#the lighting by itself took up 70% of my brain power

[hyper-super-clover]

For the requests‚ what about a family trip to the beach with Purgatory Hall + the royals and MC? Like Simeon and Barbatos setting up a picnic table meanwhile MC and Luke play around in the sand searching for shiny or strange things to building a sand castle (everything also keeping Solomon and Diavolo far from the preparations for the picnic)‚ playing with water guns or swimming. And after eating maybe playing a match of volleyball sand, admiring the sunset till it's nigth time and before going back‚ playing with fireworks, do a little stargazing or something--

Feel free to ignore this and thanks in advance anyway~

FINALLY I've come to write something for this lovely request. It's packed with so many fun ideas that I kinda went overboard with it xD this means the story is so big I'll have to split it into two posts!

To Bisshitu: I wanted to thank you for your continuous support! I see you in my notifs a lot and I really appreciate it!! (ALSO I AM SO SORRY YOU'VE WAITED SO LONG I HOPE YOU WILL STILL ENJOY THIS CHAOS)

Literally just 13 idiots on a beach trip~

Part 1

MC was leaning against one of the walls in the giant entrance halls of the House of Lamentation. Standing next to them, Solomon handed MC an opened bag of spicy newt chips. "Want some?" He asked and MC gladly took a few while constantly watching the commotion that was going on in the rest of the hallway.

Who would've guessed that going on a vacation with the seven rulers of hell would involve the most panicked, loud and chaotic packing of bags to have ever existed?

Well, let's be real, MC did expect it, but maybe not to the degree that they were in amusement about now.

The oldest brother had called the others for a "luggage check" as he had been sceptical of his brothers' talents in packing reasonable items in an, likewise reasonable, amount of suitcases and bags.

And of course, the first one to show up had to present his luggage in the form of... nothing.

Yes, Beelzebub came up to Lucifer, only the remains of a sandwich in his hand (which didn't last longer than three more seconds), confused when Lucifer mustered him with an angered glance.

"Where's your luggage?" Lucifer asked, to which Beel only gave a shrug.

"We're going to the beach, right? Which means I'll only need my swimming trunks, and I wear those underneath my pants."

Now the confusion has wandered over to rest on Lucifer's face. "But... Won't you need clothes to change into, or at least pyjamas for the night?"

"Hm..." Beel scratched the back of his head while thinking about Lucifer's words. "Nah, I don't need those. I'm planning to stay at the beach all the time, so..." Then suddenly, he gasped as he remembered something. "Wait, I do have something else prepared to bring along!"

Beel reached into his pocket, and when he pulled out a hand-written list that unrolled itself, plonking onto the carpet and rolling all the way to Lucifer's feet, the avatar of Pride knew exactly what said list was going to be.

"There are a few food stands that I'd like to try out..." Beel announced, eyeing the paper. "First of all, there's one selling shaved ice, which I want to compare to the ice-cream from this other stand, but who's also selling parfaits of which I kind of want to try all twenty-five flavours... Also then there's of course-"

"Beel" Lucifer interrupted the avatar of Gluttony in a strict tone. "Go pack a proper bag."

"But-"

"Now."

Letting out a sigh, Lucifer watched as Beel left.

But little did he know, this had only been the beginning of the chaos...

Moments later, Lucifer has found himself explaining to Satan why taking 70 different books with him would be ridiculously much. Also Mammon had taken this opportunity to "lend" some of his brothers possessions, arguing that he "needed those for the beach". This had worked until his swift fingers touched Levi's limited edition Ruri-chan sunscreen.

So, as Lucifer was spam-calling Belphie to wake him up and finally have him start packing, a sudden argument could be heard from upstairs:

"... How dare you steal my precious Hana Ruri 'magical sun ray protective lotion for all blooming heroes of justice'?! This very sunscreen is an homage to the legendary beach episode where Azuki-tan got a sunburn and couldn't help Ruri-chan in the intense battle against the evil kelp-army that was threatening to overgrow the local reef-"

"OKAY OKAY, HERE'S YOUR STUPID CREAM NOW LEAVE ME ALONE"

"S-STUPID CREAM?!?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW PRECIOUS THIS ITEM IS TO A FAN LIKE-"

That was all Lucifer could understand as an awfully annoyed scream Mammon let out was drowning Levi's gibberish. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Lucifer knew this vacation was going to be one intense experience...

An hour later, the group found itself where this little story had started off. The Purgatory Hall crew had already arrived long ago, enjoying the chaos together with MC -- who, btw, had been the only one to pass Lucifer's vibe luggage check right away.

Slowly it felt like most of the brothers were ready to go, only Asmodeus was left in the judgemental glare of the avatar of Pride.

But Lucifer noticed they already were way behind the time they were supposed to meet Diavolo at his castle. So, to Asmo's luck, he let off of trying to see what's inside the pretty boy's suitcase and announced the group's departure.

In enthusiasm shared by almost everyone, they let out a big cheer:

"Off to the beach we go!"

Some of the demons had whined about wanting to visit the human world beach. But as those idiot boys literally couldn't be trusted to act responsibly (which is okay, we love them regardless), Diavolo offered to stay at the beach resort he created in the Devildom.

Looking over the endless ocean, surrounded by the equally large beach and glistening in an artificial sun's light, MC was wondering just how powerful the demon prince must be to have created all this. But they were left only little time to be in awe over the location, as their friends demanded their attention shortly after having arrived.

Without going into much detail -- the day was packed with lots and lots of fun. MC was running around the beach, playing and goofing around with their friends, only to take a collective rest and then go do something silly again. Only a few other demons were to be found at the resort, but those were some acquaintances of Diavolo's family, and the group seemed to have scared them off of the beach after, like, an hour or so. Hence, the whole beach served as their playground for whatever activity they wanted to do, until in the afternoon, most of them were about to collapse from exhaustion and hunger.

"That's right, we didn't really have a proper meal since coming here" Asmo noticed as several tummy grumbles undermined his statement.

"We DID bring a picnic basket..." Satan mumbled. "But some genius had to let Beel carry it."

The culprit gave an immediate pout. "I had to hurry, 'kay?!" Mammon huffed. "MC was already at the beach and I--" he stopped. "... U-uh... I mean..."

Gaining a round of sighs and shaking heads, his brothers however decided to let Mammon's... mammon-ness slide for once. Mostly because, approaching from the distance, Barbatos and Solomon were getting closer, their hands full with bags that seemed to be stuffed with food.

"Y-yoU BroUGhT S-nAcKs?!" Beelzebub was already on his feet running towards them but Barbatos' stare was actually enough to make him stop.

"Not before the dishes are prepared, Beelzebub" Barbatos explained calmly, but with this very weird hidden tone in his voice that gave everyone chills despite the scorching summer heat.

"We figured everyone must be starving by now, so Barbatos suggested we'd make a little picnic party with everyone" Solomon cheered, presenting the bags in his hands.

"That sounds lovely" Simeon could be heard among the general noise of approval. "Let me help you prepare everything, Barbatos."

The demon butler beamed him a smile, thanking the angel for his help.

Then, Solomon spoke up again, and every bit of joy vanished from all their faces: "Thank you, Simeon! With the three of us working together the food will be ready in no time!"

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

Barbatos was putting all kinds of spices into a bowl to create a delicious sauce. Right next to him, Simeon prepared mouth-watering sandwiches.

And behind their back, there was this chopping sound. Chop reaching their chop ears in an chop never- chop ending thread, over and chop over again...

Swallowing his tension, Simeon was fighting a frown. "He's only cutting the fruits..." He whispered. "You shouldn't be able to mess up a fruit salad..."

"I know" Barbatos mumbled back. "However I cannot fight this unease that urges me to check if he's really-" He was interrupted by a very unsettling "oops" coming from that certain sorcerer at the cutting board.

In honestly quicker than the blink of an eye Simeon and Barbatos were at Solomon's side, frantically scanning the table for whatever Solomon must've messed up. When all they found were slices of fruit that, well, might have been chopped a bit wonky, they gave Solomon a confused stare.

"I cut off too much of this poor Hellberry's pull" Solomon explained. "Oh well, I'll just cut around the stem and add it to the fruit salad like this."

Both Barbatos and Simeon couldn't help but stare for a moment longer, their brains not really comprehending NOT finding an abomination in Solomon's cooking.

"Can I help you two with anything?" The sorcerer then asked.

"U-uhm, no..." Simeon mumbled. "It's all fine, we just..."

"We wanted to see if there's anything we can help you with" Barbatos jumped in to continue.

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Actually I'm almost finished, so maybe I can help one of you afterw-"

"Nononononono...!" Simeon almost whined. "I-its fine! We're actually almost finished ourselves, so..."

Solomon looked back, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like it to me..."

Suddenly, another voice joined the group.

"I agree! You two are likely just being humble again" Diavolo had walked up to their working station a moment ago, but neither of them seemed to have noticed in their stress. The prince continued: "That's why I decided to lend you a hand as well. This is a vacation for all of us, so I should not burden my loyal butler with all the work."

"That's a commendable attitude for royalty like yourself" Solomon cheered. "Well then, I think Simeon and Barbatos could use a hand."

Diavolo was already squeezing his quite broad body into the tiny cooking space, this certain over-excited sparkle in his eyes as he mustered the food.

Barbatos and Simeon on the other hand were exchanging glances, so immensely stressed that their thoughts were almost audible:

'Barbatos I don't think I can handle any more of this stress' Simeon stared.

'We shouldn't have let Solomon help in the first place, our kindness was foolish' Barbatos stared back.

'What do we do now Barbatos this is the only food we have left, they cannot ruin it'

Thankfully, the perfect butler was not planning to let their "help" threaten the food for any longer. "Young master, I highly appreciate that you thought of my well-being. Which is why I indeed have a request for you and Solomon."

Simeon almost barged in on a frightened impulse, but Barbatos continued before anyone could raise their voice. "There is dessert stored in our hotel's main storage. Would you be so kind and bring enough for our whole group?"

A little surprised, Diavolo agreed. He waited for Solomon to finish cutting the fruits, then they went off to the hotel.

Finally able to catch a breath, Simeon shot Barbatos a last glance. "That was easier than expected. Why didn't we let Solomon bring the desserts earlier?"

Back to mixing spices, Barbatos didn't look up at the question. "What desserts?" He simply asked.

"... Uhm..." Simeon was quite startled. "Are there... Are there no desserts in the storage room...?"

"Oh, I sure hope there are" Barbatos said. "Otherwise I will have some explaining to do..."

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

(To be continued...)

Find my summer event Masterlist and Rules for the requests here <3

#obey me #obey me shall we date #clover's om summer event #thx for requesting side character content #i love them and had fun writing them! #the second part will drop as soon as i finish it #i hope its fun #obey me lucifer #obey me beel #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me solomon

[andiandyandee]

We Are Going to Be Friends Pt. 5

I finally finished this stupid chapter! And I have to apologize because it is not a happy one. (Not the saddest either, though. That’s reserved to the final chapter. Anyone who has read my other works in this AU knows what’s coming there.)

 Words: 2921

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @cas-is-a-hunter @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking (Let me know if you want tagged!

Here’s the last part if you missed it  and here’s the whole series on ao3

Okay, Here’s the Fic

     When Logan picked himself off the ground, he could tell by the black dots swimming in his vision something was very wrong. He carefully cleaned up the broken glass, ignoring the way his hands shook, and made his way outside. It had somehow gotten dark since he had last been out. He knew if he went to his room he would go to sleep, and he needed to stay awake until his brother got home. He made it to the end of his parent’s yard, to the staircase that led to the sidewalk. His bag sat next to him on the steps, but his homework was all but forgotten. He was mostly focusing on his breathing, actively trying to remain conscious. He did not notice the loud pair of teenagers wandering past his house, which was not uncommon anyway, Logan hadn’t realized it before, but Remus and Roman’s friend group had always been wandering around the town, and plenty of the neighbors complained about how loud they were, but most of the noise was just the twins, whose voices carried without them even trying. He did not notice the way they slowed to a stop and stared at him, calling out his name, trying to get his attention. He did not hear the whispered,

      “Is that Logan?” or the more panicked,

     “What the hell happened to him?” 

     When the twins made it to Logan, he was coherent enough to glare at them. He was not able to do much more than that. He did have enough of his parents' DNA in him to swing at Remus when he grabbed Logan’s arm, apparently. The glass embedded in Logan’s hand cut Remus’ jaw, but the punch itself didn’t have much power behind it. All it really managed to do was cause Logan to groan in pain. 

      “Jesus, Logan. What the hell is going on?” Roman was looking quickly between the two bleeding teenagers. Remus looked shocked more than hurt, and Logan looked hurt more than angry. 

      “Good news, little brother! We no longer have the same face!” Remus was looking at his reflection in his cell phone screen. “This is totally going to scar.” 

      “Rem. Need you to focus, buddy.” Roman was more than a little panicked. Logan was looking kind of grey, his eyes glassy and his brow shining with sweat. “What do we do?” Remus seemed to refocus when he heard Roman’s tone.

      “Oh! Uh, we should probably call someone, right? Is this his house? Maybe get his parents.” Logan shook his head violently at that. 

     “No no no I’m… I’m sorry plea..se. don’t send me back to the… them.” His words were slurred, and he was trying to move away from the brothers. 

      “Woah, hold on there nerdy wolverine.” Remus coaxed Logan back into a sitting position. “Nobody is going to make you go anywhere, but you’re gonna pass out if we don’t get your hand looked at. And your face, too. Did you try to go swimming in a bar trash can or something? You stink!” Roman gently smacked his brother’s arm. “Oh, sorry.”

      “What Remus means to say is you are bleeding and smell like beer, and need stitches probably. We need to know what happened, or who to call.” 

      “You don’t… you don’t need to call anyone. I’m... I… I’ll be fine until L.. til L gets off work. Go back to… go back to being farther away than this.” Logan was leaning heavily against Remus, who laughed in a way that was definitely more out of fear than amusement. 

      “How about I sit with you until L gets back, and Ro runs home to grab some first aid stuff?” Roman looked like he wanted to protest, but Remus ignored him. “What do you think we’d need to help you, Logan?” 

      “Tw...eezers? And water.” Logan nodded like that was obvious. “Maybe a… maybe a light? And bandaids.” Roman nodded, backing away about ten feet before turning and booking it around the corner. 

      “So, Three Days Glass- oh god that was awful sorry- You want to tell me what happened here?” 

      “I… went swimming in… a bar trash can,” Logan joked weakly. Remus was fully supporting his weight at this point.

      “So we aren’t going to talk about it then?” Logan was now staring at Remus’ face with mild curiosity.

      “I think you’re bleeding.” Remus laughed loudly at that.

      “Yeah, some asshole punched me with glass in his hand.” Logan nodded solemnly

      “I’ll fight them.” Roman was heading back towards them now, a first aid kit and a large sports bottle in his arms. “Your brother is.. Fast” Logan mumbled. “He doesn’t like me.” Remus looked over at the younger kid. 

      “What makes you think that?” Logan went to answer, but he was cut off by Roman’s loud voice.

      “Okay Logan, Do you want me to start with your face or hands?”

      “Actually, Ro, I think I should be the one to do this.” Remus gently took the supplies from Roman’s hands. “I’m better with blood than you are.” Roman’s eyes widened, but he nodded and flipped on the light instead, shining it at Logan’s cut face.  With the new light, the brothers could see the bruise forming on the side opposite the glass, but neither mentioned it. Logan talked Remus through the best way to remove the glass, explaining how to clean out the cuts with the water, the squeeze top on the sports bottle was very good at that, to get any small pieces out. Remus promptly ignored his brother, who was mumbling quietly about how much blood there was. 

      “We should call a doctor, Remus, this isn’t like when you come back from the woods with scrapes from trees and rocks, glass is serious” Roman was barely coherent. “We should call Dad, at least.” 

      “No.” Remus shot back without looking up from where he was not pulling glass from Logan’s hand. “He said not to call anyone, Roman. Just shine the damned light on his hand so I don’t fuck anything up.” Roman mumbled on ‘okay’ and shined the light back on Logan’s hand. “That big one probably needs stitches, but the rest aren’t as bad as they look. He’s probably like this more from the pain and shock than actual blood loss.” Remus muttered. Mostly to himself. “The hands are made up of thirty-four muscles, twenty-nine bones, three major nerves, and two major arteries, with around 2,500 nerve receptors per square centimeter in the hand” He shook his head. “Need to focus, focus” Logan looked up at Remus curiously. “ Glass injuries are exceptionally dangerous because small fragments of the glass can be missed, causing infections that can spread from the skin to the blood to the heart and brain, causing major organ damage and failure, eventually leading to-”

      “Did you know Mars has almost the same amount of landmass as Earth?” Logan asked Remus, who immediately cut off from his spiraling thoughts to look at him curiously.

      “Mars is way smaller than Earth,” Remus argued, still carefully cleaning each of the smaller cuts, most of which were on the palm of Logan’s hand, avoiding the biggest one, which was firmly set in between his knuckles.

     “That’s true. Mars... Mars only has 15% of Earth’s volume, but since... 70% of Earth is covered in water... They have about the same land.” Remus hummed at that. “Did you know that there have been signs of liquid water on Mars?” Roman looked at Logan incredulously. 

      “Specs, I appreciate a good martian lecture as much as the next guy, but why are we having it now? Aren’t there more important things to be talking about?” Logan ignored him, still focusing on Remus.

      “We know Mars has water in the form of ice, but because of the extreme temperatures, scientists assume the water is either incred..” He drew in a shaky breath, “incredibly salty or is otherwise high in something that prevents it from freezing. Its temperatures range from -153 to 20 °C with surface temperatures from -87 to -5 °C.” Remus had moved on to the largest injury in the hand. His voice wavered a little when he called out,

      “Roman, can you come here?” Roman moved closer, seeing the injury up close for the first time. 

      “Holy shit, Rem there is no way-” 

      “I know, Ro. What do I-” Logan finally looked at his hand properly. The largest glass shard, about an inch and a half and jagged, and still bleeding noticeably. The swing he had taken at Remus had probably set it much further into his hand than the rest. 

      “It’s going to hurt when it is removed.” Logan nodded, as if steeling himself to a resolution. 

      “Lo I don’t think I can pull that out. I don’t think I could get a good enough grip with these.” Remus held up the tweezers. 

      “No, I don’t imagine you could. Thank you for your assistance, Remus, Roman.” He nodded to each of the twins in turn. “Allow me to compensate you for the bandages.” Logan used his good hand to pull his wallet out of the bookbag next to him. 

      “What? Logan you don’t have to pay us for bandaids.” Remus looked shocked. “We’re your friends. We wanted to help. Come on, I’ll call Dad and he can take us to the ER. They’ll be able to get that big piece out and make sure there are no other bits we can’t see.” Logan recoiled from Remus’ hand on his arm and held out a twenty-dollar bill.

      “I appreciate your help, but we are not friends.” Both twins looked at him with identical looks of confusion.  “I have no interest in any companionship. Please, take the money.” Roman rolled his eyes and took the money, setting it down on the ground between them. 

      “Logan, I don’t know what makes you think we’re going to take that bullshit as an answer, but we aren’t and there’s no way we’re just going to take your money and leave you bleeding on the sidewalk, either.” Roman insisted.

      “Yeah! We’re trauma bonded now!” Remus replied, slightly too enthusiastically. Logan stood, ignoring the wave of nausea and vertigo that threatened to send him crashing back to the ground. 

      “No. I am not interested in being friends. Remus, make sure you take your medication when you get home, I believe you’re becoming manic.” Remus flushed red. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.” Logan grabbed his bag and went back to his parents’ house, avoiding the front door and walking around to the back yard. He could hear the twins arguing, but he ignored them in favor of searching the shed for the tool kit he knew was there but had never been used. It only took him a few minutes to find the pliers, still in their plastic packaging. His hands were still shaking, his head was pounding, and his heart was beating much too quickly as he pulled the package open with his teeth. It took another ten minutes and several failed attempts before he pulled the glass out. It took another forty-five minutes for L to find him, leaning against the workbench, eyes red and breaths coming in short, rattling sobs. 

      It took until Monday for him to leave his bed, his brother assuring him that he had let the school know he had been ‘mugged’ and had needed a few days to recover. But time passed, as it most always does, and Monday came, leaving Logan to walk into the high school with his chin held high, back perfectly straight, glasses sitting perfectly even, as if the deep purple bruise, which now had yellows and greens, was not there. As if his right hand, not his dominant hand, thankfully, wasn’t tightly bandaged. As if he wasn’t still far too pale. He wasn’t speaking much, only a few words here and there since Wednesday night. L was worried, but it wasn’t uncommon for Logan to go silent for a few days, and even up to a week, at a time, so he mostly let it go. 

      Logan didn’t bother saying goodbye to his brother as he turned into the freshman hallway. He saw his locker, which had several “Get well” cards taped to it. Small towns meant everyone knew everything. Or at the very least, they thought they knew everything. He didn’t bother to read them, pulling them down from the door and setting them on the top shelf. He hung up his jacket, leaving him in his navy blue dress shirt, his sleeves rolled halfway up and the top two buttons undone, showing just the collar of his t-shirt underneath it. Several of Remus and Roman’s friends tried to stop and talk to him as he made his way to homeroom, but he pretended to not notice. He brushed past every one of them, pointedly ignoring those who tried talking to him in classes, pretending like they weren’t waving him to their groups now that the first semester projects had begun. He spoke only when spoken to by a teacher, otherwise keeping his jaw clenched tightly closed. 

      By the time his English class had come around, most of the group had stopped trying to catch his attention. Remus looked at him as he walked in, giving him a ghost of a smile before looking back to Roman, who was facing away from the door. Logan didn’t acknowledge he saw it, stepping past them and sitting in his seat without saying a word. He ignored the way Roman’s eyes bored into him. He ignored the way his eyes burned and his throat tightened when Remus asked how his hand was. He took notes, didn’t answer any questions he wasn’t specifically asked, and pretended as if the Sanders twins weren’t both not so subtly trying to get his attention. When the bell rang, he flinched, only a little, as he did at most loud noises now. 

      ‘Trauma bonded’ Remus had joked, not realizing that there actually was genuine trauma. This had not been the first time his mother had lost her temper, no, but this was the first, and last, though Logan didn’t know that, time that she had caused actual physical damage. It had broken something in Logan, some sense of security he hadn’t even known he had. 

      When she had come to his room the next morning to apologize, panicked apologies had torn their way from his throat. They both were in shock, him lowering himself to be as small as possible, her trying her best to not scare him more. 

      By Sunday, Logan had managed to bite back any visible emotional response to her. He had done this by shoving down every visible emotional reaction he made. He had wondered if it was healthy to be quite so good at keeping his emotions swallowed down. 

      Now, Monday, his face was completely passive. Not even an eyebrow raise gave away what he was feeling. When he came into the lunchroom, there were many eyes on him, several people whispering about how anyone who talked to him said he sounded like a ‘robot’. His responses to ‘are you okay?’ ranged from ‘there will be no permanent damage’ to ‘yes, I am quite well, excuse me.’ but all answers were given in the same flat, bored tone. He went through the hot lunch line, getting what he suspected was supposed to be a chicken sandwich but looked more like a beige hockey puck. He sat at an empty table towards the front of the lunchroom, not far from the Sanders twin’s table, ignoring his brother, who had waved him over. He was sitting, picking at his food and listening to music when someone sat down next to him. He did not take his headphones off, refusing to even look to see who they were. He knew it was not L, so he suspected it was one of the people who had attempted to make ‘friends’ on his first day. If they tried to talk to him, he didn’t notice. They didn’t touch him and sat at least one seat away. When the lunch period was over, they got up and left before Logan had even taken his headphones off. 

      The rest of the day went similarly, him ignoring Elliot and Kai other than to discuss the lab they had been given.  The next week went exactly the same. He still didn’t look to see who sat with him at lunch, still didn’t speak to the twins, still answered questions with replies that sounded like they were written by an AI. Any answers to teachers' questions regarding class were answered as if he were reading them from the textbook. 

      Two weeks passed, nothing changed much. Remus stopped smiling at him, even a little when he entered English class. Whoever had been sitting with him at lunch apparently decided it wasn’t worth it. Teachers called on him to answer questions only when nobody else seemed to have an answer, knowing he would give them a flat, incredibly accurate explanation even if his hand wasn’t raised, which it never was. 

     By the end of the first semester, as far as anyone could tell, Logan Starr had no emotions. Even L had eventually given up on trying to get through to the younger teen. Logan told himself he wanted that. It was better to be alone. Emotions were unnecessary. Friends were unnecessary. Happiness was unnecessary. And frankly, Logan told himself, he was unnecessary too.

#logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #punk au #high school #eventual logince #angst #tw blood #Logan is a punk #and is traumatized #child abuse #yikes okay i'm sorry #i'll make it up to you #hopefully #welcome to apathetic logan #he sticks around fro a while

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

The Feast of the Annunciation at 35,000 ft

March 25th, Tolkien, and the X-Men

[Content Warning for discussion of Panic Attack Disorder and Anxiety Disorders as well as Dissociation]

Panic attack disorder really messes with you.

It stops you from doing the things you really want to do. It prevents you from enjoying life. And because—intellectually—you know the fear it generates is irrational, it not only steals life from you, but leaves you feeling guilty for letting it.

“If only I could have been brave,” you think. If only you could have stared down the beast.

You never feel so much like an animal as when you are having a panic attack; the urge to escape is all-encompassing. Your heart is pumping blood faster than it ever has before. Every second is elongated. Whatever you didn’t smell before is suddenly suffocating you. Whatever you didn’t see before is suddenly ballooning across your visual field and, oh, was that color always so bright? Noises are all so loud, touch is all so much. You must get away, your body tells you, your cells tell you, your bile tells you—get away or you’ll die! But where do you go? You start to disassociate. You sink into feelings of surreality. Is this you? Whose are these eyes you’re seeing out of? There’s an extra step between the thought and the movement of the hands. The part of your mind that is not ruled by the clump of cells that kept your distant ancestors safe from Things With Jaws is perfectly aware there is nothing to be afraid of. There are no jaws. There is no predator. There is no cause for fear. But there is still fear.

Gripping, penetrating, chemical, animal fear.

Against the wash of hormones, the cerebral cortex holds no power, it can only watch you, watch itself, detached and analytical. It realizes—quite quickly, really, and in parallel—two things. One: that the thing you need to escape from is yourself, and Two: that, therefore, there is no escape. Be reasonable, it asks you. But who can escape their own mind?

No matter. The urge is still there, and it’s so hard to suppress.

Now extrapolate the fear of having a panic attack to the enclosed cabin of an airplane at 35,000 ft.

You see the problem, I’m sure. And yet...

A year ago today, after a lifetime in fear of flying, I got on a plane for the very first time. How? The Maker of Middle-earth exhibit came to New York.

I’d been drawn back into my Tolkien Obsession about 4 years before, digging deeper than I had in over a decade into notes and reference books. I was remembering what Middle-earth had meant to me—what it had given me—when I was a teen. In light of all that, could I miss what might be the only chance in my entire life to see some of these things in person?

But it was a long drive, I didn’t want to go alone, and we only had so many free days during my husband’s spring break. And it was New York! I’d never been to New York. Think of all the other things we could see while we were there! Did we want to spend that time driving instead? I tied myself in knots for days while ticket prices rose, until a scant week remained before we’d have to leave. 

Watching the turmoil practically radiate from me, my husband turned to me and said, “If you go, and you see it, will you cry?”

I didn’t even have to think: “Yes.”

He smiled, though he had already known the answer. “Then you should go. Do you want me to order the tickets now?”

I swallowed, then froze. 

This was a trip about Tolkien, about my greatest love, the primary lease-holder of my brain. 

So why am I peppering this with comic panels?(1)

In 1976 Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum decided to shake things up in a comic called The Uncanny X-Men. They wanted to add a cosmically powerful character, and they wanted this character to be a woman—a first for parent company, Marvel.

Marvel hadn’t had the most progressive run with their female leads. X-Men in particular had started out with only a single woman on the team: the kind telekinetic Jean Grey, whose primary characterization seemed to be her gender. She had experienced some changes in the 13 years since the first issue of X-Men was published, the revelation that she was also a telepath among them. We’d later learn that her powers developed too early when she telepathically linked, in desperation, with her best friend, Annie, as Annie lay dying, allowing Jean to feel what it was to die without dying herself, causing her to grow into the fundamentally compassionate human being we knew so well. But back in the mid 70s, compared to the more diverse and exciting cast that Claremont had devised just a scant year prior, Jean seemed rather dull, and not long after Claremont took over, her character decided to leave superhero life behind.

Or so it seemed. 

Pulled out of retirement on a space mission gone wrong, Jean finds herself trapped with her former teammates on a space shuttle. The shuttle is on a re-entry course, but must pass through a massive solar flare. Sealing her teammates, many against their will, in the shuttle’s only shielded chamber, Jean does the most quintessentially Jean thing: she decides to sacrifice herself for her friends. She telepathically absorbs the flight training of the only pilot on board, locks herself in the cockpit, and prays she can use her telekinetic shield to keep herself alive long enough to land the shuttle.

We do not get to see what happens to her, and nor do her friends, as the shuttle crashes into Jamaica Bay. 

But we know. This time Jean did die: either her flesh was burned to ash by the sun’s fury, or her body was crushed in the crash, or was she drowned in the depths of the bay.

She is truly gone.

But Phoenix Rises in her place.

Claremont took the woman perceived as both the kindest and the weakest of the X-Men and made her Marvel’s first cosmic female hero, a being that has “the power to cut and re-grow any part of the universe, as well as destroy it entirely, which is part of the Phoenix's purpose: ‘The Judgment of the Phoenix’, to burn away what doesn’t work.” The Phoenix Force is described as being “the embodiment of the very passion of Creation—the spark that gave life to the Universe, the flame that will ultimately consume it.” And the first thing she destroys and remakes is herself.

Not many issues hence, she’ll do the same for the whole of Creation. Claremont even goes so far with his purple prose to dip into Kabbalah. Phoenix becomes Tiphareth(2), the Sephiroth at the center of the Tree of Life, “the force that integrates the Sefira of Chesed ("compassion") and Gevurah ("Strength, or Judgment (din)"). These two forces are, respectively, expansive (giving) and restrictive (receiving).”

If you search for info on Phoenix you’ll inevitably be inundated with articles about the span of Uncanny X-Men issues known as The Dark Phoenix Saga, and with good reason: The Dark Phoenix Saga—the events that follow Jean’s transformation and quest to save Creation—is still considered one of the greatest of all comics stories. In it Jean-Phoenix—under the influence of a powerful, manipulative telepath who wants to use her limitless power—is twisted into something fundamentally without compassion, a threat to the whole of the universe. Understanding this, she chooses to die again, to save the world and the people she loves from what she has become.

The intricacies(3) and implications of this transformation and the devolution that followed it are a post for another time. Suffice it to say that any human, even a supremely compassionate one, struggles to adjust to godhood; the ability to care, empathetically, and so deeply, about all of life made the Jean-Phoenix capable of rebuilding a dying universe, but it also made everything in that universe lose all meaning.

But Tolkien. This was about Tolkien. And airplanes. And New York. And the Feast of the Annunciation.

Before I knew Frodo, even before I knew Taran and Eilonwy, I knew Jean; I knew the gentle, compassionate woman who died twice for those she loved--once to save them from the burning heat of re-entry and once to save them from herself--and in between looked the universe in the eye, and understood it was good, and gave it another chance.

Before Tolkien codified in me a kind of personal mythology, gave me a vocabulary for my spiritual relationship to the world, I had Phoenix and her birth from the ashes of what had been Jean Grey.

Now, sitting there with my husband waiting for an answer, I opened up my iPad and pulled up flight dates and our potential flight path on Google (because I deal with fear through research). And I laughed. 

We’d be there on March 25th, and we’d have to pass over Jamaica Bay as we came in to land.

“Buy it,” I said. And I, a 38 year old woman, dyed my hair red, threaded my film reproduction One Ring onto a silver chain around my neck(4), and boarded a plane for the first time.

Fortified by love, Xanax, and a personalized mythology, I saw clouds from the top side. Imagine how many tens of thousands of years humans existed when not one of them could have said that(5).

I saw dinosaurs, I saw Madame X(6), I saw an amazing view for three nights from our hotel room.

And I saw Maker of Middle-earth.

Today is March 25th, The Feast of the Annunciation and, not coincidentally, the day the One Ring falls into the fires of Orodruin.

It’s the day I flew over Jamaica Bay and burned away the part of me that didn’t work. It’s a day of promise. Of expectation. Of new life. The promise of redemption, and the power of compassion—and pity—to change the world.

And that is what stories can do. That is why we tell them. That is why we read them. That is how we live in times that are good and in times that are bad. That is why, when there were only stars in the night to give light, those stars became things with stories—people, animals, gods—and like lanterns they illuminated the dark of both the sky and the soul, mapping out meaning, obliterating the shadows where the Things With Jaws dwelt.

Notes

Comic panels are taken from The Uncanny X-Men issues #100, #101, and #108.

“A new pattern forms—shaped like the mystic Tree of Life—with Xavier its lofty crown and Colossus its base. Each X-man has a place, each a purpose greater than himself or herself. And the heart of the Tree, the catalyst that binds these wayward souls together, is Phoenix, Tiphareth, Child of the Sun, Child of Life, the vision of the harmony of things.”

There is very little in the Marvel universe as intricate as Jean and Phoenix.

The Ring is treacherous. As we were sitting down to dinner just before we left the Ring somehow caught on the underside of the table, broke the chain, and forced me to wear it on my finger for the rest of the trip.

I realize it is entirely possible to climb high enough to be above certain types of clouds without the need for aircraft, and that clouds can form quite low to the ground, but I’m speaking both more abstractly about the nature of fantastic experiences and in the specific about cirrus clouds.

I also saw the Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, but I talked about that here.

#tolkien #phoenix #namesake #stories #xmen #x-men #new york #lord of the rings #the one ring #maker of middle-earth #the feast of the annunciation #march 25th #fear of flying #cw: anxiety #cw: panic attack #cw: dissociation #cw: fear of flying #dark phoenix #jean grey

[adabassist]

NOT EXACTLY THE SUMMER OF ‘69, BUT I WAS NEVER AS COOL AS BRYAN ADAMS ANYWAY

Recently someone asked me how I ended up a bass player. I forget what I told them, but it was short, sweet, and long on understatement. The real answer is a lot more complicated.

My earliest memory is from before I was 2 (yep, 2 - believe it or don’t), sitting at the 70-year-old upright piano we got for free from a garage sale down the street, pounding on the low keys, because they made this GLORIOUSLY ENORMOUS SOUND… To this day, I cannot recall ever hearing an upright piano where the notes were as big sounding, although I’m sure my small ears had a skewed sensory experience compared to later years.

We (I have an older sister and brother) would play a musical piano game called “Thunderstorm”, where we would try to recreate the thunder (lower 1/3 of the keyboard), lightning (middle 1/3), and rain (higher 1/3) associated with a big storm (our parents were thrilled). I remember trying to pound on the higher keys in desperation, wondering why they lacked a powerful sound no matter how hard I hit them. I began to see the notes played in terms of size, with the lowest notes “appearing” to be largest in my mind’s eye.

Before long, I could hear how certain notes sounded good together - just octaves and fifths at first, then other “hip” intervals like a minor 7th (though I had no name for that interval in my head - I just liked the sound). I even wrote a song called “Dun” somewhere along the line, played with the index finger on each hand; left hand stayed on G (same pitch as a G string on a bass), and right hand moved between D, E, and F. “Dun” got its name because I played it so often that my siblings would mock me by singing that song back to me: “DUN DUN DU-DUN DUN DU-DU-DU-DUN DUN….”

You could say that my fate was sealed.

I would regularly sit down at the piano and play whatever my heart desired. Back then I had never taken piano lessons, and had no idea how to read or even what was “proper” to be played on a piano. I just figured stuff out when I felt like it, and otherwise just had fun learning the sonic relationships between the keys. But I thought I was pretty good anyway. I even used to make “tickets” for the family (markers, scissors, and construction paper) and make them “attend my concerts” from time to time. Let’s just say I wasn’t a big hit.

I auditioned for the school talent show in 1st grade, figuring I was a shoo-in, regardless of what my family thought (lousy philistines). I got through to the 2nd audition, and upon completion, the music teacher said, “That’s not what you played for the first audition. Can you play that song?” I said no, because everything I play is all off the top of my head. I didn’t make the talent show, and I remember thinking how “rinky-dink” the songs were by the people who did get to perform…

Somewhere along the line, I learned the names of the notes, and even found out that I could do a neat trick: if my sister played a note on the piano, I could name it - every time. I was so good at it that she was sure I was cheating or peeking, so I was marched into the next room to continue the game. This of course changed nothing; I had discovered that I could simply name the notes upon hearing them. I didn’t know what perfect pitch was, but I had it. When my cousin - well-recognized at his school for being a talented violinist - came to visit, and couldn’t do the same trick as I could, he got more than a little annoyed. But that’s the nature of perfect pitch; you can develop it to a degree, but largely, you either got it or you don’t.

I was about nine when I found a harmonica in a box in our garage, brand-new, no idea what it was doing there. I began to play with it and discovered that the same scale I played on the piano was also recognizable on a harmonica! I had never played another instrument before, and I was enthralled. After a while I got the idea that I could play the harmonica and the piano at the same time, so I went into the living room with the harmonica and sat down at the piano. Blew a C chord on the harp, and played a C note on the piano.

YUCK. That sounded AWFUL.

I couldn’t understand it - the harmonica was clearly marked “C” (this might be what gave me the idea to try them together). But the “C” on the harmonica didn’t sound good at ALL with the “C” on the piano.

Turns out the piano was tuned exactly one half-step flat. Possibly because it had spent most of its life in the salty air near the San Francisco Bay, and the soundboard had rotted just enough that it couldn’t keep strings at tension or pitch anymore. Tuning it so it at least played in tune with itself was a logical decision.

But it forever skewed my sense of what a “C” actually sounded like in my head. To this day, I refer to my condition as “IMPERFECT pitch”.

I did figure out that if I played a Db scale on the piano, it worked well with the harmonica, but it was too difficult to wrap my brain and hands around all of that when the piano was ten feet from the front door, and comings and goings were a constant distraction. So the harmonica went the way of the bread machine you got as a gift sometime around the turn of the 21st century: stashed away in a box, likely never again to see the light of day.

Not long after that, my mother asked me if I’d like to take piano lessons. Just out of the blue. I don’t even remember why she asked, or how she knew the person I was to take lessons from, but I thought it was a brilliant idea! A little structure, a little edification, learning to read and play actual songs instead of the meandering stuff I already knew how to do. Great! I’m sure I was one of the very few kids in my town who was excited about piano lessons. But I enjoyed them, and there’s no doubt they helped me many years down the road, as any professional musician who took piano lessons as a kid can attest to.

One day I was visiting a friend, who had been gifted an old nylon string guitar. He didn’t play it, keep it in tune, or want much of anything to do with it, really. I started messing around with it, and I realized that the frets were the same 1/2 steps I played on the piano! As long as I accounted for the “black keys” by jumping 2 frets instead of 1, I could play a major scale on any single string, no matter how it was tuned or not-tuned. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know how to tune a guitar; just seeing the relationship between frets and 1/2 steps was enough to make me see notes in a whole new light.

When I was trusted enough to ride my bike downtown (about 3.5 miles from home on roads with sketchy bike lanes), I began renting instruments for a month at a time to see if I could make them sound good. Woodwinds, mostly - clarinet, flute, alto sax. There was that same major scale, easy to play in one key, difficult to figure out in others, plus the weird keys weren’t logical - if I wanted a note to be sharp or flat, I had to press some random key that seemingly had nothing to do with the order of notes. It made no sense to me, I had no idea what I was doing, and at the end of the month, I traded it in for another instrument. This cycle of “lather, rinse, repeat” went on for several months until one day when my brother arrived home with a bass, a guitar, and a big amp.

The sound coming out of his bedroom was INCREDIBLE. Warm yet exciting, like a smoldering fire with a little bit more residual energy than is safe. I was totally enthralled - here was an instrument that I could see made sense already, sounded fabulous, and vaguely reminded me of the lowest notes on the upright piano. I said, “THAT’S what I wanna play!” But my mom said NO - she was not going to have her sons fighting over the same instrument, especially because we already fought over everything else. My brother chose bass first; I got to play the guitar instead.

Playing guitar was pretty cool, actually - it was a cheap japanese red Flying V knockoff, difficult to wield, barely stayed in tune, but it was COOL. A little distortion, a little reverb (only used sparingly because I hated hearing my mistakes echo), and I had a good time. I had my little practice area in the basement next to my brother’s bedroom, and I played an awful lot. But to be honest, it always felt a little… weak. Like trying to throw a cotton ball. Yes, you could get angry and loud, but there was something missing. And every so often, I’d get the urge to sneak into my brother’s room and play his new bass (the first was apparently just a rental) when he wasn’t around. And every so often, I’d get caught, and I’d get “scared straight” for a month or two (my brother was built like a Sherman tank, and I looked more like Chunk with long hair). But the urge would always return, and the cycle would repeat itself. Until one fateful day…

I was in 8th grade, and I took the bus to school. My brother went to the high school half a mile away, so he was always home first. So when I walked in the front door, I could hear his bass booming through the ductwork like always, and like always, that made me want to play my guitar. So, like always, I dumped my school bag, full of assignments that would be ignored until morning like always, by the door and headed for the basement.

I never noticed that the bass notes stopped at some point; all I remember is descending the short staircase that led to the lower level, making a sharp U-turn as I prepared to go down into the basement, and jumping back out of the way because A BASS was flying through the air, up the stairs, right at me. I was fast enough to avoid it, and it hit the floor HARD in front of me. I immediately peeked around the door jamb down the stairs, and saw my brother stomping towards his bedroom door.

So I called down: “Hey - do you want this bass anymore?”

My brother hollered “NOOOOOOO!” and slammed his bedroom door behind him.

I looked back at the bass, and thought, Great!  So I grabbed it and ran downstairs, plugged it into my guitar amp (quietly, I knew better), and for the first time in recorded history, played a bass in my house with something tantamount to permission.

And it was GLORIOUS. Bottom end! Like the piano upstairs, but BIGGER! Notes made sense, I could find my way around because I’d played guitar, and the stuff I’d been trying to play on those other instruments - piano, guitar, clarinet, sax, flute, recorder, even the harmonica - was much better suited for the electric bass, and I finally GOT that. Here was the sound I’d heard in my head for 10 years married to the notes I wanted to play for 10 years, and my fingers were causing it to happen.

And somewhere in that 23-minute span, I remember feeling - not hearing, feeling - a Voice in my head, and it spoke to me with absolute clarity: you remember this moment, because this is what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.

I say 23 minutes because I always got home at 3:20, it took about 2 minutes to shed my coat and bag and head downstairs, and my practice area clock said 3:45 when my brother tore open his door and came around the corner, snarling, “GIMME MY BASS BACK.” And so I did. But the wheels had been set in motion; 23 minutes of bass playing versus years of piano, guitar, and everything else… there was no contest.

So I talked things over with my mom (and mentioned in passing what my brother had done with his beautiful new bass), and that Christmas there was a wonderful new Ibanez Roadstar II bass and a Fender Bassman 20 amp. Within a week I had nickel-sized blisters on 7 different fingertips, and that wasn’t enough to get me to slow down. They started calling me Froggy Fingers when I went back to school after Christmas break. I didn’t care. I finally had to take a scissors to my blisters because callouses were forming over the top of them, the swelling wouldn’t go down, they didn’t hurt at all, and I could barely pick things up because my fingertips were so deformed. But away I went on the bass, spending 6-7 hours every night playing in my corner of the basement (and watching my already piss-poor grades get even worse - I graduated with an academic GPA of 1.6).

This was my solace; this was my everything. All the other things that had gone wrong or were currently going wrong in my life mattered a lot less once I had a bass to play. Maybe that’s why I played so much. There wasn’t much else going on for me to be excited about at that time in my life, and playing music - playing a BASS - gave me an outlet for my passion, my frustration, my energy, my creativity, and created a drive to improve and be really good at something for a change. And I knew it was going to happen because It Made Sense. It still does. Nearly 4 decades later, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[un-deux-zero-quatre]

“come be my teacher”

→ pairing: kim seokjin x (f) reader → genre: fluff, crack, if you squint it’s slow-burn → part i: 2,208 words → author note: inspired by a cute TA and my miserable effort in a korean language course while studying abroad. unlike y/n’s bold self. i never actually made efforts to get to know boys on campus, but then again i was never blessed to attend school with worldwide handsome jin. this is my first fic so hopefully you enjoy it, let me know what you think :)

(gif found on sbs website)

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You dabbed at the sweat droplets that formed on your forehead as the elevator to the sixth floor dinged to signal its arrival (fucking finally, you thought to yourself). You stepped out alongside a few other students heading towards room 605 for intro to Korean. A student sitting on the floor with his back against the windowed wall caught your peripheral. You glanced in the most casual manner you could pull off, but he was too busy looking down at his phone and you were forced to keep walking in the throng of students in the busy hallway. He looked cute, but honestly, half the campus was attractive boys that never gave you the light of day. Plus, having hiked half a mountain and power walked a large portion of your campus, the only thing on your mind was finding a seat to sink into, getting your heavy backpack off your sore shoulder, and downing the ice cold water in your HydroFlask. Not another cute boy who would ignore you. You made a beeline for a desk near the middle of the room, next to the giant windows. After not so carefully dumping your backpack on the desk table, you reached over to pull the window open, wondering why the hell you thought that wearing a long sleeve hoodie over black leggings during spring in Seoul seemed liked a good idea when you got dressed this morning. “I think my last brain cell stopped functioning the minute it started getting warmer,” you say to your deskman and friend, who is immersed in her music but gives you a sympathetic smile. Being that it was just the first week back to school, the classroom was still half empty. Most students would likely pile in gradually after managing to find the correct classroom… Yonsei was not exactly a small campus. Even local students found it difficult at times to navigate the famous campus.

You took this as an opportunity to lazily get going on the notes projected on the board. It was mostly stuff you’d get on the syllabus anyway, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a digital copy; you did have a knack for misplacing important documents when you needed them the most and you did not want to have to suffer anymore than you anticipated from a course titled ‘Survival Korean.’ Despite having lived in the capital city for a couple months, your Korean had barely progressed from being able to order coffee and read instagram captions. Err, 70% of some instagram captions. So here you were at 8:45 am on this warm and cloudy day, sitting next to your practically fluent friend, mentally playing off your anxiety about being forced to brokenly speak in front of people who probably were only taking the class for an easy A. Before you knew it the professor was calling for attention to commence the class. You barely listened but maintained eye contact and nodding confidently to assert dominance. At least thats what you thought your half-assed efforts were doing for you. “Throughout the following weeks you’ll be working closely with a group of hand selected TA’s who will help you on your weekly tasks. They have worked hard to prepare engaging activities for all of you so please look forward to their lessons.” He signaled at a few older students scattered across the wall opposite to your seat, who flashed friendly smiles or lifted their hands up to identify themselves. You scanned and your eyes fell on one boy with wispy bangs and a soft pout on his lips.

Your one brain cell, as lame as it was at times, immediately recognized him as the boy who was sitting outside the classroom before class started. Getting a better chance at seeing his features you realized he was lowkey more handsome than other boys you’d seen on campus. Everyone knew Yonsei was notorious for attractive and bougie students but you did not expect to have a TA that looked like an Oscar nominated actor. You wondered if he was as kind as his eyes presented, or if he was a case of reverse-bitch face. You were brought back to consciousness when he turned and your eyes connected. You remained expressionless when his plump lips curved upward slightly. You felt your chest clench of embarrassment and quickly shifted your eyes at other students, focusing on each one for a few seconds to play off the fact that you were obviously drooling for this stranger. Why did you feel yourself burning up? It’s not like you have never seen a pretty boy. You weren’t the type to get so worked up over that. You cringed at yourself for feeling so affected that you didn’t even notice the professor had finished talking and students were shuffling to put their stuff away.

You felt your friend poke your arm, “Dude, let’s go.” You looked up at her and slammed your MacBook shut. “Oh— yeah sure! Do you have class right now?” She looked at her phone and groaned, “Ugh, I still have a whole hour before it starts. Let’s go chill somewhere.” Swinging your backpack over your shoulder you followed her out the classroom’s back exit, lowering your gaze to fiddle with your AirPod case just in case another opportunity for you to make an ass of yourself presented itself. You snapped the case open, swinging your hair around to plop the earphone in, missing handsome boy who was standing by the podium by the front door, watching you with curiosity, a tiny smile once again on his lips.

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“I seriously cannot believe we never realized they sell kaya toast here! Why do we always play ourselves?!” your friend sighed as you trudged up the massive concrete steps to Daewoo Annex Hall. “Maybe it’s because we always insist on going off campus to our fave cafe, we just can’t help being so loyal.” The main floor was buzzing with the loud chatter of students mingling in between classes, many of them ordering or waiting for their ritualistic iced Americanos to be served. You joined the short line to order, glancing at the menu above the case of baked goods. Your mind foggily drifted back to handsome boy from earlier. You wondered if he found you weird for staring so intently. By no means did you have a resting bitch face, but your natural expression doesn’t exactly scream approachability. 

Though it had only been a few seconds of staring, you recall how sparkly his eyes had been. His wispy hair framed them perfectly, and alongside his dark eyelashes it was no surprise you were so immediately entranced… You caught yourself; who can even manage to look that attractive so early in the day?! Since when did good looks even mean that much to you? He was probably an asshole anyway, using the TA position only to exert power over undergrads who couldn’t afford do much but beg for mercy during office hours and rant online about shitty policies.

You felt your nose scrunching up into a frown when a loud laugh brought you back to the present moment. Looking down from the menu to the register you noticed a wavy haired, uniform clad barista throwing his head back at what seemed to be the funniest joke in the world. He flashed a boxy smile at whoever was leaned over the bar waiting for their coffee all while his hands expertly handled the register, tucking away won bills and passing a receipt to the customer who just finished ordering. 

“Wow, I guess all the cute boys decided to torture us today,” your friend whispered, raising her eyebrow at you. You couldn’t even try to argue with her, this boy definitely contributed to evidence that only attractive students attended Yonsei… kind of like how handsome boy did as well… As if the universe had heard your mind ruminating, and decided it was time to intervene, the person leaned over the counter turned to look in your direction, and you had to bite your tongue to not gasp when those sparkly brown eyes connected with yours.

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You know those cheesy rom-coms where the protagonist finally meets her true love (or whatever) for the first time and the world magically melts away so that it’s only the two of them? Or how in Bollywood movies when the heroine locks eyes with the bad boy love interest and boom, cue sensual but still cute song with perfectly timed choreography? You loved that shit but never for one second believed it applied to the real world.

So why, God why, did you feel like time had stopped the second his eyes met yours and nothing else, especially not your midday politics class, mattered? “Hey! You’re one our teachers for survival Korean, right?” Your friend’s voice cut through your bizarre cinematic moment. She had stepped forward to order while she greeted none other than mister handsome boy. Although it had felt like an eternity, only a few seconds had transpired so the odds of you looking like a blithering idiot to others was very slim. “Yeah, you have a good eye, there’s about 10 of us there,” he smiled at your friend. “Are you both in the class? My name’s Seokjin, I’ll be teaching the lesson in a couple weeks.” You friend shot a quick smile at him and turned to the barista to order. You glanced quickly at her, the barista whose name tag read Taehyung, and then back at handsome b— err, Jin.

Since both your friend and Taehyung were busy in a transaction, you had no choice but to keep the conversation alive. “Uhh yeah, we are… my name is ____,” your eyes finally settled on his. He straightened up from the coffee bar, starching his arms up and brushing the back of his head.

Fuck, he was tall.

“Are you gonna order coffee, too? Speaking of, where’s mine? Ya! Tae!” He motioned over at the register and you remembered the sole reason for you climbing a steep hill 10 minutes away from your next classroom. You mumbled a soft oh, thanks and faced back to the register to order. It looks like Taehyung had abandoned his spot to make Jin’s drink, so a kind-eyed but sleepy girl took your order instead.

Stuffing your loose change back in your cardholder you made your way over to the main lobby where your friend stood with Jin and two other boys. “Ugh, I think I’ve had enough of feeling awkward for today,” you thought as you slowed down your steps. Always a queen with perfect timing, as you arrived you heard Tae scream out Jin’s name and order and Jin waved goodbye. “See you next week! Don’t forget to pick up a good notebook!” 

“What,” you deadpanned as your friend turned on her heel to stare at you with an expression you only saw when stumbling across an aesthetic new cafe.“What are the odds of us getting such a hot TA for the easiest class ever?! And he’s not a complete jerk, wow.” HA, your lips pursed out as your inner monologue from an hour ago quickly flashed in your find. “I mean, maybe now he’s nice before he actually gets to teach us, what if he completely switches up? Also excuse me, but easiest class ever if you already speak Korean only! I’m not ready to take L’s in front of everyone,” your hands ran through your hair as you plopped down on a couch. “It’ll be fine, maybe Jin can be your motivation.” If the eyes emoji were based on anything, no doubt it was your friends iconic expression. As you opened your mouth to protest she dove away back to the coffee bar for your drinks.

Blowing air out gently from your pursed lips you dwelled on what’s to come. Okay… maybe if you kept an open mind the class (and this very specific TA) wouldn’t be so awful. You did choose to come abroad to a country where didn’t speak the language in hopes of eventually becoming fluent, after all. What good would negativity do? And anyway, it’s not like Jin would be teaching the entire course, so he probably wouldn’t even be able to clock how awkward he made you act (not that you understood either, its not the first time you see a cute boy.) As your friend came back holding two iced caramel macchiatos you resolved to just be as gentle on yourself as possible this semester. You had faced high stress and lost enough sleep last semester over things that were not worth it in the long run, and the thought of handling things the same way again felt draining. Even if it meant looking like a dumbass in front of the class asking wtf anything meant after reading a wall of text, you were going to put in effort in doing well to avoid issues later on and nothing was going to distract you. Not even soft, perfectly messy hair or pretty brown eyes or pillowy lips that curled around words so perfectly you had to restrain yourself from daydreaming.

* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • part one: end * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚

#bts fanfic #bts seokjin #seokjin x reader #seokjin x female reader #bts fluff #bts college au #seokjin TA au #g: fluff #g: crack #t: series #wc: 2k+ #bts slowburn #kim seokjin fanfic #bts college fanfic #seokjin college au #bangtanarmynet #bangtan fanfic #college bangtan au #university au #bts university

[datura-foxglove]

(Dazatsu Week Day 1) warmth of your tears

Day 1 prompt : Sunrise

“No matter how we’re separated inside this darkness Our hearts call for each other with bond stronger than anything Even if you’re laughing, I know you are lonely I want to warm your cold fingers with my tears, I’m by your side.” - Synchronicity (Yui Makino)

Rating : PG Warning : Spoiler up to ch. 70 of the manga

Summary : Atsushi’s loneliness and despair nearly overwhelmed him as he waits for the sunrise, thankfully a visit from Dazai rekindle back the hope in his heart.

A door opened slowly, brand new hinges silent as a young man stepped outside with all the graces of a stealthy cat. His arms shivered as cold winds blew through him, his silver hair dancing from the wind’s playful fingers. Purple and yellow eyes blink slowly, the tiger within him granting sight sharp enough to tear away the dawn’s dark veil. He saw the roof of buildings around him, some shorter or taller than the roof of the building he currently hid himself and his dear companion in.

The roof was empty. Nakajima Atsushi knew that privacy was something but an illusion. He knew that his movement was watched, even if he didn’t know just how many people were watching him. At least Fitzgerald’s Eyes of God would inform the man of his whereabouts, though Atsushi hoped that with Mitchell returned to him the arrogant man would keep his word and focused on helping them finding Oguri rather than watching Atsushi break down.

Atsushi’s hands curled into fists as he shakily let out a breath. It was tempting, really tempting to just let his heart shatter and be swept away with the wind. Yet the tiger, his desire to live, would never let him just lay down and die. No, the tiger wanted to fight. It wanted to crush their enemies to the ground and protect the home they had finally found. With the roars of the tiger echoing in his chest and the presence of the quiet yet strong Kyouka by his side, how could Atsushi let despair claimed him?

With a lot of efforts, Atsushi forced his body to relax. He took a deep breath of crisp air, imagining a faint tinge of salt in the air. He opened his eyes, his sight now clearer without the heavy weight of tension and despair on his shoulders. Far on the east, the sky had started to show it’s myriad colors. Like a painter had stroked their brush against the dark canvas of the night, painting the sky with bright colors depicting hope in the midst of darkness.

Atsushi walked closer to the edge of the roof, hoping that he could at least see the Agency from where he was. The red colored bricks should be easy to spot, but even with the tiger’s enhanced sight, Atsushi couldn’t find it hidden among the tall buildings. His heart sunk at the reminder of the home that he couldn’t return to and he hung his head, the image of the three story building filled to the brim with memories burned the back of his eyes.

“It’s there.” Atsushi’s head jolted upward, his eyes widened in disbelief because he was sure that he didn’t hear anyone coming. Even the esteemed Hunting Dogs couldn’t hide their presence completely from the ever alert tiger. So how did—

“Oh.” A whisper left his lips, along with a breath of relief as his eyes caught the form of the man that had been missing for days. It felt like a lifetime ago since he had last seen his senior, but here Dazai Osamu himself stood by his side, his finger pointed towards something in the distance his eyes couldn’t quite see.

“The Agency. That’s what you are looking for, right Atsushi-kun?” the man grinned widely, like they weren’t far away from the place they were talking about. Like the Agency itself wasn’t torn apart by the hands of Dostoyevsky. Like the man by his side wasn’t anymore but an illusion conjured by his lonely mind, desperate to cling to the safety he always found within Dazai’s arms.

But Atsushi was too exhausted to doubt the existence of the man beside him, so he let his lips upturned to wry smile. “I can’t see it, but if you say so.”

“Aww, are you sure, Atsushi-kun?” Dazai’s voice was like a long forgotten melody he had unknowingly longed for all this time, even if the man was teasing him. “I could be just pointing my finger at random place.”

“I believe you, Dazai-san.” It was easier to smile this time, his eyes gazing straight at those warm chocolate eyes he had loved so much. “You will never lead me astray.”

There was a short pause before Dazai’s smile dimmed a little, yet felt more genuine than his mask of joviality. “You are probably the only one who think so, Atsushi-kun.”

The winds picked up around them, forcing Atsushi’s hair and belt in a crazed dance but barely did anything to Dazai’s hair and coat. There was a pain in his chest at the stagnancy of the sight, a gaping hole more painful than when Gogol butchered his leg. It would be easier to just ignored it and focused his eyes to the slowly rising sun, but the lump in his throat screamed to be let out, to give words to all the pent up emotions within his heart.

“I miss you.” The moment Atsushi opened his lips, it felt like a dam broke out and all of his emotions spilled all over the floor only to be picked up by the wind and whisked away to the sky. “I miss you and everyone. I want to go back to the Agency. I want everything to return to how it should be. I miss Kunikida-san glare and shouting. I miss Yosano-sensei dragging me to shopping with her. I miss Tanizaki-san and Naomi-san being all lovey dovey. I miss Kenji-kun bright smiles. I miss Ranpo-san whining for harder cases and more snacks. I miss Fukuzawa-san attempts to feed the stray cats. I miss Kyouka-chan’s cooking. A-and…”

“Atsushi-kun…”

Atsushi sharply sucked in a breath, yet his lungs still felt empty. He could feel the back of his eyes burned and getting blurry. It took every last remains of his will power to prevent himself from crying. “I miss you. I miss you calling me at ungodly hour in the morning. I miss dragging you back to work. I miss you dragging me away from work. I miss accompanying you on our sleepless nights. I miss your warmth as you embrace me. I miss your smiles. I miss you, Dazai-san.”

There was a whisper of touch just below his right eye. He rose his head slowly as that touch disappeared, catching the way Dazai’s hand moved back. Dazai’s forefinger was wet and it took a second for Atsushi to notice that it was his tears. Dazai’s smile had dimmed even further that it was nothing but a stretch of lips, his eyes void of everything but a chilling conviction.

“You will return to the Agency, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai had never promised Atsushi anything, knowing the fragility of incorporeal binding. Yet, Dazai’s words right now held the weight of a promise and the conviction in his eyes was like blood oath. “Will you believe me?”

Facing those eyes, how could Atsushi ever doubt it? The hope in his heart burned bright, like the sunlight that pierced through the veil of the night. He wiped away his tears, a small laugh escaped his lips as he smiled the brightest he had ever been for the last couple of days. “I believe you, Dazai-san.” Yet Atsushi couldn’t help but disagree of a part of Dazai’s words. His eyes hardened, like gemstone glinting in the light after being thoroughly polished. “But, it’s not just me Dazai-san. We will return together back to the Agency.”

Dazai blink in surprise, an excuse or joke ready on his lips but Atsushi’s stern glare stopped it. Dazai closed his eyes with a sigh, but when he reopened his eyes, Atsushi could see a trickle of warmth had returned to those empty eyes. “Alright, I understand. If my cute kitten wishes so, then I will try my best to do it.”

Atsushi’s glare softened and all that there was left was longing and adoration. “I miss you…”

The first ray of the sun had finally streaked it’s warm color and painted the world with a bright and soft yellow color. Atsushi’s sensitive eyes �� his enhanced sight and also because he was just crying – couldn’t handle the sting from the bright light and he had to squint his eyes until he barely able to see anything in front of him.

“It’s alright, Atsushi-kun.”

When his eyes stopped stinging and the colorful dots of light beneath his eyelids finally ceased, he opened his eyes only to see Dazai had disappeared. There was nothing left behind where Dazai had stood, no footprints or even scents that Atsushi could track with his nose. But not even disappointment could bury the warmth of the hope that had risen in his heart.

Atsushi heard hurried familiar footsteps and the door was slammed open by Kyouka, her hair disheveled like she ran straight here the moment she woke up. “Atsushi! Fitzgerald has found the whereabouts of Oguri!”

Atsushi quickly approached her, both of his eyes and smile as bright as the sun itself. “Lead the way!”

It was another sleepless night, caged in that transparent box hovering in the air. But Dazai was used to sleepless night, a night of peaceful sleep was more of a rarity than his usual insomnia. It turned out to be in his favor, facing the ever smiling Demon caged in a similar box just across from his own. The distasteful rat also seemed to be used to nights without a blink of rest, since he kept smiling to Dazai from his box. Dazai was no fool, no matter how relaxed Dostoyevsky looked, he knew the Demon’s sharp eyes never left him and his even sharper brain never rest to scheme for his plan and manipulating everything from his prison here.

Dazai was familiar with the rules of the game, and how to bend the said rules to his own advantages.

Still, even as his brain continued to plot the counter of Dostoyevsky’s plans, his heart was elsewhere. In the midst of all the cruelty and ruthlessness of mind game with the Demon, he had left his heart behind with his sun. He knew that Atsushi would protect it, that Atsushi would keep it with him always, connecting the two of them with a bond forged not from Ability or material things.

Dazai smiled, an empty and cold smile reserved for his enemies as he coyly put his fingers on his chin. It was a habit that he knew Dostoyevsky was familiar with, but only Dazai could feel the warmth left behind from Atsushi’s tears. It was easy to remember the phantom warmth when every other part of his body felt cold. He pressed a kiss on his warm finger, a familiar taste of salt left behind on his lips.

‘I will return to you, Atsushi-kun. We will go back together to our home.’

#dazatsu week 2019 #dazatsu #dazai osamu #nakajima atsushi #fanfic #eiiii #finally managed to write something after 3 months hiatus #uhhh I swear this was supposed to be fluffy #but I've been reading too much angst lately #and it shows hahaha

[vhaven93-blog]

Surfing the Waves: Science and Conscious Sleep

(K-complexes, Sleep-spindles, and PGO-waves during Conscious Sleep)

By Daniel Allen Kelley

   Conscious Sleep is arguably the most fascinating skill you can learn. It's almost ironic, really, because sleep is largely a process of memory and skill consolidation. Why is that ironic? Well, first of all, sleep is thought to be an eight-hour period of inactivity but is actually anything but. By the time you've entered the second phase of sleep (90 minutes in), your brain and nervous system have been very busy. While you were busy snoring, your brain was constructing neural connections to house new skills and information. Those piano lessons you had yesterday afternoon? Check! Those elective courses you took yesterday evening at school? Yup, your brain made room for those too.

   And that's happening whether you're sleep is conscious or not!

   The most ironic part of conscious sleep is that you're learning a skill which employs the very same mechanism that learns new skills. Dreams, being largely the consolidation of new skills, are now the skill you're attempting to consolidate! It's the neurological equivalent of what happens when two mirrors are facing eachother: It generates an endless hall of unending reflections that you experience as Lucid Dreaming, Astral Projection, Remote Viewing, and much more.

   Isn't that far out?

   Your dreams are at least 70% composed of people, places, things, emotions, and sensations you've experienced at some point in your life. The remaining 30% is, well, something extra. That “something extra" isn't personal or biographical. We experience these extras when we have Out of Body Experiences (OOBE), Astral Dreams, Precognitive Dreams, and so forth. We'll talk more about that later. For now, just note that Conscious Sleep, even though much of it is a theatrical reenactment of your diary, is unique in that it's a new skill that uses old skills to refine itself.

   Reflections within reflections within reflections…

   For example, imagine for a moment that you're having an OOBE. You wait until you reach the second phase of sleep and induce the OOBE by conjuring up the feeling of riding a rollercoaster. Suddenly, you feel yourself rocking back and forth. Heavy vibrations flood your body and a buzzing sound fills your ears. Before you know it you're up and out! You look around your room and everything is as it should be, save for the occasional appearance of a dream scenario. There's just one problem:

   You can't seem to fly away from your physical body!

   The reason you're anchored to your mortal coil may be any number of things. In this case, your subconscious mind presents you with a dream image of a vast body of water. You approach it and begin swimming. Suddenly, you find you're able to fly! The water vanishes and you're soaring high above the roof of your house.

   What's happened is that, because you've never actually flown before, the closest activity your mind could conjure that resembles flying was swimming. So you used your former experience with rollercoasters to get up and out, as it were. You then used your former experiences of swimming to fly away. Or, to put it more technically, you used the process of consolidating skills (dreams) to tap into learned skills to support the learning of a new skill; in this case it was OOBE.

   Reflections within reflections within reflections…

   But what's going on inside your brain when all this is taking place? In my book, Behind The Veil: The Complete Guide to Conscious Sleep, I discussed the Five Basic Brainwaves and their corresponding subjective experiences. Here, I'd like to focus on three specific brainwave phenomena called K-complexes, Sleep-spindles, and PGO-waves. Since I'm not a sleep specialist, l won’t be tangling you up in convoluted dissertations on synapses and neural firings along calcium channels in the brain (ahem, and so forth). Instead, I'll limit my focus (as always) to the experiential aspects of these things. After all, that's where all the fun is!

What Are K-complexes?

According to the book, Neurology Secrets (Fifth Edition), A K-complex is a high-voltage diphasic slow wave that may be preceded or followed by a spindle burst, maximally expressed in the frontocentral regions of the brain bilaterally.

   In layman's terms, what this means is that a K-complex is like the trough of a wave and a Sleep-spindle is like the crest. We'll discuss Sleep-spindles in a moment. For now, let's take a closer look at K-complexes and how they might be experienced by a Conscious Sleeper.

   When brainwaves are recorded on an Electroencephalograph (EEG), K-complexes appear primarily during the second stage of NREM sleep and are more prevalent during the first two sleep cycles in a night’s rest. At this time, the brain is still responsive to external stimuli and K-complexes tend to multiply in the presence of external sounds, touch, and changes in light patterns. Should you awaken someone at this phase of the sleep cycle, the subject may insist that he or she wasn't asleep. Some scientists speculate that K-complexes evolved to be responsive to external stimuli in order to serve as warnings of approaching predators while sleeping.

   Another theory holds that K-complexes perform a sedating function, effectively turning off the analytical mind so that the brain can begin its process of consolidating memory. My own experience bears this out and, in just a moment, I'll offer my own take on this theory.

   At any rate, once the sedative power of K-complexes takes hold, the process of memory consolidation begins. This neurological construction project begins with the appearance of Sleep-spindles.

What Are Sleep-spindles?

Here's what Tuck Sleep has to say about Sleep-spindles:

   “Researchers believe Sleep-spindles represent periods of time where the brain inhibits mental processing in order to keep the person in a tranquil state. By keeping the person in a tranquil state, the sleep cycle can continue and the person can transition to the next stage of deep sleep.”

   That sounds an awful lot like the function of K-complexes, yes?

   As I said before, I'm not a sleep specialist. Having said that, I strongly believe K-complexes and Sleep-spindles are two parts of the same movement. They are the Yin and Yang, the valley and the peak, the trough and the crest of the same brainwave phenomenon. In my own experience of over twenty years as a Conscious Sleeper, I've noticed a pattern during stages one and two of my own sleep cycle. This pattern convinces me that my theory is correct, but its credibility ultimately relies on future scientific research. I'll discuss the experiences that led to my theory in just a moment. In the meantime, let's hear more of what recent science says about Sleep-spindles:

   “Fast spindles (13–15 Hz) occur in the centroparietal part of the brain, while the frontal brain produces slow spindles (11–13 Hz). Increased spindle activity occurs at the onset and outset of light sleep.” (TuckSleep.com)

   For those of you who have no idea what these egghead scientists are talking about, here's a short list of the basic functions of the Frontal and Parietal areas of the brain:

Frontal lobe

•Personality, behavior, emotions

•Judgment, planning, problem solving

•Speech: speaking and writing (Broca’s area)

•Body movement (motor strip)

•Intelligence, concentration, self awareness

Parietal lobe

•Interprets language, words

•Sense of touch, pain, temperature (sensory strip)

•Interprets signals from vision, hearing, •motor, sensory and memory

•Spatial and visual perception

   With me so far? Yes? Good! Let's hear more from the eggheads:

   “Sleep spindles begin to develop once an infant has reached six weeks of age, and may explain why babies twitch in their sleep. EEG typically will display sleep spindles immediately after muscle twitching.” (TuckSleep.com)

   Since the Sleep-spindles located in the Frontal brain tend to be slower, could it be that their function is to sedate the analytical part of the brain? In other words, the part of the mind that is capable of Lucidity. And could it be possible that the Sleep-spindles found in the Parietal area of the brain are faster because their function is to discharge residual kinetic energy to prepare for Sleep Paralysis?

   I believe this may account for why the first and second stages of sleep are the most potent times for OOBE. Energy that would otherwise be spent in Gross Body activities can now be employed in dream activities, and even OOBE (if you know how).

   Whereas K-complexes “stun" the sleeper, slow-wave Sleep-spindles “sedate" the sleeper. This paves the way for fast-wave Sleep-spindles to release excess kinetic energy and do a quick run-through of recent data to consolidate. In my opinion, this accounts for microbursts of dreaming experienced during light sleep (e.g., hypnagogia/hypapompia, hypnic jerks and twitches).

   As an aside, I refer to the subjective experience of K-complexes and Sleep-spindles poetically as The Sleep Serpent. Like a snake with potent venom, these sedating brainwaves render dream Lucidity impotent. This is not to imply that these brainwaves are toxic, only you have to learn how to surf them. Just as you can gradually become immune to snake venom by ingesting small amounts of it, so too can you become immune to the sedative power of K-complexes and slow-wave Sleep-spindles. The secret is, in my experience, a mystery pertaining to the adrenals, hormones, and retraining of attention. But that's another story.

   Before I share the experiences and experiments which led to these theories of mine, there's one more brainwave we need to discuss.

What Are PGO-waves?

   It's difficult to find a straightforward definition of PGO-waves. At least not one that doesn't leave you cross-eyed. Generally speaking, PGO-waves occur at the tail-end of NREM sleep and at the start of REM. K-complexes and Sleep-spindles have accomplished their stun-and-sedate mission, and your physical body is now completely paralyzed. This is a necessary step for both Conscious and Unconscious sleep. With your physical body out of the way, its projected double can come out and play. This neurological doppelganger is called the Subtle Body.

   At this phase of the sleep cycle, a group of cells, called Cholinergic cells, begin firing upwards to the higher regions of the brain and down the spinal cord. The net effect of this neurological tango is twofold. On the one hand, the emotional and sensory areas of the brain become activated. On the other hand, the nerve-plexes responsible for physical movement are stimulated. Despite this kinetic stimulation, however, the body is now in sleep paralysis. Besides a few myoclonic twitches and hypnic jerks, the Gross Body is dead to the world. Instead, the motor impulses are now passed on to the Subtle Body and you can now run, fly, have sex, and breathe under water. Why? Because you've now passed the Veil of Tears and have entered through the Veil of Dreams.

   PGO-waves also appear to play a role in image-stabilization. Not just in dreams but in creative visualization, fantasy, and hallucinations. PGO-waves strobe rapidly, kicking up a dust cloud of paradoxical images and emotions. This is fertile soil for creative inspiration, spiritual epiphany, and psychological insight. Evidence suggests that many poets, painters, musicians, and even schizophrenics spin their webs using PGO-waves for yarn.

My Little Experiments

   The moment I learned about K-complexes, Sleep-spindles, and PGO-waves I immediately intuited what they were. I plan on one day recording and submitting my findings using my very own EEG machine.

   Just as soon as I can afford one…🤔

   In the meantime, I've carefully monitored my sleep cycle over the years and have achieved a good working knowledge of its architecture. I can tell, for example, when I'm entering the first and second phases of sleep. Depending upon factors such as how hard my workday was, how stressed I am, or how much caffeine or alcohol I've consumed, I can even consciously access the third stage of sleep fairly regularly. But before I could consciously access stage three sleep successfully, I spent about five years tapping into it by accident during the hypnopompic phase of sleep (beginning stage of waking).

   I'll never forget the first time I experienced PGO-waves consciously. It was about 3:00 or maybe 4:00 am. I became Lucid in the middle of a dream and noticed, to the left of me, a field of sunflowers. The dream starting shaking and I stabilized it by employing what I call The Hitchhiker Method. This works by fastening your attention onto a dream-object, sensation, sound, or smell and holding onto it for dear life. This surfs the already present PGO-waves and assists them in their purpose of stabilizing dream images.

   The next thing I knew I was taken up into a blizzard of fantastical images. These occiliated at a frequency that resembled the rapid flicker-rate of a strobelight. Lucid Dreams blended with OOBE and I was able to control every nuance of the narrative (Dream Control).

   I've had similar experiences during the hypnagogic phase of sleep, but that pesky Sleep Serpent often bested me in battle.

   K-complexes and Sleep-spindles are, in my opinion, responsible for the mind’s tendency to believe the absurdities of many dream scenarios. PGO-waves have also been shown to be responsible for this mental confusion. However, due to the fact that REM sleep resembles wakeful consciousness, it's easier to become Lucid while dreaming than Pellucid during NREM. In fact, scientists refer to REM sleep as “paradoxical sleep” for this reason.

NOTE: (Pellucidity is, generally speaking, meditation carried into the sleep cycle. It's easier to access Pellucidity in NREM than in REM sleep.)

   As the years rolled on, I gradually learned to detect the signs of approaching K-complexes, Sleep-spindles, and PGO-waves. For example, have you ever seen flashes of light behind your eyes as you're falling asleep?

   Those are PGO-waves…

    Have you ever felt like you were falling, only to snap out of it with a sudden jolt?

   Those are fast-wave Sleep-spindles…

   Or perhaps you've felt yourself “drifting off" into reverie. You're still vaguely aware of your surroundings but you're feeling disembodied.

   Those are K-complexes...

   Have you ever been to a hypnotherapist? You know that part where the doctor says, “Your eyelids are getting heavier…”

   Those are slow-wave Sleep-spindles…

   The cool part about learning how to consciously surf these bioelectric brainwaves is that it amounts to a sort of Tao of Conscious Sleep. It's sleep Yoga at its most scientific. It's Qigong at its most scientific. If we can honor the insights and practices of the ancient Wisdom traditions and wed them to modern scientific research we’ll be left with an Integral approach that honors the discoveries of the past, the technologies of the present, and the breakthroughs of the future.

   In such a world, what more proof would you need of the magical and miraculous?

http://behindtheveil.simdif.com

About the Author

(Daniel Kelley is an author, poet, musician, and Integral Life Practitioner with over two decades of experience in the Esoteric arts. He is the creator of Subliminal Cognition Training, Animitariomancy,  and is the author of four books. His work has been featured in several magazines and journals including Chronogram, Psychedelic Press, Global View, and LDE Magazine. Daniel was born in 1979 to Baptist parents in Waterloo Canada but raised in Chicopee and Springfield Massachusetts. His father was a Baptist preacher. After a profound and prolonged transpersonal crisis in early childhood, Daniel broke away from his strict Christian upbringing to study the wisdom traditions of the world. At age sixteen he suffered a breakdown that culminated at age twenty-one, at which time he experienced a transpersonal breakthrough. After joining various Hermetic societies and practicing their methods, Daniel eventually found his spiritual home in Chinese Taoist Alchemy, Integral Life Practice, and the various yogas of India and Tibet. He also practices and teaches Internal Chinese Martial Arts, Qigong, Taijiquan and Xingyiquan. Daniel currently lives with his wife and daughter in upstate New York.)

#lucid dreaming #astral projecting stories #sleep study #eeg equipment market #eeg

[whumpbby]

Would sentinel Ra's begin to feel when his guide's thoughts strayed to less then innocent one's regarding him? Like if they took a bath together would Ra's be able to tell that Jay wanted to hop on that dick and ride it to hell and back? Is it a mental bond can they transfer thoughts or such? Is it permanent or can they move to another partner at any time? If Ra's died would they have to redo the bond. Would Ra's use the pit to extend his guides life or watch him die of old age?

Sentinels generally are the ones being managed and their empathy isn’t well-developed so he wouldn’t feel things from Jason’s end - he is a traditional man in that regard, he expects the guide (his light) to be the receptive one and manage him, not the other way around. 

But he’s not stupid and he has all the extra powerful senses, so it’s quite easy for him to notice the signs of the guide reacting to him - elevated heartbeat, blushing, pheromones... all the good stuff that tells him the guide is attracted to him before Jason himself is aware that it’s happening:O He treats the knowledge with grace, waiting on the boy to come to him first, even though sometimes he does something to fluster Jay (it’s amusing but harmless)... 

Jason is nineteen going on twenty when he finally cottons on to the fact that his crush had been noticed a while ago - years, years ago! And it’s embarrassing as all fuck, because Jesus, Ra’s, why did u let him humiliate himself so many times?? And Ra’s is like, well, would you want me to force the issue before you were ready, my light? And no, Jason would bolt the moment Ra’s had shown any sort of carnal interest in him before he was ready and mature enough to understand it. Ra’s, on his part, waited for Jason to find himself a mate of his own - it was allowed, he’d never stop his guide from creating romantic attachments because that was 1) impossible and 2) leading to a very unhappy guide and a broken relationship. (Of course, Jason would have to arrange his relationship around Ra’s and his needs, because the Sentinel came first in their contract, and he’d have to make sure that his chosen mate is trustworthy and fitting the family they’re being brought into.)

Jason, however, never had any interest in anyone, not in sex itself - until now. And, anyway, they’re bound with Ra’s already and he’s in the man’s head regularly, often sleeps with the black snake curled around his neck, co-raised his heir and has a tea with his daughter every Monday, so Ra’s may as well pay back in taking care of his physical needs? Ra’s certainly doesn’t mind;] 

As for the guide situation - Ra’s had many throughout the ages because he keeps outliving them. He can’t keep them with him, because the Pit, as it turns out, messes up with the guide’s abilities and near destroys their minds - it’s as if their brains get overloaded and the poor things rarely live long past the bath:( He will keep Jason for as long as he can, but in about 70 years he will have to start looking for another guide...      

#headcanon #Anonymous

[airconditionedcomputingnightmare]

File 1: The PC/XT

Where it all began, more or less

This is the IBM 5160 PC/XT, the 1983 follow-up on 1981's IBM 5150 PC. By itself the 5160 was largely an iterative advancement on the 5150 PC, most notably trading the earlier model's little-used cassette connector for three more ISA expansion slots totalling at eight versus the PC's five. The PC/XT's BIOS also had some enhancements meant to make hard disk I/O easier, but these were also integrated into later PC BIOS revisions. The minority of the changes the XT brought to the table are nonetheless significant; They mark the point where Intel's x86 (and later x86-64) architecture slowly started to become codified as a standard in computing. To this day, your average Intel or AMD CPU-based computer can run code meant for the PC 5150 and 5160 unaltered (with certain caveats such as needing a MS-DOS or FreeDOS boot floppy). Much like it's precursor, the PC/XT is powered by a 4.77MHz Intel 8088 CPU and can push up to 640 kilobytes of RAM (but in the early days, maxing it out would have been extremely unusual). I'd been obsessed with these systems for a fairly long time, considering the acquisition of one a milestone for my computer collection.

In November of 2017, something caught my eye: A man downstate near Peoria selling a IBM PC/XT in pretty darn fine shape with one floppy drive and one hard drive, complete with a Amdek data display and a original IBM Personal Computer keyboard¹. All that kit, and the guy was at a fair price, to boot! I'd wanted one of these for more than a decade and I had a decent surplus of cash thanks to paid time off having paid out at work a few days earlier, so I'd be an absolute moron to not have jumped on it. The only catch? Pickup was local only, and I didn't have a car at the time. This would be an immediate and pressing issue, but it turned out the man came up to Chicagoland regularly and had business in my neck of the world anyways. At that point, I could have borrowed a ride for a short distance run to the meeting place he'd proposed, a furniture outlet two towns over, pretty easily. It was a date with destiny.

So it went. A few days later, I rolled up and parked at said shop. The machine's seller turned out to be an older fellow who greatly resembled Joseph Joestar (Pictured above) to a disturbing degree. The actual exchange went pretty smoothly. I went in the shop and ate some awful, awful (yet satiating) meatballs. The trip home was pretty uneventful. So far, so good...and I was fresh off the restoration of a IBM 5170 PC/AT I’d picked up at VCFMW, so at the time I figured this one wouldn't hold many surprises. Besides, the IBM PC was the standard most people imitated at the time if they went for MS-DOS. It'd have to be a breeze, wouldn't it? This theory wouldn't hold water, and soon I'd find myself surprised by the fact that it did, in fact, hold many surprises.

“Hey, wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?"

When I made it home, I slapped it on my workbench and popped it open for an initial inspection. The machine had obviously seen some upgrades over it's lifespan: The installation of an aftermarket power supply, a Hercules monochrome graphics card, a 3600RPM 30MB Seagate ST238 hard drive, a Tecmar Captain Real Time Clock/Serial/Parallel/Memory board, and a Scientific Solutions DADI/O card. The latter most card was the most curious in retrospect, since it hinted at the machine's background in ways pretty much nothing else could. I doubt I'll ever find out exactly what that background was since it didn't occur to me to ask the seller at the time, but the hint it represents is fascinating since that's not something you'd think you'd find in an old farmer type's WordStar 4 machine...which, by all means, this thing had otherwise appeared to be to this point.

It's worth mentioning here that the hard drive I'd previously alluded to was a model using the MFM interface, the late '70s - mid '80s precursor to the more modern IDE/PATA and the SATA interface seen in pretty much every modern computer. MFM drives are fickle but impressive beasts, with their controller hardware on a separate expansion card and little brains of their own. They're slow, they're loud, they're clunky and they're an awe to behold in spite of (or perhaps because of) all that. They have actual, honest to god stepper motors and mechanical brakes. When they work, they're impressive as hell but...they often don't. At least, I've found more dead ones than I've found live ones. Naturally, when I first turned the machine on as-is to kick off the smoke test process and assess precisely what I'd need to fix up, I heard said MFM hard disk warm up... followed by a shrill, piercing dragging noise that could only be the hard disk's read/write head burying itself in one of the hard disk's platters. That lack of smarts inherent to MFM hardware I'd alluded to had come back to haunt this system, since MFM drives typically don't know to automatically park the head somewhere catastrophe is less likely to strike unless the command is issued manually by the user. It pretty obviously wasn't parked before the machine was put into storage, so at some point in time the machine was jostled enough to put the head somewhere it'd thrash the drive as soon as it was given power again. In layman's terms, the thing was toast. Well, shit. I like to keep hardware period accurate where I can, but MFM drives are prone to wild price fluctuations and you often have to gamble on untested drives when buying used due to how difficult they can be to test. Thankfully, a relatively practical solution that cuts out some of the uncertainty exists and I'd had good luck with it on previous projects with dead drives: An IDE controller card loaded with the XT-IDE Universal BIOS. Usage of an IDE card would allow me to hook up something more readily available (Such as an old 80gb drive or even a CompactFlash memory card), and usage of the XT-IDE BIOS would make booting simpler since that would mean not having to gamble on the card's own BIOS (or lack thereof). The pair are a pretty common solution to this sort of boondoggle to the point that there are open-source card designs readily available for purchase from many sellers, including Glitchworks , whom I've relied on in the past quite a bit and from whom I wound up purchasing a Revision 4 XT-IDE card from for this project. I also snagged a nice 64mb Cisco cF card off ebay, which would pretty much have to be bootable since it was formerly boot media for some smart network switch or something that's outside the scope of this article.

Hey Mr. Postman, Man me a Post

Time passed, the U.S. Postal Service did its thing, and I planned and prototyped what the final IBM DOS install would look like using PCEm. I was initially targeting IBM PC-DOS 2.11 since that version of DOS is what the PC-XT shipped with, but decided 3.30 would be a better choice since it'd fit the machine's upgrade history and most MS-DOS software out there expects 3.0 at a minimum. DOS 3.0 through 3.30 were essentially to DOS what Windows XP would later be to Windows in terms of longevity.

I also attempted to remove some of the light rust from atop the case using the tried-and-true method of vinegar and tinfoil. I succeeded at getting rid of a fair bit of the corrosion, but also took some of the paint with it; that paint used on the IBM PC line's chassis is a textured, unusual spatter coat job that's both a pain and expensive to reproduce to the point that it's just not worth it to spray paint. Typically people just accept the blemishes or find a replacement case altogether. This exact thing had happened with my PC/AT previously, so I don't really know what I was expecting to happen. Thankfully, the monitor mostly obscures the blemishes.

I also wound up attempting to service the 5 1/4" floppy drive at this time, which was in dire need of some care and plagued by mechanical issues. The read and write head wouldn't work reliably for anything and the movement of said head was almost comically stiff. Getting things cleaned up was superficially simple enough; most of the time all that's needed is cotton swabs and some isopropyl. Clean the read/write head, take off the old, gunky, dusty grease on the drive rails, and you're solid. Regreasing the rails so that the head could move freely also went simply enough, merely needing some white lithium grease on the previously cleaned rails. Using my testing boot media I got the system booted into DOS using a floppy after the cleaning; While 360kb of space wasn't nearly enough this wasn't meant to be the final setup. Cramped, sure, but it sufficed for testing. By all means, the drive seemed to be working fine now since it superficially read and wrote fine while also formatting without errors...and if anything was wrong, it sure wasn't obvious to me or the system itself. Eventually the XT-IDE card made it in. I slotted it in, hooked up my cF-IDE adapter, and set up DOS onto the drive. When I tried to boot off the hard disk the first time, though, I was greeted by a screen full of garbage and rancorous beeping from the system's speaker. Something was wrong, and I had no idea what since typically the setup process for XT-IDE cards is pretty braindead once it's assembled properly and in the system. Repeated attempts at re-installation of both the card and the operating systems yielded no changes, and even taking the XT-IDE card and cF card out altogether for a transplant install in my PC/AT (my "known good" testing system) lead to nothing but more garbage on what is otherwise a computer willing to take whatever absurdity I throw at it with grace and gusto. Trying different floppy disk install media and different DOS versions did nothing to fix the corruption issues the thing was having, and it didn't like different cF cards either. What was happening? On pointers from Glitch himself and some other friends on a chain of IRC channels I hung around, I ran diagnostics of various types, including pulling all the installed expansion cards one-by-one and testing to rule out conflicts. There were none, and by all means pretty much every part of the system but the card checked out fine.

It turned out my card had a 573 latch go bad due to an issue with a bad shipment of ICs from a part supplier on Glitchworks' end, so with help from Glitch, the namesake and head honcho of the company, that all was simple enough to sort out; the board had the bad IC swapped out in no time at all. Once that all was in order, I found myself facing mounting frustration as the system still didn't want to boot off the cF card (but just hanging on boot with no errors or anything at all instead of spewing garbage all over the screen now), but I noticed it sometimes - yet inconsistently - did like mechanical hard disks and more robust IDE DOMs. Programs also experienced random corruption issues, too. I wasn't in the clear quite yet; I had a weak step in the install process to find which was corrupting DOS installs left and right.

My only clue? Transplanting the card to the PC/AT and installing DOS from there worked perfectly fine, even after moving the card back to the PC/XT. The PC/AT's boot card also worked just fine in the XT. That suggested that whatever the issue was, it was isolated to the PC/XT's input/output facilities specifically. The XT-IDE card itself actually was perfectly fine now and the similar symptoms to that of the bad latch were mere red herrings. It took me a while (and some shouting at from friends) to make the connection, but eventually I came to the conclusion that I should give the floppy drive a one-over using CheckIt, a personal go-to software suite for diagnostics on DOS systems. Lo and behold the floppy drive was generating absurd amounts of read errors, and at that point they could only be caused by capacitor issues (which would be fairly serviceable to fix but not immediately worth doing) or alignment issues (in which case the drive might as well be scrap²). It was easier just to not use the 360k drive. With the knowledge that the floppy drive was not to be trusted at all under my belt as well as the knowledge that any operating system installation should be done from the PC/AT, I proceeded to take another crack at things. I wound up with the PC/XT's Cisco CompactFlash card booting fine in the PC/AT but not the PC/XT, and the PC/AT's Compactflash card (a cheaper SanDisk card) booting fine in both. I figured I'd try swapping the cards out in full and this resulted in both machines working perfectly, as the PC/AT was more than happy with the theoretically nicer Cisco card. CompactFlash media can be fickle like that, but considering the SanDisk card is a significantly cheaper card meant for cameras yet proved more to the PC/XT's taste than a card expressly meant to be used as boot media is just bizarre; However at that point I couldn't be bothered to question things further since they well and truly worked from then on out. That wrapped up the last of the technical hurdles, and I was free to work on the machine at the software end of things.

AND REVERSI!

File transfer would be downright trivial with the cF card as my fixed disk, being just a matter of pulling the card from it's slot in the rear of the system and shuttling it over to my desktop in order to add programs or files. That wouldn't be a luxury I'd have with the DOM, in which case I'd have to deal with comparatively slow exchanges using FASTLYNX. I decided to stick to IBM DOS 3.30 with XTREE 2.0, a typical DOS shell and one that might have realistically ben in use in the machine's heyday. I also got Windows 1.01 installed, but without a mouse it's somewhat awkward to use. I can get a mean game of Reversi, Windows 1.01 through 2.11's built in game, going though.

Since that last bit of struggle with storage, everything has been essentially silk smooth. It was a months-long ride of trial and error, but in the end I finally got the working PC/XT I'd been wanting for years. Brutalist and built like a tank yet oddly attractive in that '80s way, the machine is an absolute blast to both use and behold. I can easily see it remaining the keystone of my collection for some time to come. There's still some stuff i'd like to sort out and some experiments I'd like to carry out (especially in regards to that Hercules graphics card I mentioned, which is worth a write-up in it's own right), but for now I can rest easy knowing that I've managed to get it back in shape in spite of what felt like three months of non-stop obstacles.

1: The IBM PC 5150 and PC/XT 5160 keyboard microcontroller used a much different protocol for input and output on a hardware and software level than the one in the later IBM 5170 PC/AT and onward would use. This means that if you scalp a PC or PC/XT-friendly keyboard (or any other legacy system's keyboard, on that thought) for the neato mechanical switches you're going to have an extremely difficult time finding a replacement. Don't do that; Consider a more modern mechanical keyboard instead. They're cheaper, just as good, and you don't potentially irreversibly gore a computer that way.

2: Alignment issues are dependent on blind luck or stupidly expensive and rare specialty equipment to fix. Even then, you still need a bit of blind luck.

#Retrocomputing #IBM PC/XT #MS-DOS

[site-specific-vada-baldwin]

Presentation Prep

I wrote a script and pre recorded my presentation which was useful since I had a lot of video and digital work to show. this also helped me be able to say what I wanted to in the presentation. 

So I wanted to do write design because I didn’t really know what it was and I wanted to try a different style of designing, in order to widen my understanding of the design process and designer/director/writer collaboration. I also liked the idea of working with an existing site and developing a performance that is unique to that space. Taking theatre out of its traditional space was also an exciting prospect because it makes theatre accessible to a wider range of people. I also wanted to improve my model making skills and really get to grips with working digitally. In my manifesto that I wrote at the begging they key point for me was to get the right balance between the site itself and the design I produce, making sure not to over power the site I was working with.

Why bca

I chose the bare chested adventurer for a few reasons. when we visited the site with Bridget, the way she described the text was really clear to me and it felt exciting to focus in on this small section of life that one existed in this house. I loved the idea of the houses physical state being reflective of the emotional deterioration of the characters inhabiting it ad the idea that the house itself was a character. I really wanted to find an interesting way of giving the house a voice and a presence. As you can see from the pictures of the site, it has so much to offer allready and I felt o could really get stuck into making the piece specific to the site.

Process

So the process has been different to other design projects, with agog research and developmennt of ideas. I liked going back to my research throughout the process. I began with ideas of puppetry and making the house a character and it having this almost malevolent hold on the people that live there. initially I was researching the themes of drug use and how that impacted the characters emotional statee, I then got too caught up in this, taking a completely different route, looking at video mapping and the function of the brain, but when I took a step  back, I revisited my original ideas which helped me gain focus again. Niro board was really useful for me because I had all my ideas on one page and I could easily see them together. This helped me decide which design elements worked together.so I ran with the main focus of bringing the ouse to life. I found a poem by Robert cording which reads “ I have come to love slowly how old houses hold themselves” this sparked ideas of the house being a person or even multiple people and I asked myself lots of questions about how they would interact with the charactersannd if they should speak, but after discussions with Bridget we decided it would be more effective for the house to be alive in a more subtle way. this ultimately worked better wit my other ideas for the actual visual design.

So my initial inspiration for this was

 this image. It got me thinking of having the scenes around the house like a museum of this familys history.  This idea let itself well to the scenes and movie the audience around the space, making the most of the site.

Image 2. This image of scaffolding inside a building was the second key image for me. having the inside and outside come together since the house is already over grown with nature stood out to me. Because Scaffolding is ususlly seen on the outside of buildings, having it on the inside really empasises the feeling of unease I was looking to create in the performance and it also helps demonstrate that this family is broken and needs to be supported.

I then went on to researching magical realism. I watched pans labryth and realised that the design of it and the themes (particularly the feeling of hopelessness and a battle with a negative force ) was something I wanted for my performance. I then went onto watch the shining as the design is intended to be off putting which helped me discover ways of making my audience feel as unsettled as Laura does in this house.

Combining the framed scenes with a more magical element of puppetry and movement would really emphasise the power the house has on the characters which is why Seth finds it hard to leave so I began to find ways of realising this.

The way I imagine bringing the house to life would be using practical elements that are of the house which would create a kinetic space. I would do this in the performance buy having ivy reaching out towards Seth as if the house it trying to keep him there, having dust falling when Gillian gets angry, having water run down walls when a tap is turned on, leaves falling over the characters, rubbish rustling in a corner, and wallpaper peeling off the wall. Id also use sounds that again are like echos of the people who once lived here, maybe a phone ringing unanswered ,footsteps or  a doorbell  Lucy suggested I show my ideas of puppetry and movement and the house being alive in this way through a film, but I realised it was quite difficult to get this across so the film gives more an impression of the family history in the piece with some of those practical elements.

Play film.

The idea with costume was that each character looked as if they were consumed by the house in varying degrees. 

So first we have Gillian, the grandma, she has simple clothes with  Layers of fabric that represent all the history built up around her.She is weighed down by her life ad she is now blending Ito the walls with the graffiti, she has lost most of her identity but her sparkly shawl and  She wears a cat broach which was inspired by the cat she kills in the original story show that the woman she one was was a little glamorous. and an awful 70s fur rug sits at her feet hi lighting how sort of grim she has become. 

Next is Keith, yes he is still very much of the house but he has more of himself present, he has rock climbing equippment  suggestive of his adventurous days. The yellow tie around his head suggests he is a bit of a joke to other people, his mad busies ideas ever work. His shorts blend into the graffiti and dirt of the house, he has spray pain on his arms and legs he doesn’t bother to remove when he paints. He wears a surfing brand t-shirt from the 70s when he bought it as a younger adventurer  he wears it with his watch to time the waves but he no longer surfs.

He also has a dressing gown that is almost like a beech towel that he would remove during the performance.

Next is Seth, he sits looking sad and worn down, his clothes are stained and imprinted with some graffiti but he is less consumed by the house than Keith, he watns to leave , the grey and blue of his clothes are quite dull and come from the house . The stripes on his shirt are the. Colours of Lauras clothes so that he mirrors her a little, showing he wants to leave and be with her but he can’t

And last we have Laura, she doesn’t blend into the house at al, she is quite normal, she has dirty white trainers from the site to show she dosnt belong there.

Its summer so she has shorts but its Wales so a huge jumper, her clothes. Odd socks because o one is perfect.

Render 1

Here is how I imagine the main room of the house would look. The audience has been lead to this point by Laura, listing to words of the text and sounds of the house and they enter the house, this is where we meet. Seth sitting on the scaffolding that is suggestive of a bedroom, ivy reaches out to him,  It has probably collected there as he spends a lot of time here and the house is constantly reaching out to him through this use of ivy. the scaffolding is old, over grown and was probably one of keiths failed attempts to fix the house many years ago. Seth would sit not playing his cello probably looking out of his window at the sea 

Model

The next moment I chose to focus on is the kitchen scene between Seth and his dad Keith. They talk and make fritters. I wanted the scene to be in this room of the house because it is a bridge between Keith and Seths spaces, a place they can meet in the middle and the audience can observe this from the end of the kitchen. 

 I wanted to use the site as it is and build onto of it in order to give an impression of what the house would have been like Almost like the past and present merging together to create a feeling of the characters being ghosts in their own house

 My aim with the design was to further the feeling of ueasemin subtle ways much like I the shining. There is a 4 seater table but only 2 chairs in the kitchen, the other chairs are placed randomly else where in the site, to suggest that Andrea the mother left years ago. Because of this the design of the kitchen would be outdated for the time. This late 90s early 200-s house has a dated 80s carpet in the kitchen which isn’t practical and to an audience today this would be more rare, the ugly marble pink tiles which were taken from a tile I found at the site would also look. Very 80s. They almost grow. Out from the corner suggesting there would  have been a full room of them. I chose the outdated AGA cooker that would be common in a farmhouse is rusty. 

 Graffiti on the walls and furniture that Keith has done himself read smoke and worlds best fritters.. rubbish piles in the corner, pizza boxes, beer bottle and banana peels and a rusty sink hangs off the wall.

The carpet is also becoming a part of the earth and the vines are taking over the walls. This is actually less over grown than the site itself.

I also wanted to mention that I made one of my walls with mount board and no foam board to see how I could use it to make designing more sustainable and it was really useful to do, I think ill use it again.

Image 3. This image was the inspiration for my next and final moment. When I saw this image it was exactly how I pictured the end of the performance. Keith and Seth sitting among their rubbish and old belongings which Seth removed from the house having one last Sesh leaving the audience wondering if they will actually change their ways or if they will carry on as before. The house looks inviting, drawing Seth back in, Keith is a part of the house, also tempting him to to go. This image for me was one that was clear from the beginning and really helped guide the rest of my design.

 Reflect

So at the beginning I said I wanted to improve my model making and digital skills which I think I have, im really happy with my costumes. I also thing I got the balance of site and design right. My film didn’t really communicate what I wanted it to but it was helpful for me to realise the difficulty in communicating movement in a design and actually that id need to consider how this movement would be realised in the show.

[jenetic777]

Adventures in Monstrosity Chapter One: Blood Lust

Sooo, I started writing a fic, whoops.

TAZ, Stolen Century Era, set in a plane primarily populated by monsters. It’s gonna be a Taagnus story, so if that’s not your thing, feel free to keep scrolling. Warnings for right now, transformation into a vampire, some very mild sexual content, blood-drinking. Rating is E, mostly for things that will be happening in the second chapter.

Taako woke up from a daytime nap with an unbearable thirst like nothing he’d ever felt before in his life. You see, a few nights before while exploring a town near where the Starblaster had first landed he had a run-in with one of the residents of this plane. Now, being ravished in a dark alley by a handsome man isn’t normally something that he’d be particularly upset by; but these weren't exactly normal circumstances.

The guy had been a vampire, and Taako had ended up being turned. Luckily Magnus had gone out to do some exploring not long after he’d left, found him, and brought him back to the ship. All of the initial damage healed up quickly and with no complications, but even between all of the magic users in the group there was nothing they could do for the vampirism itself.

Keep reading under the cut or follow the AO3 link! http://archiveofourown.org/works/13256319

Lup, of course, was insanely jealous. “Three days! Seriously bro, we’ve been here /three days/ and you manage to end up undead. I swear, what’s a girl gotta do around here to become a monster?” (Not that it took her long to do the same; within the week the twins were both reveling in their newfound status as creatures of the night).

And the hunger had been there in the back of Taako’s mind for the first few days, but it wasn't too bad. Eat some raw meat, get a sufficient amount of blood to push it to the side for a while. But in the back of his mind he knew that eventually he’d need to feed and apparently that time had come.

The elf stumbled out of his cabin, definitely looking worse for the wear and headed in the direction of the dining area. Being so out of it, on the way he quite literally ran into Magnus. The human stood nearly a head taller than him, so as they impacted the fighter’s neck ended up tantalizingly close.

Breathing in Taako barely bit back a moan, feeling his fangs start to elongate slightly. With his eyes closed he didn't see Magnus take a small step back with a look of concern on his face. “Hey Taako… you alright buddy, you don't look so good.”

The wizard swallowed hard, biting gently into his lip. “Y-yeah, stellar my man, no need to worry about old Taako, perfect as always.” Even he could hear the shaking in his voice, blatant evidence that something was definitely wrong.

The fighter leveled an incredulous look at him. “Come on dude, don't try to bullshit me, we’ve known each other what… like 70 years now? Something’s up, you know you can talk to me about anything right?”

The human’s hands were still on Taako’s shoulders and he could feel the warmth radiating from them. Subconsciously he leaned his head to the side, his cheek brushing against one of them. “No need big guy, like I said, I’m good, just… gotta get some food, ya know?”

Eyebrows raised, clearly not taking that for an answer. “Taako. You’re cold. Even colder than usual. And you’re really pale. We all know you got turned and you haven't actually fed yet. Lup’s got Barry, so she’s fine.” Taako snickered; those two were both /way/ more than fine in this situation. “But you… you’ve gotta be hungry by now yeah?” Magnus looked concerned, and Taako had to look away, he hated feeling the heavy weight of that gaze on him, it felt like pity.

Out of frustration Taako gave Magnus a gentle shove away, which, under normal circumstances probably wouldn't have budged him an inch. But he wasn't taking into account his newfound vampiric strength. The fighter was pushed, back hitting the wall of the hallway with a hollow thud. He shook his head, feeling only slightly jarred from the impact.

Taako backed away, much like a frightened animal who’d been cornered, and took off for his room. However, the human recovered more quickly than he anticipated and managed to follow him inside. Magnus grabbed the elf’s chin, forcing eye contact between them before he spoke up again. “Okay, let’s try this again. You. Need. To. Feed. It’s obvious. I’m offering, as your friend, to give you what you need.” He sighed heavily, pausing before he continued. “Now, please, let me help you.” The man’s tone was firm and clearly, he was not going to be backing down on this.

The wizard shook off the hand at his chin and looked away. He bit into his lip carelessly, and the copper-y salt taste of blood filled his mouth, only serving to make the hunger inside of him grow stronger. “Ughhhhh fine, fine, if you're so gung ho about making yourself a meal then who am I to get in your way? You better be ready big guy.” The vampire lightly pushed Magnus back onto the bed, leaving him to on the edge in suspense. Taako grinned at him, showing off his fangs in all their glory.

The elf debated with himself for a moment, trying to figure out the best positioning for this and settled on kneeling next to his companion, thighs resting on his calves. Magnus met his gaze for a moment, Taako’s normally blue eyes shining a hot red with desire. “Y-yeah, I’m ready. Just… make sure you don't take enough to change me, I don't know if the crew is prepared to handle three vampires at the same time.”

Taako chuckled. “Don't worry about it kemosabe, I’ve got this under control,” he said with a lazy but sharp grin. “Just relax, I’ll be careful.” He let a hand rub up and down over the fighter’s bicep lightly.

Magnus nodded, taking a deep steadying breath. “Okay, cool cool cool. Yeah, we’re good. Cool.” His hands ran up and down his thighs, doing his best to ease away any lingering nervousness. Despite the fact that Taako was his friend and he’d been the one to offer this he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling of having a predator sitting next to him on the bed. But, this was important, much more important than letting his instincts get the better of him. So he leaned back, exposing his throat to Taako and let his hands rest on the bed behind him. “Alright, go for it.”

The elf leaned in close, the hand on Magnus’s arm moving to the man’s shoulder to keep himself steady. His lips brushed against the human’s neck, almost like a kiss as he paused to breathe in the man’s scent. Wood shavings from the carving projects he’d kept up with after Legato, a faint hint of sweat from physical training earlier in the day, and something faintly sweet that all combined into something distinct to the fighter. But Taako couldn't take much time to appreciate it, his instincts were prodding him to action.

And act he did, letting his fangs fully extend and sink into flesh like a hot knife into butter. All of a sudden he could taste it; the blood, /hot/ and /fresh/ and /living/ beading up around the puncture wounds left by his teeth. Taako’s tongue caressed the skin, savoring the salty coppery flavor and the sensation of life and power flowing into him with every drop. A barely audible moan slipped out of his throat, muffled by the throat his mouth was closed around.

At the same time, Magnus let out a gasp at the initial pinch of fangs entering his skin. But only moments later he started to feel it; the euphoria, the light-headedness, the full body sensation of pleasure that came from being fed on. And it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. One of his hands came forward to gently twine itself into Taako’s hair, keeping the elf’s mouth nice and close to his throat.

The vampire, of course, graciously accepted the subtle invitation. He began to suck at the skin, blood coming to the surface faster and faster and drowning out everything else. Suddenly the angle just wasn't good enough, he needed to be closer; and almost without conscious thought Taako shifted so he was straddling Magnus’ lap.

The fighter bit into his lip to try and hold back a moan at the shift in position, but the roll of his hips was absolutely unmistakable to Taako. He pulled back barely an inch, breath ghosting over the human’s skin. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you were into this big guy,” he said with a smirk on his face.

Magnus groaned, fingers gripping tightly at the elf’s blonde hair. “K-keep going,” he panted quietly, “I know you're not full yet, I can take it.” His hips rolled up once more against Taako’s, his cock half-hard and twitching at the friction. The vampire did not hesitate to heed the fighter’s words, except to quickly murmur, “mmm, you know, I honestly believe you can,” before biting back down into the man’s neck.

Blood filled his mouth once more, and Taako let out a muffled moan. This- this is precisely what he’d needed, Magnus had been right. Not that the elf would ever admit it, of course. And the fighter was still squirming under him, tempting now in more ways than one.

Unfortunately, just as the vampire started to pull back to suggest that they do something to relieve the tension that had been building for the human Magnus slumped backwards onto the bed, unconscious. Apparently between the blood loss from feeding and the blood being diverted from his brain, the man had ended up passing out.

The elf let out a frustrated huff, standing to movevoff of the other man’s lap. “Well, better luck next time big boy. Guess I should probably get you to bed.” He laid down next to the human, instinctively giving a small lick to the places where his fangs had punctured the skin. The wounds knitted closed like magic; but if Barry’s condition from the last few days was any indication there’d still be some wicked bruising in the morning.

With a bit of effort, but less than you’d expect, Taako managed to wrestle Magnus’ unconscious body under the covers of the bed and tucked him in. He left a glass of water on the bedside table, knowing the human would probably be thirsty when he woke up. Once that was settled he wandered off to go grab a shower and make sure he didn't disturb the sleeping fighter in his bed.

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

Epilogue:

Magnus awoke in the morning more than a little bit confused. The room he was in was familiar, but not too familiar; a place he’d been inside before but where he’d never actually spent the night. He flipped onto his side lazily and spotted a glass of water, then almost instantly realized how thirsty he was. He downed half the cup in one swallow, and let out a long sigh.

Taking a longer look around the fighter was able to identify the room, Taako’s. Lup’s taste was similar, but you could tell them apart in the small details. Confusion overtook his features for a few moments until he remembered the events of the night before, at which point his cheeks flushed slightly. He finished the glass of water he assumed had been left for him and then walked out to the hall.

Magnus slowly made his way to the dining area, seeing that it was right about time for breakfast. Lup and Barry were already seated, the elf leaning up against her boyfriend and nuzzling lightly at his neck. When they caught sight of Magnus they both chuckled, recognizing the tell-tale bruising on his neck. “Well /that/ explains why my brother was so lively this morning,” Lup said with a grin on her face.

“Yeah Magnus, looks like you two had an interesting night,” Barry added with an amused chuckle. His fingers trailed through Lup’s hair and his other arm curled around her waist, hugging her close.

“I don't know what you guys are talking about,” the fighter deflected, fighting back the color threatening to overtake his face again. “Nothing happened, it was a perfectly normal night.”

“Sure big guy, sure,” Lup said shaking her head, “and I’m sure that's a perfectly normal bruise on your neck, what, you get mauled by a bear in a training sesh?” She was clearly trying and failing to resist the urge to laugh at the situation.

“Just… nevermind,” the human said with a sigh, sitting down at the table a seat away from the pair. Only a moment later,Taako stepped out of the kitchen with a sizeable plate of food in his hand. He set it down in front of Magnus deftly and put an arm over the top of the man’s chair.

“Oh good, you’re already awake. Was gonna go check on you if you weren't yet. That’s yours,” he said, gesturing to the plate of food. It was an odd collection, a small fruit salad, a delicious looking piece of chicken, some toast with peanut butter on it, and a tall glass of milk.

Magnus turned to Taako as soon as the elf spoke up, and immediately responded once he finished what he was saying. “Yeah thanks; hey, so, could we maybe try something a little different next time, I woke up suuuper sore this morning, I think we should probably start with you on top from the beginning, you know?”

Merle, who had been walking into the room just as Magnus spoke up instantly turned on his heel and walked back out with a, “nope, not dealing with that one.” Lup and Barry immediately burst into giggles and the tips of Taakos’ ears turned bright red. The wizard walked right back to the kitchen without saying another word.

“What,” Magnus said, looking rather like a confused puppy. “What did I say?” He shook his head and dug into his breakfast, huffing out a sigh as he started to wolf down the food.

#the adventure zone #taz #taz: balance #taagnus #fanfic #fanfiction #vampirism #monster transformation #blood-drinking

[thoughtsofadaydreamer]

Cleaning house

(Punisher fan fiction)

Little Italy, NY. Circa 1977. New York. Americas Mafia homeland. Originating in the late 19th century long before any of us in this era even knew how to say the word “Mafia”. Growing fearsome and powerful in the 20s and 30s. Prohibition era was a goldmine for the Mafiosos. And into the 40s, 50s, 60s. Reaching their peak in the 70s. No one, not even the president could stop the Mafia in this time. At least that is until a tragic sunny day happened in the summer of ‘75. “They should have put another bullet in my skull.” Castle thinks to himself. Sitting patiently inside of his black van. He stares off into the distance towards the front of a convenience store. “Tricanni’s” the building reads. Frank Castle was the victim of an attempted murder on his life. Still alive to remember the day, he truly died when his wife and 2 kids werent so lucky. Slain by the mob on what was meant to be a picnic day at the park. After discovering a mob hit, the Castle family were to be killed for the witnessing. When Frank arose from death, with no help from the crooked police department, he began a one man war against the cities underworld. After 2 years, Frank is digging deeper and deeper into the mob. Chipping away for the past 2 years to get to the higher ups.

Dominic Tricanni was a Caporegime (captain) for the Gnucci (pro. NEW-CHEE) crime family. The same organization responsible for the death of Franks family. Tricanni being his last lead on the whereabouts of Ma Gnucci after she went into hiding. Ma Gnucci was the wife of Don Vittorio Gnucci. When the Don died, his widow decided to take his place of power. Something never before seen until her time. Ruling the crime family with her hand practically on everyones balls. A real mean old bitch as many of her own associates consider her. Castle originally planned on attacking each of the capo’s crews to break down the family section by section. But when Ma Gnucci decided to lay low, Castles only way of finding out her location is through the last captain still breathing. This is where Tricanni comes in. Frank waits outside for another 10 minutes. Only looking away for a millisecond to check his watch every now and again. Once the lights go out in the building, Frank gears up. He throws his leather trenchcoat over his white skull kevlar and makes his way across the street.

Tricanni’s was a typical NYC business building. Store on the bottom, apartments on top. He knew thats where the mob run establishment counted profits through the fronts. The place where you buy a loaf of bread, some milk, maybe some snacks, smokes, beer, and a package of God knows what if you ask for the right people. Understand? However much money was made through the packages, was moved upstairs. So the building had to have wiseguys with guns throughout the building. Frank taps on the glass of the door, holding his head down as the man behind the counter peeks out. Castle sticks up his middle finger yelling the words “Fuck you, you fucking guinea pricks!” The man dashes out through the door “I TOLD YOU LITTLE BASTARDS TO STOP COMI-“ the man stops and looks around an empty street. Feeling alone. Until 2 man hands grip under his chin and on top of his cranium. Twisting with a loud violent crunch. He drops dead weight into Castles arms, dragging him into the store. Dumping him off behind the counter. Castle searches his body and discovers a Colt. 1911. Checking the chamber for a round. “Full clip” he mutters to himself. Holstering the weapon down the front of his belt. His boots silently stepping through the door to the stairway. He listens. “HAHAHAHA!!!” Laughter coming from upstairs. He follows the sound of humorous covervastion until he spots 2 more waiting around the next corner. “Ay, so how was that slut you took home last night?” One asks the other. Castle eases up the stairs hugging the wall close with his back, listening. “Yo i think you were right about’er....been itchin’ all day. Fuck!” The 2 men laugh hysterically, castles lip snarls at the sound of the 2 mobsters. He listens for footsteps. Trying to pinpoint how they move.

Planning his next move, he unholsters one of his own pistols. An all black enhanced 1911 .45. Loaded with armor piercing rounds. He begins to twist a silencer on the handgun as one of the pair speaks, “you hear about Freddy?” Then the other, “All i know is hes dead, why?” The conversation continues. “I mean how he died. Cops and news reporters saying its the punisher. I believe ‘em.” Castle almost smiles as he peeks around the corner ever so slightly. “Ahhh fuck Castle. If i see ‘em ill have ‘em carrying his heart in a fuckin’ doggy bag.” Castle makes his move while their guards are down. “Nows your chance.” He mutters to them, standing below the staircase. Before the men could draw their weapons Castle unloads 2 rounds into their heads. The bodies drop with the shell casings. The wall behind them painted with blood and brain. “Whoops, too slow.” He jokes as he steps past the bodies. Meanwhile on the 3rd floor, Dominic Tricanni discusses bullshit talk while he counts his earnings. “So far its 15 G’s Dom.” One of his associates speaks up. “Not bad, not bad at all.” Tricanni replies. His face a little aged. Like an old war veteran who was the grease monkey cook of the platoon but could fight. Which he could. Tricanni used to be an amateur boxer on the streets of Jersey. Eventually being hired by Don Vittorio Gnucci himself as a source of income. Over time he became a small time enforcer on the side before choosing to work full time for the mob. Rising through the ranks and being granted his own crew in NY. A foul mouthed, tough Italiano with a love for money and a good fight. “This stays between us. Ma wants 10% of every take. Well we gonna give her what she THINKS is 10%. Tell her maybe business was slow this week. Not alot of customers. Capiche?” The others nod and reply, “Capiche”. Flicking cigarettes and downing scotch. “That bitch gets on my nerves.” Tricanni states. One cracks a joke, “Maybe shes a bitch because ever since Vito died, she hasnt been getting...properly pampered? If you know what i mean?” They chuckle as another pokes fun, “yeah Dom why dont you dust her off and take her for a spin y’know? Take one for the team huh?” Dominic laughs then responds, “I wouldnt fuck her with YOUR little pee shooter Ralphy.” They laugh, oblivious to the trouble approaching. Outside the room, Castle covers the mouth of another mobster. As his knife calmly slices across the adams apple of the man. The sound of muffled choking and blood curdling fills the vigilantes ears. Watching the door in case he is too audible. More laughter is heard as Frank drops the body. Snagging a sawed off shotgun from the dead mans grip. He holsters the shotgun to unscrew the silencer from his pistol. “Gonna have to get loud.” He thinks to himself. He currently wields both weapons, standing in front of the apartment door. He knocks on the door, waiting to hear the footsteps get closer. He hears whistling from behind the door signaling a cue for his next move. “BOOM!”

The mobster goes stumbling back, leaving a large hole in the door from the sawed off. “WHAT THE FU-! [BOOM!]” the last round from the shotgun bursts through the door. Enough to send the gangsters back falling to the floor. Castle spartan kicks the door with his large heavy combat boots. Breaking it off the hinges. Dropping the sawed off and equipping his secondary pistol. “BAM! BAM!” Headshots. 2 mobsters rise from behind the table, greeted with .45 caliber rounds to the cranium. Tricanni, still down, is painted with his mens blood. From the kitchen another spawns “HEY!!! ITS CASTLE!!!” Castle twists his head to the left. Just as the gangster pulls the trigger on his Micro smg. Machine gun fire sprays the room as Frank jump into the bedroom. Landing on his side. Bullet holes spawn as the mobster continues to unload his clip. Sending glass and drywall pieces all over the bedroom. Castle sends a few rounds through the wall in return. He notices a change in the scenario. The shots change place, now being shot from the right instead of the left. Frank follows up with gunfire of his own. Popping off the rest of the clip into the wall as a distraction before “BAM!” He lets off one last round just as the mobster was changing positions. Killing him. Tricanni sees this and attempts to run. “BAM! BAM!” Castle puts 2 in Tricannis leg. The Mob captain screams in agonizing pain as he attempts to crawl. But Frank beats him to it. And grabs him by his foot. Dragging him to the kitchen.

Tricanni sits handcuffed in a dining room chair. Dripping blood from his leg wounds. “What do you want with me Castle?” Frank stares him down, silent. Pulling up a chair seating himself directly in front of Dominic. “You want to know where Ma is!? Is that it? Well fuck you! I hate that old cunt just as much as you but ill be damned if i cooperate with you!” Frank doesnt break his cold stare. Keeping eye contact. Suddenly Tricanni feels a jolt of excruciating pain sent up his thigh and all over his leg. Frank has stuck his finger inside his bullet wound. “I think we need to try that again.” His voice gruff and dark. Like death itself if it could talk. Tricanni grits his teeth, holding back any screams as best as he can. Frank hooks his finger making Tricanni tear up and jolt around. “Where...is...Ma...Gnucci?” Tricanni breathes heavy but doesnt scream or give in. “I admire your pain tolerance. I wont take away your strength, ill give you that. But Tricanni either you give me an address or i plant a third one in your leg and play bowling. Now tell me....” he cocks his pistol and aims below the 2 bullet wounds. Suddenly, his home phone rings. Frank looks at Tricanni and stands. “No running off.” He walks over and picks up the phone as a woman speaks. Tricanni watches as Castle writes down on a napkin. He hangs up after a few minutes and washes his hands of blood. Tricanni pants as he speaks up “s-so what now?” Castle stops and looks down at Dominic “Now?” He raises his arm “(click) BAM!” Tricanni’s brains coat over the kitchen counter. “You give the devil my regards.”

As Castle walks back down into the convenience store the phone behind the counter rings. Frank ponders but then decides to answer. “Is this Tricanni’s?” Frank almost chuckles “It was...” he thinks to himself. “Yes” he answers. The man on the phone continues on. “Tell him ill be back by to pick up my package i ordered. Is tomorrow a good time?” Frank looks outside for any company. “Not a good idea. Tricanni’s is kind of going out of business after tonight and will be discontinuing any service to the public. Sorry for the inconvenience.” He hangs up and walks out into the New York streets back to his van. Checking the napkin he wrote on. “Rochester-3:00 p.m.-brick house few blocks from hospital. Tuesday.” He folds it up and starts the van. “Nothing like a little spring cleaning to make you feel like a new man.” He smirks to himself as he drives through the dark lonely streets.

#the punisher #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic series #punisher fan fiction #fanfic #frank castle

[super-zero-time-blog]

Super Light Warrior Changéríon: Episodes 1-3 Review

The year is 1996. Toei Co. Ltd., the penny pinching and merchandise driven imaginative studio that graced the world with anime adaptations of Sailor Moon and Dragon Ball and tokusatsu hero franchises like Kamen Rider and Super Sentai, have found themselves paired up with massive entertainment force Sega (yes, the Sonic the Hedgehog guys) to release a brand new superhero show on the world.  The first idea, a planned follow up to the 1995 Keita Amemiya film Mechanical Violator Hakaider (itself a reimagining of the villain from the 70′s Shotaro Ishinomori classic Android Kikaider) falls through.  A new idea suddenly comes about from Toei producet Yoshikawa Susumu and suit manufacturer Rainbow Co. Ltd: Create a hero suit made primarily out of transparent parts. With that in mind, a cast and crew are soon brought on to create one of the weirdest tokusatsu series of the 1990′s.

So here we are and here I am and it’s Changéríon (yes the accents are how it’s officially written, it’s meant to be French, I don’t know why) time. Sorry for that long build up! Just figured it’d be what all the cool kids do. Super Light Warrior Changéríon is a doozy of a series, one that has held a cult following in Japan for 20 years after its abrupt end in December of 1996. The show featured a staff of producers (such as Shinichiro Shirakura), directors (such as Takao Nagaishi)  and writers (namely head writer Toshiki Inoue) who would go on 4 years later to help revive Kamen Rider for the Heisei era, and in general went on to be remembered for its quirky and surreal nature. Even the show’s star, Takashi Hagino, would go on to be in Kamen Rider (in a very different role as infamous serial killer Takeshi Asakura, a.k.a. Kamen Rider Ouja, in 2002′s Kamen Rider Ryuki) I decided to plunge into this series finally now that English fansubs were out, and I’ve been contemplating how to go about this. For the first installment I figure I’m just going to write up my thoughts briefly on the first three episodes of this 39 episodes series, and I may then expand upon that later and switch the format around a bit at any given time, so here goes!! 

A few things to note ahead of time

1. The head writer of this series (and, to my knowledge, the writer of the first four episodes here) is Toshiki Inoue. Inoue is a man known for his love of drama, strange humor, and plots heavily focused on miscommunication. His best known shows include Chojin Sentai Jetman (1991), Kamen Rider Agito (2001), Kamen Rider 555 (2003) some mess called Kamen Rider Kiva (2008) and oh yeah he’s written for anime, included the Death Note anime in 2005. You have likely seen something he has written if you’ve touched an anime. Or maybe not, I don’t know.

2. The suits in this. They are absolutely gorgeous, but they were infamously dangerous. 

The Changéríon suit alone had two versions, a 100 kg (~ 200 lb) version for close up shots and a 40kg (~ 80 lb) suit for action scenes. Both were terrifying to those in it. Veteran suit actor Jiro Okamoto commented on the suit being absurdly heavy and fearing he would break it, not to mention that it was so heavy that it hurt his neck. This thing supposedly nearly sent suit actors to the hospital! And yet the action is generally decent despite the struggle in these beasts of a set of suits.

3. The opening, “OVER THE TIMES ~ Beyond The Present~” by MISA. It’s just awesome. It’s really awesome. I mean listen to it. It’s super awesome. 

Aww yeah....

SO! Now that I’ve gotten all of that out of the way, on to the reviews! The format is simple. A summary of the plot first, then my thoughts on it. I’ll see how this works and just go from there.

EPISODE 1: “A Hero!! Me?”

Air Date: April 3, 1996

Bumbling detective Akira Suzumura is hired to investigate a series of missing student reports from a local elementary school. After a night of staking the grounds out, he soon finds himself on a new path after a freak accident and an attack by a monster from the inter-dimensional invaders known as the Darkzeid lead him to unwittingly become the warrior of light: Changéríon! But as he struggles to master his new powers and deal with the mysterious SAIDOC organization, the full threat of Darkzeid begins to awaken.

Changéríon starts out about as weird as you can expect a show like this to with a massive hoop spiralling down a flight of stairs to a narrow Tokyo tunnel and having a creepy 90′s CG entity force its soulless face out towards the camera. It only escalates by going to a dramatic sequence of Akira and his assistant Akemi seemingly armed and ready for a shootout....only for the sequence to be a harmless rescue of a local puppy. This is Inoue at his peak weirdness, something which can really be hit or miss, but it’s strangely all a bunch of baffling moments which click oddly well. Akira isn’t much of a hero in many ways: He’s clumsy, he’s a bit lecherous, selfish and lazy. He doesn’t have much cash and doesn’t even pay part-timers like Akemi well. And yet despite all of this he has his heart in the right place and it’s fun to watch him fumble around in the suit at the episode’s end. It even made me chuckle seeing him “free up” time on a completely empty schedule to help the school find their students. While some scenes do feel disjointed and a bit uncomfortable (including a very uncomfortable joke about pedophilia which struck me as more than a little uncalled for in a show aimed at children), everything is really bonkers and pretty exciting here! It all ends with the main villains being awakened and a budding rivalry between Akira and the former, intended Changéríon candidate, Hayami, as the good folks at SAIDOC quietly wonder “What on earth have we gotten ourselves into with this nut?” 

It’s also worth mentioning that this show is a definite turning point for Toei’s production, having been one of their first shows recorded on digital video rather than film, and it’s chock full of now dated CGI and strange, minimalist dark rooms for otherworldy realms. It’s kinda creepy and very uncanny, but I’d say it oddly works in the show’s favor at this point. It’s got an unintentional charm to it. There’s a borderline David Lynch feel to the Darkzeid realm bits, in all honesty. Considering how big of a hit Twin Peaks was during the mid 90′s in Japan, it wouldn’t surprise me if the set designers took at least a smidge of inspiration from the Black Lodge sequences during seasons 1 and 2 of the series. It’s not as traumatic as something you’d see Lynch do, but there’s a similarly sinister atmosphere to it all here with countless bodies wrapped in plastic...like...bags, much like Laura Palmer was.

 The combat itself is a bit strangely edited too. Lots of sped up footage and Changéríon seldom kicks (more often getting kicked around instead), which I will assume is due to that hulking suit. But it also gives us one of the most ridiculou(sly satisfying) attacks ever with the Shining Attack. Which...uh...well...

....okay it’s pretty rad, I won’t lie. That’s pretty great. It is. It’ll get used to death in future episodes, but it’s still cool here.

First impression is a good one. It’s like this episode sets the tone for what is to come quite well.

Episode 2: “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Brain”

Air Date: April 10, 1996

The three generals of Darkzeid awaken and enter the human world, with plans to consume humans to satisfy their ravenous appetites. Meanwhile, SAIDOC Chief Munakata explains to Akira about the threat of Darkzeid and their need for his help, only for him to swiftly turn them down and celebrate his newfound superpowers with an unlimited shopping spree. But in the process he not only angers operatives Hayami and Eri, but finds himself in yet another Darkzeid plot as Akemi and Eri are kidnapped by an otherworld monster using posessed shoes. It’s up to Changéríon to save the missing women before they end up on Darkzeid’s lunch menu!

It’s here that we see Inoue throw in another one of his big tropes with character writing: The reluctant hero. This isn’t the first time he’d written that character archetype (another great example of this is Gai Yuki/Black Condor in Jetman) but it’s something he loves to write quite often. In this case, Akira decides to just go hog wild with loans he can’t afford, and it’s actually pretty funny. Buying out restaurants for the day, loading up on shoes for Akemi, and just being a total snot and a cocky jerk until he’s forced to realize that he put his own employee in danger and team up with Hayami....after a bizarre sequence of both of them sneaking into the same Darkzeid shoe store. In drag. And not recognizing each other. In drag. Before fighting it out in front of onlookers. In drag. This is after a scene with the store owner, the monster of the week (with a literal face full of shoes in his monster form, no less) attempts to feed his kidnapped victims with mysterious goop in high heel shoes. There’s no shortage of surreal visuals here and it does get disjointed at points, yet I feel like the story comes to a more coherent point from here. 

Despite the goofier antics, there’s still that underlying sinister aura to the Darkzeid generals. Their designs are legitimately creepy and their hushed meetings in dimly lit rooms, murmuring about their need to consume humans and how darkness will consume their own world could easily give a kid nightmares. Even I was amazed at how well the monster suits were pulled off in this show. The villains look like villains, and they’re fittingly mysterious.

In terms of action, Changéríon gets his aptly named Gun Laser, a really nifty weapon with a gimmick I love! Y’see, it runs on disks that he summons from his chest. And the discs spin. Go figure that Sega would manufacture all these toys with a disc gimmick. Not only was it the peak of the CD boom, it also made me chuckle thinking about how they had moved into CDs with the Sega Saturn at around the same time. (Plus the Gun Laser just looks really dang cool!)

 We’re getting places now that the initial stage has been set! Slowly but surely, we’re getting places! 

Episode 3: “A Bunch of Brides”

Air Date: April 17, 1996

Brides are mysterious disappearing at the altar! Darkzeid is behind this! Akira plans to counter these objections to holy matrimony with the help of Hayami and Akemi...but time and again things keep going south! Can he save the day and stop these foul occurrences? Meanwhile, in a basement lab, Chief Munakata struggles to develop the sidekicks Akira needs in his battle...

If you haven’t figured out that this series is meant to be goofy at this point, I don’t know what to tell you. This is a pretty fluffy and light episode with some good gags strewn throughout. Perhaps the funniest is Akira’s futile attempt at teaching Hayami how to flirt with women. It’s done with the most 90′s montage imaginable and it killed me with how good it was. The follow up is the sequence in the above shot, which I won’t spoil the full context for, but it also got a laugh out of me. There’s slapstick, there’s snark, there’s a simple but weird vibe to this whole episode and it’s totally fine. We’ve gotten into the groove of the show at this point it feels like, and I look forward to where it goes from here. The most interesting element plotwise is seeing Munakata’s struggle to get a set of mysterious robots up and working for Akira to use. It’s made clear that he and his research are mocked by his superiors, who don’t even think that Darkzeid is real, let alone a threat. Poor guy needs more respect! But we’ll see where things go with these machines in the next episode.

With 36 episodes left to go, Super Light Warrior Changéríon is certainly an odd, yet familiar show to me. I can see the early elements of Heisei Kamen Rider at play here with how it’s shot, the eerier villain designs, the quick cuts and kinetic feel to the action and the quirky humor and characters. It’s like seeing a mix of Metal Hero aesthetics with Super Sentai pacing making something of a hybrid that will have a lingering impact. Next time I’ll cover episodes 4-7, or perhaps change up the pace a bit. Expect some cool new robot buddies next time, but other than that I’m as in the dark as everyone else!

Hopefully my rambling didn’t scare you away by now, and we’ll be ready for more adventures to come, soon!

And remember! SOMEBODY LOVES you. And SOMEBODY NEEDS you. 

#changerion #ramblin #tokusatsu

[ao3-hipster-fangirl-trash]

I don’t belong here (II)

Summary: taking place during the events of The Avengers, Lex is Tony Starks adoptive daughter, who seems to have a knack for technology and, for some odd reason, mythology, however when one of the myths she loves so much comes to life, she can’t help but feel she knows him from a life before Tony Stark

this chapter: Lex talks to a man who looks suspiciously like the Captain bloke that Tony’s basically in love with

part 1 / part 2

After a night of revision on odd creatures, Lex was sure her entire head was going to explode. She had a headache from being up for so long, along with a headache from dehydration and a headache for overuse. Maybe she should have gone to bed when Pepper said. But of course, she wouldn’t be a Stark if she ever listened to good advice.

At 6am Coulson had walked through the elevator doors once more and announced that they had to leave for the hellicarrier, earning him a groan from one of the two lying on the desk, face down and half asleep.

He had gone into Lex’s room and picked out as many appropriate outfits as possible, shoving them into a Captain America gym bag (which he highly approved of) and dragged it out to the central room, before picking up a half dead Lex and lightly kicking a Tony in the same condition, trying to prompt him to move. Of course, Tony waved him off, saying he would join them later and to ‘have fun, be safe.’

Coulson sighed and adjusted Lex on his hip, before making his way to the landing pad outside and getting on the small craft which lifted the pair over New York.

Lex barely registered that they made a stop at one point, only slightly rousing herself from her sleep when the engines stopped, before nodding back off.

When she finally woke up, it was because of light glaring off the ocean surface in her eye, glinting and glittering in the most annoying way possible to man. Her eyes opened slightly, and her hand went to her face, trying to shield herself from the light. Lex groaned and sat up, looking towards the cockpit to see a man leaning against the arch separating the pilots from the passengers. He was tall, really tall. Like, within the 6ft perimeter tall, wearing a faded leather jacket and a haircut which Lex assumed was ‘grown out military style.’

Tony would have probably commented on how he had a nice ass.

“Hey mister.” He turned to find the source of the sound, only to see the 12 year old which he was pretty sure was sleeping a moment ago, completely awake and walking towards him in the cabin of a moving vehicle.

“Hey kid.” She was right next to him now, watching him tower above her, only to give a little laugh and walk back to her seat.

“You’re taller than Tony, thats gonna annoy him.”

The man looked at her in confusion, waiting for her to elaborate in some way.

“Tony’s my dad, well, is he? He is, he’s my not-so-dad dad. Adoptive dad. And he’s sort of tall but he hates being shorter than others, says it makes it harder for him to sass them.”

The man gave a chuckle and looked towards his shoes, trying to find an appropriate way to reply to the kid sitting opposite him.

“I’ll be sure to kneel when i’m around him then.” Lex have a laugh and shook her head.

“Don’t do that, because it starts with the kneeling, then it goes to the banter, then it goes to the arguing and the tension, and then I have to stay with Pepper for a couple of nights because Tony isn’t one for being walked in on.” The man looked at her completely dumbfound, slightly scared and wondering who the hell was her father and why did he need her out of the house for 2 days?

“So, who are you?”

He shook himself out of his daze and gave her a little smile.

“Well kiddo, i’m a soldier.”

She nodded.

“Yeah, but which one? Are you the green man? Or maybe the arrow guy? No he had brown hair and i’m pretty sure he’s on the other side, or are you the Captain?” Her eyes were lit up as she spoke, rattling off different people and their powers, asking him who he was or what he was.

“Well, I’m the Captain, Captain America.” He stuck out his hand and she latched onto it, instead of shaking it, and pulled it down to hold in a gentle manner, keeping her steady as the craft rattled on.

“My dad has a crush on you, he thinks you’re really cute.” Steve felt himself blush, red creeping up the side of his neck and reaching his ears.

“Well, that’s real nice of him sweetie, when did he say that?” The blush was burning across his cheeks now. Even after 70 years in the ice, Steve Rogers could not keep his cool.

“Well, he says it when he's talking to Pepper, who’s sort of my mum, and she’s saying he’s gotta settle down and he says he’ll only ever dream of doing such a thing if its either with Steve Rogers or Captain Kirk from the new Star Trek.” Oh boy.

Lex leaned up towards him, or as close as she could get.

“Don’t worry, I think he’d prefer you.” Cap’ gave a little chuckle and nodded, almost in agreement, before looking up. How much longer did he have to hear about how some girls dad had a crush on him? Not that he minded, but it was a little odd.

“So honey, why are you coming along?” She looked towards her feet, trying to decide if she should tell this man why she was being dragged along with Captain America to a top secret air/boat shuttle.

“Well, doctor Banner wants to run some tests with me, make sure that its not some sort of dangerous disease I have.” She was avoiding eye contact with Steve, ashamed by what she had.

“Well, whatever you have i’m sure its incredible.” She gave a little shake of her head in disagreement. She had almost killed a puppy because of what she had. She knew that she was colder than the average human, but she didn’t know that if she felt threatened the could go sub zero, in fact she had ruined a few of Tony’s machines because of it, but the real problem was when she got a puppy, and it bit her when she was asleep, thank gods it had the sense to run before her entire room became encased by ice. They had given it to Pepper after that.

“Its dangerous, and I guess I want to know why I have it.” Steve felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl next to him. He knew what it was to have something that was dangerous, he was constantly afraid that one day he would hug someone too hard, or do something which normally wouldn’t hurt, but because it was Captain America, enhanced super soldier, even the simplest of contact could kill.

“Well, I’m sure doctor Banner will do everything to help.” She smiled up at Steve, not quite reaching her eyes. They were too sad and too knowing to be a Childs.

The pilot shouted towards the two of them, telling them to ‘strap up! We’re landing.’

Both of the passengers took their seats, before a rustling from the back drew Lex’s attention to one Phil Coulson coming out from behind a little nook, which she assumed was the bathroom.

“Hey Phil!” He gave her a friendly wave before sitting beside her, strapping in quickly and holding on to the seatbelt like his life depended on it. Lex had the feeling that Phil wasn’t really a fan of flying.

The shuttle rattled on towards what looked like a large, military ocean craft, planes and carriers littering the runway which took up the entirety of the top of the ship, each craft with their own designated spots. Several people scurried around like ants, busying themselves with this job and that job, working like an efficient machine.

As they began to lower themselves on to the deck, several different people began to swerve towards their specific ship, kneeling down and grabbing hooks to anchor the wheels and body to the deck, to reduce chances of damage. The only figure standing to the winds was a particular redhead which Lex knew and loved well.

She had unstrapped herself from the seat before the pilot had said it was safe, and had gone through the opening doors before they had finished opening, barreling towards a smirking Natasha who’s crossed arms opened and welcomed her in for a hug.

“Hello MIlaya Moyna, how are you today?” She gave Lex’s nose a little tap with her index finger and wrapping her arms around the little girl.

“Hello aunt Nat,” Nat smiled slightly at the pet name Lex had adopted for her, before drawing her away and putting on a face of false seriousness.

“Now, young lady, what did I tell you about calling me aunt?”

“Not aunt, it makes you feel old, only aunty because thats what you call the fun aunts.” Nat drew Lex back in for a hug.

“Exactly Milaya, now go and find Fury and ask him about the fish under his big glass dome, you know he likes that.”

Lex ran off into the Hellicarier, swerving to avoid personal after personal, as Natasha watched the child lovingly. She knew it wasn’t her kid, but that little girl meant more to her than all of shield itself.

Captain Rogers had appeared next to her, looking strangely in the direction of the child who had now disappeared from sight.

“She’s really strange, you know that? She knows way too much for a kid her age.”

Nat nodded in response. She knew what he meant. There were times where you would look into Lex’s eyes and see wisdom, a knowledge beyond her years, burning bright like a star in the back of her brain, powering her. Natasha recognised it in herself, and she sometimes found herself wondering what on earth she knew.

“Why do you think she’s like that?”

Natasha’s face darkened, and she turned away, trying not to look him in the eye. Her eyes were cast down and she had begun biting her lip in a nervous manner. Steve noticed the way she fiddled with her hands, trying to distract herself from the question as if she were going to answer it, but knew she shouldn’t.

A shout behind them singled the arrival of one Bruce Banner, who jogged towards them through the wind of a newly landed carrier, pushing his coat around his form and making it a mission to get from one side of the deck to the other. As he was running towards them, the ship began making shifting noises, the entire structure beginning to hum with activity, changing beneath them.

Lex had found Nick Fury by then, in fact, she was currently pointing at the large glass dome beneath their feet at the empty ocean which lay below. The fish had made a point of specifically avoiding the big thing in the water which was blocking their sunlight and giving out weird noises, but Lex didn't mind, she liked how the water was leaving a blue glow in the room, the light dancing on the walls and making the entire chamber seem more mysterious, more enchanting.

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