demon by the shirt collar to stop his escape. "I haven't forgotten about you nor my original plan. Just need to put the finishing touches..."

Without any explanation, Lucifer pulled Beelzebub's arm towards his face and bit at the other's thumb, causing the latter to scream. He then slammed Beelzebub's left hand onto the book. Black blood seeped from the thumb and spread onto the entire book, glowing orange upon contact. When he felt that there was enough, Lucifer took off Bee's hand and waved over the book, causing the glow to fade. With that, the seals were complete.

Having watched everything, Juno stared at the book her son was in, her face expressionless. She then took a drag of her cigarette and glanced away, almost relieved. "Let the living deal with him now."

"Where should we drop 'im, boss?" An imp asked as it hopped next to Lucifer, ready to complete the deed once and for all.

"The one place rarely anyone would find it so easy." The ruler of Hell replied after a bit of thought. "A place no one would ever expect such a powerful book to be!"

Late at night on the surface where the living dwelled, a red portal opened up above the sleepy town of Winter River, Connecticut. The black book fell out from the portal, its blank pages fluttering with the air as the portal immediately closed back up. The book continued to fall until it reached above an old tall house on a hill, going through the roof and landing right inside the attic of the house where it waited for someone, anyone worthy, to open and read it.

#snjstories #snjwrites #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice the Musical #AU #Giant #Tiny #G/T #Juno #Beelzebub #Lucifer #OC #Beetlejuice Big Bang #Miss Argentina #cw: abuse #cw: smoking #On The Edge of Living

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 71: Past Endeavors

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

“So this is public transportation,” Izumi said.  “Interesting.”  She had been on the U.A. buses before, but this was quite different.  Certainly, there was a more interesting variety of people riding the subway, including one homeless man who seemed deep in conversation with what appeared to be thin air.

“It’s just a subway train,” Chihiro told her.  Her Cords were retracted in the confined space of the car, but animated.  She’d warned early on that a crowded car at this time of day could come with its share of “perverts.”

“Not a very good one,” Mineta said, pouting a bit.  “No one’s tried to grope me or take an upskirt photo!  Aren’t I good enough for these sleezebags?  It’s enough to give a girl a complex!”

Chihiro buried her face in her hands.  “Why are you like this?”

“There’s several theories.”

Izumi was grateful for the company.  Though she was determined to see this through, she had worried she would back out if she did it on her own.  And she was well aware that she was what Chihiro called a “sheltered rich girl,” making the journey more complicated.  This was her first time riding the subway, after all.  Chihiro had insisted on accompanying her and Mineta had insisted on coming along as well.

Perhaps she should have asked Katsumi.  But her dear friend was also quite volatile.  The likelihood of violence breaking out when she met her grandfather was not insignificant.

She did feel a bit guilty though.  Izumi had asked their driver to take her into the city, with instructions that she would call for pick-up in a few hours, under the pretense of meeting her friends. None of which was a lie.  She had met up with Chihiro and Mineta.  What she had been untruthful about was that they had then taken the subway, which was not a question that had been asked, so it was not a lie.  Their destination was not far, only a pair of stops past the station they had boarded at, but she desperately needed to keep her actions hidden from her parents.

She was also slightly in disguise, wearing clothes that Chihiro had brought her.  They were casual things, jeans and a t-shirt with the name of some band on it.  Her hair was mostly stuffed up under a lime-green hat with cat ears.  As the daughter of two prominent Heroes and part of two extremely well-known families, she has spent a considerable portion of her life in the limelight, even if only at the edges of it.  The story of her illness had leaked as a child and made numerous headlines as well, even if the details were sparse.  To say nothing of how much of Japan had seen her during the Sports Festival.   Despite coming in second, Mineta was drawing less attention, perhaps because she seemed to desperate for it; offense as a defense, as it were.

Izumi was going to see her grandfather, Enji Todoroki, also known as Endeavor, and he had been the Number One Hero once upon a time.  Even as the Heroes of her parents’ generation had been ascending, he had continued to hold a place in the Top Ten.  But mysteriously, about eleven years ago, shortly after she had recovered from her illness, he had publicly confessed to the numerous mistakes he had made and the abusive behavior he had engaged in with his children, then retired from his Hero career and from public life.  She could not remember the last time she had seen him.

But with a little bit of ethically dubious help from Mineta (She had been able to guess her father’s password for Hero-Net resources, which had gotten them a location), she now knew where he was.  And she had so many questions for him.  Questions she could not ask her parents, for she did not believe she could trust them to be honest about this.  She loved them dearly and knew that they loved her, but if what she suspected was true, then they were absolutely keeping secrets from her.  It cast the specter of doubt over anything she might learn.

Because her grandfather’s retirement coincided with the capture of a Villain called Plague, a Villain with the ability to unleash devastating diseases.  A Villain who had escaped from custody not that long ago. Plague, who had, by all accounts, previously turned himself in voluntarily…

There were too many coincidences and things happening at the same time.  She was certain she had been one of Plague’s victims, though whether that had been intentional or not, she could not say.  But her illness tracked to the exact time of his rampage across Japan and matched the symptoms exactly.  Her grandfather was the best chance she had for getting real answers.

Of course, the real question was… answers to what?  Was it enough to know whether she was a deliberate victim or simply an unfortunate bystander? Did she want to know what part her grandfather had played in it all?  Did she want to know if the escaped Plague was still a threat to her and her family?

She wasn’t sure. Izumi only knew that there was too much about the circumstances of her own life that she did not know.  The events of her past still cast a shadow over her future.  Her illness had exasperated her already somewhat frail constitution, making it the reason she still struggled with stamina and endurance.  She was proud of her accomplishments and all she had overcome. But if she did not have those limitations…

Chihiro gave her a slight nudge.  “Hey, we’re here.  It’s our stop.”

***

The house before them was a simple, small, one story affair, in a nice neighborhood.  It and its lawn and garden were well kept.  It was a far cry from the spacious and sprawling house her father, uncles, and aunt had grown up in.  Aunt Fuyumi and Uncle Tensei lived there now, the house having been left to her when her grandfather had retired from public life and Hero work. And it was smaller by far than the estate her immediate family lived in, a truly large mansion with expansive grounds and even guest houses. When she was younger, some of her friends had joked that it must have had its own postal code.  Or, as Chihiro had said, “its own phone number.”

To think that her grandfather had been so close all this time and she had never known it, only a few subway stops away from U.A.

“Well,” Chihiro said, “here we are.”

“Right where anybody could walk up,” Mika said.  “Kind of expected a big fence or something, based on all the stories.”

Izumi’s heart thudded in her chest.  “This may have been a bad idea,” she said.  “Perhaps I should have called first.  Maybe we should come back another time.  We do not even know if he is home.”  She took a slight step backwards.

“Hey.”  Chihiro put a hand on her shoulder.  “Look at me.”   Izumi turned her head to look at her friend.  “You want to go, we’ll go.  Strategic retreat, no shame.  But you already came all this way.  Might as well give it a shot.”

The path to the door was made of carefully carved stones.  As with everything about the house and garden, it suggested the occupant had taken great care to make everything just so.  That matched with what little she knew of her grandfather, a demanding man who sought perfection in all things.

As they stood in front of the door, Izumi looked to her left and right.  Both of her friends gave her a small nod.  Carefully, she raised a hand and knocked on the door, once, twice, three times.  It was a solid, heavy door, and the knock sounded out loud and clear.  

“He must not be home,” she said after a moment.  “We should go.”

“Hold your horses,” Chihiro said.

“Hey!  Buy me dinner first!”

“Not what I meant, Mika.”

Suddenly, Izumi could hear the sound of heavy footsteps near the door.  After a moment longer, the door opened and her grandfather stepped into view.  Enji Todoroki was a large man, taller and broader than her father.  His former red hair had gone grey with age.  He still had a deep scar over his left eye and she could see burn scars on his face, hands, and peeking out from the collar of his shirt and going up his neck.

“What do you want?” he began, his eyes narrow and harsh.  She suspected he received very few visitors.    

“I,” she began, then faltered.  She had been so determined when she had made these plans, but now she found all her confidence failing her.  Where was her determination to prove herself?  Where was the strength she had found to challenge Katsumi and her classmates at the Sports Festival?  Why could she not form the words?

“Out with it!” he growled, so harshly that this time, all three of them took a step back.

“Hey!” Mineta snapped. “You can’t talk to us like that!”

“I’ll do what I like with unwelcome and uninvited girls on my own property,” her grandfather growled.

“Please,” Izumi said softly. She reached up and pulled off the hat, letting her dual colored hair cascade behind her.  “Grandfather.  I just wish to talk.  There are things I must know.”

His eyes widened as recognition dawned.  “Izumi…!”

***

It had taken considerable convincing to get Chihiro and Mineta to leave.  Both girls had insisted on staying with her, but while her grandfather was willing to speak to her, he had been unwilling to entertain her friends. This was understandable.  There had been a weight in her request to talk, one that betrayed the important and deeply personal nature of the conversation. But ultimately, she had convinced them to return to the small shopping district they had passed on their way to her grandfather’s house.  She would let them know when she was ready to rejoin them.

The interior of Grandfather’s house reminded her very much of the traditional Todoroki home, Japanese-styled with tatami mats.  There was more furniture than she would have expected of a man who lived alone, but she also recalled that Aunt Fuyumi had a closer relationship with him than her own family did. It was something both she and her father made a concentrated effort not to speak of, lest their own relationship become damaged.  She realized somewhat belatedly that she could have gotten her grandfather’s whereabouts directly from her aunt, but that would have been uncomfortable and awkward for all involved… and might not have yielded the results she wanted.  Aunt Fuyumi might well have respected her father’s wishes that she not see her grandfather.

She sat on the small couch, sipping tea that Grandfather had provided.  He sat opposite her with tea of his own, in an armchair.  “Thank you,” she began, “for visiting me in the hospital. And for the rabbit.”

His eyes softened slightly as he set his teacup on a side table.  “You’re welcome,” he said.  “I knew you were out there when those Nomu attacked.  I was worried that…”   He trailed off, not finishing that thought.

“I pushed myself, but I endured,” Izumi said, with some degree of pride.  “Chargebolt and Grape Juice did the fighting.  I merely acted as containment.”  Her thoughts raced back to that morning.  She had been so certain that all she’d done was seal Uncle Denki and Mister Mineta into an icy tomb.  But they had held the line until Uncle Izuku had arrived to the rescue.  

“You should be proud,” Grandfather said.  “I watched your performance at the Sports Festival.  You’re stronger than I ever could have dreamed you would be. Especially after…”

He seemed to realize how his words sounded, as though he disbelieved how someone with her weaknesses could succeed.  “I’m sorry,” he went on.  “That sounded harsher than I meant it. I’m truly, truly proud and pleased by your successes.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But it is the “after” and what caused it that brought me here today.”  Izumi sat down her teacup and folded her hands in front of her, drawing herself up to her full seated height.

“I need to know about Plague.  About what he did, what he did to me.  About what caused you to retire and bear your sins publicly.  And why these rifts between you and Father now exist.”

Grandfather frowned. “I suppose I should have expected this sooner or later.”  He looked down, as though deciding whether or not to tell her anything or perhaps whether or not to simply throw her out.  “But you deserve the truth, to know the whole truth of yourself.  It is a long tale and not a particularly pleasant one.”

She simply nodded. “I’m listening.”

***

“You’ve heard of the Hatamoto Program?” Grandfather asked.

“The program by which the government recruited talented and powerfully children with useful or powerful Quirks,” Izumi said, “training them outside the traditional Hero Schools so that they could then exercise more direct control over them than the average Hero.”

They had learned about it in their Hero History class.  Hawks, now the Deputy Commissioner of the Hero Public Safety Committee, was the most well-known graduate of the program, though there were others.  The majority of them were retired, with only the most recent graduates still active.  The original League of Villains had leaked the details of the program to the public during her parents third year of U.A., in an attempt to discredit the country’s Heroes.  How much that had succeeded was a matter of debate, but it had succeeded in getting the program shut down.  

Grandfather nodded. “There were other programs as well. One of these was run by an organization known as the Iga Group.  They were not strictly a governmental organization, in order to provide a layer of plausible deniability should it or its agents be exposed, but for all intents and purposes, they were just another arm of enforcement.  Their mission was to capture and contain anyone whose Quirk was deemed too dangerous to the general population to be allowed to remain free.”

It should not have surprised Izumi as much as it did.  Quirks which were dangerous to others were something society struggled with to this day. She knew there were many people who received special support equipment or other accommodations from the government because of their Quirks and the problems they created.  There had been a boy in her elementary school who had to go for weekly appointments where he was able to safely discharge the radioactivity he could generate.  

And the limited information she had been able to look up about Plague had included accusations of the same thing.  It had never been proven one way or the other, but after Uncle Izuki had talked the man into turning himself in, a great number of people thought missing had suddenly re-entered society.  It seemed there was more truth to it than she expected.  It was a sobering thought.  Even if it wasn’t done anymore, to think that people could have been stripped of their freedoms just because of their Quirks…!

“Though they had their own agents,” Grandfather continued, “they also employed some Heroes, to help with what they deemed particularly dangerous acquisitions.  Myself included.”

At that, she let out a soft gasp.  “How?” she demanded, the forcefulness she’d been lacking before returning suddenly. “How could you?”

There was a small flicker of flame across his face as her grandfather’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set itself hard, his fists clenching.  He took in a breath and the flames died down, the rest of his posture relaxing.  “I thought it was the right thing to do,” he said finally.  “You must understand, this was a different time.  I was barely twenty when they first asked for my help, newly minted as the Number Two Hero.   Even with All Might having… made considerable in-roads in bringing justice, there was still a lot of danger and lawlessness.  I thought that if someone could not control their Quirk, if it made them a danger, then they had to be stopped.  As simple as that.  I was good at bringing people in.  They were usually committing acts of accidental Villainy anyway.  It looked good on my record.  It fueled both my goals and theirs.”

He shook his head.  “As has often been the case in my life, I let my ambitions get the better of me.  I thought I was doing necessary work that All Might, with his smug, smiling face and “pure heart” wouldn’t dare touch.  I thought, “at least in this, I am better than he’ll ever be.’”

Her grandfather’s rivalry with All Might was well known.  It was the very reason for the existence of her father, her Aunt Fuyumi, and Uncle Natsuo, which meant, in some way, she owed her own life to it.  The two had allegedly been on better terms once, though she did not know if that persisted.

“And Plague was one of those people you captured for them?” she asked.

Her grandfather nodded. “He was.  At the time, he was not yet a true Villain. He wasn’t calling himself Plague yet. He was a child, about the same age as Shoto, with dreams of becoming a doctor or a scientist.  His Quirk was registered as “Disease Generation.”  It caused him to store viruses in his body that he could release or alter.  Until then, he hadn’t been any trouble.  But he lost control one day and unleashed something that wiped out his entire village before help could arrive.  At the time, the choice to take him in seemed obvious.  In hindsight… perhaps he deserved compassion. But I had been working with the Iga for a long time by then and did not question their judgement. So we captured him.  In his panic, he fought back and infected several Iga agents, but my flames ultimately brought him down.  And he was taken to the Iga’s offshore prison.”

He looked down again. “Not long after that, All Might was forced to retire after battling All for One and I became the new Number One Hero. With it came a certain degree of additional scrutiny that the program could not afford and they cut ties with me. I put them from my mind and focused instead on the challenges ahead of me.”

Izumi nodded, unsure of how else to respond.  How many innocents had her grandfather burned and subdued, whose only crimes were having a Quirk someone at the Iga had deemed dangerous?  How could he so casually have put it behind him?  Even in Plague’s case, it sounded as though it had been an accident…  Where did the scales of justice fall for such a thing?

“Time passed,” Grandfather continued.  “And I began to realize the harm I had done my family.  Becoming the Number One caused me to reflect upon what I had done to them.  Little by little, I did begin to reconnect with your father and Fuyumi.  Natsuo never forgave me.  And, of course, Toya had been hiding in plain sight the whole time, eventually turning on his League of Villain allies in order to protect his unborn child with that psychopath.”

A cousin she had never met, just as she had never met her Uncle Toya.  She had herd her father speak of her occasionally.  All she knew was that her cousin was a criminal, the daughter of her Uncle Toya and the former League member known as Himiko Toga.  

“Things were strained, I admit,” Grandfather said.  “But they were… slowly getting better.  I was allowed to attend your father’s wedding.  I was even allowed to spend time with you as a child, though I am sure you were too young to remember.”

She shook her head. “I don’t.  I’m sorry.  Just flashes and fragments.”

He looked defeated at that, but nodded and moved on.  “To be expected.  By the time you were four, I was already being surpassed in the rankings by Deku, Lemillion, Ground Zero, and even Shoto.  And rather than being offended by it… I was proud.  And then, Plague escaped from Iga custody, in the company of two others that had been captured,  a man called Manticore whose Quirk made him into a monstrous and uncontrollable beast and another called Bloodstorm with a blood-bending Quirk called Hemokinesis.  It’s still never quite been determined how they did it.”

He leaned forward in his chair, his tone becoming somehow even more serious.  “But they held Japan in a state of terror for months.  Many people were laid low and sickened by bio-terrorism, with Bloodstorm and Plague working in concert while Manticore provided the muscle.  With it being well known that Shoto was my son and that he had a family, it was not hard for him to find the perfect way to strike at us, at me.  He infected you.”

That was it then.  No more questions about it.  She had been a target, not merely an unfortunate victim. And only then, a target to cause her grandfather pain and distract the Heroes like her father.  The weakness that she still carried with her, all the times her body had failed her, it was all his fault.  She could already feel her cheeks flushing with anger.  

“It was your fault,” she said flatly.  The words simply spat out of her, a powerful accusation.  

Her grandfather’s eyes widened and he looked down, shame written all over his face.  She could no more have hurt him than if she’d struck him with her Quirk.  “It is,” he said.  “I’ve carried that with me every day since then.”

She should have left then and there.  But there was regret in her grandfather’s voice.  How dare he treat it as something he could simply feel sorry for?  He carried it with him?  What about what she carried with her?  Izumi was angry.  Angrier than she could ever recall being in her entire life.  She stood.

“Do you know,” Izumi demanded, “how I have suffered because of you?”  She could feel the room growing colder around her and the heat inside her own body starting to rise.  “How often I am left with barely the strength to even stand?  How difficult it is to regulate the two aspects of my Quirk?  How hard I have to fight for my place among my friends?  How my parents treat me as some fragile China doll, confident in me one moment, afraid I might break upon the slightest breeze the next?  Do you know?!”

Frost had collected around her feet, spreading out across the tatami mats, stopping less than a centimeter from her grandfather’s chair, traveling around it and completely encircling him.  She could feel the heat inside her, a glowing red center.  She could hold it for now, but her anger seemed to stoke it, demanding its release.  She had such a perfect target right in front of her.

He looked smaller now, so very defeated, his arms hanging limply at his sides.  He did not look her in the eye.  “You have every right to hate me,” he said.  “It was my fault.  He targeted you because of me.”

She was breathing hard now, her muscles clenched tightly.  She wanted to scream, to lash out, to draw every last iota of heat from his body, to do something.  If only he would yell back, show some anger of his own, react as anything other than a punching bag.  She wanted Katsumi here.  Her friend was so such less inhibited than she.  Katsumi would have already torn the old man apart.

But Izumi…  Izumi was not that person.  She would fight with all her might, for her friends, for justice, for what was right.  But she would not strike a man who would not fight back, no matter the wrong he had caused her.

All the same, she should have left.  She had confirmed her suspicions.  But there was so much more she needed to know.  “I am not certain I hate you,” she said after a long moment, sitting back down. A little bit of vapor came with her words and she had to focus a moment to cease leeching heat from the environment. “But I do not particularly like you in this moment.  But I need to know the whole story.  What happened next?  How was I cured?  Why did this cause you to retire?”

Her grandfather nodded. “You deserve all the answers,” he said.   “I’ll do my best to tell you them.

“After you became ill, it already began to strain things between Shoto and myself.  I had told him what I knew about Plague and the others and the part I had played with the Iga.  He assumed, correctly, that you had been targeted because of me.  Shoto and his friends doubled-down on their investigations, even as the cases grew and you grew sicker and sicker.  Plague grew bolder, breaking into television broadcasts. His virus had not killed anyone yet, but he claimed he would escalate it if those responsible for stealing his life did not confess their crimes. Eventually, Lemillion was able to put together enough clues to find where the three of them were hiding out.”  He closed his eyes for a moment, at those reliving those memories.  How much guilt did he feel?  It couldn’t possibly have been enough.

“Plague was ahead of us. He sent Bloodstorm and Manticore into the heart of Tokoyo.  Shoto, Ground Zero, Lemillion, and Ingenium took them on.  It left Deku and myself to battle Plague.  Just as well.  I suspect Shoto would not have trusted himself to fight alongside me.  I suspect more of their friends would have joined in, but they feared what might happen elsewhere with that many Heroes mobilizing. The second League of Villains was already beginning to make noise, splitting their attention.

“Plague was hiding in his old village.  It had been abandoned since then… but he had remade it, built himself a lab where he could unleash his virus on the winds of a coming storm.  When Deku and I arrived, threw everything he had at us.  A viral load that dropped me to my knees in a moment, puking my guts out.  But Deku… that boy just put everything he had into resisting, sparking like a damn emerald firecracker.   I tried to burn it out of my body, raising my temperature, but it was all I could do to keep conscious.  He hit Deku with so much they say the soil where he stood is still loaded with viruses.

“All the while, Plague was screaming accusations.  About how he’d been kidnapped by the Iga and myself, when he’d just been a kid.  About how the Iga Group had experimented on him and tortured not just him, but everyone that had captured.  I didn’t want to believe it.  Didn’t want to believe I’d been a party to such horrors. Any illusions I’d had that I was doing the right thing… shattered.”

There was sadness in his voice, even some measure of sympathy.  Perhaps he really had thought he was doing the right thing.  Her grandfather had once tried to undo the harm he’d done to his family.  He was capable of guilt and remorse.  Izumi was not always the best judge of people’s emotions and behaviors, but she believed him here.  For now, at least.

He shook his head. “And Deku… Deku told Plague he believed him.  He even promised that he would look into it, that if it was true, he would smash the place open with his own hands.  But only if Plague offered a cure for his virus that was ravaging the country.  His sincerity must have reached him, because Plague agreed… on the condition that I confessed to my complicity as well.  In that moment, I would have agreed to anything. Deku countered that by that point, it might be too late.  But he promised again to investigate Plague’s claims and personally assured his safety.”

Grandfather sighed.  “Plague was reluctant, untrusting even still.  At that point, broken, the fragile relationship I’d built with Shoto shattered, I had nothing to lose, not even my pride. I begged him to at least save you, even offered up my own life.  Deku talked him down to putting a stop to it all.  Plague agreed and administered an antidote to me and gave Deku a formula.”

Izumi had a faint memory of what had happened after that: Uncle Izuku rushing into her hospital room, giving her mother a formula of some kind.  Her mother must have manufactured it, personally.  After that, she’d begun to recover.  But she had already been somewhat fragile, something she had inherited from her grandmother, Rei.  Others who had been cured, she had discovered, had recovered fully, with few lasting effects.   But she still walked in the shadow of that illness.

Her grandfather continued. “In the aftermath, we turned Manticore and Bloodstorm over to the authorities.  As best as I recall, they got Anima in to talk to Manticore, to see if there was anything human left under that Quirk.  Bloodstorm though, was nothing but a psychopath who went straight to Tartarus.  Deku claimed custody over Plague, said he was needed to save lives.  He was the Number One Hero by that point; they trusted him.”

It must have been serious then, for Uncle Izuku to have believed him.  But it was also no surprise that Uncle Izuku had been able to talk Plague down either.  As the Symbol of Hope, he’d made it a point to do things different, to fight when he had to, but to use other methods whenever he could.  It was one of many things that made him incredibly popular and incredibly valuable.

“We regrouped to take the fight to them.  Lemillion and Ingenium had been injured, leaving only four of us.  Iga’s prison was located on an island off the east coast of Japan.  And its head was a powerful man named Jinpachi Kitagawa, who had a geokinetic Quirk that let him control magma.  He was a military man, who fit in well with the early days of Quirk laws.  But the times were already starting to change, and his obsession with protection was turning more to madness in the face of it. When Deku, Shoto, Ground Zero, Plague, and I arrived… he must have known his time was over.  He set his forces on us immediately and even joined in the battle himself.”

Her grandfather touched the scars on his hands.  “His lava was hotter and more powerful than my flames.  I could not stand against him.  But Shoto could.  His ice, his mother’s Quirk…  It proved to be exactly what was needed that day.  He saved my life, though I could tell he was tempted to simply let me die. Maybe he should have.  But we won.”

He shook his head again. “The inside of the prison was more horrible than I could have possibly imagined.  People half-starved, attached to more wires and machines than I could have believed.  This was nothing else than outright torture and experimentation.  Kitagawa was… a very sick man, with some very horrifying ideas about how society should function and who should be at the top, making the decisions.  But he had whispered enough in the ears of the right people and operated for long enough that I doubt the government was fully aware of the extent of what he was doing. They didn’t want to know.  They only wanted the problem Quirk users removed. Plausible deniability.”

“That does not explain your retirement,” Izumi reminded him.  She was horrified by what she was hearing, but was failing to see the connections.

“I’m getting to that,” he said.  If her interruption bothered him, he didn’t show it.  “Things after were… not good.  The government was able to keep the affair on the island hidden. Kitagawa was going to be thrown in the darkest depths of Tartarus.  But Deku wanted everyone they had released, as quickly as possible.  The government tried to argue, but he threatened to go public. They threatened to ruin him.  He didn’t care.”  

Her grandfather gave a small laugh.  “Too much of All Might in that boy, related by blood or not.  They caved.  The government, including the HPSC, got everyone involved to keep it under wraps in exchange for acting expeditiously,  while they quietly set about cataloging and releasing the people who had been kept there, along with disbanding the Iga and evaluating what to do with its employees. Some of them were loyal to Kitagawa personally, and would be imprisoned.  Others… thought they were just doing a necessary job. And many of the most fanatical and loyal scattered before they could be caught, including several of their science staff.  Deku wanted to go public, of course, but was ultimately convinced that such a revelation would shatter the fragile peace of society.”

He let out a low growl. “But Kitagawa did not plan on going quietly.  He would break whatever he could, tear down those who had stopped him.  The only thing that could head it off was another scandal.  I was injured, feeling my age.  If anything had taught me that this was now a young man’s game, it was this.  And so I manufactured the scandal that would occupy the public and the media’s attention.  Confessed publically to the wrongs I had done my family and declared my retirement from Heroics and public life.  Perhaps not quite what Plague wanted from me… but I suffered the scorn and fall from grace all the same.  Plague surrendered himself to custody voluntarily, recognizing that he had crossed the same lines that had been crossed in his original capture.  I understand that these days, universities and labs occasionally contacted him for his expertise.”

Grandfather let out a long sigh.  “It was just as well.  After finding out exactly what I had been a part of and how it had nearly led to your death, your father wanted nothing more to do with me and wanted me to have nothing more to do with you.  The least I could do was make sure you grew up in a world that did not give itself over the chaos of the bad old days.  Like a good compromise, it left no one truly happy.  It was one of the last times your father and I spoke.”

He certainly made it sound like an act of self-sacrifice… but Izumi was not so sure she could forgive so easily.  Not with everything it had cost her.  Not with everything he had done, all the people he had hurt, by his actions and by his ignorance.    

“He has escaped,” she told him flatly.  “I overheard it while doing my Internship.”

That got a reaction out of him, his eyes going wide and his flames flaring for the briefest second again.  They were weak and flickering.  “Impossible,” he said.  “He would not…”

“I only know what I have heard,” she said.  “It seems only fair that you know.  Information for information.”

That was probably harsher than she should have been.  But the emotions roiling inside her demanded an outlet.  The blame for so much could be laid at his feet.  She needed time to process it all.  She needed to decide if she would confront her parents about this and the fact that they had kept it all a secret.  She needed… she needed, very much not to be here.

Izumi stood again. “Thank you for your honesty, Grandfather.”  She turned towards the door.

“Wait…” he began, rising slowly out of his chair.  “Izumi…”

“Yes?”

“Could I…  would you… ever consider… visiting again?”  Despite being a big man, he looked small, pitiful, and broken.  He was reaching out to her, desperate for some kind of connection.  

“I shall consider it,” she said, truly not knowing the answer.  She opened the door in time to see Mineta, head down, horns pointed, about to charge it.

“Mika!” Chihiro called out. “Stop!”

Mineta skidded to a stop, hooves clattering on the stones.  “What? Aw, I wanted to break down the door!”

Izumi stepped outside, pointedly closing the door behind her.  “Why were you going to break it down?”

“We’ve been texting for the last half hour!” Chihiro said.  “You didn’t answer!”

Izumi shook her head. “I turned my phone off.  I wished to be uninterrupted.”

Chihiro’s Cords pointed accusingly.  “Don’t do that, okay?!  We were worried!”

She nodded.  “I shall try not to worry you in the future, thank you.”

“Did you get any answers?” Mineta asked.  “Do we need to administer an ass-kicking to a senior citizen?”

“I do not think that will be necessary, but thank you,” Izumi told her.  “But to answer your question… yes.  And also no.  But I know now what made me.  I just have to figure out if it changes who I will become.”

“Can we figure it out on the way back?” Mineta asked.  “Because there was a really nice ice cream shop on the way with a couple really cute guys behind the counter…”

#my hero academia #their hero academia #izumi todoroki #enji todoroki #mha endeavor #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing