#the drawing is based on its feelings surrounding the event in the post that was linked

[stovetoast]

its... nothing new. ive always been wrong. x

[babyjakes]

baby barnes | 1. homecoming.

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summary | upon returning from a small solo mission, natasha has something to give to steve.

characters | steve rogers, natasha romanoff, bucky barnes, other assorted avengers, 'baby barnes' (original character)

warnings | all warnings from the original headcanon probably apply (slightly above canon level violence, child abuse, major character death.) very angsty, steve cries a lot.

word count | 1,440

an | based on my baby barnes headcanon, with some slight changes to the universe and storyline. in this version of events, after bucky is killed, nat goes on a solo rage mission to kill everyone at the hydra facility and bring baby barnes home to steve 🩷

"Sorry. This place is a mess."

As hard as he tried, Steve just couldn't pick his gaze up off of the floor as Natasha stood there in the doorway to his living quarters. "It's okay. Things have been hard, I know." The redhead's voice seemed as though it was trying to float through a thick screen of smoke, or maybe Steve was just underwater. Maybe he had been drowning for weeks.

It was quiet as the woman entered, slipping her shoes off on the mat near the door. Steve could feel her careful eyes taking him in, assessing the damage. Every word he pulled from his throat felt like a fishing line digging right back into his burning flesh as he questioned quietly, "Would you like some tea?"

He didn't have to lift his gaze to tell that she had shaken her head. The pair moved further into the room in silent tandem, Steve leading the way over to the long beige couch. The blonde's focus was fleeting as his eyes fell on his friend's lap, before shifting over to the old photo albums on the coffee table, then to the front door, then back to his own folded hands. Natasha cleared her throat, and Steve almost found it amusing, the way she was preparing to speak like she could possibly find anything to say in that moment that would somehow make things better.

"The mission was successful," was what she finally stated, the underwhelming words drawing a knowing look onto the supersoldier's face.

He nodded, doing his best to keep things polite. It wasn't Natasha's fault that he had fallen so out of love with the world; he knew that. "I'm glad," Steve hummed, thinking back to the telephone brief he had received about the agent's assignment before it had been launched. "She's just going in to clear out a suspected outpost. Nothing major," Stark had told him. The captain didn't like sending anyone off on solo missions, but he wasn't in any state to tag along, and thankfully it didn't seem like he was needed.

Through the heavy air, Natasha took another breath before finally speaking again. "I have something to show you." Her hand slipped quietly into her pocket before appearing again, holding a small photograph by its corner. When she handed it to Steve, the man couldn't help but begin to weep.

For a moment, all he could see was the girl's tender face. The face that had haunted his dreams for the past several months, ever since that first 'baby barnes' tape had arrived in the mail. In the photo, which he held tight with both of his shaking hands, the infant's big brown eyes were looking up at something. Her cheeks were round and soft, rosy as ever. Steve couldn't help but wonder when the picture had been taken, how close it was to capturing the baby's last moments on earth before she was put to rest like her father.

Finally shifting his attention away from her angelic face, the blonde trembled as he started scanning the rest of the photo for any clues. Brow furrowing in confusion, he was immediately puzzled by the plush blanket that sat in a messy pile surrounding the baby's little bottom and legs. "What's this?" he paused quietly as he thought back through all the tapes that were permanently engraved in his memory, like an endless reel of vivid film looping across the walls of his troubled mind. Not a single one had shown the infant with any sort of blanket or covering; that would go directly against the purpose of the project. She was deprived of any warmth, human or inanimate, as a simple yet effective form of torture. The blanket in the photo simply didn't belong. Steve was absolutely sure of it.

The next indicator that something was off was the state of the baby herself. She was unusually clean, her ivory skin appearing fresh and well-kept. Her medium brown whisps of hair laid neatly over her small head, lacking the usual knots and mats that he had grown used to seeing. Swallowing hard, Steve was struggling to understand why she looked so different, almost as if someone had been caring for her for the first time in her short life.

Desperate for any sort of explanation, the captain kept studying the photo, trying to make sense of each little detail he could make out. The background itself was insignificant, just a simple wall of dark metal paneling that didn't give any insight as to where or when the picture was taken. But then, in the very corner of the photo, Steve was finally given his answer. The edge of a jacket sleeve was just barely visible against the floor, the navy fabric recognizable to him anywhere; it was Nat's, an old garment from the team's days with SHIELD. The man's breath hitched in his throat as he began to stammer.

"N-Natasha," his voice wavered. "Nat. Where... how... wh-when was this-?" Steve continued staring at the small photo, more tears building in his eyes as he choked back something between a whimper and a sob. "Wh-when did you... w-was this, were you-?"

"This morning," the agent told the supersoldier softly, reaching out to place a steadied hand over one of his shaking ones. "Bruce and I got her all cleaned up and sorted out in the med bay. She wasn't a big fan of the bath, but we got a little smile out of her when we blew bubbles with the soap." Natasha's gaze was tentative, not knowing how Steve would take the news. But as she sat there, watching the revelations sink in for her friend, she couldn't help but let slip what she had been wanting to tell him since the moment she laid eyes on the infant while breaching the lonely Siberian outpost. "After what they did to Bucky, I knew what I had to do," she said quietly. "I had to save her for you, Steve. You would've done the same for me."

All at once, Steve could feel nearly a month of tension and agony lifting from his bones as he took what seemed like his first breath since witnessing Bucky's last through a screen. If he hadn't been seated, he would've fallen to his knees right there, maybe before God or maybe before his dear friend, the one who he now understood had brought the baby back safely after an undoubtedly perilous mission. The baby, the baby, the baby... that was all the captain's mind could hold onto as he sat there, clutching her photo as if both of their lives depended on it. She was alive, she was safe. And she had been brought home to him.

"Natasha," Steve choked out the young woman's name through tears, his voice like warm hands cradling their years of partner and friendship. There was something so unspeakably profound about the endless ways they were willing to live and die for each other; neither of the two could put it into words, but the feeling was certainly present all around as they sat there in the man's small living room, holding onto each other in a moment of shared silence. The gravity of Nat's actions was quick to settle in, and the significance of what she had done- all on her own, without being asked- was nearly unbearable to Steve. "Y-you went... all on your own? You could've-"

"I had to, Steve," Nat cut him off gently, her certainty on the matter unmistakable as it flashed across her face. "You were in no condition to fight, and the others would've only been in the way." As much as he didn't like what he was being told, Steve knew it was the truth. Things had gotten bad for Nat after Bucky's final tape; her decline was much more subtle than that of the captive's best friend, though he was still quick to notice it. It was only his nature. Now Steve understood that when she went dark like that, little could come between the agent and what she set out to do. As much as it worried him sick, that worry couldn't quite outdo the larger sense of relief that was flowing through him like water.

Steve's gaze drifted back to the tiny girl sat posing in the photo, another wave of grief washing over him as he saw a shadow of his late friend gazing back at him through those familiar brown eyes. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha finally made the proposition, "Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to see her."

[incongruence-osaf]

EXCITING NEWS, SECRETS SHARED

Hello!! It is time for me to officially post the first two chapters of my first ever multi-chapter fanfiction story, The Incongruence of Stars and Flowers!!!

So far the word count has reached over 8,000 words, roughly 21 pages at 1.15 spacing (including the current WIP of Chapter Three). This was a huge challenge for me that I am so glad to have started. I'd been keeping this (mostly) a secret for many months during a collaborative creative process.

It started when I saw an application for Sonic Big Bang 2024 zine on Tumblr. Around 300 participants of fellow writers, artists and readers were sorted into secret groups of 2-4ish for developing writing and artwork surrounding story submissions! I had the pleasure of being paired with wonderful artists who made beautiful sketches, concept art, and illustrations based on my writing, linked here: @major-wren (ART) (ART) and @pastelspindash (ART)

Go check out their awesome art (and writing) as well as all the other amazing creatives featured in the zine on the official blog page @sthbigbang! My awesome and very helpful beta readers were/are @starredfishing (Tumblr) and @zaffretension (Instagram) who gave me excellent advice about dialogue, pacing, and plot. THANK YOU!!!

And also a big THANK YOU to the moderators of this expansive event for keeping it running so smoothly, for organizing everything, and for encouraging all of us in one of the most supportive and energizing creative environments I've ever been apart of!!! I have talked to many cool and talented people and I love the community that we have all been growing as a massive group.

I am excited to continue the adventure of learning, reading, and writing to see where this adventure goes with familiar characters. If you are too, I hope you enjoy <3

Without further ado, below is the summary for The Incongruence of Stars and Flowers.

This alternate universe combines the vibrant world and history of Sonic the Hedgehog with our very own, resulting in a version of Planet Mobius that’s both familiar and distant. Yet, this altered reality is neither idealized nor greater than the sum of its parts. 

Anthropomorphic beings, humans, and animals of Mobius are struggling to rebuild their cityscapes, ecosystems, communities, and personal lives in the wake of the cumulative devastation of the Perfect Chaos Flood and the Black Arms Invasion. Shadow the Hedgehog takes a leave of absence from G.U.N. to temporarily settle down in Station Square, laying low after the world-shattering encounter with his alien DNA donor Black Doom. While the cityfolk around him undergo the growing pains of instability, nonconformity, sociological upheaval, and corruption, so too does the alien hybrid. With the support of unyielding friendship in aloof activist Sonic the Hedgehog and cultured confidante Rouge the Bat, Shadow coasts in this new life chapter while feeling profound pulls to unravel memories surrounding his loving creator, Professor Gerald Robotnik and solve mysteries within his environment, mind, and body.

Past and present perspectives interweave to show slices of unordinary lives, drawing from early-to-mid 2000s culture shifts/natural disasters/political tensions, U.S. and European history, and various fields of science as inspiration for this multi-chapter science-fiction drama mystery.

PROMINENT CHARACTERS: 

Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic the Hedgehog, Rouge the Bat, Professor Gerald Robotnik, Maria Robotnik, Black Doom(?), Commander Abraham Tower, Helen (from Sonic X)?, and new original character(s)

Body dysmorphia and dysphoria, racism/speciesism, internalized xenophobia, mentions and possible depictions of police violence, generational trauma, trauma and imagery from medicalized settings, processing grief

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

CHAPTER ONE HERE

[wolpromptaday]

In reference to this mornings prompt.

Writing like all art, is a form of therapy. While this was not intended specifically to reference 9/11 I didn’t hesitate in posting it today for my own reasons.

There are people out there like me who lost people on 9/11, not just in the USA but all around the world in the other attacks. I lost friends from FFXI in the Twin Towers and I’m close enough to DC that the smoke from the pentagon reached my home. For that much, 9/11 has been a rough day for me personally since a decade before the attacks. Some of us have continued losing people for years after in adjacent military campaigns. Some of us know people who were on one or all of the ground zeros. Some of us have never been allowed or able to process our emotions.

If the prompt does what it’s supposed to and makes people think then it’s served its purpose. Perhaps it gives people the space to grieve, releases a long held anger, or lets them cope with their feelings in other ways. Art is therapy.

There isn’t a random draw bot that pulls from a list. I write these prompts for the month ahead of time, meaning I have a list that I make at the beginning of the month and post from each day. I purposely put that one down for today and I won’t apologize for the timing. Yes it’s difficult but it stirs up the emotions needed to be an effective writer.

Yes, sometimes art offends people and sometimes it draws upon strong feelings. In the end you have to realize how much media nods back through history. Take Star Wars for example, the galactic empire was based on Nazi Germany. We turn a blind eye to this because of how popular the saga is. In a few weeks the world will celebrate Halloween and play a song that talks about a massacre in Ireland simply because the song is titled “Zombie”. Never mind that it’s about the events of April 24-29, 1916. It has nothing to do with Halloween. But people continue to turn a blind eye to its true meaning.

The purpose of artists is to make people uncomfortable.

I understand that you and maybe others have a problem with that prompt being on 9/11 but it wouldn’t have an impact on Christmas or New Year’s or any other plain day. For that much it could have been posted on December 7th, or August 6th and no one would have said anything. Because no one really remembers what happened on those days.

I chose a day where the entire contemporary world saw evil and learned the definition of tragedy. Much like the survivors of the previously mentioned dates. Today is a day that has living people who remember what that feels like, the emotions are still raw. Not just in the USA but people who survived attacks all around the world on 9/11/2001. It is far more impactful than any random day. (Though most if not all of the people who have had issue with the prompt were not alive yet or too young to remember the events of September 11, 2001.)

I hope in the end that you are able to respond with an open mind. Tragedy surrounds us every day. You can let it hinder you, allow yourself to be blind to it, or expand your mind and do something that contradicts the intended outcome. Someone wanted the world to fear them. Will you let him win? The world was attacked that day, how do you cope in parallel to your WOL/D?

You do not have the right to not be offended. These prompts are meant to make you hear, feel, think. Our emotions are what make us who we are. If this is something that haunts you and makes you emotional, then I only succeed in our goal.

You’re welcome.

- Griever Worship

[rata-novus]

soto started so strong and ended so. bland.

editing bc i actually really want to rant. hopefully mostly coherent rambles bc im going on like 5 hrs sleep lol

the base release was genuinely, while on the shorter end, good. interesting characters and intrigue, both from the kryptis and the (presumably skeevy) wizards/astral ward. fun lore collections. we learn about one of the astral ward who left, which shouldn’t be possible. the intrigue! (that’s never brought up again.....) the majority of zojja’s post-hot story was done thru text but it was!!! actually v good!! her ascension made me feel a mix of icky at her losing her memories and glad she found a new family - and then all that ~mystery~ and moral ambiguity surrounding the astral ward just *poof* gone.

the nayos patches started and we went from “fighting against the kryptis and also low key side eyeing the astral ward bc what they’re doing seems dubious at best and breaking some kind of moral law at worst” to “the kryptis are literally like any other group we’ve ever encountered and aren’t actually that bad and we need to overthrow their big bad the end”. oh and do about 5-10 events between story steps ty.

there were a lot of qol additions during the soto era, and i’m going to give the next xpac one more shot, but if its of the same calibre or worse (bc what’s going to be the big draw, theyve already pulled ledgy armor out of their back pocket), idk man. idk.

editing again bc i aint done lmao.

and eparch???? built up to be this terrible cannibalizing spider whom the rest of the kryptis wouldn’t dare to question (bc of the cannibalizing thing you see) and in actually he’s small with 2 lil toothpick legs and we fight him for a few minutes and he just. gives up and peitha assumes the role of king. okay. sure. whatever why not. but like..... no backstabbing? its really that simple?

sometimes..... at plot that’s straightforward. is worse. (bc its boring)

i literally could not tell you the story beats surrounding *looks @ wiki* labris, nephus, and the new kryptis general (?) at the end who isnt even on the wiki yet. what even happened? why add all these characters we’re supposed to respect and idk who they even are? build upon the new characters we already met in the base soto story. a small cast could have done wonders tbh. again: lost potential. what a mess.

[evilkaeya]

very sorry if this bothered you in any way but hello hello

i just need some help in getting out of an ongoing art block for several months.

if you're willing to share, what flowers do you consider most suitable for your favorite bsd characters?

there's no restrictions, up to personal preference. it can be based on flower symbolism, aesthetic, your own scenarios, or based on said character's backstory.

could you explain if it's a little complicated? so i can draw with a better guideline rather than going on pure imagination.

if i manage to post it, i'll be sure to give credit. if you're up to it.

anyway, if you liked this idea and you're comfortable with it, thank you so much. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this ask, no harm done.

have a nice day— or night? whenever you see this honestly. take care!

hi hello I'm sorry I just saw this 😭

I actually don't have many bsd characters I associate with particular flowers but I am obsessed with hanakotoba so here we go!!

Chuuya: You guessed it, camellia. It's not my fault he's always surrounded in camellias in official arts + the Japanese meaning of the flower, 'noble death' really suits him, given his personality. I also associate him with red daisies (I just feel like it) and freesia (flower language: trust and friendship!)

Dazai: Oh boy I'm about to get very annoying so bear with me. I associate Dazai with multiple flowers. First, sunflowers! I don't know if this is part of flower language but you know how sunflowers are always following the sun right? Constant inclination towards the light, just like current Dazai. Yes, he has his ups and downs, and yes, he's unsure of his own actions sometimes, but he'll never turn away from the light Odasaku pointed him towards. That's why I think sunflowers suit him. ADA Dazai is VERY dear to me.

I also associate him with daffodils for its flower meaning, rebirth and new beginnings. PM Dazai is sakura to me because of its contradictory meanings (life and death, beauty and violence).

Kunikida: Gladiolus! Because it means strength of character and moral integrity. Kunikida is also one of the few bsd characters with the strongest characteristics, in my opinion.

Kenji: Sunflower again, simply because it suits him (both flower language and aesthetic. I've seen so many art of Kenji with sunflowers and they make me so happy)

Atsushi and Kyouka: I associate both of them with daffodils, again, for it's flower meaning. Atsushi specifically with white lilies too, just because they match his aesthetic.

Fyodor: Black lilies. Because they mean beauty, mystery and death. Also the aesthetics suit him.

Yosano: Iris! They symbolize elegance, strength and admiration in Japanese and I've seen an art of Yosano standing in an iris field once and it stuck with me ever since.

Soukoku: I associate these bitches with too many flowers but I'll give you the ones I think of the most after the recent events. Manjushage or spider lilies, because they mean 'final goodbye' and asters because they mean 'I won't forget you' :)

That's all! Thank you for the ask, I loved answering this <3 I hope this helps you get rid of your arts block, even if it's just a bit.

[ruleofbirds]

𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚕𝚘𝚐_𝟶𝟷.𝟷

Kia Ora, Te Ao!

Hello, World! It's official - Robbie has a tumblr now. Absolutely unfathomable. Honestly, it's mostly because it was this or Wordpress (or a more obscure indie dev forum) and this seemed the most accessible and quirky. I'm sure this won't lead to another awful endless scrolling habit. Any advice for the visual side of things is warmly received! I want this blog to be a fun part of the week, because a lot of fun will be had developing RoB. Just realised that acronym happens to be my name. Could be worse.

Okay! Now that the initial ramble into the void is out of the way, it's time to get into the c o n c e p t.

This tumblr is a devlog for my NZ ecosystem simulator currently titled "rule of birds", which I will be working on for the next 8 weeks as part of Blackbird Foundation's "Protostars" program. This means a weekly check-in with the other creatives in the program, the organizers at Blackbird, and a post for all of you here.

I'm breaking this week's post into 3 sections just to cover the bases;

01.1 -a bit about my creative practice and how it led to this project

01.2 -a discussion of "flocking" in programming (using p5.js)

01.3 -a discussion of NZ natural history

So here's the intro post, where I ramble about myself for a sec.

So! basically, I specialize in spatial design, I love working with anything nature-related, and I want to make a video game.

Lately I've been on a tangent based around art in NZ's cultural context - the design principles behind whakairo (Maori woodcarving) and how their composition conveys meaning, how histories of spirituality, tribal and colonial relations affected design, and my own art interpreting my natural surroundings with photography and charcoal drawing. I can neither confirm nor deny whether there will be an art zine compiling a wee bit of this work on the community table at the Whanganui Zinefest this Saturday.

That tangent branched off into a focus on natural history that's the keystone of rule of birds. My motivation for focusing on an ecosystem simulator is to articulate a basis for the sort of games I want to come out of Aotearoa. The sim will be the proof of concept - and I suppose this blog will be the manifesto.

I feel like there's a massive demand for games exploring NZ history - like, imagine a big-budget maori-led release set in pre-colonial time, with all the unique aspects of survival, resource management and day to day activity that involved - or an assassin's creed type action game based during the time of Te Kooti. It goes unsaid that Kupe is one of the best parts of Sid Meier's Civilization VI - iykyk.

What I think separates a good game from a great one is how alive the virtual world feels - rather than being led through an a-to-b progression of events presented in the same visual style I've seen countless times before, if the world can react in a dynamic way, and the details in the background are crafted to feel organic and immersive, I'm going to want to stop and wander off the beaten track that an objective marker may be pointing me towards.

The last game that caught my attention in this way - and coincidentally the one that made me want to put my coding knowledge to the test with gamedev - was, of course, Rain World. To everyone who knows me, I'm sure you're surprised I've made it three paragraphs without bringing this game up. I'm not going to go into too much detail here, because there is *a lot*, but key points are you are one creature among many scavenging for food in a brutal biomechanical ecosystem, hibernating between cycles of cataclysmic rain, and the game plays like basically nothing else due to how the coded behaviour of every entity in the world follows its own logic that has much more to do with its own survival than the experience of you as a player.

Here's a nice little illustration of the physics behind a movement-sensing tentacle monster, to give a sort of discrete example - but the creatures that act according to behavioural karma systems and the dynamics of how the different lizards scuffle and coordinate with each other is worth looking into too, if this is your thing.

(Source: GDC, Curious Archive)

Now, I really want to jump into some of this behavioural coding stuff, so I'm just going to move on to collecting things for the next post - hope this has been an interesting read! if you somehow found this page in your tumblr algorithm, welcome! I'll also be posting bits on the instagram page @robbiek_devlogs and you can check out my other work on my main insta @robbiek_art

Hei kōnā mai,

Robbie K

Next up: simulation in coding, natural history research post #1

Next week: Adventures in Godot Engine!

[doitinanotherlanguage]

April 2023 Wrap-up: 1930s

(You can read more about the challenge on my post introducing the challenge. Basically, Reading Through the Decades is a year-long reading challenge where we read books - and explore other media - from the 1900s to the 2020s, decade-by-decade.)

Another month gone by! I really appreciated going through the 1930s, learning so much. The more I read and learn about the 30s, the more I keep drawing (worrying) parallels to it and the present day. (idk i’m just feeling pessimistic and shitty bc we’re going to have a more right-wing government in Finland than we have had since the 1930s and we’re seriously gonna be so fucked 🙃)

Anyway.

What I Enjoyed This Month

📖 Lumikadun kertoja (2017; “The Storyteller of Snow Street”), Katja Kaukonen -> Lumikadun kertoja is a novel taking place from 1937 to 1942 in Poland. Bajek, the eponymous story-teller, arrives in a small Polish city, where he has been sent on a mission to observe and record the upcoming events (i.e. Nazi-Germany invading and occupying Poland). He is under strict orders not to get involved in things, but this soon proves to be difficult as he finds himself surrounded by the lively community living in Snow Street. -> This novel has a very intriguing premise since it’s made apparent in the beginning that Bajek is no ordinary man, but instead seems to be some kind of an angel. This novel made me think a lot about the choices we make, especially in difficult situations, and to question passive observation in politically effed up situations. 

📖 It Can’t Happen Here (1935), Sinclair Lewis --> This is a novel originally written and published in the 1930s as fascism was taking over all around, particularly in Europe, and the book also gained a sudden upsurge in popularity in the 2010s when Donald Trump became president of the US. The novel is a cautionary tale about the fragility of democracy and an alarming look at how fascism could take hold in the US. It juxtaposes sharp political satire with the chillingly realistic rise of a fear-mongering, anti-immigrant president who promises to make America proud and prosperous once more. --> This novel is very much of its own time yet it also gives so much to today’s reader. The back cover of my edition describes it as “a cautionary tale of liberal complacency,” which is a very apt description.

🎬 Als Hitler das rosa Kaninchen stahl (2019; When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit), dir. Caroline Link -> A Jewish family has to flee from 1933 Berlin, navigating unfamiliar lands and coping with the challenges of being refugees. The story tackles prejudice, exile, displacement, and adaptation, as told from the perspective of a nine-year-old child. -> This was a very touching film about being a refugee, based on a book about the author’s real-life experience.

🎬 Cradle Will Rock (1999), dir. Tom Robbins -> This historical drama film fictionalises the true events that surrounded the development of the 1937 musical The Cradle Will Rock by Marc Blitzstein. It’s a social commentary on the role of art and power in the 1930s, particularly amidst the struggles of the labour movement at the time. -> I love love love stories about people making subversive art and taking a stand. Labour activism and socialism is my jam, and this is also a fun ensemble movie.

📖 Huhtikuu (1932; “April”), Saima Harmaja -> This is a poetry collection by the young Finnish female poet Saima Harmaja, who died of tuberculosis at only 22 years of age. The poems are about world-weariness, the frenzy of youth, illness, loneliness, love, nature, and death. -> This was an impulse-loan from the library, and I’m so glad I stumbled upon it! Harmaja’s poems are so very touching and lovely. I particularly adore the poem “Syysilta” (”Autumn Evening”), which is a pretty, nostalgia-tinged poem about regretting not having kissed someone in the past.

🎬 The Group (1966), dir. Sidney Lumet -> Based on a novel of the same name by Mary McCarthy, this movie is about the lives of a group of eight female graduates from Vassar from 1933 to 1940. It is a social satire that touches upon controversial topics such as free love, contraception, abortion, lesbianism, and mental illness. -> I really want to read the book now! This film was super interesting; although I found the group of upper-class women endlessly snooty and a bit boring, but the topics addressed are nevertheless fascinating. And it’s always fun to find older movies that centre women!

[jcmarchi]

Stopping the bomb

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/stopping-the-bomb/

Stopping the bomb

“The question behind my doctoral research is simple,” says Kunal Singh, an MIT political science graduate student in his final year of studies. “When one country learns that another country is trying to make a nuclear weapon, what options does it have to stop the other country from achieving that goal?” While the query may be straightforward, answers are anything but, especially at a moment when some nations appear increasingly tempted by the nuclear option.

From the Middle East to India and Pakistan, and from the Korean peninsula to Taiwan, Singh has been developing a typology of counterproliferation strategies based on historical cases and to some degree on emergent events. His aim is to clarify what states can do “to stop the bomb before it is made.” Singh’s interviews with top security officials and military personnel involved in designing and executing these strategies have illuminated tense episodes in the past 75 years or so when states have jockeyed to enter the elite atomic club. His insights might upend some of the binary thinking that dominates the field of nuclear security.

“Ultimately, I’d like my work to help decision-makers predict counterproliferation strategy, and draw lessons from it on how to shield their own citizens and economies from the impact of these strategies,” he says.

Types of nonproliferation tactics

On Oct. 7, 2023, Singh awoke to air raid sirens in Jerusalem, where he was conducting interviews, and discovered Israel was under attack. He was airlifted to safety back to the United States, having borne witness to the start of a regional war that “now has become relevant to my research,” he says.

Before his hasty departure, Singh was investigating two singular episodes where military force was deployed to advance nonproliferation goals: Israel’s airstrikes against nuclear reactors in 1981 in Iraq, and in 2007 in Syria. To date, these have been the only major attacks on nuclear facilities outside of an active war.

“I spoke with Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, who ordered the strike in Syria, and with the commander of the Israeli Air Force who planned the Iraq airstrike, as well as with other members of the security bureaucracy,” says Singh. “Israel feels a large degree of threat because it is a very small country surrounded by hostile powers, so it takes a military route to stop another state from acquiring nuclear weapons,” says Singh. But, he notes, “most of the states which are not in this predicament generally resort to diplomatic methods first, and threaten violence only as a last resort.”

Singh defines the military response by Israel as “kinetic reversion,” one of five types of counterproliferation strategies he has identified. Another is “military coercion,” where a state threatens the use of military force or uses moderate force to demonstrate its commitment to preventing the pursuit of the bomb. States can also use diplomatic and economic leverage over the proliferant to persuade it to drop its nuclear program, what Singh calls “diplomatic inhibition.” 

One form this strategy takes is when one country agrees to give up its program in return for the other doing the same. Another form involves “placing sanctions on a country and excluding them from the world economy, until the country rolls back its program — a strategy the U.S. has employed against Iran, North Korea, Libya, and Pakistan,” says Singh.

India was rumored to have embraced military tactics. “I had always read about the claim that India was ready to attack the Pakistani uranium enrichment plant in Kahuta, and that planes were called off at the last minute,” Singh says. “But in interview after interview I found this was not the case, and I discovered that many written accounts of this episode had been completely blown up.”

In another strategy, “pooled prevention,” nations can band together to apply economic, diplomatic, and military pressure on a potential proliferator.

Singh notes that diplomatic inhibition, pooled prevention, and military coercion have succeeded, historically. “In 2003, Libya gave up its nuclear weapons program completely after the U.S. and U.K. placed sanctions on it, and many states do not even start a nuclear weapons program because they anticipate an attack or a sanction.”

The final strategy Singh defines is “accommodation,” where one or more states decide not to take action against nuclear weapon development. The United States arrived at this strategy when China began its nuclear program — after first considering and rejecting military attacks.

Singh hopes that his five kinds of strategies challenge a “binary trap” that most academics in the field fall into. “They think of counterproliferation either as military attack or no military attack, economic sanctions or no sanctions, and so they miss out on the spectrum of behaviors, and how fluid they can be.”

From journalism to security studies

Singh grew up in Varanasi, a Hindu holy city in the state of Uttar Pradesh. Frequent terrorist attacks throughout India, and some inside his city’s temples, made a deep impression on him during his childhood, he says. A math and science talent, he attended the Indian Institute of Technology, majoring in metallurgical and materials engineering. After a brief stint with a management consulting firm, after college, he landed a job at a think tank, the Center for Policy Research in New Delhi.

“When I moved to New Delhi, I suddenly saw a world which I didn’t know existed,” Singh recalls. “I began meeting people for an evening round of discussions and began reading voraciously: books, editorial and opinion pages in newspapers, and looking for a greater sense of purpose and meaning in my work.”

His widening interests led to a job as staff writer, first at Mint, a business newspaper, and then to the Hindustan Times, working on both papers’ editorial pages. “This was where most of my intellectual development happened,” says Singh. “I made social connections, and many of them grew more towards the academics in the security field.”

Writing about a nuclear security question one day, Singh reached out to an expert in the United States: Vipin Narang, the Frank Stanton Professor of Nuclear Security and Political Science at MIT. Over time, Narang helped Singh realize that the kind of questions Singh hoped to answer “lay more in the academic than in the journalistic domain,” recounts Singh.

In 2019, he headed to MIT and began a doctoral program focused on security studies and international relations. In his dissertation, “Nipping the Atom in the Bud: Strategies of Counterproliferation and How States Choose Among Them,” Singh hopes to move beyond a classic, academic debate: that nuclear weapons are either very destabilizing, or very stabilizing.

“Some argue that there is stability in the world because two states armed with nuclear weapons will avoid nuclear war, because they understand nobody will win a nuclear war,” explains Singh. “If this view is true, then we shouldn’t be alarmed by the proliferation of these weapons.” But “the counterargument is that there will always be an off chance someone will use these weapons, and so states should “try to use all their military and economic might to prevent another state from gaining nuclear weapons.”

As it turns out, neither extreme view governs in the real world. “The main takeaway from my research is that states are obviously concerned when some other country tries to make nuclear weapons, but they are not so concerned that in order to prevent a future destabilizing event, they are ready to destabilize the world as of now.”

In the final throes of writing his thesis and preparing for life as an academic, Singh remains alert to the parlous state of affairs in the Middle East and elsewhere. “I keep following events, knowing that something may prove relevant to my research,” he says.

Given the tense times and the often dark implications of his subject matter, Singh has found an optimal mode of blowing off steam: a daily badminton match. He and his wife also “binge watch either a spy thrill or a murder mystery every Saturday,” he says.

In a world both increasingly interconnected and increasingly threatened by regional conflicts, Singh believes, “there is still much to be discovered about how the world thinks about nuclear weapons, including what the impacts of nuclear weapons use might be,” he says. “I’d like to help shine a light on those new things, and broaden our understanding of nuclear weapons and the politics of nuclear security.”

[containmentbreachsblog]

Naturalist Manifesto

Nature is a part of human life that will never leave. As long as we are living, nature is living with us. How can we live without living in nature? It simply is not possible. Nature lives with us, and we live in it and use its resources. Think of nature as a person offering their area of living to you. We are obligated to help care for nature as it helps care for us. 

I have continuously mentioned and analyzed our interactions with nature through different art forms throughout my blog posts. The connections between humans and nature can be seen throughout our everyday lives. In my blog post titled “The Florida Panther”, in which I analyze a statue portraying a family of panthers, I wrote, “Having only two panthers in this wide square area draws attention to how panthers are an incredibly endangered species. Additionally, this sculpture shows the hidden aspect of nature in our communities.” Through this quote, I hint towards the connections between humans and nature by stating how panthers are one of the many species of endangered animals and how nature is present throughout our communities. Despite nature caring for us, humans have disrespected nature through acts of poaching, hunting, and simply trashing it. This can be seen all around us, as you can constantly find trash on the ground around you and find that areas of nature have been demolished to make room for more pollution-causing constructions. Nature in our communities needs to be cared for, as it cares for us. It brings us food, shelter, and everything we could ever need, yet we choose to disregard its efforts to provide and forcefully take what it gives us.

In a more positive light, nature has given us the ability to make art itself. Being surrounded by nature has given us the opportunity to recreate aspects of it through art. Nature is incorporated into music, painting, writing, and more. For example, in another of my blog posts titled “My Musical Theme: Seasons”, I chose to create a playlist including songs that reference the four seasons- a crucial part of nature. In this post, I wrote, “...I adore the differences between each of the four seasons, and I felt it would be interesting to find music relating to them from different genres.” Finding music relating to the seasons is a prime example of how nature influences art, as there are an endless amount of songs referencing the nature around us. The songs I chose, ranging from jazz to rap, all were inspired by the seasons as their titles described different ones and their lyrics described them as well. In another blog post of mine in which I created an ekphrasis, I used the artwork “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” to base it on. This piece of art illustrates a large and beautiful wave with a local mountain, Mount Fiji, behind it. This artwork is another example of how nature influences art as even a dangerous event can produce a beautiful work of art. 

Overall, I view nature as the most important part of humanity itself. Without nature, we would simply cease to exist. For this reason, I believe that we should treat nature with kindness due to what it provides us with and what we can do with it. Additionally, nature is a beautiful outlet to create influential art that will impact others for centuries. Animals, trees, water, and everything that we see around us can be used to create art and invent new things that will lead our future to improve. As you have read this manifesto, I hope that you understand my feelings towards nature, as it is essentially a caregiver for me and every living thing on this planet. Nature is not only a living, breathing source of what we need to live- it is a beautiful thing that never fails to amaze us.

[littleblackchurch]

Reading Response #4

Performance; A Hidden History.

Rose Lee Goldbergs essay on performance art was a concise exploration of performance as a medium for expression used by a great many artists over time. Whether is be the main focus of their practice or another means of developing ideas, gaining recognition, or deepening the audience experience while digesting more traditional forms of art. As history has gone on there is a greater emphasis on recording the events of the past or present, so per her writing most of the development of performance seemed to start around the late 19th century and continue to present day. With a real explosion happening within the artistic movements of the early to mid 20th century. She was also able to draw the links between performance and activism, making the case for the medium as often associated with socially engaged art. This was true with the Dadaist movement post World War I and the Black Mountain College artists in the aftermath of World War II and the start of the Cold War. Goldberg then links the more modern creators of performance and its uses in gaining attention whether that be for personal or more activism based, but that like many other forms of modern expression (video, film, installation) performance is another tool in the box for many contemporary artists to enriched their individual practice.

Coco Fucso’s writings on her and partner Guillermo Gomez-Penia performances of “ Two Undiscovered Amerindian’s “ was at first hard to ascertain what directive it was taking. Where the performance seemed to parody the oddities shows of European and American traditions, or the displays of native peoples for the pleasure of the ‘elites” of western culture. Making a possible case for these as being the basis of performance art but upon finishing the reading I realized that the most poignant part of her discourse was not the performance at all. It was in my mind the legal battles surrounding the usage and ownership of the art itself. We have discussed this problem in class a few times, where copyright, appropriation and re-use of images, sounds, or concepts are employed in the making of art. Although I absolutely read through this trying to digest where I sit in my feelings about the work and how I might have reacted having seen it in real time, it was the argument about the work post performance and it’s documentation that really struck me. After all the effort, planning, and execution to have your “ownership’” called into question is difficult to wrestle with. Who’s most important in the room when it comes to performance? The artist or the audience, or can one even succeed in separating the two. It seems to be a potentially symbiotic relationship, where the effectiveness of the work is dependent on its consumption. As well because the work is not a physical artifact but a moment in time witnessed by individuals,who then if anyone, can claim to be the owner of this? As if to say we can own time itself. Fusco’s exploration and the work that she and Gomez-Penia executed are thought provoking on multiple levels and I personally find the performance problematic in ways that I have struggled with in doing my own projects, I do find value in the conversation the work started and the struggle to define “ownership” in the performance space.

[wwindblumee]

Pausing my Lantern Rite event to release my newest event!

Based on this post by @ritinja-draws! Permission has been given by the artist to use their idea.

Wake up. Awaken and note your surroundings.

A wet, sticky feeling awoke <Muse>.

Around you.The thought jarred <Muse>'s brain to life. Around you. There it was again...

<Muse> finally turns around to notice they were near a cliff. There was a huge fire raging under the cliff. There was purple blood pooling everywhere, so much so that it created a small flood. Under them, around them, everywhere. A bit away was a red dragon, the source of the purple blood. It seems that something had fatally bitten its throat out. Another dragon, not too far away. Dvalin..?

Above you. Another thought.

<Muse> looks up. What a horrible sight. Their friend (loved one as well! if our muses don't know each other- a young man with wings and a quite revealing outfit) was plummeting.. and fast. He was in his Archon form, his wings fluttering limply in the wind as he fell. He landed on his back with the sickening sound of bones breaking as his wing caught on a particularly sharp rock. Tears were rolling away from his outstretched eyes, too grief-stricken to even cry out in pain.

Go support the amazing artist!! Check out their comic when it comes out!

Tagging: @mikado-sannoji (pausing the lantern rite one!), @the-flowerdemon, @misspinkelfelysia, @sxft-viktorvibes, @londonthegayest, @internal-orchids (taka please :D- @orchidsinmylungs), @lxttlesxnshine, @oddblogfullofoddmuses (our first interaction! since our muses haven't met, please use the second prompt in the parentheses that has been boldened!).

[preemshots]

the definitive post of WHERE IN THE WORLD IS JOHNNY SILVERHAND’S BODY?

AKA the post of HERE’S WHY I WANT TO BELIEVE WE ARE GONNA GET JOHNNY’S BODY BACK IN DLC. 

buckle up, gamers. it's time for some lore. this is a very long post. 

warning: this will contain a million spoilers. both for details of multiple game endings, a wee bit of the “where’s johnny” comic, and the cyberpunk RED book. if you want a sparknotes version this is the post for you. my main source here is the cyberpunk RED book as well as as some references to the cyberpunk 2077 world book to cross examine the lore. 

i have no idea if someone has made this post before or what anybody else has been finding in their own lore diving. this is just me documenting my own findings from the sources i’ve been using.

it would be disingenuous not to preface this with the ways in which cyberpunk 2077's telling of the arasaka assault differ from the version told in the TTRPG books. the books =/= the game. pondsmith acknowledges in the intro of RED that this is a bridge between the old cyberpunk world and the new world of cyberpunk 2077. 

we also know that johnny's an unreliable narrator and his memories presented to V are often different than real events. but on top of that we don't know if the reason why many elements are changed is simply CDPR editing/adjusting/condensing the storyline for their own canon, or if it's due to johnny's construct being manipulated by outside influences such as arasaka.

some of the main differences you need to know from cyberpunk RED canon:

in 2023 johnny doesn't bring the nukes to arasaka tower. he's solely there to free alt.

johnny and rogue and their team from the atlantis/the aldecaldos are actually hired by morgan blackhand. 

morgan blackhand is the one who plants the nuke, unbeknownst to many members of the team. 

morgan blackhand promptly disappears after this event and no one knows if he's alive or dead. (claire confirms this fact to jackie and v before the heist in 2077 canon)

johnny's silver cybernetic arm is its own character, separate from himself. it seems to have a mind of its own and johnny interacts with it and/or is influenced by it.

when he, spider murphy, rogue, thompson, shaitan, and a team of los lobos from the aldecaldos (who are there in place of santiago, as he’s busy as the leader of the aldecaldos at this point) are attacked by adam smasher, johnny and his arm actively choose to draw smasher's fire in a deliberately suicidal move. smasher downs him instantly, but the distraction is enough to also save his friends.

spider murphy shoves a mysterious chip in johnny's dying head as they escape that alt had downloaded to her a long time ago.

johnny's body is later "rumoured" to have been retrieved from the rubble by a full-body borg groupie that was a first responder to the ground zero of AHQ and then hidden away in a nearby garage.

here comes the political lore that makes my eyes cross, so hopefully this accurately summarizes it: the 4th corporate war begins to end. arasaka is ultimately blamed by the NUSA government to have nuked themselves in a political move to protect their secrets and promptly banished from the USA. arasaka denies this all the way back to japan, then eventually returns to “liberate” night city in the unification wars.

but what the public doesn't know is that kei, saburo's oldest son, had actually hidden an EVEN BIGGER MORE DEVASTATING NUKE at the bottom of the tower to, well, do exactly what they were being accused of doing, even though blackhand was the one who actually dropped the smaller nuke on them. and luckily the bigger one didn’t go off.

arasaka tries to find their nuke in the rubble so they don't get in even bigger trouble, only to discover that it was moved and hidden away to... surprise! a nearby garage.

to compare with 2077:

in RED: we have no johnny loading the nukes into the elevator. no johnny being carried off the premises. no meeting saburo. no johnny getting soulkilled.

in 2077: there's a parallel moment to RED's version of events right after johnny uploads "liberator" from alt's old cyberdeck with spider's help into the arasaka mainframe in saburo's office. adam smasher comes for him as he's trying to escape, knocking him off the second floor of the atrium into the rock garden below.

visually this is the same atrium we always meet alt in in cyberspace and also where V meets johnny for the first time. hmmm. meaningful, perhaps.

not unlike what happens in RED, johnny unloads a clip into smasher at that point, but from there the scene instantly cuts to him running to the roof attempting to board the AV with rogue, where smasher shoots him down again. it’s possible johnny actually died to smasher in the atrium and we have some fabricated memories going on. 

either way, in 2077, we lose the character beat of johnny dying for his friends, and the current-day general consensus from rogue and others is that he’s perpetually a selfish asshole with ulterior motives. 

and, just to wrap up the politics of it all: morgan blackhand is rumoured to have been secretly hired by the militech-backed NUSA government to help end the 4th corporate war by... you guessed it! nuking arasaka.

HERE'S WHERE JOHNNY'S BODY ENDS UP IN CYBERPUNK RED (SPARKNOTES VERSION):

RED ends with a story called "black dog" set in 2045. black dog is the last song johnny recorded right before the assault on arasaka tower, but the final copy is a bootleg copy of the song and only a fraction.

we're introduced to a fun group of cybernetic-enhanced characters that represent the classes in the TTRPG and based on/designed by real people in collaboration with CDPR.

this group includes trace santiago, santiago's son, who is a media that is curious about the mystery surrounding the circumstances around his father and the arasaka bombing. 

just connecting lore here: if you talk to saul at the aldecaldo camp in 2077, he confirms that santiago was killed for his involvement with johnny and the bombing, something that rogue and johnny reference when they talk about their now-dead crew from the afterlife, and in chippin in, santiago is a friend that johnny lists as someone he had disappointed.

the group sets off to find any info about black dog, and meet up with a full conversion chrome woman named samantha in a garage who is blatantly a johnny silverhand fangirl. trace discovers she has a history with johnny, having rescued him from a studio fire at some point in 2015 and speculates she could have been a groupie also.

she mysteriously has a more complete recording of black dog, though not perfect, and offers to trade it for a service: she wants the group to transport a large crate to a facility in new mexico, asking them not to open it.

shit goes down. evidently everyone in night city wants to kill them for this package once it starts moving. eventually they open it. it's the arasaka nuke that had been hidden and never went off, emblazoned with warnings.

trace inquires about the circumstances surrounding the arasaka assault with an older member of the lobos who had been present with rogue and johnny. the man mentions that it was weird, because morgan blackhand organized the whole thing and then ran off immediately with a mysterious bag that we now know contained the nuke. 

michiko arasaka intercepts the gang, explaining the situation around the bigger nuke, that other factions in arasaka want to utilize it for their own goals (presumably hanako and yorinobu) and her father's legacy, that she feels responsible for. she escorts them to new mexico so that the nuke can be dismantled once and for all.

they meet up with a woman named angel in new mexico that takes the crate from them, at a facility that specializes in nuclear material. she gives the group the full recording of "black dog". the group leaves successful.

this woman is also a johnny silverhand stan. once alone, she calls up samantha, who says, "i promised i would get him to you in the end" and reveals that she had already gutted/dismantled the original nuke and discarded the material into the bay.

angel opens the "nuke" to reveal a hidden cryochamber, and greets the face of the person inside with, "hello, my love."

i mean, holy shit. okay! so that’s DEFINITELY johnny’s body. cool!

now let’s go into all the references to this story in the actual game of cyberpunk 2077 that SUGGEST we are going to pursue this story AND johnny's body since it’s such a HOT FUCKING TOPIC. 

and i know many of the following can just be considered easter eggs. but my personal interpretation of this game is that it has a really delightful way of intentionally glossing over important story details—and not by ONLY putting them in shards (which people tend to dislike because lol reading) but by also hiding them in plain sight, constantly deferring to V's own ignorance, distracting us with shallower, shinier things, encouraging us to actually play as the fool hero of this story. 

so here's the fun list of “””evidence”””:

this one’s a reach, but fun. in the initial arasaka assault flashback in 2023: we can interact with the groupies at kerry's show as johnny. samantha doesn't appear to be present, but the first person and groupie you can encounter in the flashback has a passing resemblance to angel in that she has a cybernetic arm.

in chippin' in, where we go to johnny's "grave" in the oil fields: if we are to take the 2077 retelling of events as truth, the story could instead be pretty easily be changed that samantha procured his body from there.

mike pondsmith, who wrote these stories and created the TTRPG can be heard on the radio narrating various conspiracy theories. and sure, these can just be easter eggs, intended to reference the differences between the TTRPG lore and the game, so take it with a grain of salt:

johnny. bro. tell him it was morgan blackhand

to top it all off, mike also directly references the actual WORSE nuke arasaka had hid in another arasaka conspiracy: 

SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDINGS AHEAD.

in the rogue ending of the game we discover rogue has a son. it's possible her son is trace (edit: nvm NOT LIKELY, since in RED’s black dog story rogue is listed separately from santiago’s mom in conversation) OR possibly one of the other characters. she tells her son to "pull over and look at the stars" or something along those lines. maybe just details, so that screams nomad to me.

rogue also has a photo of herself and johnny with mike pondsmith in her apartment/office in the afterlife. i initially read this as a delightful cameo but it also can mean mike the CHARACTER knew johnny and rogue, and rogue therefore has some kind of relationship to him and these conspiracies on the radio. and why the fuck not make him a full on character? we have a smattering of streamers and personalities already integrated into quests in the game. the creator of all this should be no exception. fuck it! 

rogue and johnny constantly dance around this accusation of her “selling out”. it’s repeated over and over that she and adam smasher worked for "the same people". i'm beginning to wonder if this wasn't meant to imply only arasaka since smasher mysteriously disappeared after the AHQ assault in 2023 and returned to SOMETIMES take jobs from arasaka... but possibly morgan blackhand and/or by extension, the NUSA or any other greater influences. (like nightcorp? we still don’t know where all this shit with nightcorp/the peralezes/sandra dorsett’s discovery about their research into mind control is gonna go) this also doesn’t account for the multiple factions inside arasaka with VERY different motives. 

morgan blackhand and adam smasher are rivals in the TTRPG, a role that appears to be at least partially filled by johnny instead in 2077. in relation to the arasaka factions, it’s worth nothing that smasher specifically works for yorinobu as his bodyguard at the beginning of the game, in part i assume because yorinobu is avoiding working with arasaka security details as he stole the relic and is plotting against his father. he is then promoted to head of security by yorinobu when yorinobu assumes power. 

in the ending as you work your way through arasaka tower with rogue and shaitan and johnny, rogue remarks:

michiko at this point in 2077 is the leader of the more “liberal” faction within arasaka, so it’s possible we’re seeing that while rogue and smasher work for the same people/family, they couldn’t be more different. 

you can also encounter rogue more than once on the phone fighting with wakako, who has apparently crossed her. wakako also seems to have her own ulterior motives and works mainly with the arasaka-backed tyger claws. she notably gives v/takemura the parade security info for “play it safe” without asking for anything in return, enabling hanako’s kidnapping. my theory is that yorinobu intentionally leaked the parade info to her to give away to put hanako in danger or at least continue to destabilize arasaka. 

in the takemura/devil ending of the game, there is a point where violence breaks out at the arasaka board room meeting when yorinobu-allied security open fire on them. one of the only people that survives along with hanako is michiko arasaka, who was at odds with hanako’s decisions, but  very involved in the preceding discussion.

and now for is my favorite detail! in the afterlife AT ALL POINTS IN THE GAME (but it can only really be inspected in the rogue ending when we are allowed behind the bar), we can find a photo of the squad that transported johnny's body from samantha to angel on the shelf below johnny's tequila, of them hanging out in front of the afterlife sign:  

this implies rogue has some relationship with them, and sentimentality, if we're to judge by the placement. she maybe even took the picture. i don't know, it's charming, it could be all easter eggs. who fucking knows.

either way, rogue and these kids both have in common that they worked with or at least interacted with michiko arasaka. 

and you know what my final evidence is? more wishful thinking! black dog plays on the radio in game. we got a full recorded version of it by refused. if not an oversight, i go ahead and take it to mean the final version was finally released to the public by those kids that were looking for it. 

i haven’t the slightest idea how this is gonna wrap up in future DLC. who has johnny’s body now in 2077, decades after it was dropped off in mexico? what is the truth?? where the fuck is morgan blackhand?? from the devil ending, we know that arasaka stole jackie’s body and put his soul into mikoshi, so the idea that they would just toss johnny’s corpse has always been laughable. the “where’s johnny?” promotional comic was even about thompson unsuccessfully trying to find johnny’s body. i know i am biased here but i cannot fathom all this talk about johnny’s body ending off with us NOT finding it, whether it’s just to bury it, shove johnny’s engram back in it, make out with it, or WHATEVER.

if you made it through this slog, congrats. thanks for reading! 

[aenaxes]

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone���s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

[riddlecrux]

Light seen through the windows: an analysis of windows as a literary tool in Elriel relationship

I would love to preface this meta with my favorite disclaimer that everything that I will be discussing is based on what I have gathered from SJM writing. The quotes used in this post will serve as a starting point for further analysis. Additionally, I will be using things such as symbolism, metaphors, and literary device methods to build up my reasoning and beliefs. On another note, this, as usual, is strictly pro-Elriel meta. If they are not your cup of tea and you wish to comment, please be civil and bring arguments supported by the text.

So many of us like to gaze and stare through the windows daily. Looking at the world behind the glass often is considered a form of tranquility that we feel. Windows are essentially doors that lead us to whatever lies behind them - the last border between being in one place and then in another. It isn't then surprising that windows serve as symbols and metaphors in literature. From the start, whenever I read a passage about windows in ACOWAR I was reminded of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. You may ask why?

Emily Bronte used windows as symbolism in her work. They are very important for her characters and their personal arcs. They are symbols of barriers, misfortunes that characters face. Windows there are metaphors of various obstacles estranging Bronte's characters from achieving their hopes - realizing that the dreams they had will be not fulfilled. As I don't want to get spoilery with Wuthering Heights, I'm going to draw conclusions in a very neat manner. Bronte used windows as a connection to nightmares that one of the main characters was suffering from - it ties to the fact that in his nightmares he sees the person he had loved, haunting him. Because of the relationship with a said woman, the imagery of windows in this particular scene symbolizes death, an obstacle that stands between both of them. Throughout the book, we also get glimpses of how windows might be used as a metaphor for social classes and the contrast between them, and how Heathcliff and Catherine have to go about it. Along with the windows, doors are also used as a symbol of trapping someone in one place, obstructing them from achieving their dream or preventing them from reaching out to their loved one. Not to mention that during a very particular scene with Catherine, she wants the windows open - a symbolism of her wanting to feel free, to connect with something she knows, she longs for. This leads to the conclusion that windows in Bronte's novel are symbols of life and death, they are the in-between - a symbolic barrier.

On the other hand, windows in literature signalize something called "art of watching", and usually it is connected to a female protagonist that observes life, events through the window. Not to mention, the most famous association to windows such as "windows to the soul" - which, of course, is more metaphorical. It allows us, the audience, to connect with the character's inner feelings, struggles, as we are presented with the emotional aspect of said person. They are the bridge between the inside and outside. Windows are also a source of light, which we humans crave. Looking through the window one can absorb the light, which can resonate as a symbol of growth and change. Metaphorically we see the light from the window when we feel a need to light up the darkness inside us. They expose us, our inner feelings, and struggles.

When I read ACOWAR I have noticed that SJM decided to use windows, quite clearly, in the indication of two particular characters. Azriel and Elain. For the first time, when we met Elain again in the third book the window is a big issue.

"The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible."

We have a clear description of the sunlit room, curtains shoved to further underline the need for light.

"And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain."

In the brightest place in the room sits Elain, in front of the window. She is exposed to the sun, to sunlight and is absorbing that light - which is highlighted during this scene (which makes it important to note).

"Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white."

The sunlight exposes Elain, its harsh light makes her pale, almost translucent. Even Feyre realizes the graveness of this picture comparing this white hue to death. As you can see the chain of events in this scene played like that: sunlit room -> curtain swept away -> Elain sitting in front of the window -> sudden comparison to death.

"She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained."

Feyre deducts that the need for light on Elain's part is a desperate call to brighten the darkness inside her - which perfectly aligns with the metaphorical usage of windows. Elain basks in light in a helpless cry for help. The very dark void that appeared within her after being Made eats her away. It sucks her immortal life away - the one which she yet didn't get used to. On the other hand, we as readers are presented with the fact that Elain is trapped. In this Fae life, in this room, in this situation in which she grieves for her past and many what-ifs.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion. “Everyone keeps saying that.” Her thumb brushed the ring on her finger. “But it doesn’t fix anything, does it?”

Sitting in front of the window - a sunny one to be precise, which symbolizes life, growth, and change, Elain is presented in a contrast to her surroundings. To show that visible barrier that her person has to overcome. She realizes that her dreams are meant to be unfulfilled, that they are unreachable.

"My stiff, limping steps, at least, had eased into a smoother gait by the time I found Elain in the family library. Still staring at the window, but she was out of her room."

The next time we see Elain she is out of her room - her "cage", but even though she left the boundaries of her entrapment she still chooses to linger around the windows. As Feyre notices, Elain gazes through the window - we are obstructed from Elain's POV and it's hard to imagine what she could be thinking about. Yet the symbolic manner of using the window as some sort of mirror, a passage that happens throughout the series, allows me to think that the metaphorical usage of windows, in this case, isn't a far-fetched idea.

"Elain didn’t turn. She was wearing a pale pink gown that did little to complement her sallow skin, her brown-gold hair hanging in loose, heavy ringlets down her thin back."

SJM uses this sentence to highlight that it isn't just a quick glance out of the window - in fact, it is constant staring through it. It is important for us as readers to note that this thing, window gazing, is an occupation that lasts for long periods of time. It isn't something trivial, it is something that showcases the importance of said windows in Elain's journey.

“What are you looking at?” I asked Elain, keeping my voice soft. Casual. Her face was wan, her lips bloodless. But they moved—barely—as she said, “I can see so very far now. All the way to the sea.”

Feyre decides to ask Elain who is still gazing through the window. Her answer is very ominous and holds a great deal of importance, but also underlines the fact that she is drawn to the window. Not to mention that what she is seeing is the sea - another vastly discussed symbol. In this situation, I believe that the interpretation can lay in a more psychological aspect of the matter rather than a literary one. In the works of very well-known psychiatrist Carl Jung the sea "symbolizes the personal and the collective unconscious in dream interpretation". So from his notes there comes this annotation that caught my attention, "The sea is a favourite place for the birth of visions."

Elain is a seer who constantly gazes through a window which symbolizes the in-between, life and death. These two are connected to one another and SJM used many things to further develop Elain's character as a powerful figure.

"Elain only turned toward the sunny windows again, the light dancing in her hair."

After the whole conversation Elain doesn't move from her spot, quite the contrary she returns to her previous activity. Gazing through the window. Once again we are reminded about the sun and light - which signalizes that Elain tries to undergo through the process of rebirth, but also tries to break free from the unhappiness that came with lost dreams.

"Something in my chest cracked as Nesta’s eyes also went to the windows before Elain. To check, as I did, for whether they could be easily opened."

Here we have an instance of both sisters realizing that Elain spending so much time in front of windows can be dangerous, as in her attempting to jump from them. Once again, the symbolism of death.

"More steps—no doubt closer to where Elain stood at the window."

Elain is still beside the window when Lucien tries to talk to her. Even alone she seeks the place next to the window to stare.

"But sunlight on gold caught his eye—and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window."

Elain is still by the window, for the whole scene she is there not moving an inch from it. Furthermore, the word "vigil" is also an interesting choice. There are different meanings of it, but I find these ones very telling and suitable for this instance: a period of sleeplessness; insomnia, a watch kept, or the period of this and a devotional watching, or keeping awake, during the customary hours of sleep. We can speculate about what happened to Elain while she was in the Cauldron, what made her so withdrawn from life and so desperate for the light. I want to believe that we as readers will get our answers in the next book since Elain being a seer with unknown powers makes her a perfect target for Koschei with which she has already had connections.

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly.

Again, during the whole conversation, she doesn't move away from her spot next to the window. Windows for her, start to become a symbolism of change and rebirth - the things she probably wished while being confined to her room.

Elain only stared out the window, unaware—or uncaring.

We have another mention about staring - which further highlights how important windows are as a literary tool for Elain's character. She seeks light, she wants to overcome this barrier that was thrown at her the moment she was Made. She, perhaps, watched through the window to observe the life which was stripped away from her and turned her into this immortal being. Or, maybe she just desperately wanted to brighten up the darkness that gathered inside her because of that whole situation. Another important thing to note is that this scene is a first moment alone with Lucien - her mate, which should have been very painful for her. The conversation also held a lot of weight, yet she valiantly stood by the window as if somewhere behind it she could find an answer.

“So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. What if”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden —“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

Here we have an instance of "art of watching" in which Feyre observes Azriel and Elain through the window. By watching them she comes to the conclusion that both of them are better suited and actually can comfort each other in comfortable silence. The window here is used as a barrier to showcase parallels of two couples: happily mated Feysand and unhappily in love with other people Elriel.

"But I looked to Azriel, currently leaning against the wall beside the floor-to-ceiling window, shadows fluttering around him."

And here we are start with Azriel and windows (also in ACOWAR). He is another character that has an extraordinary connection to windows. He is often mentioned next to them and somehow parallels Elain's behavior - staring through windows, being near them.

"I blinked, realizing I’d been lost in the bond, but found Azriel still by the window, (...)."

As we can see Azriel lingers next to the window without moving away from it - as the scene progresses we know that the conversation lasts a good ounce of time, yet Azriel stands in his place by the window.

"Azriel didn’t so much as turn from his vigil at the window, though I could have sworn his wings tucked in a bit tighter."

The same wording, the same imagery. Both used for Elain and Azriel. Both of them keeping vigils at the windows, staring through them as if they could find an answer through them.

"The main room of the guardhouse was stuffy and cramped, more so with all of us in there, and though I offered Elain a seat by the sealed window, she remained standing—at the front of our company. Staring at the shut iron door."

This scene is when Elain is about to confront her lover - Greysen. It is underlined that she rejected her usual spot, which is by the window, and preferred to face the door. She was trapped, she knew that a very important discussion will take a place here. She chose to look at the door rather than at the window, which in this matter could symbolize hope for a change - she stared at the door which metaphorically means transition or imprisonment.

"(...) close to Elain’s side as she and my sister silently kept against the wall by the intact bay of windows."

Another instance of Elain and her being content with being next to the windows.

"I’d seen Elain staring out the window earlier—watching Graysen leave with his men without so much as a look back at her."

"Art of Watching", but also the window's symbolism of dreams that were unfulfilled. At that moment, we can assume, that Elain realized that her dreams concerning human life and her future with Greysen would only be unattainable dreams/hopes.

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.

At the end of ACOWAR, we have this powerful moment, in which Elain gazing out of the window sees sunny streets = life. A chance of rebirth, which also beautifully overlaps with the fact that she proposed building a garden! The in-between that she balanced on while gazing through the window for so many times turned from death and misfortunes into life and hopes of the future.

ACOFAS

"Elain politely refused, taking up a spot in one of the wooden chairs set in the bay of windows. Also typical."

From Rhysand's point of view, we can deduct that even they are aware of the fact that Elain and windows are something notable. It is a place where she feels comfortable and probably spends a lot of time.

"Beyond the windows, darkness had indeed fallen. The longest night of the year. I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it."

In previous quotes, we could gather information about how Elain craved the light and how desperate she was to lighten up her person. Here, we can see that she also started to embrace the darkness. She is again by the window, observing the darkness as if no one else was around her. And of course, the one person who goes towards her at that moment is Azriel, a personification of darkness in the books.

Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “I’ve never stayed in this room.” His midnight voice filled the space.

Azriel went straight to the window. And not an ordinary one, but the one through which you can see the garden. Life and light. I know many were theorizing if what kept Azriel so occupied by the window was Elain, but I would love to put some of my thoughts in this discourse. Yes, I do think that what caught his attention, or who caught his attention was Elain. However, Elain at that moment represents life and light - the things that are associated with windows. And if you spin it around you have Azriel=darkness, death staring at Elain=light, life. The in-between, the very initial symbolism of window in literature. Not to mention that in this scene we have Azriel watching the light and next we have Elain observing darkness.

“No,” Azriel said, not turning from the window.

Azriel remained at the window. “Will Nesta stay here if she comes?

“I’d still be surprised if they remember once the storm clears,” Azriel said, turning from the garden window at last.

We have a whole scene in which it is so heavily implied that Azriel was constantly staring through the window, not even bothering to move away from it. We also have another highlighted thing which is the fact that it was a garden window.

There was a tiny box left on the table by the window—a box that Mor lifted, squinted at the name tag, and said, “Az, this one’s for you.”

A small thing, yet a very sweet one. The fact that even his present was placed close to the window, which starts to become an Elriel thing.

ACOSF

"She’d barely slept for fear of Elain walking off this veranda, or leaning too far out of one of the countless windows, or simply throwing herself down those ten thousand stairs."

We have a reminder that during her stay at House of Wind, Elain was a symbol of death. She carried it on her while being associated with windows that were used as a source of light that helped her heal.

"Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court."

Even when she visits Nesta, she takes the place by the windows. It is something that is strictly connected to her. As if the windows were part of her now.

Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. “I thought I’d drop by to see how you were doing.”

Light, sun, life = Elain.

“You’ve got good coloring, I mean,” Elain clarified, striding from the windows to cross the room. She stopped a few feet away. As if holding herself back from the embrace she might have given.

SJM still used the passages to underline the passage of time that Elain spent standing next to the window. It is a place in which she feels good and perhaps safe.

"They’d sat in them, before this fire, so many times that it was an unspoken rule that Azriel’s was the one on the left, closer to the window, and Cassian’s the one to the right, closer to the door."

We also get the information that Azriel always was the closest to the window - which is an odd thing to add without a deeper meaning. As if to further build up that connection between him and Elain - that both of them are aware of the fact that they are also the symbolism of the allegory of windows. I believe that SJM really researched that light and darkness trope, with which she built and she is still building up Elriel. The windows are just another tiny nugget that further envelopes both of them as one. Because while Elain transformed from death to life, she still welcomed darkness and embraced it - and Azriel opened to the life and light, seeking it. As I said, windows are a literary tool, which perhaps wasn't the main idea in the SJM text, but the amount of parallels between both of them and even the same wording applied to different scenes tells me that it's yet another connection between them.

[helnjk]

If I Could Tell Her - H.P.

Harry Potter x reader

this is my next installment of my showtunes fic list. this is based on the song If I Could Tell Her from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. this is also the first fic i’ve posted for harry on here ! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: nearly a year after the final battle, harry is still struggling to gain his bearings in the world. luckily she’s there to hold his hand along the way.

Warnings: mentions of food, & just a whole lot of mutual pining

lyrics are bolded & italicized

–

He just seemed so far away

Y/N took a deep breath.

With one foot in front of the other, she took a step and twisted to the right, feeling the familiar tightness that came with apparition. In the blink of an eye she found herself in front of the home that she and her friends had spent their summer before 5th year in. 

She chose to skip the knock on the door, opting instead to just let herself in. Many changes had been made to the house since it was the Order headquarters. The biggest and most obvious one being Harry taking up permanent residence in it. 

“Harry, love?” She called out, despite knowing that he would be where he always was. 

“In here!” A disembodied voice replied, coming from towards the end of the house. 

Like so many times before, Y/N found the dark haired boy in the kitchen. He was sat at the dining table, a few parchments spread messily in front of him and detailing the plans he had yet to accomplish for the renovations. 

The war had taken a toll on Harry, it had taken a toll on everyone really, but no one could blame him for wanting some time by himself for a while. They all knew how much he deserved to rest and recover.

But now, nearly a year after the final battle, Harry found himself less and less willing to venture out into the world again. It was as if everyone had started moving on and making progress with their lives without him. And in some ways, they were, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was able to live a life without the looming threat of war on his shoulders. 

Instead, he focused his attention on the house left to him by his late godfather, and vowed to make a home in it. 

While most people left him to his own devices, Y/N knew that he craved companionship most days. Having been friends with him from the moment she stepped into the train compartment nearly eight years ago, she understood him more than most. So began the habit of popping by every so often to have a cup of tea and a chat. 

“Been hard at work, have you?” She smiled, taking a seat across from him. 

“Just trying to figure out what to do with the drawing room on the second floor,” He said and she noticed how his brows furrowed ever so slightly at the puzzle in front of him. 

“You mean the problem you’ve been ‘figuring out’” She used her fingers to make quotation marks, “For the last three weeks?” 

Harry didn’t answer, but she noticed him roll his eyes playfully. Y/N knew that this meant he was in a relatively good mood today, and he could take the barrage of news from the outside world that she had brought with her. 

So, she took a seat across from him and began her recount of the stories she heard throughout the week.

“So Bill and Fleur announced that they’re having a baby,” She began. 

–

The pair of them continued on with their regular routine, Harry would busy himself with his plans for Grimmauld Place while Y/N brought him up to date with the events of the outside world. Every so often, he would risk a glance up at her and the edges of her lips would curl up in a smile.

It was during these moments that Y/N always had to pause. It only took one look from Harry for her to become a puddle of unexplainable emotions. During the war, when they had gone on their horcrux hunt, there wasn’t any time to dwell on these things. Survival was always the top priority. But now, now she had months and months of these little interactions and her heart was finding it hard to ignore. 

She often found herself shaking her head and trying to clear her daydreams of the two of them. Too often she would fall asleep to images of her and Harry going on dates and pressing soft kisses on each other’s lips. But she knew in her heart that that was all they were, daydreams and fantasies. 

Harry needed her as a friend, and she could give him that. 

As the afternoon wore on, she remembered the main reason for her visit that day. 

Harry was in the process of clearing up the cluttered table and she took the opportunity to bring it up, “So there’s going to be lunch at the Burrow this Sunday.” 

His movements paused. She continued, “And I was hoping that you would come with me. Molly always has loads of food and I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if it were fresh and not leftovers like I usually bring over.” 

There was another lull in the air. 

Y/N opened her mouth to try and convince him further but he cut her off, “Sure.” 

“What?” 

His eyes met hers and he gave her a small smile, “I reckon it’s been too long since I’ve last had Molly’s amazing cooking.” 

A slow smile stretched across Y/N’s face. This was the most he had agreed to in nearly a year and she was hopeful about slowly reintroducing his loved ones back into his life. 

“Perfect.” 

There's nothing like your smile

Sort of subtle and perfect and real

The Burrow hadn’t changed much since Harry last saw it. 

The peculiar house still stood tall and proud in the Devon landscape, held together undoubtedly by magic. The smoke billowing from its chimney reminded him of cozy Christmases spent together with everyone he held close to his heart, and the lively chatter filtering through the open windows made his heart stutter in anticipation. 

Y/N took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her smile was gentle, letting him know that she was there if he needed it. He could tell that she was nervous too, not for herself, but for how he would react to being surrounded by so many people again after so long. 

He couldn’t tell how he knew, he just saw it in the way she smiled. But he was grateful for it, because without her steady grasp on his hand, he probably would have disapparated before he even got through the threshold of the place he used to call a second home. 

“Come on then,” She urged, beginning to take steps towards the entrance, “Let’s see who’s already here!” 

“Oh Y/N, you made it!” Molly’s voice exclaimed as they entered the home, “I was wondering when you’d get here–”

The Weasley family matriarch paused at the door between the kitchen and the living room, her eyes set upon the boy she considered her son.

“I can’t say no to a gorgeous meal of yours can I, Molly?” She joked, slightly tugging on Harry’s hand to bring him into the room, “And I brought a guest with me today.” 

Molly seemed to gain her bearings once again as a radiant smile crossed her face, she knew not to make too much of a fuss about Harry being over after months of hiding away. Instead, she simply patted his cheek, “Lovely to see you again, Harry dear. Now come on, there’s enough food to go around!” 

The kitchen of the Burrow was alive with conversation. Most of the Weasleys and their significant others were gathered around the magically enlarged table, chatting over steaming dishes of wonderful smelling food. 

Their entrance garnered many beaming smiles, but everyone knew not to pay them too much attention. Harry chose to take a seat next to Ron, who nudged him with a small smile on his face. He returned the gesture, already feeling more at ease. Since his hand was still connected with hers, Y/N chose to take the seat right next to him. 

Throughout the meal, Harry hadn’t spoken much, only nodding to whatever the person he was in conversation with said or sometimes adding a little quip here and there. He took comfort in Y/N’s steady presence beside him, once in a while squeezing his thigh or patting his arm. 

“–and he wouldn’t tell me how to turn it back to normal!” 

Ron’s particular way of storytelling brought him out of his stupor. He was in the middle of an exciting story on the twins’ latest prank on him, and Y/N had let out a snort of laughter. 

Harry’s heart seemed to stop as he watched her and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he noticed the smile on her face. Of course he knew that she was beautiful, it was something so obvious to him as they grew up together. But there was something in the way her smile lit up her face at that moment.

It was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. To him, her smile was refreshing, invigorating, and all-consuming. Harry looked at Y/N and felt as if he could never get enough of her. A spark ignited in him and suddenly he was determined to keep her in his life as long as possible. 

Y/N caught onto his stare as her laughter tapered off and she raised an eyebrow, “Everything alright?” 

As quickly as it had come, the spell she had on him vanished as he nodded, “Yep. Brilliant.” 

The conversation flowed around them, merry laughter filling the air once again from different areas of the room, but Harry only had eyes for Y/N. 

But he kept it all inside his head 

What he thought he left unsaid

“Y/N-” He cut her off. 

Her eyes darted to him confused. He could feel his pulse in his neck and blood rushed to his ears. Suddenly he couldn’t help but wring his hands together nervously, unable to explain his actions. 

“Yeah, Harry?” She asked, fully turning her body to face him, “You okay?” 

“I’m brilliant,” He mumbled, heart pounding in his chest, “I just have something I want to tell you.” 

Anxiety bubbled in his chest and up his throat as the words came out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned on telling her anything as she arrived that day, yet here he was. She just looked so beautiful, the soft candlelight almost glowing on her skin and highlighting her features. Harry was sure he had never felt more in love with her than he was in that moment, and she hadn't even been doing anything. 

Her eyes shined with concern and her attention was fully on him now. He hadn’t been known to interrupt her when she went on her long spiels of updates. Sensing his nervousness, Y/N placed a reassuring hand on his arm. 

Unbeknownst to him, her own heart pounded in her chest. Against better judgement, she had imagined a scenario exactly like this wherein Harry would spontaneously profess his undying love for her too many times. And secretly, she hoped that this would be the moment her daydreams would come true, nearly holding her breath in anticipation. 

It wasn’t. 

“I’m thinking about asking McGonagall about how I can become a professor.” 

It took Y/N a few seconds of blinking at him to completely process what he had just said. Despite the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest, she knew that this was such a big step for him that she couldn’t feel bad about it. 

“Oh love that’s wonderful!” She nearly yelled, throwing her hands up and wrapping them around him, “You were such a good teacher in fifth year, I know you’ll do great!” 

A soft blush formed on his cheeks at her praise, but he happily accepted the hug, “Thank you. I figured it’s about time I started focusing on myself and what I want to do, instead of just this damn house. Being a teacher just feels right.” 

Despite all appearances, Harry berated himself silently. He had completely chickened out. Of course, he really had been thinking about sending an owl to his old head of house, but that was not what he planned on saying at all. 

He didn’t know what happened. His mouth just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, but he couldn’t take it back now. The moment was ruined. 

If I could tell her

Tell her everything I see

If I could tell her 

How she’s everything to me 

Y/N could tell Harry was nervous. 

He was hosting a dinner at Grimmauld Place with the Weasleys and a few of his friends from school to announce his plans to get accredited to be a professor. He also wanted to show them how the renovations of the house had been going. She had arrived at his place early, as she always had, to help him prepare but he was a bundle of nerves and couldn’t sit still. 

So, she did what she always does whenever he got into a little bit of a panic. As plates and cutlery floated to their designated places and the table set itself, Y/N kept the conversation flowing. Although, it might have been more of a  monologue with the way he was only responding to her in hums or soft grunts. 

She was unaware of the inner turmoil raging in Harry. He had decided that he would finally tell her exactly what he felt about her. To hell if she didn’t feel the same, he thought recklessly, as long as he got to finally tell her what he had been feeling for nearly a year. 

During a lull, he finally plucked up enough courage to speak. 

“Listen Y/N–” 

“Harry–” 

The pair stared at each other, amused. This had always happened to them when they were still in school, as if their wavelengths were always on the same page. 

“You go ahead, Haz.” She smiled at him. 

He took a deep breath, “Alright.” 

Plucking up whatever was left of his Gryffindor courage, he turned to face her, a fierce sort of determination in his eyes. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He spoke clearly despite the ball of uncertainty in his chest.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t place. He stopped her, though, placing a hand on her arm, “Just let me get this off my chest, alright? Then you can say what you want to say.” 

She nodded. 

“Looking back at what my life’s been like this past year, and honestly the years we spent at Hogwarts too, you were the only constant thing I had. And I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to figure out what I was feeling, especially when you were being so patient with me. But, yeah, I-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” 

For once in her life, she was left speechless. In all of her daydreams, Y/N always had a witty quip up her sleeve after Harry confessed his feelings, but now they seemed to just escape her. 

“I love you too,” Was all she could choke out, a small laugh tumbling out of her lips. 

The two shared a dopey smile as their bodies gravitated towards each other. Their lips met in a soft kiss, with a certain slowness attached to the relief and exhalation that came from their confession. Y/N couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, arms slowly snaking around his neck, as Harry pecked her lips over and over. 

A soft ‘oh’ echoed through the silent room and the pair of them broke apart. Molly Weasley was stood at the door, holding a roast in her hands and blinking furiously at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, most of the Weasley clan stood eyes slightly widened and small smirks on their lips. 

Ron was the first to speak up, “It’s about bloody time.” 

As he spoke, the silent spell cast over the lot of them was broken. Hermione rolled her eyes at the lack of tact her boyfriend had, but she was secretly thrilled. 

“Well, now that that’s finally settled, I think it’s time for dinner!” Molly bustled in, looking for a place to put her food down and the rest of them clambered through the door.

Harry spared an embarrassed glance at Y/N, but she was grinning from ear to ear. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before going to help set up.