#you might expect more of this harsh block-shading from me in the future | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forgadgetsandgizmos · 4 years

Text

‘Cause You’re A Sky Full of Stars (I’m Going To Give You My Heart)

My fic for Day 1 of Alex Manes Week 2020 | Prompt: Home Can Be A Person

Read on AO3 Here

It was nearing sunset when Alex pulled his jeep beside the familiar, fading colors of Michael’s white-and-blue truck and cut off the engine. Looking around from where he sat in the driver’s seat, the place hadn’t changed in the decade since he’d last been here. He had been a hopeful 17-year-old in love, high on dreams of the future, carving A M into tree bark.

Alex chuckled under his breath. They hadn’t been brave enough to add the plus or a heart. With only two letters, it could easily be mistaken for Alex’s own initials, but Michael had left an empty space between with whispered promises of someday and after.

Someday, if they were braver.

After, when they’d be adults and free.

It was a sweet kind of irony that the reason they had always came here then was the same reason he was here now.

Michael had always found comfort in the desert.

Alex stepped out of the jeep, the uneven sand beneath his feet sinking in greeting. He sent a quick prayer of thanks that he had the sensibility to put on boots this morning - his prosthetic would be hell to deal with if sand got in it - before locking the car and heading forward.

A heavy breeze brought the sound of tree leaves ruffling, their healthy emerald color shimmering under the orange desert glow. It also brought sharp clinks of glass hitting rock from where Michael sat facing the sunset.

His body was a dark shadow against the tan background, the light illuminated stray curls escaping from under his trademark black cowboy hat. It reminded Alex of a scene in an old western.

Michael had to know he was here - he couldn’t be so drunk that he missed the loud rumble of Alex’s jeep - but he hadn’t turned around. Alex supposed that means he has to go to him. Though if he’s being honest with himself, the only somewhat flat part of the stone that can be used climb to Michael looked a lot more daunting at 28 than it had at 17.

Probably because the last time he’d climbed up and down that rock it had been with two steady legs and a sober Michael to lend a hand.

Banking on familiarity with the path and muscle gained from a decade of military training to compensate, Alex ducked under the tree blocking his way and started up. It was slow going, frustratingly slow, but he made it to the top without any injury to himself or his leg.

“You climbed up.”

Alex took that as an invitation and sat down, his legs (all one and a half) joining Michael’s in dangling off the edge. “I did,” he answered.

Michael grunted and offered him a bottle. “Whiskey?”

Alex took the bottle from him but shook his head. “I shouldn’t. One of us has to drive back eventually.”

“Then give back the bottle.”

Alex tipped it over the edge, far enough that sand would cushion the fall and it wouldn’t break. If the level of whiskey and the bottle opener he had scene in the truck were any indication, Michael was at least three shots past tipsy. He didn’t need to drink anymore.

“Or do that,” Michael scowled.

“You’re drunk enough already. It’ll be hard enough to climb off this rock sober, I don’t want to have to carry you.”

Michael flung a hand forward, “That’s what jumpin’ is for.” Obviously, his tone said.

Alex raised an eyebrow and gave the rock a kick with his bad leg. Boots were okay for walking, but they couldn’t keep all the sand out if he took a 15-foot drop into it. This was a new prosthetic too, and his doctor at the vet hospital in Albuquerque would kill him if he ground down the joints in less than a month.

Michael’s face clouded over, jaw clenched shut.

“We gonna talk about why you’re up here?”

”I like the view,” he drawled, tipping his hat with a playful smirk.

“You seem upset,” Alex prodded.

Michael snorted. “You’d think. I’m not.”

“Oh?”

Michael’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “Really, I swear,” he laughed. “Look,” he whispered, pointing head of them.

The sky was glowing.

As far as Alex could see, the sky was a myriad blue, purple, and pink shades. Where the sun still hit it, the sand, so often harsh and burning, reflected the colors back to the sky as if it was waving to an old friend. The rest formed a black contrast that seemed to deepen each shade. They set in comfortable silence in their oasis, watching the colors merge and morph on the horizon as sun inched down lower.

“Before I joined the Air Force, I assumed I’d never leave the west coast. I wanted to be a musician, so kid-me just knew that all I’d have to do was go to L.A. and never leave. I’ve never even been to L.A.” Alex remarked to himself, eyes still on the horizon. But in between the camouflage of fatigues and the gunpowder smoke, I saw so many different people, so many cultures.” He let his awe fill his voice as he spoke. “And I’d catch myself missing this ... empty desert that I grew up miserable in.”

Michael glanced at him with a confused smile.

“What?”

Michael shook his head softly. “I never thought of Roswell as home. I didn’t even live here until I was eleven. And Max and Iz tried their best but,” he shrugged.

“But you wanted to search the desert for pieces of an alien spaceship,” Alex finished. Michael wanted to leave. He still does, and Liz might have destroyed his best chance at Crash-Con.

“I worked so hard. The consul Liz destroyed would have killed a lot of people and I don’t wish it had, don’t get me wrong,” Michael rushed to say, alcohol slightly blurring his words together as he tried to speak too fast.

“It’s okay to mourn a dream,” Alex reassured him. He tried to project acceptance and comfort instead of the sick loneliness that always settled in when he thought about Michael leaving Earth.

“No, you don’t get it,” Michael exclaimed, knotting his fingers in his hair and knocking his hat behind him in the process. “I’m not mad, not pissed, and I should be so that’s why I’m drinking on a rock on a Monday.”

He must have scene a puzzled look on Alex’s face because he started to clarify.

”You said when you were a kid and home in Roswell, you wanted to see the world and once you did, you missed home, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Alex nodded. How did that have to do with anything?

“I always felt like I was already seeing the world and I was always missing home, even if I didn’t remember it. I don’t know when it changed but when I realized that consul had blown up and I hadn’t even tried to save it, I just ran off to help you and then Maria?”

He gestured to the whiskey bottle laying in the sand. “Yeah, I’m mourning, but I’m mourning my chance to see my past and to visit that world. I don’t feel like it’s my home anymore.”

The sky had lost its color now. If the sunset had been an old western, this was a black-and-white picture movie. Everything he saw was monochrome, washed out in grays and blacks.

“Roswell still sucks,” Michael continued. “but that’s okay. It’s not my home.”

Alex took a deep breath as if steadying himself for the answer. “What is?”

Michael met his eyes with a steady gaze. He looked confident, the slight glaze and wide eye-look from alcohol making his irises shine as if the moon itself was looking at him under the colorless sky.

He smiled sadly. “Home can be a person, Alex. I found mine when I was seventeen. It’s just taken me a little while to realize it, is all.”

Oh. Oh. Alex didn’t say anything, just stared at Michael in wonder. He didn’t think he could speak if he tried. He never expected, he, that - he never expected this. That he loved Michael more than Michael loved him was a fact that he had come to terms with. He didn’t know what to do with this.

Would Michael regret this in the morning?

Alex knew he was too afraid of the answer to ask.

After long, Michael’s face lit up with relief. His emotions had always changed often and quickly, even when they were kids. He understood the need, of course, to project a feeling you thought someone wanted from you, but unlike Alex, Michael seemed to actually feel it.

“You don’t need to respond. Really, you already have,” he pointed out.

Yeah, maybe.

“Let’s just lay here, yeah?” He leaned back, head to the sky.

Alex joined him, still silent. Words echoed in his head, each thing taking on a new meaning he hadn’t seen before.

They’re my family, Alex! All right, maybe. But you’re mine.

I loved you. And I think you loved me.

I know you loved me.

I know what he means to Alex

You are the best of me.

“In a little bit, I’ll be sober enough to move you down,” Michael whispered. “Until then, the stars are out.”

He meant float him down off the rock with telekinesis, Alex realized. For some reason, the notion warmed him almost as much as Michael’s earlier confession had.

Alex nodded, and they lay together under the stars illuminating the sky, Michael’s low humming joining the sounds of desert coming to life.

I don’t care, go on and tear me apart.

And I don’t care if you do.

‘Cause you’re a sky full of stars,

I think I see you.

Such a heavenly view.

Also on AO3

#roswell new mexico #malex #alexweek2020 #alexappreciation2020 #alex manes #michael guerin #roswellnm #rnm #roswell nm #tyler blackbrun #fic #malex fic #ao3 #my writing #alicewrites

31 notes · View notes

brackets002 · 5 years

Text

“Why did you do it?”

They had flown alongside each other in silence for some time; She asked this after staring at the Vessel for several minutes. With the Seals long broken their body had begun to reflect their true age; they weren't yet nearly as tall as the Hollow Knight had become, but their proportions fit their size better and they did not threaten to topple from the weight of their mask. So too had grown their stolen wings, which were strong enough now to carry them in flight; pale, finely scaled gossamer that beat hard and then stilled, allowing them to glide. The ragged cloak the Vessel had been born in was exchanged now for the armor and furred mantle of a Nailmaster; their old nail, modified to fit their new size, was hung on their hip and swayed in the rushing winds. When She spoke and they turned their head to look at Her, the scar down the middle of their porcelain visage was nearly imperceptible from the years since its creation.

The Radiance probed the surface layer of their mind as though She had struck them with a Dream Nail, but all She registered was a confusion regarding Her question. She looked ahead again, steering Her own flight, and said, “You repaired your mask after dragging Me into the Void. You tried to abandon godhood and became this.” With one arm, without looking, She gestured towards their body. “Why?”

No answer, at first, was offered. She could feel emotions swirling under the surface thoughts their consciousness limited Her to, half-formed words and spiraling phrases that told Her they were searching for the right words. When they formed at last a sentence, it was the face of a storm of synonyms and connotations. Language was an odd thing for how little it conveyed. I wanted a life of my own carried just beneath it feelings of bitterness and hope, a glimpse at a dozen memories, a desperation for agency. Even simply I signified musings of who “I” was, a struggle for a name. Vessel, Knight, Shadow, My Friend, Ghost, Little Ghost, Ghost of Hallownest, I am Ghost.

The Radiance ignored all of this. She focused on the sentence as they had built it.

“A life?” She said, a little contemptuously. “Is that all? A life of mortal toil and suffering? Divinity is a life, Lord of Shades, one infinitely superior to that of this minuscule shape. The power I commanded at My peak...you passed up omnipotence, mastery of your domain, to wear gaudy armor and swing a blade. You’re a fool.”

I am not the Lord of Shades, their thoughts thundered. (Under the backtrack in thought was what the Radiance recognized as phrases they had tried to say simultaneously: god of a grave, king of siblings slaughtered, eldritch, alone.) That thing may live in me, but I nearly lost my mind to it. Divinity was death (loss of I…). They stopped briefly to beat their wings; in the moment’s silence this brought, they scanned the barren ground below and allowed themselves to calm. They considered and said, It was too great a sacrifice not to hesitate in making. I fought to rid the world of you, and I believed I could have the chance to live in such a world.

“So it was out of spite?”

Most of my decisions are out of spite. We have a commonality there. But no.

“Make up your mind. You just said--”

I found a SELF, Ghost pronounced. I learned I could be more than a Vessel (king’s toy, empty, hollow knight, sacrifice, nameless), more than a killer (feral thing, storm-lashed, murderer, vicious beast, nameless)...Their thoughts continued to wrestle with each other, and the Radiance laughed loudly. Her course through the air momentarily drifted as She guffawed, then She adjusted Her furred wings and banked a little closer to Her companion.

“That just makes you even more of a fool!” She replied. “What are you but a Vessel and a killer, if you refuse to be the Lord of Shades? What is a Nailmaster but a bug trained in death? And your status as a Vessel cannot be escaped, unless of course you embrace the Void entirely. Do you always contradict your own reasons like this?”

Do you always pretend to exist in a vacuum?

That reply came with a maelstrom of biting words and seething rage behind it. Her flight wavered again as She was buffeted by buried screams of memory: a single, purple moth croaking out explanations, alongside a thousand orange pustules and the eyes of attacking husks. The condemnation was clear. But with the meanings they pushed on Her were those they had meant to reserve for themselves: an elderly bug clutching a beautiful flower, those same flowers decorating a grave, a tall pillbug wearing a white mask as a hat, a broken Vessel reaching for them as it died, an enormous bug in Nailmaster’s armor, Hornet. These flickered through Her eyes too fast see clearly, but the weight they held in the Vessel’s mind shook Her more than the recollection of infection did.

The Lord of Shades has no one. Eternity alone with all those Shades (echoes, siblings, dead, regrets)? I cannot abide the thought. I love them, I always shall...but there are things outside the Abyss I love as well. Their explanation paused as the two of them flew beneath a storm cloud, the arcs within illuminating them in harsh blue-white. But Ghost’s mind had crescendoed with the thought of loved ones. As the Radiance searched for a train of coherent thought, a kind of peace filled them as though they had forgotten who they flew with. I found friends. A sister. A bug who considered me progeny (his student, his child, heir, fellow, beloved). I wanted a future with them. A future, in the world that taught me I could love and be loved. I rejected godhood because I decided I deserved a future.

“So you aren’t only a fool, you’re also pathetic. Mortals have no future, we blink and they’re gone.”

Of course, I was wrong to believe I deserved that. My work wasn’t finished, for you still live. And you, glorified lumafly? If you despise this condition so much, why not stay submerged within the Void? You almost make it seem preferable to this form.

Looking down again at the body in question, the Radiance scowled. Gone were Her metallic legs, gone were the ever-changing and prehensile wings, and gone was Her crown of horns; climbing out of the Abyss, shaking, She had been horrified to find Herself reborn as little more than a tall moth. Alabaster fuzz covered most of Her body, ending just before the claws of Her legs and four arms. Her wings, now a desaturated yellow-grey with only traces of gold patterning, hung limply around Her like a cloak when unused; flying on them now, though those golden circles shone brightly, She could barely stand to look at them for their relative drabness. The reflections She had seen of Her face had been similarly disgusting; two bristled antennae, angled forward and out in crude mockery of Her old horns, swayed in every breeze. She didn’t want to consider how they looked now, buffeted by the winds of Her flight and the harsh lands below. The only true sign of what She had once been was the constant glow of Her yellow eyes, and that only served to confuse and frighten those who saw it.

She seethed at the thought of those bugs’ uncomprehending faces. “How are those circumstances at all comparable?!” She demanded, and when a silent chuckle rolled through the Vessel’s thoughts She grew only angrier. “Had I known I would be reduced so, perhaps I would have stayed drowned! But I was powerless, cold, dying without end, do you understand? You passed up all the power of the Void to have your ridiculous ‘future,’ but I? I?” The Radiance stared at the ground hundreds of feet below, recalling the despair She had felt immersed in the sea of shadow; the despair that hadn’t truly left Her since. “...I was forced to choose between torture in the dark and this weak, drab, finite shape. I don’t know if I chose well. Both fates were horrors beyond anything I could have conceived.”

She had hoped to stir some sympathy within Her companion, but Her words seemed to have the opposite effect. Beneath Ghost’s surface thoughts boiled an anger renewed. Whisperings of how dare you and selfish moron were discernible in snatches, until they formed a sentence to project to Her. Woe to the god gone mad, Ghost thought. Forced to endure a consequence for the first time in her existence, a horror no doubt eclipsing all the pain and death her infection wrought. To think a single apocalyptic tantrum could have brought this upon her. Awful, truly.

“Sarcasm shouldn’t be attempted without a mouth,” the Radiance noted aloud. “You convey both too much and too little. I don’t know why I expected you to understand, Lord of Shades. You’ve never known what it is to be immersed within your own element, only to be attacked and suffocated by your oldest enemy. Nor have you ever felt the love of worshipers.”

And you, contrarily, have never known any other kind of love (siblings, teachers, friends, quirrel, quirrel, quirrel…). I do not envy you for having the likes of the Moss Prophet to babble your praises. If it weren’t for who you were and all you’ve done, I might have pitied you.

The Radiance glared at the horizon as She withdrew Her attention from their thoughts, blocking out whatever else they may have wanted to say. “I cannot wait,” She murmured, lowering Her gaze to scan the ground below, “until the day we can treat each other as enemies once again.” She didn’t have to look to know that Ghost shared the sentiment—and was probably tightening their hold on their nail, dreaming of that very moment. Speaking louder She added, “Pharloom isn’t far from here. Follow me, we’re nearly there.” With a shining flap of Her wings She began to accelerate.

#hollow knight #fanfic #twilight of the gods #ghost #radiance #nailmaster ghost #preview for an upcoming story #...probably

52 notes · View notes

farr-frrom-nothing · 4 years

Text

Reunion (Zutara Week 2020 Day 1)

This is my first Zutara Week and I’m actually really excited about it. Discovering this yearly celebration (and other people’s devotion to the ship that never sailed) gave me the inspiration to start writing again. I decided to write a short story, with one chapter for every day of the week, revolved around each day’s prompt.

Note that I only found out about this week like 4 days ago, and only have four of the seven days written (I’ve lost so much sleeping writing, revising, and editing these damn things). So the final chapters might be late, but I hope ya’ll enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky was illuminated in vibrant shades of red, orange, and purple - Fire Lord Zuko admiring its beauty from the balcony of his chamber, as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Any moment now he should catch the faint outline of a ship racing, at break-neck speed, against the waning daylight. That final hour would feel as though it were a lifetime; waiting for the relief it would bring to see the Southern Water Tribe vessel docked in the Fire Nation port.

Zuko hadn't realized how truly unwell his spirit had become in recent weeks until he glanced down to see the metal of the railing melted beneath his fingers. He had hoped that the days of his unbridled rage were far behind him, but to his dismay it had only taken a matter of hours to undo years of spiritual healing. For the first time in ages, Zuko felt truly lost.

Uncle Iroh could no longer offer his wisdom and guidance, nor could Mai comfort or relieve Zuko of his fears. He was left now with only his own anguished spirit, a still wounded and healing kingdom, and a young daughter who would grow up without her mother.

The Fire Lord needed the company of those he trusted, now more than ever, but the anticipation of this reunion weighed heavier than it should have. What could he offer to them that would suffice for the last two years of his near absence from their lives? How could he ask for sympathy or, even worse still - help - after all he’d failed to do for them?

A small flame escaped his lips with a heavy exhale upon the sight of the familiar blue sails passing into the harbor. Zuko expected to feel anxious, nervous, hesitant...but instead he felt at ease, relieved, and above all; understood. He waited no longer in retreating from his chamber and sending for his royal carriage.

Dusk soon succumbed to the black night sky, dotted with stars and painted with wispy cosmic clouds. Katara rested her arms over the side of the ship, staring listlessly at the cloud of gray and red smoke that hung over the Royal City of the Fire Nation. The same smoke floated just above the sails of their ship as it entered the harbor.

She paid no mind to the focused sailors working feverishly around her, or the echoing of her brother’s orders that would guide them safely to dock, or the anxious tapping of Toph’s feet against the wooden deck of the ship. Katara’s mind was elsewhere. Her heart was elsewhere.

She desperately searched the city skyline for the towers of the Royal Palace, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of the Fire Lord himself. Katara knew how greatly Zuko had suffered over the last few weeks. She could truly only imagine the anguish he must be feeling at the loss of his uncle and his wife in the same month.

She gazed up at the endless night sky, a tear gently gliding down her cheek as she pictured home in her mind. Home; where a tiny, ice headstone rests just outside the village, right beside her mother’s. Katara’s heart ached with her own grief, with her own suffering, with her own incomparable loss.

Katara sighed heavily upon the sight of the Royal Carriage making it’s way down the slope of the volcano towards the water. She realized then, as the ship finally bumped and knocked against the side of the stone dock, that she felt none of the nervousness, or anxiousness, or hesitation she thought she’d feel when she finally saw Zuko again. Instead, she took comfort in knowing that her and Zuko once again stood on common ground, even if he didn’t know it. The pair could once again seek comfort, safety, and above all; understanding, in one another.

Zuko focused in on the stillness surrounding him as he waited, alone, in the throne room of his palace for the arrival of his friends. The same throne room where, already a decade ago, he’d spoken out during his father’s war meeting. His mind was plagued by flashbacks of his father’s harsh punishment for his outburst. His hand trembled slightly as his fingertips touched the scaly and hardened patch of skin surrounding his left eye.

His touch was cold, and full of resentment, even after all this time. He saw his scar as a sign of strength, but he never viewed it as the sign of beauty that Mai had. Or Katara. Suddenly he remembered the loving and gentle touch of his wife’s hand on his skin whenever he was feeling doubtful, and he remembered the soft acceptance of Katara when she cradled his face in her hand in the crystal catacombs of Ba Sing Se.

If anything, Zuko longed to see Katara. He longed to feel her embrace. He longed for their hours long conversations that always left him better than they found him. It was then that he realized how much he’d missed their close friendship. Without Mai, he was lacking the female companionship that he so desperately needed. And although Katara could never replace his wife, having one of his closest friends nearby could only make him stronger as he faced the unknown future.

As if their journey hadn’t been long enough, the group of four still had a distance to travel before they reached the Royal Palace. Katara couldn’t hide the disappointment from her face when the footman had opened the door to the carriage to reveal that Zuko was not inside.

“The Fire Lord apologizes that he was unable to greet you personally” the heavyset man had said, “Unfortunately there is only room for four in the carriage. However, the Fire Lord eagerly awaits your arrival at the Royal Palace.”

It had taken mere minutes to secure the groups belongings to the trunk of the carriage, after which the foursome piled inside and they were off to the palace.

Katara had spent much of the journey admiring the changes that the Royal City had undergone in the five years since she last set foot here. Her husband and the Fire Lord had done a marvelous job integrating different cultures into the existing culture of this proud city. She spied citizens from all nations, conversing with one another, walking hand in hand down the cobblestone streets, trading furs for kitchenware, Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom children frolicking through the square. Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Zuko had wanted to ensure that never again would the world harbor such hatred for their neighbor. Zuko had opened his country, and his heart, and welcomed in all nations with open arms.

By the time they arrived at the palace, lamps were being extinguished all over the city, as if it had stayed awake just for them. But the lights of the Royal Palace shone brighter than all the stars in the sky, and life dripped from every pore of this thriving hub. Servants descended on the carriage within seconds of its arrival to collect the guests belongings, and guards stood watch atop the iron gates that surrounded the palace and at attention within its grand courtyard.

The group disembarked from the carriage to be met by the Captain of the Royal Palace Guard, “Please wait here. Our Fire Lord will be along shortly.”

What was only a few short minutes felt like hours, before the massive palace doors were pulled open by the attending guards. Katara held her breath and her body went rigid, as her eyes followed the tall silhouette of Zuko emerging from the shadows.

There he was, in all his glory, Fire Lord Zuko. And he did look like the leader he was always destined to be. Katara examined his figure, from top to bottom, as he descended the staircase towards them. He stood towering above all around him, proudly holding his head high to the world for which he had helped save. His scar shown prominently across his left eye, his jet black hair pulled back into a tight bun preventing any stray hairs from blocking it from view. His first seven years as ruler were evident in the subtle creases that extended out from the corners of his eyes and lips, and the hard line that was pressed into his forehead. His demeanor felt stiff and restrained, or...repressed? And although he showed the world an air of regal authority, that which was to be respected, Katara could still see the deep pain he concealed behind his striking amber eyes.

Despite it all, Katara still saw him the way she always had; a soul burdened by misfortune who would fight to his final breath for his honor, his destiny, and those he cared for. A strength unmatched by anyone else she’d ever met.

“My friends, Welcome to the Royal Palace. I hope your journey has passed swiftly and with little disruption” Zuko spoke softly as he bowed before his old friends.

Returning the gesture first, Sokka then offered the first of the acknowledgements and condolences by placing a hand on Zuko’s shoulder, “It’s good to see you, buddy. I’m so sorry.”

Zuko simply nodded solemnly and rested his hand on Sokka’s shoulder, before taking Toph’s outstretched hand in his.

“I’ve kinda missed you, Sparky.” Toph admitted with a smirk and tone that was laced with sadness. Zuko offered a faint smirk himself, though Toph couldn’t see it, and a gentle squeeze of her hand, “I’ve missed you too, Toph.”

“Zuko, I am so sorry.” Suki offered with genuine sincerity as Zuko produced another stern nod of acknowledgement, “Thank you, Suki.”

Katara watched Zuko as he greeted all of his friends, and she could sense the weight of his grief, hear the slight tremble of his voice, see the facade as it began to fall with his ever sinking expression.

He turned to Katara, locking his eyes with hers immediately, making no attempt to hide from her. He couldn’t and he knew he didn’t have to. His lips curled upward in a barely noticeable smile that gave way to an honest greeting, “Hello Katara, it does me good to see you.”

Katara gently clasped her fingers around Zuko’s forearms, her thumbs delicately tracing circles on the underside of his wrists as she spoke sorrowfully , “And I you, Zuko. I just wish it were under different circumstances.”

He swiftly took her into his arms, holding perhaps too tightly, though Katara didn’t mind. Her fingers splayed across his chest, grasping at his ceremonial robes as she let two tears roll down her cheeks. His hands tenderly caressing her long, chestnut hair.

“Me too, Katara. Me too.”

#zutara week 2020 #zutara #reunion

0 notes

mysticsparklewings · 4 years

Photo

Heaven Help Us

Happy Fake Your Death Day! :D Or at least that's what I'm calling today. For those who don't know, March 22, 2013, is the day My Chemical Romance officially broke up. afterward, March 22 was a significantly sad day for the fandom. The day we remembered what once was. Deathday. But that was before October 31, 2019. My Chemical Romance officially announced their Return. The world is currently a very uncertain place, including MCR's own concert dates, but I personally take solace in knowing that the impossible already happened once. It can happen again. We, the MCR fandom, hoped and waited and prayed for six whole years. I'm sure plenty of others were like myself and were just starting to lose the hope we'd held onto for so long...and then it happened. It really did. Moral of the story: Never lose hope. Good things come to those who wait. Have faith. Naturally, I had to do something for today. I've done tributes for the 22nd before, but all pre-Return. I'd say it had to be something special, but that's not strictly true. For me, all my MCR artworks are special. I don't do them too terribly often because I want them to be done right. I want to put everything I can into them. I want them to be the absolute best they can be. But I did know I wanted to draw all four of the main guys (left to right: Frank, Ray, Mikey, Gerard), since I've only attempted that one other time, and they came out much more chibi there. (Side note: I really need to find the time and patience to color that drawing at some point). This time I was hoping to still draw them in my style, but a tad more realistic. Or less chibi, anyway. While I was scouting out potential photos of the guys to use, among a few Danger Days/Killjoy pictures I was considering, I found this one that I really took a liking to. Largely this was because they didn't look quite as sour as they did in some of the other photos I was finding. They don't really look happy per se, but there's an almost hopeful or looking-for-guidance feel to their expressions that appealed to me. And then the idea to call the finished piece "Heaven Help Us," after one of their songs and do something with angel wings in the background occurred to me, and I just had to run with all of it. Naturally, I started by sketching the boys out. I ran into a little trouble with the proportions, and I'm very sure some of that leaked into the final product, but I did my best. I also did my best to capture their expressions, but I know I missed the mark on that in a few ways. Part of it is just there's only so much I can do with my style and expressions and still keeping them looking like guys and not little girls. (To which, I will admit, they probably do still look effeminate. That's just what happens to guys when I draw them in my style. ) I had to sit on the sketch for a couple of days after that though, both to figure out what I wanted to do beyond that and because I was just seriously lacking in the motivation to make more complicated art at the time. Fortunately though, when I did come back to it, I was able to come up with a fairly solid plan. I decided I'd paint the background separately with gouache and then ink and color the boys on another piece of paper. Originally, the plan was to also then physical cut the boys out and put them on the background, but naturally, I procrastinated the entire time I was working on this project and backed myself into a bit of time-crunch corner, so I had to forgo that idea and combine the two pieces digitally instead. Although, if I'm being honest, that might've been for the better, as I keep trying to imagine cutting out and around all those tiny pieces and sections around the edges and the longer I think the more than sounds like a good way to get a sore hand and lose all of my patience while holding a sharp object. In other words, no thank you. The background is definitely flawed, but landscape paintings aren't necessarily my cup of tea, so I went into painting it knowing that it didn't have to be perfect, it just had to be "close enough." The background in the original photo is a backdrop anyway (it's pretty obvious already but the harsh shadows the guys cast onto it really give it away), so I had a little bit of a leg up there. At least I wouldn't be trying to replicate an actual detailed landscape. So I went in with some yellow ochre, a rust-ish color, some white, and bit of a brown had leftover from one of my previous gouache painting sessions, and just eyeballed the features to the best of my ability. It looks like it's half-finished without the guys in front, but even so, I was still pretty satisfied with how it turned out. This project has also since reminded me I really need to find excuses to use gouache more often. It works so well for packing on color and blending but still having a lightness to it that acrylic paint just doesn't. Anyway. While the background dried, I got to figure out what to do for my four boys. I went back and forth a bit, but ultimately I decided to do most of the coloring with alcohol markers, except for the hair. The hair would be done with colored pencils. And I'd already decided I was not going to try to draw Gerard's shirt print and I'd just bring it in digitally. At the time, I was thinking I might do the same for Mikey's, but when I got to where I was almost done with the marker portions, I decided I'd take a risk and try my luck doing it by hand. I must say, I did better with it than I was expecting, so I call that a win. It was a little tricky to figure out what colors to use for the markers and pencils since the contrast and lighting is...not strictly normal. From what I can tell, the light is coming from pretty dead-on, almost like it's right behind and above the camera, and it's very bright. So much so that is washes all of them out to the point they kinda look like they all have the same skin color, which I know isn't completely accurate. In some ways, this made shading easier and in some ways, it also made it more confusing. There are places I'd normally put shadows where there don't appear to be any in the reference, so I left them alone, but it almost felt wrong at times. Gerard and Mikey's hair, in particular, was also a little tricky. Since this was around the time of Danger Days, Gee was dying his hair red and Mikey was dying most of his blonde. I had to get just the right shade of red and shade it appropriately, and it was actually more challenging than I thought it would be to get just the right shade of yellow and ombre balance for Mikey's. After I spent an eternity on both traditional parts though (the background and the guys themselves), it was finally time to move on. I scanned both pieces in and then booted them into photoshop. I cut the guys out of their plain white background and moved them onto the one I painted, then fiddled order with a Drop Shadow in the Blending Options to get those strong cast shadows behind them. They aren't a 1:1, but part of that is my proportions are different and also there was only so much I could do without just basically re-drawing the shadows in myself, which I wasn't too keen on doing. And then I came back to the idea that had originally sold me on this picture: The angel wings. While I was working on the other parts, I had gone back and forth over whether or not I wanted to include them, given how the original image looks and all, but once I saw what the final product looked like without them, I decided the wings were necessary. I simply grabbed a pair from PixaBay, my public-domain0image-site-poison of choice, then duplicated it so each guy would have a pair, then adjusted them as necessary to make them look more realistic as in being attached to the guys. I knew this wouldn't be fully possible based on how they're standing, but I made my peace with that and decided to just go with what I could do within reason. Once the wings were placed appropriately, I then fiddled with the layer options until I landed on one (I think it was either Overlay or Soft Light, I disremember) I was happy with. You can still see the wings, but they're not too in-your-face and distracting. And really, I like this look because it makes me think a lot of the angel statues they've been using in their Return promo stuff. That's really all there was too it. It took me three times as long as it should have because I was, as I said, just motivationally blocked (in working on bigger projects. I still wanted to create, but all I really wanted to make were simple things like the mandalas I've been experimenting with. I'm not sure what kind of selective laziness or creative block you call that ) for 80% of the time I was working on it, so it feels like this description should be a lot longer, but I think I've covered really everything that needs covering. I could describe in greater detail how many colors the layering I used, but it seems unnecessary unless I'm going to document all the specific colors I used and all that, which, spoiler alert, I don't have the patience for. And so, here it is. Like I said, I know the world is a very uncertain place right now, but I'm still thrilled that today is no longer the sad occasion it once was. I'm so glad My Chemical Romance is back, even if the future regarding not only them (as there's still so much we don't know), but the rest of the world too, is foggy and seems a little scary right now. If nothing else, I can now at least listen to their music and know, this is not all there is. This is not the end. In that vein, I leave you all with one of the most famous phrases from one of their songs: We'll Carry On. We will get through this, one way or another. May Death Never Stop You. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#mychemicalromance #mcr #mcrmy #killjoys

0 notes

swipestream · 5 years

Text

Sensor Sweep: David Lindsay, Robots, Hollow City, H. Beam Piper, Jonah Hex

Lit-Crit (Jewish Review of Books): It’s a bit surprising to come across Harold Bloom’s confession that the literary work that has been his greatest obsession is not, say, Hamlet or Henry IV, but a relatively little-known 1920 fantasy novel. After all, Bloom is our most famous bardolater. When I took an undergraduate class with him at Yale, he announced his trembling bafflement before Shakespeare’s greatness in almost every lecture. In the course of his career, Bloom has named a handful of other literary eminences who compel from him a similar obeisance—Emerson, Milton, Blake, Kafka, and Freud are members in this select club—but one does not find David Lindsay on this list.

Writing (McSweeneys): I had a whole gaggle of 100-point bucks in my sights, sleeping peacefully on their feet, like cows. The way they were lined up, I could take down the whole clan in a single shot of gun, clean through their magnificent oversized brains. That’d be enough (deer) meat to last Nora and the baby through the harsh Amarillo winter. I shifted my weight in my hidey spot, snapping a twig and pouring more pepper on the fire by muttering, “God dammit all to hell.”

Gaming (Modiphius): Conan the Brigand is the complete guide to the nomadic brigands of the Hyborian Age, providing the gamemaster and player characters with all the resources to run campaigns that embrace the path of the brigand, or are affected by it. Here within these pages are all the resources needed to bring to life this outlaw world!

New material to expand your Conan campaign, with brigand-themed castes, stories, backgrounds, and equipment, allowing you to create your own unique brigands, nomads, and raiders.

Science Fiction (Brian Niemeier): The Unz Review shows how the Right all too often rushes to enshrine earlier Leftist subversion simply because it precedes current Leftist subversion.

This time, the subject of misguided right wing hagiography is John W. Campbell, Jr.

Alec Nevala-Lee, an Asian-American science fiction writer, has here written something remarkable: an intentionally PC multi-biography that nevertheless manages to be well-informed and informative, well-written and compulsively readable.

Science Fiction (Unz.com): Alec Nevala-Lee, an Asian-American science fiction writer,[2] has here written something remarkable: an intentionally PC multi-biography that nevertheless manages to be well-informed and informative, well-written and compulsively readable. It’s the first substantive biography of John W. Campbell, Jr., the man – or, as we’ll see, some would insist on “the white male” – who basically invented modern science fiction; and that last point means that to do so properly, we have to take into account the three men – yes, again, white males – whose writing careers he promoted in order to do it.

Fiction (DMR Books): The Ivory Trail was Talbot Mundy’s fifth novel and his most widely reviewed book up until that time. It was serialized in Adventure magazine in early 1919 under the title On the Trail of Tipoo Tib and then published in book form by Bobbs-Merrill later that year. It received a largely positive reception but was quite different from his previous books in that it was set entirely in East Africa, amid Mundy’s old hunting grounds.

Tolkien (Pages Unbound): I first picked up Tolkien when I was very young (sometime in elementary school). Some fantasy had come into my hands—some book or another, or perhaps the original Final Fantasy game on the NES. My mom said, “You know, if you like that, there is a book you would like . . .” I’m not even sure if my mom has ever read The Hobbit, which is a testament to its cultural cache. I did not immediately acquiesce. I was a pretentious child—before I became a man and put away childish things like the fear of seeming childish—and I initially rebuffed my mom’s efforts. But a book is a book, and I didn’t have so many laying around in those days, so I didn’t wait long before reading it.

Science Fiction (G. Scott Huggins): Robots. I have never really understood why there is an obsession with stories about robots. As with fae, I understand the attraction of having robots exist in a story. What I don’t really get is stories about robots. Robots as the reason for the story. Yet many, many people love stories about robots. Isaac Asimov, arguably, built his career on an obsession with robots. I can’t think of any other piece of future technology — with the possible exception of spaceships — that has inspired such a wealth of stories about them. Can you imagine a whole subgenre of SF devoted to, say, laser guns?

Fiction (Wasteland and Sky): Super powered cop Adam Song has dedicated his life to the law. In the military and the police force, Adam ruthlessly protects the innocent.

But this time he’s killed the wrong bad guy. Now the local drug lord’s son is dead, and the boss is out for Adam’s blood. Even his secret identity won’t keep him safe. The police department hangs him out to dry, his years of exemplary service forgotten. Adam must take justice into his own hands to keep his family safe.

Fiction (Fiction Fan Blog): When a young lady comes to Sherlock Holmes for advice, what at first seems like an intriguing mystery soon turns into a tale of murderous revenge. Mary Morstan’s father disappeared some years ago, just after he had returned from colonial service. He had been in the Andaman Islands, one of the officers charged with guarding the prisoners held there. A few years after his disappearance, Miss Morstan received a large pearl in the mail, and every year for the six years since then, she has received another.

Gaming (Walker’s Retreat): Following the whinefest by Fake Game Journalists over Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice, Oliver Campbell of the Metro City Boys put together a supercut of how he prevailed over the game. As the saying goes, “The master failed more times than the amateur ever attempts.” That’s what it takes to beat this game: persistence.

Every game of this sort has similar requirements of persistence to succeed. Oliver here goes over how he did that. Skip to 14:10 for the lesson, taken from Rocky Balboa.

Acting (Chris Lansdown): Thanks to frequent commenter Mary, I recently learned about the existence of William Gillette, the first man to play Sherlock Holmes, mostly on the stage but also in a silent film.

Born in 1853, in Connecticut, William Gillette was a stage director, writer, and actor in America. In 1897, his play, Secret Service, was sufficiently successful in America that his producer took it to England.

Gaming (Rampant Games): I played over 70 hours of No Man’s Sky when it was originally released. Unlike others, I wasn’t disappointed. Yeah, it got repetitive and lonely at times. There was a starkness to it that no amount of lush procedural visuals could overcome. It’s changed a lot since then, graphically, in gameplay, and it has true multiplayer. Sadly, I haven’t had the time to devote to it. Yet.

Fiction (Razored Zen): This is a collection of stories selected by Joe Lansdale, and including in introduction by Lansdale. Before I talk about the individual stories, I’ll give my overall viewpoint. I’d generally say I enjoyed most of the tales but the title is very misleading. A better title might have been, “Tales of a New West,” or something along those lines. Most of these tales are nowhere near traditional westerns. Lansdale is clear in the introduction that that was what he was looking for but the title certainly would have led me to expect a different sort of collection.

Writing (Rawle Nyanzi): Larry Correia, the Mountain Who Writes, is a personal hero of mine. His advice to writers is to be prolific: write lots of stuff, then release that stuff, then write some more, release some more, and so on. I am often in awe of how much he writes and publishes, and I wish that I could reach even one-tenth of his yearly output. To him, “writer’s block” simply isn’t a thing — he presses on, no matter what.

Fiction (Adventures Fantastic): Henry Beam Piper was born on this day, March 23, in 1904. He died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 1964.

Piper is not well known today, and that’s a shame. In his lifetime, he was best known for two series, The Paratime Police and the Terro-Human Future History, as well as the stand-alone short story “Omnilingual”. His best known novels include the Little Fuzzy subseries of his future series and Space Viking, which was a major influence on Jerry Pournelle.

Fiction (John C. Wright): Abraham Merrit is one of the foundational authors of speculative fiction, and it is a shame that he is not well remembered. I blame a deliberate effort of John W Cambell Jr and his protegees to undermine the fame of pulp authors in order to glolrify the more nuts-and-bolts fiction following the model of Jules Verne or Buck Rogers.

Now, I like Hard SF or Tech SF as much as the next fan of Asimov, Clarke, Heinlein, Niven, Pournelle, Baxter, &c., but I also like the pulps and their freedom from strict genre restraints, and I hate snobbery in all its forms.

There is no wrong way to have fun.

Fiction (Rich Horton): Today would have been H. Beam Piper’s 115th birthday. His first novels were the two serials discussed below, published in books form as Crisis in 2140 and Uller Uprising. (A version of “Uller Uprising” had actually appeared as part of the Twayne Triplet The Petrified Planet a year earlier.) In addition to those novels, I append a short look at perhaps his most famous story, “Omnilingual”.

Comic Books (Broadswords and Blasters): In 1993, editor Karen Berger at DC Comics forged a new imprint that focused on stories geared at a more mature audience and creator owned works as well. The end result was the creation of Vertigo Comics. Such early titles included, naturally enough, a transfer of already established titles such as Shade the Changing Man, The Sandman,[1] Swamp Thing, Hellblazer,[2] Animal Man and Doom Patrol. Soon after, new titles, both ongoing and limited premiered under this imprint including Neil Gaiman’s Death: the High Cost of Living, the Matt Wagner-helmed Sandman: Mystery Theatre and Peter Milligan’s Enigma.

Sensor Sweep: David Lindsay, Robots, Hollow City, H. Beam Piper, Jonah Hex published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

0 notes

sofitteee-blog · 6 years

Text

Assignment 1B

For this second assignment, we had to focus on 3 views on the 32 perspectives that we sketched out for our assignment 1a and further redefine it using our own creativity.

There were the main assignment briefs:

- After careful assessments of your first 32 perspectives, curate and shortlist 3 views that you would like to work on further. This time round, you are to utilize these three panels to articulate your sense of self.

- The final 3 views should, in essence, act as a form of self-expression. Students should also articulate on why a particular approach is taken, and how that approach is a reflection of self-expression.

I decided to use 3 different views and express it in my own way :-) I used View 18, 19 and 27 for this assignment (can be found labelled in my previous post about assignment 1A).

So these are my 3 views that i zoomed in on as shown below.

PICTURE 1 View 19:

PICTURE 1, VIEW 19: Firstly, I chose to zoom in on view 19 because the bottle was pointed upwards and i believe that it represents positivity. This is because when it is pointed upwards, it is as if saying that there are endless possibilities and that good things are coming. I chose to draw sunflowers because they are my favourite flower and i love how they represent positivity and sunshine. Sunflowers always bring a smile to my face and always make me feel better about myself no matter how tiring life gets :-) The yellow colour that i chose to colour the flowers, is light so that it will not take the attention away from the “liquid” in the perfume bottle. I chose to use crayon to outline the perfume bottle to make it stand out more (the black outline) and use yellow crayon to highlight the liquid in the bottle. This is especially because in the original 32 angles sketches, i tried to illustrate the liquid in the bottle but it did not turn out as well as i expected it to. For the sunflowers and the stems, i used colour pencil to shade in some colour and give it a more demure and softer look as compared to the crayons that look rougher and stronger. The harsh lines of the bottle represent the challenges that keep you from progressing and try to stop you from reaching your full potential. It also restricts your happiness and therefore, i chose to use sunflowers because they indicate that happiness is out there and you just have to keep looking up. All in all, this sketch’s main point is that positivity is the key and this is something that i try to constantly remind myself and thus used my favourite perfume and flower to illustrate it!

PICTURE 2 View 18:

PICTURE 2 VIEW 18: For this second picture, i chose to use the view of the bottle where it was tilting to the side. It continues from the first picture where instead of facing upwards, now it is zoomed in more and facing towards the side. Now the bottle has tilted and is facing the right. The colour combination on this piece of work might seem abit more odd and bright as compared to the previous picture and there is a difference in the materials used as well. I used the pink colour cut out triangles to colour the inside of the bottle as previously, it is a transparent bottle but my favourite colour is pink and i wanted to fill it up with what i love instead of negativity as said in the previous picture. The previous picture had thick black lines to demarcate the challenges one faces but i chose to use white twine in this picture. Why i decided to change them was mainly to show how instead of letting the challenges define us, we should allow what we love to define us and so i filled the bottle with my favourite colour first and foremost. Insetad of just using crayon to colour the “liquid” in the bottle, i actually used yellow paper and a lion king picture to indicate the “liquid”. Why i chose this was because it was my favourite musical, the colour was similar and that it was a show about family love and having the courage to stand up for yourself and for what is right. These are values that i live by and therefore, incorporated them into the picture. I chose to use the twine to block the entrance of the bottle so that these values and precious things that i love will never get lost amongst the negativity and that i will carry them locked in my heart for the years to come. I coloured the bottle cap grey and black as it was not so much of the focus of the picture and therefore, i tried to blend it in abit, making it softer and less noticeable. In a way, the perfume bottle is an imagery of my heart.

PICTURE 3 View 27:

PICTURE 3 VIEW 27: Lastly, I chose this view as this was also a continuation from the previous 2 pictures and the perfume bottle is upside down. This is probably the most abstract piece of all and initially i did not intend to make it darker but after thinking about it more, i decided to use it to describe my negative place. The previous two pictures were used mostly to show my values and what i love. But this picture firstly is an upside down bottle with the bottle cap at the bottom (the stripe area). I actually cut out the bottle and pasted it on a black piece of paper to complement the meaning behind the drawings better. The silver open area at the top of the picture is actually the base of the bottle and i decided to colour it silver as it is opaque in colour and it is used to sort of “block out” all forms of help that you might try to recieve. I used silver particularly because it has the highest reflectivity amongst all metal and so i used it so that we in a way get trapped inside and when we try to look up for help, sometimes all we see is our helpless selves. I drew a tree and a house below it surrounded by darkness and why particularly these 2 items, was because when we feel alone, this is what you would imagine being at or surrounded by (at least for me). Inside the bottle represents sometimes what you feel when you become overwhelmed by studies, by life, by negativity and you get knocked down maybe from friendship problems or bad grades. You began to feel alone and disappointed and scared of what to do. I used the house and trees also as a form of visual imagery to represent my fear - because my favourite horror movie is The Conjuring and setting of the house was set in a similar environment. I am someone who tends to bottle up my problems and fears inside and tend not to say anything out and i used this picture to kind of show that when you keep all these issues inside of you, it builds up which could lead to even more problems in the future. This bottle shows the problems i have with my introverted character and i tried to depict it to the best i could with the drawing above.

Overall, i felt that this was a more challenging assignment as i had to create something that expresses myself. Even though it was challenging, i had alot of fun playing around with different materials and using different ways to bring myself across through the 3 different angles.

0 notes