#AND THIS PIECE IN PARTICULAR HAS UTTERLY CAPTURED MY SOUL

[rebornofstars]

Hi @devil-acid! Your artwork is just incredibly colourful and gorgeous and has inspired me to continue creating for this fandom. I admire you a lot, so I wrote this short piece for you as part of the Fan Joy July challenge based on your artwork. I hope that’s okay!

“Ssh,” says Hyrule, as Wind draws in a breath. “Don’t say anything.” Wind’s mouth closes with a soft clop. He hunches over the little patch of blossoms that are tipped towards the sun in the corner of the woods. The soft pink petals seem to glisten as they reflect the shine from Hyrule’s wings— Because somehow, the traveller has wings. “You’re sitting in a flower,” Wind says, choking up. He cups the plant in his hands. Hyrule beams up at him. He’s so small. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s a secret to everybody. Do you promise not to tell?” “I promise.” Wind can’t hide the wonder in his voice when he says, “you’re a fairy.” The wings flutter at that, quick and bright, sending kaleidoscopes of light spinning across the flower. Wind’s eyes are so round they hurt. Hyrule looks unbothered. Are the extra appendages so intrinsically a part of him that it was an unconscious movement? Can he not see the way that he shines?  “Sort of,” the traveller responds. “Not technically? Or, maybe technically but not biologically? I don’t know how to explain. It’s just a spell.” “You’re a fairy,” Wind repeats, still awestruck. Hyrule laughs. It's the same laugh that Wind’s heard from across the campfire for months now, but now there’s a sound like a bell laid on top of it, chiming clear and high, and his wings thrum. The air ripples, just a little, in ways that are difficult to notice but hard to forget. “Do you think you can carry me back to camp?” Hyrule asks. His face is the size of Wind’s thumbnail. A little tentative. A little hopeful. “Sure,” says Wind. “Why? Don’t feel like walking?” He holds out his hands and Hyrule flits over, reaching for his fingers for balance. It’s bewildering, watching their traveller curl both arms around his pinky. The touch is light and almost unnoticeable, but the glow of his wings becomes even more apparent lighting up the cradle of Wind’s palm. He’s like a tiny star. He’s even warm. “Something like that,” Hyrule says. “It’s a bit too far to fly.” Wind watches the way he’s holding his right leg, stiff and white-knuckled, and quietly vows to shove a red potion at him as soon as they get back to camp. He lifts Hyrule away from the sun-kissed patch of flowers as gently as he can.

Fan Joy July Masterpost

trying new stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuff

ft lu hyrule

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Hiii! Do you also write for male!reader? If its a yes, may I request for Artist!male!reader x Erik? They have a long-distance relationship, yet reader always send him lovely letters (maybe even gifts or complete arts of Erik on special occasions [on Erik's birthday, on Valentine's Day, or on Christmas])

tags/themes- long distance, dont ask how erik sends his letters idk

word count- 1389

The room was quiet save for the faint scratching of pen against paper. You sat at your desk, surrounded by the clutter of your artistic life: half-finished sketches, tubes of paint, and brushes in varying states of wear. The letter in front of you was nearing completion, the words flowing from your heart with ease as they always did when you wrote to him.

Erik.

Even the mere thought of his name brought a warmth to your chest. Your relationship had started in the most unexpected way—a chance meeting at a gallery showcasing your work. Erik had been there, his piercing gaze studying your portraits of faceless figures with an intensity that almost made you falter. You remembered how he’d lingered at one particular piece: a shadowed figure at a grand piano, the light catching only the back of their head and hands. When he’d spoken, his voice was soft yet commanding, full of an almost musical cadence.

“You see people for what they truly are, don’t you?”

From that moment on, letters became your lifeline. Erik was often away, always elusive about his whereabouts, yet he never failed to reply to your missives. Your correspondence was a dance of words—his letters were intricate, almost poetic, weaving his thoughts in ways that left you breathless. You responded in kind, pouring your soul onto the page and, often, into your art.

Today, you were finishing a letter for his birthday. The ink on your pen flowed smoothly as you wrote:

My dearest Erik,

Another year has passed, and though the miles stretch between us, I feel closer to you with every stroke of this pen. Happy birthday, my love. I hope this letter finds you in good health and in the comfort of your music. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you properly, but until that day, let this letter and the gift enclosed be my stand-ins.

You mentioned in your last letter that you’ve been composing again, and it fills me with such joy to know that you’re finding solace in your melodies. Your music has always been a window to your soul, Erik, and I’m honored to be one of the few who gets to witness it.

I’ve included a new piece for you. It’s a portrait, though not a typical one. I wanted to capture the essence of you—the brilliance, the complexity, the beauty I see when I think of you. I hope you like it.

With all my love,

Yours always.

You set the pen down and folded the letter carefully, slipping it into an envelope along with the small, flat package. The painting you’d enclosed was one of your favorites: Erik seated at his organ, the faint glow of candlelight casting shadows across the room. His face was partially obscured, not by intention but by reverence—you’d painted him as you imagined he’d want to be seen, enigmatic yet deeply human.

The next morning, you mailed the package. As always, you felt a pang of bittersweet emotion as you handed it over to the postal worker. Would he love it? Would he write back soon? These questions buzzed in your mind as you walked back to your studio, where your next project awaited.

Weeks passed, and though you busied yourself with commissions and gallery deadlines, the anticipation of Erik’s reply lingered in the back of your mind. One crisp autumn morning, a letter finally arrived. The envelope was thick, the parchment inside scented faintly of something earthy and rich. You opened it with trembling hands.

My dearest,

Your letter and your gift have left me utterly speechless. The painting… I scarcely have words to describe it. You have captured something within me that I thought was long buried, perhaps even lost. It is a gift not just of art but of understanding, and for that, I am more grateful than I can ever express.

I wish you could see how it looks in my home, placed where the light hits it just so. It feels as though a part of you is here with me, and I find myself drawn to it whenever I play. It is a comfort in ways I didn’t expect.

Your letters sustain me, more than I can say. There are days when the world feels insurmountable, when the shadows of my past threaten to consume me. Yet, your words are a beacon, guiding me back to myself. Thank you, my love. Thank you for seeing me, for believing in me.

Yours always,

Erik.

You pressed the letter to your chest, a smile breaking across your face. Knowing that your work had brought him comfort made the hours spent on it all the more worthwhile. As you folded the letter back into its envelope, you resolved to start another piece for him—a gift for Christmas.

Christmas came quickly, the chill of winter settling into the city as snow blanketed the streets. You’d spent countless nights working on Erik’s gift: a series of small watercolor sketches depicting scenes from your letters. One showed the imagined interior of his home, a grand yet shadowed space illuminated by candlelight. Another depicted his hands at the keys of an organ, delicate and precise. The final piece was more abstract, a swirling blend of colors that you felt represented the music he often described in his letters.

Along with the sketches, you wrote him another letter:

My dearest Erik,

As the year draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on all the moments that have brought me joy, and you are at the center of them. Merry Christmas, my love. I hope these sketches bring a bit of warmth to your holiday season.

Your last letter has stayed with me. The thought of my work bringing you comfort fills me with more happiness than I can express. You have given me so much, Erik, more than you realize. Your words, your music, your very existence… they inspire me every day.

I hope one day we can spend this season together, but until then, know that you are always in my heart.

With all my love,

Yours always.

The weeks after Christmas were quieter than usual. No letter arrived, and you began to worry. Had something happened? Had your gift not reached him? The silence gnawed at you, and you found yourself pouring your anxiety into your work, creating piece after piece in an attempt to distract yourself.

Finally, in early February, a letter arrived. The envelope was thicker than usual, and your heart raced as you opened it.

My dearest,

I must apologize for my silence. The past weeks have been… difficult. There are things I wish I could tell you, things I long to share, but the words escape me. Please know that it is not a lack of love that kept me from writing but rather an overabundance of it. Your gifts arrived on Christmas Eve, and they were nothing short of miraculous. The sketches, especially the one of my hands at the organ… it brought tears to my eyes. How do you see me so clearly, even from so far away?

Valentine’s Day is soon approaching, and I find myself wishing more than ever that you were here. You are the light in my life, the one who gives me hope even when the world feels dark. I am sending something to you, a token of my affection. It is not much, but I hope it conveys even a fraction of what you mean to me.

Yours always,

Erik.

The package arrived a few days later. Inside was a delicate music box, its craftsmanship exquisite. When you opened it, a hauntingly beautiful melody filled the room—one of Erik’s compositions, you realized, rendered in miniature. Tears welled in your eyes as you listened, the music carrying his love across the distance between you.

You set the music box on your desk, its melody playing softly as you began your next letter. Though you longed to be with Erik in person, you knew that your words and your art were enough for now. Each letter, each gift, was a testament to the bond you shared, a love that transcended distance and circumstance. And as you wrote, you felt that bond grow stronger, tethering you to the man who had captured your heart.

[blushblushbear]

Hear me out… concubine/consort AU with monarch reader

you'll have to forgive, I'd be open to writing more of this kind of set up but frankly I read this prompt and one dude came to mind in particular.

Utterly humiliating.

Fuyu, worn down and looking the most unkempt he ever had, was being pulled from a dim covered wagon by a chain around his neck and wrists. The restricting runes etched into them glowing, almost as a warning to not resist.

"Come along, fox."

Ornate guards with brutish demeanor were tugging him along, beckoning him out into the blinding sun of the court yard and up the steps of a large palace.

He followed with a look of indignity and a shimmering feeling of rage. He, the once mighty leader of the winter clan, a prisoner to humans. And being passed off like a trinket no less! The emperor who he had fought with managed to trick his way into the upper hand, and Fuyu had been captured. Taken cavity as a victory of his prize.

He was paraded around for a while as a show of the 'great emperor's might', kept in shabby livings and feed off scraps like some god forsaken beast that pompous gloat had tamed.

And now here he was, being given off as a token of 'peace' to some other noble. No doubt another cruel master for him to play trophy for.

As his eyes adjusted, he took the sights of his new 'home' in. Lavish does not do justice to the finery that can be seen even along the front steps into the palace. The stairs were finely crafted; with linings of gold to accent the soft color of the marble, all taking shape into something that mimicked a walk way lined with flowers. The grounds from what Fuyu could see were adorned with vibrant flowers to compliment the stairs.

And as he stepped inside, the finery did not stop. All neatly ordered walls a wash with tastefully placed art. Nothing too gaudy, but meticulous, thoughtful and most of all-- tasteful.

'Well--' thought Fuyu, 'at least this master has an eye for presentation.'

His mind cast back to the shear sickening slop job of decor his previous master had fancied. The most expensive pieces he could find strewn about with little thought or care other than to show off that he had the means to buy it. All money,no decorum.

Fuyu was marched through the halls, deeper into the heart of the palace, and with each new wing he past through, he noticed the themes shifted-- each wing it's own proud individual, but somehow still meshed seamlessly with the wings around it.

Truly the home of someone with genuine refinement.

Still, with each rattle of the chains that bound him, with each time they pulled against the sensitive parts of skin, he knew that this place would still be a prison, no matter how lovingly it was adorned.

As they went deeper, Fuyu heard music drifting in from a distance. And as they drew closer to it, he felt a weird sense of relief and fear. On the one hand, his new master seemed an artistic soul. On the other--- Fuyu was still bound in chains.

He almost felt as though he might be sick as the doors opened and gave way into a cozy yet spacious parlor.

"Your Grace, a present from the Emperor of the Southern Kingdom."

Fuyu was a bit shocked that the one who turned to respond to the guard was the figure who was at the piano. He was assuming that they were simply having someone else play to entertain them. Fuyu was also shocked at how they were shocked-- for when they turned around their expression went from curious and cheery to a look of disgust and confusion as their gaze fell upon him.

"Oh--" They rose and made their way towards Fuyu and the guards that surrounded him, "Oh my-- how.... lovely??" She looked down at him, looking unsure as to what to make of him. "He uh--- he sent... a man...?"

"There is also a letter your grace!" The guard stated, holding up a wax sealed letter and holding out for them. They did not take their eyes off Fuyu, still baffled of what to make of him.

He was just as confused. They seemed more shocked than anything. Were they not told he was coming. They still were looking him up and down as they opened the letter and unfolded it while matter,

"You poor thing, the state of you..."

They then turned their attention to the letter and began reading it's contents aloud,

"For the most Honorable Monarch of the North, I humbly submit this, my most prize position," they made a face reading over that last bit, "A Kistune of a felld tribe from the mountains. This beast has been my greatest triumph and now I share it with you. I thought it fitting seeing as yOU DON'T HAVE A SPOUSE?!" the indignity in their voice made it almost crack, "AND I HEARD THAT KISTUNE MAKE FINE LOVERS?! I PRESENT TO YOU THIS SPECIMEN TO TAKE AS YOUR CONCUBINE?! WINK WINK?!?!"

Well-- that was news to Fuyu as well. And guessing by how they are reading it, his new master finds the insinuation just as insulting as he does. He's not sure if he should be hurt by the fact that they are not honored to have a kistune such as himself as a prize, or relieved.

"HEARS TO LONG AND PROSPEROUS PARTNERSHIP, YOUR BUD THE EMPEROR!" They sighed deeply, pinching their nose "of all the... SERIOUSLY?! Who sends a person?!" they asked turning to their guards and Fuyu. "Unbelievable..."

They leaned down, taking a better look at Fuyu as he knelt before them. He was almost shocked how gentle their hand was as they inspected his grimy face.

"Poor thing... Look at how poorly he cared for you..." They noticed the chain around his neck. "Did he send a key?"

"Uh, y-yes your grace," the guard said, handing them the key as soon as they held out their hand for it, "but are you sure it's a good idea to--"

Click.

"There, that much feel better." They said, unlocking the collar and deactivating the runes. For the first time in a while, Fuyu felt the air on his neck. It almost was a shock how much of a relief it felt. He was still processing his thoughts as this new master held his hand up and unlocked one wrist, then the other. All the while he was taking in the sight of them-- their face was very warm and their eyes so gentle... this was-- definitely not what he was expecting... As they held his hand, they saw how raw the skin beneath those bindings had become.

"Oh, look at your poor wrists..." They leaned in closer and gently touched his neck, "oh, and your neck to--" turning to the guard, "bring me a healer. And tell them to bring dressing for wounds. And you," they gestured to another guard, have the staff draw a bath. He needs on," more examining of Fuyu as they ran their hand across his hair, "hmm-- and tell them to break out the good conditioner. Stand up for me please?" They gestured from him to stand and in a fit of confusion, Fuyu followed their orders. They guided him to spread his arms out and they took a good look at his form.

"Man you're tall... probably not going to have anything that will fit you that well... we're going to have to make due for now, but I'll send someone down to get your measurements after you're cleaned up. Oh, speaking of-- Rose," they turned to a maid who had been standing by in the corner, "have the house staff ready one of the guest rooms-- one of the larger ones."

Fuyu stood there still in shock. What was all this...? Now that all of the staff had departed to handle things, him and his new master were left alone.

"You must be hungry---" they walked over to a table and grabbed a tray of treats and brought it over to him, "Take your pick. Oh, but this is just to tide you over! Don't worry, we'll get a real meal into you of course!"

Their smile was so sweet. Fuyu still wasn't sure how to take this... was it a trick? Or some sort of ruse. He remained in a stunned silence as he looked at the tray, then back at them curiously.

"Go on!" They said with a bit of a laugh, "They won't bite!"

He sheepishly picked up some sort of baked good and started to nibble on it experimentally. It was strange... it had a pleasing enough smell but the taste was--- almost herby? But not quite an herb...

"It's lavender!" they chirped, "You don't have to eat it if you don't like it, it's not everyone's taste." It was now Fuyu's turn to give his new master a semizing glance. They were definitely... a lot better looking than his previous master. Though they were also much more confusing. Fuyu could handle cruelty-- that he was used to-- but such an out pouring of kindness? And to one who looked so feral as he must right now? This must be some sort of trick...

"And once we've got you cleaned and fed and clothed," they started, setting the tray down on a near by table, "we can begin to make arrangements to send you home."

Fuyu froze. In his shock he dropped what he was eating and stared at them wide eyed.

"Send... me--- you... aren't going to keep me?"

"Pff-- what? No!" they chuckled and walked towards him, "Dude, you have kidnap victim written all over you! I'm not going to keep you prisoner here!"

"But... that emperor..."

"Oh I'll just tell him you escaped. And if he tries to come find you-- I can always send you off with some form of protection! I know many a guy, we could probably hook you up with some kind of way to make you untraceable! Besides, your tribe must miss you!"

Fuyu felt a paign of sorrow and bitter rage that was capping a mild panic. After a long silence he finally growled out,

"My clan are all dead... I lead them to ruin like a fool... I have nowhere to go..."

The Monarch's expression turned sympathetic. They came up to Fuyu and took his hand in his.

"You can stay here. As long as you like. To save face, you can be a concubine, but in name only." They took the other hand, pulling Fuyu's attention to their face as they looked in his eyes and told him, "I will never make you do something you don't wish to do. You are free to do as you please here. No chains, no bindings. I promise."

Fuyu left his eyes watering. Such kindness, such mercy... it had been so long since he felt it, and he believed he did not deserve it. But he will accept it. He took their hand in his, lowering his cheek into their palm.

"Thank you..."

They simply smiled.

"Of course. If you're mine now, then I plan to treasure you. NOW! Let's get you washed up. And after that, I can show you my library if you'd like---I have all manner of literature-- you're free to go through it as much as you like of course-- and the--" Fuyu followed as he was dragged once again through the halls, though this time it was gentle and surrounded by excitable chatter.

He still didn't feel he deserved this, but maybe he could grow to enjoy being treasured...

[dedalvs]

what kind of books do you like reading?

My favorite era is 19th century Russian literature. Some of my favorites from there are Dead Souls by Gogol, Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev, Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin, and Oblomov by Ivan Goncharov (I was utterly baffled as to why everyone was talking about Ivan Goncharov when I came back to Tumblr!). I loved a lot of early 20th century American literature, in particular F. Scott Fitzgerald, who was an early hero, and I also read a lot of Joseph Heller and Vladimir Nabokov (Russian/American). I've read everything by Franz Kafka—even the bizarre stuff, like Amerika—and loved it all. My favorite writer of all time is Virginia Woolf, and I love reading writers who experiment with style (Lewis Carroll, of all people, has a nice early example of stream of consciousness with Sylvie and Bruno). I think the best piece of writing I've ever seen from America is Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison.

I've also read and enjoyed some stuff from the 16th-18th centuries (in particular, Ludovico Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, Edmund Spencer's The Faerie Queene, and John Milton's Paradise Lost), but a lot more that's a lot older. Giovanni Boccaccio's The Decameron is a great collection of tales like The Canterbury Tales, but better (note: I haven't yet read 1,001 Nights. Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur was a lot of fun. I slowed down a lot about eight years ago). I even love the fake ones that are tales within tales like Jan Potocki's The Manuscript Found at Saragossa. But I love chasing down and reading older works, like sagas and epics. Some of my favorites are The Nibelungenlied, The Kalevala, Njal's Saga, and The Epic of Sundiata. Gilgamesh is absolutely incredible. I've read some clunkers, though, like The Song of Roland, which I found dry, dull, and short.

As my reading slowed, I liked to read books aimed at young readers. Growing up, I loved the Oz books, which I find to be an utterly fascinating example of uniquely American (and non-European) fantasy. We have that and Little Nemo, but most other fantasy you get (outside of modern times) is distinctly European, and owes more to Lord Dunsany and Tolkien than anyone else. I loved The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, which I just finished ready to my daughter (Walter Moers). Michael Ende's The Neverending Story is probably the best book for young readers I've read. And then there's the Moomin books by Tove Jansson... What a find those were! Written for kids, but so unbelievably melancholic and subtle! Every page is packed with so much loneliness and longing! I couldn't even believe what I'd read after reading Tales from Moomin Valley. "The Fillyjonk who Believed in Disasters" is something I think every adult should read. It reminds me a bit of The Magic Mountain (see below) in how subtly it captures a character or series of character traits that are quite natural and recognizable, but so hard to pin down! Tove Jansson was brilliant.

For utter, nonsensical, bizarre, indulgent, and absurd escapism, I read E. T. A. Hoffmann. It's hard to even describe how ridiculous his stuff is. Like...you read this stuff, and are saying, "You can't DO that! You'd be laughed off AO3 for that!" And yet he does. And he doesn't care. He had an audience of one, and that was himself. I have no idea how his works are even remembered. Utterly bizarre.

That captures a lot of it. Here are some that don't fit elsewhere:

The Buru Quartet by Pramoedya Ananta Toer (masterful)

Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller (wrecked me)

Moby Dick by Herman Melville (tore through it!)

Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (this one, too! Thick book, but such a quick and joyful read—and written with such exquisite detail!)

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (one of the best of the 19th century)

The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann (so subtle... Let me tell you, this is a long book, and like, it's 90% over, and suddenly this new character is introduced, and it's like, "What even is this…?", and yet, somehow, he takes like 50 pages, and you suddenly care about this guy... Astonishing)

The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton (tour de force; her best, in my opinion)

Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut (his best that I've read, and the one I'd recommend to everyone)

Forest of a Thousand Daemons by D. O. Fagunwa (terrible translation, but so wonderfully inventive!)

Black Elk Speaks (I want to mention this, because I really loved it, but it has a problematic history, so fyi)

True Grit by Charles Portis (one of the most beautiful short novels I've ever read; the Cohen Bros. adaptation is actually very, very close to it)

The Awakening by Kate Chopin (what a smack in the face that one is!)

The Tempest by Shakespeare (my favorite of his)

The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass (best written work from America in the 19th century)

The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin (by contrast, one of the most ridiculous things I've ever read in my life; HILARIOUS)

Journey to the West by Wu Cheng'en (read the whole thing, and...wow. lol So much repetition with humor throughout capped off by brilliance)

The Bostonians by Henry James (the best demonstration of exactly what he aimed to do: produce an ending that has two equally plausible and utterly opposite interpretations that can both be supported textually)

Nohow On by Samuel Beckett (the culmination of his work, and a worthy one)

Three Tales by Gustave Flaubert (I bawled—loudly—after reading "A Simple Heart"; I couldn't help it)

Thanks for asking this! It's been so long since I've really read... It's nice to remember. I wanted to read the Studs Lonigan trilogy for ages now... Oh, and I went through a Gabriel García Márquez phase! And Tom Robbins! And, of course, I've read all the wonderful comic novels by my friend Nina Post, whose wit astounds me.

Okay, now I'm just not getting to sleep. But this is some of what I've read that I've loved. Also, for certain things, I've read a lot (like 19th century Russian literature and Samuel Beckett), so I can tell you what not to read. For example, A Hero of Our Time by Lermontov? Pass. Same with The Golovlovs by Saltykov-Shchedrin. You can probably pass on War and Peace, as well, due to its girth, but you're going to miss some good stuff (amidst a lot of dry stuff).

Okay, hitting the button now! I'm done.

(Oh, but if you were assigned Their Eyes Were Watching God and kind of passed on it because it was a "school book", that was a mistake!!!)

(Oh, Cane by Jean Toomer!)

(Oh, and if you want a short one that has a "wah-wah!" ending, check out As I Lay Dying by Faulkner! lol That rascal...)

(OH! And the "school book" thing? Hard ditto on Of Mice and Men. Holy shit, that book... Wow.)

(OMG BABBIT!!!!! I loved it!!! Pass on Main Street, though.)

(Oh, and John Updike can miss me with his Rabbit stuff... YIKES!)

(Oh, and if you like Woody Allen's style but not Woody Allen, try Portnoy's Complaint.)

(Last one: Jasmine by my short fiction professor Bharati Mukherjee, who sadly passed away far too soon. On the last day of class, she'd forgotten she was going to have us read Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky. As we were walking out the door, she made us promise to read it. I never saw her again, but I did, Ms. Mukherjee, and it was tremendous. Thank you so much for what you gave me. I had so much trouble showing my work to other people before that class. You helped me so much, and I wish I could've told you. You may think those who have influenced you will be around forever for you to thank one day, but they're not. Today's the day. Tell them what they meant to you. You'll regret it if you don't.)

[neverthesamebird]

4, 10, 15?

4. 👀 A fic that you love a normal amount

Romeo, Question Mark by sunnymusings. this fic healed something in my soul the first time I read it and I love it soooo so much. it’s a tales of arcadia fic but specifically it’s an aromantic jim piece, and I will never be over how validating and sweet and genuine it is. reading it is like curling up under my favorite blanket on a rainy day.

10. 👽 A fic that isn’t prose (poetry, text fic, etc.)

Genesis 22:12 by Elendraug… it’s a poem from cas to sam set after jack in the box and I cannot recommend it enough!!! It’s scathing and ice cold and agonized all at once and I am utterly obsessed with it

15. 📚 A fic you wish you could display on your bookshelf

I HAVE SEVERAL so I will take this as an opportunity to talk up some of my most beloved fics

Lamb to the Slaughter by the fantastic @angelfishofthelord - this as a physical book would be sooo powerful it would have a stunning cover and be one of those books that you’re utterly entranced by and then when you finish you put it in a place of honor on the bookshelf as you wipe away your tears

Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet by @sakon76 - in addition to being my favorite fic trope it’s also absolutely and utterly wonderful. AND it’s super long so I bet it would be one of those book series where the spines make a picture when you line them all up together, which would only add to the story’s charm

Mountains and Badgermolehills by Glass_Onion - this is an atla fic (canon divergent au, more specifically) that features a slow burn enemies to best friends!! I love platonic love so this is an absolute DELIGHT, not to mention the narration is the perfect blend of witty and heartfelt and hilarious.

Two Roads in the Woods by skimmingthesurface - this is an otgw sequel fic, and it’s excellent. it captures the vibe of the show but with more body horror and a particular brand of fear that comes from the narrator being a 9 year old. anywayy I read it last fall and adored it so I’m looking forward to reading it again this year

Starless Eyes Remain by heyshalina - this is a character study for umbrella academy ben hargreeves and it is a masterpiece!! it’s a rare fic that actually gives ben the complexity he deserves, and the way it handled ben’s death still haunts me in the best possible way. also it has fantastic takes on his relationships with the other siblings

the only way for us to go by trell (qunlat) - another character study, this one for my beloved douxie from tales of arcadia. this fic is just so beautifully written, authentic, and spirited that I’d call it a must read. it also nails some really complicated character dynamics and expands beautifully on elements that canon didn’t, and I could probably talk about it for hours so I’ll stop now and just say that I love it a lot lol

{fic rec asks}

[sonoftatooine]

Whumpay 2021

DAY 24: PROTECTED BY AN ENEMY / HURT BY A FRIEND

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Anakin Skywalker, Nute Gunray.

Warnings: Blood and injury, mild depictions of violence

Summary: Prequel to Day 9. When Senator Padmé Amidala is captured by the Separatists after being betrayed by her old friend, Onoconda Farr, and scheduled for execution, she finds an unlikely rescuer in the Sith assassin, Darth Vader.

***

There were many things that Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo had not expected to happen when she had travelled to Rodia to persuade her old mentor, Onoconda Farr, to accept Republic aid for his starving people rather than joining with the Separatists in a desperate attempt to save them. She had not expected her attempts at persuasion to fall upon deaf ears. She had not expected her Uncle Ono to betray her, to capture her and hand her over to Nute Gunray and his compatriots in return for promised supplies for his people. She hadn't expected to be bundled into a Separatist ship in chains with no resistance, no attempt at help from her old friend. Hadn't expected to transported to an unknown CIS base, bundled into a small dark cell and faced with a smug Count Dooku, stood before the containment field she had been trapped in, telling her with a cruel smirk that she may have escaped justice at Geonosis, but she would have no such luck this time.

She was to be executed.

What she had expected least, however—what she had never expected even as she hung limp in her chains alone in her cell, hoping for rescue—was that she would escape Dooku's twisted justice, not at the hands of her allies, but at one of the old Sith's own. She would never in her life have imagined that she would ever be in a position to be rescued by Darth Vader, the feared Sith assassin of the Separatists. And yet—she ducked, stumbling over the uneven, rocky ground outside the Separatist base as a barrage of blaster bolts aimed towards her, only for them to be sent back at the battle droids that had fired them before they could even reach her—here she was.

And here, she thought as she caught that deadly whirl of black and red in the corner of her eyes cutting through the ranks of their pursuers with brutal efficiency, was he. Vader. A man she had never once met, but countless horrific stories about. Shielding her. Protecting her. Risking his own life to save hers.

“Which way is the ship?” she shouted over the whizz of blaster fire and the roar of STAPs, gripping her own blaster tight as she fired several shots at the guards attempting to rush them.

Vader did not respond. Instead, he threw out a hand, fingers spread wide, and the droids were thrown backwards in a mighty Force push. In the distance, she could see several armed Neimoidian guards rushing out of the facility, ready to hunt them down.

“Come” he said. “This way.”

***

“Senator Amidala.”

His voice was deep and resonant through the vocoder of the blank death mask that kept his features concealed from allies and enemies alike. Robed from head to toe in black, with no chink in his armour to see what lay beneath, he looked every inch the mysterious Sith assassin that the Senate and the Jedi had come to fear as he stepped slowly into her cell and came to stand directly before her, inscrutable and expressionless. Padmé swallowed. Trapped as she was in a buzzing blue containment field, she could do nothing stare back into his eyes—or at least, where she thought his eyes must be. She would not show him she was afraid.

“Darth Vader,” she said. Her voice hoarse from tiredness and thirst, and she had to draw on all of her politician's training to keep the apprehension out of her tone. “I don't believe I've had the pleasure. Are you to be my executioner?”

'I'm not afraid to die,' she reminded herself, just as she had done chained up in the beast arena at Geonosis what now seemed like so long ago. 'I'm not afraid to die. I'm not—' Vader tilted his head to the side, as if he were considering...something. The mask shielded his expression from scrutiny as much as it hid his identity, and Padmé could not even guess at what he was thinking. She, however, tried very much not to think that that mask had been the last thing that so many people must have seen.

“Lord Tyranus has spoken to you then?,” he spoke eventually. His arms folded in front of him in a gesture that she supposed was meant to look intimidating, but that to her looked almost...defensive, as he was trying to make himself look smaller, self-comfort. Which was blatantly ridiculous. This was Darth Vader. But there was something about the gesture, something which struck a chord of familiarity in her that she could not quite put her finger on— “Your execution has been scheduled for tomorrow morning.”

He was, Padmé decided as she clenched her hands into fists, steadfastly ignoring the ache in her arms after having been suspended in position for so long, nothing like Dooku—or was it Tyranus,  for she could only assume that it was he that the other Sith was referring to with that name. Dooku had visited her in her cell earlier that day, unbearably smug for all his pretence at playing the gentleman, promising her that she would pay the price for the arrogance of the Republic she had pledged her life to. Vader, on the other hand, was blunt and abrupt, disinterested in being drawn into a verbal sparring match, and showing no inclination whatsoever to even so much as draw attention to his power over her, let alone crow about it. There was no air of enjoyment about him, no sense of victory. Only tension. And yet, despite his directness, he had not yet explained to her the reason for his presence in her cell.

“Then why are you here?,” she shot back. “Do you intend to interrogate me? I shall tell you nothing!”

Vader did not respond to this declaration, merely stared at her unflinchingly through the red-tinted lenses of his mask. She could not see his eyes, but she felt the weight of his gaze on her nonetheless.

“No,” he said, suddenly, without ceremony. He turned away sharply, like a puppet jerked about on a string. The change was so odd, so abrupt, that Padmé didn't quite take it in at first. She blinked.

“No?” she echoed.

“I don't want your information.”

'Then why have you come here if not for that?' Padmé thought, frowning. She may not be Force sensitive, but she didn't need to be to know that there was something going on, something very strange, as if the man before her were trying to wrangle himself into a decision which he was not quite sure he should make. But what it was—

“Then what do you want?” she breathed.

***

From the few holos they had of Vader that she had seen played in the Senate, she had always thought of him as something akin to a vine tiger, supremely graceful, inexorably powerful, and deadly dangerous to any unfortunate soul that happened to cross the path of his blade. Seeing him now, Padmé could only conclude that she had been both right and wrong. He was graceful, yes. Powerful, most certainly. Deadly—undoubtedly. But such a comparison could not possibly encompass what it was to see him fight in the flesh. He was a whirlwind of black robes and flashing red plasma, a one-man storm directing blaster bolts back at their pursuers with such speed that she could barely follow it with her eyes, even as he reached out with the Force to crush droids into scrap metal, and to rip Neimoidian guards from their speeders and STAPs. It was utterly terrifying to watch, and she couldn't quite tell that it was more or less so for the fact that it was for her. To protect her.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she was not quick enough to dodge a blaster bolt that whizzed out of nowhere, heading right towards her face with deadly speed. With a shout of alarm, she threw up her arm in a futile attempt to shield herself, but the blow never landed. Lowering her arm cautiously, she saw that the bolt was hovering, static, inches in front of her, so close that she could almost feel the burning heat of it on her skin. It was buzzing angrily as if it wanted nothing more than to surge forward from the grip that held it and strike her down.

What?!

“Mind on the fight, Senator,” Vader called as, with a gesture of one gloved hand, he sent the bolt whooshing back towards one of the pursuing droids with deadly accuracy. “I'd like to get you out of here in one piece.”

'Why?!,' Padmé wanted to scream. 'Why are you doing this?! Why are you protecting me?!' But he was right. She needed to focus on getting out of here alive and harmed. On them both getting out of here alive and unharmed. Questions, she thought as she ducked another bolt that whizzed dangerously past her ears, could come later.

Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on her blaster and fired.

***

“Whatever happens next, don't panic,” Vader said. “Follow my lead.”

A wave of one gloved hand, and the containment field deactivated. Without anything to hold her up, Padmé pitched forward alarmingly, but Vader stepped forward to catch her before she fell to the floor. The fingers at her waist were hard and made of metal, but his left hand, which had caught her by the shoulder, was as much flesh and bone as her own. 'Not a droid then', she thought nonsensically as she remembered one particular rumour about the Sith assassin that had been circling about the Senate a few moths past before the Jedi debunked it—droids, after all, could not wield the Force.

He set her down on her feet with surprising gentleness for a man of his reputation, but the moment she had regained her balance, she drew back as if burnt. Padmé couldn't quite tell if she should be relieved or not. She was too dazed trying to figure out what in the Galaxy was happening.

“Vader...what—?” she stammered, all of her promises to herself to stay calm and collected around him forgotten in the face of this baffling turn of events.

“Give me your hands” the Sith said in lieu of an answer. When she didn't move, he reached out and took them in a grip that was firm but not rough and, pulling a pair of stun cuffs out of the folds of his robes, placed them upon her wrists. He did not, however, click them properly shut—indeed, made no effort to at all. Padmé stared down at them, her eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. It couldn't be what she thought it was. It couldn't be—

“I have a ship hidden away from the base,” Vader replied measuredly—or, at least, the vocoder made him sound measured. Surely he wasn't that calm. He didn't look calm. He looked tense, ready to fight, as well he should if he were proposing— “It will take you to Republic space. The Separatists will not be able to reach you there.”

Then, before she had even had time to process that extraordinary statement, he had taken up position behind her, metal hand resting on her shoulder, ready to push her out of the dark cell and out towards freedom.

“When we encounter the guards, play along,” he instructed. “They won't dare to question me but it will only be so long before they realise something's wrong. We will need to be quick.”

***

“Which way?,” Padmé gasped as she ducked under yet another barrage of blaster fire, her legs and lungs burning from the exertion of running so far. Their pursuers were gaining on them, and worse, they had managed to get a hit on Vader. A stray bolt out of the last spray they had sent their way had managed to slip past his defences and strike him in the shoulder, and he'd been forced to transfer his lightsaber to his left hand as he pressed his right hard to the wound in an attempt to stem the bloodflow. It didn't stand out against the deep black of his robes, but she could smell it, sharp and metallic and a visceral reminder that, strong as her unlikely protector was, he was far from invulnerable.

“Make for the canyon,” he said. If he was in pain—and she was sure that he was; blaster bolts hurt even Sith Lords—there was no indication of it in his voice. Or rather, the voice of the vocoder. It didn't seem to pick up on the subtleties of tone, and even if his tone had sounded weak and hurt beneath the mask, his words boomed out as loud and clear as ever. She wondered, vaguely, what he sounded like without it. “It will give us cover if they try to shoot from above.”

Padmé stared wildly at the rocky landscape around her, at the mouth of the canyon they were nearing. She didn't like the look of it. True, there was a lot of overhanging rock that would shield them from blaster fire from the droids in the air, and anyone who pursued them in there would be forced into a bottleneck, but still... Tall and narrow and with no idea of where it led, it seemed to be just the kind of place that the guards would want to drive them into.

“What if they trap us in there?” she asked, only to be forced to duck under another barrage of blaster fire.

“I will deal with them” Vader retorted. Even though both his hands were gloved, she was sure that his flesh hand clutched about the hilt of his lightsaber was white-knuckled.

“You're injured!,” Padmé argued. Her eyes flickered to his shoulder. The cloth beneath his hand was wet and sticky with blood. “Your bleeding! Are you sure—?”

“I'm fine,” Vader cut across her. He forced himself to straighten up, and despite being able to see nothing of his face, she got the distinct impression that he was gritting his teeth. “Sith draw their power from pain.”

Padmé winced.

“Vader...” She said. The red lenses fixed on her, the flying blaster bolts reflected in them like comets reflected on the surface of a dark lake, and then he turned sharply away.

“Let's go.”

***

“Stand down.” The sharp order barked through the mask's vocoder was enough to make the Neimoidian in charge of the contingent of battle droids sent to guard her turn from healthy green to sickly pink with fear. “I have orders to transport the prisoner.”

“I—my lord,” the Neimoidian fumbled, red eyes wide. He had sprung up ready for action when he had seen her exiting the cell, only to falter upon noticing the looming Sith Lord behind her, and now seemed to have no idea what to do with himself. Padmé glared up at him through her lashes. She recognised him as one of Nute Gunray's toadies even though she didn't know his name. “My lord, forgive me, but...is Amidala not scheduled for execution tomorrow?”

Behind her, she felt Vader draw himself up to his full—and rather impressive—height. The hand on her shoulder squeezed down in a manner that would look aggressive to any onlookers but in reality was nothing more than a steady pressure, mindful not to hurt her. Nevertheless, she took care to add a pained wince to the charade.

“You dare question me?!” Padmé thought the question might have been delivered as a low snarl, but the vocoder turned it into a deep, robotic boom, full of inexorable rage that could only be weathered, neither prevented nor avoided. “You dare question Lord Sidious' orders?!”

The Neimoidian looked like he might faint.

“No-no,” he stuttered, trembling violently. “Of course not, my lord. P-please forgive me. I meant no offence to Lord Sidious.”

Sidious? Sidious? The Sith that the Jedi believed to have infiltrated the Senate, to be at the heart of the war? Did Vader know him? It had always been presumed that it was Dooku that Vader served, but what if it was the mysterious Darth Sidious that was his true master? Vader certainly seemed to know to use his name for effect, and that he would be believed if he did. Clearly, that name held a great deal of weight amongst the Separatists. A lot of fear too.

“My master is not a forgiving man,” Vader returned coldly. “But if you do not obstruct me any further, I may decide not to mention your insolence to him.”

The Neimoidian seemed weak with relief—so much so that Padmé thought he might keel over from it.

“Y-yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord. I'm terribly sorry for inconveniencing—”

“Enough.” The hand on Padmé's shoulder gave another squeeze. Despite herself, it felt strangely reassuring. “I have no interest in wasting time listening to your grovelling. Let me pass, and do not take up any more of my time than you already have.”

Vader was beginning to flag. He was still fighting hard, slicing through droids and organics alike as they chased them through the canyon, but his movements had become a little slower, a little more laboured. He was trailing blood from his shoulder, staining the ground below him red.

“Are you alright?” Padmé called over her shoulder. He was lagging a little further behind than he had before, trying to shake off a pair of super battle droids that had managed to catch up to him and were attempting, without success, to break through his defence. In answer, Vader whirled about his saber with an odd burst of static from his vocoder that might have been a groan of pain and sliced off their arms to remove their weapons before raising a fist and crushing them violently into nothing.

“Keep moving!” he called, the deep boom of his voice echoing through the canyon amid the shouts of the guards and the clanking march of oncoming droids. With a wave of his hand, the Sith sent the remains of the two SPDs careening into the approaching crowd, and the shouts turned into curses and screams.

Padmé turned to run, expecting him to follow her, but before he could, one of the Neimoidian guards, who had found himself at the head of the charge following the destruction of the two droids, launched himself—quite bravely and extremely foolishly—on top of the rogue Sith, attempting to tackle him to the ground. She faltered, but she needn't have worried. Another Force push sent him flying back into the wall of the canyon, and with a whoosh of the red blade, the Neimoidian's head was cleaved right from his shoulders.

“Run!” Vader snapped again. The red lenses fixed on her unmoving form, he had failed to notice the badly damaged B1 approaching behind him, just functional enough to hold a blaster and aim it straight at his head, ready to— Padmé's eyes widened in alarm.

“Vader!” she screamed. Without hesitating, without even pausing to think, she raised her blaster in front of her and unloaded a round of bolts right into the droid's head.

***

“Take it,” Vader said. He was watching her eye one of the blasters discarded by the two battle droids they had fought after an encounter in the corridor had been interrupted by alarms blaring out throughout the facility upon the Sith's ruse being discovered. Or rather, Vader had fought the droids—insomuch as raising a fist and crushing the pair of them into two balls of scrap metal and sparking wires could be called 'fighting'. “They will be coming for us now.”

Padmé stared at him in shock. If the vocoder hadn't made his voice boom out loud and clear, she would have thought she had misheard him over the sound of the klaxon.

“You'd trust me with a weapon?” she asked incredulously.

“You need to be able to defend yourself,” Vader replied. “Besides, we are hardly out of danger yet. I'm your way out of here, and even if you did try to kill me, I would stop you.”

It wasn't an unreasonable argument, and Padmé could not deny the logic in it. She stooped to pick up the blaster and primed it, watching the Sith carefully out of the corner of her eye. He showed no signs of nervousness at her being armed—not that it was particularly easy to tell—and it suddenly occurred to her that he could probably sense her intentions, just as the Jedi could. She wasn't going to harm him—even if she hadn't needed him to escape, she wouldn't harm him. She wasn't about to stab—or indeed shoot—a man who was risking Force knew what to help her in the back.

“Why are you doing this?” she murmured, no longer able to hold back the question that had been burning in her ever since he released her from the containment field. She needed answers, needed to understand. But Vader simply shook his head, turning to face the two super battle droids that had just turned the corner into the corridor. He reached down to his belt and, with a menacing snap-hiss, his lightsaber sprang to life in his hand.

“I don't think now's the time, Senator” he said and, without another word, leapt into the fray.

***

The droid staggered backwards, unresponsive, as the blaster bolts seared through the processors in its head. As it crumpled in a heap on the ground. Vader whirled around in search of where the shot had come from. The lenses of his mask fixed upon her for one brief moment before their pursuers forced him to turn his attention back to the fight, and in that short second, Padmé would have said that he almost seemed...startled. Had he not expected her to defend him as he had defended her? Surely she was mistaken. If he expected her not to harm him—for practical reasons if nothing else—then would he not expect her to have his back—at least for the time being—in battle too?

She didn't have the chance to linger on her thoughts, however. There were shouts from behind her, and with dread in her heart, she wheeled around to see more droids approaching from the other side of the canyon. It was just as she had feared. They were hemming them in.

“Vader!” she screamed in warning.

Vader's mask was inscrutable as ever, and the only way she could tell what he was thinking or feeling was the tension in his frame as he staggered towards her, positioning himself so he could keep both groups in his line of vision. His grip tightened against the hilt of his lightsaber.

“What are we going to do?” Padmé whispered. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be. She just couldn't see it.

“We keep fighting.”

“But—” They were trapped. They were trapped and he was injured and as determined as she was to see them escape, she wasn't sure either of them could fight against all of them. She wasn't afraid to die, but now she had somehow dragged him into this mess too and if he died as well it would be her fault—

“It will be alright,” Vader said. “I promise you.”

And then, with a ferocity beyond even that which she had already seen, he threw himself back into the fray.

***

“Lord Vader!” It was not so much Nute Gunray's indignant shout that stilled them in their path, but the blast door they had been dashing towards slamming shut before they could slip through it. Gripping the stolen blaster tightly in her hand, Padmé turned around to face the Viceroy of the Trade Federation. He was surrounded by his posse of battle droids and Neimoidian guards, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pinched with fury. “What are you doing?!”

Vader whirled about, saber brandished before him, manoeuvring so that Padmé was shielded behind him. There was a click of several blasters being primed as the guards trained their guns on him as one. Padmé raised her own blaster, aiming it so that any bolts she fired would strike below her unlikely protector's arm and into the legs of their pursuers.

“Stand down, Viceroy,” the Sith growled. “Call your men off, or I will kill them.”

Gunray let out a wordless exclamation of rage, but it was belied by the pink tinge to his skin and the slight shaking of his hands.

“I will not have this!,” he blustered, his hands balling into fists. “I was promised her death!”

Padmé tightened her grip on the blaster, lips pressed firmly against the torrent of anger that was rising up within her as the memories of Geonosis and the Separatists' attempts to have her and Obi-Wan killed in that horrid beast arena swam before her eyes. How she despised this man. This man who had invaded her planet and tried to force her to sign his self-serving treaty by hanging the threat of her people's suffering over her head. This man who had tried to have her murdered when his plots blew up in his face and had weaselled his way out of punishment after punishment for his actions. This man who had tricked Onaconda Farr—her Uncle Ono—into betraying her. Articulate as she had always been, she had no words for how much she loathed him, and how much she wanted to bring the Republic's justice down upon him.

“By Tyranus,” Vader retorted. His mechno hand was gripping the hilt of his saber so hard she was surprised it didn't break, and she suddenly wondered if he was sensing her own anger in the Force. “Not by me.”

“She is a Republic Senator!,” Gunray howled in outrage. “An enemy of the Confederacy of Independent Systems! This is treason, Vader! Treason! Lord Sidious will hear of this!”

The guards were subtly adjusting their grips on their weapons. Preparing. Getting ready to fire, Padmé realised with a sick feeling in her stomach. They were going to—

“He will,” Vader said simply. “But I've already made my choice.”

And then he raised a hand and the ceiling of the corridor came crashing down between them. Gunray and the Neimoidians screamed as they scattered backwards to avoid the chunks of durasteel and sparking wires that tumbled violently down to crush them. Many of the droids weren't quick enough to dodge their fate, and soon enough, the corridor was entirely blocked with a solid wall of duracrete and metal and the twisted remains of B1s and SPDs. Padmé stared, wide-eyed, coughing at the cloud of duracrete dust floating in the air.

“That should hold them off for a while” Vader said matter-of-factly, as if he had not just ripped his way through solid metal and duracrete with nothing but the power of the Force. “We'd better get to the ship before they have time to regroup.”

He shot out a hand once more, and with a groan of protesting metal, the heavy blast doors were ripped clean from their hinges.

***

Vader's blade practically screamed as it sliced and stabbed through each and every one of their attackers like a man possessed. He seemed to be running on pure adrenaline now—or perhaps the pain and fear that he must surely be feeling, and was said to fuel the power of the Sith. There were very few of their pursuers left, bodies and droid parts strewn across the floor of the canyons, fallen to Vader's blade and her own stolen blaster. Now, there was only one Neimoidian guard and one battle droid left. Padmé raised her blaster, forcing her hands steady despite her growing exhaustion. One Neimoidian guard left.

The guard cried out, staggering backwards onto the ground as the skinny B1 crumpled beside him. If he had intended to beg to be spared, Vader did not give him the chance. The red blade flashed, and the Neimoidian gave an odd, breathless gasp as the saber plunged through his heart.

After the raging sounds of the battle, the sudden silence was almost unbearable.

She stumbled on her feet, throwing out a shaky hand to catch herself against the wall of the canyon. She felt faint, and sick, her heart pounding far too hard and loud in her chest, and she closed her eyes tight shut so she wouldn't have to look at the corpses at her feet.

“Senator...”

A familiar snap-hiss cut through the throbbing of her pulse in her ears, and her eyes shot open to see Vader turn back towards her, his saber, now deactivated, clutched tightly in his hand. His other hand was pressed tight to his heavily bleeding shoulder, and he was swaying alarmingly on his feet.

“Padmé” he said, and before she could take in what he had just said, before a single thought could even cross her mind, he collapsed down onto the floor.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 3 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: Soul Traitors

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former lover will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse and instead mounts a quest for the Arkenstone to free his people of theirs. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a Burglar for their quest. A hobbit burglar who will help Thorin uncover more than just a gem.

Warnings: Character Death, Gore (I mean, it’s not heavily descripted gore, but it does mention the manner of the character’s death so just to be safe.)

Each of the races have their own views on soulmates and how you go about finding them. However, all seem to agree that to find a soulmate is a very special thing. To find the one person who you can trust with your whole heart and soul. That’s why to the dwarves, they called these people, Ones. None would ever consider betraying their Ones as that seemed a cruelness beyond even that of the orcs. Which is why King Durin stood in the high chamber of the court of Khazad-dûm staring down at the small figure below with such shock and fear, many feared a light breeze could topple their usually infallible king.

The curly haired creature in chains returned the king’s stare with heartbreaking indifference. Many of the court began to chant prayers to Mahal that this was not to be so. That the One of their dear king wouldn’t dare do that which he was accused. Durin’s flat and breathless voice finally spoke, silencing all in the hall.

“Madoc son of Maloch of the Holbyta Tribe Fallohide, you stand before the King of Khazad-dûm as the sole conspirator and thief of the Arkenstone. One of the great treasures of our kingdom. What plea do you make in your defense?”

With no hesitation, no change in emotion, the small being stated the same line Durin’s heard since his capture.

“I love you.”

The king leaned forward to bow his head as he gripped the stone podium tighter. 

“Madoc, this is serious!” Durin’s most trusted advisor, Gelbim, spoke up. “You have taken a sacred relic from our halls, and not just any, but the one that has the power to bring ruin upon our city and our people! Your crime is punishable by death. For the love of Mahal and the great Valar, please, tell us where you’ve hidden the Arkenstone.”

Durin slowly brought his eyes up as the silence persisted to see a small break in Madoc’s mask. His jaw trembled and a single tear leaked from his soft hazel eyes that Durin had loved from the moment he met him. 

“I...love...you.” He sobbed.

That was the moment Durin’s heart broke. Not shattered completely though. No, unfortunately that particular pain would come later that week when Madoc’s sentence was being carried out. But this...this was the first of a pain that would never desist.

“How can you when you hurt me so?” Durin asked softly, yet his words carried through the chamber as Madoc bowed his head in defeat. “You are given a traitor’s sentence. Death with no chance to appeal. Your name will not be spoken aloud again, your hair will be shorn and removed of any braids and beads, and your body will be burned rather than returned to the land and stone. In the Eyes of Mahal, so mote it be.”

Gelbim, his dear friend, told him he didn’t need to attend. None would think less of their king. Durin wished he had listened. He couldn’t bear to watch, but the sound of the axe going straight through his One’s neck would haunt him for the rest of his life. As it was, he stumbled to his chambers to fall and not rise from their marital bed for weeks after. When he resumed his reign, the toll of losing heart and soul was apparent to all. 

Durin became hardened in the final years of his reign. He demanded every ounce of mithril in the mountain to be pulled up and sold it to his allies for too high a price. What he didn’t sell, he forged. Weapons, jewelry, a particular handsome mailshirt, and if it were all the same size as his beloved holbyta? Well, none had it in them to point it out to their fading king. As demanded of a traitor’s death, the name Madoc was stricken from all records and replaced with the Amrâb Hufrel or “the soul’s betrayal of all betrayals”. The rest of the Fallohide tribe which was camped near the Misty Mountains was forced to pack up and resume their nomadic lifestyle west or face war with the dwarves. The sorrows of Durin were not to stop there. 

“The goblins of the Deep grow bolder.” Gelbim remarked as they watched the latest battalion return battered and worse for wear.

“Without the Arkenstone, they will not stop.” Durin growled.

“Durin, my friend, we’ve sent quest after quest after the gem. Wherever M-the Amrâb Hufrel has hidden it, we may not ever find it. It may be time to consider...alternatives.”

“What alternative is there aside from leaving my mountain and my mithril!” Durin spat.

Gelbim raised an eyebrow at his answer. “And is that worth more than the lives of your kin?”

Durin froze before spinning around quick as a flash. “Leave if that is your wish! This has been the home of MY line since the reign of Durin I and I WILL NOT GO!”

Go, Gelbim did taking a third of his kingdom with him including the young Prince Thrain and his mother. Crown Prince Nain, Durin’s only stone son, could not be moved to leave his father to his fate even as he saw the heartless path he wrought. For in their quest for more mithril, an ancient evil slumbering deep below the rock was awoken. The king led a frantic charge against the beast and was slain almost instantly. The war against Durin’s Bane lasted a year longer, but when the newly instated King Nain, was slain, the mountain and its riches were abandoned. In the lore of Durin’s folk, this was the first great curse of the Amrâb Hufrel’s theft.

Durin, who welcomed his death with open arms, awoke expecting to find the Halls of His Father. Instead, the nervous face of his treacherous One amongst a starry plane was the first sight he was graced with. 

“Oh Durin, my heart…” The holbyta began taking a step forward.

“You!” The king snarled, moving away as quickly as he could.

The Amrâb Hufrel looked miserable as his face twisted in anguish. “Please let me explain…”

“NOW YOU WISH TO EXPLAIN!” Durin boomed. “You had your chance! You had every opportunity to tell of your nefarious schemes, and instead you mocked me. You mocked my kingdom, a kingdom you once called yours. Well look at it now! All because of you!”

The creature before him was truly wretched and small as he hunkered against every blow Durin dealt. And the dwarf was yet to be finished.

“Peace, my son.” Came a great voice from above that Durin instantly recognized as His Father even having never heard it before. “You have made your point. Now let your Sanâzyung (Perfect/True Love) say his piece.”

“NO!” Durin roared against the very heavens themselves. “I don’t want to have anything to do with this...this...Amrâb Hufrel!”

Thunder rumbled, shaking the entire platform they stood upon. And while the holbyta trembled in the face of such power, Durin’s anger was too great to be cowed.

“You would reject this gift we offer, son of Aulë?” A female voice demanded, icy and iron.

“What gift?” Durin sneered. “Unless you offer me the chance to sever his head myself this time, I see no gift here.”

The other creature of blood released a gasp that was more like a sob, but Durin had no more patience for the likes of him. In fact, he had nothing left to give to him. Something that became apparent to the Valar watching.

“You have become cruel.” Another, softer female voice soothed. “You know only the truths you have seen with your own eyes.”

“And it is enough for me to condemn that thing and the Great Valar that thought to join my soul with it! Damn him and DAMN ALL OF YOU!”

If Durin expected the same booming show of power he received previously, he was sorely disappointed. Instead, it just all seemed to fade away. The stars, the platform, and the holbyta. His sorrowful face full of tears was the last thing Durin saw before he was swallowed by the darkness. The darkness allowed no sound, not even from Durin’s own voice, and no escape. He was unsure how long he wavered in that place: hours, weeks, years? He was utterly and completely alone until finally the voice of His Father broke through.

“You have shamed me, my uzfakuh (great joy). You have shamed me, you have shamed yourself, and you have shamed your Sanâzyung.”

Durin knew he could not speak back, but he still fumed at the Great Smith’s words. 

“We have thought long and hard on how you can atone for the atrocities you’ve committed today.”

And what of the Amrâb Hufrel’s atrocities?

“Your path will not be an easy one, especially if you hold tight to the stubborn slights of your mortal heart. For a soul is worth so much more. You and your Sanâzyung shall be reborn over and over as many times as needed until you can right the wrongs between you and hear the truth of his soul.”

Durin felt a burning on his breast and looked down to behold a glowing oak tree being inked in chains.

“You shall carry this mark in every life of yours henceforth, and it shall know the mark of Madoc in return. Only free of the chains that bind your soul, will you be welcome in my Halls.”

The legend of Durin’s curse and the theft of the Amrâb Hufrel passed down through the centuries until it had inscribed all dwarven mothers with fear. For any child to bear the mark of Durin was to lead a loveless and empty life. Likewise, any “hobbits” as they preferred that met with the dwarves were met with open hostility. Especially if they bore their own mark, though none knew for certain if it was Madoc’s or not. Still, the hobbits learned fast and stories of their own circulated that any child bearing an acorn on their palm would be hunted and killed by the dwarves. So as the stories grew wilder and edged with desperation, Durin and Madoc were reborn again and again just as Aulë promised, but were no closer to breaking the curse that bound them so.

It was many centuries later when a young prince from Durin’s own line was born to the immediate wailing and disappointment of every dwarf in attendance. Not even a few seconds old, Thorin, son of Thrain, Prince of Erebor bore the heavy burdens of his ancestor. It steeled his heart as he grew into adolescence and forced him to throw his all into his duties as prince. He would love Erebor for none would ever love him. And when Erebor was attacked by the dragon, it was Thorin’s foresight and friendship with the men of Dale that was able to send Smaug away. Thorin grew from prince into a king his people could be proud of, and he never wavered from his vow to his kingdom. Never knowing that almost a century and a half later, a hobbit was born with the death sentence of his people on his palm and a destiny he would not be able to escape.

[lazaefair]

Has anyone done the Disney Princess AU yet

Part 1 - written by me, @poemsingreenink, and @iwritesometimes

poemsingreenink: Like, if anyone has big, soft innocent eyes it's Marwan who I swear to god looks near happy tears in most intense scenes. I at one point during Aladdin in theaters thought "You know Jafar's maybe just not had a great life. He's really having a day here." BECAUSE OF HIS BIG SOFT EYES.

lazaefair: LUCA MARINELLI HIMSELF SAID IT

sarah: HOWWWWW DID HE EVEN GET CAST AS JAFAR LIKE THOSE ARE DISNEY PRINCESS EYES

lazaefair: I...I need somone to draw Joe in a Disney Princess dress

sarah: but WHICH PRINCESS i feel like belle's off the shoulder gold ballgown has promise

lazaefair: Ariel’s pink gown would really drive the point home, though Although you’re right, Belle is a literate, dreamy brunette who loves poetry, so she’s closer as an archetype

sarah: i'll be honest: i was mostly thinking of getting his shoulders nude

lazaefair: Nicky is Ariel. Big blue eyes, otherworldly, utterly uncivilized.

sarah: YES

So imagine: Prince Yusuf, who had a giant statue of himself gifted to him on his birthday, and who hates it because his best friend (and immortal general of the army) Andromache is NEVER GOING TO LET HIM LIVE IT DOWN.

Also imagine: feral merman siren Nicolò who bites off fishheads and communicates through weird clicking noises, when he’s not singing men to their deaths. He’s not one of those useless pretty koi mermaids, no. He’s a motherfucking creature of the deep. Lamp eyes that are used to distract fish prey. Claws and pale fins and an intense stare and fangs.

Now imagine: Prince Yusuf going overboard in the storm that hits his royal yacht. Struggling, swept away, half-drowned and losing hope fast when an unearthly song fills the air, low and sweet and compelling. He’s swimming towards the singing before he realizes it, delirious, until something closes around his ankle and drags him under. The thing under the water kills him quickly.

And then kills him again, when it doesn’t take. After the third killing, Nicolò’s on his way to being well and truly mystified (“Okay, don't panic. They all die eventually, maybe...maybe I’ll just need to do it again?”) and gives up after the fourth and fifth killing. He drags his (attempted) prey to a little sheltered island he knows about, kills it one last time just to make sure, and then watches, resigned, as the flesh heals up and the lungs push water out until it’s coughing its way back to undeniable life.

“You rescued me,” is the first thing Yusuf says to him. “Your song – it is the song of my heart. My soul.”

Nicolò...has no idea what to do with this, coughs awkwardly in reply, and leaves before he can think too hard about the warmth in his chest answering to the warmth in the human’s expressive, grateful eyes.

(He doesn’t tell Yusuf the truth about their bloody first meeting until years later. It’s too goddamn embarrassing, to be perfectly honest.)

Of course he comes back within a day, almost shamefully quickly. Unable to help being fascinated by this gorgeous, well-spoken, kind and generous human who cannot die. He starts bringing things to Yusuf: at first just fish, then interesting-shaped fragments of rock and coral, and then bits of treasure he’s collected over the years, just to hear what new poetic turn of phrase Yusuf will spout on the spot when he’s given something.

“...this is my family crest on this treasure chest, Nicolò. How strange.”

“It is the chest you said your great-great-grandfather lost,” Nicolò says, the words coming out dry and halting from long years of disuse. Watching Yusuf’s hands as he traces the elaborate lines engraved on the lid, now blurred with rust and coral. 

“That’s amazing. Truly. I am at a loss for words,” Yusuf says, smiling.

“No, you aren’t,” Nicolò says, and keeps watching so he can see the moment when the smile turns into a laugh.

Another day, he brings to Yusuf what Booker had told him was called a ‘dinglehopper’ and was what humans used to keep their hair in order, as they did not have the ocean to spread it out like beautiful seaweed in the waves. Yusuf takes it, mouth twitching in a way that makes Nicolò doubt the accuracy of Booker’s explanation. Yet Yusuf does not correct him, but in fact solemnly thanks him before offering the dinglehopper back and asking him to help untangle his riot of curls.

And so it goes. Days pass. Fascination becomes infatuation, turns to desire and then into love, until neither can imagine living without the other, and yet—

Eventually, Nicolò has to give Yusuf up. The prince is too noble and good to just abandon his people indefinitely. And because Nicolò loves him, he goes out and once more lures a ship in with his song, but not to dash it to pieces on jagged rocks this time. He leads them to the island. Watches from a distance as the astonished shouting begins, then back-pounding hugs and joyous celebration as Yusuf boards the ship and sails away. Watches Yusuf turn back more than once to scan the beach, clearly looking for Nicolò, but Nicolò does not follow. Instead, he watches until the ship is lost to his sight and he cannot feel the ship’s current or smell, and then he dives deep and goes to visit Merrick.

Meanwhile, Yusuf arrives back at the capital, where his other best friend, Quỳnh (immortal admiral of the navy) feels terribly guilty about the prince going overboard on his birthday. Which is why she uncharacteristically doesn’t give him shit when he comes back babbling nonsense about mermaids. Or when he spends the next few weeks moping around, writing mermaid poetry and drawing mermaid pictures.

To be fair to him, the particular mermaid he sketches over and over does look pretty striking. Otherworldly and all that. Good cheekbones. Nice pearly scales. “Fucking...giant anglerfish eyes,” Quỳnh mutters while she and Andy look over the latest pile of sketches Yusuf’s left abandoned on a library table. “Our prince has been fucking bewitched by a fucking fish.”

“Mm,” Andy agrees. 

So when Nicolò arrives at the palace one fine summer’s day – naked, his fangs smoothed away to look perfectly human, a giant emerald in one hand and a silver fork in the other – and walking, on legs, it causes a bit of an uproar.

“You still smell like the sea,” Yusuf says hoarsely into Nicolò’s neck, the two of them wrapped around each other as closely as two bodies can be.

“Oh, fuck,” Andy says, lowering her axe. Quỳnh looks more closely at the dirty naked wild man their prince is embracing as if his life depends on it. Angular face. Skin encrusted with salt. Absolutely enormous piercing blue eyes. Naked, did we mention naked.

“Oh, fuck,” Quỳnh says.

“You get them separated,” Andy says. “I’ll go...get them a bath.”

The price Nicolò paid for his new human shape:

His siren song.

His immortality.

What he gets in return:

Yusuf teaching him what a dinglehopper is actually called, and what humans actually use it for.

Yusuf teaching him how to read and write his native tongue, and a few other tongues besides.

Yusuf reading poetry to him or sketching next to him on long lazy afternoons in the gardens.

The immense pleasure of intimidating the fuck out of any remaining would-be suitors for Yusuf’s hand in marriage who are still hanging around the palace for some reason.

“I am Nicolò di Genova,” Nicolò replies to the marquis’s indignant demands – predator’s smile still frightening even without endless rows of needle-sharp teeth. “You have seven days to leave this place forever. Get your affairs in order.”

Friendship with Andy and Quỳnh.

“Holy shit. Did he just—”

“—stab the marquis with a fork, at dinner, in front of the entire court? Yep.”

“...”

“...”

“New best friend.”

“Obviously.”

Yusuf writing poetry about him and to him. Nicolò likes them all. He wouldn't know a good human poem from a bad human poem, but nothing Yusuf touches could be bad, so ergo it's good.

Sightseeing throughout the kingdom with Yusuf’s strong, gentle fingers twined around his.

Yusuf breathing blissful curses into Nicolò’s ear, exactly like he used to do on their island, as they move together on his enormous bed.

Yusuf. Yusuf. Yusuf.

(Booker is also there. He insisted on being turned human, too, and coming along to make sure Nicolò doesn’t totally fuck this up, but he’s really mainly there for the entertainment. And the booze. Andy asks him at one point about losing his immortality. He shrugs. “Look, if we die, we die,” he says, then offers Andy another pour of fine French brandy. The two of them get along famously.)

It’s all going great until one night on the beach, while they’re walking along hand-in-hand under the stars and idly discussing human and merfolk constellations. Someone approaches them, dressed splendidly and moving with arrogant grace. He is also angular, also fair-haired, also possessed of unsettling eyes. And he has Nicolò’s siren song, gently humming from the shell that adorns his neck.

“Merrick,” Nicolò hisses as Yusuf’s eyes grow glazed and blank, and he tightens his hand on Yusuf’s, afraid for the first time. “Our deal—”

“He can’t bear the idea of living forever without you, can he? And so he hasn’t proposed,” Merrick says, smiling cruelly. “You’ve missed your chance. He’s mine.” And he extends his hand out to Yusuf—

Who stirs, suddenly, and turns to Nicolò. “Limpid, or shimmering?” 

“What?”

“Shimmering,” Yusuf decides, peering into Nicolò’s eyes. “Yes. Limpid would be too pretentious, I think.”

And that’s pretty much that – we don’t actually get the plot with Merrick the Sea Witch because Yusuf only has eyes for one weird-looking white guy. Also, his one artistic failing is that he's tone deaf.

They do eventually kill Merrick because true love wins out and we are all about those happy endings, Grimm’s can suck it, etcetera, so Nicolò gets his immortality and his siren song back. He’s also back to being a merman, but Yusuf does not care. “I could paint your beautiful tail for the rest of my life, my love, and still fail to capture the luminous iridescence of you,” he murmurs, stroking said tail with tender fingers. The last person to touch Nicolò’s tail got his hand bitten off. Here and now, Nicolò runs his claws through Yusuf’s hair, clicking deep and happy in his throat.

(“This is weird, right?” Quỳnh asks from where she and Andy are busy scraping evil kraken guts off their armor, a prudent distance down the beach from the lovers. “I’m not the only one who thinks it’s weird?”

Andy says nothing, just offers Quỳnh the rest of her bottle of vodka. This is why Quỳnh loves her so.)

(The wedding is a nightmare, at least according to the palace chef charged with cooking the wedding feast. “What is this, this, abomination? What in heaven’s name have you brought into my kitchen!”

“Tubeworm,” Booker says. “Considered a fine delicacy among our people. Don’t worry about it.”)

[rusty-tetanus-nail]

[Gunshots] Through Your Heart

a The C*W Sniper x Reader fanfic

The story of how You finding your One True Love finally released the Jackles Tapes™.

Author’s Note: If you actually read this fic, I will judge you.

It's the first non-virtual con since the finale and you've paid half a month’s rent to see the monkeys on stage awkwardly talk their way out of giving the gays what they really want. You've long since lost hope of anyone so much as acknowledging Cas' confession, but as long as Jensen keeps his sexy silence intact you're at peace with that. 

The fandom knows what's up anyway, even if the C*W tries to silence everyone involved with the show. You chuckle, remembering that one time when you opened tumblr and everyone was talking in riddles about [gunshots]. It took you at least an hour to figure out where that particular meme came from, but that's just season 16 for you. The confusion is half the fun. Of course the fandom would come up with the most ridiculous explanations as to why the cast and crew aren't allowed to validate Hellers, instead of just facing the reality that they all don't get it and have wrong opinions about things.

You open yet another nondescript brownish looking door, trying to find your way back to the panel hall. Whoever thought colour coding every single signpost and door instead of just using letters and arrows to point the way deserves to be fired. 

You take a deep breath to calm down and look at your phone.

"Fuck!" You curse out loud. You're so late. The main panel has already started and you're still utterly lost with no one nearby to ask for directions.

...not that you would ask for directions. You shudder. Egh people. 

You hear a faint cheering coming from behind the dark wooden door at the end of the deserted corridor. Bingo!

You run across the hallway, so ready to see the convention madness for yourself and open the door with a grin.

Instantly, the cheering grows louder and then subsides, leaving room for someone to speak. You look around confused. You can hear the panel just fine, but you’re not in the main hall.

Cautiously, you take a step forward. No that's not quite right. You are in the right room, but in the wrong place. Instead of being on the ground floor looking up at the actors on the stage, you’re on a balcony of sorts, hidden away near the ceiling. From here you can see everything. The whole crowd of fans, the stage. It's not the first row seat that you paid the other half of this month’s rent for, but it’s a nice view nevertheless and feels far less claustrophobic than downstairs with all the people around you doing their best to give you a headache. Maybe you'll just stay here and enjoy the rest of the show. No point in missing more of it than you already have.

You lean against the railing and watch as a staff member gives the microphone to a nervous looking fan. You cross your fingers, silently cheering them on, hoping they'll get through this in one piece.

The fan starts to talk and from the corner of your eyes you see something move. Startled, you stumble forward over the railing and for a moment you're certain that this is how you die.

A hand grips you tight by your several layers of flannel and pulls you back onto the floor of the balcony saving you from certain death.

You look up in a daze and see the silhouette of your saviour illuminated by the ceiling lights standing over you holding a sniper rifle. Somewhere in the distance you hear the fan continue their question ignorant of your almost death.

Your saviour moves with practiced ease back to the railing and aims their weapon at the people below. 

Shit. This can’t be happening. You try to get up and stop them from whatever they're about to do, but when you reach the figure and grab their wrist it's already too late.

"So about the Cartwright Twi-" [gunshots]

The fan falls to their knees and is carried off as someone on stage lets out an uncomfortable laugh and makes a joke about fainting. You watch the proceedings in shock, still gripping the sniper's wrist.

"What did you do?" You bite out, more harshly than you intended. In the back of your mind you know you should probably run away instead of arguing with the assassin, but there’s just something about them that makes you feel safe and unthreatened.

"My job." A gruff voice replies and as they turn you finally catch a first proper glimpse at the sniper's face. You let go of them almost immediately.

Oh no. They're hot.

The sniper pulls their wrist close to their chest and strokes the parts of their skin that your hand previously occupied. And odd knot forms in your stomach. You take a step closer and they shift away unused to the presence of another person.

You try to reach out again, but think better of it. You don’t want to scare the beautiful person in front of you. Your hand falls down limply to your side and the sniper follows your movements with their eyes still refusing to look directly at you.

You open your mouth to ask who they are, but you get interrupted when Jensen starts speaking. Instantaneously the sniper is all business again, aims their rifle and-

“Actually I think Dean is b-” [gunshots]

Jensen bends over and starts coughing violently, his sentence hanging forever unsaid in the room.

The sniper lowers their gun and looks emotionlessly at the scene they just caused.

“You’re-” You start, but the sniper holds up their hand to stop you.

“Don’t. Just go and pretend you never saw anything or I’ll shoot you as well.”

You shake your head.

“No. I don’t think you will.” Taking a chance you close the distance between the both of you and take the sniper’s free hand, intertwining your fingers with theirs. Their breath hitches as you touch them and they lower their eyes, but don’t move away. You take it as a good sign.

“You’re the C*W Sniper, aren’t you?” You whisper astonished. “I can’t believe you’re real.”

A fan with a faintly Spanish sounding accent is given the microphone. With their free hand the sniper reaches down and pulls out a gun from their thigh holster and- [gunshots]

What was once an almost unnoticeable accent is now unrecognizable word salad. Everyone laughs and writes the incident off as the fan simply being nervous. You frown.

“This isn’t right.”

“They’ll be able to speak again in a couple of minutes.”

You tighten your fingers around the snipers hand and try to unsuccessfully catch their eyes.

“Still doesn’t make it right. You didn’t even know if they’d mention anything about-”

The sniper aims their gun at you.

“I have my orders.”

Your eyes finally meet for the first time and the previous argument is forgotten as the world around you bursts into vibrant colours. 

“What the f-”

This isn’t possible. You’ve always been severely colour blind. People don’t just randomly heal from that. You shouldn’t be seeing any of this.

The sniper's cold eyes grow warm and mirror your own in wonderment. They look around before settling their eyes back on you and a soft “oh” escapes their lips.

“You’re my soulmate.” Their rough voice takes on a heart wrenching tone and you shake your head disbelievingly.

“No. Soulmates aren’t real. They were made up for fanfics.”

“That’s what the CW wants you to think.” The sniper says with a sad smile and breaks eye contact again. “The CW’s reach and power is far greater than anything you could possibly imagine.”

You cup the sniper’s face with your free hand and softly stroke their cheek with your thumb, almost entranced at the new connection you made with the not quite stranger in front of you. The sniper closes their eyes and leans into your touch. Your heart starts pounding and you wish for the moment to never end.

“You should leave.”

“Not without you.” You reply not missing a beat, trying not to get distracted by the sniper’s full lips and delicate features contrasting their hard battleworn exterior.

“I’m not safe to be around. I’ve hurt people.” The sniper turns around and lets go of your hand, but you hold on tight, too scared they’ll disappear as suddenly as they entered your life. Clutching their hand tightly, you pull them close and swirl them around forcing them to face you.

“I don’t care.” You say resolutely. “Whatever hold the C*W has on you, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The sniper shakes their head and looks frantically over to the stage where Jensen is about to give his phone to a staff member.

“I- I can’t. I have to- I have nothing else but this.” They aim their gun at the stage, but you gently push their raised arm down. Your sniper doesn’t resist, but their hands are trembling. They’re scared, you realise. They’re scared and they need you.

“You have me. Please, I promise. Everything will be alright. Let me take care of you.”

The gun falls to the ground and the sniper lets themself be enveloped into your embrace. You hold them tightly as they fall apart in your arms and wait patiently until they stop shaking all the while whispering sweet reassurances into their ear.

“It won’t be easy.” They mumble against your shoulder and straighten up to look into your eyes. “The C*W will want to eliminate us. I’m not their only assassin.”

“Let them come. We’ll make them regret ever messing with us.” You say with a wicked grin and your sniper grins back with tears in their eyes.

You throw your arms over your snipers shoulders and lean your forehead against theirs.

“I’d really like to kiss you now.”

“Yes please.” The sniper says, almost breathlessly and you capture your soulmate’s lips for the first time. 

Fireworks explode in your soul and the crowd cheers as the Jackles Tapes are finally released and played on the big screen behind Jensen and Misha, who take the opportunity to ask every minor to leave the room as they’re about to reenact the secret good ending of Supernatural.

[vapormaison]

2019 Best Vinyl Pressing 1/4: 魂のための歌 by 憂鬱

Preface: Throughout the month of December, Vapor Maison will be nominating  “BEST OF” albums of 2019. Slots will remain open for this month’s releases. Categories include Best Vaporwave Release, Best Future Funk Release, Best Re-Release (V & FF), and Best City Pop Re-Release, among others. This is one nominee for best Vinyl Press.

Author’s Note: For the writer’s ease of writing and readers ease of reading, I’ll be using the transliteration of 憂鬱:Yūutsu, and the translation of “Soul’s Song” in lieu of “魂のための歌”. I’ll maintain the Japanese track listings for easy reference. Apologies to Purity, a maiden as tedious as she is cruel.

Are the merits of a vaporwave album on vinyl even worth reviewing?

 Obviously, you’re reading a vaporwave vinyl review — creating a sort of circuit — so in the strictest sense of the word, yes, — but naturally, a follow up question must be asked by any smart music consumer. If so much of vaporwave, and by extension future funk, is centered around digital manipulation of either computer programs (vocaloid, electronic loops, midis, drum kits, etc), and pre-existing digital rips of j-pop (by definition most of future funk) — what’s the point of a vinyl press? Pressing mp3s onto vinyl is pointless — as no amount of “warmth” from a vinyl-based Hi-Fi system will ever make up for a low-quality source. What’s more, the indie releases of these tracks can make it hard to justify an expensive vinyl mastering session. In my most unfortunate purchases, I’ve had MP3s outperform certain 45s.

But sometimes, you can get just the right format, just the right mix and master, and it just makes your hifi set sing. You, as a Vaporwave/Future Funk/Chillwave/etc. enthusiast, can certainly approach the sonic repro quality of lore — that Platonic form of an “audiophile’s album”. How can I prove this? Look no further than Soul’s Song by Yuutsu. Point blank, full stop. This is the one of the rare vapor records for a true audiophile. In this next section, I’ll be giving my thoughts on the album’s tracklist. In Part 2, you can join me for a trip into Hi-Fi World for a discussion of Vapor-Vinyl’s legitimacy.

PART 1: THE MUSIC

小さい鳥 opens the album with a moody, synthetic mandolin-like twang and elegiac Vocaloid vacillations extended in a sort of melancholic embrace that brings you — willing or otherwise, into the arms of this project. The arrangement of the loops are of particular note here, with the layering of additional sonic flutters that culminate in an anti-climactic crescendo that leaves you as sad and disappointed as the album no doubt wants you to feel.

それは愛を返さありません ends up being the most “atmospheric” of all the tracks, a listening experience I’d describe as a fitting background track for a KEY visual novel — eerie, haunting monosyllabic Vocaloid chants of comprising the long, long hooks. While running at 5:24, it definitely feels longer — perhaps created by a symphonic discord between vocals and music at intermittent portions of the piece. I’d characterize this piece as the most experimental of the album, deftly playing with my expectations more than any of the others.

闇 is incredible — and without a doubt the highlight of the tape. Because it departs from the simple string looping and gives us something more — something resembling a tragic and contemplative harmony, however discordant, and one that builds into lyrically what I consider to be a genuine contemplation of spirituality and the other world — a natural place, topically, for an album titled “Soul’s Song”. A sort of hollow computerized synth also left me considering — was this song about the soul of the Vocaloid program itself?

The digitized horns, eerie synths, and what I could best classify as the crackling of amplifiers introduce the thirty-eight second interlude of 変更 and serve as the riser to the climactic shift of the EP beginning in おやすみ. This four-minute piece deftly blends electric and analog strings and brings the vocaloid program to its emotional and sonic heights, really making the high-end pop in a for a surprisingly refreshing experience.

We conclude the album with a hybrid piece ネコチャン which captures the electric energy of おやすみ, the distorted samples of 変更 and adds a fleeting feeling of warmth with that familiar sound of tennis shoes on a waxed gym floor, evoking nostalgia that never was of doldrum days in a Japanese high school. The album fades out, with our familiar vocaloid’s calling out of Neko-chan, melting away like memories.

PART 2: THE VINYL LISTENING EXPERIENCE

When re-starting this review blog in earnest over the past month or so, I made a point to get my best gear serviced. I couldn’t claim to be fulfilling my broadened duties without having a fully-serviced, properly functioning kit. One of the more essential and dreaded refurbishments was getting my KEFs over to the local stereo shop wizard for a re-foam. I’d be without my workhorses for a week: an audiophile Alexander without his binaural Bucephalus. In the meanwhile, my backup speakers — a pair of Cambridge Audio SX-50 bookshelf speakers that I use as computer monitors, stepped up to the plate as pinch hitter.

I provide this anecdote for a reason: the very afternoon I dropped my KEF’s off at the shop is also the afternoon I received my copy of Soul’s Song by Yūutsu.

Admittedly, I can’t say I was particularly hyped for this release, or very eager tor receive it in the post. The previous evening I had been sleeplessly experimenting on a DJ set of city pop for the journal’s launch party at my alma mater. I was decidedly on an upbeat, caffeine-fueled kick of positive thoughts and big dick energy. Success had triggered the dopamine receptors, and the idea of sitting down for a serious listening session of an album that many BandCamp users had dubbed as “peak sadwave” seemed like an unnecessary vibe check.

But— being a self-appointed music blogger— a craft which I imagine has real pretensions about it somewhere, I buckled —a serious listening session was attempted.

And I was utterly blown away.

***

A final word on gear. The Cambridge SX-50s — and Cambridge Audio in general— do have a bit of a cult-following among guitar enthusiasts in various audiophile spheres. I also am familiar with a listening bar in Nagoya (where I studied abroad for a semester) that uses top-shelf Cambridge Hi-Fi gear solely for Vocaloid listening sessions!

Suffice to say, I was not actively thinking about either of those two facts when I first let the needle drop, but when the twangy synthetic guitar loop and the eerie vocalic chants of それは愛を返さありません began, a sudden wave of melancholy set in and brought my mind back to a lonely winter spent in that basement bar after breaking up with my girlfriend. And to the Cambridges. At that time, I became intimately familiar with how an upbeat, poppy — sometimes even jazzy track— accompanied with Vocaloid vocals could really make those speakers sing. And it was happening right now, as I was cuddled by the warmth pouring from those drivers in spite of the cold sadness of the arrangement. That dichotomy was on full display as “Ya-aa-mi” invocations of 闇 reached its penultimate hook.

In may respects, these Cambridges were and still are petty. I had previous experience with them butchering a poor quality vinyl of the Luxury Elite/Saint Pepsi Late Night Delight EP two years ago. My KEF’s usually take it upon themselves to run cover for a bad release. Cambridge-chan couldn’t be bothered. On a bad day, with a bad play, they’ll seem like the most clinical JBL studio monitor — but here they were, absolutely singing. This album was making them slap — metaphorically. And that’s when I realized what a magical press this was.

Five days later, the KEFs were securely hooked up to my amp again. The first vinyl to be put through the paces was, of course, Soul’s Song. Again I was impressed. The exquisite layering of this album can’t be expressed enough — and while the SX-50s brought out the synthetic string and vocals to the fore, my 104s filled in the rest of the sonic picture. I felt as if I was being re-acquainted with a piece of sculpture upon viewing it from a different angle, or witnessing a church’s mosaic in person after seeing a small reproduction in a well-printed textbook. This is a pressing far and above the previous standards I’ve set for vaporwave.

***

As any Vapor Vinyl review would be incomplete without a brief take on the overallＡｅｓｔｈｅｔｉｃ of the release, so I’ll just start by saying that I really enjoy the three-tone front end. The lavender, beige and white undeniably make this a very “Aloe” release, who tend to make things easy on my very nearsighted eyes by never making the cover too busy. This is perhaps with the notable exception of VR 97’s recent cassette release — not a trend, I hope!

I do have to admit I’m getting a bit tired of pink vinyls, though — and Soul’s Song unfortunately now joins a very crowded pack. I suppose if you were being pedantic, you could compare the “pinkness” of the album vis a vis the 2nd pressing of Macros 82-99’s Sailorwave (fuller, more saturated), or even the “bubblegum” first pressing of Vektroid’s Floral Shoppe (just naming two iconic releases) — but I think this release would have been fine (and moved units) as, say, a picture disc — making use of the powerful, emotive cover art to its fullest extent. In short, it takes something unique and then commodifies it to the point of exhaustion. While I suppose this criticism could be leveled at all of the genres I cover— I think generally speaking Vaporwave and Future Funk (to a lesser extent) treads this line of “capitalist critique” and “modified consumption” rather adeptly.

The main thrust in the previous paragraph, I should qualify, is not a specific criticism of Aloe City Records, however — I think they’ve done a fine job generally. If I could make a list of three releases that justify a special edition vinyl — this is certainly one.

For audiophile vaporwave/chill-wave fans, I’d encourage you to snap it up while you can.  You can even buy it ethically — it’s still in stock on Aloe City’s band-camp page. It’s in my mind — without doubt — one of the best presses of the year.

[schoolofmaaa]

Scott Kildall on Data, Water, Territory and What it Means to Be Human

Scott Kildall is a new media artist who has been working at the intersections of art, technology, and education for the past 15 years. He works with datasets related to the natural sciences, questioning how they interact with human civilisations. We are very excited to welcome Scott, who joins us from San Francisco, for our four-week intensive course Data & Society. It will take place 3-28 June, 2019, at our home-base in Berlin. In this interview we talk about data as a medium, water, and being a human in today’s time. 

Tell me a bit about what brought you to the work you’re currently doing. Did you always have an interest in working with data? 

My dad was a famous computer pioneer and one of the gifts he gave me was the DNA of a math-scientist combined with a distinct curiosity about life. I taught myself to code in my 20s and ran a small software company during the early dot-com years. It was here that I begin to comprehend the structures of hidden data.

In the 90s, I quickly discovered the role of an engineer: solving technical problems and building things for the specifications of others, to be uninspiring. Also, because I have deep concerns about the economic inequality of capitalism, I never felt at ease in a corporate landscape, which is where this kind of work usually takes place.

I left that world and slowly got trained as an artist, embraced new methodologies for thinking, and built my life around creating artwork that repurposes technology in various ways. However, from my early years, that peek into the underbelly of code, the way things are stored, archived and who owns them, has stuck with me ever since.

Data used as a medium, how did this begin for you? 

In 2012, I took a full-time job at the the Exploratorium, a world-famous museum of art, science, and curiosity in San Francisco and worked there for about 18 months as a New Media Exhibit Developer. I felt like I needed a break from the art world because I was bottoming out psychologically and this job was an opportunity to work with scientists and create exhibits in a forward-thinking institution.

Much of my work there involved co-developing interactive kiosks that involved data in some way or another, both on the screen and off for the Life Sciences Gallery. It was specifically the physical data visualization work I did that inspired me. For example, I worked on an artwork called Tidal Memory, which was a series of 10-foot high columns of water, 24 in total. I wrote code and developed electronics that scraped tide buoy data and pumped water into each column to match the current tide level. Essentially, it acted as a life-sized tide table, which changed each day.

When I left the Exploratorium at the beginning of 2014, I returned to making artwork and began generally to work with data in some form or another. Beginning with an art residency at Pier 9, Autodesk, I began working with code and digital fabrication, specifically 3D printing. I was amazed because I finally could easily combined the two practices: writing code and building physical objects into various forms.

I left that world and slowly got trained as an artist, embraced a new methodologies for thinking and built my life around creating artwork that repurposes technology in various ways.

New media art is constantly changing in relation to new technologies. As a technologist and artist, do you have a specific practice for consolidating your technical choices and artistic concepts? 

For me, technology is like a material. I’m a generalist with tech and am very good at a lot of things: electronics, 3D modeling, code, fabrication, etc. but an expert in none. It’s relatively easy for me to quickly master an emerging technology and because I am self-taught, I pick up tools in a chaotic, unorthodox way. So, the technology itself is less important than how the technology expresses itself in current culture.

For example, this year I’m doing some new work in VR now because the tools are accessible but the field of artistic expression is still wide open. And, more importantly, VR creates a simulated physical space that feels like reality but it’s entirely like an interior psychological space, and so is rich in so many ways.

All my work involves the tension between territory and technology.  As new technologies get introduced but before they are co-opted, territory — physical, economic, political and so on — reconfigures itself. It’s at this point that I try to leverage relevant technologies to make new work.

I’m just trying to do my little part, which involves bringing art to a wider audience. This teaches imagination and creative critique, which I believe helps with the political problems in a way that give people hope and helps shape an alternative future.

I see that fluidity is a major theme in your work. Using liquids as a medium in Cybernetic Spirits (2018), in Sonaqua (2017), sonifying water quality and in Water Works (2014) you investigate the water infrastructure of S.F. Is fluidity something you think about in your life and practice? 

I’m more excited about water than fluidity. Water is the basis for all life and ecosystems. We tend to forget that waterways are interconnected. It’s an easy (free) material to work with but also so difficult because it leaks everywhere. The political issues are huge: ownership, containment, pollution and more. The aspects of water are so multi-faceted. So, it’s something that I’ve been returning to recently.

The Cybernetic Spirits artwork uses a similar technology with an entirely different conceptual framework. This work separates fluids from the body — using things like blood and breast milk — but also puts fluids like gasoline and kombucha into the same electronic organism, so it’s more about machines and the physical expression of fluids we worship than water issues. 

Another major theme in your work, which you mention, is territory and technology. In one of your most recent works, Flagscape (2018), you use United Nations data to construct a virtual world of economic exchanges. There are no geographic borders, rather, a world defined by trade. How else are concepts of territory, boundaries and nations applied in your work? 

The overarching theme for my work is around the interplay between territory and technology. Data is one part of this larger conversation. With Flagscape, I’m doing more explicit investigations around borders and national identity and looking at transnational trade in VR. As you fly around different pieces of data related to a particular nation, you hear that country’s national anthem. All of these sounds similar: puffed up grand gestures that utterly fail when you fly in VR free from military parades and border checkpoints.

With territory and technology, the artwork ranges from geographical processes to absurd gestures. For example, Strewn Fields, depicts how meteorite impacts data as etchings into stone. Asteroids don’t care about national boundaries and what this work does is to capture a one-time kinetic event — a rock descending from space and impacting the earth — as a static object that will last for centuries.

Other work such as Moon v Earth (2011, reprised 2018), is not at all a data-related work, but rather depicts a narrative of a moon colony run by billionaires which asserts its independence and then wages a war on Earth. As viewers, we see only fragments of the results (in the form of an analog-augmented reality artwork). 

It's sometimes hard to imagine how we can use and apply data to communicate certain issues and ideas. Do any previous student works which come to mind, which you can share with us? 

I teach data-visualization in San Francisco to design students and there, we take a more traditional approach of starting with Tufte and introduce them to marks as symbols for expression of data. These students are completely new to visualization and are looking for careers in design, so it is professional-based with a practical inquiry into effective design techniques as well as talking about eye-tracking, bias and a host of other relevant issues.

My personal passion in bringing data-visualizations into physical space and the the most exciting project I’ve done thus far is working at an American Arts Incubator in Bangkok in 2017. There I taught a month-long workshop and produced an exhibition for 20 Thai students along the theme of river health and physical data sculptures.

Much of the process was around ideating and thinking through forms, doing experiments, and then finally producing the final exhibition. One effective project by the students was called “River Voices”, which was created in collaboration with members of the Ladprao community, who are affected by the health of the Chao Phraya River.

They conducted two interconnected workshops during the project development period. For the first one, they collected data through a t-shirt exchange where community members dipped their shirts into local canal water. They then printed a map with data collected from the t-shirts. For the second workshop, they worked with children from the community to draw their stories of river life and health. Finally, they designed “healthy ingredients” onto a “River Detox” logo, which they printed on new t-shirts and gifted to all community workshop participants. 

Can you tell me about Xenoform Labs? How did this come about? 

In August 2018, I left my part-time job at Autodesk, where I was running their electronics lab in their Pier 9 maker environment and was trying to figure out next steps. After some soul-searching, I decided to open up my home in San Francisco to artists from other parts of the world to experiment and shape new work, rather than to refine and show it.

I was inspired by the idea of doing something on a smaller scale and have ample space in my house for my own studio and hosting others. To make it simple, it’s an invitation-only art residency program for new media artists — people who work with art + technology with criticality — from outside of the Bay Area.

It provides free housing and a studio space for one month for one artist/couple. The studio includes digital media, virtual reality hardware, media production and light fabrication. I host events for the artists to connect with local thinkers, artists, and curators in the San Francisco Bay Area. The website is: xenoformlabs.com/.

I think there are two things that I’ve learned: first, take care of yourself and second, be open to all new possibilities.

Ok, let’s bring the questions back down to yourself as a human. What are some of the plans you have for the future? Projects, trips, some films you want to see! 

There’s always so much to do! I am passionate about mountain biking, so wherever I go, I’ll be looking for that. I hear Teufelsberg in Berlin is a nice spot. For future projects, I’m putting a lot of time into working on audio synthesis with plants sensors, amplifying their electrical activity and creating outdoor concerts and synthesis. I’ll be collaborating on some of this with Michael Ang, an artist and close friend from Berlin in the coming months, and am super-excited to work with him.

This year, I have plans to work in Slovenia, Panama, and Thailand for this project and am particularly excited around engaging with the local people and natural environment. 

You’ve traveled quite a bit! Can you share with us some of the things you’ve learned by working with peoples of different cultures, in different settings and with distinct ways of working? 

I think there are two things that I’ve learned: first, take care of yourself and second, be open to all new possibilities. The first means that you do things like meditation or centering or having a comfortable pillow or whatever else you need to calm your inner self. I pay a lot of attention to my internal energy and check-in all the time. Then, you can go out and be a superstar with others.

When I mean open to new possibilities, what I’m getting at is that the reality of your experience will be completely different than what others tell you.

When I traveled to Thailand for the AAI project, I was told many things about Thai people, for example that they were always happy and that the culture was extremely patriarchal. Both of these things were not the case.

My Thai students were very close to American students in so many ways. I did discover other aspects that were distinct about my workshop, for example that if someone was stuck, that the others in the group who were faster would stop and help that person out. So, I later translated this into my workshops and teaching styles in more Western countries where this may not be the case since it helps keep the class going and is more rewarding for the group. 

What is the change you want to see in the world? 

That’s a tough one. There is so much. Right now, we’re in a very troubling set of times, with the rise of anti-immigration fears, climate change, economic inequality and so much more. I’m just trying to do my little part, which involves bringing art to a wider audience. This teaches imagination and creative critique, which I believe helps with the political problems in a way that give people hope and helps shape an alternative future. 

For those of us who are interested in data, but are just starting to get our head around it, do you have any further readings, tips or projects to share? 

Here are a few resources that are from several different angles: 

I like the Data Stories Podcast.

There is a great wiki here on physical data visualizations

The book that I teach in my data-visualization classes is The Functional Art, by Albert Cairo. 

For reading about Data and Society, the Bruce Schneier book, Data and Goliath is a must-read.

Data & Society, an intensive four-week program will take place between 3-28 June 2019, in Berlin, Germany. You can find more information on the program here, or apply directly over here. 

[newmusickarl]

Album & EP Recommendations

Hello My Beautiful World by Holy Holy

If you are not familiar with Australian outfit Holy Holy, the brainchild of singer-songwriter Timothy Carroll and guitarist/composer Oscar Dawson, then you have truly been missing out. Having debuted with the impressive, rock-centric When The Storms Would Come, the band developed their sound further on sophomore effort Paint, before then freely experimenting on their last album, My Own Pool of Light. However, all that has simply been building up to this fourth album, which for my money is easily their strongest, most accomplished work to date.

With this new record, Holy Holy sound completely confident and firmly in control as they expand their already adventurous sound into exciting and utterly majestic new directions. Across the 14 tracks here, there are three glorious musical centrepieces in particular, that even come complete with epic, instrumental Codas (The Aftergone, I.C.U. and So Tired). There is also the band’s first foray into hip hop on the Queen P. featuring track Port Rd, as well as the beautiful spoken word piece that marks the album’s title track, something you can listen to above. The musicianship on display here is just amazing, with each track harbouring a sumptuous melody that is backdropped by stunning strings, soaring guitars, and mesmerising electronica.

I really can’t stress enough how much I was blown away by this album. Best thing I can do is simply recommend that you press play on opener Believe Anything (with its catchy chorus of “La, La, Las”, big bassline, wonderfully buzzy guitars and gorgeous strings) and then just enjoy the sonic journey from there – you won’t be disappointed. I know I have already said this about a lot of albums this year, but I think this is another strong favourite.

Listen here

Infinite Granite by Deafheaven

I said a few weeks back that my anticipation for this record had reached fever pitch, so I am glad to firstly report that this album fully delivers on the hype. Now I know there was also a lot of talk in the build-up to this album, from myself included, about how this record is shaping up to be a huge departure in sound for post-metal outfit Deafheaven. The preview singles rightly suggested they were ramping up the clean vocals and moving away from their “blackgaze” roots towards a more distinctive alternative rock sound. However, having now listened to the record several times over this week, I’m not entirely sure that the change is that radical at all.

Like many, Sunbather was the album that introduced me to the mesmerising sound of Deafheaven, that wonderful mix of beauty and horror captivating me straight away on what remains one of my favourite metal albums of the last 10 years. However even on that record, which was predominantly black metal, there was still passages of melodic guitar textures and dreamy shoegaze just like there is here. All Deafheaven have really done is push the metal back and brought those elements further forward, something they were already starting to do to on their last album Ordinary Corrupt Human Love. This definitely isn’t a criticism though, as I’ve always loved that side to their sound. The good news is as well for those that were still hoping the metal elements and scream vocals hadn’t been completely abandoned, the thunderous climax to Villain and second half of eight-minute closer Mombasa should still satisfy old school fans.

For the album itself, this is undoubtedly another masterful work from Deafheaven, which although slightly different is up there with both Sunbather and New Bermuda. It also contains a lot of their best work to date, with recent single In Blur still standing out amongst the pack with its near-anthemic chorus of “What does daylight look like in this chaos of cold?” and it’s really scintillating guitar work.

The Gnashing is another standout - built around a vocal not a million miles away from Interpol’s Paul Banks at times, the song wonderfully builds towards a crescendo of, as the title suggests, some seriously biting guitar riffs. That said though, lead single Great Mass of Color remains one of my favourite tracks of the year so far, with its completely hypnotic guitar melody and distant vocals that gently glide across your ears before eventually erupting into a swarm of heavy guitars and screamy vocals for the triumphant finale. If anything, it’s the perfect combination of Deafheaven’s old and new sound.

Just like Holy Holy, this is an incredible body of work and another Q3 contender for my annual Albums of the Year list.

Listen here

After Midnight by Lola Young

Just a couple of weekends ago, I was introduced to soul singer Lola Young through watching her sensational performance at 110 Above Festival. With her incredible voice and natural charisma, it seems obvious to me that the 20-year-old is destined for big things in the future. This instinct was further solidified this week through listening to her brilliant new 4 track EP, probably one of my favourite short-plays of the year so far.

Across the four tracks, Young navigates the emotion and heartbreak that comes connected with a familiar late-night hook-up, cataloguing the events from the drunken walk back home after a night out to the haze of the sun coming up at 5am the next morning. It’s tightly packaged but at the same time incredibly raw, with Young laying out her vulnerability across some sparse live production, centred around her powerful voice and a simple piano backing. It all makes for quite a stunning and resonant 15 minutes, showing that Lola Young is most definitely a superstar in the making.

Listen here

Solar Power by Lorde

Although Deafheaven might have been my most anticipated record of the week, I think it’s safe to say the world has been awaiting this new album from Lorde ever since the end of the Melodrama cycle. Like many, I thoroughly enjoyed that record however I must say the lead single to this new album hadn’t really captured me in the same way Green Light had in 2017.

With that being the case, I wasn’t sure if this album was going to be for me or not. That doubt soon disappeared though the moment the strum of the folky guitars on opener The Path kicked in, putting my mind immediately at ease. With talent the calibre of Phoebe Bridgers and Clairo providing the background vocals, it is a truly magnificent start and easily my favourite track on the entire record. From there plenty of highlights keep coming, with the bluesy riffs of Fallen Fruit and the sun-soaked meanderings of closer Oceanic Feeling also standing out.

Although beyond The Path I can’t see me returning to this album as much as I did Melodrama, I think the intriguing change of sound Lorde goes for here makes it still worthy of a recommendation.

Listen here

Saturday Night, Sunday Morning by Jake Bugg

Being from Nottingham, I also couldn’t overlook the new album from singer-songwriter Jake Bugg this week, who has once again found his form on this his fifth studio album. Featuring some noticeably glossier production and a bit more of a pop feel, this is Jake’s most consistent record for a while, one I found myself quite enjoying from start-to-finish. To pick just a couple of highlights, dancefloor-ready single Lost with its disco flair and suitably catchy chorus, along with the piano-driven, string-tinged lament of Downtown stand out the most.

Listen here

Tomorrow’s People by Shire T

Elsewhere, Chris Davids - one half of electronic duo Maribou State - released his first solo album this week. Continuing exactly where the band left off with their incredible sophomore album Kingdoms In Colour, the record is an enchanting mix of more traditional sounds, styles and influences from across the globe, juxtaposed nicely against modern synths and beats. It is a great listen and, in many ways, the perfect companion piece to that Kingdoms In Colour record. If you’re a fan of that album, I guarantee you’ll love this one too!

Listen here

Tracks of the Week

Life Is Not The Same by James Blake

The second taste of James Blake’s forthcoming fifth album is a haunting, at times uncomfortable tale of heartbreak, with some fascinating production and a stunning, emotive vocal performance from Blake himself.

Listen here

Carbon Mono by Boston Manor

Coming quickly off the back of their 2020 third album Glue, Blackpool rockers Boston Manor made their seismic return this week with arguably their most anthemic single to date, built on buzzy guitar riffs, glitchy synths and polished production.

Listen here

[righteoustuff]

A Brief History of Japanese Chillout & Downtempo

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                It’s no secret that Japan has produced some of the finest meditative sounds. From the environmental music of Hiroshi Yoshimura to the warm synths of Haruomi Hosono, blissed-out electronics have been surfacing since the 1980s and have continued to evolve through to the present day.

Ken Hidaka, Max Essa and Dr. Rob are three friends and deep digging collectors who’ve been immersed in these sounds for years, be that through writing, DJing or throwing their long-running monthly listening party at Bar Bonobo in Harajuku.

In 2017, whilst in Copenhagen on tour with Midori Takada, Ken visited the home of Kenneth Bagger – the boss behind Copenhagen-based imprint Music For Dreams – who asked him if he’d lead the charge for an instalment of their Collectors Series. Enlisting the help of Max and Dr. Rob, the trio spent the next three years charting the history of Japanese chillout and downtempo music from the 80s through to 2018. Titled Oto No Wa: Selected Sounds of Japan 1988 – 2018, each track is the result of friendships and physical connections, mapping out the development of chilled sounds, from ambient to electro-acoustics, post-house and balearic.

Alongside a mix of Japanese chillout and downtempo from Dr.Rob, we asked him, Ken and Max to discuss some of their personal favourites.

Oto No Wa is out now on Music For Dreams.

Where does your love for Japanese Chillout stem from?

Ken Hidaka: For me, it was when I heard the Silent Poets: Moment Scale (Dubmaster X Remix), the first track on Jose Padilla compiled Cafe Del Mar- Volumen Dos. Not sure where I bought this compilation as I was in between living in London and in Tokyo around the time of when this compilation was released in 1995. At the time, to be honest with you, I was way more into western club music and really not much into Japanese music at all so this Silent Poets’ track in this compilation surprised me a lot!

Although my tastes for music were still leaned towards mostly western club music, after coming back to Japan, I slowly started to discover a few Japanese music that caught my interest. Artists that released music out of Bellissima Records at the time such as Nobukazu Takemura’s Child’s View, Reflection out of Lollop (their debut album, The Errornormous World was also released out of Clear in the UK), Major Force crew, etc. You could say that my roots for Japanese down tempo/ chill-out music stem from Jose Padilla and his Balearic aesthetics, Club Jazz sounds and electronic music that was emerging from Japan.

What Japanese Chillout record has left the biggest impression on you as a DJ, and why?

Rob Harris: As a DJ, I don’t know, but as someone passionate about recorded music, a student of sound, I can give you two Japanese, downtempo / chill out records that made a big impression on me.

The first is Haruomi Hosono’s Paraiso. When I lived in Tokyo, which is about ten years ago now, I spent a lot of time digging for vinyl. Using the second-hand stores as an excuse to get to know the city, and searching for stuff, both for my own collection and to sell. Paraiso was one of the things on my “wants list”. It was on there because Jose Padilla, the former DJ at Ibiza’s Cafe Del Mar, had mentioned it in a radio interview. Even back then this album wasn’t so easy to find. It wasn’t expensive because the boom in Japanese music was still off on the horizon but there didn’t seem to be that many copies around. Produced in 1978, maybe it hadn’t been issued on CD, and those folks with were hanging onto their copies.

Anyhow when I did find one I didn’t know what to make of it – why was it in Jose’s favourites? I’d already hoover-ed up most of the Yellow Magic Orchestras output – the band Hosono founded with Yukihiro Takahashi and Ryuichi Sakamoto – for its chugging electronic afro / cosmic crossovers, but this was acoustic guitar-driven, softly strummed singer-songwriter stuff. But then bumping the needle, scanning from track to track, I hit the title number and understood – as Hosono-san used studio effects to deconstruct the song – send it into the stratosphere. Mid-way through it just dissolved into sonic shimmer, like a passing comet’s tail. Creating an extra-terrestrial exotica – an easy-listening muzak with its sights set not on Hawaii but the stars.

The second record is Sth. Notional’s ‘Yawn Yawn Yawn’. For me this is a defining Japanese downtempo / chill out release. Again it was a favourite of Jose’s – but I only learned that in hindsight. It was Mancunian balearic guru, Richard “Moonboots” Bithell who tasked me with finding a copy. His London-based counterpart, Phil Mison, had one and he didn’t. This record was and still is super rare, since it was made in the early-90s, and kinda opposite to Paraiso, was far more abundant on CD. But then the CD didn’t have all the mixes. Jose and Phil had both championed the break-driven G-Tar Canyon Mix at the Cafe Del Mar, but it was Moonboots who picked up on the Dream… Another Reality version – which is an eight and a half minute meditation of sampled shore-line, piano and poetry. A hippie ode to Mother Nature – which to the West might sound cheesy – but captures a spirituality that exists in everyday Japan – something you only really appreciate, learn to respect, and hopefully come to understand, by living here. These are largely islands of gentle souls.

Moonboots later put this mix on his Originals compilation – co-selected with “Balearic” Mike Smith – for Claremont 56. I can’t tell you how ecstatic I was when I came across the record’s sea-blue sleeve in a rack labelled “Major Force & Friends” in Shibuya`s Recofan. I was seriously in double-take shock. To date I’ve only ever found three copies of the OG. Yawn Yawn Yawn was however reissued by Italy’s Archeo Recordings in 2018. The package expanded by a host of new remixes, and spread across six sides of vinyl. Reworks by Max Essa, Chee Shimizu, and Kuniyuki Takahashi. The update by Tadashi Yabe – ex of Untied Future Organization – is truly amazing. It’ll catch you off-guard. A fucked-up funky, psychedelic collage that – I’ll stick my neck out here – is the best Japanese “balearic” track of modern times. In my opinion if you only own one Japanese downtempo / chill out record then this Archeo reissue of Sth. National’s Yawn Yawn Yawn should be it.

What Japanese Chillout record has made the biggest impact on your sound as a producer, and why?

Max Essa: It’s difficult to single out one particular record, but I’m going to go with ‘Julia’ by Seigen Ono from the Comme Des Garçons Volume Two LP (1989). I got my first break making records in the early 90s through house music. Dance music genres/sub-genres are very rigid stylistically. When one is making those kind of records you can’t just make something that exists purely because it’s a beautiful, emotive, powerful piece of music, it ‘has to be’ a certain tempo, it has to have a 4/4 kick drum etc etc. This is the way I ended up thinking when I approached making music and I thought like that for many years!

I remember hearing ‘Julia’ for the first and being utterly charmed by it. It’s a very elegant piece that combines a calming tranquility with an ever so slightly mysterious, emotional undertow. The effect it had on my own approach to making music was to make me place far more value on the music for it’s own sake. I wanted to start creating music, moments, combinations of sounds that appealed beyond dance floors, DJs, beat-mixing.

[aranyaphoenix]

RP Recap: Call the Fire Brigade

Timeframe: Just prior to Bloom of Winter

Aranya sat in the dimness, gazing into the slick, iridescent sheen on the water that flowed through the Dalaran sewers, the relative isolation of the Underbelly providing cover for her contemplations. Around her were the glowing and cracked remains of bottles of discarded magical substances, crystals and dust. Despite how well her business with Kazakus and Killian turned profit from all this mana trash delivered to the alchemist's door, it was not the subject that preoccupied her mind.

The sin'dorei woman thought of her past. Things she done, things that would never let her go, and the things that were re-surfacing to take her back to everything she used to be. Was there a way for her to survive it? Was it possible she could do things differently this time around? And who would she be?

She felt a gaze on her before she turned her glance to find the face of Mavas observing her. "Master Hawke," she greeted with a tone of blithe spirits and well-practiced politeness, yet it was clear that the man had come upon her at a time when she was brooding. A thing she was never keen to let others see. "The master of shadows has found the flame out in the darkness, I see. What brings you?"

The warlock stayed silent, fel eyes gleaming as he seemed to just stand there,  watching her, never blinking. Finally the sin'dorei spoke, to her side where she wasn't looking,  his seemingly normal self vanishing before her eyes as he simply stood next to her.

"You spoke to me once about trust. Trust in you...your trust in captain An'diel. Tell me, has something changed?" 

Aranya at first blinked, silently looking back at the man, processing his question.

"No," she said finally, and then looked away. "And yes," she admitted. Some part of her proverbial armor cracked just then, a tiny fracture in the blitheness and bravery she always comported herself with to the eyes of others. "Not in trust, but in..." she trailed off. "I'm supposing you've heard some of my past by now, or pieces of it, at least. What I was and what I did with the Sunwell gone."

A deep breath, a heavy sigh.

"What enemies I made and what they would do to have me pay for what I did to them."

Aranya finally met Mavas' eyes again. "Threats have been made, Mavas. Kurel was a figure in one such threat, that's what's changed."

"Did you tell Phantom about the defenses of Sunspire?" Mavas asked after a long pause, studying her, his body never moving but his eyes flickering like candles. "I need to know the truth, and I need to know exactly what I must do to protect my home." It was obvious the elf was tired, he had a bit of strain on his face, but he could not, would not, falter.

Aranya gave the warlock a look. Her whiskery black brows arched at him like he had just asked THE most utterly out of left-field and completely ridiculous thing that she had heard in years. Sunspire was just as much her home as it was his. And for one who gave every show of being so ardently dedicated to protecting Kurel, he seemed entirely uninterested in who could have made threats on him to the arcanist, or what the nature of that threat even was. She may as well have given him no answer at all.

"No," she answered. "I did not." She rolled her eyes and added, "Furthermore, I haven't even seen Phantom in weeks, so if you're looking for him, then I can't help you and you should be on your way."

The arcanist turned her head with dismissive deliberateness and elegance to turn her eyes to the sheen-slicked water nearby. "Or," she said after a minute. "If you would rather stay and explain what in the fel would ever give you such a fool idea as to think that myself, or Halenvar, or Colpeia would ever have the complete idiocy to go yapping off to someone outside the port - let alone any soul that isn't Blaque, Kurel, or Riz - about all that we put into the defenses of Sunspire Port, you're welcome to sit down and do just that."

The woman's smooth voice positively dripped with her unamusement.

"Blaque has stepped down as Purveyor. I am now Sunspire's Purveyor. Phantom threatened to blow up the Port, to kill everyone inside, and to send Magister Firavel and an army there to murder, and capture Kurel and place him on trial on false charges. They also threatened to erase his mind." Mav slowly lowered to lean down over her. "And he said quite clearly that he had spoken to one of the creators of the defenses...the titan defenses. Now, being as you are and have always seemed to be the chief designer and fabricator of these items...you can see why I came to you first."

"Mmm," uttered Aranya, impassively, after he had finished speaking. She still did not grace him with her gaze, but simply took in all the things he said, putting pieces together and filling in blanks, and then filing them away in her mind. The corner of her mouth pulled up slyly as she said, "Not to pick at your words, Master Hawke, but one would have to capture Kurel before murdering him, no?"

The sorceress chuckled. Then she became all business and command. "Much of what you say I've already been given notice of by other sources. Blaque himself told me - in his way - of his resignation, though it is only now that I come to know that it is you in particular who are his replacement. Lady Crimsonrose and Lord Lomeriel informed me just the other night that Phantom was up to something explosively not good, and I'm further aware that Pompouspants Firavel presses accusations of an absurd nature upon Lledwyn as well. Oh!" She looked at him now, with an expression of a kind that feigned a girl speaking over some particularly amazing gossip with one of her schoolmates, her sarcasm for such light sentiment rather evident. "And that Azure'Eish and An'Diel came to blows! Quite marvelous, that, don't you agree?

Aranya sighed, heavily, and still very unamused, turning her look away from him again. "The sheer mountains of disaster that happen every time I leave for a few weeks never ceases impress on me. And unless you can tell me exactly what Phantom said - word for word - I can only tell you these possibilities," she said, once again looking him in the eye, her smoldering fel green orbs locked to the candles of his. "One: Phantom did speak with one of the defense system's three creators, but speaking with someone at all is not always what it seems. Could be about anything from bloody swords to butter-knives. Speaking with someone does not necessarily mean speaking of the matters that you are lead to believe, and it is very possible that he would say one thing to have you believe something else."

The arcanist continued, "Two: someone is either divining or spying on port affairs, whether or not Phantom has in fact spoken to anyone, and in such a case we have a mole in our midst." Her tone of voice began to seethe, "And I, for one, would be gratified to hear of a swift end to such a problem... Alas, Hawke," she turned her gaze away again. "It may, possibly, be a problem you'll have to see to yourself." Her tone went softer, but there was a weight in it that sounded purposeful, "You're not the only one who desires to protect Kurel or Sunspire, and Phantom is not the worst thing that could happen to either one."

Mav listened to her, never losing her gaze, and he stood up then as she finished. "At the moment, he is, and considering everything, I had assumed you would be more concerned. However, my question was answered, I appreciate your honesty. It leaves for me to interrogate Halenvar, and Colpeia in turn, if they are also tied with the construction of the item."

"Have a good evening, Aranya, I will not trouble you again." he offered a small bow, before turning to move away.

"Be careful, Mavas," called Aranya after him, and despite how her words had simmered to him just a moment ago, she was in truth quite sincere.

She did not, however, press him to stay or tell him that he was very, very wrong. He couldn't help her do what needed to be done, anyway.

Or so she felt at that moment.

Dread Lord Portrait by AlakFrost

@shaded-hawke @kurel-andiel @phlareshadowdancer @thefirstperished @zaderick @lledwynlomeriel @sedrana @kerrwynn @halenvar @beamgully @safrona-shadowsun @wolf-queen @sunspireport @rizzythemonk

[spicynbachili1]

Review: Killer7

Now you might be The Predominant Occasion!

Over the past decade, gaming auteur Suda51 has turn out to be a power to be reckoned with. His video games have subverted normal online game tropes and offered a few of the zaniest and most esoteric experiences round. Choose any random title from his catalog and you will be taking part in a recreation that’s distinctly Suda51.

Whereas his profession within the online game trade is for much longer than that, his first huge worldwide launch was the cult traditional Killer7. Initially deliberate as one of many “Capcom 5” for the GameCube, the sport noticed a launch on Sony’s PS2 alongside Nintendo’s ill-fated lunchbox and was met with some very combined reception. Individuals both cherished it or hated it, with no actual in between.

Having by no means performed the title earlier than, I used to be intrigued on the likelihood to see the place Suda51 lastly made his crossover from growing strictly Japanese video games. Whereas my opinion is a bit combined, I can positively say that this seems like one thing that solely Suda51 may create.

Killer 7 (Gamecube, PS2, PC [Reviewed]) Developer: Grasshopper Manufacture Inc. Writer: Capcom (GameCube, PS2), NIS America (PC) Launch Date: July 7, 2005 (GameCube, PS2), November 15, 2018 (PC) MSRP: $19.99 (PC)

Attempting to sum up the plot of Killer7 is a tall order. There are such a lot of twists, turns and fake-outs happening that offering a quick define may come off as deceptive. That being mentioned, the primary few missions give the impression you are happening a quest to avoid wasting Japan from some political turmoil. The sport takes place in an alternate historical past timeline the place world peace has been declared amongst each nation, although a rogue group inside Japan is making issues troublesome for the United Nations.

Enter the titular “Killer7,” a ragtag group of assassins who’re the one power that may cease the invading “Heaven’s Smiles.” As I mentioned, a common abstract would do a disservice to how subversive this recreation’s plot truly is, however simply know that you simply will not be stepping right into a generic story. As is the case with each Suda51 recreation that got here after, one thing deeper lurks inside Killer7 and discovering its secrets and techniques goes to take some severe dedication.

So far as the audio/visible presentation is worried, I do not assume Killer7 has aged a day. It could seem a bit simplistic, however all the pieces is extremely stylized and appears completely beautiful at greater resolutions. I’ve heard some dangerous issues in regards to the authentic PS2 port, however this new PC one is leaps and bounds past what the GameCube was able to. Possibly some individuals will not desire to have the cutscenes zoomed in, however a welcome four:three facet ratio choice gives you the unique presentation because it was meant to be performed.

Even with out that choice, Killer7 seems to be nice. The design of its aesthetic was forward of the curve again in 2005 and you can be forgiven for assuming this was a model new title from Suda51. The remaster is definitely surprisingly minimal, too, because it does not appear to have modified any of the belongings. That is an ultra-bloody cartoon with Suda’s signature neon-pastel coloration palette and no reasonable HD textures in sight.

There are some points I’ve with the PC port (like button prompts displaying controller instructions when utilizing a keyboard), however the low value and unimaginable efficiency make up for many of the drawbacks. Possibly it is not as straightforward as popping within the GameCube disc and simply taking part in, however Killer7 on PC is well the definitive model of this bizarre cult traditional.

I additionally want to present kudos to the voice appearing, which is great. That is one other robust go well with of Suda’s video games, however this wasn’t actually an anticipated factor in 2005. For those who evaluate Killer7 to different Japanese video games from the period like Resident Evil four, Dynasty Warriors 5, or Ninja Gaiden Black, the appearing is simply prime notch. It sounds just like the sort of correct dub that video games are solely simply now receiving, with loads of expert performances coming from the likes of Steve Blum, Jennifer Hale, Tara Sturdy, and Cam Clarke. I suppose that pedigree ought to communicate for itself, however every actor turns in a commendable efficiency that sucks you into the obtuse plot that Killer7 has.

I want I may sustain that reward for the gameplay, however that is the realm I really feel Killer7 misses the mark. To its credit score, the sport remains to be extremely distinctive and I am unable to declare I’ve performed something remotely comparable within the 13 years since its launch. Suda51 would flip his efforts into extra typical gameplay archetypes after Killer7, so what you get right here is one thing wildly off the wall and nearly indescribable.

Killer7 combines first-person gunplay with third-person on-rails exploration. Your character is restricted to shifting ahead by holding the A button and will be rotated with the B button to backtrack. You may mechanically flip in loads of areas, however others gives you a alternative of which path you may proceed. From there, you will then be tasked with determining the environmental puzzles to make progress to the subsequent part, which can require some backtracking or merchandise looking to attain.

Enemies shall be dotted alongside these paths that may require you to cease, scan, goal and shoot to defeat. For the reason that digital camera angles are mounted, enemies make a definite noise when they’re in your neighborhood to clue you into their presence. Generally they will be mere toes away, different occasions they are often throughout an enormous enviornment and slowly operating as much as you. The number of enemies is what drags this down since, regardless of their altering visible designs, they’re nearly all defeated by concentrating on a weak level.

To do battle with these enemies, you will have a number of seven characters at your disposal. Every character offers a definite play expertise, with completely different weapons and particular skills that may all get utilized sooner or later through the journey. Predominant man Garcian Smith, for example, won’t ever take care of boss battles however can revive your fallen allies should you occur to perish throughout a stage. Probably the most distinctive, KAEDE Smith, comes geared up with a scoped pistol and even cuts herself and bleeds in every single place to disclose hidden passageways within the surroundings.

There’s a gentle expertise system you will need to improve your characters, however there does not appear to be any actual profit to powering up your staff. Since mainly each enemy is defeated with a single shot to their weak spot, you simply must regular your goal a bit and pay extra consideration to your environment to do effectively. It additionally does not matter an excessive amount of as capturing makes up about 30% of the general expertise.

Boss fights do cap off every stage and they’re all completely different, however the fundamental format set forth within the first stage of Killer7 is how the whole recreation performs out. You go round trying to find a selected merchandise (sometimes “Soul Shells”), use one or two character particular powers, get launched to a brand new enemy sort after which battle the tip boss. Rinse and repeat for about 10 hours.

I used to be definitely gripped from the outset, however after round three missions, I sort of had my fill. The story is intriguing and the visible fashion has tailored effectively to trendy shows, however Killer7 is not essentially the most compelling title from a gameplay perspective. It appears Suda51 had one distinct fashion he needed to shoot for and all the pieces else did not matter.

The backdrops for every stage change and also you slowly be taught extra in regards to the Killer7 staff, however the common gameplay is simply the identical factor. Different boss battles do not change up what is actually an ultra-linear key hunt recreation. I do not also have a downside with linear video games, however when the problem is nearly non-existent, your paths are restricted to strolling forwards and backward and the one actual roadblock to creating progress is ready for characters to cease speaking, the sport begins to bathroom down earlier than the midway level.

I may have completed it quite a bit faster, however I obtained so bored at one level that I took a number of days off to refresh myself. I wasn’t even certain if I actually did need to attain the conclusion, although I’m joyful I did. There’s one mission in a while that’s really particular from its presentation and it seems like an nearly utterly completely different recreation.

Even with the shock of that stage, the finale is drawn out a bit and the twist could really feel prefer it comes out of left discipline for some. As with every Suda recreation, Killer7 requires some homework within the type of digging round FAQs and plot analyses to make heads or tails of its narrative. You may have to attract your individual conclusions from the knowledge given, although a few of that info appears intentionally imprecise to throw you for a loop.

It positively is completely different, although I am unsure I might name constructive factor. On the very least, even when I did not discover the sport notably enjoyable, it’s nonetheless effectively price experiencing as soon as simply to see the place Suda obtained his signature fashion from. Killer7 additionally does not have any sort of bugs or glitches and feels extremely polished. This can be a recreation created from a selected imaginative and prescient that does not kowtow to trade checklists. It actually does really feel like a relic from a special universe.

Even when I discover myself within the center with Killer7, I might nonetheless suggest everybody give this a go. It might not be a recreation you’ll want to end, essentially, however it’s totally distinctive and must be seen first hand. I do not assume Suda hit his stride till his subsequent title (No Extra Heroes), however you may see the seeds of greatness had been planted with Killer7.

[This review is based on a retail build of the game provided by the publisher.]

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      Killer7 reviewed by Peter Glagowski

5

MEDIOCRE

An train in apathy, neither stable nor liquid. Not precisely dangerous, however not excellent both. Only a bit “meh,” actually. How we rating:  The destructoid critiques information

        from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/review-killer7/

[jediaretheworst]

“Chosen One” Pt 3

This was originally an essay I wrote as a freshman in college, so it’s a... little rough. I’ll add my sources again at the bottom just because force of habit will make me anxious if I don’t..... this is technically an “academic” paper I wrote lol. This is long. @npd-starscream

The Jedi Order's belief that emotion can only distract from seeing the world as it truly is, and that it can only conflict the person who has them, was a direct source of their failures in the second Star Wars trilogy, episodes I-III. Ignoring emotion and the passions, or pretending like they don't exist to try and gain objectivity tends to be a philosophically contradictory practice. Emotion is required to make logical decisions, for survival, motivation, and can serve all three parts of Plato's divided soul.

The Jedi Code & "The Slave Metaphor"  

"There is no emotion. There is peace. There is no ignorance. There is knowledge. There is no passion. There is serenity. There is no chaos. There is harmony. There is no death. There is the Force" (Simpson). The absence of emotion in the Jedi Code is meant to make those who follow it more rational, objective and fair. It is often times assumed that the lack of emotion equates itself to logical thinking, and this is generally accepted in society, even today, and is a common philosophical concept. "One of the most enduring metaphors of reason and emotion has been the metaphor of master and slave, with wisdom of reason firmly in control and the dangerous impulses of emotion safely suppressed..." (Solomon 3).  

A Phantom Menace  

A Phantom Menace, while sometimes considered inessential to the entire story arc of Star Wars, is a shining example of the illogical nature of the Jedi Code.  The abandonment of emotion might be attainable for some forms of alien life in the Star Wars universe, but is it not only extremley harmful to human beings, it is also pretty much  impossible. One immediate issue that arises in The Phantom Menace is not only that this is harmful to people, but that this is extremely harmful to children and would effect them for the rest of their lives.  

A new study from UCLA suggests that a loving parental figure may alter neural circuits in children that could influence health throughout a lifespan. On the flip side, the negative impact of childhood abuse or lack of parental affection take a mental and physical toll can also last a lifetime. Childhood neglect increases adult risk for morbidity and mortality. (Bergeland)

This would effect every Jedi Padawan, although some of them turn out better than others. In The Phantom Menace, we are obviously not foreshadowing the failure of every single Padawan, and obviously some of them have made it through this process to become Jedi Knights and dismember droids and impose their holiness upon the rest of society, which is annoying but not at all the worst outcome that could've been a product of their childhood. Nor is the worst outcome when a Padawan walks away from the Jedi Order to wander the streets of Coruscant to impose their own sense of justice without any sort of governing body, like Ahsoka Tano (The Wrong Jedi).

No, obviously the worst possible outcome of these denials of attachment and emotional validation presents itself in the Star Wars universe is a tall, ugly, wheezing metal machine they call Darth Vader, who started out as one of these Padawans and grew up to me one hell of a emotionally stunted mass-murderer. It's not to say that he isn’t responsible for his actions, just as any murderer is, at least in part, responsible for what they have done. But the Jedi order claims to have the moral superiority, and condemn those who end up like Vader, but the reality is, even if Vader's action are truly his responsibility, and his responsibility alone, they could've been prevented by the Jedi order had they taught him to understand and accept his emotions.  

Now of course, the Jedi sculpt themselves not for their own benefit, or for any other Jedi's benefit, but rather to see how they could best serve others who cannot themselves. Eudaimonia is a Greek term used by Aristotle to talk about the concept of "the good life". Which on the surface seems utterly converse to what the Jedi believe in, duty, service, lack of worldly belongings, etc. But to Aristotle, this concept of Eudaimonia isn’t just having things or simply being happy, rather the concept is meant to say that life is not fulfilled until you reach your full potential. If the Jedi wished to serve their galaxy to the best of their ability, then they would have to come to the understanding that alienating themselves and the younger, perhaps unwilling, members of their order from emotion and from others does not further their goal of servitude, because doing so would mean that they would not and could not serve their galaxy to the best of their ability.  

Attack of the Clones

There is a really obvious metaphor in the Star Wars prequels about the modern western world and ancient Rome, and in the same parallel, there was a school of philosophy that existed in ancient Roman times called Stoicism. Stoicism can be explained simply as, "Stoics... hold that emotions like fear or envy... either were, or arose from, false judgements" (Baltzy). However the views of the Stoics oftentimes contradicted the environment and society they lived in, as Robert C. Solomon explains, "Stoics analyzed emotions as conceptual errors, conductive to misery... Emotions in a word, are judgements- judgements about the world and one's place in it. But the world of Roman society was not a happy or a particularly rational place," and goes on to note that Seneca, an influential Stoic who served emperor Nero, went on to commit suicide (5).

The Clone Wars

The Star War: The Clone Wars animated series provides a look at the missing pieces to Anakin Skywalker's fall to the dark side. There is one main plot event in the television series of particular relevance, that shows how his character is more prone and inherently drawn to the side of the dark, and showcases more information that provides insight to his final moments of weakness.  

These events occur when Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and Anakin become stranded on a strange planet home to beings that are extremely powerful in the force. These beings are essentially embodiments of the light, dark and balance (Overlords). There are three episodes that take place here and involve these characters, and the central plot revolves around how Anakin must take the place of the 'father' of the embodiments of light and dark, because only he can 'control' them. This view is similarly expressed by Obi-Wan in Revenge of the Sith when he says, "You were supposed to bring balance to the force, not destroy it" to an immolated Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin makes similar, and poor, decisions in these episodes as he does in Revenge of the Sith. Overlords, Altar of Mortis, and Ghosts of Mortis, he lives up to Obi-Wan's statement of "destroying" the force. Instead of keeping the literal embodiment of darkness from getting to the rest of the galaxy, he instead decides to help it after it shows him his future. It's interesting because he sees all the stupid mistakes he's going to make, and for some reason believes in this dark side entity that promises, in essence, the best way to avoid making those mistakes later in life is to just make them as soon as possible. It is important to note that Anakin is willing to sacrifice himself and what he believes in for this entities' promise of peace. This is another example of how denying the need for Eudaimonia when wanting to serve others becomes harmful. Anakin is not at peace because he can't handle his own emotions, and does not care if he destroys himself to achieve the Jedi goal of peace, and this, by consequence, convolutes this idea of peace, and turns into this sort of "the ends justify the means" belief.  

At the end of these three episodes, Anakin says, "You will not understand what I have to do to end the clone war. You will try to stop me. I have seen that it is the Jedi who will stand in the way of peace" (Ghosts of Mortis). Even in the ugliest moments of Anakin Skywalker, he's talking about achieving peace, a goal set by Jedi, not Sith. But in the end of this, his memory is erased and he returns to being "light side" Anakin.  

However, there is another important concept that can also be explained by the episode of Star Wars: The Clone wars, Overlords where Anakin balances the force and holds back both the light and the dark. Descartes (1596-1650) had a view on emotion that was "value-oriented" (Solomon 7), meaning that they had a particular role to play in aiding reason, and where the two would be in coordination. Descartes'  provides this example of using courage to motivate,  

To excite courage in oneself and remove fear, it is not sufficient to have the will to do so, but we must also apply ourselves to consider the reasons, the objects and examples which persuade us that the peril is not great; that there is always more security in defense than flight, that we should have the glory of joy of having vanquished, while we should expect nothing but regret and shame for having fled and so on. (Solomon 6)

In this example, emotion and reason are in lockstep. Neither hold a higher balance than the other, rather both are important to survival, and emotion is necessary in making a logical decision. It allows the decision maker to motivate themselves to do what is right, by emotion alone, as Hume would argue.  

Revenge of the Sith

All the components that led to Anakin's fall finally break through to the surface in Revenge of the Sith (ROTS). The opening plot point to this movie, when then Chancellor Palpatine is "captured" by the separatists, shows the contradiction in the Jedi code and then the actual practice of the Jedi that Anakin had so obviously struggled with.  This contradiction lies in the line of the Jedi Code that goes as follows, "There is no emotion, there is peace" (Simpson). This seems to make sense at first glance, but its' shortcomings in comparison to other beliefs held by the Jedi, are clearly demonstrated when Anakin kills Count Dooku. Emotion is not the opposite of peace. Anakin kills someone who is a great threat to the galaxy, and their universe would have hypothetically been more peaceful without Dooku. Emotion drives Anakin to act for peace, not lack of it. This confliction further warps his views as the movie progresses, and this is where the ideals of the Jedi truly fail him.  

It was peace that truly drove Anakin, even for selfish reasons, up to this point in his life. But his story is a clear example of Hume's motivation theory, that reason itself cannot provide the will to take action. In Star Wars the Jedi code and their other ideals often parallel the Kantian idea of "duty", that is to do good for good's sake, or "A will estimable in itself and good without regard to any further end" (Kant 197). However, not conversely to this, Hume "came to question the role and capacities of reason itself, and in particular the power of reason to motivate even the most basic of moral behavior" (Solomon 7). Meaning, Hume wasn't directly disagreeing with the idea of doing good for good's sake, but rather what would motivate you to do so. Kant believed that this sense of "duty" was enough, but Hume believed that emotion was required to make someone act on this sense of "duty".

These arguments are played out at the end of ROTS when Anakin is provided with not only an idea of "peace", a dictatorship but also the will to do so, because he believes going down this path is the only way to save his wife. Anakin plays the part of Hume's argument, that there must be some incentive to want to take moral action, and he makes Hume look rather sinister. But Hume's argument doesn't have to end in fire, burning, and destroying a lot of things you care about, and nor would have Anakin needed to go that far to prove that point. Would he have made such a move for (what he believed was) peace had his wife's life not been threatened? Or conversely, on the side of Kant, would Obi-Wan been able to destroy his friend if not for his sense of "duty" to do so?  

In the end, however it is emotion that is the downfall of not only Anakin Skywalker, but the entire Jedi order (by his hand), so it is easy to return to the "Slave Metaphor" and blame this on emotion running amok. But is also the original denial of emotion early on in Anakin's life that led to the insecurity and lack of control over them. So what is it then? Reason is greater than the passions? Or as Hume put it, "reason is, and always should be, the slave of the passions" (Solomon 1)?

Return of the Jedi & Plato  

At the end of Anakin/Vader's story, he supposedly returns to the light. The idea that emotion is inferior to reason, especially when it comes to how they relate to making moral judgements, can be further discarded, by looking at why he returned to the light. He made this decision as he did all his decisions, emotionally. Seeing his son's loyalty to goodness and to the light is the final turning point where he seems to denounce the ways of the Emperor. But this doesn't make him a Jedi, and it's not a decision he made by the grace of reason.

How, then, would Plato describe such inconsistent moral judgements? "In book IV of the Republic, Plato's descriptions of psychological conflict include cases in which agents (people) perform acts contrary to what they take to be the best course open to them" (Lesses). However, it wouldn't be correct to assume that Anakin didn't think he did exactly what he had to do in ROTS. The blame for this isn't to be put on merely logical thinking, but rather on the fact that he was taught consistently that his emotions were worthless, and by extension himself. So destroying himself to help someone he loved would've seemed perfectly acceptable, and the correct course of action. Regardless of whether he thought he was being logical, however, Anakin did make an illogical decision.  

In order to understand how agents can act contrary to reason, we must examine Plato's parts-of-the-soul doctrine. Plato distinguishes three parts of the soul in Book IV (of the Republic): (I) reason (II) spirit, and (III) appetite. Agents are susceptible to several, relatively independent sources of motivation because each part of the soul has a characteristic motivation. (Lesses 148)

This then, supports the "Slave Metaphor". But Plato treats the passions differently, because his definition of reason is different. According to Plato,  

It (the sun) is the cause of knowledge and truth; and so, while you may think of it as an object of knowledge, you will do well to regard it as something beyond truth and knowledge and, precious as these both are, of still higher worth,… In our analogy of light and vision were to be thought like the sun, but not identical with it, so here both knowledge and truth are to be regarded like the good. (Fogelin 371)

This means that if someone is wise, they are closer to the light, that if they are closer to the light than they are closer to the "good" although those three things are not all the same. So here, making a logical decision would be the same as making a moral decision. Vader's sparing of his son and act against the emperor is an emotional decision, but it is a move towards the light, and therefore, by Plato's terms, also a move towards reason/wisdom. Most importantly, he would have not made this decision without the role of emotion.  

The incorrectness of  the light and dark binary in the Star Wars universe can be clearly seen here, and we can see how Anakin/Vader balances and is attuned to both. On one side, we have Plato's "light" and on the other side, we have emotion & what Plato calls appetite."Plato accepts the occurrence of weakness" (Lesses 148), and serving only the appetite would be seen as weakness. Plato did believe that reason should be above the appetite, but not for the same reasons as the Jedi. In fact, "Each part (of the soul)… involves different sorts of desire" (Lesses 148). The pull of the three parts of the soul, reason, spirit, and appetite, can explain the inconsistencies in Anakin's full story arch, and where the motivation to do good really came from. This binary of light and dark are not what the Jedi said they were, emotion can serve both the light and the dark, reason or appetite, destroy the Jedi or the Sith Emperor.  

Closing Thoughts

The denial of the passions leads to an imbalance, because they play a role in each part of Plato's divided soul, in motivation, in reasoning for survival, and personal well-being. No real life school of philosophy can truly entirely exclude the role of emotion without contradicting itself or otherwise causing harm, and so therefore neither can fictional philosophy. The Star Wars prequels show the harm in this, and even though it is fictional, the complete neglect of emotion and the consequent issues are supported in real life.  

Emotion does not belong to a "light" or a "dark" side as it is made to seem in Star Wars, but even the originals conflict this sentiment. If anything, the prequels exist to show that sentiment is actually the downfall of an entire order.  

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