#He chose the most explicitly intentional wound?????

[kyouka-supremacy]

Please I need to know how Mori made a slitted throat look like a natural death. Please

[dingoat]

[So, @cinlat has been dabbling in a Sith au for her Fynta, with cameo slots available for various other characters to come hang out. And just the little bit of contemplation we had about where Ahuska might slot into this particular version of events, I wound up inspired enough to dabble with a scene! So welcome to an Ahuska who still wound up adopted into Mandalorian life, but has not forgotten/repressed her early years. Rather than their usual easy friendship, she and Fynta wind up butting heads more often than not and bumping into one another more than either would like. Apologies if I’ve gotten Fynta totally wrong, I will put up a disclaimer that I’m throwing this out here without any sort of proofing from Cinlat so she gets the final call as to the authenticity of this scene! I’ve also borrowed @askshivanulegacy’s Blakk for the ride, I think I needed a little cathartic fluff to counterbalance all the fluff-gone-wrong happening elsewhere hahahaha.]

‘Not on My Watch’ 

“I don’t know why you won’t just let me take a speeder…”

Ahuska lifted a hand to cut him off, raising a finger and shaking her head with a smile. It was no secret that the young bothan was soft for this particular Imperial Agent, even if her clanmates were quick to remind her that no self respecting human Kaas citizen would pursue anything more than a functional work relationship with her, a rudderless, stable-working alien. 

She chose not to listen to what her clanmates had to say.

“Because a speeder won’t pull back when it feels the ice getting too thin or warn you when you cross a wampa’s path, that’s why.”

Cipher Blakk rolled his eyes and pulled the zipper of his insulated parka higher, but it still wasn’t enough to keep his face properly protected from the frankly absurd level of chill. “It’s not as though I plan to park on an ice sheet…”

“Uh huh, and you’ll know exactly what’s under the two inch layer of snow that’s just fallen…”

He huffed, and she laughed, opening the stall door against which she was leaning to lead out the young tauntaun buck she already had saddled and haltered. “Quit fretting. Thunder here is a solid ride and a soft touch, he won’t give you any problems, and I’d trust him over any autopilot to get you safely back to base if something goes wrong.” Blakk felt some unexpected warmth rise in his cheeks, and while he wondered for the thousandth time why she cared so much that he got back safely, the buck lowered his head to snuffle through Ahuska’s hair. She raised a hand to give the tauntaun a firm rub on the cheek and horn. “Yeah, you’re a good boy aren’t you? You’ll be good for the Empire’s elite, won’t you? Won’t you my good soft woolly buddy…”

Ahuska’s ears flicked at the same moment as Thunder’s twitched, and a heartbeat later Blakk’s head turned as well, hearing the heavy rasp of an iron gate lifting. 

Ahuska had been stationed on the remote Hoth outpost for the last month and a half, more than enough time to get to know the sound of every latch and door in the stables, and the animals that spent their lives here knew them even better. Her sky blue eyes turned to ice as she squinted, staring down into the lower level. “Who… oh.”

Her lips turned to a tight, flat line as she recognised the figure down below, and the coolness in her expression was enough to prompt Blakk to lift a brow. “Ahh, is something the matter…?”

“We’ll see. What is she… oh, oh no, no no no…”

The Cipher suddenly found himself with a set of reins thrust into his hands, with Ahuska taking the liberty of closing his fingers around them and squeezing tight. “What… what are you…?”

“Hold him. Hold him tight and don’t let go for a second, distract him with this if you can…” She shoved a pinkish rock of some sort toward him, and with his hands full he was forced to stoop and hold it under his chin, expression nothing short of bewildered.

“I don’t… oh, gods no,” Blakk had the profound discomfort of realising then that it was a block of salt, as Thunder pressed forward with an eager little warble and began to lick at it. He made a tiny sound of dismay. “Ahuska…!”

But she was already gone, not even sticking around to have a snigger at his predicament, darting down the stairwell rather than waiting on one of the stocklifts. “Oi! Oi, di’kut, what’n Kad’s name do you think you’re doing---!!”

The object of Ahuska’s anger turned, unnaturally blue eyes flashing with irritation, and then immediately turned back to the stall door she’d been about to open.

“Don’t you dare touch that! Who the hell authorized you to be down here and what the shab d’you think you’re doing opening straight up into the yards?” Rather than heading straight toward the Sith, Ahuska veered to the far wall where a harsh wind blustered through the now gaping entry to the outdoor paddocks, and slammed her fist against a set of controls.

“This animal is… Shen-Four-Seven, isn’t it?” Fynta Wolfe, Assassin for Sith Intelligence and Infiltration, glared at the Bothan stablekeep who stood firm in the gateway, as though she could somehow block her passage while the heavy gate groaned back shut. She cut a strong silhouette against the glaring white world outside, framed with reflected light and fluttering snowflakes.

“Star, yeah, that’s her.” Ahuska’s tone was curt. She didn’t enjoy dealing with Fynta any more than she explicitly had to. Never mind that the Sith knew far more about her than Ahuska was comfortable with, but the fact that Fynta thought she could just slip on some beskar and mingle amongst the clans as though she weren’t an out-and-out Sith grated at her terribly. The nerves struck were just… a little too close to home.

“Then she’s the one I’ve been assigned while I’m on duty here. And since I’m not here to take riding lessons, I don’t see why I need to answer to you of all people, stablekeep.”

Ahuska bristled as the steel gate locked shut behind her, putting an abrupt halt to the chill wind. “Maybe ‘cause every last one of these animals has been assigned to me while I’m on duty here, and I don’t give a damn if you’re the Emperor himself, you don’t take one outside without my say-so. Not a taun, not a vulp, not a gods-damned arctic womp-weasel! So you can take your fingers off that latch and let me do my job, or you can deal with the shab’la stampede you’re about to let loose. It’s stable master, by the way.”

Fynta knew Ahuska wasn’t the type to lie for the sake of a power trip. The bothan’s conviction and ferocity at this moment was enough to give her pause and slowly arch a brow, though her tone was flat and unconvinced. “Stampede. You mean the whole three out in the main yard.”

“Mmm.” Ahuska’s tone was equally flat, but there was something smug about the way she lifted her chin and stared down the bridge of her muzzle toward the Sith. “Those three first, if Thunder up on the balcony doesn’t fling himself over to beat them to it.” She gestured upward and over her shoulder with a thumb, toward where Blakk diligently kept a firm but wary hold of the tauntaun buck Ahuska had left in his care. The agent swiftly averted his gaze when he realised attention had momentarily turned his way. “Then the seven in the exercise yards ‘cause let’s face it, those fences aren’t gonna stop a buck in rut, and maybe the dozen in the outer…”

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse what?”

“A buck in rut?”

“I said what I said. I know it doesn’t look much like the seasons change here on Hoth, but believe me, there are seasons, and we’re in the thick of one right now. Your little Star there…” Ahuska dipped her head toward the stall door that Fynta remained precariously close to opening, though to her credit her fingers were looser on the handle than they had been moments before. “Is a very, very appealing little lady at the moment. She gets lead out through the back to be worked in the yards on the south ridge or not at all, and when she’s being groomed and treated in here this gate…” She slapped the metal surface behind her with the back of her hand. “Stays shut! I wouldn’t even recommend her for a mission today or tomorrow unless you were absolutely certain of no wild herds en route and let’s face it, you can never be certain of that…”

Fynta hadn’t exactly paled, but she was definitely looking less confident about taking her assigned mount out onto the slopes.  She found herself feeling unwittingly grateful that the blasted bothan had been here to intercept her, and then an equal measure of furious at herself for feeling grateful at all. “Alright, alright, fierfek, just get me a more suitable animal ready as soon as you can, I’ve wasted enough time here already…”

“Of course, my Lord,” Ahuska’s grin was far too toothy, her flourished salute and bow far too exaggerated to be genuine. She enjoyed watching Fynta bite back her seething a little too much. “And let me know what shebs-for-brains gave you Star to begin with so I can have some words.”

“I’ll try to find out,” Fynta lied. No way in hell was she going to let Ahuska know that, in a bid to get herself in and out of Hoth as swiftly as possible, she might have forged a signature or two on a requisition document here and there, and arbitrarily assigned the tauntaun to herself. She straightened, stepping away from the stall, and stared Ahuska squarely in the eye. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”

She didn’t give Ahuska the opportunity to respond, making her way smartly off down a corridor. The bothan might come across as meek as a runt nerf calf most of the time, but Force be damned if she didn’t find a spine and a half where her animals were concerned. Fynta couldn’t decide whether she was impressed or irritated, and just found herself hoping that Ahuska would be able to find the same amount of backbone if anyone ever pressed her about matters that remained better left unspoken.

She really didn’t want to see another decent Mandalorian having their arm twisted into Imperial service.

Ahuska, meanwhile, had every intention of keeping Fynta waiting; she had another Agent of the Empire to finish dealing with first, and she wasn’t going to rush seeing Blakk and Thunder off soundly for the sake of a single agitated Sith. Her hackles were already smooth and the set of her ears fully relaxed by the time she made it back to the upper level, though the way Blakk’s wide-eyed gaze settled on her when she flashed him a grin threatened to dishevel her all over again.

“Didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”

“No, you were great- I mean he, he was great. Thunder was… great. Perfect. No trouble.”

Ahuska might have plenty of backbone when it mattered, but that didn’t stop certain moments making her utterly weak. She coughed into her hand, glancing aside as she took back the reins and returned the remains of the salt lick to her pocket. “Ahh, uh, right, good. Good! Where have you got your gear then? Better get him all loaded up for you.”

---

[And now a bonus for everyone who got this far, hahaha, have some zipped up Hoth geared little Imperials. Ahuska thinks they’re both ridiculous for complaining so much about the cold.]

[mephistagain]

Everything, or Nothing At All

Hello good, sweet, kind, wonderful friends who follow Flawed by Design.

Here is an epilogue which will not appear in the actual story, but which I*gleefully embraced and ran, ran so far away*toyed with the idea of at one point a few months ago. 

If you’d prefer to wait for me to finish FbD prior to reading any spoilerish content, abort reading now.

John parked the warthog in the usual spot at the edge of the redwoods. He retrieved his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and hauled the camo tarp atop the vehicle so that it didn’t stand out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the verdant mountainside. Then he turned and started into the forest. The trek generally took him two hours, and while the warthog could handle the terrain for part of the way, he preferred the solitude of travelling on foot. 

Briar had also complained on the one occasion he had driven closer that the approach had been about as inconspicuous as he was - which was evidently not very, he’d been given to understand. 

The hike gave him time to clear his head of the latest sim test results, the monotony of base life, and the lingering impotency of being involuntarily removed from active duty. He was still a highly functioning tactical asset, so while he understood the decision as it had been explained to him by Brass as a matter of PR, he didn’t like it. Linda didn’t either, but she never complained. Unsurprisingly, Fred and Kelly were transitioning from life in the field with the most ease. They were anticipating instructional appointments as an opportunity to guide and shape the next generation of Spartan-IVs. 

Not him.

Pausing, John examined the trunk of one of the towering trees - more specifically the scarred markings some animal’s claws had torn into its bark. She’d informed him when he’d last left that there was a cougar lurking in the area. He continued on, the familiar weight of the M6H2 strapped to his thigh precluding any concerns about crossing paths with the predator. The territorial scorings didn’t appear recent, sap had already wept over the abrasions and hardened, but he still recentred his focus. Which wasn’t easily done as he tallied up just how long it’d been since he’d last left base. 

An unfamiliar weight settled in his gut, but he knew it for what it was - guilt. Seven weeks was not inconsiderable. And while it hadn’t been his intention to avoid returning, neither had he sought rec time or leave in order to do so. Hadn’t even given it much thought between the day in, day out routine trials Blue team had been selected to participate in for the Gen3 MJOLNIR platform.

He now had to wonder if that had been subconsciously purposeful because of his conflicted feelings over the pregnancy. Briar had encouraged him to seek the input of Fred, Linda, and Kelly, and yet he’d not done that either. Not even when Fred had noted that he was behaving more introvertedly than was characteristic of him. The reason for that, at least, was logical. As Blue team’s leader, undermining the others’ confidence in him by requisitioning advice on a subject none of them were more likely to have experience with than he did was irrational. Fred and Kelly may be more sociable than he was, but he doubted they were concealing clandestine children out there in the systems somewhere. The thought nearly made him snort, in fact. 

The elevation increase and time elapsed since he’d set out from the warthog suggested he was better than halfway there now. 

Would she be displeased with him? He hadn’t gotten the sense his initial reaction had caused her to be so. If anything, she’d seemed as uncertain about the development as he’d been. She hadn’t questioned him when he’d prepared to head back to base earlier than planned. Just requested that he speak with his fellow Spartan-IIs. 

The issue stemmed from the fact John had never factored children into his future. He’d factored another few decades of service in. But not much beyond that. And now, here he was; forced into semi-retirement for all intents and purposes, and staring fatherhood down the barrel. What that even involved, he couldn’t begin to fathom. His memories of his own childhood were so watered down and repressed that it took a Herculean effort just to recall that he’d possessed one at some distant point in the past. He would have a duty to protect the child, that much was obvious. And provide for it - though with the healthy settlement he’d been saddled with as compensation from the UNSC, there should prove no barrier to that. 

What would life for a child born to two Spartans even look like? It had never been explicitly expressed, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind they’d never been expected to produce offspring. And while the inquisition into Orion and the subsequent Spartan programs had clued up, and public perception had shifted dramatically in light of its innumerable findings, it still didn’t feel as though society was prepared for Spartans to fully re-integrate. At least, not IIs and IIIs. The IVs had been regular enlisted before being recruited into their program. They’d led normal lives. Had families. No so for his and Briar’s generation. Despite having been stationed there for six months now, Blue team still received a variety of conspicuous reactions from the base’s other personnel as they went about their assigned duties. He ignored them, but the relief of leaving it all behind when he drove past the last checkpoint and the wild landscape opened up before the warthog had been palpable. 

The fact he looked forward to Briar’s company wasn’t the enigmatic response it had initially presented as to him any longer. With her, he was just John. And whatever that entailed, she took in stride. No expectations. 

He smelled it before he saw it. The copper tang of blood hung heavy in the air as he approached the clearing the cottage occupied on the ridge. Through the foliage, tawny hide could be glimpsed. Brandishing his sidearm, he strained his honed senses for further signs of intrusion as he stalked in towards his quarry. Within twenty metres, John could detect the error in his assessment. The once-predator’s pelt hung from a make-shift frame of pliable branches, stretched out wide in a curious display of victory. So, she’d taken care of the cougar. Bypassing the trophy, he was returning the magnum to its holster when he noted the smear on the doorframe. Briar wasn’t as fastidiously tidy and organized as he was wont to be, but a bloody handprint seemed grisly even for her to disregard cleaning up. 

John glanced back to the hide. The dark stain from blood which had pooled beneath it seemed to indicate it’d been hung there for some time. Hours, probably. His attention returned to the smeared handprint. Was it possibly not the result of the animal’s blood, but her own? Had she been injured?

“Briar?” he called not without apprehension as he pushed through the door and inside. Crimson droplets led directly across the rustic floorboards towards the lav. His heart rate kicked up a notch. She hadn’t responded. Dropping the pack with a thud, he stepped over the trail as he strode to the open doorway. No light spilled out, so he wasn’t surprised not to find her within, but the open med kit, mess of bandaging supplies, and blood ringing the sink did alarm him more than he cared to admit. She’d treated herself for whatever wound she’d received, he reasoned with himself. Everything was likely fine. 

Noise outside pulled John away from the chaos which had been unleashed in the lav. He re-emerged from the cottage just as Briar was latching the door on the small tool shed he’d insisted they erect during his last visit, to remove the clutter of equipment from the limited space offered in the main living structure. 

She looked about as bewildered by his presence as he felt about the scene he’d witnessed upon arrival, but as usual, recovered first. “Could have used your help earlier,” she commented while wiping her dirty hands on her already soiled pants. A combination of blood and grime interrupted their dark green camo patterning. 

“With the cougar?” he surmised, having paused just outside the door.

“With burying it.”

That explained the mud, anyway. “Are you alright?” She appeared whole, but the med kit had been rummaged through for a purpose. Her black t-shirt revealed a few shallow lacerations on her arms, but none of them were bandaged.

Briar shrugged, or began to, though the motion was cut short by a grimace. “It got the jump on me, nothing serious.” She lingered by the shed, her gaze having shifted to the hide. “Should have driven it off a while ago.” It didn’t seem a conscious action, but one of her hands drifted briefly to her abdomen before falling back to her side.

It hit him with the sheer, unrestrained force of a NOVA. She’d been in danger - the child she carried, his child, had been in danger - and he hadn’t even known. No matter his uncertainty, the overwhelming and fierce instinct to protect that precious unborn life consumed him with an abruptness he’d never before experienced in his 48 years. He didn’t know what to expect from fatherhood, but the fear of having that opportunity snatched away by variables outside his control was perhaps the realest he’d ever known. 

She was eying him pensively as he closed the distance between them. Dark strands of hair had escaped her braid and smudges on her cheek and temple implied she’d probably been pushing the loose locks out of her eyes. He reached up to do so for her now after she’d unsuccessfully attempted to blow them out of her line of sight. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking, or should I stand here waiting like an idiot for you to say something for another ten minutes first?”

“I’m thinking that cougar chose its prey unwisely.” 

She rolled her eyes, but they then shot down to where his hand had come to rest over her stomach before she could reply. 

“And that I shouldn’t have waited so long to come back,” he supplied with regret. Not only did he now comprehend how cowardly it had been, even if it shamed him to ascribe such a trait to himself, it had nearly cost him more than he’d at first understood. 

Briar was regarding him with an unreadable expression. She hadn’t stepped back, but neither did she seem particularly welcoming of his proximity. What must she have thought of him as the weeks had stretched on in his absence? “I knew you would,” she said after some time. “Eventually.” It didn’t sound as though that certainty had reassured her much, it was more of a statement of fact.

“I didn’t speak to the others about it.” She deserved to know he’d disregarded her request along with leaving her out here alone without explanation.

“John-”

“But I’m going to. When I go back.”

“It was just a suggestion-”

“What were the bandages for?” he cut her off, having already made up his mind on the matter. Blue team might not be able to offer parenting advice, but they would give him their honest assessment of the situation. And since the added responsibility could potentially affect his performance as team leader, they needed to be aware of that. 

Sighing, she turned around and lifted her shirt to reveal the gauze padding haphazardly taped to her back. Blood had already seeped through several wads, suggesting the wounds they covered were deeper than those on her arms. “I’m going to clean up the shitstorm in there, I just wanted to deal with that asshole before dark,” she said while shooting the pelt a miffed glare and dropping her shirt again. 

“So you decided to skin it.”

“Only after it tried to eat me.” 

John took her by the arm to gently propel her inside. Fortunately, she didn’t resist. In the lav, he again turned her so that she faced the opposite direction and pulled the t-shirt up and over her head, prompting her to lift her arms in the process. Then he began the painstaking process of peeling the medical tape off, doing so slowly so as not to aggravate the injuries beneath. 

All of this, Briar endured cooperatively in silence. Even when he applied the biogel, which he knew from plenty of personal experience, stung owing to its antiseptic component. Once he’d reapplied the bandaging in plush squares, he returned the supplies to the med kit and rinsed out the sink. 

She was still standing in the same spot, shirt held in one hand as she faced the shower unit. Her posture didn’t point towards being receptive to physical contact, so he leaned against the doorframe to give her some space.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking… if this isn’t something you want to go through with, I understand.”

The sudden remark set him on edge almost as swiftly as the cougar pelt had. “Explain,” he prompted her when no further information was offered. 

“Explain what - that neither one of us would have any clue how to raise a kid?” She was shaking her head and he knew without needing her to say more exactly where her doubts stemmed from. She’d confessed before to having no memory of her parents, and his own were vague impressions in the few flashbacks he’d experienced over the years.

“I want to try.”

When she turned around finally, she was frowning. “It’s not something you ‘try’, John. There are no trial runs. No sims. You can’t fuck it up, you don’t get to reset to alpha position.”

Jaw setting with determination, he pushed away from the doorway. “Then we don’t fail.” They’d been forged with a will to succeed at all costs as ingrained as the fundamental functions of breathing, eating, or sleeping. 

“And we’re going to base it off of what? How Mendez treated us? The other drill instructors? AIs?” Briar moved to bypass him, but he prevented her by blocking her path. It wasn’t difficult in the confined space. “I won’t be responsible for screwing some kid up as badly as we were.”

“Some kid?” John repeated, chest tightening at the description of the child even now developing in her womb. He searched her features for some sign she held no attachment whatsoever to the new life they’d inadvertently created. All he saw was diffidence and frustration. This time when she tried to squeeze past, he caged her in against the cabinet the sink was built into, an arm to either side to keep her there. “I see you,” he told her, voice even despite his own inner turmoil. He couldn’t pressure her into a role she wasn’t prepared to undertake. Even if he’d come to the conclusion it was what he wanted. One of the few things he’d ever wanted - not because it was a duty he’d been trained and groomed to carry out, but because it was one he desired the privilege of fulfilling.

Dropping her gaze, she balled up the shirt. Her shoulders rose and fell with shallow breaths, another indication of her state of agitation. 

It wasn’t something that came naturally to him, but he brought one hand up to cup her face nonetheless, offering her the comfort he perceived she required in that moment. He still recalled the light and foreign touch of her own fingers upon his cheek in ‘Vadam’s keep. It’d been the first time anyone other than Fred, Kelly, Sam, or Linda had laid a hand on him for a purpose other than addressing an injury, delivering punishment, or examining his MJOLNIR since he’d been conscripted into the Spartan program. She’d advised him not to analyze it, but that’d proven impossible when, from that moment forth, a steadily growing part of him he hadn’t previously known existed had craved that contact. Expressing that hadn’t been something he’d been aware of how to do, or even whether he should do. 

“What’s going on in there?” she asked quietly.

Chagrined to have lost focus, his brow furrowed. He ran his thumb over the dirt smudged across her cheekbone, but it didn’t remove the blemish. Neither did it diminish her appeal, however. “Thinking,” he answered. “About you.” About how much had changed for him in the time they’d known each other, none of it anything he could have ever predicted.

She was waiting for him to elaborate, he could tell.

“And about being something other than a Spartan.” Something more. Something he chose. “But only if it’s what you want.” 

Her lips grazed his palm as she turned her head. She pressed a kiss there. “I want you.” Rising up onto the balls of her feet, she gripped his shoulders, the t-shirt slipping to the floor. “I want everything. With you. And it scares me, John.” And he could see it in her eyes. That terror. The fear of daring to want something. 

Carefully drawing her in close with an arm around the small of her back, which hadn’t sustained any gouges, John held her gaze. “Someone told me being human can be like that.” He was expecting physical repercussions for the cheeky reminder, namely a punch, but gladly obliged when Briar instead tugged on his tags. Lowering his head, he released a pained grunt when her mouth only briefly met his before she captured his lower lip between her teeth. 

“Smartass,” she scolded him with relish and then kissed him - properly this time. 

[airgetlamhh]

Thoughts on Lostbelt 2

Longpost ahead.

So.

Lostbelt 2. Finally played it after so long, and this will contain spoilers.

To make sure everyone knows what they’re getting into, I’ll give the thesis statement right here: Lostbelt 2 is bad. 

The entire time I played through the story, I kept waiting for it to pick up. I kept waiting for it to shrug off the poor pacing, the deus ex machinas, the random things just happening for the convenience of the plot. I kept waiting for it to shrug off the poor characterization, the constant telling instead of showing, the moral myopia. It never did. 

From nearly the very start to finish, Lostbelt 2 is bad. 

We start off fairly fine! A desperate ploy to sneak through the Lostbelt to meet up with the allies we’ve learned about, the Wandering Sea, interrupted by a Lostbelt Servant attacking us with the intent of stealing the Paper Moon that allows us to perform Zero Sails. All of that is a decent setup!

And then we’re told how strong this Saber is. How incredible they are. How their swordplay surpasses anything else they’ve ever seen, how they desperately wish that Musashi was there, how no no, he didn’t use his sword, he only parried! Things that Sherlock Holmes observes, not Mashu, not the one who’s actually been fighting for two years now, so Mashu seems borderline useless. Holmes figures out it’s Sigurd because...he uses a sword in a Scandinavian Lostbelt, and he figured out that Holmes used magic because Holmes fire magic lasers at him. From this, Holmes is able to pinpoint Sigurd’s identity, and that’s just the setup for the rest of the chapter, really. 

To be specific, what I mean is that we will constantly be told how incredible someone is with very little evidence, and the plot will bend and warp to make certain things happen. 

The scene does exactly one good thing, which is the foreshadowing of Surtr. Coming into it knowing that aspect allowed me to appreciate little bits like Surtr talking about Heroic Spirits like he wasn’t one, and Surtr not being able to kill Mashu because Sigurd resisted it. But that’s about all that was good in the scene, and all it really does is set up a consistent thing of Surtr being one of the only good parts - until he isn’t, of course.

I’m going to shift here from specifics to characters, because otherwise I’d be rehashing the entire story and I don’t have the time or effort required for that. That being said, it is difficult to decide where to start, so I’ll go right to the very building blocks of the story, the themes. 

Lostbelt 2 is, very obviously, attempting to have a theme of different kinds of love throughout the story. Part of this is because it’s very much set up like an otome game that the author Hikaru Sakurai would write, with Ophelia in the center, but it’s a more general theme too, with Skadi and the others all building up towards it. Now, love is an absolutely wonderful thing to build your themes around, exploring and examining it can be great for stories. Beasts themselves do that, examining different varieties of genuine, but toxic love that allow them to be well-meaning monsters.

The problem is that Lostbelt 2 does not engage with these themes on anything but a surface level. Skadi represents maternal love, so she constantly talks about how everyone is her children and how she’s their mother. No examination of the desire to see her children grow, the pain she feels when they fight, the struggle of forcing herself to cling so tightly knowing that it’s suffocating them and going to kill them before they reach 26. 

Napoleon represents passionate love, so he flirts with every woman he sees. No examination of why he’s so passionate or what drives him to burn so brightly, beyond a token mention that for some reason when he’s summoned he’s driven to seek out a lover, another aspect of things happening to serve the plot. 

Sigurd and Brynhildr represent true, romantic love, so they act mushy the entire chapter from the moment the real Sigurd appears. Now, don’t get me wrong, I liked their scenes a lot and I’m happy that they chose that portrayal instead of the one I was afraid of where it was yandere jokes day in day out. But there’s no engagement with the fundamentals of their love, nothing that tests it, even the existing complications with Brynhildr’s tragic summoning are swept away with a single line of “I can resist them better now maybe because my saint graph is broken”, so ultimately there’s no conflict whatsoever. And sure, that’s nice, but it’s not very good if you’re trying to build your story around a theme of love. 

Next, Surtr, who represents obsessive, dangerous love. I honestly actually think Surtr’s done well, even if the love he happens to represent is the least positive one. Surtr is capable of only one thing, destruction, and when he fell for Ophelia in that moment where she saw him and he saw her, he decided that if he ever had the chance, he would repay her the only way he knew how: allowing her to watch as he destroyed everything. When he’s summoned, he acts basically like the possessive one in an otome game, constantly talking about how Ophelia is his woman, getting angry when Napoleon flirts with her, spending most of his time pushing things between them as far as they can go etc. etc. I’m not particularly a fan of how his desire to repay Ophelia battling against his singular purpose transformed him into a typical possessive bastard boyfriend, but it’s at least engaged with on a deeper level.

Finally, Ophelia. She’s the otome game protagonist here, born into an controlling family and finally freed, hiding a secret special power, beloved by almost all the men involved in the chapter while she’s harboring feelings for someone else, even has the typical friendship route with Mashu going on. Her love is a love that she doesn’t acknowledge, but that’s all it is. It’s never engaged with beyond the fact that she clearly loves Kirschtaria but insists she doesn’t, and her final scene as she dies is Mashu telling her that yes, she did love Kirschtaria. That’s all. 

For a theme of love that’s supposedly woven into the Lostbelt, it’s barely examined at all. It’s not well written, and in comparison to Lostbelt 1′s theme of what it means to live in a world where the strong devour the weak and how deeply it examined and engaged with that, it’s a genuine disappointment.

Now, to move onto the plot, it’s...in the abstract, it’s fine. Chaldea is intercepted and forced to fight in the Lostbelt and ends up dragged into the overarching ploy by Surtr to release himself and burn everything. That’s a perfectly fine story, but the problem is that when you get to the moment-to-moment stuff, it falls apart completely. 

Skadi is constantly talked up as this incredibly powerful true goddess, not merely a Divine Spirit, and we know she can see and hear our every move because of her snow. How does the story work around this borderline omniscience within her Lostbelt? Skadi just decides not to do anything about Chaldea with zero rhyme or reason. We need to sneak into the palace and avoid alerting the guards, except Skadi already knows exactly where we are, except that doesn’t matter because we need to sneak in for some reason. We get captured with no plan to escape, and it just so happens that not only was Skadi keeping a Divine Spirit amalgamation locked in the dungeons too, but that she can piggyback on you making a contract with Napoleon (pure dumb luck you hadn’t done it before) and force a connection with you too, and then cast spells to hide you while you escape. Skadi knows we’re trying to free Brynhildr, who is the sole threat to Sigurd and Skadi’s own Valkyries in the entire Lostbelt? She just decides to do nothing at all. 

So much of the plot happens because either Skadi makes terrible decisions to do nothing, even though she knows Chaldea is there to destroy her entire world, or it happens because random shit goes on that couldn’t have been planned for like Sitonai. Shit like Surtr suddenly becoming Fafnir and being able to use the Evil Dragon Phenomenon to brainwash Ophelia somehow, like Ophelia’s Mystic Eye being able to do anything the plot demands, even when it explicitly goes against its existing capabilities like rewinding time on Sigurd’s wounds, like Bryn and Surtr somehow being able to resist the effects of her eye with no buildup or explanation. It’s poorly written in terms of the exact events that happen, and that all culminates in Skadi’s one cool moment, where she declares she’s going to kill the seven billion we fight for for the sake of her ten thousand...and then right after, it reveals that Skadi was going easy on us and refused to use her runes of instant death for no reason even though she was fighting for the survival of her entire world. The moment to moment plot is not good, and neither is what comes next, the worldbuilding.

In Skadi’s Lostbelt, half the world is covered in Surtr’s flames, while the other half is blanketed in Skadi’s snow. Where the two areas meet are the only places where life can grow, and so Skadi set up villages there. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough food for everyone, so she enforces strict population control: if you are not the mother or father of a child by 15, you are sent away to be killed by the giants. If you are the mother or father of a child, you are sent away to be killed at 25 instead. Through this tragic method, Skadi enforces a limit of 100 villages with 100 people, a total population of 10000. This is all fine. 

But take a closer look at what we actually see, and this falls apart. First, the giants. The giants are immortal and never need to eat. They do nothing but sleep all day and attack any human that comes close to them. Later, it’s revealed that they’ll attack any heat source including Valkyries, except we know that’s not true. Giants never attack each other, they never attack and destroy any of the plant life around them, they never attack the Lostbelt tree seeds, they even fight alongside mass-produced Valkyries before it’s revealed that Skadi and the three originals can mind-control them! They exist only to destroy, but Skadi can control them with her masks and indeed uses them as labour, keeping them chained up in her castle to be brought out and controlled as needed, or using them to guard Brynhildr’s castle. 

Worst of all, the first time we meet anyone in the chapter, it’s Gerda, who is sneaking out of her village to go to the massive liveable area close to Village 23. This area happens to be the only place she can go to get medicinal herbs that she needs or one of the people in her village will die in childbirth. This area is also full of giants, who have not destroyed it despite being fertile and full of life and heat, and who are allowed to take this place that could be used to grow more food for humans who need it, and simply stay there doing nothing. 

Now, this is where I thought the game would engage with things. How Skadi, in professing her love for all her children, is actually being cruel and unfair. They certainly set it up in the conversations she has, where she casually mentions how humans must die for her coexistence to continue. Skadi chooses to keep the giants alive despite the fact that they are all braindead and can do nothing but kill and destroy the moment their masks are removed. She chooses to keep them alive even though it comes at the expense of the humans who must die when the giants never make that same sacrifice. She chooses to allow them fertile land even though they cannot farm nor do they need food, and in doing so deprive the humans of potentially living longer, having more supplies to do so. She makes these strange choices and then later reveals she can control the giants to do her bidding, and it all seems to fall into place. 

What we see from how she’s characterized early on is that the system is unfair and Skadi is unwilling to change, because it benefits her tremendously. Gerda’s village didn’t have enough herbs to save the children forced to breed by 15, and despite Skadi’s omniscience letting her know that Gerda had snuck out and was trying to save a life, she did nothing. There was no system in place to beg a Valkyrie to get these herbs, and no indication whatsoever that Skadi would use her powers to control the giants to save Gerda’s life. The picture painted is someone who cares about humanity not out of true care, but simply out of obligation. Those who disobey her rules, even for good reasons, are left to die by the engines of destruction she keeps alive.

That’s not the story it tells later on, though. Skadi, portrayed from the start as this all-powerful goddess with complete control over everything, is revealed to be far weaker than we thought, and far less monstrous. Ignore all the times she did control the giants, she actually can’t do it all that well. Ignore all the times she declared she would not allow anyone she loved to be killed, but chose not to act to tell her Valkyries or her giants or anything else to save either Chaldea or Gerda. Ignore the evidence we see on screen that there’s more land that’s simply taken over by the giants, Skadi can only make those initial 100 villages and can’t make any more. Skadi is not bad. Skadi did the best she could. Skadi is morally right. 

Please love Skadi, there’s no complicated moral quandary here, she’s just Good.

Comparisons to Lostbelt 1 are impossible to avoid. Both have the same basic cause, a calamity that was impossible to predict and impossible to avert. The stagnation that dooms a Lostbelt created by the kings in question in their desperation to survive. Ivan turned humanity into the Yaga and created a world of strength, where progress is impossible because everyone in his new world was too busy devouring each other to work together. Skadi created a world of weakness, where progress is impossible because she limited the population to avoid everyone dying out. There is, however, one crucial difference between the two. Not in terms of story, not in terms of characters, not in terms of themes. 

“Your existence itself has already become a grave sin.”

That one line, spoken to Ivan, is the biggest difference between how the story engages things. In both Lostbelts, Ivan and Skadi did horrible things and made horrible choices because they had to, for the sake of survival. Ivan twisted humanity into monsters that lost capacity for mercy or empathy, while Skadi forced brutal population control and careless death on humanity because of her refusal to allow the giants to be destroyed. Both of them did horrible things, but only one is held to account by the story.

What Ivan did was evil, and the story recognises it. It doesn’t accept the excuse that it was all necessary for survival, because that’s irrelevant. It’s evil regardless. This same sentiment should have been expressed with Skadi, but it’s not. Ivan is condemned, but Skadi is absolved. She had no choice. She did the best she could. After building her up as all-powerful, the end of the story instead destroys her agency and power in its haste to prevent any kind of responsibility falling on Skadi’s head. Even to the very end, where she declares that she’ll kill all seven billion lives we fight for for the sake of her ten thousand, she holds back and allows us to win, despite how it butchers her character.

The biggest irony in all this is that Ivan’s world was worse than hers in ways. There was no way for the blizzards to stop, no meat besides for the demonic beasts. Crops couldn’t grow, and instead of living in peace, the Yaga were constantly tormented and killed by the Oprichniki. There were no liveable areas like there are in Lostbelt 2, no merciful ruler that sees all, and controls the greatest threats, no peaceful villages where food can be grown. There’s far more justification for Ivan to claim he had no choice and that he did all he did for survival, because it’s hard to see what his choices were. But Skadi? Skadi intentionally does not act and intentionally allows suffering and pain to come to her children, both actively by not saving Gerda, and passively by allowing the giants to take land they don’t need. Despite this, Skadi is absolved, because the story desperately wants her to be a tragic waifu that you love.

There’s lots more I could talk about. How Sitonai was pointless and existed only for a pathetic FSN reference. How Gerda was a cowardly and manipulative piece of writing compared to Patxi. How Ophelia’s story of always being told what to do is resolved not by her taking the step to freedom herself, but being told to free herself by someone else. The constant repetition that plagues the chapter, the weirdly prevalent sexism that everyone gets in on when it comes to Ophelia’s love life, the nonsense of the final battle itself, the absolute nonsense of Skadi being Scáthach-Skadi. I could even talk about how I’d fix the chapter, because boy howdy there’s a lot there. 

There’s lots more I could talk about, but this is already very long, and I think it speaks for itself. Obviously asks are available if anyone wants me to examine them in more detail, but for now, I’ll finish off with one last reminder.

Lostbelt 2 is bad.  

[redantsunderneath]

On Analysis Part 1 - Hermeneutics and Configurative reading (the “what” part)

“Without turning, the pharmacist answered that he liked books like The Metamorphosis, Bartleby, A Simple Heart, A Christmas Carol. And then he said that he was reading Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's. Leaving aside the fact that A Simple Heart and A Christmas Carol were stories, not books, there was something revelatory about the taste of this bookish young pharmacist, who ... clearly and inarguably preferred minor works to major ones. He chose The Metamorphosis over The Trial, he chose Bartleby over Moby Dick, he chose A Simple Heart over Bouvard and Pecouchet, and A Christmas Carol over A Tale of Two Cities or The Pickwick Papers. What a sad paradox, thought Amalfitano. Now even bookish pharmacists are afraid to take on the great, imperfect, torrential works, books that blaze a path into the unknown. They choose the perfect exercises of the great masters. Or what amounts to the same thing: they want to watch the great masters spar, but they have no interest in real combat, when the great masters struggle against that something, that something that terrifies us all, that something that cows us and spurs us on, amid blood and mortal wounds and stench.” ― Roberto Bolano, 2666

Much of the background for this post in particular comes from Paul Fry’s Yale lecture course about the theory of literature.  This is a great starting course for interpretation and textual analysis and, yes, film and TV shows are text.

In futzing around with this stuff, what am I doing?  Less charitably, what do I think I’m even trying to do, here? Many feel that applying theory to art and entertainment is as pretentious as the kind of art or entertainment that encourages it. It’s understandable.  Many examples of analysis are garbage and even people capable of good work get going in the wrong direction due to fixations or prejudices they aren’t even aware of and get swept away by the mudslide of enthusiasm into the pit of overreach. That’s part of the process. But this stuff has an actual philosophical grounding, so let’s start by looking at the stories history of trying to figure out “texts.”

Ideas about the purpose of art, what it means to be an author, and how it is best to create go back to the beginning of philosophy but (outside of some notable examples) there is precious little consideration of the reception of art and certainly not a feeling that it was a legitimate field of study until more recently. The Greeks figured the mind would just know how to grok it because what it was getting at was automatically universal and understanding was effortless to the tune mind. But the idea that textual analysis should be taken seriously began with the literal texts of the Torah (Rabbinical scholarship) and then the Bible, but mostly in closed circles.

Hermeneutics as we know it began as a discipline with the Protestant Reformation since the Bible was now available to be read.  Sooooo, have you read it? It’s not the most obvious or coherent text.  Reading it makes several things clear about it: 1. It is messy and self contradictory; 2. A literal reading is not possible for an honest mind and isn’t advisable in any event; 3. It is extremely powerful and mysterious in a way that makes you want to understand, your reach exceeding your grasp. This is like what I wrote about Inland Empire - it captures something in a messy, unresolvable package that probably can’t be contained in something clear and smooth. This interpretive science spread to law and philosophy for reasons similar to it’s roots in text based religion - there was an imperative to understand what was meant by words.

Hans-Georg Gadamer is the first to explicitly bring to bear a theory of how we approach works.  He was a student of Martin Heidegger, who saw the engagement with “the thing itself” as a cyclic process that was constructive of meaning, where we strive to learn from encounters and use that to inform our next encounter.  Gadamer applied this specifically to how we read a text (for him, this means philosophical text) and process it.  Specifically he strove to, by virtue of repeated reading and rumination which is informed by prior readings (on large and small scales, even going back and forth in a sentence), “align the horizons” of the author and the reader.  The goal of this process is to arrive at (external to the text) truth, which was for him the goal of the enterprise of writing and reading to begin with.  This is necessary because the author and reader both carry different preconceptions to the enterprise (really all material and cultural influences on thinking) that must be resolved.

ED Hirsch had a lifelong feud with Gadamer over this, whipping out Emanuel Kant to deny that his method was ethically sound.  He believed that to engage in this activity otherizes and instrumentalizes the author and robs them of them being a person saying something that has their meaning, whether it is true or false.  We need to get what they are laying down so we can judge the ideas as to whether they are correct or not.  It may be this is because he wasn’t that sympathetic a reader - he’s kind of a piece of work - and maybe his thheory was an excuse to act like John McLaughlin.  He goes on to have a hell of a career fucking up the US school system

But it’s Wolfgang Iser that comes in with the one neat trick which removes (or at least makes irrelevant) the knowability problem, circumvents the otherizing problem, and makes everything applicable to any text (e.g. art, literature) by bringing in phenomenology, specifically Edmund Husserl’s “constitution” of the world by consciousness. It makes perfect sense to bring phenomenology into interpretive theory as phenomenology had a head start as a field and is concerned with something homologous - we only have access to our experience of <the world/the text> and need to grapple with how we derive <reality/meaning> from it.  Husserl said we constitute reality from the world using our sensory/cognitive apparatus, influenced by many contingencies (experiential, cultural, sensorial, etc) but that’s what reality is and It doesn’t exist to us unbracketed. Iser said we configure meaning from the text using our sensory/cognitive apparatus, influenced by many contingencies (experiential, cultural, sensorial, etc) but that’s what meaning is and It doesn’t exist to us unbracketed.  Reality and meaning are constructed on these contingencies, and intersubjective agreement is not assured.

To Iser, we create a virtual space (his phrase) where we operate processes on the text to generate a model what the text is saying, and this process has many inputs based on our dataset external to the text (not all of which is good data) as well as built in filters and mapping legends based on our deeper preconceptions (which may be misconceptions or ���good enough” approximations).  Most if this goes on without any effort whatsoever, like the identification of a dog on the street.  But some of it is a learned process - watch an adult who has never read comics try to read one.  These inputs, filters, and routers can animate an idea of the author in the construct, informing our understanding based on all sorts of data we happen to know and assumptions about how certain things work.

This is reader response theory, that meaning is generated in the mind by interaction with the text and not by the text, though Stanley Fish didn’t accent the “in the mind part” and name the phenomenon until years later. Note that Gadamer is largely prescriptive and Hirsch is entirely prescriptive while Iser is predominantly descriptive.  He’s saying “this is how you were doing it all along,” but by being aware of the process, we can gain function.

For those keeping score:   1. Gadamer, after Heidegger’s cyclic process at constructing an understanding of the thing itself, centers on a point between the author and reader and prioritizes universal truth. 2. Hirsch, after Kant’s ethical stand on non instrumentalization, centers on hearing what the author is saying and prioritizes the judging the ideas. 3. Iser, after Husserl’s constituted reality, centers on configuring a multi-input sense of the text within a virtual (mental) space and prioritizes meaning.

Everything after basically comes out of Iser and is mostly restatement with focusing/excluding of elements.  The 20th century mindset, from the logical positivists to Bohr’s view that looking for reality underlying the wave form was pointless, had a serious case of God (real meaning, ground reality) is dead.  W.K. Wimsatt and M. C. Beardsley’s intentional fallacy, an attempt to caution interpreters to steer clear of considering what the god-author meant, begat death of the author which attempted to take the author entirely out of the equation - it was less likely you’d ever understand the if you focused on that!  To me, this is corrective to trends at the time and not good praxis -  it excludes natural patterns of reading in which the author is configured, rejects potentially pertinent data, and limits some things one can get out of the text.

Meanwhile formalism/new criticism (these will be discussed later in a how section) focused on just what was going on in the text with as few inputs as possible, psychoanalytics and historicism looked to interrogate the inputs/filters to the sense making process, postmodernism/deconstruction attacked those inputs/filters making process questioning whether meaning was not just contingent but a complete illusion, and critical studies became obsessed with specific strands of oppression and hegemony as foundational filters that screw up the inputs.   But the general Iser model seems to be the grandfather of everything after.  

Reader intersubjectivity is an area of concern.  In the best world, the creation of art is in part an attempt to find the universal within the specific, something that resonates and speaks to people.  A very formative series of David Milch lectures (to me at least) proffer that if you find a scene, idea, whatever, that is very compelling to you, your job is to figure out what in it is “fanciful” (an association specific to you) and how to find and bring out the universal elements. But people’s experiences are different and there be many ideas of what a piece of art means without there being a dominant one. So the building of models within each mind leaves a lot to consider as the final filtered input is never quite the same. There is a lot of hair on this dog (genres engender text expectations that an author can subvert by confusing the filter, conflicting input can serve a purpose, the form of a guided experience can be a kind of meaning, on and on ad nauseum)

The ultimate question, you might ask, is why we need to do this at all.  I mean, I understood Snow White perfectly fine as a kid.  There’s no “gap” that needs to be leaped.  The meaning of the movie is evident enough on some level without vivisecting it.  The Long answer to what we gain from looking under Snow’s skirt is the next episode.  The short is: 1. You are doing it anyway.  That Snow White thing, you were doing thhat to Snow White you just weren’t conscious of the process.

2. It’s fun. The process only puts a tool of enjoyment in your arsenal.  You don’t have to use it all the time.

3. You’ll see stuff you like in new ways.  The way Star Wars works is really interesting!

4. It may give dimensions to movies that are flawed or bad, and you might wind up liking them.  Again, more to love.

5. It is sometimes necessary to get to a full (or any) appreciation of some complicated works as the most frustrating and resistant stuff to engage with is sometimes the most incredible. 

6. It reinforces your involvement in something you like.  It makes you more connected and more hungry, like any good exercise.

7. You can become more aware of what those preconceptions and biases are, which might give you insights in other areas of your life.

[llama-lord]

My Full Personal Interpretation of Chara

It’s my view that Chara was severely abused during their time on the surface, and began to view crying as weakness because of it. I'm not sure if Chara was actually trying to commit suicide, but I think they had suicidal tendencies, showing little concern for their own life. Undertale's intro shows Chara tripping instead of jumping, but it also shows them clearly seeing the hole and approaching it beforehand. Given that the injuries Chara sustained from the fall were far from fatal, as they were able to walk with Asriel's assistance, their cry for help could've been out of pain and/or survival instinct, rather than a genuine desire to live.

Pre-death Chara hated Humanity, but there was always a look of hope in their eyes (in the neutral ending where Asgore commits suicide, he tells Frisk “I'm reminded of the human that fell here long ago... You have the same feeling of hope in your eyes”), they loved Monsterkind, they loved Toriel and Asgore (while it’s possible that Toriel knitted the Mr. Dad Guy Sweater for Asgore, I think it’s more likely that it was Chara. “Mr. Dad Guy” is an awkward name, one that sounds like a middle ground between “Mr. Dreemurr” and “Dad”), and they loved Asriel more than anything. However, while Chara was capable of and showed genuine love and kindness to the Dreemurrs, sharing countless tender moments with them, they could be a bully sometimes. Although Chara never physically hurt Asriel, they frequently shamed and sometimes mocked Asriel for crying (mirroring their own treatment on the surface), and liked to playfully toy with his emotions from time to time. With no other friends and due to his own insecurities, Asriel looked up to Chara and came to idolize them. That said, while Chara's and Asriel's relationship was unhealthy, I doubt it was ever intentionally abusive until the plan came forth. Had Chara been made fully aware of how much damage they were doing to Asriel, I think they would've been horrified.

EDIT: I view the mindset that "big kids don't cry" as being picked up by Chara on the surface due to mistreatment. They shamed Asriel for crying under the distorted belief that they were toughening him up.

While I think Toriel and Asgore were decent parents, they never noticed Chara's darker tendencies, nor did they ever ask them questions about their life on the surface. When Asgore told Chara that they were "the future of Humans and Monsters" (I highly doubt Chara’s deathbed was the only time Asgore said this, given the weight of the title, and his bad habit of placing enormous responsibilities onto the shoulders of young children, seeing how he gave Frisk, a child no older than 12, the duty to "seek the truth" of the Prophecy so they can free everyone in the alternate Neutral Route where he commits suicide), his intent was to refer to Chara as living proof that the two species could coexist. However, Chara took it the wrong way, believing it now meant that they were responsible for everyone, giving them a complex, putting pressure on them as one of the Royal Children.

EDIT: I placed too much blame on Asgore in my initial write-up. It’s far more likely that Chara developed a complex from living with Monsters, and that being called "The Future of Humans and Monsters" was simply the icing on the cake.

EDIT: I think Toriel and Asgore may have recognized signs of abuse in Char, or just felt that something was off about them, but I doubt either of them realized how bad their issues were.

Poisoning Asgore was a genuine accident. I don’t believe Chara "laughed the pain away" nor laughed sadistically. There is a recurring theme of characters laughing and joking in stressful moments (Snowdrake's Father when he talks about his son ran away after his mother disappeared, Snowdrake's Mother during her fight in the True Lab, Mettaton NEO, Undyne when Frisk is beating her to death in the Neutral Route, Toriel when you oneshot her in the Genocide Route or betrayal kill her, Asriel when you hug him, Asgore when he kills himself in the alternate neutral ending, and Migospel, especially Migospel, as his entire theme is him putting up a happy facade to hide his pain). The only times we ever see sadistic laughter in Undertale are from Asriel, who is soulless, and Chara in the Genocide Route, which I don’t believe is an accurate reflection of the person they were in life. So, while I doubt that Chara felt particularly terrible over accidentally poisoning Asgore, I believe their laughter was relatively dry, hollow, and empty.

EDIT: I think Chara freaked out when Asgore got sick, but calmed down after realizing that he wouldn't die. There was still some guilt, but most of it left at that point.

Due to a combination of Chara shaming him for his tears in the past, and his own idolization of them, Asriel now looked down on crying, and saw Chara's (relatively) calm reaction as preferable to his, saying "I should have laughed it off, like you did".

Then came the plan. I think Chara was motivated by both revenge and a wish to free Monsterkind. Chara chose to commit suicide rather than kill the Dreemurrs for their Boss Monster SOULs. I've seen people theorize that Chara picking death of buttercups was self-punishment for what they did to Asgore. I'm neutral on this theory, but I'll acknowledge that there are far less painful ways to die that would've still appeared accidental. And in this moment, yes, Chara was intentionally manipulative (which is abusive). They belittled Asriel's emotions and played up his desire to be a hero by telling him that he could free everyone. When Chara discovered their shared control with Asriel after their SOUL was absorbed, they resolved to walk to the village themselves. When the villagers attacked, Chara tried to kill them all, and that's when he resisted. Asriel had just enough control to walk back to the Throne Room, where he died.

EDIT: I doubt Chara was lying to Asriel when they told him that they only wanted 6 SOULs. Chara had no way of knowing of whether they’d even be conscious, let alone share control with Asriel, after they died. That, and going back to their village would’ve re-opened old wounds, which leads me to believe that their attempt to destroy it was an impulsive act fueled by a power trip, not a pre-planned one.

I doubt post-death Chara is entirely soulless, because they would need a way to manifest themselves. However, Chara’s dialogue at the end of the Genocide Route implies that something happened to their SOUL, saying that “My 'human soul’...My ‘determination’...They were not mine, but YOURS.” While Asriel’s SOUL was completely destroyed, Chara’s SOUL shattered into fragments. At least one of these fragments latched onto Frisk's SOUL after they fell, due to the amount of determination that Frisk had, and their shared SOUL trait.

Fast forward to Frisk's fall. I'll state my main points here. I fully believe the narrator theory, but disagree with the possession theory almost entirely (more on that soon).

If you do not believe the narrator theory, you can skip the bolded passage below.

While Chara does not make a physical appearance in True Pacifist Route, I think they become a better person from it. Chara realizes that they were wrong, that Asriel was right, and that not all Humans are bad. And while Chara doesn't save Asriel or your friends, they give you a push in the end, saying "you can SAVE something else".

Asriel's admission that "Chara wasn't really the greatest person" rings true. Chara was far from perfect. However, I see this statement less as him actually condemning Chara, and more as him taking them off the pedestal he’d placed them on, and realizing that they weren’t a good role model. When Asriel addresses “Chara” after the True Pacifist Route, he has low expectations for them, saying "You’ve probably heard this a hundred times already, haven’t you…?", when he asks them not to reset. However, the fact that he was willing to even make an appeal to begin with, saying "Take a deep breath. There's nothing left to worry about", shows that, despite everything, he still has hope, even though it’s not much, that Chara will do the right thing.

(On another note, the fact that you returned in the first place, after Asriel asked you not to, after he said that he couldn’t come back, after you were EXPLICITLY told that the game would end after you left the Underground, doesn’t speak well of your intentions. Flowey’s expectations for Chara weren’t very high to begin with, but I believe that your return further lowered them. It serves as proof to him that maybe Chara hasn’t learned anything from this.)

Then there's the Genocide Route. Yes, the player not only starts, but is responsible for the overwhelming majority of the Genocide Route. No, I don't believe Frisk is possessed, at all, not until we are very close to the end. Until that point, Chara simply provides a Monster counts for us, and Frisk's more aggressive personality is simply a reflection of our actions. With Chara's SOUL fragmented, severely restricting their ability to feel love and compassion (they might benefit from Frisk's SOUL), there's hardly anything left to restrain their worst traits. Once we kill all 20 Monsters in the Ruins, feeding a desire for power, Chara is on board with us. Their dialogue changes from less joking and increasingly apathetic (“Not worth talking to”, “Forgettable”), with a trace of violent overtones (“Where are the knives”), to outright sadistic as we progress (laughing at the RG 01/02).

EDIT: Judging from the dialogue for the stove after killing Toriel and the dialogue for killing dogs in a Neutral Run, I think Chara may (at least initially) have shame for what they are witnessing in the Genocide Route. However the thrill of gaining power ultimately overrides it. It’s essentially a guilty pleasure.

EDIT: Looking back, while Chara doesn’t actually kill anyone before Sans, it’s plausible that they helped us deal more damage in certain fights. A possible reason why we deal so much damage to Toriel in the Genocide Route is that Chara lashed out. Flowey has feelings of abandonment associated with Toriel (”She'll find another kid, and instantly forget about you. You'll NEVER see her again.”). Given that Toriel refers to Frisk as “my child”, and Chara’s final pre-death memory was of their betrayal, Chara could’ve felt betrayed by her, even though she was a decent parent.

I doubt Asriel’s “recognition” of Chara in the Genocide Route is an accurate reflection of what they were like in life. There is ample evidence to conclude that, not only did Asriel genuinely think that Frisk was Chara in EVERY route, but also that he held onto this delusion the ENTIRE time. Furthermore, there are multiple inconsistencies with the interpretation that Asriel will only quickly conclude that Frisk is Chara in the Genocide Route, and takes much more time to do so in the True Pacifist Route:

1. Omega Flowey toys with Frisk in the Neutral Route, despite seemingly wanting their SOUL.

2. Flowey’s dialogue for sparing Asgore in an aborted Genocide Run directly contradicts the notion that he thinks Chara would only be cruel.

3. Omega Flowey saw the name of Frisk’s SAVE file right before the fight, which alone should’ve been enough evidence to make him think that they are Chara.

4. Flowey’s spare dialogue doesn’t change in an aborted Genocide Run, directly contradicting the notion that he doesn’t think Chara would care about anyone else, as he still threatens to kill “everyone they love”.

Here’s something to consider:

Given how long it took for Flowey to go insane, he is likely aware that Chara will not necessarily be as violent as he is. By giving him evidence for him to conclude that they actually are (killing everyone in the Ruins), Flowey gains enough confidence to drop his charade.

Perhaps the strongest piece of evidence that Flowey thinks that Frisk is Chara in every route is his reaction to being spared in a Neutral Run. He should not be confused by the concept of mercy, as he has undoubtedly been shown mercy himself many times during his own resets.

In other words, it’s not that Flowey can’t understand the concept of mercy itself, it’s that he can’t understand why this person specifically would show him mercy. Although Flowey is aware that Chara may not necessarily be as violent as he is, this scenario is different. If there was ANY time to have a kill-or-be-killed mindset, this was it. Flowey gave us every possible reason he could for us to kill him, and sparing him is the strongest challenge to his delusion that Frisk is Chara. He simply cannot understand why “Chara”, who tried to kill the villagers when he refused, would show him mercy after what he said and did.

Asriel makes three colossal mistakes in the Genocide Route. First, he talks as if he's equal to Chara in strength, that he could kill them if he wanted to, saying "Creatures like us wouldn't hesitate to kill each other if we got in each other's way", making them turn on him (I see this line as serving as proof to Chara that Asriel hadn’t learned anything from the village incident). Asriel flees to the Throne Room. We fight Sans, with Chara making the final attack for us. We confront Asgore, who Chara attacks for us. This is where Asriel makes his 2nd mistake, destroying Asgore's SOUL, trapping us in the Underground. His final and fatal mistake is when he begs for his life instead of hiding in the ground. The Chara who Asriel begs for mercy from is, for the most part, soulless; they cannot and do not feel any love or compassion for him anymore. Asriel neglected his own belief that Chara was soulless, when he told them "No... you're empty inside, just like me". Asriel has given Chara plenty of reasons to be angry, and with nothing left to hold that anger back, Chara proceeds to hack him to pieces. This is when Chara finally makes a physical appearance. While there are plenty of other Monsters left in the Underground, murdering the person they loved the most in life is the point of no return for them. This is important because I don't believe that Chara would've intentionally killed Asriel prior to their death, even at their absolute worst, even if he betrayed them. But here? Chara sees killing Asriel as the elimination of the one person who always held them back, and the final step to abandoning their humanity and ridding themselves of the emotions that they now believe only ever hurt them. They've found a better partner, us, one who will always give them what they want. With their goal to achieve power in this world accomplished, Chara believes that its existence no longer serves a purpose, and asks us to erase it. And if we refuse, they think it's hilarious, that we believe we have a choice here. When Chara says "SINCE WHEN WERE YOU THE ONE IN CONTROL?", it doesn't mean they were possessing Frisk, nor does it mean that we never had in control. We controlled Frisk, we had countless chances to abandon this path, but we pushed all the way to the end. Chara has been betrayed before, and was caught completely off-guard. But this time, they came prepared. If their partner tries to turn their back on them like Asriel did, they'll override their decision, because they have final say, and they WILL get what they want.

EDIT: I’m on the fence on whether Chara actually hesitated to kill Flowey. I will say that, unlike with Asgore, they were willing to hear him out at the very least.

As far as the Soulless Pacifist Route goes, I fully believe that Chara kills your friends. However, this is not done out of malice. If Chara genuinely wanted your friends dead for good, they would’ve kept the world erased. This is simply a demonstration of power by Chara, to show that they are the one in control.

Other thoughts:

Despite Asriel’s betrayal, Chara doesn’t seem to hold any strong feelings of hatred or bitterness for him outside of the Genocide Route, and until the “Creatures like us...” line, given how there's no push to kill him in an aborted Genocide Run.

Everything after this point are mostly unsubstantiated headcanons and beliefs of mine. Feel free to continue reading if you are interested.

In my opinion, Asriel’s trauma is often underestimated in fan portrayals. While he has healed to some extent from the True Pacifist Route, taking Chara off the pedestal he once placed them on, his sense of self-worth is still in dire need of repair. How intentional the trauma inflicted on him was is simply a reflection on the perpetrator. It is irrelevant in measuring the damage.

I don’t think Chara is completely fixed by the True Pacifist Route? While Chara has certainly learned something from observing our actions, they still have plenty of work to do on themselves. However, while they can’t change what they did, with Frisk’s help, I think they can try to make up for it by becoming a better person.

While Chara is inherently in a better position than Asriel after the True Pacifist Route (Chara benefits from Frisk’s SOUL and fragments of their own SOUL, while Asriel is completely soulless) I think Asriel will be much easier to help. While Asriel could easily get his form restored by SOUL donations from 7 generous dying Humans, I doubt Chara will ever be able their own body again. The absolute best case scenario I see for Post-Pacifist Chara is them peacefully body-sharing with a consenting Frisk.

Asriel is not obligated to forgive Chara, or (while I doubt he’d be this bitter) even talk to them ever again. That said, Asgore and Toriel owe Chara a lengthy talk. Chara is responsible for their own actions, and their circumstances do not excuse them, but, while they failed themselves, Asgore and Toriel failed them too. This talk can be one for understanding, and, hopefully, reconciliation.

I strongly dislike the concept of killing off Chara under the guise of “setting them free”. It does not heal Asriel’s trauma, nor does it accomplish anything else.

[airanke]

10 for taz and mothan?

10. “staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in”

I cut the start of this one out because it’s a lot of unnecessary exposition. Hope you enjoy! 

@blueriveas-horde

Mothan sighed, letting his feet go where they pleased once he reformed. Dalaran had become an unfortunate familiarity to the assassin, and by now, Mothan knew the layout like the back of his hand.

The stables came into view soon enough, and when he stopped at the door, one of his feet tapped impatiently.

Tazari was busily tending to a yak in the far left corner, brushing out its fur. There was a pair of large scissors hanging from her finger, and as Mothan walked in, Tazari swung the shears up into her hand, and began trimming some of the fur over the yak’s eyes.

“‘Ello, spearmint,” Mothan chirped, hiding his exhaustion behind a broad grin. Tazari didn’t look at him, but her eyes were wide, nose scrunched, and cheeks dark with blush.

“I be busy, licorice!” she whined, glancing at him while brushing more of the yak’s fur, “don’ you be comin’ in here, bein’ all distractin’!!”

“Tazari I literally just be sayin’ hi,” he teased, chuckling when she jabbed him in the chest with her elbow, “careful dere~”

She pouted deeply, “go– go sit down!! Ovah dere, till I’m done!”

“Okay, okay~” Mothan walked over to the bench she had pointed out, smiling to himself. He sat, and settled for watching her go about her remaining tasks.

His mind replayed the moments of the day. Since early that morning, to little over thirty minutes ago. Mothan tried to focus on something else - anything else - but his thoughts were determined to twist and stretch every event, trying to decide if he could have done something better.

Truthfully, he could have. He was nothing like Trigon: not as intimidating, nowhere near as confrontational, and valued compromise over absolution. Trigon got results. If he wanted something changed, it would be changed, but Mothan didn’t have that sort of confidence.

That, and Azeroth’s issues - as Trigon had told him - weren’t Ether’s problems. They were here to route the Bane, nothing more, nothing less. Mothan sighed; Tazari moved on to a bat.

For a split second, he hyper focused on her. She was slim, but well built. Her soft musculature implied that she spent her days doing heavy labor, and while many wouldn’t immediately assume that stable work was “heavy labor”, stable master did more than just take in animals. They had to clean up after a variety of beasts, prepare a variety of food for different diets, feed those animals, groom the animals, and in some cases, care for animals in their care that wound up sick.

Quickly, Mothan averted his gaze. His thoughts reeled before settling back on meticulously deconstructing his way versus his brother’s way.

Mothan nudged, Trigon forced. Mothan was gentle, Trigon was harsh. Mothan chose safety, Trigon took risks.

He leaned forward against his knees, staring at his hands.

Mothan has always been better at killing. Za’hal always told him he’d make an excellent monk, especially given his natural inclination toward balance; toward mediation, but that would put the troll in the spotlight. Mothan chose to be an assassin so he could hide in the shadows.

But here he was, with that monk that Za’hal had seen in him rearing his head. He should have listened to Trigon. He should have gone with his brother to hunt down the Bane commanders, and their portals. He should have been with them because Trigon had twisted not only Jaina’s arm, but Khadgar’s, and Aethas’. The ultimatum was either they come help Trigon, or Azeroth would have another invasion on their hands, and this time, it wouldn’t be the Burning Legion. In Mothan’s experience, the Bane was a hundred times worse than the Legion, because at least the worst the Legion would throw at the Horde, and Alliance was the twisted spirits of the dead. They could free those dead, let them finally find peace.

The Bane threw civilians - children, mothers, fathers, the elderly, the lame. When the United had first realized it, they’d lost many, many of their soldiers. How could a tranied, honorable combatant fight someone that didn’t know the sharp end of the spear from the harmless butt of the spear? And the thought had always been lurking in the back of their minds, that the most heavily armored, largest soldiers were not properly trained - given their sluggish movements and incapability to use their huge weapons - but never once had any of them imagined that children were inside.

The Horde, and the Alliance would never be able to deal with that; both sides were too honorable in their own ways. Mothan doubted that even the supposed ruthless forsaken would be able to pose much of a threat. The Bane Commanders were ridiculously powerful in their own right, and the Elites were nothing to sniff at either. Based on the knowledge he had, Mothan could confidently say that only a handful of the leaders from both sides would even stand a remote chance against an Elite, and only a couple could stand toe-to-toe with a Commander.

Then again, both of those factors depended solely on who the Commander was, because–

“Mothan?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you be awake?”

“Mmm.”

Tazari was quiet. The hum in Mothan’s mind stalled at her voice.

He didn’t want to admit that she was the type of distraction he needed, just so he could stop thinking. He knew it when he hyper focused on her. He should have just kept watching her, it would have stopped him from thinking of how bad the situation on Azeroth could get if the Etherians didn’t do something.

A snort of laughter left him when Tazari tried to pick him up. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hefted, huffing in his ear. It flicked.

“I be up,” he said softly, standing. Tazari’s face was pressed against his chest. She kept her arms around him.

“You um…” she tilted her head up to look at him, “you be lookin’ distressed…”

“Do I?”

“Yeah…”

“Mmm,” he wasn’t sure what to do. Should he hold her? His arms hung down by his sides, lifeless. He tired to think about the meetings again, but once again he found himself hyper focused on Tazari.

“Do you… do you be wantin’ to come over?” she asked, “I mean… it be a long day, for me, and looks like it be a long day for you… I can make you–”

“Okay, but only if I be getting to help.”

“But I can cook for you,” she grumbled, and Mothan wrapped his arms around her. She blushed.

“I don’t be doubting that, but your work be way more physically demandin’ than what I be doing,” he gave her a crooked smile, “so~ Let me be helping~”

Supper was easy. Tazari’s home in Dalaran was quaint and comfortable, and now the two sat on the one couch in her living room.

She told him how she’d grown accustomed to how the humans, and elves in Dalaran liked their homes, though sometimes she would still sleep on the floor. He couldn’t say he knew the feeling, because the reason why he disliked plush beds and furniture had nothing to do with how he was raised.

Mothan opted to change the topic of conversation before they could get into the more gruesome details of his childhood.

“So? How be your day?” he asked, grateful that he’d all but forgotten every thought that had been plaguing him just an hour before. Tazari tapped a finger to her lips.

“Hmm… not too bad. I be up since six, started with cleanin’ out the stables. We had a lotta’ birds in this week, so I had to be doin’ a loooot of scrubbin’. I didn’t be finishin’ that until nine, then one of the others be needin’ my help with a nervous warp stalker. Tryin’ to corner a warp stalker be hard, mon!” she exclaimed, waving her arms around animatedly, “he kept on warpin’ here, then warpin’ there, and so I had to be gettin’ another warp stalker to be helpin’ us get the nervous warp stalker!”

Mothan chuckled, “those ones be sounding like a handful.”

“They be!” Tazari huffed, sitting up more on the couch while Mothan shifted to lean his side against the back cushions. He kept his eyes on her face while she continued: she’d had to groom more yaks than she wanted to count, clipped the claws on several large cats, filed the claws on wolves, brushed so many different kinds of animal teeth that she had tried to brush a macaw’s beak, and spent the better half of her afternoon ferrying hooves on hippogryphs.

At some point during the conversation, Mothan’s eyes slid to her lips. Her voice became a lullaby in the background. She was telling him about one hippogryph in particular - a rare arcane one, brilliant purple in color, overflowing with such raw magical power she wondered how difficult it had been to tame. Shed hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to the hunter about his beast, because he’d come and left faster than she could say ‘good evening’.

And then, she stopped. His eyes noticed first, ears second. He continued to stare at her lips for several more seconds, in case she continued, but when she didn’t, Mothan refocused his gaze on her eyes.

Which were staring down at his mouth rather intently.

“Tazari?” he asked, unsure of why his voice was so soft, or why he sounded unsure. He didn’t know why he processed her movements so slowly either, and before he could react, Tazari slipped between his tusks and pressed her lips against his.

Out of reflex - when his mind finally processed what was happening - he leaned back. She followed, lips just shy of his, and Mothan was putting his weight against his arms seconds later. Tazari kissed him again, and again, and he raised one shaking hand to sweep into her hair.

Too soon - or perhaps, at the perfect moment? - Tazari pulled back. She looked dazed, and Mothan could hardly see through the golden haze that seemed to settle in his vision.

Thank the Great One his Vice was wrath, and not lust.

Tazari bit her lip, looking off to the side. A shade of guilt came to her face - and Mothan wasn’t sure why, he had never made it explicitly clear that he had an aversion to more romantic displays of affection.

Then again, Tazari was a stable master. Like him, she had to be able to understand body language, and Mothan didn’t doubt that Tazari perhaps understood it far better than he did.

‘In that case, I be supposing that I be makin’ it obvious.’

So he pulled her back in before she could say anything. He closed his eyes. Allowed himself the chance to enjoy it.

“I forgot,” Mothan mumbled against Tazari’s lips, “how much I enjoyed this.”

Tazari sighed contently, raising her hands to cup his face. The kisses never went past lips; Mothan was fine with that. He recalled lying down at some point. Tazari was on top of him. Her hair fell like a curtain around his face. It was nice not to think about anything, except her.

Thinking about her was lovely.

[writingsofwinchesters]

what mountains taught me about identity

This past summer, my sister and I road-tripped to a little town called Dillon in the heart of Summit County, Colorado for vacation. The only thing we planned ahead of time was the Airbnb. The rest of the trip was spontaneous. One day we hiked the Tenderfoot trail, another we visited the local farmer’s market, another we walked up and down the tourist-trap main street of Frisco, and yet another we attended a church service at a outdoor amphitheater. We let each day kind of just happen - and it was my favorite.

The entire trip was one of the most restful and peaceful experiences of my life. One of the best parts was the absolutely stunning, panoramic view of the mountains from the balcony of our condo, second only to the fact I got to spend that time with my sister. I can’t quite describe how incredible it was to be able to sit out there for hours, reading, talking, journaling, watching the sunset, and just being still with my gaze on the mountains in awe.

Fun fact: the first draft of this post was written on that balcony. I wanted to capture some of the peace and awe I felt in one of the most tangible ways I know how - through words.

I have a confession to make. It may be obvious from my social media posts, but just so it’s out there explicitly.

I am fanatically in love with mountains.

I don’t know if I can quite explain why. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. Something about them simultaneously quiets my soul and also, like, yells at me. Like “SOAK IN THIS SERENITY. PAY ATTENTION AND REST NOW.” A little paradoxical, I’ll admit, but it’s a heady, mesmerizing mixture of feelings that I can never get enough of. I could literally spend all eternity just staring at them.

I know it sounds strange, but I miss the mountains. I nearly cried as we were leaving Dillon. As we wound down to Denver, I spent more time than I should have watching the mountains shrink in the mirrors of my car. For context - I was the one driving. For sure not the safest time to be staring out the window. (Do not mention this to my sister, by the way; she’d retroactively scold me to keep my eyes on the road.) I choked back tears as we got past Denver and I discovered I could no longer see the mountains on the horizon. My heart ached at the fact that I would not see them again for over a year. This strange kind of heartache doesn’t really make sense, but it was heartache nonetheless.

Admitting all that makes me feel a bit ridiculous. Maybe it made you laugh or shake your head in confusion. Maybe you feel the same way I do. I still don’t quite understand why I feel this way. I mean, they are just formations of sculpted rock and earth, right? Why do I feel so connected to them, like they’re living, breathing things?

As I process through that feeling, I begin to wonder if it has to do with how connected to God I feel when I’m in the mountains. He is so real to me there. I feel Him in the cool, thin air. I see Him in the snowy mountain peak that breaks apart the sky. I hear Him in the quiet stillness as the jagged rock blocks and muffles the sounds of busy city life.  

But, like, the mountains themselves, though. They’re just stunning.

First of all, mountains are gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking. And not just because of the thinner air up there. Ba dum tiss. I know God is the most beautiful being in all existence because I see His beauty in how He molded the mountains and how He paints the sky around them. If His creation is that beautiful, how much more beautiful must the Creator be? For God to imagine up this beauty, He must be fantastically beautiful Himself.

Second, mountains are just so freaking majestic. And MASSIVE. I am fully aware of my tiny humanity when I gaze at the miles and miles of mountains. Just one mountain can take up my entire field of vision and even the smallest one exhausts me quickly when I try to scale it. The peaks stretch up to the sky and skim the clouds. We can’t build something that tall (we’ve tried - hello, Tower of Babel). There’s also something...unassuming and bold about a mountain, too. It’s not flashy or showy. It just sits there, confident and quiet, knowing it is one of God’s most incredible creations. That’s God too. He is majesty. He is enormous. He is the Most High King. His reach expands the entire universe. He is infinite. I can’t even fathom how big He is or how much He sees. He proclaims His glory in His creation - quiet yet bold. He is confident in His perfection and glory. His reach is not only wide but deep. He is personal enough to know every little detail of the life, body, and heart that He has given each of us.

Third, mountains are really complex and diverse. Some have rounded peaks, while others poke holes in the clouds. They are covered in millions of trees - pine, aspen, fir, and so many more. Their needles and leaves combine to become a blur of green around the base. Some mountains are short enough the trees and grass grow all the way to the top. Others are too tall that plant life can’t survive on the top piece, and they become warm brown rock with a snowy-white cap. Or maybe they’re slate-grey or even a blended brownish pink. Imagine all the animal life that exists on that one mountain! There’s so much detail in that delicate balance and God knows every single piece of it. What a mind our God has to create such diversity! He was intentional to place each rock and tree and animal and crevice and snow just exactly how He wants it. He put so much care and deliberation into His creation.

He crafted the mountains as a display of His glory and His majesty. How freaking amazing!

Phew. I need to take a deep breath for a second. I get way too excited about mountains.

Whoosh. Okay, back at it.

Since that’s how God created the mountains, unaware pieces of earth, what does that say about how He created us, moving, growing beings to whom He has given the breath of life? We are His creation, just like the mountains, and not only that, we are the crowning jewel of His creation, the final piece.

“Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”  -Genesis 1:26-27

We are the only thing in all of creation that was formed in His image, created to bear His likeness and have dominion over the rest. Up until this point, He called His creation good, which includes the mountains. Do you know what He says on the sixth day, after He created us? “And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31) What does that say about our identity?

Identity is a common human struggle. I think it’s something we all search for out of a desire to be known deeply by someone other than ourselves. As I was growing up, I tried to find identity in being the best at everything I did. I had to be the smartest student, the most athletic volleyball player, the most popular kid in class, and the prettiest girl. To assess this, I developed a habit of comparing myself to others constantly.

Of course, I never met this impossible standard I set for myself. There was always someone smarter, someone more athletic, someone more popular, someone prettier. My reaction to this realization was to berate myself. Suck it up, I’d tell myself, work harder, be better. When that didn’t work, I turned to relationships with others to prove my value and identity. If this person liked me, if that person called me their friend, if that boy called me his, then I would be somebody. I’d finally be worthy, special, and valuable.

No surprise here, but that system failed quickly and often. Human beings are always changing - it’s in our nature, even our bodies change daily - and as a result, my perception of my identity fluctuated constantly. Identity is not designed to fluctuate. That was not God’s intention. The moment I realized my identity was actually inexorably connected to the God who is unchanging and eternal, the God who is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8) my whole world shifted. That’s when I gave my life to Him.

But - sin is sneaky, you know? Years later, after I thought that I had dealt with that particular sin right there and then, it reared its ugly head again. I thought it was one and done - I put my identity in who Christ says I am once and I’ll never have to think about it again.

Yet, I discovered I was putting it elsewhere, only now, the “elsewhere” was dressed up in Christian-ese and sneaky adulty things. Instead of daughter of the Most High King, I was a youth group leader. Instead of saved by grace, I was a good auditor. Instead of designed by the God of the entire universe, I was wanted and needed by a community of other Christians.

So God had to teach me again. What a loving, patient Savior. He saves me even from myself.

What would it look like if we fully believed in the identity God has given us? If we lived confidently in it? Just like the mountains, God intentionally and carefully created each one of us. He chose the unique color of your hair and the shape of your eyes. He chose the length of your toes and gaps between your teeth. He selected each tiny piece of your heart, the skills you use in your career, the passion you bring to your friendships, and the tenderness you have for your family. He chose and customized every little piece of you.

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” -Psalm 139:13-14

How special and precious are you, dear friend! You are chosen to reflect His heart.

A few years ago, I was on a youth group trip to Colorado (sensing a theme here) and our morning activity one day was a hike. We wound up the mountain as a large group, sucking thin air into our flatlander lungs and then turned around before we got to the top so we wouldn’t miss lunch. Priorities.

As we were on the way down, we started to kind of spread out. I was towards the end of the group because I couldn’t stop looking around at the view. Then, we went around a curve and the entire valley and distant mountain range opened up below us. It was spectacular. I was overwhelmed with some emotion, something that I - to this day - can’t quite find the right words to describe. It might have been true, unedited awe and amazement, or a heartbreaking kind of gratitude to our mighty God. I stood off to the side of the trail to just drink it in, letting the others pass me. I wanted to remember this moment, this feeling, for the rest of my life. I was in tears and I didn’t fully understand why.

Why?

The question wouldn’t leave my head. I kept asking God - why? Out of all of this? These mountains and these clouds and these animals and these trees? Out of all this creation - this splendor and majesty laid before me? Even that was merely a drop, a small pinprick of all He had created. Miniscule in comparison to the entire universe. Why us? Why me? Surely the mountains are more beautiful and more deserving of His love than I am. Surely the sun and clouds and stars in the sky are more worthy to bear His image than I am. Why would the God of all of this awe choose human beings, choose me, to love, to place His image upon, and to have a relationship with? Why did he want me?

“Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!” - Romans 11:33

In the stillness of that mountaintop, I heard Him whisper to my anguished soul, “It’s not about you, dear daughter. It’s about me.”

What a relief. It’s not about me. It’s all about HIM. This world, these skies, these mountains, these people - this is all about God. This is His choice, His story, His love, His beauty, His grace, His glory.

My identity is that I am a tiny, but adored, treasured, intricately created, and delighted in piece of it.

And dear friend, so are you.

What amazing grace.

[ahopkins1965]

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What Is the Sin of Fornication?

Bible / Bible Study / Topical Studies / What Is the Sin of Fornication?

Rick Kirby | Christianity.com Contributing Writer

Sunday, August 2, 2020

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From time to time, there are many things that we wish the Bible spoke more explicitly about than it does. For example, with baptism should we immerse or sprinkle, can women be elders, where did Cain’s wife come from, do all dogs go to heaven, and so forth? Despite the fact that some passages leave a little more room for interpretation than most of us are comfortable with, there are countless other areas where the Bible leaves no ambiguity at all. What fornication is and what God thinks about it are issues in which there can be no doubt where the Bible stands.

Paul wasted no words when he said, “Consider the members of your earthly body as dead to immorality, impurity, passion and evil desire and greed which amounts to idolatry” (Colossians 3:5), and the Hebrew author warned, “Marriage is to be held in honor among all and the marriage bed is to be undefiled: for fornicators and adulterers God will judge” (Hebrews 13:4). These words mean little in our present culture where values are rooted in cultural norms and change like a shifting wind.

But for those of us who hold to the authority of Scripture, there is a different standard as to how to discern between what is acceptable and good, and what is to be condemned and avoided. The Apostle Paul warned the Roman church to “not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Romans 12:2). Paul understood that the world’s system, which we now live in as we await the consummation of Christ’s kingdom, has its own values that are constantly seeking to “conform” everything and everyone into its own image, ironically, the very thing that God has been doing from the beginning of time (Romans 8:29). And there is no area where this cultural conformity is more graphically seen than as it relates to matters of sexuality. 

What Do Christians Need to Know about Fornication?

The Bible is not silent on issues of sexual ethics, and it does not leave us to ourselves to figure out what sexual purity looks like. The Corinthian church had a reputation, but not one that you would want your church to have. Paul wrote and said, “It is reported that there is immorality among you, and immorality of such kind as does not exist even among that Gentiles (1 Corinthians 5:1). The Greek word which is used here – and over 20 more times throughout the New Testament – for immorality is the word πορνεία (porneia). Our English word pornography derives from porneia. 

During the fourth century, the Greek text of the Bible was translated into Latin in a work we call the Vulgate. In the Vulgate, the Greek word, porneia, was translated to the Latin word, fornicati, which is where we get the word fornication. The word, fornication, is found in the King James Bible, but modern, more accurate translations, like the NASB and ESV, opt to simply translate it to immorality. 

What Does Fornication Include?

Many Bible scholars teach that fornication is limited to premarital sexual interaction, but there is nothing in the original language or otherwise that truly suggests such a narrow view. This is likely the reason that modern translators chose to translate porneia as immorality, in most cases because of its broader reach and implications. The Bible doesn’t go out of its way to categorize particular sins under the heading of fornication, and neither should we.

I believe it is safe to surmise that porneia refers to any and all sexual activity that happens outside the context of God’s design of marriage including, but not restricted to, pornography, extramarital sexual intercourse, or any other sexual activity that does not honor Christ. The Apostle warned the Ephesians that “immorality or any impurity or greed must not even be named among you, as is proper for the saints; and there must be no filthiness and silly talk, or coarse jesting, which are not fitting, but rather giving of thanks” (Ephesians 5:3-4). This snapshot provides an image for us that broadens the meaning to include even how we speak to one another. 

I am compelled to qualify as well that this does not assume that all sexual activity within marriage is Christ-honoring. I am aware that much abuse takes place within the framework of marriage, and there is no question that God’s judgment will not be spared simply because a perpetrator sins against their spouse. 

Photo Credit: ©Getty Images/designer491

What Damage Can Fornication Do?

It is very sobering that the God who loves marriage and “hates divorce” (Malachi 2:16), in fact, provides one allowance for a covenant marriage to end in divorce. Jesus says that anyone who divorces for any reason “except for the reason of unchastity” (Matthew 5:32 NASB) commits adultery, and if a person marries someone who has been divorced for any other reason other than unchastity also commits adultery.

You’ve probably already guessed it, but the word unchastity in the Greek is the very word we’ve already identified as porneias. These are strong words that cut against the grain of our cultural views of marriage and divorce, but they are God’s words. 

The sin of sexual immorality (fornication) has the potential to destroy the very relationship which God created to reflect his love for his bride, the church. Paul instructed husbands to “love your wives as Christ loved the church and gave himself for her” (Ephesians 5:25). Don’t get me wrong, there are many things that can strike a death blow to a marriage, but it seems that sexual sins are especially heinous and destructive, and often inflict such deep wounds and hurt and ultimately break covenant in ways that seldom can be repaired. 

To the Corinthian church, Paul offers this chilling warning, “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ. . . or do you no know that the one who joins himself to a prostitute is one body with her? For he says, ‘The two shall become one flesh’” (1 Corinthian 6:15-16). Again, the sin of immorality (fornication) is much broader than prostitution alone, but the principle we find here can be applied to all areas of sexual immorality. My body is not my own. As a follower of Christ, I have become part of his own body (1 Corinthians 12:12-13). When I sin sexually, it is as though I am dragging Christ and his own body into participating with me in this sin. 

Fornication also seems to have a way of taking our affections and thoughts hostage in such a formidable way that some people never break the chains of their bondage. The writer of Hebrews wrote about the “sin that so easily entangles us” (Hebrews 12:1). This seems to be exactly what Paul had in mind when he wrote to the Ephesian believers that they “walk no longer as the Gentiles also walk in the futility of their mind being darkened in their understanding. . . having become callous having given themselves over to sensuality for the practice of every kind of impurity” (Ephesians 4:17-19). Sexual sin creeps into our minds and takes us captive in ways that we often fail to discern until it’s too late. 

Sexual sin can be a very private sin, but the seed planted in secret also bears destructive fruit, publically wreaking havoc in marriages, churches, vocations, and ultimately robbing believers of the joy and freedom of intimacy with Christ. All sexual sin is a counterfeit intimacy designed by the father of lies to take the place of our first love, Jesus Christ. 

How Can We Overcome the Sin of Fornication?

So how does one battle and win in this area of sexual sin? 

1. Acknowledge that it is God’s will for his people to live pure and holy lives and that he condemns sexual immorality of every kind (Ephesians 5; 1 Corinthians 5; 1 Thessalonians 4:3).

2. Confess (Agree with God) your sin to God (1 John 1:9-10).

3. Confess and confide in trusted elders as well (James 5:16).

4. Seek to retrain your mind by filling it with Scripture and actively engaging in the very thoughts of God himself (Colossians 3:1-3, 16).

5. Realize that Christ, alone, is the one who can free us from the bondage that the flesh, the devil, and the world have engineered with our fall in mind (Hebrews 12:2). 

Even as I pen my thoughts, I realize that for the one bleeding and gasping for one more breath on the battlefield, these words may come across as hollow and quite detached from the horrors of the real-life struggles for holiness. Nothing could be farther from my intent. My words are not intended to be a checklist or an easy fix. I have simply sought to offer God’s truth in a world of lies and the prayer that God would free us all from the chains that bind us so that we may love him more. 

Photo credit: ©Getty Images/Prostock-Studio

Rick Kirby, along with his wife and children, live in Anderson, South Carolina. Rick serves as a corporate chaplain in the upstate of South Carolina, in addition to shepherding micro-church movements, which he does in partnership with the Evangelical Free Church in America and the Creo Collective. Rick has written as a freelance writer in the past with organizations such as The INJOY Group, InTouch Ministries, and Walk Through the Bible. Rick holds a Master of  Divinity degree from Erskine Theological Seminary and presently is a  Doctor of Ministry student at Erskine, as well. Through the years, Rick’s family has been deeply engaged in discipling efforts globally in Brazil, Ecuador and most recently in Puerto Rico. Among the many things Rick enjoys are woodworking in his woodshop and roasting (and drinking) coffee.

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[avanneman]

Who are you calling a war criminal?

At yesterday’s Senate confirmation hearing for Secretary of State to be (or not) Rex Tillerson, Fla. Sen. Marco Rubio puffed out his young chest and demanded of Rex whether he considered Russian President Vladimir Putin a “war criminal” on the basis of recent bombing of civilians in Syria. Well, if you’re going to be secretary of state (or just the head of Exxon), calling the president of a large, strategically located, oil-producing country a war criminal is probably not a good idea, and so Tillerson quite reasonably demurred, despite the fact that there are more than a few unexplained corpses in Vladimir’s past. In fact, Tillerson could have responded—though quite reasonably he did not—that one Donald Trump had explicitly praised Putin for the Syria bombings (as means for fighting ISIS).

But, anyway, Marco’s question got me thinking: Who else could you call a war criminal? And that took me on a bit of a trip down memory lane. What follows is a bit “extended”, but, long story short, if Vladimir Putin is a war criminal, why aren’t Barack Obama, George Bush (père et fils), and Ronald Reagan?

March 28, 2010: So far this year, our current “Slaughter the Innocents” policy in the country [Afghanistan] we are fighting to prevent from having, someday, a government that might, someday, permit someone to attack us has netted 30 dead and 80 wounded, according to this article in the New York Times. This is just from the shooting of “suspicious” characters by American troops riding in convoys and operating check points. But as Gen. McChrystal remarks in wonder, “We have shot an amazing number of people, but to my knowledge, none has ever proven to be a threat.” The good, or bad, news, depending on who’s doing the counting, is that the number of innocent deaths from airstrikes and Special Forces operations appears to be declining, according to the Times, though they don’t descend to such trivia as actual numbers. And the bad, or, again, good news is that, according to the Times, “… those numbers [30 dead, 80 wounded] do not include shooting deaths caused by convoys guarded by private security contractors. Some tallies have put the total number of escalation of force deaths far higher.”

Februrary 6, 2013: The attacks [on Americans in Beirut in 1982 following the entry of American troops as active participants on the side of Maronite Christian forces in Lebanon’s ongoing civil war] didn’t go entirely unavenged. On February 4, 1984, the battleship New Jersey fired about 300 16-inch shells at Muslim positions in Lebanon. The 1,000-pound shells probably killed hundreds of people, though exactly who isn’t clear, because the Navy didn’t know the precise characteristics of the propellant it was using, and the shells may have landed as much as five miles off-target.

March 27, 3013 It all goes back to Iraq Attack I. Nothing succeeds like success, of course, but still it remains astonishing in retrospect how effectively George H.W., James Baker and their gang erased all traces of their former policy, and obscured essential features of their current policy, when they went to war with Saddam Hussein. Two recent books on the Middle East, Kenneth Pollack’s The Persian Puzzle and David Crist’s The Twilight War—which I previously discussed here, amply document the U.S.’s heavy involvement in the war between Iraq and Iran, which ran from September 1980 through August 1988 and which, of course, Hussein started in a pure act of aggression. Both Pollack and Crist argue that U.S. involvement quite probably saved Hussein from defeat, supplying him with invaluable information on Iranian troop movements. In addition, the U.S. navy actively and aggressively patrolled the Persian Gulf, to prevent Iran from halting shipments of Iraqi oil. While the U.S. was supporting Iraq, Hussein was using both nerve and mustard gas against Iranian troops, killing over 20,000 of them with these agents and leaving thousands more permanently injured. In March of 1988, Hussein launched a chemical weapons attack on the Kurdish town of Halabja, killing at least 3,000 and injuring thousands more, most of them civilians. Overall, Hussein’s campaigns against the Kurds resulted in perhaps 200,000 deaths, most of them civilian, and most of them outright murders rather than “battlefield casualties.”

Despite this brutal record of both possession and use of chemical weapons and civilian slaughter, the U.S. remained on cordial terms with Saddam, even after the war with Iran was over. When Hussein was making noises about invading Kuwait (he claimed that after “defending” Arab nations against Persian aggression he deserved to be rewarded, and it appeared that Kuwait was dragging its heels), George H.W. Bush had his ambassador to Iraq, April Glaspie, speak with Hussein. In the interview, Glaspie listens to Hussein whine about how Kuwait isn’t being nice to him and that Iraq is running out of patience. Glaspie responds by assuring him that President Bush wants to “deepen and broaden” the United States’ relationship with Iraq, with the man whom he would be denouncing a few months later as “the worst since Hitler.”

July 16, 2015 In a story appearing in Politico, “Obama team split over next steps with Iran”, Michael Crowley writes that a “senior administration official” denied that there was any possibility of a presidential visit to Iran—“we continue to have very serious differences with Iran.” Crowley remarks that

“That sentiment will be appreciated by military officials who hold Iran responsible for the deaths of hundreds of U.S. soldiers in Iraq during the past decade, and who plan constantly for the possibility of future conflict with the highly anti-American Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps.”

If military officials are looking for someone to blame, not for the hundreds of American deaths in Iraq over the past decade, but rather the thousands, they might start with former commander-in-chief George W. Bush, who chose to invade a country that had not harmed the U.S. in any way, nor had any intention of doing so. They might also recall that back in 1983 the U.S. shot down Iranian airliner flight 655, killing all 290 passengers on board, and subsequently lied its ass off about it, or that during the war between Iraq and Iran launched by Saddam Hussein, the U.S. provided Hussein with vital intelligence information that allowed him to foil Iranian counterattacks that might have won the war for Iran. And, yes, Saddam was using his “weapons of mass destruction” that we subsequently found so intolerable. Definitely, something for the brass hats to think about!