#And by god am I trying to parse it all out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lakesbian · 10 months ago

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i have had like 10 friends rec worm to me but nobody’s given me a good like, gist of its vibe and what its abt because ‘its best blind’, could u please give a like brief summary and vibe check of it 😭 it’s so long i dont wanna try and invest that much time without knowing much abt it

so, worm is a 1.7 million word long webserial written in 2010. 1.7 million words seems like a lot, but it was also written over a relatively short period of time, which means the writing style is very easy to parse--the ideas aren't without complexity, but the language itself isn't intimidatingly dense. you can get through it at a very decent pace. i agree with your friends that there are vast portions of worm that hit best when you're unspoiled, but the thing is that worm is long enough that giving you the basic plot pitch is in no way spoilers for any of the things that i wouldn't want to see spoiled for someone. i'm actually kind of baffled they're not telling you Any Thing, because it is in my estimation one of the best books i've ever read, but it also Needs a briefing before you get into it for like five different reasons. which i will now provide. i swear to god this is brief by my standards it's just that i am very thorough

worm is a story about superheroes and supervillains, set in a world where superpowers are traumagenic--rather than appearing randomly or innately, some people gain powers after a traumatizing event happens to them. the protagonist is taylor hebert, a 15yo girl who has the power to control insects and desperately wants to be a superhero. and then accidentally finds herself scouted by a team of teenage villains instead. who's to say how she's going to react to all that!

one of the most compelling things about worm is that the superpowers in it serve as visceral, hyper-literal metaphors for the trauma and traumatized coping mechanisms of the characters with those powers. each power is incredibly specific and thematically relevant to the person who has it, and it's incredibly interesting and evocative. it feels so natural and well-done that it comes off like how superpowers are just meant to be written.

the fact that superpowers stem from trauma also means that worm is fundamentally a narrative about trauma. specifically, about traumatized teenagers and the relationships they form as they cling together while struggling through growing up traumatized & mutually coping with an increasingly intriguing, intense, and far-reaching escalating plot. worm's depictions of trauma + mental illness--including unpalatable trauma responses, including traumatized characters who are allowed to be complicated and nuanced and messy while still receiving narrative respect--are deeply real-feeling and impactful, and they're placed in the context of a well-spun + engaging story.

i really do have to stress how excellent the character writing is. worm is fully deserving of being as long as it is. over the course of 1.7 million words of character development, the average reader's reaction to the main characters goes from "sorta interesting" to "okay, i want to see where this goes" to "augh...really likable" to "i am now on hands and knees crying and these characters are going to stick around in my brain forever." wildbow has incredible talent for efficiently conveying complicated, real-feeling, and viscerally evocative characterization. many of the interlude chapters (chapters written from the perspective of different characters other than taylor) are so interesting, fleshed-out, and emotionally affecting that they make you wish you could read an entire novel about just the side character being featured. with that level of characterization for just the side cast, it's not surprising that taylor (& co) are genuinely just downright iconic. and i do not say that lightly--taylor is truly one of the best-written protagonists i've seen in anything. ever.

the other main pitch-point for worm is that it's a fascinating deconstruction/reconstruction/examination of the conceits of the superhero genre. it answers the question of--what would the world have to be like, for people with superpowers to act the way they do in classic cape media? and it does this well enough that it's interesting even if you have only a passing familiarity with cape media. i am not a big superhero media fan, but worm addresses virtually every aspect of cape media that was under the sun around 2010 in a way that's so interesting i still find it incredibly engaging. the approach it takes makes the narrative very accessible even to people who aren't usually cape media fans.

and speaking of the narrative: the end of the story is coherent and satisfying and deeply thematically resonant*. the way worm follows through on all of its main mysteries & plot threads is excellent. you don't have to worry about getting thru 1.7 million words and being dissatisfied by the author shitting the bed at the end, or anything like that. he does an amazing job of weaving together plot events in a way that makes each successive one feel rationally, thematically, and emotionally connected to what came before. there's really only one part where i feel the story stumbles a bit, but i think it was the best option he had for the narrative, and it's by no means a dealbreaker. it's in fact really impressive how cohesive and satisfying worm is for such a long webserial released over such a brief period of time.

*this is subjective ive seen some people who didnt love it but ive never seen anyone who downright Hated it who didnt also demonstrate egregious misunderstanding of literally everything worm is about. so thats a good sign

as for the downsides of worm/things that might put you off:

there is a very long list of trigger warnings for it. if you have any trigger warnings you want you should ask your friends to let you know about the relevant parts, because the fact that it's About Trauma (& about typical cape media circumstances presented very seriously) means that traumatic and violent things & their realistic aftermath are constantly happening and/or being discussed. i would not classify worm as needlessly dark or spiteful to the audience by any means, but it is intense and covers a lot of heavy topics. i do assume if your friends are all recommending it to you, they think none of the material would be too much for you, though!

worm was written in 2010 by a white cishet guy from canada. it's typical levels of 2010-era bigoted, it has a deeply lesbophobic stereotype character, it has some atrociously racist stereotype characters, the author really hates addicts, It's Got Blind Spots. i think worm is generally fully worth reading despite these, but very fair warning that it can get bad. i think what exacerbates this is that worm is generally extremely nuanced & sympathetic regarding ideas such as "crime is a result of systematic circumstance vs people just being inherently evil" and "mentally ill people who are traumatized in unpalatable ways are still deserving of fundamental respect as human beings" and so on and so forth, so it's extra noticeable and insufferable when you get to a topic the author has unexamined biases on and all that nuance drops out. the worst part is that a lot of this is most concentrated in the early arcs, so you have to get through them without being super attached to any of the characters yet. it is worth it though.

worm like. Does have a central straight relationship in it. and it's a very well written straight relationship for the most part and i like it quite a lot. but worm also passes the bechdel test with such flying colors that it enters 'unintentionally homoerotic' territory. which means a lot of people were shipping the main character ms taylor hebert with her female friends while the story was being released. which caused the author to get so mad he 1. posted a word of god to a forum loudly insisting that all of the girls are straight and 2. inserted a few deeply awkward and obvious and out of character scenes where he finds an excuse for the girls to more or less turn to the camera and go "i'm not gay, btw. this is platonic." This is fucking insufferable, and will piss you off immensely, but then you will get to any of the number of deeply emotionally affecting scenes between them, and at that point you will be too busy sniffling piteously and perhaps crytyping an analysis post on tumblr to be mad about all that other shit. also they're only a couple tiny portions out of an entire overall fantastic novel

overall: if those points don't sound like dealbreakers (i hope they aren't they're really massively outstripped by the amount of devastatingly good moments in worm, worm still has a thriving fandom over a decade later for a reason), you should absolutely give it a shot and see what you think. my final note is that you have to read up until the end of arc 8 to really see where what makes worm Worm kicks in, so aim for at least there to see how you feel about it if you're just thinking about dipping your toes in vs fully committing. i hope that was helpful and not too long :)

oh and don't go in the comments section on wordpress if you don't want spoilers. or anywhere else in the fandom at all. you will be spoiled. quite possibly for things you could not even have imagined were topics to be spoiled on.

#ask #wormblr #parahumans #ill tag it to save it so i can reference later. and maybe other people will find it helpful

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comfortless · 9 months ago

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God könig and his only worshipper who doesn't try to get him more followers cause she wants all of his attention on her

another strange vaguely Greek/Roman au?! ^^ (also to your other message: no worries!! being too nice would make me lazy!) this prompt is like a reversal of this and i am here for it!

content/warnings: suggestive, König may or may not have killed some guy no big deal..!

It isn’t as if he bestows great blessings upon you or grants your deepest, most guarded wishes…

It’s just that he’s lovely in all forms: the very apex of some marbelesque, masculine statue made flesh. Warm to the touch and so very real and alive that it was difficult to focus on worshiping him proper when your very being sang for him.

He’s probably only some great god of war, Ares, but without the long list of lovers and offspring - only you. There was nothing that he could do to benefit you much, just a humble citizen that had no need of taking up a weapon…

Yet he was so heart achingly beautiful with the docile look in his eyes, the contrast to his stature that bore the look of a proper hunter, you could not keep yourself from returning to him.

All of the other men in the city pale in comparison to the god you pray to, nestled up in the foothills where you make your trek day by day to speak… knowing that nightly he comes to you in dreams with little glimpses of futures or pasts: the things you can not comprehend yet those in Olympus could parse together with such ease.

As his only worshiper, you are never apart for long.

He descends that mountain each time to meet with you in green meadows with the gentlest look in his eyes.

He has no temple in which to pray to… but, you’ve made a temple of your own within yourself all for him. He knows it, knows well when you pray at your feet and he sheepishly orders you to stop that, stand, face him, and he would lend you his mighty weapon any day if you would just ask for him to use it.

Your god deserves and army of men to fight and scramble for his favor, a harem of women to tend to his needs… but the thought alone is enough to leave bitterness on your tongue.

You don’t want to share him, only savor the honeyed words and touches between the two of you, never muddy what is sacred with another’s prayers or offerings.

… Are yours not already enough?

You only find out that they most certainly are the day a suitor begins his arrogant courtship and… within that very hour he is no longer. A stray spear from the pit pierced right through him…? What a strange way to go out. You don’t even think to question it until you find yourself meandering through soft grass for your meeting with König.

He’s a warrior, too, he should know the intricacies of how a weapon that heavy might rise up on the wind just to strike some poor, silly man down before he could even take your hand and lie with you.

You tell him of this odd occurrence whilst you whittle away at a tiny carving of him with a paring knife, König sat just adjacent to you.

First, he tells you that a blade meant for herbs and vegetables is no good for wood. The dull blade is pried from your hands with ease and tossed aside into the foliage surrounding you both. No need for little idols when your god willingly comes down to grace you, anyhow…

Then, he tells you that… it isn’t fair for you to have eyes for any other. Is his presence not enough? Is he not stronger and more capable than any of your puny, mortal men? He could protect you, haul you up to Olympus and make you his bride, give you as many children as you want… Wouldn’t you like that more?

Your stare is so telling, hands shaking as you set the unfinished figure aside, and the words do not come, not when the look he gives you goes from adoring and sweet to near deadly in an instant. It’s the first time he’s offered to bless you with anything but bloodshed in your favor… a peculiar promise of love in return for your selfishness and gifts of milk and honey…

“I do not think I am worthy of that…” The words come tumbling, clumsy and weighty on your tongue. Could he detect the yearning there..? Surely he knew with the way he invaded your dreaming, and even now as his hand finds your shoulder to push you back down into the soft bed of the earth.

“You wish to make yourself worthy, little one..?”

You only nod, once, as your heart finds its way into your throat and your robe is torn away to flutter out with the wind.

#this is so short… apologies!#putting König in these scenarios is so fun but my well is running dry someone spare me a bucket…#^^’#they fuck or whatever do i need to type it this time.. (shaking like milk)

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theminecraftbee · 2 years ago

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Jimmy sighs when he sees the bird.

“Shove off,” he says.

Next to him, sitting in Jimmy’s tavern and drinking all his beer for some ungo—no, godly reason, Joel snorts. “No one’s watching, Sheriff. You can say fuck.”

“Someone’s watching now,” mutters Jimmy, aggressively grabbing a glass to clean. “I said shove off, by the way, not drag all your friends here.”

“What do you—holy smokes, Jimmy, why are there so many birds?”

Indeed, outside the window there’s a massive flock of birds. Vultures and crows and canaries flock together, a mass of feathers and wings of things that should not all be so nearby to one another. On the windowsill sits a single canary. It starts to sing.

“Because they’re being annoying about the date,” Jimmy says, slamming the glass he’d been cleaning back into its shelf. “Go away. You’re early. Shoo.”

The canary continues to sing. Jimmy does not look at Joel. He can feel it, though. The moment his expression twists. The moment he puts down his drink. The moment he remembers why vultures circle.

“You’re joking,” Joel says.

“If it makes you feel better, it’s only the vultures that are actually waiting for me to die,” Jimmy says.

“You’re—you’re joking,” Joel says.

“The other birds—they don’t all want me to die. Some of them will even try to warn—”

“OI!” Joel shouts so suddenly that Jimmy nearly falls back into the shelf of glasses and has to grab the counter to stop himself from shattering all of them. “YOU! YOU… CRINGE LOSERS! HE SAID TO SHOVE OFF!”

“Joel,” Jimmy says, uncertain if he’s awed or bemused.

“I’LL COME OUT THERE WITH A BLOODY THUNDERSTORM! YEAH! YOU BETTER RUN! I’M STRONG AND HANDSOME YOU KNOW, UNLIKE YOU LOT!”

“Joel, that doesn’t—”

“YEAH! YOU HEARD ME! AND YOU’RE RUINING THE LORE. HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH? YOU’RE—”

“Joel, stop,” Jimmy says, and the god stops. Jimmy watches Joel sit down again, folding onto the chair.

“Just because you’re a loser who’ll die first again doesn’t mean they get to gawk about it,” Joel says.

It takes Jimmy a moment to parse that. “Thanks?”

“No problem because I am clearly so much better than you at handling birds. Gosh, Jimmy. You’d think you’d be able to chase off a bloody bird.”

The flock’s only gotten larger as the sun sets over Tumble Town. Jimmy elects not to mention it.

“You’d think you’d know how to be friendly towards me by now,” Jimmy says instead. “With friends like you…”

“I know, you don’t need anything else. My own relationship with you is so fulfilling,” Joel says proudly.

Despite the growing noise of the watchers outside, Jimmy laughs. “Only the most,” he says.

“…are they always…”

“I’m hoping this time, they’ll learn better,” Jimmy says, and he closes the window, and none of us can hear him, after that.

#jimmy solidarity #joel smallishbeans #empires smp #(sort of?)#double life smp #last life smp #third life smp #<- will probably replace these with whatever name we actually get but relevant to all of them #the watchers #IF YOU WANT TO TAKE THE BIRDS AS THAT #THE BIRDS ARE THE AUDIENCE UP TO YOU ABOUT THE REST #a bee fic

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rookinthecrownest · 6 days ago

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Bedtime Stories For a Demon: The Day The World Disappeared, Part II (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

Rook is trapped in the Fade, and is determined to get out. But Solas' Prison has more than one trick up its sleeve.

Word count: ~ 4200

Veilguard endgame spoilers ahead

“You died”

A simple truth leaves her lips, as Madeleina Mercar looks upon the body of her fallen friend. And now that it has been spoken, it cannot be hidden behind a memory or become unknown so as to ease a troubled conscience. It is a truth, as much as the sky is blue and snow falls in winter.

In shifting hues of grey the scene at the ritual site is recreated in a tableau of death and despair. Two old friends, in their own right.

Solas stabbing Varric with his Lyrium dagger. Varric’s choked gasp as the blade pierces his chest, and blood fills his lungs. Bianca drops from his grip and slides down the steps, followed by her owner shortly after. She watches herself stand over his body. His dead body. Hears him call her name one last time, before his eyes close forever.

Madeleina’s lips quiver as her vision grows blurry with tears, threatening to spill like a waterfall. She clutches her chest, as if it could keep her heart from sinking any lower. This crushing loss she tried so desperately to ignore so she could keep going, could not be ignored anymore. Would not be relegated to the tricks of the mind any longer.

Varric comes to stand next to Madeleina and regards his lifeless body with her. He gives her a small, sad smile.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, kid”

She clutches the fabric of her overcoat tightly, and a strangled sob escapes her lips. Madeleina quickly wipes the tears away with the back of a gloved hand and stifles a sniffle.

“I … I’m so sorry Varric” Madeleina whispers.

Varric does not seem confused by her apology.

“For what” Varric says. He pointedly asks her for clarification, because he already knows what she’s trying to do, and he won’t have it.

“For not saving you” Madeleina answers, her voice shaky and uneven and struggling to even form the words.

Varric clicks his tongue and shakes his head. She watches carefully as the dwarf walks a few paces, then slowly turns to face her again.

“Shit, didn’t you learn anything from this place?” He sounds more surprised, or exasperated, than disappointed. As if the lesson was beating her over the head with a stick and she had kept her eyes and ears closed the entire time. He points to his chest with his thumb to emphasis the point, “I made the choice. To try to talk to him. To try to reach him, even knowing the risks. Because he was my friend. My decision. My sacrifice. And you don’t get to take that from me”

“But – “

“You know better than anyone, Rook, that every story has an ending” Varric quickly interjects. He gives her a knowing smile. “This one just came a little earlier than I’d planned. Come on. Walk with me, kid”

Varric jerks his head to the side and begins walking through the remnants of the ritual site. Madeleina can do nothing but follow silently, her thoughts and feelings twisting around each other to become some Gordian knot – impossible to parse out, and just as confusing.

She follows him through the main path and beyond the statues of the Evanuris, rising towards the sky, ascending like the Gods they were. Or, pretended to be, at least.

“How am I supposed to lead this team without you, Varric? I can’t do this alone. It feels like all I do is make things worse” Madeleina says. Visions of Minrathous drowned in Blight, Venatori taking control of the Magisterium, and a Dragon decimating the city replay in her mind. She’ll never know if saving Treviso was the right call in the long run. What the world might have looked like if she chose differently. And that terrifies her still.

“I can’t do this alone” She adds, her voice hitching. She’s afraid. She’s so very afraid of facing the world out there without him. Without his wisdom, his guidance, and the levity he effortlessly brings into even the shittiest of situations.

Varric shakes his head, almost in disbelief they’re still having this conversation. He gives her a pointed look and gestures towards her, “What do you think you’ve been doing all this time?”

Madeleina doesn’t have a good rebuttal, so, she merely stands with her arms limp at her side and looks at the ground because she can’t bear to face him right now. She feels like a dog without a sense of smell, a horse that can’t gallop.

A pawn without a purpose.

“Look at me, kid” Varric says, ducking his head low so he forces himself into her line of sight.

Madeleina’s eyes slowly drift upward. She’s biting on her lip to keep more tears from falling.

Varric gives her a gentle, reassuring grin, “You’re the leader they need, Rook. And you’re not alone. You never were”

The dwarf continues walking down the path in front of them. He pauses when the cobblestones drop down into the void of nothingness below them, their path momentarily cut off. Grass and dirt form below their feet, giving them new ground to tread on. The ritual site crumbles to pieces behind them, like a wetted sand castle crushed under someone’s hand.

Great sycamore trees spring to life, growing and maturing a hundred years over the course of seconds. A mountain range stretches along the border of the forest, opening like the maw of a great beast.

They’re surrounded by tiny wooden houses with thatched roofs. The small Chantry near the town square. The butcher’s shop, the Blacksmith’s forge, the apothecarist’s lab. All there, as she remembered them.

Arvanitum, frozen in time, stretches out before her.

“W-what …?” She whimpers, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Madeleina’s head swivels desperately, so fast she’s giving herself whiplash. But all she sees is her old home. “Varric …” Madeleina swallows the bile threatening to rise in her throat, “What is this?” She turns to him, confusion and hurt and fear writhing across her delicate features, vying for dominance.

Varric puts a spectral hand on her shoulder and looks out over a perfectly preserved Arvanitum with her. Although she can’t feel solid touch, there is still the same warmth and comfort she knew in his presence when he lived.

“The final lock in a prison meant to cage Gods” He smiles gently, and lets his hand slide off her shoulder.

Madeleina takes a hesitant step on familiar roads she trod a thousand times in her youth. She half-expects to see her footprints lingering in the dirt, up the winding path behind the Chantry that would take her to the lone house on a small hill. The town bakery. Her home.

“It’s time to finish this story, Rook. Your story” Varric takes a step back. “Sometimes, we need to go back to the beginning, to get our ending”

Madeleina whips her head around, so quickly the tears fly off her cheeks.

“Varric – wait!” She calls out after him, her arm outstretched, grasping for empty space. She wants to run after him, but her feet stay planted in place as if roots have grown over them.

Varric already has his back turned to her as he walks away.

“Good luck, kid” He gives her a small wave, and a confident smirk over his shoulder.

“I just know your ending’s going to be killer”

And with that, he was gone. Disappeared into the thick foliage of the forest.

Madeleina doesn’t know how long she was left standing there, alone in the town square.

It was empty. There were no villagers milling about their daily lives. No clerics in their vestments standing outside the Chantry soliciting donations and reading out verses from the Chant of Light. No children making trouble in the street. No clanking from the Blacksmith’s hammer. No raucous laughter from the tavern down the road. No stray animals lingering by the food stalls, waiting for their chance to scavenge the scraps of the day.

Empty.

No people, no animals, just her.

She turns again to the winding path behind the Chantry. There is a pull towards her childhood home she can’t explain. Something deep in her chest grasps for it, yearns to go there like a flower turning towards the sun.

Before Madeleina is even aware, her feet are moving. One step at a time, she begins walking that familiar path back home.

Anxiety winds itself into knots in her chest. She is terrified of what she might find there.

Will the prison make her relive the day she found her parents dead? Relive the moment she was nearly possessed by Despair? Madeleina doesn’t know if she can handle that. It was enough to go through it once. To see it again might very well destroy her, she thinks.

Then again, she would expect nothing less from a prison designed to trap a God. And she is no God – she’s just a person. Back in this village, she’s just a little girl.

Her feet continue moving of their own accord, carrying her home.

She sees it soon enough, that house on the hill.

The same thatched roof in desperate need of repair. The same flowers in the window box – daffodils, snowdrops, and hyacinths. A warm, orange glow from the windows on the second floor. Her mother has lit her favourite candles, most likely. The ones she buys from the Orlesian merchant who comes once a month. Scented like lavender. Familiar and comforting, just like her.

Madeleina lingers at the door, frozen in place. She wants to move. To reach out, push the door open and step inside. But she can’t bring herself to do it. Her chest tightens, so much so that she feels like she’s going to implode on the spot.

Venhedis, I can’t do this.

Her palms start to feel sweaty. She flexes her fingers back and forth in an effort to relieve some of the tension.

“Darling, is that you?” A familiar voice calls from inside the house.

Her mother’s voice.

Oh.

There’s movement from inside the house. She has time to run. She wants to run. And yet, she remains as still as a statue. Her heart thuds quickly in her chest, so loud she can hear its rhythmic thrum in her eardrums.

The door swings open, and she’s greeted by the sight of Eurydice Arcturion. Her mother is exactly how Madeleina remembered her in her dreams and memories. Warm, whiskey-brown eyes, long auburn hair tied over her left shoulder, and the same upturned nose as her own. Her crow’s feet are more prominent – signs of a life filled with laughter and smiling. She’s wearing a familiar light blue linen dress. Her white baker’s apron is powdered with flour and spices. The same dress and apron she was wearing on that day. The only noticeable difference is that Eurydice is somewhat shorter than Madeleina remembers.

Her stomach forms an endless pit. She swallows thickly, as words try and fail desperately to form on her tongue but end up unwinding like a ball of yarn dropped to the floor.

Mother.

I missed you so much.

I saw you … I saw your …

You’re here.

How?

Eurydice smiles sweetly at the sight of her daughter, “There you are, love. Did you have fun picking the elderberries in the forest?” She ushers Madeleina inside, and before she can think, her feet are moving on their own again.

Elderberries?

Madeleina looks down, and in her hands, her bare hands, is an old wicker basket full of purple berries. Her armour is gone. She’s traded it for a simple beige tunic and pants. Eurydice is taller than her now. Just a moment ago, Madeleina was practically towering over her.

When did that happen?

“Love?” Her mother touches her shoulder with a calloused hand. Despite her hands being worn from the day’s work, Eurydice’s touch is as soft as silk, and warmer than wool. She smells like flour and cinnamon and lavender.

“Hmm?” Madeleina looks up at her mother with a blank stare. “Oh … yeah, it was fun” She answers, as a small, mischievous grin creeps onto her features when she remembers her adventures in the forest, “I chased a few rabbits. Ended up finding some babies in a burrow!”

“Did you now?” Eurydice smiles and quirks a brow, “Did I not teach you better manners than to terrorize new parents?”

Madeleina pouts and stares down at the floor, embarrassed, “I just wanted to see the babies …”

“Rascal” Her mother pinches her cheek and gets her moving again with a hand on the small of her back. They maneuver to the back of the shop and walk past large bags of flour, the woodfire oven, and clay pots. Up the familiar creaking stairs, and through the door at the top, is the small den of their home.

A sweet aroma drifts from the adjoining kitchen. Familiar. Something she hasn’t had in a long time. Had almost forgotten about entirely, until she’s practically salivating with anticipation.

“I made Dolmades, your favourite” Eurydice grins as she takes the basket of Elderberries from Madeleina’s small hands. “Go wash up for dinner”

Madeleina and her empty stomach don’t have to be told twice. She hurries to the restroom and takes a bar of soap from the counter, then uses it to hurriedly scrub the dirt from her hands and fingernails in the wash basin.

She catches her reflection in the mirror. The young Madeleina, about twelve year’s younger, all wiry limbs and wild curls, stares back at her. Scrawnier. Covered in cuts and scrapes reflective of the recklessness of youth.

There’s a smear of dirt on her left cheek, and after wetting her fingers in the wash basin, she rubs it off quickly. Mother doesn’t mind her getting dirty, so long as none of it makes it to her dinner table. Satisfied, Madeleina gives herself a small smile.

After walking back into the kitchen, she spies her father lounging on a cushion by the fireplace. Judging by the way his salt-and-pepper curls seem extra curly, he must have just woken up. He’s usually asleep during the day, as he plays at the tavern in the evenings. Her mother busies herself with setting the table while she makes her way towards her father.

“Ahhh, there she is” His kind face splits into a wide grin at the sight of Madeleina. She wraps her arms around her father’s neck. He places a gentle kiss to her cheek, and ruffles her hair, mussing her own curls. “Hello, little love”

“More like little terror” Her mother chimes in, as the sound of pots and pans clinking fill the kitchen. “If the forest animals are to be believed”

Orpheus grins, and hugs Madeleina tightly against him, “Humm, wherever did she get that tendency from”

“Father…” Madeleina mumbles, trying to pry her way out of his grasp. It only makes his grip tighter.

He chuckles, “Now, now, I’m sure you had a perfectly good reason for making trouble in the forest, hmm?”

“I wanted to see the baby rabbits…” The young girl answers sheepishly, avoiding his bright green eyes. Sharp, keen, intelligent – like a hawk’s. She can never look at him when she’s trying to lie, so she doesn’t bother lying anymore. He picks them out like weeds in a garden.

“Oh, and did you?”

“Orpheus” Her mother’s voice is stern. “Don’t encourage her. One of these days she’s going to get herself in trouble, running around the wilds like that”

“But I didn’t!” Madeleina protests quickly. Her father’s grip has loosened somewhat and she’s able to pry herself out of his grasp. “Get in trouble, I mean. I found the path again – I dropped berries so I could find my way back in case I got lost…”

Eurydice sets the Dolmades on the table, along with three plates. There’s a spread of other grilled vegetables beside them. A small bowl of Tzatziki sauce with a spoon sticking out of it is the last thing to be put on the table.

“Alright, alright – enough of that for now, come and eat dinner” She wipes her hands on her apron, before untying it and placing it on the back of her chair.

Her father pinches her cheek and guides her towards the dinner table.

Eggplant. Augh.

She makes a sour face when she spies the offending purple vegetable next to the carrots. Madeleina knows her Mother won’t like her being picky, so she’ll settle for pretending to nibble on the slices slowly, while subtly reaching for the carrots that are furthest away from the eggplant.

Madeleina grins and piles the stuffed grape leaves onto her plate.

“Whoa, slow down there, where’s the fire?” Orpheus chuckles, as he loads his own plate.

“Picking berries is hard work” She pouts, before dipping a Dolma into the Tzatziki and shoving it in her mouth. A content sigh escapes her lips as the sweet and savoury flavours mix on her tongue. “I was at it for hours” she adds, speaking around the stuffed grape leaves.

“Oh, my apologies” He places a hand on his chest with dramatic flourish. “I’ll be more mindful of your laborious duties from now on, my darling”

“Good” Madeleina grins and continues eating her dinner, picking from Dolmas and vegetables alike.

Eurydice smiles and shakes her head, pointing to Orpheus with her fork, “She gets her attitude from you”

“And all her best qualities from you, Amatus” Her father blows her a kiss from across the table, and Madeleina makes a sour face as her mother’s cheeks flush.

Ew.

As much as she may pretend to be disgusted by her parent’s displays of affection, she’s always loved seeing them… in love. Since she was a young girl, Madeleina dreamed of finding someone who would cherish her the way Orpheus cherished Eurydice. A love like something out of a fairytale.

Something familiar tugs in the back of her mind.

Bitter and sweet, like a kiss goodbye.

Where has she heard that before?

The scent of chocolate and coffee curiously fills her nostrils, but there is none on the table.

Strange.

“Darling?” Her mother’s voice snaps her out of it. The thought is forgotten as quickly as it came, and the smell of chocolate and coffee fades away. Her head quickly whips to attention.

“Hmm?”

“Is everything alright?” Her mother raises a concerned brow, “You’re unusually… pensive today”

A very polite way of saying you keep spacing out. But it was just like her mother to put a polite spin on everything.

Madeleina nods, and picks at her vegetables, “Yes mother, I’m fine, I promise. I … I guess I’m just tired, is all”

Her father sees it for the lie it is, but mercifully doesn’t call her out on it.

Orpheus gives her a warm smile and leans in closer, “Not too tired for a story, I hope”

Madeleina rolls her eyes but can’t stop the grin from spreading across her lips. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

He sticks a thumb to his chest and laughs, “I’m the only bard for miles around, what are they going to do? Fire me? Half the patrons only come to hear me play”

She goes to take another Dolma on her plate before her mother’s hand gently slaps her own away, “Ah-ah, finish your vegetables first. All of them” She eyes the unfinished eggplant on her plate.

Madeleine frowns, withdrawing her hand. She folds her arms over her chest, “Actually, I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll take that story, father”

“No, you’re going to sit there and finish your – “

Orpheus lifts a hand to stop his wife mid-sentence, “Amatus, she’s had a long day. Picking berries is such tiresome work after all”

Eurydice looks like she wants to protest, but realizes she is effectively outnumbered on the matter, and resigns to finish her own dinner. “Unbelievable, these two” She murmurs around mouthfuls of Dolma.

Her father pushes his chair out and leaves the room for a moment. Madeleina knows exactly what he’s gone to do, and bounces eagerly in her chair, vibrating with anticipation.

She quickly stuffs one last Dolma down her throat before her mother can get a word in edgewise and runs away from the table. She takes her usual seat on the cushion closest to the fireplace. Her mother sighs, finishes her own dinner, and then begins clearing the plates.

Her father returns a moment later, scratching his beard.

“That’s odd” He says thoughtfully, putting a hand on his hip. “Amatus – have you seen my journal?”

Her mother is by the kitchen sink now, washing the emptied plates from dinner. “No, dear. I haven’t. Isn’t it on the bedside table?” She calls over her shoulder, above the gritting noise of the sponge tearing grease from the dish.

Orpheus looks about the den – he checks the fireplace mantle, under the cushions, between the couch cushions, the bookshelf. And yet, he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for.

Faded red leather. Yellowed pages. Black ink spots. No, dried bloodstains. The acrid smell of must and mothballs.

Her father’s journal doesn’t look like that. Doesn’t smell like that. It never has.

Stranger still.

Madeleina shakes her head and gets up from her spot, first inspecting under the coffee table, and then under the cushions once more to make sure her father didn’t miss anything.

“Darling, can you check your bedroom? I might have left it there last night” Orpheus calls, as he ducks beneath the dinner table to ensure it didn’t fall there from his pocket.

Right. He had been reading Swan Lake to her last night. Madeleina wastes no time jogging to her small bedroom.

Nothing looks out of place. She sees the same stuffed rabbit and teddy bear lying on her bed, well-worn and well-loved with age. Hand-me-downs from one of the older girls in the village.

Octavia. That’s right - she married a soldier from Ventus. She’s gone now, and the tailor’s hours were reduced since their only daughter wasn’t around to help anymore.

She checks her little writing desk and moves the clothes she’d left on the chair to the floor. Madeleina can already hear her mother chastising her for that.

Still, there’s no journal to be found. Not on the desk, under the desk, nor under her bed.

Madeleina sits cross-legged in the middle of her room and releases a soft breath. Well, if the journal was somewhere in this house, it wasn’t in here.

As her thoughts drifted towards her father’s journal, there was a strange feeling that took root in her chest. Like she was attached to a string being tugged at from some far away place. A marionette being pulled towards its puppeteer.

She looks through the window to see the setting sun, washing the mountains and forest in pinks, oranges and golds.

The tugging sensation in her chest grows stronger. Enough to no longer be considered a trick of the mind. It turns sharp, almost painful. Madeleina winces and grasps her chest where she feels the sensation.

“Ahh …” She hisses, closing her eyes, her brows drawing tight. Madeleina looks down at her chest, and where her heart should be, she sees a faint, blue light flickering in and out.

“What the -…?”

“Darling?” Her father calls from the den.

Madeleina’s head snaps towards the sound of his voice. She looks back down at her chest. The blue light is gone, no longer flickering like a candle in the wind. There’s no more tugging in her chest.

I must have been more tired than I thought. She thinks, before standing up and rejoining her family in the living room.

Her father is sitting on one of the cushions on the floor, next to the fireplace.

“Did you find it?” Madeleina asks, as she comes to sit next to him.

Orpheus shakes his head, and black-and-grey ringlets fly about him as he does. “No – I must have left it at the tavern, I’ll check later tonight.”

Madeleina’s face falls, too tired to hide her disappointment, “Oh. So… no story tonight?”

Her father chuckles and pats her softly on the back, “Of course there’ll be a story tonight. The journal is just for show,” He leans in closer and turns his index finger against his temple, like one might turn a key into a lock, “Everything’s stored right here, anyway”

Orpheus pulls his daughter in closely, and she settles against his side, leaning her head on his broad shoulder.

“Which one are you going to tell me tonight?” She asks quietly, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Which one do you want to hear?”

Madeleina thinks hard for a moment. There’s so many to choose from. She’s heard them all at least a dozen times. Thinks she’s even memorized a good chunk of them.

She can’t explain her choice, only that she feels it’s an important one. There’s a distant feeling of familiarity with that story, one that goes deeper than all the times it’s been retold to her by her father.

“The Sleeping Princess, please”

“Ahhh, an excellent choice, little love” Orpheus smiles widely, and collects his weary daughter into his lap.

Madeleina rests against his chest and lets herself feel the exhaustion she’s been ignoring until now. Her breathing slows, and her eyelids grow heavier.

Her father begins gently stroking her hair, and it lulls her towards sleep even more.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far, away, there was a small kingdom. And in that kingdom, there lived a King and Queen, much beloved by their people…”

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

Yay, another chapter done. This time I'd like to thank @hawkeish for giving me some angst fodder by playing around with the idea that something in the fade prison from Rook's past would make her more resistant to leave! >:)

As usual, do enjoy the story!

Thank you in advance for your comments and reblogs, I appreciate everyone who takes the time to do so and I do read all of them <3

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demeterdefence · 16 days ago

Note

considering your issues with lore olympus, is the lore rekindled any better? it's the same plot, no?

fantastic question, i am going to write far too much in response!

in short: yes and no! but also no. with a little yes!

for those who haven't seen, genericpuff (and their background artist banshriek) are essentially "redoing" lore olympus, although that doesn't even begin to cover the work and talent they've put into rekindled. probably the best way i could explain it is they've taken the core pieces of lore olympus and actually given them depth and structure, with a plot that just scratches my brain so good uuugh please read rekindled if you haven't already

i've said this before, but arguably my biggest grievance with myth retellings - and absolutely the case here for lore olympus - is a complete lack of care or understanding of the core myth being "retold." someone who knows the myth, knows the importance and value it held and adheres to that in a retelling, will always be ten thousand times better suited to the story than the most awarded artist out there.

i could easily overlook the degrading art and the weird plot holes if rachel had bothered to do her research and show the original myth any kind of respect; instead, she goes out of her way from page one to disrespect the culture, history, and mythology the story of persephone is taken from. rachel sees these shiny pieces, but she doesn't know how to use them with depth or purpose, so ultimately, she just dresses them up and shoves them into the page. it's a shallow and pedantic story that uses familiar names and history, but never goes anywhere with them. genuinely, you could go to the first wattpad fic of a fourteen year old on the internet for the first time and find the same plot, and i'd argue the fourteen year old would do it better because at least they're excited about it!!!

i'll try not to spoil too much, and it is ongoing, but the way rekindled has taken the original plot and made it work is incredible. persephone's hidden rage, her complex feelings towards demeter, the hierarchy of the gods - all of that is displayed with far more tact, respect, and delight. it uses the basic plot of lore olympus, and the very basic structure, but the similarities end there, because there's depth and connection that never show up in rachel's work.

lore olympus often relied on surface level conversations and plots - it struggled to create intrigue, it couldn't really do secrets or plot reveals in an organic way. concepts of sexuality, feminism, toxic relationships, abuse, power, and systemic dysfunction were broached in the comic, but ultimately handled sloppily, or discarded entirely. this is not a comic where you're going to find a lot of nuance, or you can discuss the nature of a character and acknowledge they have levels to them - what you see is what you get, and what you get ... isn't very good.

rekindled adds a lot more to the characters, giving them meat for the readers to parse through. there's a reverence for the original myth that shows, there's clear research in how the dynamics work (hera inviting persephone to her home is not just hera asking for company, and genericpuff showed their work in a follow up post which made me so! happy!!!) this is a retelling that genuinely enjoys itself, and it's a pleasure to read it, because you know the work is being done. the artwork is gorgeous, naturally, but it's the clear work and delight both genericpuff and banshriek demonstrate, and how they've carved away all the unnecessary floss from the lo version.

it also goes to show that rachel - with all the money and accolades she got from lore olympus - could never do what genericpuff and banshriek are doing for free, on their own time. and that says a lot about her talent, but even more on lore rekindled.

#answered #anon #i am completely sleep deprived so if this is a rambling mess i am so sorry #anti lo #anti lore olympus #tagging to be safe but not inherently a bash ...?#kind of a bash but anyways!#if i had the brain power i could go on and on about lore rekindled #and how they took the lo plot and just BREATHED life into it #like the fates finding alex??? and their characterization while hades tortures him???#IT'S SO GOOD I AM FERAL #or even just the hint of persephone's dark side #and how minthe is a real person and character!!! love that!!!#anyways go read lore rekindled

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standfucker · 1 year ago

Text

Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out.

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat.

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who?

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either.

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji.

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie.

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!”

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #reader insert #one piece imagines #zen writes

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rawliverandgoronspice · 1 year ago

Note

Okay so this has been on my mind for awhile and I wanted to get my thoughts out there. Regarding the topic of Rauru and Ganons relationship, I feel like rauru has kinda been bashed? people seem think that rauru in memory 6 (I believe) had a bit of a god complex, and that he was disrespectful. I feel as if rauru kinda had a right to act the way he did.

Rauru had wanted to become Allie’s with the gerudo. Not necessarily because he wants them to serve him but more for resources. Or more likely knowing Ganon he was attacking hyrule. The reason why I suspect this is because during the molduga incident rauru and Sonia seem to be very familiar with theses types of attacks. So it’s likely Ganon had ordered monster attacks on them before. Likely the attacks were getting to much for rauru and Sonia to handle; on top of establishing hyrule, rauru sent out messages for Ganon to join the kingdom in order to stop the attacks. Or another reasoning is that the gerudo were likely suffering. Ganon has been shown to not always prioritize his people. And knowing from past games the gerudo desert doesn’t have much resources. We can kinda see this in Totk they seem to only have hydromelon and voltfruit (I highly doubt that the gerudo had men at the time bringing them food from hyrules fields). If you’ve talked to rauru on the sky islands you’ll know that rauru is actually a very sweet and sympathetic guy, so I believe this could be a possibility.

Moving forward to raurus attitude during their meeting.Now rauru wasn’t exactly the nicest during the meeting, but I don’t really blame him. Rauru probably annoyed that ganon has been ignoring his letters and putting his people in danger. Also Ganon was very sketchy during that entire meeting and was rude in his tone.

Why did Ganon bow? Ganon and rauru are not equal, yes they are both kings but rauru has massive amounts of power and has a much larger land mass. (and zonia are kinda gods) but I don’t think the reasoning for Ganon bowing is because he less than or non equal to rauru. More like he was apologizing and giving rauru respect for the countless times he’s ignored him or tried to kill him.

More of raurus tone in the meeting Again I think he was really fed up with Ganon and rauru seems very non confrontational (he apologizes in the sky islands that the constructs attack link, and ask link not to be angry because they can’t understand) rauru likely wanted it to get into ganons mind not to attack the kingdom again because rauru had a lot of Allie’s and power and will attack Ganon if he pulls a stunt.

Ganon vs the gerudo. This part is a little off topic but, lots believe rauru is low key kinda racist towards the gerudo. But if this was true why was gerudo sage working with rauru? I don’t think that the way rauru acts is how he acts to all gerudo. The sage of lighting very obviously doesn’t like Ganon. The reasoning could be my first point. And later on after the imprisoning war the gerudo still stuck with hyrules side.

That’s all I have for right now, sorry if it’s all jumbled up I tried to make it coherent. Anyways I appreciate you for reading this :3

-🔺

Hi, thanks for the lengthy ask!! I'm sorry for the lengthy answer this beckoned, but I think this conversation is pretty important --even beyond Zelda and this specific case. We're talking themes and tropes and framing!!!!

I will try to reply to all of this in a way that kind of threads through several layers of why people have been bashing Rauru, me included. I will try my best to explain why I dislike this character, and try to parse out why I am this miffed by Tears of the Kingdom's storyline overall.

The long story short is: I don't dislike Rauru as a person (I mean, I also would tbh), I dislike him because of what he represents.

I think the waters did muddy a little in the "discourse" recently, and it's a good thing to take a step back and re-explain where I'm coming from (me personally, not going to speak for anyone but me here).

Also, before jumping in: this is not a condamnation on anyone who enjoys this story or these characters, nothing is unproblematic, it's fine, everybody does what they want, all of the things. I like the game and I keep playing the game in spite of being harshly critical of the ideas pushed forward. Also: it's fine to digest this and come back later (or not at all) if that feels like a lot, or if some of these ideas don't immediately click. But it's also partially why I think it's important: this game is aimed at a young audience, and one who might not have all of the keys to decipher what's going on, which is why I think it's quite irresponsible (which is the charitable interpretation) on Nintendo's part.

Anyway. Too many words underneath the cut.

The Story

So, first of all, I want to say that I believe you completely and fully read the situation as Nintendo intended it to be read. This is the text of the game (aka, the story taken at face value). You picked up on every single safeguard put into place to have Rauru and Sonia act in the most justifiable way possible, and have Ganondorf, on the other hand, act as a duplicitous, power-hungry and downright insane as they could have made him. In the reality of their universe, and only taking into account what is given to us through the narrative, trusting it comes from a neutral place and isn't influenced by anything, everything you said is 100% correct.

Rauru and Sonia WERE acting in self-defense, and were even kind not to turn their incommensurable power against the invading army.

The kingdom Rauru built as a demigod IS a paradise and they WERE very generous to invite neighboring nations to bask in their wealth and its technological and natural blessings (and the results of their extensive mining and why are there killer robots everywhere if this world was such a peaceful paradise uhh let's not ponder about this too much). That Ganondorf was too prideful and envious to accept IS a sin that rests solely with him.

Rauru IS a brave hero that sacrificed himself to seal the invader that killed his beloved wife.

Every single Sage IS extraordinarily devoted to protect both Rauru's lineage and their own lands, and gleefully pass down that duty to their ancestors --all thanks to Zelda, heir of that blessed royal line who returned to the past and made them promise to fight alongside Link to seal the Evil once more.

The gerudo WERE (apparently) oppressed, as they decided to fight under Rauru's authority freely (so against their own chief??) and, also, must make amends for having put Ganondorf in this world in the first place? ( I think we are already starting to see some contradictions --were you always victims or did you start this conflict in the first place? what is your place in all of this? why don't we ever get to know?)

This IS the story of Tears of the Kingdom. A story of a great sacrifice that happened in the golden mythical past (confirmed as unquestionable truth through the archeology motif), done by benevolent godly figures of royal blood and immense power they would never abuse, giving their everything to bring Light into a broken world corrupted by the degeneracy of Evil, echoed by the devotion of nations who swore fealty to that divine being and must now renew their vow in the present to defend their lands and Hyrule at any cost. Also, the impossible and magnificient suffering of the princess, whose tears lead to a trail of truth into the very land, informs the current population about why they're fighting now; she's at once a hero of the past and a martyr in the present, completely incapable of acting on her own, carrying with her the blade that will slay the crushing and violent sway of Evil for good and bring eternal peace into the land (Evil who uses her own appearance to cause chaos and violence against her own people --the blasphemy!!). The title of the game reflects this too: the Tears of the Kingdom are hers. Zelda is the kingdom here, and her pain/the pain of that mythical past is what is centered.

Also Ganondorf IS green so it's not racist okay let's stop right here and unpack all of this mess, because BOY oh boy oh boy oh boy.

oh boy.

The History

Now comes the time to point out the obvious, but that bears being repeated: this is a fictional story. It's a story crafted by a very powerful game company set in Japan. It's a story crafted by a huge number of people, who debated for years how to best tell it, why, and what for. Every single choice made in the narrative is purposeful, has been weighted against other options, and was picked over what could have been virtually anything else. Again, I want to state that I don't know if any single person took these decisions, probably not entirely, and it's even possible Nintendo didn't realize (I doubt it heavily tbh, but I'm sure there are people in the team that didn't get it or didn't see the issue), but a certain kind of story was crafted in the end, and it's the one we got.

One word that has been tossed around a lot as far as TotK's story goes is ✨ imperialism ✨, and I want to pause and take a second to analyse exactly what we mean by that and why I think it's painfully relevant here (and, honestly, I think another word would be very very relevant here also, but it's the kind of word you keep for after you're done with your argumentation not to scare off the unconvinced audience --but, to anyone who reads and might have picked it up already, yeah.)

In our real world of Earth 2023™, we have seen quite the number of extraordinarily powerful nations becoming gradually larger, engulfing neighbors, breaking apart, and leaving the buds of new future empires behind them. Hell, there's a number of them existing right now, even if they don't call themselves empires and don't have literal emperors at their head anymore (though Japan does, and it is important here). Of course, no nation, especially nations striving for expansion, worldwide legitimacy in culture and power, and their own understanding of "greatness", would ever call themselves anything but enlightened and justified. After all, the Roman Empire brings aqueducts and infrastructure to the lands they conquer, China unifies disparaging regions struggling under constant barbaric attacks, France and Spain converts local populations of the "New World" and save their souls from eternal damnation (wow thanks guysss), the British Empire brings industrial revolution uhhh everywhere please don't ask what was the cost, Africa sure loves everybody ripping their culture and lands apart and were so super glad to receive whatever "civilization" is supposed to mean when their literal people were being pillaged away to keep on building said empires using their blood as mortar, the URSS protects neighboring nations from the Evil Capital/West, fascists want to purge the world of anything they consider impure, the US brings freedom to the world and the whole world is grateful forever!!!

Everyone always has an excuse, and everyone is always kind of semi-mandated by God (in the largest possible sense; divine responsibility would perhaps be more appropriate, it's kind of the idea that with great power comes responsibility, while defining what responsibility means and inflicting their conclusions to conquered lands to squeeze even more value out of them) to do whatever the hell they want to others, claim their lands, their bodies, their minds, their culture --and demand gratefulness on top of it all to avoid having to feel bad.

There is a large body of fictional works that are dedicated to boister the image of the Empire. Every single empire has a number of them; their goal is often to mythologize, in some form or another, the story of their expansion. It often flattens every nuance, paints the actions of the empire as the natural order of the world and its opposition as morally malignant, their leaders are charismatic, benevolent, powerful and self-sacrificial. Often, it invokes previous empires to cast the current one as inheriting a grace that was tragically lost and must be restored through war, hard work, and healthy natality --I'll dip into the forbidden comparaison but Nazi Germany loved its greek myths of Sparta and Athens (and modern day fascists still do), or the Napoleon Wars so they could retell the story of their own empire by invoking a legacy of moral diligence and ethnical greatness being restored. But the pattern is often very similar: we used to be Great, a tragic event due to both external invasion and internal corruption precipitated our golden age into chaos and degeneracy, and now we must fight off current day corruption to restore the Glory of the old times we lost --all of this under the benevolent gaze of our leaders, whose mission is a direct or indirect intervention of divinity into mortal lives. It is righteous and glorious to fight/die for the nation (and its leaders) and protect it from the uncivilized, who are inhuman and exist solely to trick us, corrupt us, attack us and assimilate/destroy us.

Are we starting to notice some similarities here :) :) :)

The Narrative

There's two conversations running in parallel here.

The first one is the least important in my opinion, even though it's the one we tend to focus on a lot as theorists/enthusiasts/enjoyers of media: is Rauru oppressing the gerudos, and does that inform Ganondorf's actions?

Honestly? Textually? Probably not.

There are arguments to be made (and that deserve to be made) about the insane power imbalance, there are a lot of suspicious aspects that deserve to be picked apart like the address and deference of Ganondorf towards Rauru, the whole mining thing that I don't see being discussed much but could be a huge part of it --there are ancient mines in the gerudo region after all; since when? what's the history here?-- the strange masks the Sages are to wear when Zelda, as a direct descendant, isn't wearing any, etc etc. Lots of other posts have been made about the million tiny red flags that litter the game, but I think that if we take the game at face value, they barely matter. I would love them to have been placed with intent (and they maybe were as a desperate attempt by an employee trying to inject grayness back in the equation and if that's the case I SEE YOU random gamedev and I love you and you did the best you could <3), but to me that's more a case of wishful fan thinking (including mine tbh) that any concrete argument that the story is secretely about Rauru being imperialist and this costing him everything. There are some hints of a more nuanced world (the Horned God, the Bargainers, that some NPCs are invested in monsters are creatures worthy of study and awe --tho almost all of them ridiculed in some form), but these demand that you go out of your way to collect them and make the connection yourself. Can this even qualify as subtext? As in: the story under the story? As much as I wish this was the case, I don't think so. We can't make the case that it's a simple story for children that isn't trying to say anything grand while also demanding people to make insane mental gymnastics on their own, without any help on the game's part, for it not to be a blatant endorsement of imperialist thinking.

(especially not the kind of game that repeats 3 different times back to back that Sidon didn't talk to Yona because he was afraid to lose her like he lost Mipha --honestly what's up with this writing I don't get it, BotW didn't act like its players' brain was this unplugged, ANYWAY)

The story is about Ganondorf being duplicitous and monstrous and destroying the beautiful kingdom of the past, and us preserving our modern day kingdom from its corrupting influence by recruiting allies and friends in that fight. We are given a plethora of situations that paint him as inhumanely cruel and chaotic, and none that breath even the suggestion of a critique towards our heroes. He's evil: we must stop him.

Now comes the second conversation, and one I think is more important: is this entire storyline built off imperialist tropes that were created to oppress and exploit marginalized populations in real life while justifying the violence inflincted upon them?

In my opinion, yes. Undeniably so.

I am not so much invested in Rauru being racist towards Ganondorf; I am invested in the real life Nintendo videogame being racist towards the idea that Ganondorf represents: the scary foreigner that will lead to the fall of civilization if we let him in.

(and perhaps this was Rauru's hubris all along: to believe he could let a scary (male) foreigner in and then trust him to remain docile.... a little too much. And then he reaped what he sowed.

checkmate liberal.

This makes an uncomfortable amount of sense and I kinda hate having made the connection tbh)

This is especially true when it's the second time around that this exact storyline is represented, and I believe it to be much more insidious this time around --because now, gerudos are our friendssss and feel great shame and personal responsibility towards that aspect of them that once rebelled. Meanwhile in OoT, a majority of them were onboard with Ganondorf as their leader and explicitely did not want to be assimilated in the kindgom (Nabooru being specifically painted as one of the exceptions). I go more in depth about all of this in this pre-TotK post about gerudo culture. We had plenty of conversations about orientalism and islamophobic representation in videogames since; it was A Thing at the time, the turn of the century was particularly egregious in that regard. But It's not 1998 anymore, and I personally believe it's pretty inexcusable to rethread that same ground beat by beat without batting an eye at any of its implications (especially since they have done better since; even Twilight Princess, who gave him very little grace overall, dared to criticize hylians through Midna, Zelda and even Zant --and Wind Waker towed the line rather beautifully between the part of him that was human and the part that was monstrous, and the tragedy of these two cancelling each other out constantly). I was expecting much, much better than what we got --I didn't even dare to imagine they would just double-down on that aspect and make a worse version of Ocarina of Time to reintroduce the character.

This is also partially why I'm so uncomfortable with the green skin situation: can you imagine how this scene would have felt like, with the single brown-skinned guy having a central role in the game kneeling in front of a white old man with a droopy mustache (which was Rauru's first iteration in the series, and the one I always keep in mind when having these conversations) and his blonde wife, and Zelda being "hmmm he's evil for sure"? And then he 100% is, with no justification or reason beyond an urge to consume the entire world --even this, which is not uninteresting, remaining completely unexplored in a 150+ hour open-world game that decided to focus on everything under the sun EXCEPT Ganondorf's motivations and his relationship to his own people? Can you imagine how obvious of a racist caricature Ganondorf would have been just by keeping his skin a normal brown (not to pretend he's not already super coded as Foreign in every possible way)? The man is intimidating, uncomfortable to be around, he's greedy and power-hungry, he's insane, he comes for our lands and our women and oppresses his own and also corrupts everything through either infiltration or literal disease. Also he's uhhh the Devil, for good measure.

As much as we can rationalize and embrace these parts of who he is as fans, there's no ignoring how icky this entire situation really is.

So, to tie everything together.

There are three readings of this game competing in my head.

The first one is: the textual interpretation. Rauru is self-sacrificial and a victim, Zelda is deeply brave and an icon of the empire's longevity and deep-rooted history, Ganondorf is utterly inhuman and must be destroyed at all costs. What the game says it is --and what it is.

The second one is: the critical interpretation. That this story sounds awfully convenient for the prosperity of the Empire (here the empire being Hyrule), paints Zelda, the current leader, in a weird fanficky way by literally sending her back to the past with her super cool ancestors and allowing a military victory in the present while also being a martyr to the cause and being much more of a symbol than a person, and nobody even bats a fucking eye in the direction that Hyrule might have been questionable in any way --everyone is so happy to be a vassal, see? Let's not unpack why the king of the zoras prefered hiding himself than facing the consequences of what would happen if Zelda really did attack him out of the blue (this plot point is insane, but its potential is too good so therefore it's illegal and immediately dropped). Let's not unpack the absolute insane amount of abuse false Zelda gets away with by virtue of acting as the princess of a sacred bloodline (but she's nice, right? because that's how you want to make a sure a ruler won't hurt you: praying they will be nice). There are enough red flags to doubt this world, its reality, the complexity of these people's inner lives. The rejection of the notion that any sort of flaw or problem could exist within the system makes it borderline dystopian in my opinion (especially when compared with BotW's Hyrule, which had problems who led to its own downfall and were the fault of nobody but their own actions as Ganon is portrayed more as a natural event than an actual, malicious person), and this is the first reason why I don't like Rauru: the entire world revolves around this goat-kangaroo-furry man's chiseled navel. Everyone is, quite literally, a faceless tool in the glorious and tragic story of his lost empire (or they're women here to become sacrificial objects serving the fights of men; or they're Ganondorf, who's a non-person and an antagonistic object lacking any interiority or humanity, and the narrative being completely uninterested in that), and only his bloodline and his vision for the future really matters. Not that Rauru thinks like this --but the game does. And so, it's hard for me not to see him as either the most narcissistic person ever if we accept him as the narrator of this story, or a flat propaganda machine built for an even greater cause (Hyrule, the Empire).

And then, the third one: that Nintendo would put out a game that is so deeply embedded in imperialist and orientalist language and tropes, so invested in its traditional and patriarchal values, so uncurious about the Other and so critical of it while refusing to look inward, is not neutral (yes even if the game is super fun and has other great qualities, I do believe this game is a monumental achievement in game/level design and in optimization/tech art while also being a trainwreck in quest and narrative design). This rethoric is not neutral, especially when addressed at the West at large --especially right now, with such a global uptick in traditionalist values overall, and Japan not exactly being spared. I won't pretend to be knowledgeable enough about Japanese history and culture to pick up all the little nuances of what is going on here, but I know enough to recognize that such stories do play out a certain understanding of this country's history, its fears and its difficulties to reconcile with its own (very recent) past as a colonialist empire --both the terrors it unleashed on others and the terrors that were unleashed upon it as it was dismantled. Instead of exploring that subject, every potential for nuance and conversation and self-criticism is slammed shut immediately, often at the cost of their own characters and the depth of their quest design/writing. The unearthed past agrees with its current understanding of itself; there is nothing discovered that leads to being questioned and reconsidered. Everything wrong is the fault of a single, corrupting entity that can be identified as Foreign and Other. There is a literal Heaven (zonai and civilized, Rauru's) and Hell (monstrous and corroding, Ganon's). None of this is neutral. Especially when infused in a game targeted for a young audience lacking context.

So I hope this very verbose answer helped a little to parse out what is being criticized at which level! Thank you for giving your thoughts, and I hope mine were clarifying to a degree.

I understand it can get a little confusing; but a lot of the urge not to take this scene at face value is born from the knowledge that nothing is ever that simple in real life, that these sort of self-serving narratives often hide horrific amounts of systemic harm underneath its perfectly curated presentation, and that, well. Some Zelda fans, especially the older generations that were invested in these characters and their re-imagining, expected Nintendo to be less..... like this.

And the wake-up call stings a little more than we would have liked.

(again obligatory disclaimer that I'm not saying TotK is Bad or should be Cancelled or that you're Bad for liking it --but it's still important to explicitly talk about how themes like these are being utterly glossed over when I don't think they would have been if they'd come out of a new IP, and not with the huge nostalgia cloud that envelops The Legend of Zelda and has people being extremely uncomfortable at criticizing the ideas the series can sometimes champion --though the series never veered in that direction nearly as hard before in my opinion)

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reviewdiaries · 2 years ago

Text

Examining that Nancy x Ace scene from 4x01

It’s been far, far, far too long since we’ve had new Nancy Drew, but they still managed to make it worth the wait. Honestly that last scene is absolutely unhinged and I am here for it. But I wanted to take a minute to break it down (because that’s my jam) and make myself feral watching it approximately 8,000 times. Fair warning it gets long, more beneath the cut.

By the time we reach that final scene Ace is absolutely done. My boy has put himself through the wringer, both by thinking he isn’t enough and that’s why Nancy wouldn’t want him, and by then thinking he’s ruined everything by trying to kiss her. This is a guy who has spent just over two months without the support of one of his closest friends (see aforementioned trying to kiss) and thinking he’s ruined his chance with the woman he’s in love with. I think the power of realising Nancy’s been lying to him fuelled his mad run all the way from the Historical Society to Icarus Hall. Because when she opens the door and he’s panting trying to get the words out, sure some of that is down to the depth of the emotion he’s feeling, but a lot of that is the fact that he has forgotten he owns a car and has straight up run to talk to her.

And this is the most Ace we have seen Ace all episode. Every time we’ve seen him before this he’s been uncertain, unsure, completely knocked off his axis as though he has lost his true north. He’s tried to talk to Nancy, but this is Ace and he knows her, knows something isn’t right, particularly after the Lover’s Vigil when she says it’s her fault and she keeps leaning in and god he can feel it, feel something and then the glass is shattering and she’s gone. Again. Every bit of their interaction at the Vigil is instigated by her, the leaning in, the forehead touch.

Well, almost all of it. When he first catches her as she spins across the room towards him, there’s a split second where he’s steadying her without really putting his hands on her, unsure how he’ll be received, terrified to ruin it further, of crossing some unseen line.

And then the sheer need kicks in, the closeness of her after so long, and his hands tighten and pull her in towards him, just for a moment. Just a moment can’t hurt? Particularly when she’s looking at him like she’s drowning and he’s pulling her from the waves. And he can’t even finish his sentence when he glances down and sees the dress she’s wearing and it feels like there’s no one there but them. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like sitting at home alone, it was after twenty four hours without being able to see her he had to find her.

@livelovecaliforniadreams (GIF Credit)

Ace is a smart boy, he can read between the lines, and Nancy has been avoiding him so long precisely because of this, because he knows her and will see the lie in her words - she can’t even make herself believe them, every time she says they can’t she leans in a little more. And this is the tipping point, the dominos start to fall into place as he parses through what she’s saying and what she’s doing. As the jar in her hand shatters and something about the sound of breaking glass hits too close to the memory of glass shattering once before that he’s been playing over and over and over again for weeks.

@bess-turani-marvin (GIF credit)

If they didn’t almost immediately rush out to deal with the undead he’d have remembered and gone back to that pile of broken glass earlier, but it’s hours after that he finally remembers and suddenly his compass rights itself. He doesn’t have the answers, he doesn’t understand it yet, but he knows then that he’s not wrong, and the certainty burns away that lingering doubt that’s been clouding his mind for too long and fuels that desperate run to Icarus Hall, to her, and to some answers.

He’s direct now, no more stepping around the point and trying not to scuff through lines he doesn’t see. No he trusts his instincts, and more importantly he trusts Nancy, and although everything she’s been saying has been no no no, the word she’s written screams yes, you, it’s you, you’re not in this alone.

You were lying. You do have feelings for me.

Eye contact, that slow walk in, he doesn’t know it all yet but he knows the most important thing, and he knows Nancy isn’t going to talk about it unless he pushes her in just the right way. But this is Ace, and he knows exactly how to get Nancy to talk. Don’t give her room to evade, push through the denials. Crowd into her space until she gives him the truth.

And he hands over that paper (that paper that Nancy folded oh so neatly in one crisp fold when she wrote his name (his name) but now is crumpled from being clenched so tightly in his fist as he ran there) and the sudden absence of that square of truth is enough to make his fingers flex on empty air as he fists his hand again, suddenly bereft of the solid proof he’s held to so tightly.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He knows her handwriting, would know the sharp spike of her a’s and the slant of her e’s anywhere. He watched her protect that jar, try to cover up the pieces of it when she ran to clean up her hand, and now, as soon as she’s faced with the proof she can no longer meet his eye. Looks in his general direction, but evades his own stare knowing she cannot make the lie reach her eyes as she tries to deny it.

She walks away. He was expecting that. Given the amount of denial, of avoidance, of strangeness of the last two months, he didn’t expect her to admit it that quickly. So he follows her, he has time now, now he’s not worried about butting up against some unknown line he paces after her. Deliberate, unhurried, as he bats her feeble excuse away. And when she turns around he can see the defences crumbling, almost as though she wants him to keep pushing, keep asking, to unburden herself of this secret.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

She’s not saying anything, and that would normally unnerve him, but the pieces are finally slotting in together and he has a theory, an idea that he wants to test. The words spilling out of him as he finally takes those shattered pieces of glass and holds them up to the light. The barometer, that was weird, a coincidence (not that he believes in those anymore) but the jar as well? Now that’s almost a pattern. That’s something he can work with. You can see the smile just tracing the curve of his lip.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He’s spent too long around Nancy and she’s rubbed off on him, and the tugging of a thread until he can see the whole picture, the tenacious worrying of a point until it makes sense, that’s him, but it’s also her, the two of them so intertwined now they’ve become a whole without ever realising it.

Both times I felt something and I know you felt it too.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

Nancy opens her mouth to protest as he makes his declaration but closes it again quickly as he states that he knows she felt it too. He steps in - proximity, he’s learning, is the key. And intent, and he has enough intent for the both of them now. He is careful, oh so careful, so aware of her, for any (true) demand that he stop, but the longing in her eyes is a real thing and as he steps in she moves in closer too.

It’s a hypothesis, it’s a test, it’s a god damn it please let him be right and understand this, and wrong and let him finally (finally) kiss her. He knows what’s going to happen (maybe not exactly, but the shape of it) but there’s still that desperate longing hope that maybe this time they’ll kiss, that this time he’ll feel the shape of her lips under his, that this time he’ll be able to sink his hands into her hair and pull her close without her jerking away with that terrified look in her eyes. We’ve not seen them have this moment yet. Every hallucination he kissed her neck, never her lips. In the other timeline this crucial breathless moment of wanting turning into reality was never shown, just the aftermath. This moment, this threshold is something sacred, something special, that’s why it is this moment of near touch, of almost, of finding the shape of the boundary of the curse that the warning springs from.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

But the torch glass shatters and the groan Ace lets loose, of frustration, of desperation, of want and need and longing is so nearly swallowed down as to be almost inaudible. Because he’s both got what he needed, what he wanted, and exactly the opposite. She is so close, and yet further than ever. And he would wait a hundred years for her, a thousand, but that doesn’t stop the desperate need whenever he’s close enough to touch her.

Nancy hears it though, just as clearly as she hears the glass breaking. For a moment she’s lost in the nearness of him, and she follows his movement back, desperate to remember the feel of his lips on her, lost in the memory of having done this a hundred times already. As she comes back to herself it crashes back in all the thousand reasons why they can’t, and she moves back, finally dragging her eyes to his - she owes him this much.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He is still so close and the sadness is overflowing from her. She’s admitted her feelings to herself, to her dads, and now finally to Ace. Not in so many words, not out loud, but it’s there in the sharp spike of an a and the slant of her e. It’s in the way she leans into him like a flower searching for sunlight whenever they’re close. In the way she can’t take her eyes from him when he’s near. Struck over and over by the disjointed feel of knowing and not knowing. She knows what it feels like to run her hands through his hair, knows that he smiles in his sleep, knows the precise cadence of his stuttering breath as they kiss. And yet she also doesn’t. She is stuck in this isolated limbo and so so tired of the weight of the secret pressing her down into a defeated shell of herself. She can’t focus on anything, the overlay of the knowing and not knowing - that Ace will bring her all the world’s sorbet to make her smile, that he thinks the town loves her and he’s with them, the feel of his blood on her hands as the light vanishes from his eyes.

She’s grieving and not, and alone and not, and it all sounds so silly even now, even after all they’ve been through to say the words out loud to him.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

Because we’re cursed.

It’s the sort of thing you read about in books, that happens in fairy tales. The prince and princess were cursed and true loves kiss wasn’t enough to break it. It’s enough instead to shatter glass and remind them of their place. Temperance still reminding Nancy that she controls the strings even now in death.

Ace takes a step away and the loss of his warmth is enough to break her already fragile heart further. But he doesn’t leave, and he doesn’t doubt, and for now, that will have to be enough.

#nancy drew #nancy drew cw #nancy drew meta #nancy drew analysis #nace #cw nancy drew #nancy drew 4x01 #nancy drew spoilers #nancy x ace #nancy drew 4.01 #nancy #ace [redacted]

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glass--beach · 10 months ago

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from what i've read from y'all plastic death seems to be an intentionally opaque album with a lot of layers and a lot to say and so much thought put into all the choices. i think that's so cool! but i just feel so ill equipped to parse most/any of it. i know you've mentioned there being queer themes but i feel like my queerness is getting me no closer to ~getting it~. also i'm just tired. how do i enjoy and appreciate this album and, like, music in general when i'm a fucking idiot?

if it feels like work for you you gotta chill… go listen to some punk or something direct, like, understanding music can be difficult but it should be fun as well. i’m not trying to frustrate people, and if it’s not connecting that’s all ok. maybe it will later. maybe something else will connect more. you’re not an idiot, music is not about showing how smart you are… and while peeling the layers can be rewarding there is no “answer” to find, it’s more what you can glean about yourself (and about me i suppose). also, queer experience is not universal, there are a multiplicity of queer experiences that not all of us relate to. god knows there’s a ton of queer music out there that does not speak to me remotely. the record is incredibly autobiographical and my queer experience is very weird and i am a huge nerd.

posted about it much elsewhere but this review has been the best deconstruction of the record so far, getting both into the ideas of power & the queer themes. might be a good jumping off point for unlocking it if you haven’t seen it:

youtube

#asks

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cdroloisms · 2 years ago

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fuck it. c!punz + c!dream manifesto bc what else am i going to do at university. study ? nahhh

the first thing i want to be clear about is that i like c!drunz. they’re a very important duo (they were explicitly paralleled with c!CLINGYDUO for god’s sake) and the point of this isn’t to diminish their importance to each other. i ALSO want to say that the point of this isn’t to be like, super aggressively /neg towards any one character (even tho i am, admittedly, a self-proclaimed c!drolo) or to demonize them. and finally, that this is just the way i see them, not necessarily the views of anyone else (though i’ve very much been inspired by talking to certain friends abt the Blorbos (tm) for obvious reasons.)

all of that out of the way, onto the c!dream and c!punzisms . i have no plan for this post it’s probably gonna be messy as fuck . but i think first and foremost it’s important to acknowledge that c!dream and c!punz, each are characters with their own goals. a lot of the finale is about c!dream’s side of this, especially in terms of how much he lost sight of what he actually wanted (and i still have to do a rewatch of the 3rd finale stream just to parse through ALL THE SHIT HE SAID bc jfc man . what.) and how a lot of what he wanted were a lot simpler than he allowed himself to realize.

but on the flip side of this, obviously, is c!punz. who also has his own motivations, and as is shown in the finale ... these motivations exist in a space that is . in a lot of ways. directly incompatible with what c!dream actually wants. c!punz is representative of The Plan. he calls the desires that c!dream and c!tommy share “simple-minded.” he wants to unlock the secrets of the universe just because he can.

(and it’s worth recognizing that c!dream’s initial reaction to the existence of supernatural powers beyond his understanding on the server was to freak the fuck out, to the point of the prison’s construction being EXPLICITLY as a result of said discovery. Does c!dream want to understand things in order to Fix Them? Certainly. but i would hardly characterize his initial response to the supenatural as being, uh, impassioned curiosity of the unknown, so to speak.)

c!punz has motivations that aren’t c!dream’s motivations. that’s ,, kind of the point of a lot of what was going on in that last finale stream! c!punz wants to Know Shit. he wants to elevate himself above simple-minded desires. he really,,, wasn’t convinced or swayed the same way dream was when tommy tried to get him to have a heart to heart, and actively discouraged him from continuing to talk about what he actually wanted. and again this isn’t to say that c!punz didn’t care or that he was trying to hurt c!dream or otherwise was trying to act in a way that was malicious towards him but all that still happened you know and speaks to a fundamental difference in the driving forces between these two characters. c!dream and c!punz are each characters with DESIRES and MOTIVES and they’re,, not always on the same page w/ regards to what said desires and motives actually are.

and, yk, it’s not to say that two characters with different motivations can’t work together or have a relationship that’s rendered completely impossible by their differing desires. but a lot of what defines c!dream and c!punz has a lot to do with c!punz As The Plan, which is significant when you consider how much of The Plan is about both outward and self-destruction for c!dream. this in itself doesn’t completely throw their relationship over a cliff, even if it’s a huge disparity that has a lot of implications when we consider how unaddressed it was by the characters until the last stream of the finale, where c!dream and c!punz are markedly NOT on the same page about what they want. but that kind of brings me to my other point of what’s...really important to c!drunz, at least to me. which is how it’s so often defined by inaction.

because, yeah, c!punz was always on c!dream’s side (except for that period of time in Pogtopia where he wasn’t, lol.) and yeah, c!punz was the one person he trusted with a lot of the details about his plan to Save The World and whatever. but also the separation between the two was so important that it was quite literally the cornerstone that ended up ensuring their joint survival; it was crucial post-staged finale that no one knew they were working together. c!punz started on c!dream’s side because he was a mercenary for hire. a degree of alienation has always been a part of their dynamic down to the finale, and is also an extremely IMPORTANT part of their dynamic if we consider c!dream’s silence to c!punz calling them friends.

i find the post-prison era to be most damning about this point in particular, but just look at staged finale in itself: one one hand, c!punz and c!dream were in on a plan to fool the entire server, which spoke a lot to the level of trust involved there. on the other hand, c!punz took a very active and physical role in literally locking c!dream up in his personal hell. c!ranboo took a more significant role after he was locked up than c!punz (which, like, again makes SENSE re. security. but. like. that absence still speaks volumes)--like c!punz as an enabler, c!punz as someone physically cut off from c!dream...that’s a pattern.

and again, when we look at the state of them after the prison, the absence is even more damning. c!punz specifically (even when considering c!dream’s obvious role in the planning) gets c!dream killed twice in staged finale and then you know, has him metaphorically killed when he’s put in the prison. and then AFTER the prison, we have three specific cases at the very least: c!punz’s signal in the scrapped lore is what ends with c!dream being trapped by both of his torturers, c!punz’s involvement in the Las Nevadas revenge plan nearly gets c!dream killed either by the slime army or if he was in c!purpled’s position at the top of that tower, and his running away from Las Nevadas is explicitly what allowed c!tommy to stalk him for weeks and end up breaking in and killing him. Not to mention how that ends up leading up to both of them getting trapped in the prison with a nuke about to come down over the server.

and obviously c!dream almost dying/literally dying in all of these post-prison scenarios isn’t Part Of The Plan or something that c!punz actually wants, right, but also...where was he? what did he do to prevent this from happening? c!dream was stalked for literal MONTHS after las nevadas and we see no mention of c!punz being around,,, at all? (we KNOW he wasn’t visibly around in any way considering c!tommy thought that c!punz was still on his side, even.) c!dream didn’t LEAVE the prison for weeks after LN and c!punz wasn’t around? this is with c!punz obviously knowing that c!dream was going to confront his TORTURER. and he wasn’t watching from the sidelines? like, forget c!tommy, c!sapnap found about c!dream’s place of residence IN JANUARY and was apparently still harassing him outside IN JUNE. people broke into that prison to threaten dream multiple times !! like ?

and god it’s not to say that c!punz didn’t care--his anger speaks for itself--but it’s important to acknowledge that that distance existed and was actively detrimental to c!dream’s safety. fuck, the ANGER in itself was detrimental to c!dream. c!punz’s defining characteristic according to the cc is his anger, when he’s not putting on a persona for the rest of the server,,, and this anger was doing c!dream no favors. we could see that in the finale. we could see that as he literally spent months upon months wasting away in the prison AFTER RECLAIMING THE KEYCARDS and apparently just spent all his fucking time in that place. we can see that when c!punz’s anger leads to c!dream confronting LN which ends up with him staying in the prison without moving for weeks on end, when c!punz’s anger leads to him reviving c!dream minutes after he dies in front of c!clingyduo which ends up leading to the events that prompt them to nuke the fucking server.

like, ultimately, c!dream and c!punz are characters that had each other and only each other in terms of people who knew the truth abt each other’s plans. they care about each other’s safety. they also have inherently incompatible individual motivations and were severely alienated from each other in ways that carried out throughout their relationship into the finale, and these differences are what defined finale c!dream and c!punz the way they ended up being. and yes, a lot of these decisions were exacerbated by the hostility of the environment they lived in and how being c!dream’s ally was a death sentence. yes, a lot of this has to do with the logical benefits of standing apart so that they could revive each other in case something went wrong. and yes, this has to do with c!dream’s being extremely fucking mentally ill and delusional from the beginning of when their partnership became more defined, after c!dream received the revive book, lost every other ally, and went on a paranoid spiral that ended up with him in pandora. but it’s the differences and the isolation that to me, make this pair in particular so compelling and IMPORTANT in canon.

#this is a mess but here. have the dr3 c!drunz manifesto #except it's super fucking scattered bc i was carrying like 3 different convos with friends at the same time #dreblr #c!dream #c!punz #c!stageduo #c!drunz #long post

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olessan · 1 month ago

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Very light Veilguard spoilers under the cut, up to meeting Bellara - my thoughts on one element of the writing (people reacting to circumstances) after watching the start of a playthrough:

So I can't play Veilguard for a while, am good with early-game and light spoilers, and therefore started watching a playthrough to see the opening few hours of the game.

There's one thread throughout the writing that's really stood out to me so far as a bit odd and it's very obvious when their elf rook meets Strife and Irelin and then Bellara.

Part of meeting Strife and Irelin.

Rook: But it didn't go as cleanly as we hoped. Solas got pulled into the Fade, and two somethings got pulled out. Or someones, I mean. Two of the Evanuris. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Irelin: Mythal'enaste... Strife: The elven gods of old. The Evanuris. Irelin: If they truly have returned... Strife: Then things just got a whole lot worse . Rook: (stern) So Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are loose. Which means what? Strife: You thought Solas was bad? He's a bit of a bastard, true. But next to them? Let's just say they weren't known for their kindness. Irelin: There's a reason Solas led a rebellion against the Evanuris. And a reason he imprisoned them. Strife: But now they've escaped... [conversation moves on]

Bellara's intro scene.

Rook: Our gods, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain? They've escaped from Fen'Harel's prison. And by all accounts, they want to destroy the world. Bellara: Oh. Yes. That is very much for the worse. Okay. Right. I need a second. Rook: (humorous) I've had a couple of days, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Bellara: It does sort of explain a few things, though. [conversation moves on to the problem at hand]

Maybe it's just me, but it feels like everyone's under-reacting to the emerging crisis.

I can buy the rest of the gang not fully parsing the situation yet, such as Neve not believing Solas is An Actual Elven God™, and understand Strife and Irelin having reached acceptance of Solas being The™ Fen'Harel™ given they've had time to come to terms with that... But!!

The Evanuris prison has been ripped open! Solas opened the veil again (temporarily)! TWO OF THE EVANURIS ARE ROAMING THEDAS! Why is no one freaking out about this!?

Rook tells Strife and Irelin that literal Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have escaped their ancient prisons and are on Thedas. Their reaction, fully familiar with the legends, is not "OH NO! FUQ! THIS IS A HORRIFIC EMERGENCY OF MYTHICAL PROPORTIONS!", it's "oh no, this is dangerous and inconvenient."

Especially with the comparison with Solas, it's the sort of reaction you'd expect from, I don't know, a new manager at your job making a decision everyone knows is going to backfire.

When Rook breaks the news to Bellara, she reacts the same way. It's not "HOLY SHIT! I'm glad I have skills I can apply to this to help! This is catastrophic!", it's "Oh, that sucks," and even considering the humour option, Rook is dismissing it the most out of everyone. It takes more than a couple of days with a concussion to come to terms with ancient gods returning.

"they escaped the prison they were in, and they want to destroy the world". Guys. Come on. Why are you calm about this? Where's the panic? Not even a sense of measured alarm?

Many people still consider the elven gods to be a myth, and not at all real. There have got to be several stages of horror and realisation that comes from learning about Solas, that Solas is The Dread Wolf™, and that he then went on to (accidentally, thanks Rook) release not only two of the Evanuris from their ancient captivity, but arguably the two worst ones: Captain Angry and Experiment Lady.

This is a common problem with games, and is in part due to the need to deliver the important parts of the narrative clearly, but I don't know, it just feels like they pass over these facts of their situation like this isn't quickly turning into a cataclysmic event.

They can be focused and on-task and still be thoroughly freaked out by it, but they don't come across that way. They're treating this like your average mercenary job or something.

It probably improves later on, but I would've expected their reactions to be a bit more energetic or dire, something like this:

Rook: But it didn't go as cleanly as we hoped. Solas got pulled into the Fade, and two somethings got pulled out. Or someones, I mean. Two of the Evanuris. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Irelin: Mythal'enaste! Strife: Are you certain it was them? Solas is bad enough, but even one of the other Evanuris would be disastrous. We can't waste time. Irelin: There's a reason Solas led a rebellion against the Evanuris. And a reason he imprisoned them. They could tear the world apart. Strife: If they've escaped... well, little is worse than that.

---

Rook: Our gods, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain? They've escaped from Fen'Harel's prison. And by all accounts, they want to destroy the world. Bellara: What?! How is that possible?! They've been imprisoned for thousands of years, how could they have gotten out? Rook: Solas let them out. Bellara: He what?! That might explain some things here, but... do you realise what this means? Thedas is doomed if we don't do something, not just Arlathan forest.

Side note, my planned elf, archaeology/history nerd Rook is so going to be Bellara's bestie.

#idk just a little bit of rambling bc I feel like there should be more urgency in this particular thing?#Like it's fine but it would help the narrative a LOT if everyone was a bit more panicked #dragon age #veilguard #veilguard spoilers #dragon age veilguard #ghilan'nain #elgar'nan #solas #fen'harel #bellara lutare #strife #irelin #olessan oration

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stephsageek · 2 months ago

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What projects do you have lined up right now?

I'm glad you asked! Irl, I'm a very busy girl, so there will be times when I can only spare an hour or two to brainstorm, outline, write, and edit. Tough with ADHD 😅 but I AM currently chipping away at "He Sleeps with the Fishes: The Hoffa Job," the latest installment of my ongoing Five x Lila AU. If you like action-packed comedy hijinks and have a love for history-- this is the series for you!

I'll post under the cut what I have written so far (there is no Five and Lila, but for readers worried about our intrepid FBI agents-- this will be a treat! It also features a sneak peak of the next story in the series, "A Killer From A World Filled with Killers: The Kennedy Job"):

Agent Bill Reynolds found himself blinking.

His vision was totally filled with a brilliant white light. The light was blinding, a physical, all-consuming thing. Kaleidoscopic prisms cascaded across his vision. For a brief delirious moment, he felt far from his body, an airy nothingness that made the light all that existed. He hung momentarily, suspended.

Jesus fucking Christ. Am I dead?

He couldn’t seem to move, too stunned to even try. He couldn’t hear anything, besides a persistent ringing in his ears, and a steady rhythmic noise, hidden underneath.

Bill could not seem to parse its origin. It seemed to come from all directions at once.

Slowly, the sound became clearer.

It was a voice, calling, over and over.

The word it kept repeating was garbled, a nonsensical bleating noise like the yelp of an animal.

It was like hearing a language you don’t understand, the tone conveying concern, but what it meant hung at the edges of his understanding, just out of reach.

Was it a siren? An alarm?

“—ill! Bill! Bill!”

Agent Bill Reynolds gasped as his blinked into the bright afternoon sunlight, no longer ‘dead,’ but lying suppine on the side of the road, just beside his damaged Federally issued vehicle, his young partner on his knees beside him, trying his best not to have a panic attack.

The noise was his name. The ringing was probably a concussion.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the light that burnt his retinas, melting his eyes into puddles of goo within his eye sockets.

“Bill! Bill, God damnit, answer me!”

Bill felt frantic movement beside him, the voice growing clearer and more familiar.

“Stevie?” he groans, realizing all at once that he cannot possibly be dead—being dead wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

Everything ached and Bill belatedly realized that his back was damp. He prayed it isn’t blood, but he doesn’t think it is. This feels cold and he knows the sickly warmth of his blood. He flexes his fingers into fists experimentally and comes away with blades of grass.

That’s good. If I can feel that it must mean I’m not paralyzed.

He tries flexing his toes for good measure and finds them responsive inside his shoes. Bill squeezes his eyes shut as a shadow falls over him. Even behind his eyelids, the added shade is a blessing.

“Yes! Jesus, I thought—”

Bill opens his eyes to find his partner’s face above him. Stevie is bleeding from his forehead, the streak of red running nearly into the corner of one of his eyes. His glasses are gone and Bill blinks as he realizes he’d never seen the kid without them before.

Bill groans as he tries to sit up. “Whoa! Wait—no! Y-you shouldn’t do that!” Stevie rambles, his hands hovering near him.

Bill puts a hand to his head and squeezes his eyes shut once more, trying desperately to will away the sudden feeling of vertigo and nausea.

“What—what the hell happened?” he hisses, his hand going to the back of his head to check for any blood. His head is throbbing, but his hand comes away clean.

“W-w-well, we-we crashed,” Stevie feebly explains, rubbing his neck and lowering his eyes like a chastised schoolboy.

“No shit, Stevie!” Bill snapped, the movement of turning to tell his partner off, making his neck strain. He winced and closed his eyes again. “The broad! What the hell happened with the broad!?” he barks, his eyes still held firmly shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Brooks swallows, nodding, because, yeah, that was a pretty dumb thing to say.

“S-sh-she must have used her cuffs—”

“—I remember that part,” Bill sighed. “That damn slippery bitch pulled one over on us. God damn, rookie mistake!” Bill growled. It was always risky when a perp was cuffed with their hands in front of them, but in the middle of a car chase, neither agent had much of a chance to re-cuff her. “Did you see what happened to her!?” he demanded.

He felt a slight pang of guilt as he watched Stevie flinch at his tone. Bill sagged as watched his partner tremble, likely still feeling the effects of the accident. Just behind Stevie’s tangled mess of blond hair, Bill could make out that the noise that he had originally mistaken for a siren, was, in fact, a siren—there was an ambulance pulling along the embankment they had landed in, followed by what looked like several unmarked cars.

Bill frowned at the black cars, a feeling of foreboding settling like a stone in his gut.

He didn’t recognize those cars, nor the men that exited them.

“W-we hit the e-embankment a-and that-that slowed us down enough that the crash wasn’t s-so bad!” Stevie stuttered out, momentarily distracting Bill from the sight of men in dark sun glasses, dark suits, and even darker expressions. “W-we hit the tree though. I-I opened my eyes and realized that s-sh-she was gone! B-but you were unconscious Bill!” Stevie implored, his voice growing more confident, his expression resolute. “I wasn’t about to go pursue an escaped assailant while my partner was injured! I had no idea if she was armed or not, but I highly suspect so, since I found our trunk opened and all of the items, we confiscated from her gone!”

Bill felt his eyebrows climb toward his hairline at the conviction in his young partner’s voice. Bill felt himself smile crookedly.

Just as he opened his mouth to praise the kid for his judgment and his sticking to his guns that said judgment was sound, a man’s voice cut through the air between them at the same time as several paramedics ran toward them, one of them a dark-skinned Asian woman shouting orders as she hurriedly began to pull things from her pockets.

“Gentlemen—”

“Sirs! I need you to stay where you are—!”

Bill tried to address both parties, but the man began to speak with an air of authority once again.

“—Special Agent Gregory Mahn,” the stranger thrust an ID toward Brooks and Reynold, both too stunned to react. The man had pale, almost sallow skin, his short hair graying at the temples. The other two men who followed him looked eerily similar, though each had a different hair color.

Bill felt himself growl deep in his chest, even as the paramedics fluttered around him and his partner, checking their vitals and shifting them to assess their injuries, giving them polite but direct commands.

“What exactly is the meaning of this Age—” Bill tried to question, only to be cut off.

“This operation is now under my personal jurisdiction, under an executive order by—”

“Like hell are you spooks coming into our operation—!” Bill roared only for one of the paramedics to sharply order him to remain still.

“My orders come from up top, gentlemen,” Mahn smirked, his smile revealing yellowed teeth. “There have been very concerning reports that this operation has gone wildly out of control. Not to mention that there has been word of extremely suspicious even—”

“This is horseshit! We are in the middle of a months long operation that could put some of the worst criminals within the Detroit Partnership behind—” Bill shouted, his face purpling in rage. An EMT yelped as her stethoscope was nearly knocked from her hands as Bill wildly gesticulated.

Brooks sputtered indignantly beside his partner, finally gathering enough courage to interject. “Y-yo-you can’t do this! This is an officially sanctioned operation in league with the Federal Bureau of Investigations special un—”

“I just spoke with your superiors Agent Reynolds and Brooks. You have been ordered to report to local headquarters in Detroit effective immediately.”

Both men stared, mouths hanging open.

Agent Mahn continued to simper before he reached into his trench coat pocket and produced something. “I just need you to take a look at this photograph, gentlemen.”

Brooks and Reynold squinted at the grainy black and white photo before them. It featured a man in a suit, carrying a briefcase in each hand. He appeared to be mid-stride, the blur indicating that he was walking quickly. He wore a suit and a hat. A woman with darker skin and a suit walked purposely beside him.

Brooks didn’t have to look beside him to see the color drawn from Stevie’s face. Bill swallowed.

“I believe these are the perpetrators you were pursuing, correct?” Mahn pushed, his expression unreadable behind his dark glasses that he had yet to remove.

Beside Mahn, another agent thrust another picture toward them.

Bill frowned.

The picture appeared to be another black-and-white photograph, taken of the same alley that had been the backdrop for the pair of strangers.

Only this one was of a young boy, complete with a schoolboy uniform. The boy was young, slight, and dark-haired.

The hell?

Bill opened his mouth to respond once he squinted at the photo. There was something familiar about the brick walls and surrounding buildings. Something that nagged at Bill's memory.

Bill’s eyes widen in sudden fierce realization.

This was the alley just outside the Texas School Book Depository.

It wasn't just a big case.

It was the big case.

He remembered it clearly as he had been assigned to gather any evidence that might have been left behind there. He remembers the exact spot where he’d found a discard casing from an Italian Carcano M91/38 bolt-action rifle that had fallen just beneath a dumpster.

“What the hell are you doing investigating this?!” he hissed, causing Brooks to blink at his tone.

“Bill…wha-what is—?” Brooks stuttered, his voice reedy.

Bill carried on as if his partner had said nothing.

“What do these two have and a kid got to do with the goddamn Kennedy assassination!?”

#thanks anon!#asks #tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #lila pitts #my fanfiction #tua fanfic #five x lila #five x lila fanfic #He Sleeps with the Fishes #jimmy hoffa #this chapter takes the story in a whole new direction guys

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