#complicated doesn’t even begin to describe the storm of emotions inside them when it comes to MC

[childrenofcain-if]

I'm a little confused, did C have a crush on MC too? Like from when they were in school together? I don't think you've ever given a straight answer to that and now I'm screaming 😭 Please tell me it wasn't all one-sided from my MC's side

the answer to this depends on if you’re on C’s route or not. if you are, you’ll later discover that they’ve liked MC romantically from the moment they actually interacted. then again, C is a very emotionally stunted individual to recognise what these feelings actually mean so they’ve been misinterpreting them and, to an extent, repressing them since.

they’ll curse them out but at the same time, their mind will be cataloguing every single detail about MC that day. when they interact, C feels... alive.

the only person in the world who was ever able to challenge them in pursuit of their ambitions has been MC. and at some point, it became less about showing them up and more about keeping in steps with each other in an eternal dance.

[jawabear]

Hello, can I request a fic for Whiskey with prompts 58 and 70 from your prompt list

Brick Wall (Agent Whiskey x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: Hi. Sorry this took so long Anon! And I’m sorry it sucks! I’ve been super stressed lately and my brain is all over the place. But I hope you enjoy it. It got better as I went which is good but...I don’t know. I just feel a little all over the place. But writing helps me :) hope you enjoy it! Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Prompts: 58. Please don’t cry 70. I have feelings you know

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, crying, drinking, coldness, I don’t really know, not a lot I don’t think

Summary: Finally, he gets to go on a mission with the girl he loves, but she’s not exactly gifted in the social graces like he is

“Tell me again why I’m the one who has to do this” (Y/N) groaned as she adjusted her dress. It was far too snug for her liking. But her like was to not be in a dress at all. But when attending a fancy charity ball got the sake of a mission, she was a little out of options.

“Because all other female agents are currently otherwise occupied” Ginger explained for what felt like the hundredth time to her. (Y/N) wasn’t entirely thrilled about being pulled onto a mission with the most obnoxious agent in the agency.

“You hurt me darlin’. Thought we were going to have a nice time tonight” talk of the devil. Agent Whiskey, Jack Daniels, stood in the door way of Ginger’s office.

As much as he annoyed (Y/N), she had to admit, he cleaned up good.

He stood there dressed in a specially tailored sleek black suit with a nicely pressed white shirt and black tie. He didn’t wear his signature Stetson which was a little off outing actually. But his hair was neatly slicked back, he looked pretty dashing.

But (Y/N) was good at hiding her emotions and gave him no expression as she looked him up and down.

Jack on the other hand was not as good at hiding his emotions. And when he look at her, you could read him like a book. His face said what his words couldn’t. He stared at her with his mouth open, his eyes raking up and down her body, loving the way the red dress hugged her body so perfectly. Showing off those beautiful curves she had. He had never seen her dress as such, mainly because she never had.

“Wow sweetheart..” his voice was low “you look...wow”

“Thanks” she muttered “but I feel ridiculous. Let’s just go and get it over with so I can take this stupid thing off” she slipped her gun into her thigh holster and walk past him.

Jack turned to look at Ginger who gave him a soft look in return. “What am I supposed to do?” He sighed “the woman despises me. How the fuck am I ever going to tell her how I feel?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say Jack” Ginger shrugged “she’s a complicated person. And as frustrating as it may be for you, you may have to either give it up, or just tell her”

“I can’t...give it up. She’s...I’m head over heals for her”

“Then tell her. This is your chance. The perfect opportunity to tell her how you feel because it will be just the two of you”

“Yeah...I guess you’re right...”

“But in between that, make sure you complete the mission this time”

-

“This is a fucking shit-show” (Y/N) hisses under her breath “we’ve been here for nearly three hours and still no sign of any of them”

Jack downed the rest of his whiskey and placed his now empty glass on the bar he was leaning on, it being swiftly taken away by the bar tender but Jack was waved off the offer of another.

“Let’s face it Jack” she said to him “this mission is a bust. They’re not coming”

Jack nodded in agreement “I guess you’re right” he reached over and grabbed her hands pulling her towards the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” She asked him, slight anger in her voice at being dragged against her will.

“Just because they’re not going to show up, doesn’t mean we can enjoy tonight” he assumed the classic dance position. One hand joined with her and his other arm snaking around her waist in a firm grip to keep her there, but he knew she was string enough to get out of his hold without using much of her effort.

She said nothing but just glared at him. This didn’t deter him from beginning to waltz her in a small circle to the slow beat of the music being played. For a while she allowed him to dance with her, if you could really call it that. She wasn’t exactly making it easy for him. Her body was stiff, he wicked been better off dancing with a brick wall at this point. But despite that, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Even if she was being difficult, he couldn’t deny the joy just being with her brought him. How he was the one who got to see her dressed up so nicely. He didn’t have the words to describe how beautiful she looked. How well she seemed to fit in with all the stuck up rich people surrounding them, calling themselves beautiful. But no one was more deserving of that word than she was.

Still, his frustration at her lack of cooperation was growing inside him. He wasn’t one to get angry, especially not to those he liked, but she admitted herself that the mission was a bust, there was no reason why she couldn’t let her guard down.

“There’s no one here you need to impress. So you can stop being so uptight and cold” his mouth betrayed him. He didn’t want to say anything to her about it. But the words slipped out without his consent.

Her eyes went wide at his words. Her body tensed. But her shock soon switched to anger. Anger he had never seen in her eyes before, it was more of a hurt anger than anything.

“Fuck you Jack” she hissed before yanking her hands from him and turning sharply, cleverly weaving herself through the crowd of people.

He immediately regretted what he said. He didn’t mean it. Well, not really anyway. He wanted her to relax, to feel comfortable around him. He should’ve worded it better, not just straight up insult her.

For a moment he just stood there awkwardly, none of the surrounding guests seemed to pay him any attention as he stood there. But when he finally came to his senses again, he stormed off in her footsteps. He had to apologise. He had to tell her how he felt before he fucked it up even more.

The trail lead him out on to a balcony where she lent against the stone wall, the moonlight outlined her perfect body so beautifully he almost didn’t want to approach her. He just wanted to look at her for a little while longer.

But he had to say something to her. He swallowed thickly and took cautious steps in her direction. When he looked at her, he saw her head hanging low as she stared at the ground way down under them. He felt so guilty that it was because of him she looked so...hurt.

“Sweetheart-“ he tried, reaching out his hand to stroke her cheek but she swatted it away and gave him a sharp look.

“I know I don’t always act like it but I have feelings you know” she turned back away from him and lent against the railing. “I’m not...just the heartless person everyone thinks I am..”

“You’re not heartless (Y/N), no one thinks you are-“

“Oh Jack. Just fucking stop okay? You know as well as I do that everyone hates me. Everyone thinks I’m heartless and...and cold. And yeah, maybe I am. But it’s not my fault. It...it wasn’t my fault...”

Jack didn’t need her to explained herself. He knew her story inside and out. He knew about all the traumas in her past. And he knew that anyone who faced close to what she did would find it difficult to smile again.

He noticed, when he looked back at her, that a tear fell down her cheek, perfectly reflecting the pale light of the full moon above them. “(Y/N)” He said her name quietly and reached over to her cheek again, but this time she didn’t shoo him away, she let him touch her. Jack took her face in both hands, tilting her head up so their eyes met. “Please don’t cry” his thumbs brushed gently under her eyes, wiping her tears away.

In perhaps a strange way, she looked beautiful when she cried. He had never seen her cry before. The way her eyes sparkled in the moon light made his heart flutter. There was no one more beautiful than her. He could feel himself getting lost in her eyes. Just getting lost. Getting closer, closer, closer to her...

She drew in a sharp breath and pulled her face from his hands. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and looked away from him “we should...get back to the mission” she muttered before taking a few steps away from him back towards the inside of the building.

But she was stopped when a firm hand took her arm. “Fuck the mission” he told her. She looked at his over her shoulder and saw the slight glimpse of desperation in his eyes.

“What?” She whispered, a little shocked but his sudden words “Jack...we have a job to do” she didn’t attempt to worm her way from his sturdy grasp, she quite enjoyed the warm of his ridiculously large hands on her bare arm.

“Fuck the mission” he said again, “you said it yourself, it’s a bust. A shit-show. So now I just wanna spend tonight with you” Jack carefully pulled her back into his chest and resumed the dancing position from earlier.

“Jack-“ she tried but she didn’t exactly know what she wanted to say. She wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to spend a lovely night with Agent Whiskey, but they had a job to do.

“Fuck it, (Y/N). For tonight. Fuck ‘em all. I just want it to be me and you tonight. I want to show you that not everyone thinks you’re heartless. Some think you are the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the world”

“And who among the people think that, Jack?” She asked with a slightly laugh as he began to gently sway them from side to side, going in circles as well, but slowly.

“I do” he admitted “I think you’re amazing. And you are sweet. You’re kind, you’re funny, you have a mind that puts Ginger’s to shame. And you’re just the prettiest damn girl there ever has been in this world. And I-“ he cut himself of abruptly. The hopeful look in her eyes was too much for him. It made his heart pound in his chest and he would be surprised if she couldn’t hear it.

“You what?” She whispered as she gently ran her thumb over the back of his hand.

He blinked a few times and didn’t answer with words. Instead he leaned down and pressed his lips to her in a soft kiss. Into the kiss he poured every ounce of love he had for her. And she did the same back. Her hand squeezing his as she pushed her lips against his. He pulled his hand and his arm from her and took her face between them instead. Holding her lips against his for as long as possible. Her hands rested on his hips, unsure of where else to put them.

His lips fell from her, but their foreheads pressed together. “I’ve fallen for you” He whispered, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks.

She smiled. It was a faint smile, but it was there. And it was beautiful.

“I’ve fallen for you too, Jack” she said “I’m...I’m sorry about what I said...”

“It was my fault. I should be the one apologising. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said what I did”

“Jack?”

“Yeah darlin’?”

“Kiss me again”

He let out a soft chuckled and brought his lips back down onto hers “anything for you beautiful”

22/01/21

Taglist: @linkpk88 @phoenixhalliwell @lunaserenade @harrys-stan (let me know if you wanted to be added or removed from the list)

[introvert-celeste]

su prompt: Bismuth trying to come to terms with Rose trying to flee the Diamonds and how this informed Rose's entire military strategy, in that she didn't want ANYONE to get hurt at all and the whole revolution expanded way out of what she might have originally planned?

HI, HELLO. Yes, I FINALLY finished this prompt, and it’s quite a bit longer than I had planned (I was aiming for >1000 words but *shrugs*). I’m not sure if this was exactly what you meant, but I chose to go a more personal route for this. Bismuth is torn by her feelings about Rose, the war, and her own actions and this is her trying to air these feelings out.

Bismuth stood on the warp pad for a moment as the light dissipated around her, determined and nervous in equal measures.

Rose’s fountain stood serenely in the shadows of the surrounding cliffs, silent save for the distant babbling of its healing waters. Under different circumstances, it could have been a peaceful retreat from the trials of daily life; to Bismuth and the countless gems who passed through its arches over the years, however, it was not so simple. This fountain was their saving grace, discussed in hushed whispers during the war lest their enemies learn of its miraculous properties, and in extension the legendary abilities of their leader. It was also a grim reminder, recalling its necessity in the intensifying rebellion. To Bismuth, it was a symbol of her devotion to a gem she thought she knew.

The gems of Little Homeworld scarcely ventured out to the fountain after they were healed of their corruption, treating it with the same respect as a sacred place. Since Steven hit the road, however, this was the only place that gems could reasonably travel to in order to heal any damage to their gemstones. One could find a small group gathered here on any given day, recovering and finding solace in the tranquil setting, but Bismuth was lucky enough to find it completely deserted.

In those three years following the healing, Bismuth had her own reasons for keeping her distance, and they all boiled down to her complicated feelings surrounding Rose. She was not ready to confront them. In the spirit of personal growth, however, she figured it was time to revisit those feelings.

As she walked the path toward one of the fountain’s four star-shaped entrances, she couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia. She recalled the countless rotations she spent in this spot, carefully carving out what she considered one of her greatest works of architecture from mountainous terrain, using nothing but her own two hands.

As the fighting increased between the Crystal Gem rebels and Homeworld’s armies, so too did the casualties, and Bismuth was one of the few gems close enough to Rose to know that it was taking a serious toll on her. She remembered the crowds of rebels who would flock to her after every battle, barely holding themselves together as they waited for her soothing tears and comforting smile. She remembered the moment she realized that Rose was not, in fact, infallible when, after many days of healing, she found that she had no more tears to shed for the gems she could not bring back.

This fountain was one of Bismuth’s many gifts to her idol, her friend. Every stone in this place had been so lovingly crafted; she didn’t even know that it would work, and yet she worked so diligently so that, even in the midst of great tragedy, Rose could still find peace. Indeed, the immense relief on Rose’s face made it all worth it. As she stood at the top of the stairs, gazing at its magnificence, however, she struggled to recall that simple gratification.

Alongside Rose’s tears, Bismuth poured her heart and soul into this fountain, this planet, this cause. She laid her gem on Rose’s anvil because she trusted her. All of the Crystal Gems trusted her, found hope in her presence. Old, bitter tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she gazed at the towering statue before her, its arms outstretched, inviting all who entered the sanctuary into its stony embrace. Even as the artist, she wondered how she could just stand there so serenely, as if she wasn’t playing everyone for a fool. How dare she look so peaceful when her actions were actively hurting her own gems, on both sides of the war?

Rose Quartz. Pink Diamond. How ironic, that Bismuth would spend so much energy fighting against the Diamonds, only to learn that she had idolized one the whole time.

Still, approaching the base of the fountain, she felt some of that old devotion weigh on her, bringing her to her knees before one of the seated statues. She bowed, waited in earnest for Rose’s insistent voice urging her to rise, but it never came. When she raised her head, the statue didn’t so much as regard her, bearing the same impassive expression as its larger sister.

In that moment, she realized that she had never seen Rose with such a tranquil expression. There was always a storm behind her eyes, a storm that Bismuth always mistook as Rose’s inner fighting spirit. Turns out, it was just another façade.

“Been awhile, huh?” She said, her voice cutting through the still air.

The statue was, of course, silent.

Without thinking, Bismuth got up and seated herself beside it. She closed her eyes, feeling the presence of the statue. True to size, it almost felt as if they were here again in this place, sharing a pensive moment before heading back to the battlefield. The moment hurt more than Bismuth could even begin to describe.

There were a million things she wanted to say, so much pain she waited to offload onto this piece of stone, and yet when she opened her mouth to speak, the first thing that came out of her mouth was this:

“I pity you.”

And she felt it in the very core of her gem, at the very depths of her soul, she felt it. She pitied her as much as she pitied herself, and the Crystal Gems, and all the gems who had to fight in this gem-forsaken war. She pitied her with the same intensity that she worshipped the ground beneath her feet, those thousands of years ago. She wanted to hate her, and yet how could she, after she had invested so much of herself in loving her, as a leader, as a friend?

“You were in way over your head, and so was I,” was the next thing she said. “I wanted to fix a system that was too big and broken to fix, and you wanted to hide from it. In the process, we were doing exactly what we were made to do: you led; I followed…until I didn’t.” I guess it makes sense that you poofed me. Discipline for a gem who’s stepped out of line, she continued in her head, unwilling to speak this bitter thought into existence. Instead, she turned away from the statue, unwilling to face it anymore. “Sometimes, I still wish you woulda shattered me back then, so I could hate you properly now.”

Her breath hitched as the tears started to flow. “I wish I could hate you, so I wouldn’t have to think about the terrible things that I’ve done!”

Her voice echoed against the walls and the surrounding cliffs. The rose bushes—her rose bushes—rustled at the disturbance, the first time they acknowledged her presence since she got there. Steven had told her about them once, about how aimless and hostile they became without Rose’s guidance, but they never caused any trouble for as long as Bismuth had known of them. Sure enough, they stopped moving as quickly as they had started, and all was quiet once more.

It was almost a comfort, knowing that a piece of Rose was there, a passive listener to her deepest feelings, one that could easily pass its judgement onto her if it so chose.

“Yellow started healing shattered gems from the war a couple weeks ago. I bet you never expected that.” Bismuth continued evenly, grabbing control of her voice. “Did you know they were still on Earth? Did you know about the Cluster?” She sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter now, but you were always so concerned about those shards. Crystal gems, Homeworld gems, they were all balled up together and stuffed in the planet’s mantle just so they can blow the planet up thousands of years later. I hope you didn’t know about all that.”

She was beating around the bush, and she knew it. That awful guilt that had been building inside her throughout those two weeks was becoming too much to bear. That was why she came here in the first place: to get this weight off her chest and finally air out that old resentment she still clung to, toward Rose, toward herself, toward the entire system that put them in this situation in the first place.

In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of her reflection on the water, with the statue barely visible beside her. The curls of its hair were crafted so delicately, she could have sworn she saw them bounce in the gentle breeze. A great tangle of emotions moved her to action as she gazed at her face in the pale pink waters, slapping at it angrily.

“I can’t bear to even look ‘em in the eyes!” She sobbed, as a cascade of droplets rained down on the pair and their distorted images in the disturbed pool. “Those healed gems come to Little Homeworld because they don’t know what to do with themselves, and I don’t feel right telling them what to do! I don’t feel right because…”

She turned to the statue, her anguish overflowing.

“Because half the time I’m wondering ‘did I shatter this one?’”

She wanted comfort; she wanted punishment; she wanted something; but the statue was quiet, painfully quiet.

“Yeah, I’ve shattered gems, way more than I’d care to admit. I bet you didn’t know that.” She said it like she had gotten the final word, but she didn’t feel at all triumphant.

In that moment, all Bismuth could think of was Rose’s horrified expression as she showed off the Breaking Point, what it was capable of. She could only imagine how Rose would have reacted to this. Yes, accidents happened and self defense was necessary on the battlefield, but she’d be fooling herself if she thought that that was all she ever shattered a gem for. She knew what she was capable of. She preached about a fair fight, but there were plenty of fights where her first blow was the killing blow. She knew what it felt like to have a gemstone crush against her fist.

“Would you hate me if you knew?”

Although the statue still offered no response, Bismuth already knew the answer to that one. Rose felt many things and did many things—she was many things—but Bismuth knew without a doubt that she didn’t have a hateful photon in her physical form. She may resent her, she may never forgive her, but she would never hate her, or anyone, for that matter.

Bismuth considered herself a proud gem, but she wasn’t too proud to admit that she was wrong. It wasn’t even a matter of right or wrong when it came to the war. There were no winners, only those who came out better off than their opponents. Everyone suffered, one way or another. Bismuth suffered from trauma and guilt, equally; she suffered every time a reconstructed gem soldier regarded her wearily, a gem who had followed orders right to their own demise.

She laid a hand on the statue’s shoulder, drained and defeated. “I don’t forgive you,” she said simply, “but I don’t forgive myself, either.”

They were both desperate to end the fighting, but their desperation only led to greater destruction.

“I hope you would feel the same.”

[courtingstars]

Notes for The Vanishing Prince: Chapter Nine

Yay, Chapter Nine is finally posted! As I mentioned over on Ao3, I’ve been looking forward to sharing this one for a loooong time. I don’t have much to share in the way of cultural notes, but I still had some pretty big things I wanted to talk about… Like info about the mental health topics from the therapy scene, plus a ton of rambling about things I’ve been researching and/or planning for a while. So if that’s something you’re interested in, well… enjoy? //laughs

As always, I updated the Pinterest inspiration board with images inspired by the new chapter. (I actually did that last month, which was when I originally intended to post the chapter before my schedule fell apart… So anyone who was checking the board during that time got an accidental sneak peak of what was coming next. Oops? ^^;) You can check the board out here.

And with that, on to the notes!

Cut for a writer babbling on and on about mental health research, references to earlier events in the series, and also violins (!!) …

Akashi’s Childhood Friendships

So the first scene of Chapter Nine features a headcanon of mine that has been popping up throughout the series… Which is that when Akashi started going to school, he attended a private elementary school that mainly catered to elite, wealthy families and their children. He was generally encouraged to spend time with his classmates, rather than seeking friends elsewhere, and he never made any close friends from a different social “class” until he started going to Teikou. (Which he joined specifically because he asked his mother if he could go somewhere that was different from his elementary school.)

As this chapter reveals, he never told his father about the friends he ended up making through basketball, because of the values he was modeled earlier in life. This was actually brought up alllll the way back in The Fast Train to Kyoto. (Though it was pretty vague!) In fact, Akashi referenced it in the very first scene:

Maybe it was the echoes of his father’s voice inside his head, just another series of frosty words he ached to forget:

“It is not for an Akashi to associate with just anyone. Your time is valuable, Seijuurou, and so is your reputation. See that you don’t waste it, on trivial pursuits, or persons unworthy of your stature.”

Akashi cringed. ‘Persons unworthy of his stature? What a ridiculous idea. Everyone he had ever known who had made his life worthwhile, had no particular wealth or rank to speak of. (With the crucial exception of his mother.) He had long ago discarded this principle of his father’s as nonsense.

I also explained the backstory with his elementary school and his struggle to make friends in a lot more detail in Chapter Three of Fast Train. (As well as why he decided to go to Teikou, and how he started making friends there, particularly Midorima.)

That aspect of his childhood turned out to be pretty important in the series, so I thought it was worth mentioning that Akashi did talk about it before… Especially since those early values still affect how he sees his friendships, plus it’s one of the reasons why he’s been trying to keep those friends as separate from his home life as possible. (Until Furihata came along and wanted to sleep over at his house, and he just couldn’t say no to his BFF, apparently? //laughs)

Attachment Theory, Disorganized Attachment, and Dissociation

So, uh… I’m not qualified to talk about any of this, like, at all. //laughs That being said, I’ll start with a big disclaimer: I am not a mental health professional, or an expert about this subject in any way whatsoever. So if anything I say doesn’t make sense or I get any of the details wrong, I sincerely apologize in advance! This is just based on the research I’ve done and some first-person accounts I’ve read over the years. As a non-expert, I find a lot of psychology theory to be difficult to research in general… Since a lot of the science is still being studied and verified, and things are becoming outdated all the time.

Okay, so with all that being said… In this chapter, Akashi’s psychiatrist brings up a theory in psychology called attachment theory. If you’d like to learn the basics of how it started, the Wikipedia article has a decent overview of the initial studies. Basically, the theory has to do with the idea that children bond with their primary caregiver (stereotypically the mother, but it doesn’t have to be) either successfully or unsuccessfully, based on how the caregiver responds to the child’s needs. A child who bonds with their caregiver in a healthy, successful way is said to be “securely” attached, while an unhealthy bond is an “insecure attachment.”

From there, it gets more complicated… There are a few different types/forms of insecure attachment, and these types can be classified in different ways, depending on the study. (There’s also something called “attachment style,” which from what I can tell is an idea inspired by attachment theory, that adults will have a general style of bonding that originates from their main caregiver bond in childhood. This idea is often used to help adults work through issues in their adult relationships.) For example, there’s generally an “anxious” form of attachment where the child is overly scared and tends to cling to their caregiver if they try to leave, out of fear that they won’t get the care they need. Then there’s an “avoidant” type where the child tends to push the caregiver away or ignore them, and can seem very apathetic and independent. (Even though they’re actually just as scared on the inside of not being cared for as an “anxious” child.)

As you can imagine, there are a lot of theories about why this happens, and what exactly in the caregiving process could contribute to it. What’s more, some children display both anxiety and avoidance… A form of this is called “disorganized attachment.” As Akashi’s psychiatrist explains, this describes a behavioral pattern where the child clings to their caregiver AND pushes them away, sometimes very close together. This style seems to often develop when the child has been through some kind of early trauma, often severe abuse or neglect. It also seems to be prevalent among people with dissociation disorders, which isn’t surprising, given the common thread of childhood trauma between the two. You can read more about that in this article here.

Actually, I first learned about disorganized attachment—and attachment in general—when I was reading a blog many years ago that was written by someone chronicling their experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder. As I researched the subject in more detail, I came across a few explanations about how children with this attachment style tend to act very confused and distressed around their caregivers, and I found the descriptions really sad… It helped me begin to better understand some of the difficulties that these children go through, and how it affects their minds when they’re still developing. It’s not hard to imagine how a child who longs to be taken care of but also has painful experiences of being denied that care (for whatever reason) can really struggle with trying to make sense of their reality and survive it on an emotional level. And that struggle causes lasting damage.

It’s important to note, though, that some psychologists will caution against assuming that a child’s attachment to their primary caregiver always dictates how they will attach to other people in their life, or in their future relationships. Also, there’s some evidence that children may struggle with attachment issues not just because of the actions of their caregiver, but also due to their own personality/ genetic predispositions. You can read more about both of these topics here.

Way back when I started planning this series, and deciding how to portray Akashi’s backstory, I found myself returning over and over to the concept of disorganized attachment… I wasn’t sure if it would make it into the fic directly, and it’s certainly not the only thing that influenced my portrayal of Akashi’s mental health. But it was definitely something I had in mind from the start, and helped shape the series, so I’m glad that I did end up referencing it in some detail.

The Akashi Family Servants

Since I just introduced the housekeeper, now seems as good a time as any to mention this… Originally, I didn’t plan for the servants who work for the Akashi family to have roles in the series at all? XD Takeda is the only one who’s mentioned in The Fast Train to Kyoto, and he doesn’t have a name. (I refer to him as either Akashi’s “driver” or “valet” depending on what he’s doing… This was actually before I’d decided that Takeda is the one who drives Akashi around when he’s in Kyoto. OTL) Then I mentioned several of the servants during Furihata’s visit in Storming the Castle… But almost no one gets a real introduction? Except for the butler, Ginhara. //laughs

One reason why I took so long to give them names/describe them is that I try to mostly stick to writing about canon characters in fics, instead of creating a ton of OCs. (I consider the families of the KnB characters to be canon, since they’re in the fanbooks. XD) But I enjoy coming up with minor characters, if it feels like a good fit for the story! Still, you can really tell that I didn’t know I would end up using these characters as much as I did, because their names are alllll over the place… Especially Takeda, which is roughly the Japanese equivalent of naming a character Mr. Smith or something? (LOL.) For a while I really regretted that I didn’t come up with a more interesting name for him, since he ended up being in this series CONSTANTLY. Also, I recently received this incredible comment on Chapter 5 of The Fast Train to Kyoto and it’s one of my all-time FAVORITES:

“Yo the drivers probs just sitting in the front like

Mmm this tea is piping hot”

(And they signed their name Yeet too, omgggg XDD)

… So yeah, I have decided this is totally Takeda’s reaction, to Akashi and Furihata’s whole “friend breakup” in the rain in the first story. //laughs

That said, I kind of love that Takeda has such a generic name now? Especially after he showed up at Seirin in sunglasses in this chapter. (Like maybe Takeda isn’t even his real name, because he actually had an exciting former life as a secret agent or something like that, and now he’s working for this super rich kid from a powerful family and maybe he’s actually hiding some epic skills so he can double as Akashi’s bodyguard if he needs to…? I DON’T KNOW, I HAVE WEIRD HEADCANONS.)

In any case, I enjoyed coming up with the characters for the Akashi family staff, even though it took a while! And I’m glad a few of them were able to play an interesting part in sneaking Akashi out of the house, so his dad wouldn’t find out about Furihata. (Though we don’t know what any of them think about that, or not yet, at least. XD) There will be at least one more member of the staff who gets an introduction, which should be coming soon. But for now, we’ve got:

Takeda, Akashi’s personal valet (and driver, sometimes)

Ginhara, the Akashi family butler and head of staff

Umagami Ichiro, Yukimaru’s groom

Inuyama, Akashi’s father’s personal valet

Hanamitsu Atsuko, housekeeper for the Akashi mansion in Tokyo

The Akashi family chef (name???)

(Plus some maids, who I also did not name)

… And as you can see, most of them still don’t have given names, even the ones with family names. That’s how disorganized I’ve been about this. //laughs

Also, I have a feeling no one was actually wondering (lol), but if you happen to remember this scene from Episode 63 in the Teikou arc in the anime:

In my headcanons, this guy is the head chauffeur for the Akashi family household, and he used to drive the whole family around. (Which would mean that he was also mentioned in The Fast Train to Kyoto, in a brief flashback about Akashi and his parents! Where he’s just “the driver.” XD) Now he mostly drives Akashi’s father to work, and sometimes chauffeurs Akashi as well, when he’s in Tokyo. (Whereas Takeda drives him around in Kyoto.) I briefly referred to him as Onoda in Chapter One of The Vanishing Prince, so… I guess that’s the name I came up with for him? //laughs

TL;DR… I’ve really enjoyed writing about the various characters who work for the Akashi family, and I had way more fun including them in the story than I expected. <3 (Maybe I should give in and post character sketches for all the OCs in this series sometime… That would be a project. XD)

Beliefs About Ghosts

I might go into this more in a future chapter, but I did want to briefly discuss how Reo talks to Furihata about ghosts, and how/why they haunt certain places… There are a LOT of different beliefs all over the world about whether ghosts are real, and why they appear. There are also lots of theories about whether they need the help of living humans to pass on or not.

For this fic, I tried to include some of the most common beliefs in Reo’s response, including the “revenge” ghost stories that are super common in Japanese folklore. But it’s not a comprehensive explanation by any means, and there are a lot of people who believe in ghosts and spirits but wouldn’t agree with the ideas Reo mentioned. (Basically, I had to pick among a bunch of different supernatural ideas about ghosts for the fic, and these are some of the ones I chose to include? But that’s not to say that they’re representative of my own beliefs, or of every Japanese person who believes in ghosts, either!)

The Akashi Family Curse (…?)

So I know some readers have been discussing this and making predictions about it in the comments for a while now… And while I don’t want to spoil anything about where the story is going, I’m really excited that I finally got to reveal another piece of the legend/rumors about the Akashi family curse:

Furihata’s mouth dropped open. It never occurred to him that some people might still think that the Akashis were cursed, centuries later. Or that these rumors were somehow connected to their catlike eyes. Was that maybe even how the peasants in the legend came up with the curse in the first place? Were they just creeped out, by this super-rare genetic thing that ran in the family?

Or… could it be true? Could the Akashi family really be cursed?

I can’t remember if anyone specifically connected the dots about the legend being connected to the “catlike” eyes or not… But if you saw this coming, YES YOU WERE TOTALLY RIGHT AND I AM IMPRESSED. <333

As for what the legend/rumors say about how the curse works, and whether or not it’s actually real… I guess I shouldn’t go into that just yet, for the sake of spoilers. XD But hopefully you can have fun guessing for now! And I’m glad I can finally point to the connection between the idea of a family curse and the “catlike eyes” to explain why I kept including so many passages like this one:

He and Akashi were walking through another long passageway. This one was lined with life-sized portraits—and oddly enough, Furihata recognized some of the faces. He had seen them in paintings in the Tokyo house.

“Are these your relatives?” he asked. They didn’t resemble Akashi very much. But a few did have the same unusual, catlike pupils.

Akashi nodded, as he glanced up at the huge frames. “They led the family, several generations ago. This one was my great-great-great-great-great grandfather.”

He gestured to the largest painting. The steel-haired man in the portrait wore a piercing frown. Even his posture was severe, somehow.

… Yeah, there are a BUNCH of descriptions in A Spark of Light of portraits of Akashi’s relatives, and how some of them have the same eyes as him. Also, as I’m sure a lot of people noticed, I mention Akashi’s eyes A LOT throughout the series. And this is one of the reasons why I wanted to emphasize it so much. XD

(Well, okay and also like a lot of fic writers, I enjoy pretty descriptions about eyes. XD BUT I WOULD’VE TRIED TO CUT MORE OF THEM IF IT WASN’T SUCH AN IMPORTANT PLOT POINT… Or so I’ll claim, anyway. //laughs)

And Finally… THE VIOLIN

Ahhh I’m so happy I finally got to post this scene! I’ve been saving the moment of Akashi playing his violin for Furihata for a loooong time… I foreshadowed it briefly back in Storming the Castle, when Furihata notices Akashi’s violin case sitting in his study. But I got the idea for this scene even earlier… All the way back when I drafted that part in The Fast Train to Kyoto, where Akashi plays his violin after he writes to Furihata to tell him they can’t be friends. (YES. IT HAS BEEN THAT LONG.)

So, yeah… I had no idea know how long it would take to get there, but I definitely knew that Akashi would have to play his violin for Furihata at some point. And I wanted it to be a Really Big Moment in their romantic arc. So I did the best I could with it. (Because, I mean… How could I NOT include a scene where Akashi plays the violin for Furihata? That just had to happen, come on. //laughs)

As I mentioned over on Ao3, I do have my own idea about which piece Akashi plays for Furi… I might even mention it directly in the next chapter, but I’m not sure yet? (Either way, if you have a piece that you’d like to imagine him playing instead, you have my blessing. xD I tried to write it in such a way that he could be playing a lot of different songs!) So here was my thought process on that…

I figured Akashi would probably decide to play something on the simple side for Furihata, rather than anything too technical/demanding on the ear. I also realized that he was probably thinking that Furihata would like a sweet, romantic sort of song, because of this scene from Storming the Castle:

“Oh, r-right.” Furihata let go of the flower. He managed a laugh. “Sorry. I’m being weird, huh?”

“I just never realized you had such an interest in roses,” Akashi said, with a hint of humor. “But it shouldn’t surprise me, really.”

Furihata didn’t follow. “Why’s that?”

The edge of Akashi’s mouth dimpled. “Well, you are a romantic, after all.”

And that was when I realized… ROSES. Like, what if the piece had to do with roses, because Akashi was remembering that conversation about Furihata’s romantic side that they had in his rose garden…? So in my head, Akashi plays a version of The Last Rose of Summer, which is this really sweet, old Irish song that was later set to a poem of that name, written by Thomas Moore. It’s an easier piece to play, so it’s a little difficult to find a nice version of it by a professional violinist. But I did find this arrangement that is SUPER old-fashioned and adorable:

And my personal favorite version with strings that I found (and linked first on Ao3) is probably this one. Though I believe the violin doesn’t start until around a minute and a half into the recording?

(My sister and I thought the first soloist *might* be a viola… Apologies if we’re wrong though!! We took band a thousand years ago in high school but didn’t play in an orchestra, so we’re basically clueless about anything with strings. XD)

Anyway, I just thought that the song would be fitting because of the whole “bonding over roses” connection to Storming the Castle, and the fact that they’re still on summer vacation in this story… Plus the words of the poem are kind of the most Oreshi thing I’ve ever heard??? It’s REALLY sad, but also all about friendship. You can hear how it’s sung and see the complete lyrics in this version by Charlotte Church if you’d like (again, the song starts at around 1:30), but I’ll also include the beginning and end of the poem here:

Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone,

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone.

…

So soon may I follow

When friendships decay;

And from love's shining circle

The gems drop away

When true hearts lie wither'd

And fond ones are flow'n

Oh! Who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

… TELL ME THAT’S NOT AN ORESHI KIND OF POEM. It’s all about friendship and being afraid of being alone, and I just… gahhhh. T_____T

Also, you might have noticed that the versions I linked don’t have any parts where the soloist plucks the violin strings, which I described Akashi doing at one point… That’s because I like to think that in between playing a simpler version, Akashi also slips into a few sections of Variations on the Last Rose of Summer by Ernst, which you can see the violinist Midori playing here. (Unlike the other versions I linked, this is one of the hardest pieces ever written for violin, period… Apparently it’s so difficult that many top-tier professionals won’t even play it in front of a crowd! So for those of you who want to picture him playing something more badass, I’ve got you covered. XD)

(And while we’re still on the subject of different versions… My all-time favorite when it comes to different instruments playing The Last Rose of Summer has got to be this one. BECAUSE IT’S A KOTO, LIKE OMGGGG YES. Honestly, if my series had a sound, I’d like to think that it would be this…? Because roses and traditional Japanese instruments, that’s why. //laughs)

Also, I’m not sure whether anyone was curious about this part of the scene:

Akashi chuckled as he unlatched the case. Resting on a bed of crimson silk was a delicately carved violin. Furihata didn’t know how to tell if an instrument was well made, but he was pretty sure that this one had to be.

So I do indeed headcanon that Akashi would have a really nice violin… For those who might not know, violins can be EXTREMELY expensive, most notably at the professional and soloist quality levels. As in, the famous Stradivarius violins are valued at $10 million or MORE, for example. XD Though I personally tend to think that Akashi probably wouldn’t play a Strad himself… He’d have too much reverence for the instrument for that. //laughs (Although I wouldn’t be surprised if his family owns a Stradivarius and lends it out to some world-famous soloist… Which is apparently how it works in real life, by the way!) But I still imagine that his violin would be a super fancy one, maybe somewhere in the $100k range or something? (And now I’m just imagining Furihata finding that out and freaking out, lol.)

And last but not least, since I’m already rambling a lot, I would like to credit a new favorite YouTube channel of mine that I discovered while writing the violin scene… I really wanted to make sure that I described the violin playing correctly, because like I mentioned, I understand nothing about stringed instruments whatsoever. (I was a very mediocre flute player, once upon a time. //laughs)

So while I was hunting for references, I stumbled across TwoSet Violin, and OMG THEY ARE THE COOLEST CHANNEL EVER. I’d recommend them to literally everyone, even if you don’t play the violin or have any interest in classical music! They’re two professional violinists from Australia who make tons of super-entertaining content, like analyzing the way actors pretend to play instruments in movies and Chinese dramas, or trying to play the cheapest violin they can buy on Amazon. And it’s FANTASTIC. XD They’re super skilled and funny, and they even inspired me to listen to classical music again, so yeah, I can’t recommend them enough. <3

Well, this post turned out a lot longer than I expected…? //laughs In any case, I hope it was interesting, and thank you for reading! And as I said over on Ao3, thank you again to all of my lovely readers for your patience, especially while I dealt with my grandmother’s passing. I have the next chapter of the fic drafted, just like last time, but it does have some issues so I’m not sure how long it will take to edit. (Hopefully less time than this one did. OTL) I’ll definitely do my best to post it as soon as I can. In the meantime, I really hope everyone is staying safe, and see you then!

[ymiwritesstuff]

Just Like The Sea

Ok so I wasn’t expecting to write this but here you go, a Jotaro scenario. This is also a test to see how writing for him feels like so he might not be fully in character, I tried my best though so please enjoy.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Jotaro Kujo x Reader

Summary: Jotaro was a difficult man to describe let alone talk to, but you were confident that a certain set of words could help you understand him better.

Notes: First time writing for Jotaro sooo... Please go easy on me.

The night had long fallen over the vast desert, replacing its usual high temperature with a low one that was surprisingly bearable considering all the things you had been expecting from the climate. It was still cold, of course, but in a strangely pleasant way and you didn’t find it as bothersome as some of the others did.

And judging by the fact that he was wide awake, sitting on his sleeping bag that was situated a bit farther away from the camp than it usually was, it didn’t bother Jotaro either.

You often noticed him sitting by himself at nights, silently buried in his thoughts that you didn’t understand or know as he didn’t mention them out loud. Considering all the events that had occurred and the sole reason for this faithful journey, it wasn’t too strange to think that he was stressed from the weight he was carrying on those broad shoulders. But him being the reserved teen he was, he didn’t allow these emotions to show in his actions or words, instead, he seemingly preferred to deal with them on his own by silently going through his thoughts once the night surrounded him.

It took you a few minutes to muster up enough courage to get up from the comfort of your sleeping bag and slowly make your way towards him. The courage wasn’t necessary because you were afraid of him, but he must have wanted to be left alone and the last thing you wanted was to annoy or bother him. However, at the same time, you couldn’t help but to think that he might need some company during these lonely nights.

“Can I join you?”

Upon hearing your quiet voice, the dark-haired teen briefly glances at you, his turquoise eyes immediately catching that small smile on your features. With a small sigh, he moves a bit in order to make room for you next to him, as he figures you’d rather not sit on the cold sand. “Sure, whatever.”

His response does not surprise you in the slightest as you’re more than used to the small amount of words he tends to let out. As you sit next to him, a small amount of relief latches itself onto you and your smile widens ever so slightly. He doesn’t say anything else, which once again isn’t anything new, and it also causes a thought you had wondered throughout this journey to appear within your mind.

“You know, I used to wonder what made you behave like that,” You say rather out of the blue, which causes him to look at you once again, visible confusion slightly twisting his features. “Like what?” The tone of his voice is neutral like always, but holds a certain spark of curiosity in it that makes you chuckle a bit.

“Well, you’re always so... Distant. You keep to yourself and you don’t really open up often.” Your eyes glance at the ground for a brief moment while Jotaro keeps his own on you, his brow slightly raised as he is rather curious about your words. “I used to think it was weird, but I think I’ve figured you out.” Once you return your gaze to him, you’re met with that same confused expression that you find quite hard to read. His brows are lightly frowned and though his tough exterior prevents him from saying it, he wants to know more.

“What do you mean?” You smile at his desire to hear your thoughts and some part of you is eager to explain your findings about the dark-haired teen. They were definitely difficult to put into words in the beginning as he was a complicated person to begin with, but after spending a good while thinking about it, you eventually found the perfect words to describe Jotaro Kujo: 

“You’re like a big, deep sea.”

When your words receive no response from the teen beside you, you take it as a sign to elaborate further. Not that you minded, in fact, you were more than happy to take his mind off the possibly overwhelming things he was going through. And once your voice comes forth again, Jotaro can’t help but to feel something inside him twist with warmth.

“You’re calm and you’re able to keep your cool even when things get bad. But there’s just something about you that seems to draw some people in, and at the same time, others seem to be afraid of you.” Despite his age, Jotaro looked extremely intimidating with his muscular physique and impressive height, however, there had been multiple occasions where women had been head over heels for him, much like some people loved the sea, while others were terrified of it. 

“You are also unpredictable. Half the time I have no idea what you’re thinking or what you’re about to do.” Jotaro listens to you silently, every one of the words that you let you sticking to him and a pleasant sensation embracing him in a way that makes the cold air practically nonexistent to him. “And just like a sea, that calmness of yours can suddenly explode into a raging storm that destroys everything.” Jotaro’s temper wasn’t exceptionally short, but when he sometimes lost his cool and summoned Star Platinum, that calm and collected nature seemed to be thrown out the window and would only return after a satisfying number of punches had been delivered. Just like a storm breaking out at a sea.

Your words come to a momentary halt as the last bit of your speech gets stuck in your throat, your eyes landing on the ground as you try to brush off the uncomfortable sensation and spit out the words you were desiring to say, without offending or annoying him. A deep sea always had its secrets. “But... I think under those waves lies a treasure that no one just hasn’t caught yet...” Jotaro had a rough exterior that you were sure no one could crack, but you were more than certain that deep down there was something more to him. Something precious.

A grueling silence falls on both of you, your words lingering in the air like the icy temperature. Jotaro’s own silence makes you wonder if your words had a negative effect on him and due to that simple thought, you don’t dare to look up at him. However, what you don’t know is the sheer amount of emotions violently spinning within him. He doesn’t quite understand why, but your words affect him in a way that’s somewhat unknown to him. No one had ever spoken to him in such a manner. No one had ever spoken to him so... Gently. So kindly. So honestly. He rarely cared about what others may have thought of him, but for some odd reason, he feels a strange sensation of relief at your thoughts you had voiced out loud. The uncertainty of how to respond to these tender phrases prevents him from letting out any proper words, though.

“Good grief. I didn’t expect you to be so corny. How the hell did you even come up with all that sappy shit?” You’re about to frown your brows in disappointment at his words but your expression changes when you notice Jotaro averting his eyes and steadily holding his hat in front of his features in an attempt to hide his face that was... Blushing? With a smile, you slowly lean against him, which he thankfully doesn’t seem to mind.

“They’re just my thoughts, Jotaro. They came from here.” You slowly place one of your hands on your heart and look up at him, your (E/C) eyes shining with so much light, it put the stars above to shame. Jotaro doesn’t say anything but instead, carefully puts his arm around you, and for a moment you swear you could see the tiniest smile lifting the corners of his lips.

If his body was the vast and unpredictable ocean, then his heart was the precious treasure hidden within it.

[elsarah]

Favorite clips of s5

Thank you so much @smblmn​ for tagging me, I love the idea! While the season as a whole was kinda underwhelming, it was full of amazing clips and I do have a lot of favorites. Here’s my top 10 and a few honorable mentions. I tend to have one favorite clip by episode, except for episode 8, which I REALLY didn't like. I didn't rank my picks, I'll just list them chronologically.

And since I didn't have the opportunity this season, I'm also making gifs to illustrate my picks :) I need the practice, as you can see.

Ep.1: Samedi 0:25 - Le choc

One of my favorite things this season has been the symbolism and the metaphors around sound and silence. In the first episode, there were 2 occurrences: Arthur seeing Noée for the first time underwater at the pool and him looking in the street as snow falls and slowly realizing he's gone deaf. I thought this was an amazing idea and that it gave disability more depth and beauty.

And that look at the camera in the last seconds… And the piano music… It was so chilling.

Ep. 2: Jeudi 20:59 - La nuit de

Globally, the scenes at the association were my favorites, even though I have a complicated relationship with them. Before shooting started in October, someone from the crew promised they would invite me on set during the filming of these scenes, but they ended up breaking their promise. I try to be as drama free as possible on the internet so I didn’t talk about it publicly but now that the season has ended I’m like “Why should I bottle this up, I’m not the the one who screwed up and I’m still hurt about it”.

The first time I watched that clip in January, I was heartbroken. Not just because of the missed opportunity but because I realised I never got to experience what Arthur did; there was no association for me, no one. But I still have a really soft spot for this scene because it's just gorgeous. The aesthetic is incredible and I totally understand what Arthur feels (minus the alcohol). Overall, as bittersweet as it is, it's probably one of my top 3 scenes this season (and it looks like it's one of David's too, this man has great taste). I can’t help but feel for the teenager I was and I wonder how I would have felt watching it then.

Ep.3: Vendredi 13:12 - Check de frérot

Arthur and Basile's friendship was one of the highlights of this season, heck Basile WAS the highlight of this season. Basile and Arthur never shy away from hugs and I'm living for it. I'm so looking forward to see more of Basile in season 6 (since I guess we'll see more of his relationship with Daphné). I loved seeing him be so well-intentioned, despite his usual clumsiness. Seeing Paul in a more serious register (for instance when Arthur lashed out at the boys in episode 6) was delightful.

Ep 4.: Lundi 19:02 - Les entendants

This one also belongs in my top 3. This is the representation I was looking for when I learned Skam France would tackle hearing loss and deafness. It doesn't come in the same package for everybody, and I love that they tried to show it through so many different characters. The situations described here are universal among deaf people.

On a more personal note, I loved that the extras were actual deaf people and sone of them well known. The lady interpreting is Jennifer Lesage-David, co-director at IVT, and she helped David and Niels a lot this season. And the girl speaking about her relationship with her dad is Lulu, she has a YouTube channel with her sister where they raise awareness about hearing loss. The instagram post that was published that day also featured a lot of people I more or less know.

Watching this clip was an experience in itself. I was attending a conference that night about deaf TV archives. The clip dropped 2 minutes before it started and I had to wait for it to end to finally watch. It was excruciating. Also, half the staff of IVT was there and I actually ended up watching the clip in front them. There were like "Wait? Jennifer was in Skam?".

Ep.4: Vendredi 20:43 - Ma vie a changé

While I'm still sceptical about Noée falling in love with Arthur so quickly (this sign song is unambiguous), I think this is one of the most beautiful scenes in the whole series. I don't care very much about this being romantically coded, I just choose to focus on the sign song, because I'm so happy they featured deaf visual arts.

My friend and I spent hours trying to decipher what the song could be about and our interpretation differed a lot from Winona's original text but we loved doing this. David was curious to see how my friend would understand it (especially the part where Noée signs a growing love which she cradles) and he was so happy when she understood it right.

For those interested, here’s what we interpreted (roughly translated into English):

Like two souls lost in the storm, Swayed by the tide, Never really seeing each other Until ours eyes meet. Something is growing inside me, something new, That sets my heart beating. You take off my mask and the truth in your eyes, Fills my heart. Look at me, I also see you.

Ep.6: Mercredi 18:31 - Un simple bout de métal

Also one of the scenes I was expecting the most this season, especially when it transpired that Noée was a bit radical. Her letter echoes my own fears and I thought it was really on point. Arthur admitting he needs her made my heart melt, he's so lucky to have met her. And Winona was amazing in that clip.

Ep.7: Vendredi 20:31 - Sourd dating

Just like for "Un simple bout de metal", I was also expecting that scene. I like that they made Noée and Camille voice their opinion like both faces of the same coin. It was a great way to address cochlear implants as they're a sensitive topic in the deaf community. I think this is one of the most shining example of the research work they did. They could have just stopped at Noée’s letter. But since they had deaf actors like Lucas, who is also implanted and has faced prejudices from radical Deaf people in the past, they had to show implants were not evil and that the situation was more complex than just “Doctors who want to act as gods”.

Learning Noée’s backstory was also interesting, although I didn’t expect her to be an "ex-implanted" deaf. She explains that she learned sign language at the association, which can't be more than 3-4 years ago (and if you look closely in ep 3, when Arthur checks the website, she says she joined the association at its beginning), but there's no way Noée would have that proficiency in sign language in just 4 years of practice. Winona's fluency in sign language is clearly that of someone who grew up with it. I loved being able to notice these subtleties.

Like all the clips at the association, it was a joy to watch because of the atmosphere and the sign language. The deaf extras were lovely. I actually got to meet a few of them last month and had an amazing time with them.

Ep.9: Vendredi 20:17 - Choisir pour toi

Coline. singing. Do I need to say more? I like that both Noée and Alexia had their shining moment and as clumsy as the story got, I appreciate that the writers didn't try to pin one girl against the other and make one superior. Noée had her sign song and Alexia her own composition. And both were breathtaking. What really gets me in this scene are the colors. I'm a sucker for aesthetics.

And of course, it was great to see Alexia stand her ground and break up with Arthur. I have nothing but respect for her and I'm team Alexia + happiness all the way.

Ep.10: Lundi 10:04 - La même vie que vous

When Melchior, Laura and the brochure subplot was introduced, I was a bit wary because their introduction scene was really, really awkward (it wasn't very well tied at first). By their second scene, at Arthur's place, I was sold. It was great to address accessibility and show that there's no point putting people with disabilities in the same bag, because there are hundreds of them and the needs are different. What doesn't change is our wish to live our life at the fullest, just like abled people. And this scene was precious. Seeing Arthur endorse this new part of him and support his peers was everything.

Ep.10: Vendredi 20:47 - Le meilleur des mondes

I'm still very emotional about this scene. Like… I don't know what to say, the music still sends shivers down my spine.

Honorable mentions :

Ep.1: Mardi 11:59 - 3, 2, 1,…

One of the only things Robin told me about the season when I met him at IVT was that the first clip would drop on New Year's Eve at 11:59 p.m.. That date became a beacon during fall and oh you wouldn't believe how much I waited for that clip to drop and how much I was looking forward to it. And it freaking delivered. The atmosphere, the tense music, that first shot on the loudspeaker, the confetti clogging it gradually… That teaser was a masterpiece.

Ep.2: Like… the whole episode actually. The alarm clock concept was genius.

Ep.4: Samedi 10:15 - Nouveau style

One of these gorgeous clips without dialogues that still say lots.

Ep.5: Samedi 10:03 - Maîtriser le langage

Oh my, this one was so relatable and a joy to watch. Camille explaining that sign language and mimes are different, Arthur being that dimwit asking about swear words and being told off for speaking… Kuddos to the deaf extras who had to pretend they didn't know any sign language, it was so funny (looking at you, Enzo).

Ep.6: Samedi 8:30 - Mythos

Seeing Arthur lashing out at his friends was cathartic. He roasted them so well, I wished I had his ability to speak so well when I'm angry. A+ work.

Ep.6: Dimanche 14:41 - Envie de rien

Alexia being the real MVP, as always.

Ep.7: Samedi 2:15 - Pool Party

It’s strange, because even though a lot of the story went down in this particular episode, it must be one of my favorites, like… tied with episode 2. It has probably a lot to do with the fact there were mostly deaf characters and that they had so much fun together. It’s something I can relate do, the sheer joy of signing the night away, which is something I didn’t get to experience until very recently.

As gorgeous as the underwater scene is, I'm not a fan of Noée and Arthur's almost kiss. I picked this scene because I love the moment of sheer joy that follows; everyone joining in the pool and having fun together. And of course the rise of Camika. I know it's a bit convoluted to have the two openly gay guys fall for each other first time they meet but… it just worked so well.

Ep.9: Mercredi 21:34 - Frère

This clip was about to make the top 10 cut when I remembered about another one and I had to remove it. Just Basile being lovely Basile.

Ep.9: Jeudi 17:30 - T'es pas tout seul

This clip was so important, bless the nurse and bless Jérôme. I wish Jérôme was my audiologist, to be honest.

Ep.10: Samedi 13:39 - Maman

Arthur's mom was so lovely and I'm so sorry she had to go through this shit with her trashcan of a husband. I liked her relationship with her son and her reassuring him he's not like his father was very soothing. I wasn’t the biggest fan of Arthur at the end of this season and I appreciate he’s well looked after after what he went through.

Ep.10: Jeudi 17:46 - Recommencer

Just like "Nouveau style" from ep 4, it's another one of these silent clips that has lots of meaning. Arthur putting back his glasses, slowly accepting his life won't be the same and that he has to move on. Except now things are clearer. Skam France love its symbolism and while sometimes it's very poorly done (like the love triangle emphasizing on Arthur's balancing between two worlds), more often than not it's very compelling.

Now I want to rewatch everything, so see you soon I guess :)

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Eleven

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 11

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.” -Chuck Palahniuk

+

To rewrite a story, to un-tell a tale, to take back the life of a story; sometimes you have to go back to the beginning.

It’s the hardest thing really, to unravel and undo. It's unnatural in its own right, an act of destruction. A murder of innocent poses that have done nothing but filled up the space, to be a lesson or a comfort. Each word, each letter carefully crafted by eons of combined hearts, mouths and minds. There are layered meanings in these words, history in the named and moments and that is why they can hurt. Why they can topple empires and whole worlds.

How they can take a life. How they can bring one back.

Once upon a time, only a God could rewrite a story.

Nephthys is old enough to recall when the world understood that. Old enough to have forgotten when it changed. When it became easier drawing blood from stone, than to change a story.

She knew that it was not the words that had changed, but the people. Their hearts had became colder and heavier, words had to work twice as hard to pierce it.

To change it.

Nephthys pulls her gaze from the sea of grass fields to the driver, to Laura Moon, Laura McCabe. A once pretty girl, dead with a heart so heavy it's a wonder she moves at all.

Let alone dragged herself out of a grave.

Back in the day, this would have been enough to earn her a new story. One made by her own glory, a testament to her will. 

She would have been repainted with kindness and generosity, of a woman wrongly murdered, left behind but reunited nevertheless with her grieving husband. 

Because of love, fate or luck. In a good story, they are one in the same.

If there is any justice left in the world, Laura will have her re-telling, she is owed far more than just her life back. If it was up to her, Nephthys would take her hand, kiss her cheeks and call her sister. What other gods could so intimately know death and the life that could be after? What other woman could understand the shadows, casted by chaos and otherwise?

If Nephthys could have had her way, Laura Moon would be hers.

“What's your sister like?” Laura questions in the dark. The hour unknown, but the moon is high and the road empty. Somewhere in the distance Mad Sweeney and her brother relieve themselves. “And don't bullshit me. I have a sister, and she annoyed the hell out of me. First words I would use to describe her is uppity bitch, followed by crazy and addicted to pastels.”

In the embrace of moonlight, Nephthys smiles slowly. There is a complicated understanding between sisters naturally. God or mortal. To know and love, to hate and hold afar because they are so like and unlike you.

Only sisters understand sisters.

“She will not be what you think.” She replies, leaning back. “Stories and history will always paint her as a wife first and a mother second. Few remember who she is without them, but if I had to sum her up…” She pauses to really give it thought before answering. “She is strong. In heart and kindness. Of course she has shades of dark, not one of us is built without it…she can be stubborn. Over protective. A trickster too.”

“A trickster?”

Nephthys chuckles softly, “I told you, she would not be what you imagine. Yes, she loves a good trick. Really loves those, what are they called? Not game shows…prank ones? Punk'd was a favorite of her's for a long time.”

“What? Really?”

The dead girl does not believe her, she can tell by the tone of her voice.

“She used to play such games on our brother. Before he left us. Always tricking or scaring him to tell the truth. I think it reminded her of those days…”

Silence envelops her slowly. She becomes aware of all that she has lost and what she could still stand to lose. There is a storm, a war and all of it will end with more than just thunder and rain. There are new stories being written, and she is unsure if she has a place in them.

Its been a long time since anyone has looked to her for guidance. Laura is probably the last, and her heart breaks for that fact.

“Can I share a secret, Laura McCabe?”

The dead girl blinks her milky eyes, a reflection in the rear view mirror. There is hunger there, for life and knowledge but also an ocean's worth of pain. This girl was starved by the world, long before the rot set in, she was bones and bitterness. Strung together by razor thin trust and hope.

Those things are even sharper now, haven been broken too many times.

“Yeah, go ahead. I'm told the dead keep the best secrets.”

“The right ones do.” Nephthys agrees, “My secret is this, Laura McCabe. You were meant for this. Not this way, with messy Norse gods and war. Not crawling out of your grave and roaming the world with rotted hands and feet...but your spirit has traveled this road before, and it will guide you through this darkness just as it has time and time again. Your end was not nothingness. It was to be a return. You always come back.”

“That's not what Anubis said.” She whispers, voice softer than a lover's kiss. Here in the dark, with just each other, Laura peels back the stone layer around her dead heart and allows Nephthys a glimpse at the young girl she is.

She is lost, so very lost, but she continues and Nephthys own heart aches. 

“He was angry. You did not allow him to do his job.” She chastises lightly, “We are not without faults, remember? Even gods can be petty and vindictive.”

This makes the dead girl laugh, “Oh, yeah. Don't need to tell me twice.” Her voice is less gentle, like grave dirt is still trapped in her throat. Like she's trying to push it out with will alone. “What do you mean. My spirit has traveled this road before? No riddles, please. I'm too dead to appreciate them.”

From the corner of her golden eyes, she catches the returning figures of the men. She does not have a lot of time left to explain.

“The best stories never die, Laura. They just get retold. The names change, the place and time. The little details get lost along the way, but the core. The spirit. It nestles in there like a seed in winter. Warm within mother earth until it's time to be told again, and that is what you are now. A seedling of a story with ripped out pages like mangled roots, that no one can recall the ending of. In many cases, this would be the end. A terrible and unjust one. Another story lost, like so many. I would have mourned it.”

Laura places her hand across her chest.

“What changed it? What's the difference, then, how am I different from all the others?” She questions.

Nephthys sighs, “I do not know.”

The car doors open, and Horus flies into her arms once more. She breathes him in, crushes him into an embrace and privately sends out another thank you to Laura with all her heart. She does not know what she has given back to them, and probably never will, but that doesn't mean Nephthys is ungrateful.

“I wish you luck, Laura McCabe. Whatever happens, between here and after.”

In the front passenger side, the tall red headed Leprechaun chuckles darkly, while lighting up a pre-rolled joint. “Aye, she's got all the luck she'll ever fuckin' need.” He says it bitterly, and there's something she's missing between those words. Still, she is not a blind woman.

Perhaps that's the other piece of the puzzle, maybe her spirit has finally found what it's been looking for all this time.

Maybe her roots have finally found a home.

+

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Laura says when she steps out of the car. 

Standing and looking up at her old place of work. The casino she worked in for years, and ultimately lead to her death in a round about way. It was the place she met Shadow, it was the place she tried to rob and failed.

Nephthys stepped up next to her, still holding hands with Horus. “To rewrite anything, it is best to start at the beginning.” She explains, and taking up position of leader to guide them as they headed around to the back of the casino. She can tell Mad Sweeney and Laura are nervous, for many reasons, but it is obvious that the biggest concern is having anyone recognize a dead woman walking.

“Think we could hurry this up? Do the bitchin' inside at least?” He snaps, briskly stepping forward only to pause for Laura anyways. Nephthys notices his hovering, even if he doesn't. It's sweet, if completely unnecessary and if judging by Laura's scowl, unwanted.

With Horus at her side, Nephthys merely starts to climb the stairs to the upstairs of the casino, where the more managerial side of things happen. From here, it's harder to hear the people and the music. The only noise that gets through is the hum of air conditioners on full blast and the occasional lucky winner.

Their arrival has been expected, she can tell by the lack of personal at the front and the single guard at the main door. A built fellow, who nods in her direction and wordlessly opens the door for them.

If Mad Sweeney and Laura are expecting some grand entrance of her sister goddess, they don't get it.

Isis sweeps across the room like a blur of white. Her single focus being the return of her lost child, her son.

Horus meets her half way, wrapping his mother up in a wide spread of his arms like wings. Isis sheds her tears in the hollow of his throat, the words of their emotional meeting are muffled and lost to his skin but it doesn’t matter. They are reunited.

Nephthys has never truly bore any child in her body, but even she can feel their bond, and understands this is two pieces of one heart rejoining. How it radiates between the pair like a golden sun of their own creation. Their love for each other has always been powerful.

Its not always perfect, they are so similar they are bound to clash. Isis is still a mother, ready to tear the world asunder for him. To make a place for him, to make it safe.

Horus is still a young man at heart. He still has restless bones that hunger for unknown glories. He still wants to earn his place.

“Mother.” Horus greets with clear affection and just a hint of pain. Heartbreak for the years they've spent apart because of his madness.

“Son,” She replies in the same manner. She touches his cheek and places a kiss on each of his cheekbones with reverence before turning to greet the other missing relative. “Sister.”

Nephthys goes to them, a hand on Horus's shoulder the other to link her fingers with her sister's. “I've missed you.” She admits. New York had been wonderful, she had flourished but she had never forgotten her roots. 

This is where her story always starts, hand in hand with her sister. Let the storms and rain come, let the war raid everything that was and would be; Nephthys is no longer afraid, they can not take this from her.

She is home.

>

[writingwhimsy]

A Broken Soldier (Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes)

This is the first chapter of a new story I started on a whim based on the what if scenario that Steve lost his memory in the plane crash while Bucky slowly recovered under Hydra. Get ready for some angst. Also on AO3:

Chapter One:

The Winter Soldier had a secret, one he was willing to die to protect.

One he had killed to protect.

The secret was simple: he was malfunctioning. Had been for a while.

What started as brief lapses in his training and control had turned into extended periods of clarity. Where memories slowly flooded in to smother the scent of blood and gunpowder disguised as a call for world peace.

The first time it happened, he was walking through a crowd, trailing his target, and had been struck silent and stupid by the sight of a young, blonde boy struggling for breath next to what must be his mother. She’d reached for her son with shaking hands and quickly placed her hand on his chest, trying to remind his body what it was like to breath without panic. The Soldier’s mind had immediately surged with a panic that felt foreign after years of calm nothingness and it was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing the boy and rushing to the nearest hospital.

It wasn’t until the boy looked up and the Soldier was staring into brown--brown, brown was wrong--eyes that he could pick out all the ways the boy wasn’t who he was looking for. His jaw was too soft, hair just a few shades too red, and Stevie had never had the soft features of this child.

The name rang like a gong in his brain, jarring in its familiarity.

Stevestevestevestevestevesteve

Like one couldn’t exist without the other, his name returns as easily as it had the first time he’d introduced himself to the bloody but triumphant boy.

I am James Buchanon Barnes.

“Bucky,” he corrected himself quietly. “My name is Bucky.”

He couldn’t even focus long enough to respond to his handler’s sharp order to get moving. The brawny man stepped closer, hand raised threateningly and suddenly all Bucky can think about is the huddle of broad shouldered boys closing in on a flash of blonde hair and fire in bright blue eyes. There’s enough space in the crowded shopping area that he’s in no danger of being struck, but he knew if he hesitated any longer there will be more soldiers, more men streaming in to drag him back into the dark and cold cells.

Back to the Chair so he can relearn the meaning of suffering.

He stared at the boy for a moment longer, despite his shortening leash. He watched the way his mother smoothed sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead and shushed him when he tries to babble out an apology. It jostled free a name from the edges of his mind and settled something deep within him. Sarah. Sarah Rogers.

Oh god, he promised Sarah he would watch out for Stevie. He told her he’d keep him safe.

He needs to find Steve.

Another sharp word in his ear made him return to the task at hand. The only way he can find Steve is if he has access to information and there is no better source for information on Steve Rogers than Hydra. There is no doubt that they are the ones responsible for the breaks and fractures in his mind and the heavy weight of the arm at his side. For whatever reason they took him and shaped him into a weapon that would further their insanity.

Bucky tried not to think about what must have happened to Steve that he would let him remain in Hydra’s control for so long.

___________________________________________________

And it has been a long time. A lifetime has passed since the war, if the dates on the newspapers are to be believed. January of 2011 feels as close to him as the fantasy lands described in the books he’d once collected. It’s like he’s been transported into the future with only a trail of spotty memories to link him to his past. They come and go in flashes and he lets them--there are more important things to discover than just how much blood is on his hands.

People are dressed differently, allow their hair to flow long and loose without a hat to cover it, and speak into devices that make him curious. He sneaks one away from a distracted teenager on his way past and tucks it away in an inner pocket for later analysis. It sits oddly against the familiar weight of a hidden gun.

At first, he anticipates fighting his way free from his handlers and the contingent of agents that escort him after his mission, certain that they would sense the way his mind is working for the first time in decades. Bucky is sure that his eyes will flash with the unholy fire that has been growing inside him like a storm with each memory that returns to him.

To his disappointment--or maybe it’s relief-- none of the men surrounding him seem to notice the changes in him.

They cuff him with dense metallic cuffs that force his arms to remain still and order him to sit in the back seat of the car then begin to talk amongst themselves. His handler shoots him a few looks, but he just lets his face go slack and lifeless and tells himself to focus on sorting through the maze of emotions and memories that trickle in relentlessly. He spends the ride staring down at the metal arm attached to his shoulder that ripples and shifts like the feathers of a bird.

He tries to track back through the years of being a shell controlled by Hydra, but all his brain seems to want to produce is image after image of Steve.

Steve laughing at something Dum Dum says under his breath with the firelight reflecting the chiseled planes of his place. Steve sitting with his shoulders bowed as though he carried the weight of the world there. Steve smiling softly, wistfully at Bucky just before they stepped onto the train that would change everything. Steve screaming at him above the roar of the wind and the engine, his hand stretched out in a futile attempt to drag him back to safety. They rattle around his thoughts like a magnet pulling free memories and sensations that he’d believed had been burned out of him for so long.

Even worse are the tempting glimpses of smooth pale skin gleaming in the lamplight and fingers curling through golden hair.

They take him to a tall, nondescript building at the corner of the town--Harlem, his brain supplies sluggishly--and shuffle him inside quickly. He’s careful to be complacent and move wherever they push him without resistance. One of the guards keeps a hand firmly on the back of his neck to propel him forward while the others are careful to keep their guns steady on him.

It pleases him to think that despite all that they must have done to him, Hydra was still afraid of what he would do if they ever lost control. It tells him that he hasn’t been the silent weapon they’d been training.

Three floors below the plain apartment building facade, Bucky is led into a gleaming medical facility that sits in blatant contrast to the cells he can make out along the corridor. At his arrival, the agents push him over to a examination chair and step back so the doctors and nurses waiting nearby can move closer.

“Any problems?” A lean faced woman with a clipboard asks his handler.

“He froze up for a minute or two in the mall,” the man--his handler, his mind supplies--says with a grunt. “Just kept staring at this kid having an asthma attack.”

The doctor frowns, flicking through her notes before she waves off the complaint. “It’s a common error. We’ve never quite managed to keep him from reacting to little triggers like that.”

Bucky lets them talk about him like he’s some inanimate object and doesn’t protest when one of the nurses grabs his arm and takes his blood pressure. It gives him the opportunity to lean close enough to read the notes the doctor had been looking at.

Patient: Winter Soldier

Recovered 1946 under the supervision of Armin Zola.

Just the name of the beady eyed little scientist is enough to make a cold sweat trickle down his back and his pulse spike enough that the pretty red headed nurse taking his blood pressure frowns at him. He forces himself to stare blankly at the ground until his pulse returns to normal. There would be time to process the complicated wash of emotions threatening to drown him when he wasn’t surrounded by enemies.

Maybe he can grab the files later and find out what other nightmares had come true for him.

“Guess that means the rumors about Captain America are true, huh?” Another soldier says from somewhere over Bucky’s left shoulder. Bucky focuses on keeping his breathing steady and his eyes fixed on the floor. His left arm makes an odd noise that thankfully goes unnoticed.

Bucky’s handler makes a sharp gesture at the man who’d spoken. “Shut up, Derrick. You know you aren’t supposed to speak about him in front of the Soldier. Fucks up his programming.”

Derrick makes a disgruntled noise, clearly unhappy about being called out so openly. “It’s not like it matters,” he complains, “Rogers went down in that plane ages ago. Dead as a doornail.”

________________________________________________

Knowing Steve is dead sits like a stone in his gut.

He wants to rage, to scream at whatever deity decided that Steve Rogers deserved to die after surviving so much. Bucky should have been there. He would have hauled that stupid punk’s giant body out of the cockpit and into a parachute if it was the last thing he did. He would have called Peggy and given her the coordinates to keep him from--from drowning. From slowly losing the feeling in his long, artist’s fingers and crooked toes before the water closed over his head.

Did he try to escape? Or was he too hurt to pull himself free from the ice and cold? Bucky’s mind was full of image after image of Steve’s final moments and how badly he’d failed him.

The thought of Steve being alone at the end made him vomit up the protein shake he’d been given before being tossed into his cell.

Sinking heavily onto the thin cot, Bucky raked his fingers through the tangled length of his hair. It was odd to feel it brush against the back of his neck and he lets the strangeness of it center him against the chaos in his mind. Odds are his cell is heavily monitored as every other movement he’s made here and he can’t risk giving away the fact that his mind and the bastardized version of the serum Zola gave him is slowly piecing together the fragments left behind by the Chair.

If Steve is gone--even the thought makes him swallow hard and his hands shake--then there is nothing left to do but finish what he started. Hydra had to be destroyed.

His position as their ‘Asset’ made it possible for him to do more than just blow up a few buildings and hope it was enough to destroy a few heads. Steve was always the one who wanted to run in with guns blazing and the honesty of an open fight. Peggy, however, had taught Bucky the value of gathering information and using it to shake apart an organization at their foundations. He needed to rip Hydra out by the roots.

That meant running wasn’t an option. Somehow, he had to survive whatever hell was still waiting for him here and wait for an opportunity to strike back. His time in the medical lab and in the transport showed him how easy it could be to go unnoticed among the agents. For all their fear of the Winter Soldier, none of them expected him to be present or aware of what was going on around him. He was merely a bomb waiting to explode.

So he would wait. He would gather the ammunition he could use to drag every rotten piece of Hydra into the light and then, when the time was right, he would avenge Steve Rogers.

___________________________________________________

It was shockingly easy to pass along information on Hydra to interested parties. He even managed to get a few agents killed for negligence in the process. Spying had never been a natural gift for him, but he watched enough of Peggy Carter’s antics to make a decent effort.

No one would ever expect the Fist of Hydra of being a spy. How could he be when his brain was fried every time they woke him out of cryo?

So he sabotages an assassination a an English diplomat and leaves incriminating photos on the desk of an Interpol agent that leads to a human trafficking ring getting wiped off the map. He manages to plant three backdoors into Hydra’s mainframe before the technicians realize vital information is being leaked onto the internet. He is particularly proud of how many of his handlers are ‘accidentally’ maimed on the job.

They notice eventually, of course. These malfunctions. Their perfect weapon is not so perfect without steady maintenance to clear away the rebellion in his eyes or the slight delay in response to commands.

Even with his memories back, he couldn’t resist the terror that this time the Chair would work. This time they’d finally be able to reach inside him and drag out every memory he carefully cultivated and replace it with empty darkness. It took all his control to let them pin him in place, to open his mouth for the guard that kept him from shattering his teeth, and let that awful metal crown settle over his face.

Each time he forces his mind to rebuild each memory with painstaking detail and lists each person he can’t afford to lose to the crackle of electricity and burning light.

Steve.

Rebecca.

His ma and pa.

The Commandos.

He repeats the list like a mantra as he straps on knives and guns and looks at the picture of the latest victims of Hydra. It keeps his hands steady when there’s blood cracking in the wrinkles of his leather body armor and deep in the grooves of his metal arm where no one bothers to clean. It keeps his screams at bay late at night when he’s alone and waiting for the horrors of the next day.

Weeks pass.

When his handler leads him to the cryo tube, he doesn’t fight. Just lets the ice steal his breath and slow his heart.

He thinks of Steve.

______________________________________________

The next time he wakes it is to a world gone mad.

Instead of a team of doctors and agents waiting for him to tumble into their arms on legs gone weak from the cryostasis, he opens his eyes to the closed metal door of his tube. For a moment, he panics. Had they finally decided to finish the job they’d started so long ago and buried him in this metal coffin? Was this some new form of torture meant to destroy him?

Before he can begin to hyperventilate and use up the precious oxygen in the tube, he hears the whir of the arm at his side like the sound of reinforcements arriving after weeks on the front. It is unbothered by the time spent frozen and unhampered by things like human panic and confusion. It slams into the wall of the tube with a deafening clang. Again and again.

The first rush of oxygen was a revelation. It brought with it dim lighting that flickered oddly against the shadows of the tube and Bucky set about peeling himself out like a sardine from a can. The noise is awful after the quiet and his muscles are trembling, but he refuses to stay inside the cage for a minute longer.

Minutes pass before he finally has a space large enough to reach his arm out and fumble for the latch that forces the door to creak open with one final protest. He nearly collapses without the walls supporting him, but he knows his muscles will recover soon enough. Until then, he can figure out what the hell happened while he was forced to sleep.

What was once an immaculately clean prep room is not pockmarked and scarred with ash and debris. The door hangs open on broken hinges and the computer banks have gone hollow and silent. A flicker of light sparks from where the wires connected the cryo tube to the power source flashed bright and sudden thanks to a wide gash that exposed the inner workings.

Shaking and pale, Bucky gets to his feet with the help of the metal casing and scans the room for anything that might be useful. A quick search of the tables leaves him with nothing but a few spare bits of paper scorched beyond repair. He leaves the room as quietly as possible on the off chance that there are still agents of Hydra alive in the compound even as his enhanced hearing didn’t hint at more than a few ambitious rats.

He finds clothes in an abandoned locker that are tight around his chest, but cover his arm well enough. It helps keep the tremors at bay while he scouts for more supplies. Boots come from one of the few bodies left behind in what must have been a mad rush for the exits. He doesn’t think about how the smell of a rotting corpse doesn’t bother him any longer. There is even a Glock with a spare clip of ammo on the body’s belt that he takes with a grateful breath.

Then he begins to make his way outside.

He keeps his eyes peeled for anymore guards or agents coming to reclaim their lost weapon, but there’s nothing but destruction waiting for him. The ground floor is covered in more rubble and daylight pours in through the broken plate glass windows on the outer walls. The first signs of life come from the sounds of men shoveling and shifting the worst of the destroyed concrete out of the way of the street.

Bucky winces at the bright light and carefully tucks his gun out of sight. The construction workers haven’t noticed him yet so he takes a minute to scan the street.

Like the rooms below, what was once a busy city street in the middle of Harlem has been transformed into a scene taken from every soldier’s nightmare. Smoke streams in lazy lines across the sky from massive craters carving holes in buildings and streets. Ash drifted down like snow and painted the world in shades of grey. Bucky coughs and pulls up the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth as he spins slowly in a circle.

Then he gasps in horror.

A massive...beast--monster, his mind supplies, a monster--is laying draped over the roof of one building and spilling onto the streets below. It’s covered in some sort of armored plating that did nothing to disguise the massive teeth and weapons still hanging limply from its sides. Several smaller, more humanoid creatures are scattered along the street in piles where workers in bright orange vests have piled them.

What the hell happened while he was asleep?

“Hey buddy!”

Bucky’s mouth snaps shut with a click and he whirls to face the construction workers that are just outside what used to be a Hydra base. Now...now it was just another destroyed building in a city full of the same. He stares at the dark skinned man whose features are marred by streaks of grey ash and dirt along with his well worn clothing.

Something in Bucky’s expression must read as strange to him because he hesitates when he got closer. “You alright, man?”

“I…” Bucky licks his lips and tries to clear his throat. It had been so long since someone had spoken to him beyond barked orders that it was a struggle to remember that he was a human, not just a tool. “What happened?”

The worker stares at him strangely. “What do you mean?”

Awkwardly, Bucky gestures to the street around them. “Wh--were we attacked? Are we at war?” Now the man looks concerned and Bucky knows he can’t pass as some hapless civilian. Thinking quickly, he drags his fingers through his hair and winces, “Think I took a hard hit back there, pal.”

The man doesn’t look convinced, but now he walks closer and takes in the blood from the scrapes he’d gotten pulling himself out of the tube. After a beat, he gestures to somewhere further down the street. “There’s a medic station at the end of the block if you’re hurt,” he says slowly and frowns again at the building Bucky had come from. “You’ve been sleeping this whole time?”

Bucky’s lips twist into a mockery of a smile. “Something like that.”

[doomedandstoned]

Tripping Through the Void with SUNNATA

It's been four years since Doomed & Stoned visited SUNNATA and my how they've grown in the interim! Three successful independent releases, legendary live performances, an exponentially growing fanbase, and broad critical acclaim have shifted the spotlight on the Warsaw doomers. Long before they became the juggernaut of the heavy underground, we knew them as an exciting upstart called Satellite Beaver. This week, we give Sunnata’s latest collections of songs a thorough going over and speak with Szymon Ewertowski (guitar, vox), Adrian Gadomski (guitar), Michał Dobrzański (bass), and Robert Ruszczyk (drums) about what fuels their fire.

Heart of Storm

By Simon Howard

Polish loners Sunnata offer the melodic pilgrim a ritualistic, dark, heavy journey into the atmospheric Outlands, hypnotizing us with an eternal 48 minutes of tripping. Pineal glands will decalcify, doors of perception will be cleansed, and the listener will be enlightened.

Sunnata have been creating a musical Zenith in a blend of genres since 'Climbing the Colossus' (2014) and 'Zorya' (2016). This well-crafted album is hard to believe, in the fact that this band have only been around since 2014. Incorrect. Jump in the TARDIS of Tunes, and rewind ourselves back to 2008. Under the moniker of Satellite Beaver, they released two demos and one final EP in 2012, aptly named, The Last Bow. If the reader is not familiar with Satellite Beaver, then you have an amazing musical journey ahead of you.

Outlands by SUNNATA

'Outlands' (2018) was recorded at Monochrom Studio, mixed and mastered by Haldor Grunberg of Satanic Audio, and brilliantly saturated in the artwork by Maciej Kamuda.

I really cannot attest to what was in the Kool-Aid at Monochrom Studio, but the results are spiritually absorbed into the listener's soul. Mind expanding mantras like "Lucid Dream," "The Ascender," and the epically entrancing closing track "Hollow Kingdom" appeal to me on planes we can only experience ourselves. Outlands transitions from mellow meditational hymns to heavenly heavy riffs, blending this album into something transcendental for avid or new fans of Sunnata. This journey will be taken upon by many, and many times. Musical Mecca has been found. The void has been filled.

Soon It Will All Be Gone

A Conversation with Sunnata

Interview by Billy Goate | Photos by Justyna Kamińska

How would you characterize the evolution of sunnata from ‘Climbing the Colossus’ to ‘Zorya’ to your latest record, ‘Outlands’?

It’s been a long way. I would describe it as emotional trip from anger on our debut Climbing the Colossus, through spatial epicness and a need for air on Zorya to introverted melancholia you can dive into on Outlands. In general, we have always been the "sad guys" who were into kind of a gloomy, dark state of mind and soul and our approach towards the music evolved along with our skills of using instruments to express what we feel inside. That’s why I’d characterize our evolution as a path to greater complexity of emotions, where our debut was the simplest and our latest album the most complicated, emotion-wise.

Are there thematic motifs that the band finds attractive when writing songs? Which themes were most influential on 'Outlands’?

We definitely have become more lyrically confident since our previous album and even though we still consider the role of our lyrics as backing for the rest, I think we can finally admit that Sunnata actually has something to say! (laughs) It might not be your most positive answer ever, but our motifs on Outlands consist of loneliness, despair, the negative influence of religious fanaticism, helplessness, and development of the self and whatever conflict you have inside of you. We dig deep, reopen wounds, and push to get to the core. We prefer fighting yourself to fighting others, until you turn into none.

Are the songs on the new album connected in any way? Is this all a “Lucid Dream” that culminates in a journey into the “Outlands,” with “The Ascender” climbing some forbidden mountain of the gods? And what is the “Gordian Knot” -- an internal fight-or-flight struggle? At the end of the journey, is the prize the conquest of a “Hollow Kingdom”? So many questions!

Sure! Song order always comes last, so we have no intention in putting a story together in any way. However, this sort of lyrical consistency allows us to arrange one after another in a way that triggers certain emotions and impressions. Let’s get through the album piece by piece:

"Lucid Dream" encourages you to give, not to receive; to understand that if you separate your self-esteem from the external world and build value of self and the will to explore, you will grow as a human.

"Scars" is a story of being misled, lied to, cheated on, and abandoned on the one hand, but also a story of growing strength and power to end whatever harms you.

"Outlands" was actually inspired by some politically related events. It's all about sacrifice as a way to bring attention to an idea or social problem ignored before. Too deep to dig into it in a single interview.

"The Ascender" track is focused around any sort of radicalism giving an illusion of being permitted to force your point of view on others. We disagree with anyone’s feeling to be justified for actions that do harm. It’s an illusion that keeps you away from self.

"Gordian Knot" is exactly what you have interpreted: inner struggle -- one that can make you fall apart or disintegrate, in any way.

"Hollow Kingdom" has been chosen as climax, the ending song in praise of emptiness. Its structure, repetitive feeling, and overwhelming melancholia are the best ending of an album we could choose from this track list.

Tell us about the artwork, the artist you chose, and the layers of meaning behind this many-faced wraith?

The only constant is change to us. That’s why this time, instead of going with the magnificent Jeffrey Smith of Ascending Storm once again, we decided to go with another talented artist, Maciej Kamuda, who is also author of Weedpecker and Major Kong artwork. We felt a strong urge to do something different. Deity presented on the front cover is a variation on deep symbolism of Goddess Kali. We didn’t want her to look in a way she’s known from Hinduism. We were inspired more by deep, complex symbolism behind her various forms. If you read about her, you will instantly get it.

One consistent word that comes up in all the descriptions of your music -- live performances especially -- is “ritualistic.” Whether it is the careful setting of the stage, the lighting of the incense, or the hypnotic, trance-like rhythms of the music. What is the importance of ritual for the band and what does this bring to your compositions and performances.

Ritualism in our music comes from trance-inducing forms we create. Immersed in void and drugged with noise, we jam a lot in search of the desired emotion trigger -- we can’t name it, we just get the feeling. If we do, we proceed further. Our work routine and who we are as people actually doesn’t have much to do with dark shamanism, but everything changes once we take instruments and start playing together. It’s similar to being possessed with something. All other details you mentioned -- stage setting, light, clothes, and merch -- are secondary to this and their role is to create certain atmosphere to take people on the journey with us.

I've heard rumors of a music video in the works?

Videos are our curse. We’ve been working on them for every album, but for various reasons all these projects were abandoned. Right now, we are at the beginning of production process for video of "The Ascender" song and we really do hope that it will work out this time. I can’t tell much yet, but we would like the outcome to be something similar to our music -- '90s aesthetics in a psychedelic, doomy setting. We’ll see what time will tell.

Let’s close by giving our readers a peek at your touring plans for 2018 and beyond. What “Outlands” are you off to in the days and months ahead?

We can’t reveal many dates since they are not officially announced yet, but after the our spring tour of Scandinavia with the crazy lads of Boss Keloid, we have various festivals in the summertime confirmed and good perspectives on touring Europe with Dopethrone in October, plus an appearance at Gizzardfest in Rotherham, UK. I believe that best is yet about to come. We just need to follow our own path.

Ruling Land of Emptiness

By Shawn Gibson & Billy Goate

To understand the significance of Sunnata's musical achievements, we need at least a cursory understanding of the soil in which the band is planted. Poland's heavy music scene has been experiencing a surge of activity over the past decade or two, but its music roots are deep-seated and stretch back generations to the darkly complex oeuvre of composers like Frederic Chopin, Leopold Godowsky, Karol Szymanowski, Henryk Górecki, and so many others.

Sunnata's home base of Warsaw encompasses an impressive if turbulent history, evolving from a smattering of villages more than 1400 years ago to become one of the ten largest capital cities in Europe. Warsaw has had more than its share of doom to contend with, too, from disease and famine to regional and global wars -- including the devastating Nazi occupation, which spurred the great underground resistance movement known as the Warsaw Uprising.

Given this context, it's significant that Sunnata has adopted a name representing one of the fundamental principles of Buddhism. Śūnyatā is a transliteration of the Sanskrit word शून्यता (pronounced as "shoonyataa"), which signifies voidness. Think of it as a meditative state of "emptiness" in which the mind is devoid of desire, specifically the stubborn presence of that word we all learn by age two: mine. Śūnyatā involves the diminishing of one's ego, and the band that wears this name has dedicated the better part of a decade to exploring this philosophy through the medium of ritual heavy music.

Photo by Aleksandra Burska

"Hollow Kingdom," the closing track on Outlands, is one example of Sunnata's approach to voidness, with its droning ups and downs and subtle twists. Sunnata let this song be the pedals of a cherry blossom drifting in the breeze. Another highlight is "The Ascender" (my favorite of the record). It's the kind of vessel one imagines boarding to cross over to निर्वाण (nirvana). The backing vocals near the beginning of the song calls to mind prayers and mantras of Tibetan monks. Guitars buzz like propellers, shuttling you along to another plane of existence. The heavy psychedelic vibe and stirring chorus makes for an uplifting experience that is, one imagines, not unlike astral projection. Sunnata are your gurus fixed atop the mountain, lulling you ever closer on an ascendant journey skyward. Along the way, there's an avalanche of emotions.

One imagines the many plagues, fires, wars, and uprisings that might have influenced "Scars." The song strikes a thrash-like tempo, with jazzy cymbals and a psyched-out tambourine. Then, at the five-minute mark, all hell breaks loose with a thundering bassline, fuzzed-out guitars, and a pummeling drumbeat. Doom has come to claim its reign! Similarly, "Gordian Knot" attacks like a nest of pissed-off hornets. Still rocking hard by the two-minute mark, things lighten up for a spell as fuzzy desert riffs and reassuring chants (with those wonderful backing vocals) lull you to sanctuary. The aggressive pace returns, leading to a crescendo of screaming vox to chase every worry from your mind. Only the journey consumes you now.

Taken in sum, Outlands is an exhilarating magic carpet ride, albeit with some turbulence. Sunnata hone the powerful elements of rock and metal like master alchemists, dispensing measured doses of doom, sludge, psychedelic, and stoner, melding them seamlessly, and transcending boundaries only few conceived possible. The heavy doom passages are somehow made even heavier by this psychedelic blend, which brings one closer to a state of voidness.

High spiritual concept meets the earthy might of doom in Outlands. It is the enlightenment of the yogis, the ascension of gurus, a musical Kathmandu. I've visited the temple now multiple times over the course of weeks and months and it continues to be a cathartic experience for me. Outlands will make your heart flutter and embolden your spirit with its mesmerizing riffs and hypnotic rhythms. It will usher you down a river of feeling and bury you in a cascade of sonic desolation. The chants and mantras sent my spirit soaring heavenward. Returning to earth, I felt as if I have been everyplace in existence and at the same time perfectly still, third eye open -- mind, body, and spirit aligned. Awareness is the gift I received from this Outlands. Who knows? In listening, perhaps you will find your own Śūnyatā, as well.

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Eldarya Fanfiction-Far from justice

*If anyone has any request of a scenario for me to write about eldarya, or even mcl I’d gladly write it. That’s if you like the way I write...I’m trying my best believe me and any constructive criticism is deeply appreciated. Also, I’m not a native english speaker, so excuse me for any spelling mistakes*

I don’t even know how this mini story came into my mind, but I needed to write it down because it was eating away at my soul. This is a scenario where our beloved Gardienne *Erika* comes gravely wounded from a mission and Ezarel doesn’t know what he feels more-anger, sadness or desperation. If any of you are sensitive to subjects like emotional pain and near death/death situations, I suggest you stop reading.

Ezarel hissed in annoyance for the fortieth time that day when he reached the Hall of Doors and saw that for some unknown reason, there was a loud crowd forming there, preventing him from reaching his beloved working place. He tried pushing his way through, receiving glares and not so nice words from the people he bumped into. He listened in on the conversations around him, hoping to identify the reason for this "gathering". From what he knew, no one important was supposed to visit these days and Miiko wasn't making any announcements, so what was happening?  "-so very late. What could have possibly delayed them 3 days?" A girl that he recoginsed belonged to the Obsidian Guard mumbled with a frown. 

"I've heard that there was an attack-" her partner responded in an intense voice, but Ezarel didn't manage to hear the rest of the exchange.

Curiosity built up inside of him and instead of going to his lab like he planned to, he started making his way to the front to see what was happening. His eyebrows furrowed while he walked, taking in all the curios, frightened and infuriated voices that kept bickering. 

"-definitely a mistake to send her there" "-badly injured-"

His heart beat faster and faster for some reason, a sensation close to suffocation. He elbowed an astonished couple out of the way, finally being able to find out what all the fuss was about. But the image that stood before him was far from his expectations of a surprise visitor or a last minute notice.

A few higher up's from the guard, which he immediately recognized, were rushing back and forth, helping a group of people that was sent on an innocent mission two weeks ago. It was just the resigning of a resources distribution and utilization treaty, nothing too complicated, but clearly important. Nevra, Leiftan,a representative of economics and Erika were sent on that mission in hopes of completing it easily and without any distractions. Despite the girl's relatively short stay in Eldarya, she was proving to be quite an educated, formal and well-spoken -things that the blue haired elf still had a hard time to admit out loud- young lady, so Miiko and the rest didn't see any reason not to send her on this harmless operation. But the scene in front of Ezarel clearly told him otherwise.

He spotted Nevra and the ambassador immediately, both of them were covered in bruises and small amounts of blood and were clearly tired. They were being checked up on by one of the nurses, although they didn't seem to have any critical injuries. His eyes scanned the rest of the people worriedly in a desperate search and thats when they landed on two figures. He froze, a chill running down his spine.

The blonde and tall member of the Light Guard stepped into the room without his usual grace, his once white and green clothes were mudded and covered in blood and his eyes had a regretful look to them, but that's not what drew the attention and shock of Ezarel. It was the slim figure Leiftan was carrying in his arms that took his breath away in a completely unpleasent manner. She lay there, unmoving, her face holding a pained expression and her brown hair caked in blood. A silver arrow was protruding from her chest.

The elf inhaled sharply, an unknown feeling taking over him. He couldn't describe it into proper words. It was a mixture of physical and emotional pain, sadness, regret and the most prominent-anger. He didn't even realize when he reached Leiftan and took Erika from his arms with the utmost care, like he was handling a very fragile potion that could be compromised easily. In spite of his usual unwillingness to touch, he wanted to feel her close to him, to protect her from any more dangers that might come her way.

Everything was kind of a blur, although he truly wanted to be calm in this dire situation. He heard a distant and familiar voice telling him something urgent, but his green eyes remained locked on her face, searching for a sign that she's still conscious. Her eyes barely fluttered open, only for him to catch a glimpse of her pained and terrified purple orbs.

"Ezarel! Take her inside the clinic, NOW!" The same voice that spoke earlier commanded more loudly and desperately, jolting him awake from his momentary daze.

He turned to look towards the owner of the voice that now pressed a firm hand on his shoulder. Ewelein. Her usual calm face was nowhere to be found, being replaced by a look of deep concern. She pointed with her chin in the direction of the infirmary and Ezarel looked down at the wounded girl in his arms before rushing to give her the proper medical attention along with the blue-skinned elf and her assistants.

He gently laid her down on the operation bed, swiping away the hair that threatened to cover her entire face. He then backed away with a shake of his head and a last look at Erika's shivering form, letting the medical experts do their jobs.

"I'll do anything I can to save her, Ez." The words were meant to soothe him, but they only made him feel powerless and enraged with life itself. What did the poor girl do to deserve all of this?

He made his way back down into the crowd, approaching the rest of the team that was sent on the mission, measuring all of them up with a heated glare, although the elf knew deep down that the girl's wounds weren't their fault, but he seriously needed someone to throw his nerves on. And who could have been a better subject than the great Leiftan, who lately took a deep interest for Erika, swearing to protect her and flirting with her every chance he got. Where was he when she got hurt?

Ezarel stood furiously next to a concerned Miiko, waiting for the medical assistants to finish bandaging and checking up on them. Everyone was curious to finally learn what went wrong with the mission, but of course that the Chief wanted a private meeting first before announcing anything to the rest of the crowd. So when it was concluded that none of them had suffered any real injuries except small bruises, they all went in the Crystal Room.

It was a mess to say the least. The details weren't clear, they didn't know who exactly attacked them, just that when they stayed at the inn to reestablish the terms of the agreement, a bunch of people threatened and accused Erika of being a spy for the humans that want to take over Eldarya. A very heated argument took place, Nevra and the owner of the inn being the ones to stop it. On their way back from the mission, they got ambushed by what they guessed were the same group that harassed Erika because she was the main target of their attacks.  Once they hit her with an arrow, they were quick to disperse.

"I tried my best to keep her out of harm's way, but they outnumbered us and-" Leiftan tried to explain, but was interrupted by one of Ezarel's sarcastic and rude remarks. "Yeah, great job you did there, big boy"

The Light Guard member threw him a cold look, but the elf was completely unaffected by it. His sorrow was so deeply mixed with anger that it became confusing.

"Maybe you should have been there to properly protect her-!" Leiftan retorted, being once again stopped mid sentence by the elf. "Huh, and here I thought you always go around promising on your life to protect someone and then failing." 

That seemed to hit a nerve, but Miiko quickly intervened before things could escalate any further. "Ez, I know that you are very upset, but your remarks bring no help at all, they only worsen our predicament. The boys did all they could in that fight. Unless you can hold back your sharp tongue, I suggest you wait for any updates on Erika's health outside."

The blue haired man stormed out, mumbling a few cusses on the way and throwing them all a glare. He sat down on a chair right outside the Infirmary, his face shadowed by his long hair as his thoughts consumed him.

She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, being transported in a world that she knew nothing about and finding out that returning home was hardly an option anymore. Almost everyone, including himself, had treated her badly in the beginning, even coming to the unbelievable decision of making her entire human world forget about her even though she was hardly a threat and only acted nicely towards everyone. He would never forgive himself for that, no matter how many years will pass over him. And now this happened. She got attacked only because of what a part of her race was trying to do. His heart ached because of the surprising empathy he was feeling. She was one of the best of her kind, full of compassion and love and righteousness and they tried to kill her for it. It wasn’t any justice in that. What kind of people would harm someone like her? But he also hurt her on a whole other level emotionally. He ran a hand through his now messy blue hair, in order to calm his nerves.

Ezarel sighed with such disappointment and stress, that everyone threw him sympathetic looks, knowing that his feelings for the girl ran far deeper than even he would like to admit.

He wanted to see her again so badly, to tease her and laugh with her at the stupidest things. To get lost in her purple and unusually stunning eyes and to notice that blush she gets every time she stands too close to him. Her way too nosy and friendly personality, always eager to learn. Death seemed like such an abrupt and tragic ending of a story that only just began. Then again, life was hardly fair for anyone. He laughed bitterly. He would actually miss her nasal voice calling him a moron.

The door opened next to him and he immediately jumped up from his seat in a rush to ask about her, but he stopped, his world falling apart in just a second seeing the look of sorrow on Ewelein's face and the tears threatening to spill from her blue eyes. His light didn't make it.

[sminacs]

As strange as this may sound, the vital moment that sparked the concept for my thesis was at a crowded house party. As I stood in the center of a stranger's living room, packed wall to wall with sweaty bodies in motion, I could feel the rising energy. As I maneuvered my way through the bouncing crowd, I felt claustrophobic, but not in a physical way. I was born an empath, an Indigo Child; clairvoyant individuals who possess supernatural traits and abilities. To sum it up, I was misdiagnosed with ADHD as a child, I am extremely intuitive and particularly sensitive to others feelings, to the extent that I subconsciously adapt them. It doesn't help that my sun sign is Gemini, a zodiac renowned for its multiple personalities and easy adaptability, so I often become a mirror held up to whoever I'm nearby. Considering this, you can imagine how overwhelmed I must have been in that crowded townhouse, and how urgently I must have grabbed my friend's arm and took refuge on the staircase, sitting and dangling our feet above the pool of sharks underneath us. As we took that break and I watched these people snaking through each other like ants digging tunnels, I found something newly intriguing about it. I found strange comfort in observing this complicated flux of energy and tried my best to make out the visual concept of glowing energy fields surrounding each body. I thought about something I had read a year prior; when I had first began my spiritual journey and was curious about the empath phenomenon. The book had touched on the topic of auras and energetic fields, specifically those surrounding human beings. It warned those sensitive to others frequencies to cleanse their own aura/field on a consistent basis, as we pick up on particles of others auras like a cloth wiping dust off the countertop.  So I tried to visualize the complicated flow of drifting particles from aura to aura, and I even considered the social connections, what that might look like if it were drawn out over this crowd of people. This is why I don't get invited to parties any more.

I guess I'll go back to when I was first learning about this concept. Although our elementary science school classes have taught us this since we were 10 years old, I had never truly thought about the fact that everything is energy. I knew the laws of energy, and that every physical object is made up of atoms that are always moving and vibrating. However, I never considered that as a result, everything and everyone emanates a unique vibration/frequency, and I especially did not consider what effect one vibration might have on another. Or even the fact that NON-physical/visible things, such as emotions or feelings, give off a vibration as well, and that thought is the most potent of all vibrations.

Most people are only looking inside our frame of knowledge. In other words, they only relate to what they can see, verify and test. They rely only on their 5 senses to tell them what their reality is. They are only using their sensory level to define their frame of knowledge in the time we are living. We need to realize that something can be a reality even though we can't use our 5 senses to verify it.

It wasn't until years later that I truly began to understand that if we are energy, and everything around us is energy, there must be some form of a connection amongst this huge sea of vibrational energy. Researchers from UCLA, Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research Laboratory, St. Petersburg University and Bielefield University have all found evidence that we do in fact emit – and receive – sources of energy.While I was watching the crowd at the party from above, I observed the physical effects everybody had on each other, as individuals wove their way through a pool of people or the way large groups merged and fluctuated, or a couple friends danced with one another or the intimate moment a couple was sharing in the corner. There were so many interactions happening simultaneously, it was quite overwhelming to think about how these interactions would look on a metaphysical level. However, the idea stuck and the curiosity persisted. I truly wanted to discover if our coexistence of vibes, our auras, could have a profound effect on one another. This thesis project became a great platform for me to study further what I was so intrigued by and what affected me on a day-to-day basis.

To get some genuine answers, I conducted a field study, where I publicly asked online a very broad question, and received 28 responses about an intimate moment these individuals have had in their lives. I decided to keep the question so general, as to keep answers genuine, unbiased and personal -- where each response is unique to each individual. I asked these people to describe the most significant intimate interaction they have had with someone in their life, without mention of anything spiritual/metaphysical. I conducted this simple questionnaire as one of the first sources for my research on this subject, and the real, raw, touching responses became a huge motivating element to continue my thesis on this topic. Here are a few anonymous responses I received:

-The first time I kissed someone of the same sex and actually meant it in a romantic way was life changing. I still remember the whole entire interaction. The whole ride home I felt the tingle of his lips still lingering on mine. My whole body was buzzing. To this day when I think of him he will always mean something to me because of the moment we shared

-My boyfriend and I got into a fight around October. We were outside at a park and he was yelling and stormed off. As I was sitting on a bench sobbing, this older lady (a stranger) approached me and started rubbing my hair and back as she gave me a prayer. She was praying for happiness and for me and the "gentlemen" to have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship. She had no idea who I was. That was one of the nicest things someone has ever done for me.

-Upon hearing the news of my dad remarrying, my mom gathered my sister and I in her room and we just sat by the bed and cried together. I was still on the younger side and didn't have the best idea of the situation or its significance, but seeing the strongest women I knew crying before me hit me pretty hard.

-The most intimate I've been with someone was with my first love. We had just had sex and we cuddled each other to sleep while naked. I've never felt comfortable being naked but I did then. Skin against skin is something unexplainable

-Being awake late at night on the phone with my best friend. Crying because I loved her so much, being vulnerable, being honest, being met with the same understanding and love. Pure.

-after everyone left the party and we were glued to the patio deck, listening to the sounds of the night and staring at the clear night sky. It was with a best friend and another friend but something about that night, everything was out in the open and our souls were just completely exposed to one another. I have never felt a stronger connection to anyone then i have to those two people that night

- I'd never been looked at the way he looked at me. It was the way someone's eyes look when they hear a beautiful symphony moving them to tears or the way someone looks at an astounding piece of visual art. It was like he was looking directly into my soul and looking through me. I was still thinking about it hours later when I was with another friend of mine. I told her, "that was the most intimate moment I think I've ever had. I've never felt so vulnerable but also so loved and appreciated". It was even stranger that it happened in such a random place such as class, because when you think of intimacy you think of being alone with someone. But in reality the most intimate moments can be shared in just day to day life. What I find most profound about it is that that moment was when I knew that I would cross oceans for this man and that our connection was anything but ordinary. It's funny how just looking at someone's eyes can foster such a feeling of intimacy and pure vulnerability and acceptance. How such a deep connection was made without physical contact or words of any kind. Overall, I believe that that moment was the deepest connection I've ever shared with another person, and the moment I recognized the love of my life.

-The most intimate connections that I have had with others were always those where people let the walls around their heart fall. Once I had a conversation with one of my best friends behind the football bleachers at my school and we both expressed what it felt like to be heartbroken. He was never someone to express anything other than happiness and sarcasm, as was I. But we both felt the same pain beyond description and to express it was a burden off of our hearts. Needless to say there was quite a bit of hugging and crying and yelling about awful things in this world that shouldn't happen but do. But not all moments of intimacy in life are negative. For me attraction is simply a small part of intimacy. True intimacy comes from love and closeness.

-If you look up the definition of intimacy, you'll find that the root of intimacy is trust. I had always assumed it was more of a sexy word. Intimacy begins as fragile and blind, and these first stages have many of the most breathtaking moments. But it's once trust has been built up that truly 'intimate' moments can happen. My most intimate moments are with my lover, lounging about half naked, not caring which way my body squishes or how it appears

-It was 2-3 years ago. I discovered that I was bisexual back then. I live in a country where being gay is illegal, which was why I couldn't be comfortable of who I was. I needed someone to help me, but I didn't know who to talk to. I spoke to my computing teacher about it, and he told me that he knew it was hard to accept it and to live with it. He also stated it was very normal, was not a sickness and he would always be there for me. After he ended his speech, he came near me and hugged me. That hug... Words cannot express how good that hug made me feel. I felt like I was finally accepted; more importantly, I had accepted myself. It was like I was in a black hole where I was all alone, and someone took my hand and got me out of that hole. Since then, I knew that there was at least one person who would always be there for me. And that hug proved it. You can never know how important just one hug can be for a person.

These findings gave me a whole new positive perspective on the topic, and by hearing real stories from people, the concept resonated with me on a new personal level. It made me truly think about the sea of energy we call life, and how we all intertwine and entangle with not just people we pass by every day on the street, but those we are closest with, and how beautiful those interactions can be. These anonymous, personal stories related to the topic of my thesis affirmed that the idea of intimacy a highly significant subject for people. The project itself took on new, positive meaning, but additionally the way I apply these aura principles to my everyday life became much more positive and dynamic - hearing stories from others made me think about the significant role my own energy field could play in all this. I realized that I had the potential, the power, to help create more of these beautiful moments described by anonymous participants, and that as an Indigo child, I had an obligation to create positive shifts in the energetic atmosphere around me.

Because you are part of the universe, the ripples come back to you and give you back a doze of similar essence. You cause a change in the energy field around and in you, and it ripples, touching everything. And everything of course ripples back in reaction, sending it back to you, all multiplied.

Everything you do - how you behave and how you think and feel will be vibrated into this sea of energy and hence it is affecting everyone in it - making a ripple.Anything you do, any thought you have, ripples on forever and changes the composition of the whole universe, however small that change is.

The best thing you can do to make this a better world is to change your own attitude to everything around you - people, animals, plants - think positive and act accordingly.

When you get intimate with anyone you merge with their energy. Christians often call this connection ‘Soul ties’. It is also widely discussed in the study of Tantric Sex.

Many, including I, believe that we are permanent souls in temporary bodies- a particle of the Divine, of the Creator, The Source - God.

 With many of my paintings, I spend a great deal of time trying to decide composition and how my subject will be posed in order to best convey the mood/message of the piece. However, with these paintings, as soon as I came up with the topic, I had a distinct vision in my mind of exactly what I was trying to convey. This idea had been dormant in my mind for so long, it's as if I had been subconsciously planning this design for nearly a year, as if it was a visual I was destined to create, as if my mind was begging me to unveil these plaguing thoughts in a creative way. For my first painting, I was very much focused on the individual and the unique aura each person is emanating. Due to the fact that this piece is so focused on introducing the concept of the aura, I did some further research on what auras are before I began sketching out the design that was in my head. An aura is a colourful, multi-layered oval energy field that is sometimes referred to as a psychic energy field. All living things are surrounded by an aura, which are oval-shaped, coloured bands of sounds, lights and vibrations. Scientifically, these magnetic energy fields are a complex combination of atoms, molecules and energy cells and can be sensed, felt and even seen around the physical body. Spiritually, the aura can provide insight into the spiritual, emotional and physical aspects of the individual. It contains information about our physical, emotional and spiritual health and can reflect the condition of our chakras, holding a multitude of information about one's past, present and future. The aura is something that I believe must be familiar to the individual, and purified, before interacting with others fields. This is why I chose to paint an individual prior to introducing the interaction between auras.

The Kirlian camera really assisted me in developing the visuals of the aura in my painting when I began to experiment with high flow paint. In Russia, 1939, Kirlian photography became the first real scientific method of capturing the glow or energy field surrounding a living subject, using a high voltage camera which converts the non-electrical properties of an object into electrical properties. The following images are a result, showcasing evidence of a human aura. With this first painting, I wanted to depict the individual in an utter state of peace/serenity as they lay lavishly in their aura. To further focus on the purification & cleansing of the individual aura prior to deep interactions with others, I depicted the individual as though they were submerged in water, as ocean water contains salt and minerals, and submerging yourself in water helps cleanse your aura by drawing out minor psychic debris.

As you walk around this world, and you interact with the world around you, you are also interacting with the auras of others – you are interacting with their energy.  As your aura crosses the aura of another, you are given a brief glimpse into the experiences of another.

I had read something similar to this in the past and not felt as strongly about it as I did after filming my 2nd thesis. This part of my thesis was probably one of the most significant in terms of keeping me intrigued and inspired by the original concept. I chose to use film as my medium for this second piece, using it to purely showcase my intentions with the project overall, using visuals that distinctly show and tie together the idea of energies interacting. I had never done anything like this before; filming strangers sharing intimate moments. At first it felt very creepy and strange… because it is creepy and strange… but some of the things I documented just by watching others like a creep, are things I would not have noticed otherwise. It was extremely eye opening to view these people like that townhouse party, with the world as my crowded living room, focusing in on all the many, many personal moments that happen within the large picture of life that we hardly take a chance to observe or appreciate. As I was making my way to the city on one of the warmest days we had in April, I did not know what to expect. I figured many people would be outside due to the good weather, but I was nervous that all I would see is people passing each other without acknowledgement, I was scared that everyone would uphold he same attitude as they do on the city subway; no one paying each other attention of any kind, everyone keeping to themselves. I was not feeling certain about what I would capture that day, and I was truly hoping I could document interactions that would fit the preconceived vision I had for this film.

I was extremely happy with what I documented that day. I observed several connections around me in a completely new way. I did not expect to find such sweet moments of intimacy in the busy city, and it was extremely powerful to depict what I imagined the auras of those people would look like as they intertwined and connected.

Now after not only researching about, but seeing these very intimate moments where certainly an interaction of auras took place, I felt strongly about my third piece (the 2nd painting) and was very excited to dive in. Surely intimacy is not limited to romance; my field study proved this. An individual even stated "If you look up the definition of intimacy, you'll find that the root of intimacy is trust. I had always assumed it was more of a sexy word. Intimacy begins as fragile and blind, and these first stages have many of the most breathtaking moments. But it's once trust has been built up that truly 'intimate' moments can happen". However, romance is powerful not only on a vibrational level, but is visually dynamic.

When we live in the love vibration, our energy resonates at a high frequency and we express the God-qualities of compassion, forgiveness, tolerance, respect, generosity, joy, peace—all that inspires, empowers and enhances life. The love vibration lifts us to a higher state of consciousness and frees us of the thoughts, feelings, and actions that minimize and victimize us. Gone are any neurotic fear, guilt, judgment, greed, envy, arrogance, and the ego's stubborn need to be right.

I chose to depict two lovers about to kiss to show not only the close physical proximity, but what that would look like if these individuals auras were about to intertwine. I allowed the auras to spill into each other as a gradient, as these lovers share an intimate moment. This passionate, loving visual was the perfect closure for this thesis, as I initially explored the power of the individual aura in my first painting, then discovered the genuine nature of aura connections when I was filming my second piece. I was so touched by watching such intimate interactions take place, that went into this piece with a loving, positive mindset, fully believing and standing by the subject matter.

This entire thesis project allowed me to develop new knowledge and experience surrounding the effects that our energy fields have on one another. I discovered how truly significant and real the influence we have on each other is. As an empath, I become easily affected by negative vibes which becomes emotionally exhausting at times. Although it allows me to fully understand others pain and completely adapt to the emotion, whether I want to or not. It even reaches the point that if I walk into a room and someone is deeply sad, my eyes begin to tear up and I am overcome with deeply sad emotions for no reason particularly relevant to my life. But I pick up on what others feel very quickly and extremely vividly. This is why I really have no choice but to be vegan, otherwise I would just cry at every meal. As funny as that sounds, it is very very true. Before starting this project, I would struggle with this strong intuition of mine and the way others emotions stuck to me. Even walking down the halls at school, if I pass an individual or a small group of people experiencing tension, stress, sadness, or anger, I feel a pang of it and it sticks with me for a couple moments. This became emotionally exhausting, but further research into this topic for this assignment reminded me how beautiful that phenomenon can be. I realize that my energy field, my vibrations are powerful and influential. I don't have to let others negative emotions influence me, instead I can send my powerful loving vibrations to others to help shift the vibes of not only those I'm intimate with, but the rest of the world on some level. I feel like my art is my channel for transmitting these positive vibes globally, and especially because I focused on such an uplifting and spiritual concept that means so much to me. Scientists around the world are continuing to discover evidence that supports the notion that we do, in fact, have very unique, very real energy fields that do interconnect.  And these affect everything from our thoughts, emotions, to the way we interact with other people and make decisions.

Our vibrating, positive energy can influence those around us. Thoughts cause ripples in this sea of energy. A shift in one part of that massive field of energy ripples on and causes shifts in the parts next to it and they cause shifts in the parts next to them and that ripple goes on forever.

Thank you so much for reading,

love sare xoxo

Works Cited

"The Law of Vibration." Is This Universe One Big Sea of Energy - Are We All Connected? N.p., n.d. Web. 12 June 2017. <http://www.one-mind-one-energy.com/Law-of-vibration.html>.

Marshall, Shirley. "Living in the Love Vibration." Unity. N.p., 13 Feb. 2014. Web. 12 June 2017. <http://www.unity.org/resources/articles/living-love-vibration>.

"What Is an Aura? The Human Energy Field Defined." Sarah Petruno Shamanism. N.p., 02 Mar. 2016. Web. 12 June 2017. <https://www.sarahpetrunoshamanism.com/blog/auradefinition/>.

[amarmeme]

A Trick of the Rain

Pairings: Past Female Lavellan x Solas, Eventual Female Lavellan x Michel de Chevin, Eventual Cullen Rutherford x Lysette Rating: Mature (for now) Chapters:1/51 Read on Ao3 Summary:

Verita Lavellan didn't anticipate falling in love so quickly with Solas, nor did she suspect their subsequent break-up was coming. Free of her vallaslin, head full of doubt and the voices of Mythal's servants, Verita must come to terms with what's happened in order to see the Inquisition succeed. Coupled with her challenges to lead under emotional distress, Verita suspects Cullen harbors feelings for her, an added complication to her already confusing situation.

Michel de Chevin came to the Inquisition with no other options. Itching to find meaning again, he seeks the support of Verita Lavellan in his cause. While the last two years of his life had been incredibly difficult, the last thing he expected was to find himself pining over an elf. It's the least he deserves, really.

VERITA

It is raining again in Crestwood. The gentle mist kisses the Inquisitor’s bare face, obscuring tears tracking down her freckled cheeks. Verita has always loved the foulest weather, thunderstorms raving outside the family tent, hazy mornings when fog dances over the ground like drifting smoke from a dying fire pit. Each crack of thunder or patter of rain calls to her in a way she can’t easily describe, her very soul lighting up with the scent of disruption on the air, synchronous to the magic flowing in her veins. On this somber night she is grateful for the inclement skies providing an excuse to appear put out. Verita drags herself into Caer Bronach, downcast eyes studying her fine boots, the buttery brown leather peppered with dark splotches. Anyone else tracking in from the wild would look as miserable as she feels inside. Who likes being caught in the rain?

Verita usually does.

Charter knows this about the Inquisitor; Charter knows everything whether Verita tells her or not. One look at her leader’s singular-focused trek into the keep and the city-born elf sifts through the puzzle pieces instantly, the initial turn of the head the only indication of notice. Blessedly for Verita, the keep is busy and no one pays her mind. Inquisition spies zipping past merchants and Crestwood natives with an effusive eagerness to pass information up the chain of command. Normally the sight makes Verita glad, two elves in positions of power with no one muttering knife ear or rabbit behind their hands, but the trying day weighs heavily. It is all she can do to not break down and fall to her knees in the middle of the crowd. She is tired of elves, their identity, their struggles and pride, misplaced as it was. All she wants to be is Verita Lavellan. And alone.

Solitude will be impossible to manage since Charter has seen her, and while the spy thinks with breakneck pace, even the dimmest elf wouldn’t miss the obvious -- what is so obviously missing. The loss of Verita’s vallaslin is a burr, snagging her heart as she recalls the moment with piercing clarity. It is hard to comprehend something so vital to her identity could be erased so easily, a mark that kept so many of the people divided for as long as anyone could remember. As if paying respects to the gods made one elf more important than another.

No, Verita corrects. Not respect, but markings meant for slaves.

The storm begins to pick up, winds howling over the top of the parapets. Several merchants stack their goods away from the sudden slanting rain, the clanking of metal and shifting of boots on stone a familiar ambient sound. Not long ago she felt overwhelmed by it all, the mass of people, mostly humans, but also city elves and dwarves and even qunari calling her Herald and handing her metal armor as if you needed something shiny pinned to your chest in order to stay alive. In time though, the name Inquisitor became easier to bear, vhenan easier still. That was the most natural title of all, as easy as breathing or as instinctive as closing your eyes and tipping your head back to face the sun.  

Vehnan. Verita sighs indulgently upon reaching the stairs to her quarters. There’s a keep in every country and a room for her in every keep. After ten months it's still overwhelming.  She pauses at the bottom of her designated place, looking up and wondering if Solas is there. He had departed first, leaving Verita in the clearing alone with her thoughts and the voices of Mythal’s servants whispering unintelligibly in her head. She’d sat until the rain started, contemplating, fighting the urge to stare in the water at her foreign reflection. Part of her believed Solas was still upset about the Well. It was the only time they’d argued and was immediately where her scrabbling mind went. Now if he rests inside, likely consulting the fade on how to further shatter her heart, what should she do? What if he isn’t there? Would that be worse? Indecision rakes its claws across her stomach until the soft press of a hand on her shoulder smothers despondent thoughts. She turns and Charter stands silently, blinking away the rain, the vibrant purple wing tips defining her eyes still perfectly placed. They may as well be tattoos for as precise as they always are. Verita chokes down a sob studying her friend’s dear face.

“Five minutes ago,” Charter whispers.

Verita nods, then looks to her covered feet again. Months ago she’d never worn shoes.

“Come with me.” The spy curls her fingers into the leather at Verita’s shoulder, urging her to move. Verita does, albeit reluctantly, like a child being dragged to bed while the rest of the clan still laughs around the fire.

They walk side-by-side, parting the press of bodies with their status now. A few greet Verita, nodding respectfully, calling her Inquisitor as they pass. She averts her face as best she can knowing whispers will follow in their wake otherwise. There is a storage room just nearby that lets out behind the keep, and the door cannot come soon enough. Verita almost trips inside in haste as Charter swings it open. The spy shuts the door tightly behind them, then shoves a heavy crate at the corner to deter visitors. Now alone, Charter takes the Inquisitor’s marked hand and squeezes firmly. The gesture is kind and Verita’s emotions get the best of her, a flood of tears dripping off her chin at an alarming rate. She did not know how much she needed a friendly touch.

“Let's have a drink,” Charter says. She coaxes Verita gently towards the back door. “You need to let it all out before you burst.”

Verita nods, sniffling but somewhat comforted. The beauty of a spy as a friend is that they carry nothing of themselves on the surface to grate on your nerves. A good spy is cool, collected, forgettable, calm. A woman like Charter listens and listens well for she knows the value of words and how they can be used to hurt, and sometimes heal. Solas had broken off their attachment and her only sense of relief came from the fact he'd done so in Crestwood. At least now she could come up with a plan for holding it together with her closest friend.

The steps leading outdoors are slick with rainwater leaking from beneath the rotting door jam. Verita’s footfalls squelch unpleasantly in the murky puddles and she hurries up to greet the rain again. Angry drops of water hammer against the other side of the wooden door and the two elves brace themselves before throwing it wide. Embracing the chilly rush of air and the rain on her face, Verita breaks from the keep first, carrying herself as steadily as she can across the dam’s walkway to the abandoned tavern. The Rusted Horn’s namesake flutters in the wind, pellets of icy water plunking against the instrument in an uneven rhythm. Verita shoves the tavern door open with a hip, remembering how it caught the last time she was here. Instead, it flies open and she stumbles inside with a start, staff knocking against the floorboards.

“Oh!” She catches herself on her hands.

“We fixed that.” Charter pulls her friend off the ground, and Verita thanks her, rubbing her chaffed palms.  

The tavern is dark, yet seemingly bereft of teenage lovers. Verita doesn’t think she could handle that sight right now. A cool blue light engulfs her hand as she heals her raw palm and it serves just fine as a torch to find the fireplace. The tingle in her skin from the healing magic prickles the back of her neck and she shivers slightly as the hair on her arms raise. The sphere of blue light makes the fireplace easy to spot and Verita pulls out her staff. She throws a fireball at the scattered stack of wood laying in the pit and it catches easily, though she casts once again for good measure.

Impressed, Charter leans against a column across from the fire to watch. “It seems convenient being a mage,” she says. The spy twists back, reaching underneath a nearby bench, pulling a bottle from a sack of grain. “But without me you wouldn’t have this.”

Charter pops the cork and gestures with the wine for her to sit at the opposite bench. Verita joins, the healing magic blinking away in an instant, and rests her staff against the side of the table. They’re in no danger, tucked away in the shuttered tavern. Once there would have been music and laughter here, but it still remains a ghost of itself. There were no dedicated troops for fixing up the place, enough were needed for the upkeep of Caer Bronach, but in the firelight Verita can see that someone has made an effort to tidy up The Rusted Horn. The cobwebs have been cleared, the tables wiped clean of dust and droppings. There’s nothing behind the bar, but she makes a mental note to have that looked to. The men and women stationed in Crestwood could use a place to relax.

“Here, you deserve the first drink I think,” Charter says. She passes the wine to Verita. It is ancient, judging by the crumbling label, though the whole tavern had been abandoned for nearly ten years. She takes an experimental sip, judges it to be poor quality, and with a twitch of the nose, takes a long pull. Charter’s brows can get no higher. “I’m good, but even I can’t make fine wine appear out of thin air.”

“If only you could,” Verita gags. “This will need do.”

The two trade drinks before the crackling fire, until the familiar feel of a different sort of tingle returns to Verita’s body. It hits her slowly, a pressure against her shoulders and the back of her neck, until her face flushes and the sensation is gone and replaced by a heavy warmth. Charter watches her friend closely, carefully -- judging the precise moment when to ask her questions. They trade back and forth for nearly a quarter of an hour, not saying anything, Verita grimacing over the wine until the taste no longer matters much, Charter holding her tongue. Thoughts of Solas, the shocking effect of his words and his actions, mix with the vague roiling voices of the vir'abelasan and the lulling passivity of the alcohol until Verita realizes the bottle is more than half gone. Upon seeing so she slumps against the table.

“I never drink,” she sighs against her folded arms. She rests her head against her top-most wrist, closing her eyes against the world.  

“You don’t lose a vallaslin every day either,” Charter adds. It sounds like a jest and Verita peers up incredulously. Charter is not laughing, rather tapping her forefinger against the glass neck. “Tell me, Verita. You’ll feel better or I’ll arrange an accident. Either way.”

“I don’t want that,” she admits. It is true, she doesn’t want to harm him. Just discover what happened, understand if there is a way to fix things. Verita sits up straight, hoping to put her thoughts in some order.

“I hardly know how to explain it. He wished to tell me what I meant to him and in the end he called himself a distraction and refused to let me in. I just--” she gulps down a hard lump in her throat, “don’t know what I did wrong?”

“You? Nothing.” Charter grabs her hand, thumb brushing against the back of her wrist. “And the tattoo just slid off in shock?”

“Why are you so fixated on that?” Verita grabs back the bottle and takes another drink, despite not needing it.

“A tattoo doesn’t just disappear . My guess is he did special magic somewhere in the middle bit you’re glossing over. Maybe because it’s worse than some aloof apostate asshole leaving you.”

Verita sags, hands falling flat on the table. The anchor sparks, casting her face in green light and she can see her reflection in the glass bottle. A pain flares in her chest so sharply she almost cries out. For while there’s still a shred of hope in her heart that she can convince Solas he’s no distraction, there’s no turning back from the truth of his words about her people. While he might lie about his wishes and desires, he wouldn’t lie about what he saw in the fade. Her chest burns with the truth he laid bare, and Verita fears the awful words will turn her to ash if she doesn’t expel them now. “The vallaslin were slave markings,” she whispers. “We misunderstood their purpose, and in the moment I thought--”

Her mind is a blank. In truth, she still doesn’t know what to think. Even if they were slave markings once, they are not now. That is not what they stood for in her clan, or any clan for that matter. Verita wishes she could blame Solas for the loss of her vallaslin, but that would not be fair. It was a choice, one she made of her own volition, and she must live with it. To admit this, even to a friend, is more difficult than she imagined. Shame bubbles up from the pit of her stomach. Her ears burn with it, and she finds herself crying again. I threw it away, she thinks. How can I ever return to my clan? “You still can honor your gods without a mark on your face,” Charter reasons. “Even a few flat ears manage, despite having even less clarity than you do.” It sounds harsh, but Verita knows it not meant as such. She alone has more knowledge, seen more artifacts and signs of her ancestors than most elves do in their lifetime. And despite how much the Dalish misinterpret, the few faithful left in the cities make do so with even less. It is no small wonder many turn from the Creators and accept the pittance of faith they can glean from the teachings of Andraste. Suddenly the question that plagued her once Solas shared his learnings from the fade comes into focus again. If the gods had slaves, were they still gods at all? Verita’s insides twist with this lingering question like the great roots of the Vallasdahlen in the Emerald Graves.

“I’ve learned more about the history of our people as the Inquisitor for a human religious order than I have in my entire life. How is that possible?” “You’ve travelled father in the last ten months than you have in your entire life. Pity you had to visit Orlais to discover more of your past.” Charter’s scorn for Orlesians is barely hidden and Verita sighs weakly in agreement.

“Verita,” Charter says, voice turning even again. “You are no less Dalish -- no less who you have always been -- because of your bare face. You are Verita Lavellan. Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste,” this she says with mirth, mouth quirked, “you’re saving the world, all the Theodosian gods will forgive you this slight. And furthermore, maybe Solas was right.” Verita blinks, mouth falling open in surprise. It is the last statement she expected to hear from her friend. “We are close, I can feel it. Every day we see fewer of Corypheus’ army, perhaps because they are defeated, or more likely they gather for a final push. Maybe you need to focus on what the Well is trying to tell you. Solas, in his idiot way, was attempting to help get out of your path so you can do so. As much as I'm loathe to admit it, I agree with the scoundrel.”

Out of all that sound reasoning one word jumps out at Verita. “Scoundrel? He's no pirate.”

“He's no meager apostate either. Half a dozen of one, six of the other. I've said it before, he's hidden his past as well as I have. And if I'm telling you I'm a spy, what's he not saying?”

Verita sighs, pushes her fingers into her hair, massaging her aching temples. She cannot disagree. “You sound like the Iron Bull.”

“Good.” Charter steals back the wine, finishing the last gulp. Afterwards she raps her nails against the scarred wood table before pointing at Verita with the empty bottle, two fingers in the mouth. “Maybe you should see Bull, let him help you gain that focus .”

“You can't believe I'd actually do that.” Verita shakes her head; it is heavy, so heavy with all the drink. There’s no possible way she’d run off to another to solve her aching heart. The sudden thought of dextrous, lithe fingers running along her collarbone makes her insides ripple with anxiety and she must focus on the flickering fire to keep from being overwhelmed.

Charter shrugs, flipping the wine bottle off her hand and into the other. “Not elfy enough? Maybe you need the opposite, for perspective.” Charter grins as Verita waves dismissively in her direction.

“Okay, Sera.” Verita scolds halfheartedly. There’s one elf in Skyhold she can't seem to relate to at all. Not that any of them are excellent confidants. The only other Dalish elf refuses to admit she's also a mage. That kind of delusive game is not one Verita would like to take part in.

“How about Blackwall? He's always looking at you with those big beardy eyes.”

“Stop,” Verita pleads. The conversation is going a direction she does not want to follow, uncomfortable about the topic of Blackwall. There’d been some miscommunication on her part early on. One minute she’d being what she thought was polite, the next he was dissuading her from an apparent relationship.  “I don't know why there aren’t more elven men in the Inquisition,” she says. Charter lets her move on adroitly. “Besides you, me and Sera there's so many female elves around. Fiona, Dalish, Skinner, Elan, Helaine. There's not another elf-blooded male for miles.”

Charter laughs. “Do you think Solas marked his territory?”

Verita considers how easy it would be to send a bolt of lightning through her friend. She'd not even need to move so much as a muscle. But, it is better to be annoyed than sad. Nothing is quite funny yet.

“Oh come on,” Charter smiles. “Maybe this is divine intervention telling you to give up on men and try women after all.”

“I think you’re partially right. I should figure out what the Well is trying to say and forget about men altogether. I don't know how to pretend this,” she gestures to her face, “didn't happen.”

Leaning forward, Charter practically purrs with a deep throated malice. “You don't pretend. You let Solas explain that one.”

“I-- I couldn't.” Her heart beats quickly with the temptation of letting someone else break the news.

“You don't think Leliana would find out anyway? One word and I'll send a raven. He's going to have a head start on you. Might as well make his return as fruitful as his little trip to Crestwood.”

Verita gasps. She does not want to give Solas reason to be more upset with her and while there’s no certainty in what Leliana's actions might entail,  she's spent enough time with the woman at the war table to know how she thinks. “You wouldn't!”

“Nothing like that, we’re not going to torture it out of him. You're too sweet for your own good. I'd eviscerate him if I were you.”

“Lucky for all of us you're not!” She waves both her hands to clear the air of the talk of torture and disembowelment. “I'm tired, let's just go.” Verita stands abruptly, and finds it is hard to keep from wobbling over. “Oh,” is all she can manage.

Charter helps the Inquisitor up and mutters about putting out the fire while carrying a drunken elf. Verita simply wiggles her fingertips and water pours down the chimney, killing the flames. They leave the tavern as quickly as they came, though at some point the rain stopped. The twin moons, Satina and Hyperios, hang low in the sky. Their presence is usually so calming, but Verita has to look away knowing every pair of any kind is like to give her a twinge of longing.

The passage back inside Caer Bronach is still clear and open, wooden door creaking in the wind. After a cautious trip down the wet stairs, Charter leans Verita against the large casks and makes her sit still as she moves the crate she wedged against the door an hour or so before. Verita’s head spins with the drink, her copper-haired friend transforming into two wiggly forms, and she closes her eyes. The first thing she pictures is the last image she wants to, Solas leaning in for an urgent kiss as if his life depended on it. The press of a hand on her arm is so real that Verita sways into the touch. A softly cleared throat brings her attention back to the present and her eyes pop open, the image erasing from her mind’s eye like sand through her fingers. A trace of regret lingers. Charter doesn’t speak, but ushers Verita through the room.

Mythal'enaste, the main level of the keep is sparse, only a handful of agents remain for evening duty. They pay the pair little heed, as any good agent should. Charter walks Verita up to her quarters; a quiet, empty room. All of Solas’ possessions are gone of course, and the sight of Verita’s pack alone against the far wall causes her heart to sink, capsizing from the weight of too many reminders. Where there was two now there is one.

She rests her staff against a stone wall, the head incandescent with the trickle of magic she sends to light the room. Everything is awash in the flickering orange glow of magic flames. Charter maneuvers Verita down to the mattress, holding her shoulders lightly as if she might shatter. After receiving help peeling off her boots and wet clothing from the other woman, Verita crawls into bed.

“Thank you, Charter.” She mumbles into the pillow. It is still smells like Solas from the night before, a combination of crushed herbs and paints, and the sharp, pleasant tang of magic in the air. Verita gasps a little, inhaling the heady scent. She flips the pillow over, and says as she settles again, “Maybe send the raven.”

[drlauralwalsh]

Don't Be Mad at Me.

Anger is a necessary stage of grief.  Right?  It may be the therapist in me but I can’t get mad at my dead wife.  Technically, it’s her fault that she’s dead (by suicide).  I’ve got no beef with her because I understand.  And you can too.

I recently read “Suicidal: Why We Kill Ourselves” by psychologist Jesse Bering.  Ok fine, I listened to the audiobook while doing yard work.  I found the book oddly satisfying and peaceful.  Death has that effect on people - especially horrible deaths.  The really sad things end up….well, validating.  It makes us morbid and we want to talk about gross stuff.   It can also make us really funny - like the beautiful charm of my dead wife’s thumbprint on a necklace.  IT’S A CHERISHED KEEPSAKE!  It doesn’t matter that the print was taken posthumously.  As the widow, you have to agree with me.

Dr. Bering’s book is a mix of academic research and personal stories.  He touches on Baumeister’s stage theory of suicide first described in the 1990 article “Suicide as escape from self.”  Dr. Berring applies Baumeister’s stages to the diary of a young woman who died by suicide.  On the outside, the young woman appeared successful and happy.  On the inside, she was suffering.  Her journal entries follow a predictable pattern, describing the downward spiral towards her death.  

As you know, suicide is a bit of a soapbox for me.  Baumeister’s steps bring order to a chaotic experience.  For me, it shifted how I thought of events before Patty died.  Instead of thinking of it as a series of choices she made, her death became something that happened to her.  Understanding the progressive stages of suicidal thinking makes the process knowable.  It doesn’t answer the bigger question of why bad things happen but it’s a start.

To my fellow suicide loss survivors - this doesn’t mean you missed something.  Obviously, we did because, you know...but let’s take the young woman as an example.  It only became evident to her parents in retrospect.  We only see the whole picture once we’ve put the puzzle together.  In the middle, there’s not enough information to know anything for sure.  However, these stages do provide important information for more effective prevention.

I was trying to think of the perfect blend of dark humor and suicide education.  It’s actually not that funny aside from one liners like, “Thanks for your help!  I would have asked my wife but dang it, she killed herself,” or “Patty and I had planned to move south for retirement but she retired early.”  The best I can do is give you interesting information and hope this helps you understand your loved one.  Here’s my interpretation of the stages:

Stage 1: Falling short of Unrealistic Standards

An earthquake event creates what I call the tsunami.  Something big happens- bad news, a diagnosis, loss or divorce, or a critical tipping point.  It crashes over and overwhelms you.  We’ve all had this happen to us.  How we deal with it comes down to locus of control - in other words, who gets the blame and responsibility.  Generally, everyone is inclined to either believe the world acts upon you (externalizing) or you act upon the world (internalizing).  The objective truth lies somewhere in the middle.   In the extreme, externalizers point to everyone else as the cause of their misery while internalizers put themselves at risk by hoarding all the blame for themselves.  

Stage 2: Attributions of Self

Taking blame and responsibility is power.  However, some internalizers also have unrealistically high expectations of themselves.   Realistically, sometimes things just happen to us (i.e. the world acts upon us) and there’s no one to blame.  An internalizer’s downfall is believing they have more power than they do.  Some complex experiences can’t be fixed by one person and internalizing individuals believe this is a personal failure.  This is a point of intervention if the person can catch it.  Otherwise, it’s the kindling of despair and low self esteem.  

Stage 3: Heightened Aversive Self Awareness

Now that the individual has absorbed more blame and responsibility than they can possibly manage, they cannot help fixating on the painful awareness of failures.   An unintended result is withdrawing and detaching from the support of friends and family.   As these connections are lost, the individual feels trapped  inside a thick wall of glass.  Unable to receive help or shift to the bigger picture, the individual turns further inward.  Without access to perspective and social support, they begin running out of options.   

Stage 4: Negative Affect

A downward spiral builds on negativity from the previous stages.  The awareness of perceived inadequacies is now excruciating.  Coupled with social detachment, the individual feels completely alone with their now unsolvable problems.  The pain, endless and unbearable, gradually overwhelms their ability to cope.  

Stage 5: Cognitive Deconstruction

Escape from their own mind is the one last, stopgap strategy.  Now detached from their internal struggle, the person avoids or rejects the pursuit of answers or meaning.  Time slows down as a switch from future thinking to each current moment occurs.  “Going through the motions” temporarily numbs painful emotions as the individual distracts from the pain with mindless, concrete functions like chores, simple games, or mundane tasks.  Tightly holding back the tide of painful thoughts takes all their emotional energy.  Little consideration is given to friends or family and the individual may see themselves as a burden.

Stage 6: Disinhibition

In this last stage, the person can only think in black-or-white.  The pain inside the glass prison has no time - no beginning or end.  Substance use, careless or risky behaviors, self harm, and social passivity are signs of impaired reasoning.  After exhausting all other strategies, the individual concludes it comes down to  inescapable pain or death.  No one could endure this level of  unremitting pain for long.   Resigned and accepting their impending death, the individual’s pain tolerance increases and their fear of death crumbles.  

Passing through these stages may take months or even days with significant overlap between them.  In retrospect, I can see my wife moving quickly through each of these stages over a handful of days.  She didn’t know what was happening and neither did we.  One of the reasons we don’t always recognize this process is precisely what makes it fundamentally human - the individual is trying to solve their problems.  It’s instinctive to seek options to ease our own pain.   How can we tell when someone crosses that razor fine line between coping and the downward spiral when it looks the same?

It’s important to understand that a death by suicide is something that happened to your loved one rather than a series of rational choices.  Inside the experience of intense pain, time stops, rational thought leaves you and the options narrow.  We’re not inside their heads but we can map out the path they took.  Consider this: imagine you’ve lost something precious down a deep well.  You climb down inside, searching ever deeper for it.  You know it’s there but you can’t find it.  Darkness falls and now you’re stuck clinging to the wall.   How deep is the well?  No one hears your cries for help.  You’re cold and your muscles are giving out.  How long could you hold on?

A reasonable person with perspective does not choose death.   Yet as a culture, we still lay blame and responsibility in the dead person’s lap.  What we don’t understand, we externalize.  They decided to kill themselves, right?  This assumption lacks empathy.  The raw fact is in a similar situation, we might make the same “choice” as well.  Everyone has a limit.

After my wife died, the pain of losing her has been intense and unyielding.  I longed to be with her.  My own death seemed the only choice to accomplish this goal.  If she’d dealt with her pain by running off to Antarctica, I’d want to follow her there.  What has protected me from following the path we’ve outlined?  

For starters, I see life from a different angle.   While I’m an internalizer, I also give the world it’s fair share of responsibility.  Sometimes shit just happens and life isn’t fair.  As a recovering control freak, I now acknowledge my high need for control - and the limits of it.  Most of the time, I control by choosing not to fight.  

Our motivations are different as well.  What pushed her down the path was a tangle of events she found too complicated to resolve.  Similarly, I too have a complicated tangle of grieving her while sorting out the estate, comforting the kids, and making very difficult choices for my life.  

One big difference between me and most people is that I never fail.  It’s not that I don’t make mistakes, of course; it’s what I do with these adverse experiences.  In my mind, they are puzzles to solve.  Even as an optimist, I’ve had to work on that mindset.  Understanding something is powerful.  It also strips away anger.  Following knowledge to the root brings clarity.  I just don’t feel angry towards my wife because she didn’t choose to leave us.  She was trying to relieve a terrible pain with the only methods she knew.  She didn’t understand the implications herself.

Right now, I’m solving the puzzle of my wife’s suicide.  Even if I get deep in the well of figuring it out, I’ve got my safety rope to climb back up.  Another tsunami could easily knock me off right now.  The tsunami is the perfect storm.   Given the right set of circumstances, we’re each at risk for suicide.  Research is still figuring out the puzzle of prevention for now.   In the meantime, when the world acts upon you, control by deciding to be vulnerable.  And wherever you go, take your own rope.