#may be heavily drawing on some nightmare childhood memories here

[gertritude-art]

when he doesn't want to go to sunday church and eat dry roasted chicken afterwards...

#may be heavily drawing on some nightmare childhood memories here #my ocs #lillie #doodle #nightmare memories being of eating dry roasted chicken at my grandmas house of course

[astrologyandlife]

jupiter and saturn together in the natal chart

i have noticed that, in many of my readings, people have both jupiter and saturn sitting in the same house of their natal chart. this makes sense because a conjunction between the two occurs every 20 years. and to me, this signals an important theme: the need to overcome struggle to unlock the opportunities of that house.

first house - there's difficulty expressing yourself fully. it's like you want to be optimistic and have faith in yourself, but something is holding you back from that. you are almost afraid of being let down. as a result, you carry around this fear and caution about everything. you doubt yourself. when people first meet you, these struggles can be visible to them. the important thing here is that you are the cultivator of your experience, and when you can work through your feelings about yourself and your environment, you will notice that you attract good luck and opportunity. you have the power to consciously change how you approach the world around you through a smile, a little bit of faith, and a more positive attitude. second house - growing up, you lacked some form of security in your life. this could have been in the form of coming from a poorer background, or having a parent(s) that did not consistently care for you in some way. and because you were not valued by those in your early environment, you struggle to ascribe value to yourself. you may develop habits of holding onto things out of fear that you will never have them again. the lesson from this placement is to understand your own worth, and to know that you are entitled to a comfortable, happy, satisfying life. using this framework you will attract wealth and opportunity. third house - the hardest part about this placement is that you feel as though you are somehow "stupid" or your ideas aren't worthwhile. you could have struggled in your early school years for various reasons ranging from not understanding the material to being in an environment that refused to accommodate your needs. you rarely share your own ideas, and you fear being rejected, wrong, or made fun of by others. you must let go of this hesitation and remind yourself that you have valuable ideas to share with the world. you have the power to persuade, to motivate, and to invigorate. in fact, once you stop second-guessing yourself, you will notice that your genius shines proudly. fourth house - your early childhood experiences were, and still are, challenging for you. you could have experienced hardship as a result of being treated poorly by your parents or even going through some trauma in the home, especially if saturn makes aspects to mars or pluto. you have fears stemming from your childhood that hold you back. what is going to be important for you is building a home for yourself that is safe, secure, and stable. in doing so, your chosen family will grow and provide you with the support you need to flourish. fifth house - you have artistic and creative talents, but it is possible that when you were younger, you received heavy messaging that these talents were in some way invaluable or unimportant. As a result, relaxation and self-expression on a creative level is severely restricted. you feel like you always have to justify the things you love. however, you are allowed to simply exist and enjoy things for their sake. once you allow yourself to be creative to the extent you are capable, you will find that it will bring opportunity and happiness to you. sixth house - i definitely get the sense that you have had to be responsible from a very young age, taking care of the chores around the house, watching over yourself, etc. perhaps your parents were particularly strict with you and imposed a lot of restrictions on your daily life. these lessons instilled within you have lead you to desire routine and organization, because you fear chaos. you also tend to put too much on yourself, leading to burnout and extreme stress. here you must unlearn any negative habits or routines you have created for yourself, including overworking yourself. in doing so, you will feel much more calm and collected, which will help you physically and mentally. seventh house - there is a lot of stress and anxiety that comes from long-term relationships. the biggest fear here is the fear that you will never find someone who can fully love and commit to you. though you have a lot to offer, you feel completely

inexperienced or as though you are nothing special. there can be a tendency to downplay your own gifts and strengths. as a result, you feel very lonely in your early life and may be distrustful of love. you are afraid of opening yourself up to rejection and pain, so you avoid forming strong attachments or giving too much of yourself. having faith in yourself and what you have to offer, as well as being confident, will attract people who have an abundance of love and affection to give to you. eighth house - this placement can be heavily indicative of one or more life-changing, traumatic experiences, namely when pluto is involved. this experience has transformed you in some major way, likely inducing a fear of change or the unknown within you. you hold on to these memories and this pain in your heart, which stunts your growth as a person. the second half of the healing must be a conscious act by you, wherein you decide that you have what it takes to continue surviving. there is definitely a need for complete rebirth here. once you have come out on the other side, the magic of life itself will be revealed to yourself. you will become resilient in ways you could never imagine, and you will have the strength to overcome anything. ninth house - i have the feeling that your early life was extremely narrow and did not allow you to explore the world around you properly. perhaps your parents were extremely overprotective of you, or overbearing in sharing their opinions with you, and this was a very suffocating feeling. your own opinions and ideas were not welcome by the people in your life, and often they were even shut down. so you must start anew with your independence. remain open and take time to immerse yourself in anything you can, especially ideas radically different from your own. by opening your mind, jupiter will reward you with a wealth of knowledge and experience from which you can draw. tenth house - early on in your life, ideas of what it means to be successful, accomplished, and a productive member of society were heavily pushed on you by the people in your life. you almost feel as though you aren't meant to have agency in your own future, because you are trying to do what you are "supposed" to do. your parents could have been a bit overbearing in trying to prepare you for the future. trusting yourself and forming your own ideas of success and fulfillment will lead to you experiencing much more opportunity within your career. you must overcome a fear of failure here. eleventh house - on a deep level, you feel completely alone in the world. you feel as though it is impossible for anyone to truly understand you, or that they would even want to try. you are a deeply lonely person at times. i could see this placement as indicating that you were a social outcast or somehow distanced from others in your youth, leading to you believing there is something fundamentally wrong with you that prevents you from forming meaningful relationships. you doubt yourself, thinking, am i boring? am i too plain? am i unlikeable? here, you must cast these thoughts away and put forth effort anyways. twelfth house - the biggest struggle with this is that you feel unable to let go of the past and to forgive yourself. the biggest obstacle here is yourself. you have these feelings like you have done too much bad, or something you have done in the past is irredeemable. you may find that, in times of particular stress, you have nightmares or trouble sleeping. the twelfth house challenges you to let go of all of these things, to forgive yourself. you have to look at your pain and grief and allow yourself to feel it, then to let it go. in some way, you have to completely allow yourself to dissolve. after you do these things, you will find that your life as a whole improves, and you can handle anything much better.

some notes as well:

the closer to conjunction the two are, the more intensely this is felt by the native

if they aspect the sun, moon, or angles, these lessons will come up in the individual's day-to-day life

if jupiter is closer to the beginning of the house, it can lessen the impact of saturn

#astrology #saturn #jupiter #first house #second house #third house #fourth house #fifth house #sixth house #seventh house #eighth house #ninth house #tenth house #eleventh house #twelfth house

[itsthemoofacewriting]

It’s heaven in your arms

Well, this is just a clusterfuck of emotions. Let me lead you down the path of grief and mourning only for it to end with a bed sharing trope.

I have no idea if there are even people that like the original trio together romantically, but I was really vibing, so hopefully I can convince some of my regular readers to take the plunge.

If any of my ZoNami readers are here, I’m doing the requests you all sent in – I swear!

I’m not sure what to expect from posting this, so I’ll say this once pre-emptively: if this isn’t your cup of tea, you know where the door is, please leave quietly.  

Summary: It may have been two years since Ace’s death but, for Luffy, sometimes it still felt like just yesterday. Or, sometimes, something beautiful can blossom from a place of hurt. Rating: T

You can also find this on AO3 and FFN.

Nami awoke, eyes burning from lack of sleep and mouth dry. It was still dark outside, and she grumbled to herself at waking up so early, but it was no use. She wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until she had a glass of water. She swung her feet off the bed, clumsily trying to find her slippers before getting up. It was warm outside, so she didn’t bother with anything other than her pyjama top and shorts.

As annoying as it was to be awake so early, it was peaceful. It was a quick shuffle across the deck and into the kitchen, where she filled her glass hastily, already thinking about getting back into bed.

That last thing she expected when leaving the kitchen was the sight of Luffy sitting on the railing, facing the ocean with his feet kicking over the edge. Reckless as always it seemed.

“If you fell, no one would be around to save you,” She lectured.

His shoulders hunched; she’d surprised him it seemed, but he didn’t react as she’d expected. There was no carefree laughter or beaming grin as he told her not to be a worry wart. Instead, she received a muffled, “You’re up.”

Without looking at his face she didn’t know how to take that but his whole attitude was off, and it had alarm bells going off in her head. The comfort of her bed a distant memory now as she walked over to the railing to join him and settled her glass of water beside herself.

The words on the tip of her tongue vanished into the night air when she finally caught sight of his face. His eyes were red and puffy, his face pale despite his constant tan and drawn. It was an expression she’d never seen on his face. He looked defeated.

He looked tired.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, just as she’d expected him too and uttered out a quiet, “No.”

“That’s okay, but I’m going to sit here,” she told him. He could sit in silence if that was what he wanted, but she wouldn’t leave him, that wasn’t an option.

She took his hand in hers because whilst he may not want to speak, he’d always been a tactile person and she couldn’t just sit here and not do anything when there were tears still running down his face.

They sat in silence, only the sound of the waves hitting the ship could be heard with their thighs pressed snuggly against the others and his hand clasped in hers, a thumb absently roaming over the skin of his wrist. His tears had resided for the time being, only the stray one falling every now.

She felt like she was sitting with a deer, trying not to spook it because it felt like any wrong move would have him scampering away.

Well, that was until he pried his hand from hers and she was going to say something until his head feel heavily against her shoulder and an arm wrapped around her body. That was all she needed to let herself relax, no longer worried about scaring him away as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.

It was another long moment of them sitting like that until he whispered in her shoulder, “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

He was silent but the tears were back as she felt them soaking into her pyjama top.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Yeah? What about?” She encouraged softly.

“About him.” His voice cracked as he said it and his shoulders shook.

There was only one him she knew of.

“It played in a loop, and I couldn’t do anything.”

Although she was being fed the information in dribs and drabs, it wasn’t hard to piece it together. She waited for him to continue but the long pause told her he wasn’t going to.

She thought about what she’d want in that moment, if their roles were reversed, what she’d want from the other person sat with her, so she settled on, “I only met him briefly, tell me more about him. What was it like growing up with him?”

He was quiet and for a moment she didn’t think he was going to respond, that maybe that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“He hated me when we were younger,” he said wetly, fighting through tears to talk. “I caused trouble, couldn’t fight and cried a lot. He called me cry baby all the time.”

“He didn’t when we met him in Alabasta though.” She remembered how he’d looked at Luffy, eyes full of adoration and voice warm as he asked the crew to look after Luffy for him.

He huffed out a laugh at her words, such a stark contrast to his normal boisterous laugh.

He told her everything. How Ace had gone from despising him to accepting him as a brother along with his other brother, Sabo, how they’d caused trouble together and had the best times together. How he’d made Luffy’s childhood a happy one.

It made her ache. Because as he talked, selfishly she thought about her own sister. How devasted she’d be to lose her, someone that felt like her other half since before she could remember, knew her better than anyone else, who she could talk to about anything. It was hard to explain a sibling relationship to someone without one, there was a different feeling to, you felt it in your core.

Mostly, she thought about how hollow she’d feel.

It felt like an unspoken rule that siblings were for life. You knew that parents were older and that they’d pass at some point in your life, but not your sibling. It felt like they were meant to be with you for life, that you’d grow old together and have each other’s backs no matter what to the very end.

She supposed that was part of the grief.

Although she didn’t know the ins and outs, even now Luffy was edging around his dream and what’d happened back then, she knew the key details - how Ace had jumped in front of him to save him. How Ace had died before his eyes. Even if she suspected there was more to that moment than what she knew, it was traumatic enough.

Another tangled chain to unwrap from the knotted ball of necklaces that was grief.

Ultimately, she didn’t need to know what the dream was about or what’d happened back then, because the picture she had in her mind was vivid enough and she knew how he felt. Watching someone slip away before your eyes, helpless as you watched them go and wishing you’d done something different.

Her heart bled for him as he spoke, words blurring into his tears, she could feel her own eyes prickling as sadness overflowed.

Hands clumsily wiped at her face and belatedly she realised Luffy had stopped talking. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said.

Without thinking, she wiped his face in return. “It’s okay, I’m glad I get to share this with you.”

She cupped his face and she meant it as a soothing gesture, yet it seemed to have the opposite effect. Watching his face crumple before her eyes was so much worse than how she’d imagined it when his face had been buried in her shoulder. He was so expressive all the time that she shouldn’t really be surprised, his lips quivered and those big eyes scrunched as he tried to hold back his tears.

“I know I still have so much, and I should focus on that…”

“But that doesn’t make that little part feel any better?”

“Yeah.”

“I know. It’s not going to either.” He nodded glumly at her words, staying silent and she suspected it was because he couldn’t form words. “You love him. That’s not going to disappear no matter what happens.”

She continued because she needed to say it, to let him know this was okay before she the moment passed, and he locked this all away to deal with another night. “You’re allowed to mourn him, you’re allowed to feel sad without feeling guilty, but when it overwhelms you, tell one of us, okay?” She paused, thinking over her words, before adding, “And even when it doesn’t overwhelm you and you just want company, come find us.”

“Okay.” He sounded choked up, more so than before.

She brought him back into a firm hug, running her hands up and down his back, letting her words sink in and giving him a chance to speak or cry more if he wanted to.

His next words told her they were done for the time being.

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” he said.

She didn’t have to ask why. She still woke up sometimes in the middle of the night, tears in her eyes as she relived all different versions of Bell-mère’s death, each worse than the last. She knew that he feared having to relive his worst nightmare over again or catching even a whisp of his brother behind closed eyelids, taunting him over the fact that that would be the only way he’d ever be able to see him again.

“I don’t either,” she lied smoothly, “We could raid the fridge-” Sanji would understand- “or I could show you a new card trick or we could go draw on Zoro’s face. He’s probably up in the crow’s nest and he sleeps like a log.”

Luffy grinned, it didn’t reach his eyes like it normally did but that was okay, it was an improvement on the solemn expression from before. “Usopp just bought new markers!”

They both turned at the sound of heavy footsteps and the very person they’d been planning to mess with was stood only a few steps away.

“Why do you two look guilty?” He looked suspiciously at them both.

Neither of them answered, but she saw the moment Zoro noticed Luffy’s face and took in his red, puffy eyes and worn expression. His demeanour changed instantly, he looked serious, and he didn’t say anything more as he joined them on the railing, pressing up to Luffy’s vacant side and taking his other free hand into his- he could probably feel that it was wet from Luffy’s tears.

The ocean lapped silently against the ship and whatever plans her and Luffy had made seemed to be put on hold as he stayed sat on the railing, but that was fine with her, she was happy to sit there with him in silent support.

“It should’ve been me,” Luffy finally spoke, voice sure but only a whisper.

Those were heavy words, she imagined how often that thought circled around in his head and how hard it must have been to finally say it out loud.

“That’s stupid,” Zoro said.

“Zoro,” she hissed. For his blunt words and because Luffy looked on the verge of tears, it made her heart crumble all over again.

“Ace loved you a lot and he didn’t do it for you to think that; he wouldn’t want that. It was his choice and he made it and he’d do it a hundred times over.”

He made a good point, she knew that, but a tough love speech felt too soon.

“Zoro’s not stupid all the time,” Luffy defended weakly, smile wobbly.

Maybe not.

“Oi.”

Nami shook her head, smiling slightly at their antics. “Unfortunately, I have to agree with you. Shall we agree it’s a 10% smart and 90% stupid?”

Zoro tried to look miffed, although it was betrayed by the smirk tugging at his lips. He knew what she was doing, trying to lighten Luffy’s spirits, so he let it slide.

“Well, we can’t draw on Zoro’s face now-” Zoro glowered at her- “but if you want an extra challenge, we could get Usopp or Sanji.” They were light sleepers; she knew he’d be up for the challenge.

Luffy smiled, nodding tiredly and stifled a yawn that had her and Zoro sharing a quick look between them.

“You can sleep with me if you want,” Zoro offered nonchalantly and Luffy perked up at that.

She should leave them to get on with it. They’d made their arrangements already and in the back of her mind, she knew she should, but Luffy’d told her so much, it felt callous to just palm him off. And maybe, somewhere deep down she didn’t like the thought of being left out. Maybe.

The words were out before she’d properly thought them through.

“You can both sleep in my bed.”

“Like a sleepover!” Luffy said and his eyes brightened, a shimmer of what normally resided there returning.

“It’s a one-time offer and no one tells Sanji!” Nami warned even though Luffy looked considerably lighter and Zoro was smirking at her. She didn’t doubt Zoro would store that away to use against Sanji later, but she’d deal with that then. And if he decided to blab, she’d then have the perfect opportunity to charge him, and he wouldn’t be able to say a thing.

The walk to her room was quiet, only the sounds of their shoes thumping against the deck with every step, getting louder and louder as they got closer to her room. She wondered if she’d regret this. What if she’d made it awkward? She should’ve just let Zoro and Luffy bunk together.

Opening the door felt heavy, like something awful would be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, there was just a dark, muted room to greet her and the awkwardness she felt doubled to the point she wondered if the other two felt it too. She wasn’t sure if she was thankful or not that Robin was still asleep, facing away from them.

All those thoughts were put to rest as Zoro and Luffy moved past her, seemingly more than comfortable with this arrangement than her. Zoro shucked off his boots and settled against the far side of the bed so his back faced the wall and Luffy kicked off his flip flops, his hat already sat safely on her bedside unit.

“Absolutely not,” Nami whispered fiercely, hands on hips and they both peered up at her quizzically. “I’m not sleeping on the edge only to wake up on the floor. Zoro, swap.”

“What, so I can wake up on the floor instead?”

“You can sleep anywhere!”

Luffy had snickered at their bickering, watching them go back and forth until he seemingly grew bored of that and stretched his arm out to wrap around her waist. As his arm snapped back, he dragged her with it, she collided with the both of them in her bed. Like a true rubber man, Luffy looked unbothered although she was fairly sure she’d kicked him, but Zoro wheezed behind her as she’d winded him with her elbow.

“That hurt!” Nami moaned.

“Think before you do that!” Zoro grouchily whispered.

“There we go, now we’re all cosy.” He ignored them both, nestling down into the bed as his arm reached across Nami to rest over onto Zoro.

“Luffy!” She squawked, rosy faced. “Move over! You have all that space!”

This was not what she’d had in mind when she’d invited them… into her bed. Although she didn’t have a massive bed, she’d thought they’d at least try to keep their distance, she hadn’t expected this. Luffy was so close she could feel his breath on her face and his hair brushed against her forehead, no doubt mingling in with her own strands. She could feel Zoro spooned behind her, his own arm outstretched across them both and she was only now just considering how appropriate her pyjama shorts were. Which was ridiculous, it was only those two.  

All of this didn’t feel right, they were there for Luffy, he should be the one in the middle not her. He should be the one squashed between them, safe and warm and feeling supported, not her. Yet one look at his face put all of that to rest. You could still tell he’d been crying; the puffiness would take a few hours to go down, but he looked relaxed, the tormented and weight in his expression gone.

He looked content.

And that was enough right now for her brain to shut off, thoughts pushed to the back for another day, and have her burying into the warmth from the two bodies next to her with the knowledge that everything would be okay for now.

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

This was meant to be a one-shot, but it’s now a two parter at no one’s request. I’m writing/editing the second chapter right now; it’s on its way.  

I used to ship LuNami hard when I was younger, but I think I’ve lost my ability to write them romantically nowadays… unless you throw in Zoro and then it’s back on apparently.

I write and edit all my pieces by myself, so if there’s any errors, please excuse them.

Thanks for reading.

#zoluna #Luffy/Zoro/Nami #LuffyxZoroxNami #LuNami #ZoNami #zolu #opwriting #opfanfic #One Piece #Luffy #Zoro #Nami

[miyamorana]

First Lines

Stolen from @katvonbirb

Rules are: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

—

Tinsel and Mistletoe (VLD)

The sun is peeking through the curtains, the single ray of pale morning light landing right on his eyelid. Lance grabs the edge of his bedsheet and drags it over his face, smothering the light and silently cursing his past self for not properly drawing the curtains shut.

There Be Dragons (HP)

Harry and his godfathers move to London just after his 11th birthday. Sirius’ estranged mother passed away, and he inherited his childhood house.

Finally Free (JatP)

They’re arguing about the harmonies of their newest song when Flynn pushes open the door and announces that Julie and her need to talk about outfits.

“We don’t even have our next gig yet,” Luke replies. “We should finish working out this bridge before talking about costumes.”

Something Cosmic (RNM)

Guerin is… No, not Guerin, Alex admonishes himself. Michael. Michael is waiting for him by the car, leaning against it in a very cowboy posture, thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. He seems relaxed, but the way he quickly licks his bottom lip as he looks at Alex betrays his nerves. Alex smiles softly, pushing down his own nerves knotting his throat.

In the Morning (RNM)

Michael wakes up to a thundering headache, which isn’t fair. He didn’t even have anything to drink – he’s not stupid, he knows his metabolism doesn’t handle alcohol well. He does remember the taste of punch on his lips though. No. Not on his lips.

Rush (TW)

The snow creeks under Stiles’ feet, a soft, muffled sound in the stillness of the night. Everything is soft in the park. Muted, somehow, even though he can see in details he wouldn’t have been able to make out in daylight before.

Recommencement (Merlin)

Arthur déplaça la bougie afin de pouvoir lire le nom de la petite ville à l’orée de la forêt, faisant attention de ne pas faire couler de cire sur la carte. Il n’était pas sûr de quand la nuit était tombée exactement, mais les lampes avaient été allumées et une assiette de nourriture, toujours pleine et désormais froide, avait été posée à côté de lui. 

Of Magic and Duty (LoL)

Sometimes, Darius wonders how long Zaun is going to last before some experiment accidentally turns its already heavily polluted atmosphere completely toxic, or maybe simply makes the whole place explode. He just hopes it doesn’t happen while he’s there. That would be a very disappointing way to die.

In Earth’s Cradle (DA2)

Fenris moves through the battle, Fade-stepping to get faster, to dodge attacks and projectiles. One second he’s not-quite-there, and the enemy sword is ripping through air, the next he’s material again, his fist becoming solid inside the soldier’s chest, flesh and bone ripping to make space for him.

He’ll Bite (CA)

Sam’s the one who finds Bucky, or maybe Bucky finds Sam, neither mentioned much about how it happened but now Bucky’s sitting in Sam’s kitchen, hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee, and Steve doesn’t know what to say.

Sugar and Spice (Angel)

Wolfram & Hart is no more, and Angel Investigations moved back into the Hyperion hotel. Spike tagged along, because really he has no other place to go to, and he did help save the world after all. (“Twice!” he would insist on pointing out.)

It Must Be (BtVS)

“You cannot tell anyone,” Anya hears as she walks past the door to Dawn’s room.

She stops, carefully tiptoes towards said door and presses her ear against the wooden panel. What is Dawn up to this time? With the First after them, they really don’t have time for more of Dawn’s teenage crisis. She thought they were past this.

Derrière la Porte (TW)

Pourquoi est-ce que personne ne lui avait dit que les études universitaires, c’est dur? Stiles se masse le front dans l’ascenseur, essayant de faire disparaître le début de mal de tête qu’il sent déjà poindre. Il est tard, plus tard que l’heure à laquelle il rentre d’habitude, et son portable n’a plus de batterie, aussi espère-t-il que Derek ne se soit pas trop inquiété.

Sleepless (DA2)

Fenris first notices it after they kill the dragon at the Bone Pit. Well, the new one. Hawke has a claw stuck through her arm, and though she says it’s fine he insists on dragging her to the clinic, even if he has to break the door and shake Anders awake. There is no door-breaking or shaking required, because even though it’s so late some might call it early Anders is up, working, organising the potions on his shelves and listing the things he’ll need to procure soon.

Dearest Laura (TW)

Dearest Laura,

I've been staring at these two words for the last ten minutes, wondering how to start this, but I'm not even sure why I sat down with paper and pen in the first place. Maybe I'm feeling lonely, now that Derek and uncle Peter are gone. Maybe I'm feeling guilty... guilty of so many things, none the least what happened all those years ago.

Cyberwolf (TW)

There are many ways to cheat death if you have the knowledge and the resources, Peter had once said in one of his weird speeches in which he gives you disturbing information you didn’t want, and none of the information you actually need. They were probably discussing the subject of Lydia’s nature, and wondering how Peter had been able to use that to come back from the dead, which still made absolutely zero sense to Stiles. But the words had stuck in his mind, burrowed deep, and started growing into questions and ideas.

Respite (TW)

Derek’s eyes open as he gasps for breath, panicking. For a second, he doesn’t remember where he is. For a second, he can still feel the arms of his nightmare holding him up, can still feel his claws sinking into Boyd’s chest, Boyd’s energy seep out of him and into Derek.

In Wolf Skin (TW)

“No,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at the teenager in front of him. “No no no! You give it back right now!”

New Spark (TW)

Isaac is sitting on Scott’s bed, shuffling through the songs on Scott’s ipod, trying to find one he can actually focus on. There’s no use, he can’t help himself, his ears stay tuned to the sound of Scott and his mom’s conversation downstairs.

Burning Embers (TW)

Peter looks down at Cora’s face, trying to match the features of the teenager in front of him with his memories of the eleven-year-old kid he last saw half-an-hour before the fire. Her presence here makes no sense. She must have been in her bedroom, doing homework, when the house burst into flames.

—

Firstly, it is sad that I had to go back all the way to 2013 for my last 20 fics. I really need to write more. T_T

As for a pattern, idk, I don’t really see one? Sometimes I drop the reader in the middle of things, sometimes I set up a scene with descriptions, sometimes I go into a character’s head... Do you see a pattern in my fic openings?

My favorite of these is a toss up between In Wolf Skin and Tinsel and Mistletoe, I think, even though they are very very different.

I’m “tagging” anyone who feels like doing this?

#writing #fandom #fanfics #long post #meme

[thoughts-n-paper]

Ranidaphobia

She was unable to move, terror-struck, as she stared at its eyes and at the same time, tried so terribly to avoid it. She could feel the raindrops sliding down its smooth skin as if they were crawling down her neck. She stood still as its throat expanded and in response, her lungs contracted as it produced that awful loud sound. Horrified in anticipation, she closed her eyes shut. When she opened them after a while, she was back in her purple walled bedroom, away from the dense forest she was standing in a few seconds ago, safe from any devil that might have been about to jump her. Ever since she started working on the new project, she had been having this nightmare every night, but right now was not the time to get to the bottom of this development. A glance at the clock and she jumped out of the bed and rushed to the bathroom. She always kept at least half an hour aside for her pre-shower rituals and another hour for after. It wasn't a lot of steps, rather more about spending enough time for each step. She had twenty types of cleansers and scrubbers and at least thirty different lip scrubbers, a part of her face she was the most conscious about. From a young age, she had been very careful about her skin, she did not just want good skin, she wanted a clean skin, even if it meant being late for work. As soon as she sat on her desk, Simon jumped on her, "You're late. Missed the morning meeting. And Alex wants to see you. ASAP. "He said smugly.

"Thank you, Simon." He never liked her, probably because he wanted the membership she was awarded. Alex was not a great mentor or even the best person to work under, but he knew how to woo the clients and sell the bare minimum for the maximum cost. The recent project bagged by him, incidentally by chatting up with the marketing head at a bar, was a children's toy brand trying to venture into children's snacks.

"Hi Alex. Sorry about this morning. I was just not feeling well."

"Oh, don't bother about it. The package design is finalized, this is the mascot they want."

He said passing her a sheet of paper without looking, it always looked like he had rehearsed it, placed the paper at precise steps, a file in his hands that is just a prop and then as soon as she took the sheet to examine, he walked up to stand behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“I am counting on you. You do a good job on this and your position might not be so temporary. ”She looked up to him and smiled.

This was his M.O. Being in his team, your only job is to refine the lines around his vague ideas and designs so he can later present it as his own and collect all the praise from the clients. It is demeaning, you do not grow intellectually, but it is a great way to make contacts in the high places and if the apprentice is quick enough, might catch some skills of the trade. She only looked at Alex’s sample after coming back to her table and the blood stopped flowing in her veins. She was petrified. She could suddenly feel her breakfast wanting to escape her body and she rushed to the bathroom.

She had been staring at the blank white paper for the past two hours. The sheet with the prototype was turned around, but the eyes on that hideous creature still haunted her. She has had a particular hatred towards frogs since her childhood, so much that she could not even bear to look at the rough caricature of one that Alex drew.

It sort of started when she was ten, this hatred and disgust. It had rained heavily the day before and while walking home she was cornered by a few of the older girls that were just hanging around in a nearby park. It started as basic entertainment for them, pointing out faults in her face, ridiculing her hair and clothes, she was used to that. But then one of the girls noticed a big croaking frog and decided it would be fun to play a fairy tale. She remembers running home that day, all the way trying to rub out the slime from her lips and face, struggling to hold her bag because her hands were too dirty to hold anything. She did not even dare to wipe the tears off her face. And the girls were running behind her shouting that she was so ugly, the prince would rather stay as a frog.

She pushed the memory deep down, took a long breath and then the sheet of paper in her hand. It was a simple cartoon of a frog in a top hat and dinner jacket, a very generic idea of an animal caricature and now it was her job to make it remarkable. That night she scrubbed her lips for an extra fifteen minutes to remove the smell of the puke, still, it kept waking her up every two hours.

The next day was just an extension to her ongoing nightmare, she threw up thrice that day and spent most of her day washing up. On the way home, at her wit's end, she decided to buy an extra-strong chemical peel mask for her lips.

It was the third day since this horrendous task had entered her life, she was tired from not sleeping, circles around her eyes and extremely chapped lips. It was also the day of submission of the first draft. She sat on her desk, took a look at her drawings and rushed to the toilet. The new peel did help this time, for she finally sat down with satisfaction. She had tried to back down from this project, although it would have been career suicide, she just couldn't go through with this one.

"No." That's all Alex said before returning to his lunch.

She asked again.

"No." And that was it.

After lunch, she stepped into Alex's office and handed him the designs. He took it from her and then strangely started staring at her. "You have got a bit of your lunch on your face, better clean it up next time you face someone. It's very off-putting. "She immediately turned around mortified and rushed out of the cabin. She took it and smelt it, and suddenly that wretched smell was back. She made a mental note to buy some more masks. And then she made another note to buy some anti-nausea tablets when she saw the review mail from Alex.

Two weeks in and she was still struggling. The scrubbing and peeling which started from her lips had now extended to her hands and face. The constant rubbing of sanitizer didn't help either. Her skin was dry and peeling off, she hadn't slept at all because every time she closed her eyes, there would be a frog in top hat smiling at her. And then there was all the puking, the color of which had now turned from yellow to red. There would be instances where frogs would start jumping up on her table or would sometimes emerge from the papers scattered and start dancing in front of her, but blinking strongly and rapidly would make them disappear one by one.

She was playing a game every day, get spooked and you lose, and she wasn't going to lose, not after she fought so hard to be in Alex's good books.

She stared at her falling face in the mirror and reached for the moisturizer, she took a little bit and placed little droplets randomly on her face and was immediately disgusted by it. It had become a ritual of sorts, wake up form a superficial sleep, struggling to face her reflection and barely able to touch her skin, she would still be driven to peel off every hanging skin scrape. Well hopefully it would all end soon, it was the day they present the final draft to the client and if all goes well, she will never be forced to look at a frog again.

“You look awful. Jesus, at least put some lipstick on.” She could see the repulsion in Alex’s eyes as soon as she walked in. Which was not too different from what she saw in the mirror herself. But, two hours of sitting in a room filled with pictures of different cartoon frogs, shutting her teeth so that the vomit doesn’t feel invited to burst out and tying her hands with an invisible metal wire so she doesn’t start to scratch the itch she had been feeling on her lips, she made it through the ordeal. They shook hands, smiled and headed off to a celebratory dinner. It was a group of five from the client’s side and then three people from their team excluding Alex. She may have had the worst months of her life but she had a feeling it was going to be worth it.

They all sat around a round table and were just waiting for dinner when one of the brand representatives stood up to make a toast.

“We would like to thank all of you. We had tried a lot of different agencies, even rolled in a few bad ones into production, but we think that our friend here has got what we need. So, we would like to offer you your next endeavor, our new drink.” And he pulled out a plastic bottle in the shape of the ugliest frog. “Now, I know the packaging is rubbish, which is why we need you. But, I ensure you the drink itself is delicious.” She thought she couldn’t move when he pulled out the bottle but she only realized how much easier it would have been to move before than when he started pouring the drinks. Everyone was expected to take one glass in their hands and drink to the toast. And Alex’s expressions weren’t subtle when she refused to pick one up.

“Just one last time,” She thought to herself. “One last time.”

They had five different toasts, all from the same alarmingly grinning frog-shaped plastic waste, and she drank each one of them repeating to herself those three words. She was only able to excuse herself once everyone started digging in their respective dinners. She rushed to one of the sinks while clutching to her bag. Ever since she started on the drawing, she had always kept all her supplies in her handbag. She pulled out her toothbrush and immediately started cleaning her tongue, simultaneously trying to make herself throw up. It didn't help, although she did manage to throw up, when she opened her eyes to look down, all she could see was little slimy snail-like creatures but without the shell, floating in the yellow and red fluid. She quickly opened up the sink tap and started cleaning it with the liquid soap they had on the side. She took a little bit in her palms and drank it to rinse her mouth, when she spat, two of those creatures fell from her mouth. She did it again with just water and this time more fell out. She repeated this for a while, each time hoping for a different result, so the next time she took a pump of the soap and rinsed her mouth with it, this time one came out. She rinsed her mouth with water the next time and a few spat out, so she used soap again. Now she started feeling something in her stomach, something which was moving around, shifting her organs, collecting them in a basket, so she decided to lie down on the floor and close her eyes.

She was looking up at one of those big tanks that they have in factories, then she was climbing the staircase beside it, trying to peek what was inside and once she reached on the top, she could see a thousand frogs shrieking and drowning in an orange liquid. She bent down and took a deep sip from it. As soon as she opened her eyes, she had to throw up again. This time they were alive, moving around, trying to reach back to her. As if her insides were their well, their home and her blood was the only thing that nurtured them. She stared at the bottle of the liquid soap, in the sink and back at the bottle. She finally reached for it.

Her body was found by a waitress who was sent in for check-in by one of her colleagues. There was white foam around her mouth and yellow puke in every basin. The waitress quit her job the next day.

#ranidae #ranidaphobia #frogs #fear of frogs #phobia #fearfrogs #germophobia #clean freak #shortstory #originalshort #fictionshortstory #storyofphobia #story of phobia

[ampleappleamble]

reminder: yall on ao3 real nice, also i love you thank you so much

also i’m gonna go ahead and post chapter 5 here in its entirety too (under a cut, natch) just in case. meanwhile, i’m chopping and screwing screenshots into big huge frankenstein images so i can obsess over canon conversations and lore on the go! some of these screenshots are just pure comedy though. post ‘em later! anyway, here it is in case you missed it:

Chapter 5: Home and Hearth

---

Edér wondered sometimes just how long it would take his hometown to finally die.

It reminded him of this dog he used to know when he was a kid, a sweet old hound dog called Tibbeth. She was the Rask's dog, but the whole town knew her, cared for her, fed her scraps. Everyone loved that dog. By the time Edér was old enough to make lasting memories, she was reaching the end of her breeding years, and she only mellowed out further with each year that passed. He remembered her fondly from his childhood: Tibby making him late for dawn church service because she sat on his feet and wouldn't stop giving him Sad Eyes till he rubbed her tummy. Tibby wandering between two arguing friends and licking herself so ostentatiously that the argument was completely forgotten, ending in peals of laughter instead of fisticuffs.

But as he grew into an adolescent, Tibby grew elderly and decrepit. Her teeth and fur fell out. She limped. Her scat was watery and thin, and she tended to let it fall wherever she stood. Her belly distended, and she started getting mean and lashing out at those who tried to touch her, tried to help her.

He had known there was something growing inside of her that was hurting her, and what was worse, he had known that there was nothing anyone could do to help her. But to Edér, the worst thought of all was that she was still in there under it all. Under all the pain and fear, sweet old Tibby was still in there wanting nothing but belly rubs and bits of ham from your plate. It was the sickness made her snap at you, made her shit all over herself and struggle and scream while you tried to clean her up. Made her scared.

And it was this sickness that made his hometown like this, now. And just like with Tibby, there was nothing he could do to help. No way to excise the tumor. His gaze wandered to the corpse-strewn monster of a tree nearby. Nothing left to do but end it mercifully.

But he hadn't even had it in him to watch as Tibby was put down all those years ago. She had scratched and bitten the Gyrning's baby girl, and even though she was old and half toothless, she did enough damage to scar the child for life. He had run away back then, hiding the tears he had been getting too old to shed so freely anymore.

He sighed heavily, barely squinting against the feeble morning sunlight as he gazed out over the only home he had ever known.

"We're both gettin' too old for this, ain't we?" Edér murmured.

Gilded Vale did not answer him.

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end, and he turned slowly, carefully, to look at the tree again. He wasn't alone.

---

The rest of the morning hadn't gone so badly.

She'd suffered a nightmare, she'd explained, and the strange hallucinations she'd told him about before had decided to manifest at the worst possible time: exactly when she had woken up. Hence the... episode she'd had. Understandable, given the circumstances.

Unfortunately, she did still want to go back to that tree. "For closure," she'd pleaded. "It'll only take a moment, I promise you."

They had dressed and packed their meager belongings in awkward silence, making it all the way downstairs to a table with their bowls of tepid porridge in hand before she had spoken up again.

"I'm sorry," she'd stated, stirring the beige mess in her bowl with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner fastening her own noose. "That was probably a... distinctly unpleasant experience for you. And this little detour probably will be, too. ...Please know that I truly appreciate your agreeing to accompany me nonetheless."

She sounded as though she'd been planning this apology all morning, phrasing and rephrasing it in her head until she could strike a palatable balance between being honest with him and maintaining etiquette. Aloth had accepted without hesitation, of course. He had almost apologized to her himself in return, for perhaps having seen... more than she may have wanted a near-stranger to see, but he had thought better of it and remained silent instead. He hadn't wanted to embarrass her by bringing up her strange behavior again. She seemed to appreciate it.

And now he was standing a few paces behind her in the center of town as she stared at a dead woman in a tree.

 They had been standing there for fifteen minutes.

 "She's aff 'er heed, lad."

"Nobody asked you," he sighed through gritted teeth.

---

Axa regarded the new, dark world in which she found herself with fear and wonder. She had expected to see the dead woman, feel a little foolish, and then set off on the road. She had not been expecting this at all.

Caldara de Berranzi's soul looked back at her, smiling a gentle, motherly smile.

"What is this?" She said it, but she didn't, just like in her dream. "What's happened to me?"

And the animancer responded in the same fashion. "Poor thing! You must be so confused. The world is a baffling place, and the world beyond the Shroud even more so. But that world is yours now, too, to bear witness to."

"I don't understand," Axa whimpered. She really, really didn't. She didn't even know if this was really happening.

The dwarven woman's soul smiled sadly at the little orlan, tsked in sympathy. "I know you don't, dear. It's a lot to take in. Here, let me put it this way: Whatever happened to you, it freed your soul from your body, but not all the way. You were pulled into this world--" The dwarf gestured at the swirling morass of essence and void around them-- "the In-Between of Life and Death. But! You must have only been here for an instant. Any longer, and you'd have ended up staying here, like me." Caldara gestured at herself, a bloated corpse dangling from a tree, with a sweet little chuckle.

"Your soul remembers, though. Remembers even after it returns to your body. Remembers how it sees in this world. Souls, their histories, their memories, their paths through the In-Between. All are yours to observe." The animancer nodded sagely.

"You are a Watcher, now," she chirped, "and a Watcher you will stay."

Axa blinked. Watcher. The word from her dream.

 "I... I don't know what that means at all."

Caladara sighed softly. "Oh dear, oh dear. Make yourself comfortable, aimoranet. We have a lot more talking to do."

---

Aloth was starting to feel uneasy.

It had been just over 20 minutes now, and Axa still stood in the same spot, mesmerized by the dead animancer. They were drawing curious stares from townsfolk as they passed by, and he was getting nervous about what might happen-- what might come out of his mouth-- should one of them try to start something.

He glanced around furtively, his open grimoire like a leaden weight in his hands, searching for anything to focus on besides the fact that he'd apparently elected to travel with this woman. A blond man with a pipe, leaning casually against a collapsed wall some distance away, cocked an eyebrow at him. The message was completely unspoken, but easily understood. "Uh, your friend okay there?"

He shot back a look that he hoped said both "Mind your own business, please" and "I have absolutely no idea why she's doing this," somehow.

The man with the pipe shrugged, glanced up at the dead dwarf, then turned away. Aloth took the opportunity to study him a bit further, recognizing him vaguely from his time in town. He'd seen this man around, although not as much in recent weeks. He was vaguely aware of the Vale's day-to-day goings-on, and he seemed to recall seeing less of this particular face around the same time the local lord strung up his latest hapless victim in this gruesome abomination of a tree. Aloth tried to remember exactly who that victim had been...

...before noticing, with a start, that Axa had moved. She'd snapped out of whatever strange fugue state had taken hold of her and she stood before him now, looking for all the world like a child woken prematurely from a nap: confused, angry, morose.

He proceeded extremely cautiously. "Axa? Are you alright?" He leaned a bit closer for privacy's sake. "You seemed... a bit lost, there." For almost half an hour.

Either she didn't notice his attempt at discretion or she didn't care. "According to that dead woman," she blurted, "I'm a Watcher."

He felt his eyebrows leap up to his hairline. "Oh. Well. That... explains a lot, actually."

---

Edér had watched the elf and the orlan the entire time they stood before the tree.

The elf he'd seen around town here and there recently, but he'd never interacted with the man. Of course, he'd heard others talking about him, saying all kinds of things: a haughty foreigner who thinks he can bring his high-falutin' Aedyran ass here and piss on our hospitality. But given the usual kind of horseshit his fellow townsfolk usually spewed these days, he didn't put much merit in what they had to say. At least he tended to mind his own business.

The orlan had just arrived the previous day, and when he saw Raedric's henchman approach her, he'd actually tensed up, preparing for a fight. With everything he'd heard about orlans, he was half expecting her to pull a knife, or maybe even whisper some sort of cipher magic. But instead she'd just shouted at Urgeat, mad as Hel and rightfully so. Edér had been unable to stop himself smiling at the look on the magistrate's pinched-up little asshole of a face.

Then the bell had tolled, and suddenly everyone in town had bigger issues to deal with. She'd looked positively miserable as she'd trudged past him on the way to the Black Hound Inn.

Look at that, he'd thought, watching her plod slowly forward. Practically one of us already.

She'd met his eye for a moment, and he'd raised his pipe to her in a commiserative gesture. "Welcome to our lovely town," he'd quipped. And she had smiled at him in response, even after all that abuse she'd just had to take from Urgeat.

Maybe that was why he'd decided to say something when she passed him again. She didn't look to be in any higher spirits than she had when he'd said something before, but she had smiled at him back then, so what was the worst that could happen this time?

"Seventeen-and-a-half," he called out to her, and grinned. She's a little kith, maybe she'll like this one.

She and the elf turned to him, both of them wearing facial expressions similar to ones they might have had he catcalled them in an especially vulgar manner.

...Off to a great start, Edér thought. Nothing to do but press on.

"Eighteen dependin' on if you count the dwarf woman as a full person or not. ...I think you oughtta."

She approached him then, slowly, scrutinizing him with her eerie slitted pupils, while the elven man followed behind her. "You're saying there are eighteen people hanging in that tree?"

"Last I counted. You mean to tell me you were standin' there that whole time and you wasn't even counting 'em?"

Her cheeks brightened, and she turned to the elf. "Aloth? How long was I-- were we standing there like that?"

The elf, Aloth apparently, winced apologetically at the little woman. "Oh, only about... about twenty minutes. Ish."

The orlan huffed out something between a laugh and a cough. "Only twenty minutes!" She shook her head, grinning, hands on her hips. "Excellent. I was worried I looked like a weird asshole for a minute there."

Edér laughed aloud at last, and held out his hand in greeting. "Edér Teylecg. Although y' may as well just call me Nineteen."

"Axa Mala." He felt soft, fine fur in his hand when she shook it, and with it an extremely confusing mix of emotions. The elf behind her introduced himself as well, as Aloth Corfiser, before she continued. "Nineteen, huh. You mean to say you think you're next?"

Edér smiled sadly, looking up at his friends and neighbors in the tree. "May as well be. Eighteen's my former captain in the war. Was my headman on the farm till Raedric put 'im up there for darin' to stand up for us. For me." He squinted back down at the little woman, clenching his pipe between his teeth. "Bein' honest though, way you were carryin' on with the magistrate the other day, I can't see you makin' it much further than, oh, 22, 23, tops. You seem like the sort of lady likes t' get involved."

She really did, too. For the first time since they'd started talking, her gaze met his, and the intensity of her bright violet eyes almost made him want to look away. Not quite. But almost.

She had a strange, guarded look on her face as she peered up at him. "Do you know what a Watcher is?"

Edér choked on his pipe smoke. This little gal was full of surprises.

---

"Caed Nua, huh? ...Haven't thought about that old place in a long time. Man such as Maerwald, there might be things I wanna ask him. Don't know why I never thought of that."

Obscured One, you have truly outdone yourself this time, Axa mused, a slow smile spreading across her face. This was what she'd been missing after her expulsion: A mission, a purpose, a destination in life.

I was ready to die, and you gave me this gift: an absolutely insane convoluted nightmare scenario, compelling me to try to make sense of it... and in doing so, requiring me to stay alive. I am truly grateful. She closed one eye, sending her prayer to Wael.

It was remarkable how much better she felt just knowing what was wrong with her, having a name for it. Watcher. The knowledge presented new challenges, certainly, but at least now she knew what she was up against. And she even had a tangible, short-term goal in mind:

 Get to Caed Nua. Find the Watcher, Maerwald.

The blond folk, Edér, scratched his bristly beard while he thought about her offer. But she could tell he'd already made up his mind. This couldn't go any other way. She'd seen him in her dream, alongside Caldara. A clear sign! This was meant to be!

...Okay, maybe she was taking it a bit too far there.

"I dunno about settin' out with a couple of strangers. Strange strangers at that." He glanced at Aloth and grinned apologetically. "No offense, cousin."

"I'll vouch for him," Axa smiled, stretching, preparing for the work ahead of her. "It's me you have to watch out for."

Aloth shrugged. "Either way, you're probably better off out there with us than here, being sized up for a noose by every other neighbor."

"Can't argue with that. Aw, what the Hel. Sure, I'll do some sightseeing with you folks." Edér grinned at the two of them, his broad, ruddy face brightening considerably. "Where's our first stop on this little roadtrip? We're buyin' supplies, I suppose?"

Axa winced, clutching at her sad, barren little coinpurse. "Uh. Listen... About that--"

---

#pillars of eternity #fanfiction #fanfic #poe anthem infinitum #watcher #watcher axa #aloth #eder

[alynnl]

Lynn’s Avatar Meta 2019 + Summaries

Here is a list of my Avatar theories that I will eventually write longer posts about!

Archives of History (Pre-Series Era)

All the Possibilities - Bumi’s backstory meta that goes into his childhood, his position in the Omashu royal family, and how he became king of the city-state. He is the last surviving founder of the Order of the White Lotus, and has fond, if not sad memories of his friend Aang and Monk Gyatso. Royal Portraits of Ba Sing Se - The in-depth story of Kuei’s parents, King Jingyi and Princess Shufen, and their reign over the Earth Kingdom. Jingyi was one of the first Earth Monarchs to take leadership back into his own hands, and he fought many battles against Fire Lord Azulon’s troops. (Leads into “Within These Walls”) Over the Edge - Jeong Jeong’s backstory meta that gives some details of his life in the military, and the incident that pushed him to desert. He remained a lonely hermit until a chance encounter with Bumi, whose creative mind opened up new possibilities, and a path to the White Lotus. Iroh’s Journey Book 3: Secret Society - Part 3 of Iroh’s story before the animated series took place. Iroh goes on a two year journey around the world drawing wisdom and knowledge from people of other nations. He regains his inner fire and returns home to the Fire Nation, only to find out his brother Ozai has replaced their father as Fire Lord. Iroh’s Journey Book 4: Homecoming - Part 4 of Iroh’s story before his role in the animated series. Iroh returns to the palace, resigns from the army, but finds his birthplace to be much colder than before he left. Because of Ozai’s actions, their family was broken apart, but he still felt a connection with Zuko. Iroh stepped in to teach Zuko firebending and other important lessons, when Ozai refused to keep up his training in favor of Azula. During the time they spent together, Iroh and Zuko were healing each other from the pain of losing someone they love. One day, they would attend a fateful meeting, and the consequences would change their lives forever. (Continued with “Together in Exile”)

Lost Adventures (During-Series Era)

Unrest - Post-Crossroads of Destiny meta, possible one shot fic. Zuko’s return to the Fire Nation wasn’t all about lazy afternoons with Mai and trips to the beach on Ember Island. While he wanders the palace halls, he’s restless, and the thoughts of betraying his uncle, and the civilians of the Earth Kingdom weigh heavily on his mind. Zuko is tormented by nightmares and guilt. His metamorphosis is not complete, and this time he has to take care of himself. Separate Paths, One Goal - A few days before the invasion on the Day of Black Sun, Jeong Jeong, Piandao and Pakku meet at a secret location in the earth kingdom. They discuss their plans to rescue Iroh and Bumi from their prison cells, when the firebenders will be powerless. Jeong Jeong says that he will go to Caldera, and refuses to take no for an answer. Piandao plans to sabotage as many Fire Navy ships as possible, to help the invasion forces. Pakku reluctantly agrees to help Bumi, although he could never stand his personality. (Side by side with “A Greater Cause”)

New Horizons (After-Series Era)

A Heart of Steel - Just after Ba Sing Se is liberated by the White Lotus, King Kuei calls a ceasefire. Shortly after, he declares a holiday for his citizens, and takes his time releasing his loyal subjects who were imprisoned during Azula’s coup. After confirming the location of his former adviser, Long Feng, Kuei speaks his mind and turns his back on the man who used to control him and the city that was rightfully his. Finding Our Way - Six months after the war has ended, Fire Lord Zuko and Earth King Kuei have officially signed a peace treaty. When the formal atmosphere feels too stiff and Kuei appears to have something else on his mind, Zuko let’s down his hair and invites him to a more informal meeting over afternoon tea. Kuei accepts Zuko’s offer, and they begin the start of a lifelong friendship and strong alliance between nations. Family Reunions - A year after the war has ended, Azula has been released from the hospital and has moved back into her room in the palace. Her and Zuko have taken steps to repair their fractured sibling bond, and it has been hard fought. One day, Zuko receives a letter from Iroh that he might have found their missing mother. After reading the letter out loud to Azula, she agrees to come with Zuko to Ba Sing Se. The siblings learned that their mother had been caught and brainwashed by the Dai Li, after a failed plan to get them back from Ozai’s grasp. While there were many mixed feelings, Ursa ultimately embraced her children and promised to be with them always. Acceptance - On a quiet day at the tea shop, Jeong Jeong stopped by and commented how well Iroh was doing in peacetime. He also agonized over his element, and how many lives were on both their hands. Whole Iroh knew he couldn’t erase his past, he accepted it. He wanted to help his old friend find peace, one step at a time. Elements of Change - To help rebuild the Southern Water Tribe and bring back the waterbending culture, Katara travels with Master Pakku and healing master Yugoda in search of new water benders, who might have hid from the Fire Nation during the war. The three of them also uncover old scrolls and oral history of the Southern waterbenders, giving Katara clues on how they lived before the war. Wherever Duty Calls - Together with his animal friends Appa and Momo, Aang travels the world to keep balance after the end of the Hundred Year War with the Fire Nation. He keeps close contact with his friends and allies, and has grown especially close to Katara over the years. One of his most notable contributions was helping Zuko discover some of the Fire Nation’s more spiritual past, so they can truly begin to honor life. The Master Plan - After returning home and spending some much needed time with his family, Sokka begins to work side by side with his father, Hakoda to rebuild the Southern Water Tribe. They plan on making the South Pole’s village into a fully functioning city similar to their sister Tribe in the North, as a big welcome home present to the warriors returning from the battlefield. Over time, Sokka is needed less for the planning and and construction of the new South Pole, and he was free to do what he wanted. He began his own world travels, making it a point to stop by Kyoshi Island. Made of Metal - When Toph returned to her hometown, she was hailed as a hero for saving the Earth Kingdom from the airships. Even her parents had to admit she definitely wasn’t the helpless blind girl they thought she was. She was ready to have dinner and tea with them, when her old tutor pushed through the crowd and claimed that his methods led to her amazing abilities. Toph challenges him to an earthbending duel and easily defeated him. A few days later, many of the kids who witnessed her duel wanted to learn from Toph. She decided to take them under her wing, and was pleased to find out some of them could also bend metal. What Drives Us Forward - Fic plan. Earth King Kuei and Fire Lord Zuko have made great strides in smoothing out the differences between their two nations. All is going well until Kuei goes missing: and there are signs of fowl play, and a nefarious plot. To rescue his ally, Lord Zuko teams up with Mai and Toph, as well as Long Feng, who might hold the only clues to Kuei’s whereabouts. What Ties Us Together - Fic plan. Direct sequel to “What Drives Us Forward.” King Kuei and his trusted guard Zhen navigate Long Feng’s chamber in the earth kingdom palace, unsealing it for the first time in two years. As they look for a special keepsake, Kuei navigates both the good and bad memories he shared with his former adviser. (Shortly after this exploration of memories, Kuei finds his family, as described in this post about his aunt, cousin, and bodyguards.) New Beginnings - Fic plan, connected to “What Drives Us Forward,” It’s the Lunar New Year, and everyone has been invited to a celebration in Ba Sing Se. The Avatar, the Fire Lord, and all their trusted friends and family are present for a night of music, dance, tea, and merriment. As the night approaches, King Kuei slips away to the middle ring, to have a more personal view of the fireworks show. To Control the Flame - Having accepted her family, friends, servants and others back into her life, Azula thought she had more than enough drive for her inner fire. When her blasts aren’t nearly as strong, Iroh suggests she train under Jeong Jeong, since his more disciplined approach suits her style better than anyone in the capital city. Azula and Jeong Jeong begin a little rocky at first, but grow to have a mutual respect for each other. A Bright Star - King Kuei met and married Lady Mingyu, a fun-loving, outspoken noblewoman from Omashu. Their marriage formed a solid alliance between Omashu and Ba Sing Se, and was celebrated throughout the Earth Kingdom. Almost a year later, a new heir was born to the Earth Kingdom throne, Princess Mei-Xing. Kuei chose her name for its meaning, with high hopes that his daughter would be the new bright star of Ba Sing Se. Returned to the Earth - Four Years after the war was over, Long Feng passed away quietly in the night. There were mixed feelings on the day of his funeral, especially from Kuei. Long Feng was encased in an earthly coffin and laid to rest by King Jingyi and Princess Shufen in the Royal Catacombs, right where he would have wanted to be. After grappling with his inner feelings, Kuei decided he’d take the time to honor Long Feng’s memory, and speak to him the way he did his mother and father. The Blue Dragon - Having honed her skills in swordsmanship, as well as regaining her inner fire, Azula became the youngest member of the White Lotus. She was not quite a Grand Lotus just yet, but her fighting spirit and sharp mind mad her the perfect addition to the Order, who went into the shadows again. Azula thwarted a few plots to overthrow Zuko, allowing him to be the Fire Lord out in the open, while she quietly dealt with anyone who threatened him, their mother, or the sense of order in the Fire Nation. A New Spark - A new heir is born to Fire Lord Zuko and Lady Mai. Princess Izumi is healthy and strong, and she had the spark in her eye that showed she’d become a firebender. Ursa, Iroh and many of Zuko’s friends show up (Even King Kuei, Princess Mingyu and a four year old Mei-Xing) - Azula shows up fashionably late, and promises to at least send her niece gifts from wherever she is in the world.

#ATLA #ATLA Meta #Fire Nation #Earth Kingdom #Water Tribe #theories #before-series #during-series #after-series #long post #I didn't intend it to be #Lynn’s atla meta

[ink-logging]

Detective Comics #1000, Chris Conroy & Dave Wielgosz, eds.: I bought this on impulse because it was on the new releases shelf and people were talking about Batman online. It’s a 100-page anthology tribute for the Batman character’s 80th year and the one thousandth issue of “Detective Comics”. I don’t think anyone is ever at their best in a tribute anthology, but that makes them kind of interesting to look at, you know? There are eleven stories, which I will now spoil in their entirety.

1. “Batman’s Longest Case”, Scott Snyder, Greg Capullo, Jonathan Glapion, FCO Plascencia, Tom Napolitano: The first of two stories in which Batman is doing something that looks grim, but is actually happy and anniversary-ish - both with similar titles, and both from major Batman writers. This is the better one, because I think Capullo is an interesting artist. He’s comparable to Jae Lee, in that he’s someone who had some work in comics under his belt prior to being ushered into the second ‘generation’ of popular Image artists, and has continued to evolve quite vividly over the years. The Capullo of today dials up the use of shadows and silhouette that used to sort of decorate the folds of Spawn’s flowing cape and such - here, they’re used more to focus attention on storytelling fundamentals: geography; gesture; etc. I also generally like the colorist, FCO Plascencia, who’s done some Varleyesque color-as-mood work on earlier comics with this team, though the story here is subdued... very classy, dressed for the gala.   

Hints of ‘90s grotesquerie only pop up once Batman has solved a large number of flamboyantly abstruse riddles and discovered that the titular Longest Case is really an initiation test fronted by wrinkly old Slam Bradley, the original Siegel & Shuster-created star of “Detective Comics” back in 1937, who welcomes Batman to a Guild of Detection. This is clever of the writer, Scott Snyder, because Batman as a basic concept is hugely derivative of earlier pulp, detective and strip hero characters - and, if you’re being honest about paying homage to the character’s origins, you might as well play up lineage as your metaphor.

2. “Manufacture for Use”, Kevin Smith, Jim Lee, Scott Williams, Alex Sinclair, Todd Klein: In contrast, this story shoots for the quintessential. Smith, of course, is the filmmaker and longtime geek culture celebrity who’s written comics off and on, so maybe it’s his distance from the continuum of superhero writing that has inspired a short story that could have run as a backup in any Batman comic since the 1970s, give or take few cultural references. Matches Malone (Batman, when he is being an undercover cop) descends into the secretive world of true crime memorabilia to buy the gun that killed Bruce Wayne’s parents, which he then melts down to form the metal bat-symbol plate Batman wears on his chest, verily steeling his heart with the memory of this tragedy to fortify him in his neverending battle against crime! NANANANANANANANA BATMAAAAAN! Jim Lee and his usual crew makes everything look like it’s ‘supposed’ to, provided you see this type of statuesque posing as the best sort of superhero art, which many DC comics readers presumably do, given how a lot of these things look.

3. “The Legend of Knute Brody”, Paul Dini, Dustin Nguyen, Derek Fridolfs, John Kalisz, Steve Wands: Dini has written tons of comics, with not a few of those drawn by Nguyen, but this feels mostly like DC1k (acronym’s resemblance to “DICK” a purely innocuous reference to Nightwing, I assure you) acknowledging the extensive legacy of “Batman: The Animated Series”, on which Dini was a writer and producer. The story takes the form of a biography of an infamously clumsy hired thug for supervillains, whom even the most novice reader will have figured out is a Batman Family asset about halfway down page 4 of 8, leaving a whole lot of laborious and narration-heavy slapstick to wade through. Admittedly, this might work better as an animated cartoon, with voice acting leavening the pace of the gags, but I’m also not sure ‘this would be better in a different art form’ is the impression superhero comics should be giving right now.

4. “The Batman’s Design”, Warren Ellis, Becky Cloonan, Jordie Bellaire, Simon Bowland: 

Most of the drawing in DC1k is the kind of stuff you can easily trace to a few popular and fairly narrow traditions of ‘realistic’ superhero art. Becky Cloonan is the only woman to draw an entire comic in here -- Joëlle Jones co-pencils a story with Tony Daniel later on, and Amanda Conner does a pinup, mind -- and her work is the only place in this book where you catch glimpses of a global popular comics beyond the superhero provinces in the Hewlettian wild eyes of the hapless human opponents of her Batman, lunging through velvet layers of cape and smoke, lipless mouth parted on a shōnen ai jaw. It is really very impressive. 

The writer, Warren Ellis, does a pathos-of-the-hard-man story, in which Batman explains his combat strategies via narration while carrying them out, occasionally making reference to the medical bills his prey will incur and their timely motivations as terroristic white men who feel ignored by the world, and at the end Batman asks the last guy U WANT TO LIVE IN MY NIGHTMARE, LITTLE BOY and the guy is like n- no dr. batman sir, and gives up because Batman’s is too dangerous and scary a life model. It is made clear from the text that Batman has programmed himself into a system of reactionary violence that he inevitably reinforces, but this message is so heavily sugared with cool action and tough talk that the reader can easily disregard such commentary, if so inclined, which has been a trait of Ellis’ genre comics writing since at least as far back as “The Authority” in the late 1990s. It fits Batman as naturally as the goddamned cowl.  

 5. “Return to Crime Alley”, Dennis O’Neil, Steve Epting, Elizabeth Breitweiser, ‘Andworld Design’: I was surprised that there weren’t other writers from across the Atlantic in DC1k, given the extensive contributions of Alan Grant and Grant Morrison to the character. I was maybe not as surprised to see Dennis O’Neil as the lone credited writer to pre-date the blood and thunder revolution of Frank Miller et al. in the mid-1980s, as that commercial shadow is far too long to escape. Of course, O’Neil was one of the architects of superhero comics as a socially relevant proposition and Batman as a once-again ‘serious’ character in the 1970s, and it may be a reflection of his standing as a patriarch that this story contains no sugar whatsoever: on the anniversary of his parents’ death, Batman is confronted by a childhood caregiver who has figured out his dumb secret identity, and castigates him for doing stupid shit like dressing up as an animal and punching the underclass when he could actually do something as a wealthy man to improve the world. Then Batman starts beating the shit out of young masked teens who have stolen a gun, after which Batman, who is also a masked thug, is told that he is, at best, a figure of pity. The end! 

What emerges from this story, to my eye, is that Batman is a terrible fucking idea if examined with any sort of serious realism - and Steve Epting draws the story as close to photorealism as anything in this book gets. I also think it is not insignificant that O’Neil, the writer here most unplugged from superhero comics as a commercial vocation, is the one to make these observations; to believe in superhero comics is to understand that there is play at the heart of these paper dolls, and to make your living from these things is to contemplate new avenues for play. Maybe Batman is dark, obsessive! Should he... kill? Sure, Bill Finger made him kill. The Shadow killed lots of dudes. So did Dick Tracy. Ramp up the verisimilitude too much, though, and you’ve got a guy wearing a hood going out by the cover of night to scare the shit out of superstitious cowards who’ve been taking from the good people of society, which, in terms of motivational narratives, is the same origin as the Ku Klux Klan. To play nonetheless, is the craftsman’s burden.

6. “Heretic”, Christopher Priest, Neal Adams, Dave Stewart, Willie Schubert: Meanwhile, on the other side of the coin, is veteran Batman artist and frequent Dennis O’Neil collaborator Neal Adams. And while Adams is not credited as the writer on this story, it bears all the hallmarks of his 21st century work at DC: whiplash pacing; uneasy expository dialogue; and eager callbacks to Adams’ earlier work. This is the Batman comic as a continuity-driven adventure, and I found it largely incomprehensible as a story, not unlike Adams’ recent “Deadman” miniseries. I still like his husky Batman, though. 

7. “I Know”, Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, Josh Reed: Hey, did you know Brian Michael Bendis, writer of approximately ten and one half zillion Marvel comics, is writing comics at DC these days? Here he teams with longtime collaborator Maleev for a story that brings to mind the old line from Grant Morrison’s & Dave McKean’s “Arkham Asylum” about Batman being the real person and the guy under the mask being the mask. The Penguin, of all villains, figures out Batman’s secret identity, but elects not to pursue Bruce Wayne in his private life, because destroying Bruce Wayne would create a pure Batman far too dark and twiztid for anyone to handle. Or, maybe that is all just an image the perfectly sane Batman has deliberately encouraged as part of his umpteenth contingency plan. I would argue that this is a gentle spoof of people taking Batman too seriously, which clicks with what I’ve read of Bendis’ idea of the character in those 100-page comics they sell at Walmart: a globetrotting detective-adventurer, appropriate for all ages. Bear in mind, I’ve read maybe 0.2% of all Brian Bendis comics.  

8. “The Last Crime in Gotham”, Geoff Johns, Kelley Jones, Michelle Madsen, Rob Leigh: Whoa, now we’re talking! Kelley Jones! Just look at this: 

Such totally weird stuff, coming from the artist who drew all those classic ��90s covers with the huge bat-ears and wildly distorted musculature, the cape this absurd, unreal shroud. It looks like he’s working from photo reference with some of this comic, but also just tearing out these drawings of huge jawlines and shit, this total what-the-fuck-is-going-on haze, which perfectly matches Geoff Johns’ furiously ridiculous story about an elderly Batman and his wife, Catwoman, and their daughter, and Damian, and a dog, who all investigate a mass murder that turns out to be the Joker’s son committing suicide, and then Batman unplugs the Bat-Signal because crime is over in Gotham forever, and then we find out it’s all the birthday wish of Batman, who is blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, in costume, in the Batcave. Is “Doomsday Clock” like this? Should I pirate it??

9. “The Precedent”, James Tynion IV, Alvaro Martinez-Bueno, Raul Fernandez, Brad Anderson, Sal Cipriano: Inevitably, we come to the story that argues that Batman is actually a great guy, and his pressing of children into action as vigilantes under the cover of night is an amazingly positive thing. This is what I mean by “play” - it doesn’t literally make sense, we all know that, but if you buy into the superhero idea, you can buy into this universe of metaphor where the Batman Family is a vivification of finding your company of people, and belonging, and being loved. Lots of talk in here about snatching young people out of the darkness and forging them in light, and helping them find a better path - it sounds like Batman is signing these kids up for the Marine Corps, which is one of several organizations that recognizes the power of these arch-romantic impulses.

10. “Batman’s Greatest Case.”, Tom King, Tony S. Daniel, Joëlle Jones, Tomeu Morey, Clayton Cowles: This is just unbearable. Oh god, what absolute treacle. It’s the second story in this book about Batman being serious and mysterious, but it turns out something nice is going on - he really just wants a photo of the whole Batman Family, because he lost his family when his parents got shot, but then he cracked his greatest case by finding a new family, which is the Batman Family!

All of this is communicated via clipped dialogue in which various Batman Family superheroes trade faux-awkward quips and cutesy ‘moments’ that are supposed to embody the endearing traits of the characters, but read as the blunt machinations of art that is absolutely desperate to be liked. This is art that is weeping on my shoulder and insisting I am its friend, and I want to get away from it, immediately. Tom King is the most acclaimed superhero writer of this generation, and I can only presume his better work is elsewhere.

11. “Medieval”, Peter J. Tomasi, Doug Mahnke, Jaime Mendoza, David Baron, Rob Leigh:

Finally, we have the obligatory story-that-leads-into-next-issue’s-serial, thereby demonstrating that Batman endures. It’s done as a series of 12 splash pages, depicting Batman in battle with his greatest foes, and it benefits immeasurably from the presence of artist Doug Mahnke (some inks by Jaime Mendoza), whose been a favorite of mine since those early, blood-splattered issues of “The Mask” at Dark Horse decades ago. Broadly speaking, Mahnke is working in a similarly muscular vein as many contributors to DC1k, but his sense of composition, of spectacle -- that boot-in-the-face energy the British call thrill-power -- adds an important extra crackle, and an element of humor; his Batman looks like a hulking maniac dressed in garbage bags, beating the shit out of monster after leering monster. What we are seeing is the fevered imagining of a new villain, the Arkham Knight (a variant of a character introduced in a video game), whom writer Peter J. Tomasi characterizes via the old trick of having the villain narrate to us a bunch of familiar criticisms of the hero, which the hero will presumably react to and overcome, or acknowledge in an interesting way, or something, in future installments. This probably would have worked better if other stories in this book hadn’t already made a lot of the same points in a manner that is not an advertisement for the rebuttal of those points... or if I were even capable of reading a story like this without imagining a final dialogue bubble coming in from off-panel going “SIR, THIS IS A BURGER KING DRIVE-THRU.” But something’s gotta go in issue #1001.

-Jog

#JogList

[fancymuffinparty]

The Gift

Rating: T; for language and mature themes

Pairing: Porco Galliard & Pieck

Summary: Regardless of what’s been marked on the calendar, it’s just another day as far as Porco Galliard’s concerned. The past several years have been anything but easy, and coping with his brother’s absence is painstakingly difficult- if not entirely obstructed by his own denial. 

At least he’s not alone. Pieck somehow makes this particular birthday a little less miserable.

Word Count: 2267

A/N: Happy birthday, Pokko! Here, have some angst!

I definitely plan on writing more for this pairing in the future. They’re just too precious! *Side eyes at the cliffhanger in chapter 99*

It sits on the desk in front of him, coated lightly in sparse traces of dust.

Swathed in a thin sheet of white parchment, the small box is adorned with a fixed knot made of flimsy ribbon. There’s a tag attached to the delicate fabric and a simple note that reads: To Porco, From Marcel.

It’s the birthday gift Marcel had given him before leaving for Paradis nine years prior. Porco had promised his brother he would wait until his return to open it, believing the heartfelt gesture would correlate perfectly with their reunion.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, that fateful day of Marcel’s departure would be the last time he’d ever see him. In a haze of fragmented memories, Porco recalls watching with precariously dread-filled eyes as Marcel had been shipped off with his warrior comrades, the trek sending them across hundreds of miles of treacherous waters to fulfill the ultimate mission.

Their families had been left in the dark for so long, wondering, waiting…

Perhaps the sum of their litanies and pleas to some form of higher power had been done in vain.

With the operation resulting in disastrous failure, Reiner had been the only one to make it back to Marley-  yet even the news of Marcel’s death had never truly stopped Porco from waiting.

Waiting for some semblance of closure to put his restlessness at ease. To shut out thoughts of his brother’s suffering. To keep the nightmares at bay.

To finally discover the mystery enclosed within the daunting gift box before him.

Even after all these years it’s managed to maintain decent condition. The wrapping paper is a bit weathered and its luster lacks the eerily charming radiance it had once possessed, but given that Porco rarely ever acknowledges it with so much as an unwonted glance, the box appears to have stood the test of time.

Time that hasn’t been so forgiving for him, nor his comrades.

The marks on the calendar lead up to the current date: November 11th.

And the only surviving son of the Galliard family sits alone in his quarters, confining himself to the barracks when most adolescents his age would rather be out celebrating and drinking themselves silly.

Porco has no desire to engage in elaborate festivities, not when he’s subject to torturous introspection at the manifestation of an inanimate object.

The momentary lapse in lucid thinking frustrates him to no end. He’s convinced he’s getting worked up over nothing.

In absentminded diversion, it’s curiosity that initially brings his fingers to trace the edges of his gift. Before he can consider unwrapping it, he immediately withdraws his hands, jolted back to reality upon the recollection of his promise.

He can’t open it. Not without Marcel.

His unyielding tenacity will suppress the impulses, the deceitful urges…

Because if he actually goes through with it, there will be nothing left for him to hold on to. Nothing to keep him waiting. Nothing to keep him hopeful.

It would force him to confront an unsightly truth; one he often ignores for the sake of his own guilt-ridden sanity.

Marcel is gone… and he’s never coming back.

What an awesome birthday this is turning out to be…

Porco’s still staring vacantly at the gift when someone unexpectedly enters his room, quietly but intrusive nonetheless.

Given the visitor’s sudden arrival, Porco is able to determine who has graced him with their presence without even bothering to look over his shoulder.

Reiner always knocks first.

Pieck tends to walk right on inside.

Her crutches aid in her entrance before she casually leans against the wall.

“Pokko,” Pieck says with a smile, “everyone’s waiting for you down in the mess hall.”

Of course they are. To throw him a ‘surprise party’ no doubt… except it’s merely an excuse for everyone else to indulge in a hedonistic carouse.

It’s not as if any of these foolish puppets of the Marleyan military genuinely care about him- much less about the fact that he feels like an entire half of him is gone.

What’s there to really celebrate anyway? A year closer to death? That the end of his tenure draws nearer with every passing year?

If the reason for celebration was an unapologetic ‘fuck you’ to the Marleyan government, he’d at least consider showing up. That alone would be worth putting up with all the belligerently drunk assholes and reckless commotion.

Some birthday wishes cannot come true, unfortunately.

Porco scowls, offering the only response his disenchantment will permit.

“Don’t care,” he huffs, emotionally drained.

Pieck tilts her head, quizzical. Then, with a nonchalant shrug, she decides she doesn’t really care all that much either.

She’d rather take this opportunity to lie down and rest. The others down in the mess hall will just have to wait. Knowing him as well as she does, however, she figures the festivities might be better off commencing without their guest of honor.

Porco’s not too keen on social gatherings anyway.

As a docile sigh eases from her mouth, she saunters over to his small framed cot and slumps back into the mattress. She doesn’t make herself too comfortable, wary of the despondent aura Porco emulates so heavily it’s like a thick cloud.

When she veers her sight in his direction, she’s able to pinpoint the cause of his dejected state instantly.

She blinks a few times in acquiescence, calm and unflinching.

Pieck remains fixated on the gift for a moment before speaking. “Still haven’t opened it yet?” she says more than asks. “After all this time…”

Porco doesn’t respond at first. He lets out a deep breath and runs a free hand through his hair, finding it difficult to articulate an answer when he’s utterly wrought with restrained emotion.

It’s only after Pieck sits herself up, looking at him with concern etched on her face, that he finally brings himself into the conversation- albeit, somewhat detached.

“I keep wondering when I’ll finally see him again,” he tells her quietly. Correction. “See his memories, I mean.”

To further his exasperation, he’s only seen the memories of the predecessor Ymir; the poor girl who couldn’t live up to such a grand title.

None of which provide any closure.

Pieck holds the upright position in which she sits at a persistent angle, lending her ear as Porco continues to vent the outpouring of zealous thoughts.

“He would’ve wanted me to inherit his titan power.” He’s repeated these words over and over again in the past, although this time he takes on a strangely assertive tone. “I know that’s what he would’ve wanted.”

The blatant reiteration is hardly convincing.

But he has to put his faith in something.

He won’t let his brother’s sacrifice go to waste. It’s one of the few things that keeps him going, even when the future seems so bleak… as it always does…

Pieck is quick to obstruct his dismal reverie, regaining his attention in rendering her own perspective.

“I think Marcel would want you to open your gift,” she advises gently. “It wouldn’t be right to leave it like that.” Defeats the purpose.

Porco leans back into his chair, arms folded across his chest. “I’m content with not knowing,” he muses somberly. “I guess… a part of me prefers to keep it that way.”

But another part of him is dying to leave the wrapping paper in shreds and pry the box open with the unrelenting force of his hands, exposing the long awaited mystery inside.

He doesn’t.

I can’t do it… Not without him here.

Pieck detects subtle traces of the feverish desire he’s desperately trying to quell internally, seeing right past his hardened guise for what it is.

Smoke and mirrors.

Observing his tormented condition with delicacy, Pieck can only come to one conclusion.

Porco is struggling to come to terms with Marcel’s fate- but maybe, by following through with this seemingly simple act, he may finally be able to take the first step in healing himself.

It’s not what he wants to hear, but Pieck is determined to get through to him.

She’s the only one who can.

“Pokko,” she begins, hoisting her legs over the edge of the bed, “we can’t bring back the people we’ve lost…” She pauses for a beat, daintily meeting his gaze before continuing. “But they live on in the memories we carry with us.”

Porco perks his head up, listening closely as he expects more.

She doesn’t keep him in suspense for too long, sustaining an empathetic approach to addressing the matter.

“So long as you hold those memories close, Marcel will always be with you.”

Porco desperately wants to believe that.

He wants to believe that Marcel’s presence shadows every walk to their childhood home, follows every hollow trajectory throughout the barracks, and guides him through every campaign during these perilous times of war; as though he’s watching over him from the hereafter.

Except most of these beliefs, about the afterlife and how ‘Marcel is in a better place’, are bullshit.

Porco can’t buy into any of that spiritual nonsense. It’s merely a farce religious folk made up to comfort themselves and cope with the harsh reality of suffering and mortality.

His parents, disheartened and aloof as they are, occasionally resort to these outlets in an effort to console him, but he simply refuses to allow himself to fall for such a travesty.

“He would’ve wanted me to inherit his titan power… I know that’s what he would’ve wanted.”

Damn it all.

Marcel doesn’t want anything.

Marcel is dead.

And holding off from opening a dated birthday present won’t change a damn thing. Holding on to the past will only hold him back in return.

The sun still rises. The sun still sets.

Porco’s fully aware.

He still resents it.

“But they live on… in the memories we carry with us…”

In a moment far too impeccable for his own understanding, Pieck’s point from before suddenly reemerges, replacing the despair that circulates in his room with supportive insight.

He will always have fond memories to look back on. They’re no substitute for his brother by any means, but they’re real- undiluted and everlasting.

Accepting this newfound realization is a final goodbye. And a new start.

He owes Marcel that much.

“Memories or no memories, my brother’s been gone for a long time.” Porco trails off, but he persists. “He’s gone… and he’s never coming back.”

It’s the first time he’s said that out loud.

It feels like a weight has crushed him, yet like a weight has been lifted all the same. Everything’s a bit easier to differentiate; to comprehend in a whole new light.

And he’s capable of accomplishing this feat because of her.

Having Pieck here with him is the single ray of hope among his clouded ordeal.

Then again, she always has been.

She always will be.

He can’t lose her, too. Not after everything he’s been through. After everything they’ve been through together. He won’t compromise on that. She means too damn much to him.

Except... they’re the same; cursed. Her tenure will end much sooner than his. He’ll make the most of it, he reasons in earnest... with what little time they have left together.

And then all he’ll have when she’s gone will be mere memories.

It’s an anomaly he does not question, mainly because he already knows the answer.

The reflection on such a pivotal moment comes to an abrupt end when Pieck rises to her feet, pulling her arms above her head into a brief stretch. Porco can only watch her with a strained and pensive sadness, mulling over all the things he wishes he could tell her but can’t because of their circumstances.

Being alone together in his dimly lit room incites a plethora of frayed emotions. The tension is further heightened as she ambles closer to him, her intentions rather obvious. His eyes follow her movements with muted fascination, anticipating her approach with each step she puts forth.  

With the distance closed, Pieck leans down and encircles her arms around him, tightening her grip as he clings to her in return. She doesn’t say anything, only rests her head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. They fasten themselves like this for a while, accompanied by nothing more than their bated breaths and aimless pondering.

Where they go from here is all up to Porco, Pieck presumes.

She contemplates whether or not there’s more she can do; more she can offer.

Over the years, she’s acknowledged that the intermittent withdrawal from his usually stoic demeanor seems to be reserved exclusively for her. It’s not something she takes for granted, but she doesn’t want to impose either. To respect that, she meekly pulls away and sets her sights on the door, reasoning with herself it would be best to give him privacy.

But she’s stopped.

“Pieck…”

Porco’s never looked so vulnerable… so sad.

“I want you to stay…”

He swallows down the immensely painful lump in his throat, nearly constricting his own words.

He’s hurting. Aching.

“Just a little while longer.”

Pieck gives him a faint smile, nodding at his request.  

It’s rare to see him like this. It tugs on her heart strings.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” she whispers, intent on fulfilling that promise to the letter.

As she draws nearer, she sees what he’s about to do.

Realizes what he’s about to do.

She blinks a few times, preparing herself.

It’s quiet again. Unrelentingly silent.

Porco reaches for the gift box, hands trembling.

And he opens it.

#mywriting #pokkopiku #pokopiku #porco galliard #pieck #snk #snk fanfic #meant to write fluff but oops #i can always write le fluff later :) #i have headcanons for daysss about these two #anyway #happy birthday porco!

[draconicmatriarch]

Trauma and Healing in Berserk

“A man draws his sword in order to protect the small wound deep in his heart, it was inflicted in the days long past at the farthest reach of his memories, a man wields his sword in order to depart life with a smile...”

On first appearance, Guts, the protagonist of Kentaro Miura's Berserk, appears to be the perfect anti-hero: dark, scarred, stoic, brooding, and swings impossibly huge swords. However, beyond his action hero exterior is a character deeply damaged by the trauma inflicted upon him which includes neglect, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. His childhood abuse has shaped him into an anti-social mercenary with no purpose in life and a death wish. He shows many classic symptoms of PTSD such as avoidance of intimacy, touch aversion, and hyper focus on fighting. Even in his attempts to heal through companionship and love, his mind is permanently affected by the abuse he suffered.

According to Bessel van der Kolk and Alexander C. McFarlane, every person experiences trauma. While some adapt and move on, others become fixated on it, and it affects everything about their life to the degree that “traumatic experiences can alter people's psychological, biological and social equilibrium...” (488). This psychiatric disorder is known as post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). What makes an event traumatic for a victim is “how threatened and helpless they feel” (490). If a parent inflicted the trauma on their child, the child will blame themselves and have difficulty processing that their caretaker could inflict such pain. After the traumatic experience, symptoms may manifest behaviors like becoming “preoccupied with the event” (489) which is normal, but may develop into maladaptive behaviors like becoming avoidant and “organizing their lives around the trauma” (489). Reliving memories of trauma is just as painful to one with PTSD as the original event. This reliving can occur in nightmares, flashbacks, or reenactments and can result in panic or rage. In response, people will build up defenses to prevent to protect their psyche, but everyone does it in different ways. Some will even go back to environments similar to the original traumatic event. An important example in the case of Berserk is that “combat soldiers may become mercenaries” (493). When analyzing Guts, it is apparent that his traumatic childhood has resulted in his development of PTSD which he displays in the symptoms described by van der Kolk and McFarlane.

When Guts was a child, he wanted what most child crave: to have his father's approval and love.  Instead his adoptive father, Gambino, treated Guts like property and a burden. While practicing sword fighting, child Guts was forced to use a sword meant for adults. This sword he would wield is where he seeks comfort and what he vents his emotions through. He would go on to use longer and heavier swords as he grows up, a representation of his growing traumatic burdens. In a rage, Gambino inflicts the most noticeable physical scar on Guts, one on the bridge of his nose. Like Guts' emotional scars, this will always be a part of him no matter how old he gets. This leads to Guts getting a fever and clinging to his sword for comfort. This will be his coping mechanism against his trauma. A few years later, and still a child, Guts is thrust onto the battlefield and performs his first kill. This gets validation from Gambino which encourages Guts to keep winning on the battlefield. However, this validation is still not love. After Guts kills a general, he is desperate to get praise from Gambino. Instead of acknowledging Guts, he instead lavishes attention on his dog. It is not true affection, as Gambino later kicks the dog away; he did it purposefully just to hurt Guts. Guts' jealousy of the dog would culminate later in his life. As Gambino described Guts “...You followed me around like some lonely puppy” (Chapter 10). His id, his inner voice to kill and maim the one he loves, takes the form of a black dog. It is the projected manifestation of all his traumas. He is the beaten dog who craves his master's love; he is also the dog that bears his fangs.

The most traumatic and impactful event is when Gambino sells Gets to be raped by another soldier. This event would make Guts afraid of intimacy and touch. Guts is small and completely overpowered by the giant man. He reaches for his sword, his safety, but he cannot make it. He has been rendered helpless, as van der Kolk describes what makes an event truly traumatic. In this scene, the rapist is shaded heavily, giving the appearance of being more monster than man. Dark shadowing outline the sinister grin of the rapist while those same shadows threaten to swallow Guts. When the rapist tells Guts that Gambino sold him out, Guts says it's a lie and refuses to believe it. Despite Gambino's abuse Guts tries to “hold onto an image of the parent as good in order to deal with the intensity of fear and rage which is the effect of the tormenting experiences” (497). Gambino acts flippant about the act the next morning, but Guts cannot bring himself to confront his father. Instead, Guts vents his rage by destroying a barrel with his sword. He can only find solace in his weapon. Guts later kills his rapist and demands that he say who really sold him out while wearing a sadistic grin. When the man tries to say Gambino's name, Guts only stabs his sword further down his throat in rage. This event would be later repeated in his nightmares. His rapist is depicted as a towering monster with grasping, clawed hands that his sword cannot cut.  Once again, Guts is a naked child, a symbol of his helplessness and vulnerability. Gambino just watches on uncaring as Guts cries out for forgiveness while the words “You should have died” (Chapter 13) repeat over and over.

Guts' sexual trauma manifests its symptoms as a refusal to be touched or to bond with others. Even a congratulatory touch on the shoulder is met with bared teeth and a strong rebuke of “Don't you ever touch me!” (Chapter 8). He continued to do what comforted him: swinging his sword.  Guts becomes a loner to avoid human contact. This fits into the definition of avoidance which is when victims “...generally start organizing their lives around avoiding having the emotions that these intrusions evoke” (494). Even when forced to join a mercenary band, as they enjoyed in revelry, he instead isolates himself far from the group, still holding onto his sword. In time, their influence begins to change him. With a squad of soldiers that rely on him, he sublimated his original hyper focus to fight and kill into a desire to protect his men. This is how van der Kolk describes “many survivors seem to be able to transcend their trauma temporarily and harness their pain in acts of sublimated creation” (487). However, the important word here is 'temporary' because Guts has not addressed his trauma until the most important moment of his recovery: his first sexual experience.

Guts' first sexual encounter with his rival-turned-lover, Casca, is where his trauma is most damaging. Up to this point, Guts has only known sex as a violent act, and his first time makes it apparent. He is far too rough to the point where she cries, and he does not slow down when asked to be more gentle. In this scene, however, as he sees her weeping from behind, his image as a child, gagged and helpless, is quite literally projected before his eyes. This is the perfect example of a “memory of one particular event comes to taint all other experiences, spoiling appreciation of the present” (488). The flashback of his rape in vivid detail intrudes into his thoughts in, and once again he hears “Gambino sold yer ass out” and “You should have died” (Berserk, Chapter 46). As Casca looks back at him, his child self looking back at him; he sees himself in her eyes. He reaches out to this projected vision of his helplessness and strangles it as if to choke his own weakness, but in reality he is strangling Casca. After this, he completely breaks down and tells Casca everything traumatic about his childhood to her: from his rape, the way Gambino ignored Guts for his dog, and Guts' remorse for accidentally killing him. For the first time in his adult life, he weeps. “I meant to get over it a long time ago. This past year...I didn't remember it one time. Why'd it come back now?” (Chapter 47) Intimacy he had long refrained from has triggered his memories. At this moment, his emotions are hyperaroused that even a small touch from Casca causes him to jolt up. Only after acceptance and comfort from Casca is he able to open up and allow for a loving, positive sexual experience. Just before he fall asleep in her arms, he has a vision: “...For some reason I recalled myself myself as a boy, rubbing in the medicine Gambino gave me. Beside the boy, an oversized sword shined dimly” (47). Being close to Casca recalls to him the visions of comfort. Finally, Guts can associate a person with comfort.

The trauma Guts endured profoundly and permanently shaped his character. He was wounded and eventually managed to heal, but like many scars on his body, his mind will always have the traces of his abuse. The characters in Berserk are united by their trauma. Guts is but one linked by these experiences. Unfortunately for Guts, this is not where his trauma ends. When the entire mercenary band is wiped out and Casca is brutally raped by his most cherished ally, Guts' trauma and his demons are born anew. His violent regression and the manifesting of his id as a black dog, who tries to sway Guts again to the path of violence and solitude, is another theme that can be disseminated by psychoanalysis.

#Berserk #Guts #tw rape mention #tw child abuse #ok to reblog #:long post:

[sage-nebula]

Fire emblem or pokemon. For the ask please!

I’m going to do Fire Emblem: Awakening. If you want Pokémon, please send that in another ask! (And specify games or anime---it matters!)

My favorite parent-child relationship

Chrom and both Lucina and (male) Morgan. I know there’s a tendency in fandom to characterize Chrom as this bumbling, clumsy dad who has no idea what he’s doing---but in canon we actually see that he’s a loving, supporting father who can get stern when necessary (that cockroach incident), but also cares deeply about both of his children and tries incredibly hard to be there for them. While we don’t get to see as many interactions between Chrom and Morgan as I would like (we only get their supports since Morgan doesn’t get to be involved with the actual plot), I still do love the supports, and the potential that is there for drama and conflict given that, in some timelines, Grima!Robin spirits Morgan away in order to raise him to be her perfect little soldier. (I even have an AU in my head for a scenario in which that happened, but then Morgan later falls into the Shepherds’ custody. There’s quite a bit of strife, particularly since Chrom and Lucina are adamant about not harming him, but others such as Frederick and Severa feel that he’s a threat, and Morgan himself is quite messed up due to all of the years of psychological abuse that Grima laid on him. I’ve never written anything for it, but damn do I have it in my head.)

So yeah, definitely Chrom with both of his children. My family. ♥

My favorite sibling relationship

LUCINA AND MORGAN, HANDS DOWN. Man, words can’t describe how much I love their relationship! Aside from the supports being adorable, there’s potential for conflict and development here that doesn’t exist in Lucina’s other sibling relationships, and that potential lies in the fact that---over the course of the plot---Lucina attempts to kill their mother. Obviously she can’t bring herself to follow through with it regardless of what choice is made, but she still draws Falchion against their mother, which is something that I feel Morgan would have a very negative reaction to, particularly given how much he adores Robin. (Of course, he’s not allowed to participate in the plot and so we never see him find out, but even still.) I do think that this would all be smoothed over in that same scene (I actually wrote a fic of that once, but it’s no longer on Tumblr---I can repost it if anyone wants), but all the same it would definitely cause conflict and strife, and that conflict simply doesn’t exist if Lucina’s mother is anyone else.

There’s also the fact that Morgan has amnesia, which is something that I think would also add more depth to their relationship. Lucina remembers all of the horrors that existed in the Bad Future, and Morgan doesn’t---and in a way, I think Lucina would be grateful for this, that her little brother was spared the memories that give her nightmares and keep her up at night, that motivate her to keep fighting for a better future, while plaguing her with anxiety and vicious fear all the while. But at the same time, Morgan losing his memories of the Bad Future means that he also lost his memories of her, and I think that would hurt. He regains some over the course of the plot---he does remember her, at least to some extent---but many of his memories are simply gone, and since I imagine they were very close, I think that would probably hurt Lucina a lot, too. (And Morgan himself would feel guilty, even as she assured him that he shouldn’t.)

And then there are the AUs---some of which we even see in-game, such as in Future Past---wherein Grima!Robin takes Morgan away, and Lucina has to keep fighting on without her brother, and if the are reunited at any point, he has been abused and warped to the point where he’s actively trying to fight and kill her despite how badly she wants to save and protect him. God, the angst quotient is off the charts here, so on top of the two being sweet and loving, how could I not love this?! BEST SIBLINGS, HANDS DOWN.

My favorite family relationship (other)

I have to admit, though, that I really do love Chrom and Lissa’s relationship. Their supports, wherein he takes none of her self-deprecating bullshit about being a bad princess (and insists that she’s a great princess, and proves it by having her talk to the others around camp) is very sweet, and I love how we get to see them support each other throughout the game as well. To that end, I do consider Frederick to be a pseudo part of their family (in the way that Zazu is to the lions in The Lion King, kind of), and I love his relationship with them as well. Frederick is best family babysitter, by far.

My favorite friendship between two people

I’m really attached to Robin and Gaius in this regard, largely in part due to my headcanon that they were childhood friends from ages 12-15, though Robin doesn’t recall it during the amnesia. This, of course, causes some angst on Gaius’ part, but even setting that aside I just love the way they bounce off each other and I really enjoy the friendship, even if a large part of my enjoyment comes from that headcanon.

But that said?

I also really cherish Chrom’s friendship with Gaius! I think that Gaius is a very important relationship for Chrom, because aside from the fact that Gaius is his future brother-in-law Gaius broadens Chrom’s horizons while at the same time making no illusion to the fact that he’s not doing this for Chrom’s benefit, he’s doing it so that Chrom can stop inadvertently rubbing salt in existing wounds due to Gaius’ own low, underprivileged status. Chrom isn’t trying to be insensitive in his supports, but he is nonetheless---and Gaius makes it clear that his actions in showing Chrom the seedy underbelly of the world are to stop those microaggressions and open Chrom’s eyes to what he’s doing, while at the same time doing so in a way that isn’t as harsh of a shut down as he originally dished out. Gaius offers some reality to Chrom, in other words, and this helps Chrom grow as a person. I really enjoyed their supports.

My favorite friendship between a group

THE JUSTICE CABAL, OF COURSE! Specifically, Owain, (male) Morgan, and Cynthia. All of their supports are absolutely fantastic, and the amount of shenanigans that they can (and do) get up to are unreal. I actually still have an idea for a birthday fic wherein Cynthia and Owain give Morgan a Justice Cabal birthday (shenanigans GALORE), but I haven’t written it yet despite having the idea for several years running now. Maybe I’ll do that this coming May.

My favorite mentorship

Mmm, is there one? I suppose the closest is Robin and Morgan, with the way she tries to teach him various tactics and strategies even as he tries to surpass her. It doesn’t get very much focus, though.

My favorite rivalry

Hah, probably Chrom and Vaike, if only because I can’t think of another one, and Vaike is pretty insistent that Chrom is his rival throughout their supports. (Meanwhile, Chrom tries to pretend that he doesn’t reciprocate, but let’s be real . . . he does. He reciprocates a lot. That cooking contest proves it.)

My favorite hatred/antipathy

MMMMMMM, honestly? There are quite a few good ones that I could name (such as Chrom and Gangrel, for instance), but I think the one that catches my attention the most is the one between Grima and Chrom.

Like, honestly---Grima against the royal family in general could work, because obviously there is a lot of antipathy between Grima and Lucina due to the Bad Future, and between Grima and Robin due to the fact that Robin was bred like a prized dog in order to be Grima’s vessel---but I focus on Chrom because I feel like Chrom stands to have the most to lose here, particularly in a timeline where Chrom and Robin are married and have their children. If Grima possesses Robin, then Chrom loses his wife. If she takes Morgan, he loses his son. Lucina could die. Chrom himself could die, and in my Risen!Chrom AU, well . . . he meets a far worse fate at Grima’s hands. When you consider the fact that Chrom is the Exalt during the vast majority of the plot and the fact that he is the one that wields Falchion and carries the Fire Emblem, that also marks him as Grima’s primary enemy, even though Robin is Grima’s primary target. They’re not quite at foetp level for me, but there’s definitely a ton of antipathy there, and I think it’s quite fun to work with.

My favorite potential relationship between characters who never talk in canon

The DLC chapters actually give us a lot of interaction between characters who don’t otherwise have supports, and so technically these characters do get to talk in canon, but I’m still angry that we never had legitimate supports between Lucina and Severa. There’s no excuse for it and I’ll never be over it, especially since Future Past heavily insinuates that Severa is Lucina’s second-in-command. There was no reason not to give us supports between them, IntSys. None.

#gen relationship meme #decadeoldtiger

[gaiabros]

Short on time? Head on over to our ELECTROWEEN Mixes page where we have created an archive for all of our ELECTROWEEN productions. There you will find our latest 2017 mixes to stream and download. We will be adding additional mixes from other projects in the future, so please subscribe to GAIA BROS to receive forthcoming news and announcements.

Prologue: Alone In A Basement (An Origins Story)

In October 1994, somewhere in a small suburb of Detroit, I was playing by myself in my Ghostbusters tent in the drafty unfinished basement of my parents’ house. All of the lights were off, with the exception being the ceiling light near the stairs heading up to the main floor. It was almost Halloween, and my curiosity was unquenchable.

I had inside the tent with me a single battery powered cassette player and a tape that I had smuggled from my parents without raising suspicion. Being young and foolish, my inquiring mind drove me to ask but one innocent little question:

“What else is there?”

With the help of the internet, I tracked down the memory of a tent that had almost been consumed by time. What is shown below closely depicts the visual atmosphere of this personal memoire I wish to share. This I remember vividly.

Encounter With The Tape

I had managed to load my cassette player with the blood red Halloween tape my Mom used for luring brave trick or treaters to our doorsteps. This particular tape included all sorts of haunted sounds, noises and things within the realm of the supernatural. Ghosts shrieking. People screaming. Chains dragging on cement. Zombies moaning. It was truly horrifying for a seven year old boy; my brain at that age often blurred the lines between fantasy and reality. I dared myself to listen as long as my bravery lasted, which was no longer than five minutes. Spooked by my imagination recreating all of the surreal scenes around me, I ran upstairs as fast as possible, never stopping to look behind me at what was following and chasing me…

Leaving that tape to continue to play on, into the empty darkness of bare, cold concrete and musty air…

A Tale From A Dark Place, Carried

Undoubtably, this was one of the scariest experiences of my entire life. I distinctly remember the feeling of being chased by the void and my heart racing at insane speeds. The influence of that vivid moment in my early childhood left a permanent scar on my subconscious mind. Looking back, I can say that it planted an endless curiosity of the unknown — and an eagerness to come to terms with it.

“No End Darkness” — my latest mix released for ELECTROWEEN 2017 — is the most recent and honest attempt I’ve made at revisiting that frigid, dreadful basement and remembering what it was like…

Sensing the coldness of the air…

Grasping the presence of absence….

Witnessing the canvas of the void…..

Feeling hopelessly vulnerable and alone.

Twenty three years later, that tape still plays its haunted cacophony into the atmoshere within the depths of my soul.

Reconciliation

This is my personal encounter that I’ve chosen to share with the world, and by doing so, have come to confront my fears and the wholeness of life once again.

Knowing the darkness is a personal experience we must all wrestle with in some aspect of our mortal existence. However, it is through the honesty of our shared vulnerability that we discover the most promising truth of human existence:

That each of us is not alone.

“No End Darkness” Mix Liner Notes

From Scott: These are the sounds of a past golden age, paired with the technology of the present. Some of these tracks have echoed in my mind for the past 20 years and never left me. They are the video games and stories I grew up with, forever entwined in the fibers of the visionary synthwave works and gaming titles of today. This is the present in full reconciliation with the past. Everything is relevant, and nothing is forgotten.

These artists and their counterparts communicate the importance of narrative, of colossal struggle and the great lengths protagonists go to fulfill their missions. They tell of creative diligence, uninhibited imagination, and a reconnection to the core essence of humanity; that is, the capacity to endure life’s most difficult trials in dark times.

Key influences for this mix include Castlevania (The new Netflix Original series released in July, created by American film producer Adi Shankar), Stranger Things Season 1 (in anticipation of Season 2 releasing October 27th!), Game of Thrones (HBO’s masterpiece, particularly season 7 here), and all of the timeless 80s/90s NES masterpieces (in particular: Ninja Gaiden, Castlevania, The Legend of Zelda, and Mega Man series). While I know these creations are not for everyone, I could not hold them in higher regards nor offer more significant recommendations for those adventurous in spirit, mind, and heart.

I should note that No End Darkness is just as much of a political statement as it is a memoir. Perhaps some of the included pieces speak to your own experiences this year; maybe none of them will. It is crucial for me to note that my objective is not to seek agreement nor acceptance from its creation. This project came out of a need to express myself and challenge the forces dictating this very moment. Now that it has been released into the wild, it may very well speak for others too, but not intentionally.

This work is dedicated to my loving parents and brother; for introducing me to the darkness at an early age, and giving me the strength to learn from it and fight it, no matter the cost. Thanks for all of your support along the way. I love you guys.

“The Nightmare Begins” Mix Liner Notes

The Nightmare Begins came into being after one of the best gaming experiences I have had. Early this year The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild released with the Nintendo Switch. Then the idea was fully formed with my viewing of American Horror Story: My Roanoke Nightmare. From those inspirations came a steadier mix filled with atmosphere instead of the bombastic electro that came in years prior.

Zelda BoTW is a video game all about exploration. Within the land of Hyrule, there are no waypoints or map markers telling the player where to go. Every destination you must set on your own by climbing up a high area to see interesting points in the distance. Complete directionlessness is given to you, but the developers trusted they built an interesting enough world that you’d want to explore anyways. In addition, I decided to play with the pro-HUD on, which takes away the minimap and forces you to remember your surroundings and paths. Just getting lost in the world was one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve ever had in a video game. Combined with themes of loss and Zelda’s timeless charm this is a perfect combination for ELECTROWEEN.

Getting LOST was what I took away from this game. The point was to go for a jaunt in the woods and get sidetracked. Find something that sparked your interest? That something could turn out to be a cute Korok (a type of woodland spirit) or a dangerous Guardian that could down you in one hit. Whatever the consequences it was always compelling and fun. Link, the character you play as, wakes up at the beginning of the game to find his own nightmare come to fruition. As Link, you must go through this waking nightmare. I wanted to reflect this in my mix, but with a much darker and slower tone than previous years.

I first came across American Horror Story with my girlfriend, Jessica. She asked me to watch it with her, as it is one of her favorite shows, I was reluctant. Historically, I’ve not been a fan of extremely scary tv or cinema. For those not familiar, American Horror Story changes every season in what story is told and the way in which it is told. We started by watch season 5: Hotel. Other than the performance by Lady Gaga, I didn’t enjoy the show. It was watching this year, season 6: My Roanoke Nightmare that got me hooked. The first half of the season is done in the style of true stories, that is, the “real” people are recounting their horrible time at the Roanoke Manner while actors act out the scenes. The second half of the season is played out like a reality show. The entire season is thrilling, tense, and extremely graphic. The many times I wanted to cover my eyes in horror, I also wanted to dive back into the show night after night.

Yes, a theme of My Roanoke Nightmare was getting lost in the woods. Unlike Zelda, this usually played out poorly for the heroes. Both Zelda and American Horror Story were my two and only influences for this mix. Usually, I have several others, but these two pieces of media were masters of their respective areas, it only felt right to draw from them.

Inside The Nightmare Begins: Different From Years Past

The Nightmare Begins is much slower than previous ELECTROWEEN mixes. It was very difficult for me to find songs that fit into what I wanted at the beginning. I started with a list of about twenty songs I thought could work, knowing that many had to be manipulated in ways I wasn’t quite comfortable with yet. I ended up throwing about half of my original track list out and completely replacing those selections.

The first song I knew I wanted in the mix was Hot Lights by Lany. This song set the tone for what I wanted the mix to be. A plodding medley focused on the somber mood, yet something you could dance to. My usual sources of Bandcamp and Beatport were quite useless at the beginning of my search. Fortunately this year I was exposed to quite a bit of Lana Del Rey, thanks to Jessica. Three of Lana’s songs are in The Nightmare Begins since she captures such a dreamy darkness with her voice. It was a perfect match!

Most, if not all, of the song selections were slowed down between 10 to 40 bpm — even Lana Del Rey’s songs were slowed down. Two songs, Somebody Else and Starboy were fast upbeat club remixes. Both of the song tempos were reduced heavily to give the exact feeling I wanted. Personally, I thought the slowed down versions sounded amazing. Check out the originals below:

I discovered it was difficult to pick out songs because I had to listen to the songs as if they were already slowed down. I had to see if the music would sound good together in a much slower tempo. Fortunately, it worked out for the best and now you can enjoy The Nightmare Begins.

Art and Music: The Voices of The Times

One takeaway we hope our work conveys is the reminder that no art form exists within a vacuum. Every personal creation is subject to the circumstances of the time and age from which it is crafted. In this way, these mixes give voice to an era ravaged by the evil-doing of cowardly men and women, the few seeking to fulfill personal agendas at the expense of the many. Every day has felt darker since their arrival, and the nights longer…

Right now, this Halloween season, we ask Karma to return the light to these lands again soon and conquer the darkness in which we find ourselves living. The great balance will be restored. In the meantime, we suffer through the long night together. Not just as a people, or a nation, but more so as a species that has survived hundreds of thousands of years of pain, grievances and tragedies alike.

As we continue to endure the darkness and nightmares before us and within ourselves, let us never forget the pendulum swings both ways.

Yours,

SW (VII) and MK (Loveless)

ELECTROWEEN 2017's No End Darkness and The Nightmare Begins are musical journeys into the depths of Hell itself. Short on time? Head on over to our ELECTROWEEN Mixes page where we have created an archive for all of our ELECTROWEEN productions.

#2017 #80s #Darkness #Electro Pop #ELECTROWEEN #Gaming #Halloween #Mixes #Nightmares #Rock #Synthwave #VG OST