#in the aftermath

[goldenasters]

[knightofgalatea]

in the aftermath

Another night I find myself lying awake. What shame I have brought to myself, to my family, to my friends. My parents try to console me, but it only puts me more on edge. I’ve started searching for my old hideaways from when I was a child. I-

Ingrid’s hand stilled at the sound of footsteps echoing down the stone halls of her home.

Or rather, the place that used to be her home. It still was, according to her parents, but it didn’t feel that way any longer. The very marrow in her bones felt like it did not belong any longer, like she were a ghost in a land that had long since passed her by.

She was being dramatic, and she knew it, but sleepless nights could do that. And she had gotten very little sleep as of late.

Ingrid could still taste it, the bitter ash and the bite of copper. It coated her tongue and filled her throat, stifling her until she could not breathe.

Although she had spent her life dreaming of being a knight, a hero who protected her friends and family, when it had truly mattered she had turned tail like a coward.

She remembered it all too well, like a nightmare that she could not wake herself up from. The feel of Luin, steady and cool in her grip. The bend of her knees as she had prepared for battle, the long stretch of shadows bathed in firelight, the suffocating smoke of flame and crumbling stone.

And she remembered, too, the hand closing around her arm. The shouts from a voice as familiar to her as her own. Sylvain taking her arm and yanking her away from the battle, from the duty of a real, true knight.

Animal instinct had kicked in then, and she had raced alongside him. Until her lungs screamed for air, until her thighs burned, until there was nothing in her mind but the sound of footfalls and the slice of each breath that passed her lips.

They had run all the way back to Faerghus, to the remnants of their families.

Clearly she was not a true knight. Maybe she never would be, with how quickly she had let herself be snatched from the battle. She should have fought, should have shaken off her friend’s grip. She had given in so easily, had run away so easily.

There was important work to be done at home, yes, that she could not deny. Helping her parents hold together the fraying edges of the Galatea lands, easing some of their burdens as she used some of what she had learned at the academy.

There was comforting her family, as much as they had tried to console her. There was exchanging letters with Sylvain, who she should have despised for dragging her away from the battle. But she couldn’t find it in herself to hate him, wasn’t sure if such a feeling could still exist within the barren remains of her heart.

All that remained was fatigue, and indignity, and worry. As much as she was barely holding onto herself, Sylvain was doing even worse. Shewanted to comfort him, wanted to ensure he was okay.

Remember to eat, she would write. Try to get some sleep. Your mother needs you.

Sometimes, when she was in her better moods, she would add a joke. Remind him to behave, lest he make her travel to the Gautier lands to give him an earful.

A dry sob rattled in her chest, the pen in her hand quivering as her grip loosened. Ingrid had to hold her breath, keeping her shame caged like an animal as the footsteps drew near.

It felt like a lifetime ago that she had issued such threats to her friend in person. That she had chastised all of her friends. Studied with them. Trained with them. Ate with them at mealtime and waxed on about the newest restaurant she’d heard about not far from the monastery.

Not just a lifetime, it felt like another world entirely. So different from the persistent cold that had buried itself in her bones now, the exhaustion that weighed her down, the nerves that made it impossible for her sleep.

She shifted, and the bite of stone against her side brought her back to the present, reeling her in from the undertow of her thoughts.

Ingrid held her breath as the footsteps came closer, folding her legs up and bringing them to her chest, the journal she’d had on her lap pressing into her stomach.

She’d hidden herself away in an old hidey-hole she had once used as a child, when she was pretending to be a great hero. She was out of sight, and so long as she did not make a noise, she wouldn’t be seen.

Not that she needed to hide, but she’d found she often wanted to, as of late. Especially at night, when sleep evaded her and even the promise of a late-night snack offered her no comfort.

Sometimes she would take off into the night on her horse, searching for places she had once hidden in as a child, pretending they were forts where she needed to prepare for a grand battle. Sometimes she would go off searching through her family home, getting on her knees to wiggle into hidden alcoves or forgotten half-built rooms.

If pressed for a reason why, Ingrid could not think of anything. Perhaps it was because she did not want to be seen, not when she felt the weight of her failure hanging over her like a shroud. Or perhaps it was because she wanted to retreat into her childhood, into a time when she was hopeful and brave and so sure she could be a true knight.

Or perhaps because it offered her some modicum of comfort, hiding away from the world.

She held her breath until the sound of footsteps melted into nothing, leaving her in solitude once more. Even then she breathed slowly, quietly, until she was sure she was utterly alone.

Only then did she stretch out her legs, sprawling out in the small space she had wedged herself into. Her journal tumbled to the side, thunking softly against the stone floor.

She picked it up slowly, staring down at the ink drying on the page. Tonight she was not writing a letter to Sylvain. Instead, she was trying to put her thoughts to paper, hoping it would relieve her enough to finally rest for a few hours.

She thumbed through the pages, nearly the entire journal filled with similar entries, ramblings from sleepless nights and anxious days. Scrawling handwriting describing dreams that had jolted her awake, days where the sun was too bright and hurt her eyes, the shame and sorrow she felt at her actions - or rather, her lack of actions.

It was a grim volume compared to the ones she had used to keep, another part of her childhood she was chasing after along with her hiding places. She had used to scribble about her imaginary adventures, and when she had first gotten to the academy she had written about her classes and her hopes for future adventures. But this was all dismal musings, gloomy thoughts she kept bottled up all day until she had to pour them out somewhere before she exploded.

If it truly helped she wasn’t certain, but she kept at it, night after night, hoping for relief, or hoping that maybe the next day her entry would not be so bleak.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her and she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. She wanted to be better, wanted to be strong.

But could she? Could she ever be a knight, could she ever protect her friends? Her loved ones? Her king?

The line of thought was hard to follow as her mind grew fuzzy, her thoughts drifting away.

She just wanted to protect the people she loved. She just wanted to be like all the heroes in her books.

Her heart ached as she faded away, her dreams blurring together. She didn’t even realise she was falling asleep, not until she awoke, the candle she had brought with her burned low. A puddle of wax was conegealing on the stones, and a sharp pain radiated from her neck from the awkward angle she’d sat in.

Ingrid struggled to her feet, gathering up her things and tucking them into the small satchel she had brought with her. Then she squeezed her way out of the narrow entrance to the hiding place, quickly hurrying for her rooms before the household started to wake.

The sun had not yet risen, but the indigo of the night sky was softening to a warm dove gray, the dawn reaching rosy fingers towards the horizon. She paused next to a window, staring out at it, at the Galatea lands unfurling before her.

How peaceful everything looked, softened by the touch of dawn, like maybe there could be goodness still in the world.

It hurt, worse than any blade piercing her flesh. It was entirely at odds with the taste of ash still in her mouth, the smell of smoke burning her nose, the ringing of steel in her ears.

She shook her head to clear the memories, hurrying down the corridor towards her room. She should bathe, taking advantage of the last vestiges of quiet before everyone roused. She had slept, with was a blessing, although washing herself would certainly make it seem more like she had slept in her bed and not in a dusty corner of the house long-since forgotten.

But when she returned to her room she paused, noticing something on her desk that had not been there when she had absconded when the night had cloaked the world.

A cream-coloured envelope. Small, thin, with neat handwriting scrawled over the top.

She approached it slowly, like an enemy rather than a piece of paper. The handwriting was familiar, and the realisation made her stomach drop.

Ingrid snatched up the letter without a second thought, ripping into it with little ceremony. Inside was a letter, short, simple, little more than a page.

She read through the letter once. Twice. Three times before her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor, silent tears streaking down her cheeks.

Her friends, alive. Her friends. Alive.

For a moment there was no guilt or shame. For a moment there was no failure. For one beautiful moment there was only sweet relief, so sweet that it made her teeth ache.

She cried then, like she hadn’t allowed herself to even in the aftermath of everything. Cried like she hadn’t since she’d been a babe. Cried until her body ached and her eyes were sore and her throat burned.

Slowly she sat up, smoothing out the paper where she had crumpled in her grip as she had sobbed. She wiped her eyes, her room turning silvery as she read through the letter one final time.

The thoughts she’d had when she’d drifted off earlier returned in full force, as bright as the first piercing ray of sunlight cutting through a storm. She would be better. She had to be better. She would protect her friends.

She would not fail them again.

[a-jasminator]

lazarus

[collegeoflore]

the thing is magpie doesn’t feel Guilty at all about choosing treviso. she’s sad about the state of minrathous after and determined to help however she can but guilt? not really. she knows no one in that city would have chosen treviso if the choice had been up to them. why should she feel guilty when these people wouldn’t have helped her either? the crows are the only defense antiva has and She Is A Crow. she went home. there was never a choice.

she’s also deeply still on her bullshit about believing her choices affect Her Only. and this doesn’t really help bc in the end what happens in minrathous truly isn’t her fault like she split the team 50/50 and things happened how they were going to happen. it is Not her fault. so she will continue to think the consequences of her bad decisions are hers alone to bear until the world teaches her some very cruel lessons LMAO

[chloesimaginationthings]

After the Bite of 83 in FNAF..

[snail-speed]

I was handed this joke on a silver platter

[wanderingibon]

anya deserved so much better

[morganbritton132]

Eddie has never sold to Steve Harrington.

He has never nor will he ever sell to Steve Harrington. Sure, he sold to Steve friends who probably give him the drugs but that’s rich boy money.

And sure, Steve has never actually tried to buy from him but it’s the principle of the matter. Which is what makes this so interesting because, “Harrington?”

“Hey.”

Steve has been MIA from school for the past week and Billy has been telling everybody that he beat him to death, and well. It certainly looks like he gave it a good effort. So really.

What’s Eddie supposed to do here? Uphold his morals?

“Can I…help you?” Eddie asks, opening the screen door for him.

Steve hobbled insides and immediately asks, “You sell stuff, right? Whatever anybody wants, you got it?”

“That’s what they say. Got something in mind?”

“Sleep.”

“What?”

“I need - I just need sleep,” Steve says, words fast and a little desperate. “I can’t sleep at my house, man. I can’t. It’s - god, it’s been four days and my head is killing me. I - I feel like I’m going to die. I need sleep.”

Eddie just stares at him, blinking slowly because it doesn’t actually sound like Steve is asking for drugs. It sounds like he’s scared to have his guard down at home so, “Yeah, okay. Um, take the couch.”

Steve is asleep almost as soon as he sits down and when he wakes up a couple hours later, he gives Eddie ten bucks and leaves.

Eddie kinda thinks it’s going to be a one-off situation but a couple weeks later, Steve is back. He only ever sleeps for a couple hours, pays Eddie, and goes.

The only changes are that he eventually graduates from sleeping on the couch to in Eddie’s bed (so Eddie doesn’t have to explain Steve to Wayne again) and Eddie shows Steve where the spar key so he can come in when Eddie is at band practice.

Dont get Eddie wrong, this situation is weird but there are worse ways to make money.

It is what it is until it isn’t. Until it’s… “What the fuck is this?”

Eddie knew Steve was here because he religiously leaves his shoes neatly by the front door but - “A girl? He brought a girl.”

Because, yeah. That’s a blonde sailor girl next to Steve in his bed. They’re both open mouth drooling on his pillows, smell like fire, and look like hell. The only reason he doesn’t kick them out because he knows Starcourt caught on fire last night.

He does pull the blanket off them and goes to sleep in the living room.

He wakes an hour later to the feeling of someone watching him and when he opens his eyes, he’s met with - “Robin Buckley, nice to meet you, Eddie Munson.”

This feels like a trap.

“Uh, yeah. Same.”

She gives him a smile like she has secrets and then holds up a stack of Polaroids, “Does Steve know you take pictures of him while he’s sleeping?”

[toastyyjams]

they took my right to tell you myself. [mizu5]

[cookieclover]

Mute B-127 AU: The Aftermath part 1,5 ?

She'd never admit it, but Elita deeply cares for Bee, and would jump into fire to save him. After Sentinel was defeated, she came to the med-bay to check on Bee, but when she saw what state he’s in, she couldn't help but to ran away. She refused to go back ever since, even when she heard he'd woken up.

I've been thinking about the comic lately, and while I'm still working on the script and storyboards, I'm happy to announce it's coming back sooner rather than later! And in the meantime I thought I'd share some sketches about Elita's side of the story. She is also Not Doing Great.

[todayinhiphophistory]

Today in Hip Hop History:

Kendrick Lamar released his third studio album To Pimp A Butterfly March 15, 2015

[owilder]

Now I want to see RiffTrax take the piss out of In the Aftermath. Come on, boys. Let's go.

[blackkatdraws2]

The highlights of the movie (for me lol)

[tanadrin]

perhaps this is naive of me, but sometimes when i read florid descriptions of the coming demographic collapse all i can think is that as a species, we finally did it--somewhere between the onset of the industrial revolution and the invention of the pill, we finally broke the iron yoke of agrarian civilization that linked our ability to feed ourselves to the size of our population, the yoke that tied the pleasures of sex to the burdens of reproduction, the yoke that meant most people would have to suffer the burden of seeing roughly half their children die before age five. and yes, if this all keeps up, the world will change as a result, change in ways both already kind of sad (a lot of small towns vanishing off the map, as the remaining population continues to concentrate in big cities) and in we can barely begin to understand now (what does the world look like after 200 years of population shrinkage? i can't even imagine). and there will be new problems. i do worry (for example) about how we will care adequately for the aged. there will be significant problems we have to confront. but god almighty i am glad we broke that yoke.

[theartintrying]

the other day my friend said "jayce in a double breasted suit" and my mind immediately went to a kingsman au

so here's some fun quick sketches for that