#There's abstract beauty in this love of tragedy

[rrustum]

hm...

[fawnforevergone]

i am forever thinking about the admiration hozier sings with in verse two of "abstract (psychopomp)". the way he compares the death of his relationship with the collision of hitting an animal, but is more in awe of his lover's reaction than the tragedy itself?? "the speed that you moved"?? "the screech of the cars"?? "the creature still moving that slowed in your arms"?? the way they could look death in the eye and care for it rather than run from it, and, instead of hating their acceptance of the breakup, hozier says that that is why there is "no choice but to love you"?? 'the way you are ending this is the reason i love you'?? the fact he is thankful that his lover has the strength to be the psychopomp because he knows he would have just kept flying into the sun icarian style?? how, despite how lost he feels ("the earth from a distance"), he cannot help but find the compassion his partner shows to the end of their love beautiful ("see how it shines")?? it is on my mind day in day out i can think of nothing else

[eroguron0nsense]

(FUNGER SPOILERS)

So I've written about how Cahara's background and motivations frame him as the character who best represents hope in the face of an incredibly cruel crapsack world/impossibly difficult circumstances, and the desire to live and pursue happiness in the face if oppression, and therefore he's the most tragic and thematically suitable character to die in the God of Funger's ascension (as well as the most likely according to canon). That being said, there's another element to why Cahara being the one to die is so important that I didn't really get around to, which is that Cahara is the character who best embodies the abstract concepts of Fear and Hunger, who has struggled against them the most throughout his life, and who ventures into the dungeons for the sole reason of trying to relieve himself, Celeste, and their child from poverty

Cahara's backstory isn't necessarily more drastic or traumatic than some of the other player characters, or even the one that involves the most explicit or visceral experiences of Fear/Hunger (see Ragnvaldr), but his abandonment in childhood and lifetime of violence and desperation most closely mirrors the Girl's own isolation, starvation, and abuse; the fear and hunger he faced is much closer to her own, and much more banal and typical of the era than, say, fighting your twin in mortal combat or travelling to another continent and being forced to cannibalize your dead comrades. It's likely a big part of why he empathizes so much with the girl, and tries so hard to save her in spite of himself. And while it can be read as the ultimate tragedy for Cahara, who's emblematic of hope and love and dreams, to be crushed by an embodiment of the very Fear and Hunger he's fought so hard to save himself and others from, there's also something kind of beautiful and bittersweet in Cahara of all people–the abandoned starving child who's spent all his life enduring and trying to escape from a life of brutality and oppression–being the one to create a God that resonates with the Fear and Hunger of the miserable and oppressed masses, of other people who've fallen through the cracks, a God that, for all the cruelty her Godhood brings forward, carries his kindness with her to try and bring the rest of humanity some degree of that hope through meaningful struggle and give voice to the downtrodden.

[randinium]

Guys I am so excited for the next episode of tadc. I had only one issue with the pilot episode and that was that Gangle only showed her tragedy mask. When I saw her design the first time I thought she would be sorta like the Mayor from Nightmare Before Cristmas, and that she would switch her masks around for different emotions. But obviously that didn't happen and I accepted the bit that Gangle's comedy mask gets broken every episode.

So imagine my surprise and delight upon seeing this beautiful face

Look at her emoting, god I love her so much. So glad she gets to shine in this episode!

I also have the horrible feeling that someone is going to abstract in this episode. I don't know why, or who, but something is wrong and I'm scared.

[obae-me]

Hello, and welcome to another installment of niche content containing another mash of my two special interests. Written out of boredom at the airport. Today's edition, fueled with my excitement of being able to go to none other than Miku Expo 2024, I give:

The Brothers As My Favorite Vocaloid Songs!

Yes, I know, please, quell your excitement. I know everyone was waiting for this one. I will take no criticisms or judgments, only enthusiastic additions.

Warning: While nothing stated in this post needs a full content warning, if anyone decides to look up these songs, many songs themselves have plenty of individual warnings, so please search with caution.

Lucifer:

Now, the song I think he'd actually enjoy listening to is Daughter of Evil. It's got tragedy behind it, the song is a bit more classical/waltzy, exactly the kind of thing he likes. However based off his vibes alone, I'm gonna say Honey I'm Home. Mostly because I love Ghost and Pals but also because religious trauma. And I know other people agree with me because I've seen fanart of it.

Mammon:

I think Mammon would listen to Sand Planet. Oo, or Bring it On. Do I have a detailed explanation as to why? Not really in so many words, but it just seems like something he'd listen to, I feel it in my bones. I will not be taking any questions. Now the song I think he embodies? Wildcard. I mean, the whole motif is about playing cards, it's upbeat and fast paced and I love it and I love Kasane Teto even more.

Levi:

I will physically fight anyone who doesn't think Levi listens to Rolling Girl at least once a day (I won't actually fight anyone but I feel very strongly on this matter). It helps him get through hard times but it also makes him cry. Which...same, Levi, same. But if Leviathan were to be a song itself, I'd have to pass it over to Volt Tackle by Deco*27. Pokémon, talking about fighting and struggling at first to capture someone's love? Oo, or Digital Girl. It's got him written all over it. (Or if I want to be sad, give him Anthropophobia)

Satan:

See, Satan is hard because I never know if I envision him listening to heavy metal or if he prefers soft melodies. And, I mean, I know he can like more than one genre at once, but picking THE song I think he'd listen to is hard... but if I'm going off of what I like as well as gut instinct... Abstract Nonsense. Now, selected off his character, I'd have to pick Hikari Yo. It's just very emotional and desperate and the poor demon boi is like that on the inside quite a lot. WAIT or Pathalogical Facade! Oo, lots of options for Good Ol Satan.

Asmo:

Easy, he'd love Gimmie×Gimmie and I don't think I need any further explanation on this opinion. I actually think Asmo would unironically like a lot of vocaloid songs, personally. And as for his songification, I handpick Aishite, Aishite, Aishite. And I know there's a lot of different people's interpretations to this song and everything and people get very... I guess territorial when it comes to this song (at least from specific corners I've seen) but it makes sense to me. It's a really popular song and it's hauntingly beautiful and it's about wanting to be loved and adored and this is MY post so I can say whatever I want about it.

Beel:

Beel is another one that's hard for me to pin down... I think his music taste (joke not intended) is rather eclectic. He probably actually has no real preference other than more upbeat songs to make it easier to work out to. In which case I get to pick whatever I wish. For him I would make him listen to Happy Halloween. I don't care what time of year it is, it's cute and upbeat and about getting treats and it's one of my favorite songs ever. Now one to embody him?... Goodness that's even harder. I would love to say Appetite of a People Pleaser, but Beel's not a people pleaser... I actually don't know! Maybe I am a sham of a fan. I am open to suggestions for my baby Beel.

Belphie:

You know I have to pick Tokyo Teddy Bear. This mans is too edgy not to listen to it all too often. Plus, it's a classic. And, you know I have to make this all even sadder by giving him the song Error. Because I like to make myself cry. And Belphie needs a good cry, let's be honest with ourselves.

I'm also going to add the Distortanist as an honorable mention for unhinged Lesson 16 Belphie.

[denny-artsss]

Caine throws a "prom night" as the adventure and Gangle (reluctantly) agreed to be Jax's date and Jax basically shuts down because he did NOT expect Gangle to look that good in a dress, like DAMN

Caine: HELLO EVERYONE!! I HAVE SOMETHING SPECIAL PLANNED FOR TONIGHT!

Jax: you're gonna learn to speak in your inside voice?

Caine: SILLY JAX! THIS IS MY INSIDE VOICE! NOW! WERE GONNA HAVE A PROM NIGHT!

Zooble: what are we school girls? Ragatha and Gangle be playing bingo like they're in a retirement home.

Ragatha: we play cause its fun not cause were old.

Gangle: bingo-

Caine: COME ON IT WILL BE FUN! YOU CAN DRESS UP IN DRESSES AND COSTUMES! ITS TONIGHT AT 8!

Jax: is it mandatory to show up?

Caine: YES! ITS ALSO MANDATORY TO HAVE A PARTNER!

*everyone finds a partner except Gangle and Jax*

Gangle: *slowly backs away*

Jax: *pulls her close* Gangle! My best friend!

Gangle: *raises an eyebrow*

Jax: best- frienemy? Whatever. You coming to prom with me.

Gangle: that sounded more like a statement than a question.

Jax: UGH YOURE SO PRETENTIOUS! FINE! oh my dear Gangle, light of my life, would you make me the HUGE honor of going to Caines stupid prom with me? *ironic*

Gangle: you forgot to drop on your knees and beg

Jax: YES OR NO

Gangle: *sighs* I would've gone with you anyway. There's no one left, big brain. But thanks for humiliating yourself I guess.

Jax: whatever. Have fun finding something to put on that body of yours. We'll see who's gonna be humiliated. *walks away laughing*

*Gangle walks with the others to look for something to wear*

Gangle: I'm not forgiving you guys for leaving me to be his date for prom.

Zooble: a risk I'm willing to take as long as I'm Jax-free.

Ragatha: yeah sorry Gangle. My Hate for Jax is bigger than my love for you.

Gangle: that's understandable. *picks up a nice black dress and puts it on* huh- this doesn't look too bad does it?

Ragatha: no it actually looks really good! Here- *hands her some accesories* ooo

Zooble: Gangle trust me.you don't need to get this dressed. Jax will probably just show up in his pajamas.

Gangle: pfft. Like If i was dressing for him anyway- *admires herself in the mirror*

Zooble: I think ill just slap a tie on and call it a day.

-time skip-

Jax: *knocks at Gangles door* you abstracted yet?

Gangle: I wish. *opens the door and looks at him* wow you actually put on some decent clothing-

Jax: ah this? I just stole it from those 2 npcs having a wedding now the groom is naked.

Gangle: there was a whole box of costumes downstairs. *steps out of her room into the light*

Jax: *stares at her, a blush creeping on his face*

Gangle: what? Does it look wierd?..

Jax: no- no it looks- *cleans his throat* it looks good- *hands her a red rose*

Gangle: *smiles softly and puts it on top of her head* how do I look?

Jax: beauti- I mean you look okay- *comes closer and wipes the running mascara off her face*

Gangle: I shouldn't have put make up on with my tragedy mask.

Jax: what happened to your comedy mask?

Gangle: Caine keeps forgetting to fix it-

Caine: DID SOMEONE MENTION MY NAME? MY MY! YOU BOTH LOOK STUNNING- oh wow Gangle I don't think that dress is prom appropriate

Gangle: huh? *looks down*

Jax: SHUT UP CAINE SHUT UP I WILL FORCE FEED YOU DENTAL FLOSS SHUT UP.

Caine: alright then-

Gangle: *walks with him to the prom* wow you must really like this dress-

Jax: *blushes embarrassed* yeah well- I also just really DISlike Caine.

Bubble: does this mean you're my date for the prom Caine?

Caine: ... *pops bubble*

.

(Also heres a drawing of her in the prom dress)

Yes I used this as am excuse to draw Gangle in yet another dress.

[littleeyesofpallas]

They're long buried in the asks I never touch but I've had a few people ask me about if i ship anyone in bleach and for the most part I never answer because i don't, or the ones I do I do only very tepidly, and theyre all canon anyway so thats boring. But also the reason I don't is that I have a sort of broad distain for shipping as a practice --not as like some deranged antishipper horseshit(fuck those people) but just because I don't feel the impulse, and the impulse I do see in others always tends to seem predicated on grievous misreadings of the characters-- but that's a snooty beef to have with people so I don't voice my disagreements with specific/individual ships. That'd be rude.

But all that aside Bleach in particular does have one added layer to things... I think Bleach's narrative is kind of antithetical to shipping.

All of Bleach's canon relationships have this tragic and/or one-sided component that gives this really consistent tone that to love to to lose and to hurt. And honestly, given my personal opinion of Kubo's writing talent, I do think that's mostly incidental BUT I don't think there isn't some really interesting theming to take away from all that.

I've prattled on before about the Sun imagery in Bleach and how it seems to align with a lot of classically archetypal sun and light symbolism, as well as a few of its own unique symbolic uses: the sun gives light and warmth, its an icon of enlightenment, its the center of the galaxy around which other celestial bodies orbit, it's thus a power of attraction and order, and it's the brightest star in the sky. All of these aspects are either embodied or directly contrasted with major villains like Aizen and YHWCH as well as in Ichigo himself, and to much lesser degrees his mother, Masaki, and Shiba Kaien.

Masaki's death motivates Ichigo.

Rukia and Ichigo have a specifically platonic relationship built on mutually changing each other's lives

All throughout the body of the actual story, Orihime's feelings for Ichigo are one sided.

Uryuu's obvious unspoken feelings toward Orihime are likewise.

Renji likewise and even more explicit.

Rukia's with Kaien doubly so, with the added drama of him already having a wife AND her having to put him down herself.

Tousen's unspoken one sided love for his unnamed dead friend.

In a way Komamura's kind of sadly underdeveloped feelings about the whole Tousen betrayal.

Hinamori's tragically misguided adoration of Aizen.

Hitsugaya's one-sided puppy love crush on Hinamori.

Rangiku and Gin's fascinating, somehow mutually one-sided(?) romance.

Sui-Feng's beautiful "why didn't you take me with you?" tragedy with Yoruichi.

Ulquiorra's fixation on Orihime.

Riruka's extremely straight forward weaponized toxic love.

Even Ginjo and Tsukishima's lightly touched upon history together suggests a mix of overzealous devotion and deliberate grooming.

Aizen's forced obedience and abuse of his power over the Arrancar as a false Sun icon, generally more abstract but most literally manifested in Loly's jealous fangirl shtick.

And YHWCH's sinister manipulative exploitation of his followers devotion as an extension of the Sun symbol being its own kind of love, in the rather on the nose christofaciat/cultist sense.

Heck even Bazz-B and Juugram's melodramatic but kind of inconsequential relationship fits this.

Kanae and Ryuuken too I guess, but that's such a nothing romance b-plot inside of a nothing flashback, inside of nothing training arc anyway...

Like, the primary defining feature of all those relationships is the ways they don't work. The moment you make any of them reciprocal they lose the only point of interest they have. And consequently the whole of Bleach is fueled by the attractive force of one sided, unresolved, and otherwise doomed relationships.

And like I said, I don't actually give Kubo credit for that, but I think it creates a very apparent trajectory of a boy(Ichigo) forever changed by the loss of a loved one, his mother, the center of his universe trying to find a power that will allow him to hold onto those closest to him so he won't ever feel that loss again. And the power he's given is Rukia's, a power not just to fight and protect, but a power to influence and inspire. It's the power that bleeds out into Orihime and Chad, and even Tatsuki and Keigo, and Karin. It's the power that attracts them to him, and holds them in orbit as he unknowingly becomes that missing Sun, the center of a new universe all his own. And that creation of a new system of the divine around his solar self is the ascension toward godhood, both in that pseudo spiritual symbolism sense as well as literally in the story(at least until it abruptly and without explanation/clarification just isn't).

Point being, Bleach's only sensible reciprocal ship that I see is that of Ichigo as an ascended god shining a universal light of love and protection on all living things and their returning love for their God experienced/achieved in the flickering moment of my own headcanon climax of the series right before his friends all yank him back off the god throne and some deus ex machina(Urahara) solves the cosmic puzzle for them. That and Ikkaku×Yumichika.

[cadmium-free]

Day 2 of 26 with @neopetsdotcom

POISON FOR THE FAIRIES (1986)

Lauren's review (from letterboxd)

First of all this happened to me in real life. Secondly it’s really cool to have a movie that explores the specific flavor of horror of like. Being a child, and not having been in the world long enough to be sure of what is true or not. The world felt more magical to us as children, the boundaries of what is possible had not been filled in yet, the yet unknown world was filled with endless potential. but for these same reasons, it felt equally more terrifying to us too. This movie captures that really well

While watching this, we know that Veronica is lying to Flavia, we as adults know that witches aren’t real, and that Veronica is just a neglected child who has experienced terrible tragedy and is grasping at whatever power she is able to. But you can feel Flavia’s fear just as strongly as if you didn’t know, her mind caught right on the edge between the absurdity of Veronica’s claims and the fact she has been shown just enough evidence that it’s impossible for her to write Veronica off completely. You can feel horror of the toxic friendship she falls deeper and deeper into, the sheer helplessness of the situation. It generates true horror, and completely without any true supernatural elements and little to no violence. With one. Notable exception

Also I have GOT to give a shout out to like, costuming, set design, cinematography, sound design, etc, for genuinely tricking me into thinking this movie was made when it was set (1965) and not when it came out (1986)

Awl's review (from letterboxd)

There is a niche of horror films interested in friendships between young girls, but none tackle it quite so well as Poison for the Fairies. I think these movies often take the stance that something is wrong with one of the girls, or that the act of separating two girls is what leads them to do something terrible. Poison for the Fairies deftly states that little girls are weird. They like to play in the mud and catch frogs just as much as they like to pamper dolls and puppies.

That isn't to say there is nothing deeper going on than weird girls in this film. This is a movie about an absence. Flavia has everything: wealthy parents who adore her, nice toys, a beautiful dog, and love. Veronica's parents are dead, and she is left in benign neglect in her grandmother's home in her nanny's care. She wants terribly, and Flavia has no defence against her. 

And so the pair flit between gentle goofy play and Veronica asserting power over her new friend. She is full of tales of witches and fairies from her nanny and she aspires to the power the figure of the witch commands in a world where her classmates mock her. For all her bossy cruelty, she strikes a tragic figure.

And the two are trapped in an insular world separate from adults. The film reinforces this cleverly by making the adults a faceless authority. They are abstracted into rules and love by filming them from behind or their faces cut out of frame. We only see the faces of dead adults or the terrifying visage of the old witch.

This all worked for me because I've been in these childhood friendships. I've been taken in by the charm of a domineering friend and then rushed home terrified at the ghost stories other little girls told me. Toys they covet demanded from me between making witch brews in the mud. These friendships hurt in ways you're too young to know how to deal with yet. But each side of that relationship is struggling to find their own place in the world.

In the end, only one girl holds herself as a witch, familiar cradled in her arms, and cruel deeds laid bare.

[adobe-outdesign]

Oh mannnnnn Neopets reviews…how do you feel about my fav, Blumaroo?

Blumaroos are very vaguely based off of kangaroos, but they don't share too much in common other than jumping ability and the -roo name. Instead, they have a great abstract design that feels pretty realistic while being a complete fantasy creature, with floppy trunk-like noses and details that they can bounce on.

Visually, the soft pink accents of the nose are complimented by the ears, and this base works as a good neutral to match any color. They have these nice dot eyes and smiles that capture their happy-go-lucky nature, and just have a nice shape to them. I also like them having their own land and distinct personalities; it helps them stick out a lot in my mind.

Customization-wise, the Blumaroo is a mixed bag. On the plus side, their old artwork was dated and needed a refresh (note the almost complete lack of shading). I like the way they're fatter now, the loss of the belly button is an improvement because it felt weird that they had one to begin with, and they come across as a bit happier in the new art.

But on the minus side, the lose of their old pose is a tragedy. Blumaroos bouncing and standing on their tails was one of their most interesting characters, and while it's obviously still a trait of the species, it's a shame that it's no longer shown in their art. This is particularly sad because their adorable heart-shaped feet are also hidden from view, which has the side-effect of no longer carrying the pink through the design as well as it used to.

I get that customization needed to regulate the poses a bit more, but seeing as each item has to be redrawn anyway, would it have been that hard to keep them on their tails? It's not like the Lutari where the pose would've made it difficult to see clothing or something. It's otherwise a fine conversion, but man, it would've been perfect if we got both the new art and old pose together.

Favorite colours:

Plushie: Blumaroos already look pretty huggable, but the plushie form ramps it up to 11. I love the soft blue color with just a few pops of color on the eyes and tail patch—it gives the impression of an old and much-loved plushie. The converted version isn't bad, but it unfortunately can't compete with the unconverted version, which has much bigger, floppier ears, a thicker tail, and a very cute pose.

Tyrannian: Speaking of colours that looked better unconverted, dang, the Tyrannian Blumaroo got it rough. I love the original's brows and horn-ears, with this nice neutral dappled brown serving as the base. The converted version had to change some things obviously, but it also feels like they didn't really try—why doesn't it keep the same expression (unconverted Darigan Blumaroos have different eyes, so it's obviously not a problem to change them)? Why is the brown on the tail so much lighter to the point where it's barely noticeable? Why is the ruff now red instead of the dark brown of the wings? Why are the horns so small, and why is the perspective wrong on them relative to the ears? Bleh. At least the original's still great.

Oil Paint: Thankfully, here's a Blumaroo color that looks great with the customized pose. Such a beautiful color palette, combining little strokes of colors with pretty flower-like blotches interspersed throughout. I love how the colors also flow with the body, like how the torso goes from green to red, or how there's red right around the feet. Lovely all around.

[protagonist-reviews]

No Country for Old Men

A cold, unembellished, but intimate look into the reality of death and the psyche of a killer. ★★★★★★★★★★

A fantastic movie. This does everything it sets out to do and the execution is perfect. This is not a feel-good shoot-em-up. It's about being in over your head in a world you don't understand. If you haven't watched the movie, do it now. My reviews don't include a synopsis.

First, as an aside, I want to talk about some of the choices made as far as cinematography go. This movie understands how to show, not tell. Chigurh's coins show up many times and never need to be explained or commented on. His glee at the beginning of the movie when killing the cop sets the tone for the rest of the movie. He doesn't need to say he loves to kill, you can see it. It's not even that subtle, but I feel even this kind of subtly is missing from a lot of media.

The beauty of this movie is that it doesn't lend any sort of...gravity to death. No tragedy, no honor, no nothing. It's like closing a door, turning off a light. It isn't glorified. Dying for something does nothing. There is a lot to say about all three main characters, but this review is going to focus on Chigurh so that it is a reasonable length.

Death comes harsh and quick to even the most prepared. To even the wealthiest. In this way, Chigurh is death. He enjoys killing but he's not obsessed with it. He is good at his job, but in a detached way. He's just his job. He's so far removed from the decision of killing that he lets a coin flip decide. This is not only a way to cope with guilt--if he ever felt any--but it is also narratively, a way to reinforce Chigurh as more of a force than a man. He moves through the world, taking out everything in his path without flinching. Being shot doesn't stop him, getting hit by the car doesn't stop him. But there is nothing else. He is a perfect killing machine but that's it. There is no room for anything else. He's methodical, intelligent, talented- but there's barely a man there. Now, obviously we're only seeing this one aspect of his life. But that is also all we are shown, and that's significant.

Now.

Let's talk about the bolt gun. Wow this thing is doing so much work. Not only is it a very distinctive, unorthodox weapon, it fits the character perfectly. Relatively silent, and so strange that the average person doesn't know what it is, it's a great representation of not only Chigurh, but symbolic of how he views other people. At first glance, there's nothing about him that appears particularly deadly (beyond the intimidation factor of his expression, but that's abstract). But over the course of the movie he is shown to be an efficient killer, just like the bolt gun. The cop at the beginning doesn't recognize the danger that he or the bolt gun represent. Doing double duty, though, the bolt gun tells us how Chirugh thinks of other people. Cattle. A job. Simply an assignment. Fantastic imagery and genuinely an integral part of both the character and the movie as a whole.

It's rare for me to give out a 10/10. Even The Thing was only a 9. But I think at the end of the day this movie has a lot more to say about the banality of death. We give it so much weight but it is something that happens every day, without reason. There's a very gripping dichotomy between the stark violence of the gunfights and the blase way the movie treats death. This section of the rest stop scene is a very good microcosm of this theme:

"Don't put it in your pocket, sir. Don't put it in your pocket. It's your lucky quarter." "Where do you want me to put it?" "Anywhere not in your pocket. Where it'll get mixed in with the others and become just a coin. Which it is."

The coins are parallel how Chirugh views people. On one hand, the coin is so important. It's everything. Living and dying. At the same time, it is just another coin. He goes through many coins throughout the movie. Any will do. They are interchangeable and disposable. They can be found everywhere. Worth very little on their own to Chirugh.

Worth a watch.

[applesfrombanora]

Alright I saw a post talking about the Sephiroth and Nero with Vincent being a parental unit thing and this has taken over my brain for the past day bc this is an opinion I’ve held for a long time ANYWAY

I’m gonna start this off by saying I have never been a fan of the Vincent being Sephiroth’s father theory—I’ve seen some good arguments made for it, but overall it just ain’t my cup of tea (to each their own of course)

In my mind, it takes from the significance of Sephiroth’s character and Vincent’s story

I doubt I need to go into much depth over Sephiroth considering the amount of people who have already done so, but his character in my mind has always been so tragic because of his blood ties to Hojo— the audience knowing that he was born to be an experiment and that his own father was the one forcing him through that again and again for the entirety of his life

I also like how it rips away Vincent’s connection to Lucrecia and makes Hojo essentially go “you don’t have her, and you don’t get to have a remnant of her, and I control the narrative now” because ultimately they both made him suffer and Sephiroth is a living reminder of that, making him worth enough of Vincent’s pain without the blood tie

Overall, I think making Vincent the father of Sephiroth just makes the story boring— kind of like the whole “Rey is a Palpatine” deal everyone was up in arms over

There’s more significance in seeing brilliant characters spawned from something other than some other great hero character— significance doesn’t always have to breed significance, but evil breeding something trying to escape that cycle? That’s fresh

HOWEVER

I do think that the theory of Vincent being Nero’s father is much more impactful in terms of narrative significance

Vincent was made what he is by the science his father was involved in, and Nero was born of an experiment based on one of Grimoire’s abstracts (as @getvalentined pointed out) for something he never got to see put in motion— in that sense it would create a trickling down effect in terms of responsibility for suffering as Grimoire and Lucrecia’s work created Vincent, and then Grimoire’s theory combined with Vincent’s DNA and Hojo’s willingness to do unethical science bore Nero

It does also give some more significance to the fact that Nero and Vincent are the only two to survive the dark mako treatments, making the Valentine bloodline the one that seems most able to fight off the ghosts (I say this as a joke but it does hold some truth)

(Here’s where my love of Shakespearean tragedy comes into play) I also love how it makes the final showdown in Dirge more impactful as well as Vincent fought Nero multiple times and as Chaos is born of tainted lifestream and Nero was given his power by that same corrupt lifestream, so symbolically, Nero is born of Vincent’s own internal monsters

How beautiful and poetic is it that the horrors Vincent fought so hard within himself ultimately consumed his next of kin? (should Nero be such, of course)

Even better that neither of them would ever know

Also they look related

Again this a “to each their own” type thing but idk I’m an avid tragedy enjoyer and I do think this is the course that best supports the most viably tragic option

[merryfortune]

The Goddess of Happiness

Written for the Ladies Bingo on Dreamwidth

Prompt: Anthropomorphic Personifications of Abstract Concepts

Title: The Goddess of Happiness

Ship: Nerþuz/Sharena

Fandom: Fire Emblem Heroes

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,553

Warnings: Major Character Death

Tags: Angst, Came Back Wrong, It Gets Worse, Bittersweet Ending,

   Humans die.

   That’s what they do. They die. They are born, they experience the world for all its thrills and spills, highs and tragedies, and then they die. They die alone, they die in the company of loved ones, they die. 

   Their lives were so intricate and complex and yet so utterly meaningless.

   At least to a Goddess because what is sixty, eighty, or even a hundred years before infinity? Against all eternity? Fucking nothing, that’s what.

   That’s what Nerþuz thought anyway. Or used to think. She was the Land Mother and yet her attachments to the land were not all that maternal at all. No, more akin to a spoiled pet owner and an abused animal. She shouldn’t get attached after all. She had learned the hard way, when she first saw them rise to their full height, learned to swing a sword or illuminate the dark using a torch.

   She got curious and she got burned for it when she learned that this diminutive species, full of curiosity and sparks, were not like her. They were ephemeral. They got old, they greyed, they hurt each other and got sick. They died.

    Humans die.

   And after that, Nerþuz said no more and hid away in her own little world away from them. She turned that sting into hatred, anything to remind herself that humans were no good and ergo, not worth paying attention to and coming to love. There are so many of them and they raze her forests, they pollute her rivers, they desecrate the world taking that which does not belong to them and yet.

   There are exceptions.

   Like her beautiful, beloved Sharena.

   Something about her pierced through the way in which Nerþuz’s eccentricities had calcified her heart: a defence mechanism against getting attached because attachment never ends well for her. Sharena’s blithe demeanour lulled Nerþuz into a false sense of security and opened up her soul to joys long forgotten and ergo made new in her demure hands. Nerþuz - foolishly - came to believe that things would be different with Sharena.

   Oh, sweet and joyful Sharena whose splendour was in both the battlefield and in the mundane, who never failed to make her laugh or smile. She meant the world to Nerþuz and she meant more than the world to her loved ones, to her country and beyond.

   Nerþuz cursed herself. Why did she think her cute little bunny Sharena would be any different to the rest of her humankind? She was just as short-lived, just as vulnerable and frail. Her youth was not everlasting, nor was her vitality. 

   “Sharena?” Nerþuz prompted her, panic rising through her ichor as she shook Sharena’s body, trying to shake her away. “Sharena? Can you hear me?”

   Sharena lolled in her arms like a doll. Head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted. She was smeared with blood, it looked artful along her rounded cheeks yet matted her long hair the colour and warmth of sunshine. Her arms dragged in the dirt underneath them, moving only when jostled increasingly by Nerþuz.

   “Please, Sharena, you simply must wake up. I command you!” Nerþuz pleaded with her and she continued to delude herself.

   Sharena was fine. Sharena was asleep. Sharena was the exception to humanity because Nerþuz loved her with all her strange, twisted heart. She simply could not be dead.

   Nerþuz’s eyes watered, “Please,” her voice cracked, “Sharena, I love you.”

   Death was not something a Goddess of Nerþuz’s calibre was acquainted with. She vanquished foes and enemies, sure, but death was not her affinity, death was not her domain. Her domain was of life. Of wide, open fields and sprawling desserts and verdant forests and rolling meadows. Death would ruin her, it would be the extinction of existence. It simply did not compute with Nerþuz who was well aware of what that other plane beyond life looked like.

   Death was disgusting. Death was gelatinous. Death tore open the body and caused the soul to leak through in the oozing azure or sloughing emerald. Nerþuz would not allow her Sharena to become the walking, talking puppet of that damnable state.

   Heroes were meant to be different. They were bound by the Summoner’s contract, weren’t they? Even the most ordinary of common folk were granted immortality against death in this scenario so long as they had been granted status of Hero and summoned but Sharena was not a part of that contract. 

   She had not been called forth by the Breidablik.

   She was a princess whose armoury had included the Breidablik. Big difference.

   And so, Sharena was not immune. She was a human and humans died when they were too grievously injured. It was Nerþuz’s fault. She should have protected her darling child of Midgard better, she should have been stronger. She should have done something differently. There had to have been something that she could have done differently.

   Nerþuz held Sharena closer. She hefted Sharena’s body closer to her yet lowered her head closer to her breast. Her heartbeat was long gone but Nerþuz wanted to believe if she strained her ears, she would hear it. The telltale thud… But it was useless. There was nothing but silence as rigour mortis slowly settled in.

   Nerþuz nuzzled against Sharena and cried. She smeared her tears against Sharena, her horns poked and prodded but nothing happened. Nerþuz overflowed with her grief. Her own heart ached and broke as she contended with the grim reality that her most favourite human in all the realms had died. She cradled Sharena’s body in her arms, cried on her breast and held her close in utter despair.

    Utter despair until Nerþuz realised something. She changed the trajectory of her thinking, of her emotions. She was a Goddess. She could do something about this. She would not allow for Sharena to go to that other world and become one of the walking dead, hollowed out and internal organs replaced with jelly. She would not allow it.

   Nerþuz opened her eyes and she steadied her racing heart. Everything around her slowed. The ordinance of the battles being fought in the distance quietened. The breeze dropped. And Nerþuz saw everything in crystal clear clarity. Dust began to cloud and swirl around her, pavers cracked as weeds and flowers alike uprooted and began to bloom. She did not control life, life was not her domain but life could not exist without her, life could not exist without her domain.

   All the lands resonated with the powerful emotions that Nerþuz allowed to seep out of her. Her gemstone known as the Horn of the Land hovered in front of her, pinging off the resonances that overwhelmed her surroundings as light erupted from the ground in a sigil-like shape.

   Nerþuz sacrificed an inch of her godhood to Sharena and just an inch was enough to transform a human by a mile.

   Nerþuz held her breath and held onto all her precious memories of Sharena. She cherished everything about the princess. From the shape of her smile, the way her teeth glinted in the sunlight as her eyes crinkled with happiness and laughter. The sound of her voice, it wasn’t made for operatic singing or the theatre, it was made for singing in the shower and joining festive choirs wholeheartedly without being sheepish or embarrassed. She thought of what she symbolised: the sweetheart of a nation who took up arms against enemy after enemy and for what?

   For peace of course.

   Peace. Joy. Tranquillity. Happiness.

   Nerþuz flooded Sharena’s lifeless body with these sentiments and transformed her into a goddess nothing like her. After all, humans were meant to become heroes and not gods after they died but at that moment, as Nerþuz’s body became haloed by her good intentions, she did not know that.

   All that mattered was once the spell was over, Sharena opened her eyes. They were greener than they had ever been, akin to a vernal haven and she smiled. She reached out to Nerþuz’s face and caressed it.

   “Lady Nerþuz…” she murmured before fainting, exhausted.

   Her little human body could not cope with all the magic that now coursed through it and that changed her.

   Still, Nerþuz was overjoyed from hearing Sharena’s voice once more. She couldn’t help herself, she smiled ear to ear and brought Sharena close again. She kissed Sharena’s face fervently, the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her forehead, all of her and savoured the subtlety of Sharena’s breath. She was alive. That’s all that mattered. Sharena was alive.

   But being alive, Nerþuz would come to realise, was not synonymous with living.

   Things seemed normal at first, however and if they weren’t they could be explained away by other things. Like shellshock. Sharena had literally died after all.

   She was still smiling and that was the main thing. Regardless of whether it were rain or shine, hardship or hedonism, Sharena’s smile could not go unremarked upon as the Order of Heroes continued to trek on into every fight, every realm where war lurked.

   It was possible that Sharena was smiling too much, even. There was something eerie to the pearly shine to her teeth, how there was none of that signature sparkle, anymore.

   She was smiling in situations where it would have been inappropriate or otherwise gauche. Like her mother’s funeral, for example.

   The royal children were now the royals themselves. There had been close calls in the past but Henrietta was not immortal. Now, she joined her husband in eternal sleep. 

   And Sharena couldn’t bring herself to cry. She wanted to. She so badly wanted to. Alfonse was sobbing, he was weeping on the floor and yet his younger sister, her eyes were dry and her lips were mangled into a grotesque smile. It made her heart race with guilt.

   What was wrong with her?

   “What is wrong with me, Lady Nerþuz?” Sharena begged her in private.

   Nerþuz stayed with the family. They lacked a god now, they lacked someone with years of wisdom, and of course, Sharena was still her lover so many years later since that fateful fight wherein Sharena had been resurrected and…

   She hadn’t aged a day.

   Alfonse had streaks of grey in his hair now. Out of stress, yes, but a beard too. He had bulked up, as well, to better suit the heirloom armour that he had inherited.

   But Sharena?

   She still looked eighteen at thirty-eight. Her hair still golden like sunshine, her cheeks still round and cherubic, her body spry and bouncy. She was still slim and slender like a teenager. None of the weight put on by peace and prosperity.

   “I don’t know, Sharena.” Nerþuz replied.

   There was nothing Nerþuz could say - or even theorise. She just knew that whatever it was, it was her fault. Through nothing that sharena had brought upon herself in either action or inaction, she had incurred the curse upon her.

   A curse of a neverending bliss.

   “My Mother just died and… and I feel nothing, Lady Nerþuz.” Sharena sounded scared but her lips refused to wobble. “I… I feel like I have to stay strong for Alfonse, for Anna and Kiran and… my people. I need to be there for them, when they pray.”

   Her explanation twinged with Nerþuz and she chewed her lip. 

   “Sharena?” Nerþuz asked, her voice small and she was terrified to hear Sharena’s answer as she readied a question beyond her prompt. “Can you hear the prayers of your Askran subjects?”

   “I… think so.” Sharena said. “It's a whisper, I can hear it sometimes but it's quiet, I have to really listen and it's always the same idea. Someone begging for health, for prosperity. For-”

   “Whatever selfish thing would make them happy?” Nerþuz finished Sharena’s sentence for her.

   Sharena nodded, ashamed, and now it was clear in Nerþuz’s mind. She had created a monster.

   “I’m so sorry.” Nerþuz said and she pulled Sharena in for a hug.

   Sharena stiffened against Nerþuz’s bosom. She was engulfed by Nerþuz’s arms, how she nuzzled apologetically into the crook of Sharena’s neck and shoulders, even crying on top of her but Sharena felt… little, if anything. She hugged back.

   “Thank you.” Sharena murmured, feeling nothing, not even gratitude.

   All that did was twist the knife into Nerþuz as she would have to live with this mistake of making a monster doomed to outlive all but a select few she loved. And one unable to feel anything outside the boundary of the dominion she had been granted.

   It just made her worse in the coming years. Then decades. And yes, eventually centuries.

   At some point, Sharena ceased being a princess. Or a hero. Or even a child of Askr. She became a Goddess of Happiness but what an awful fate that was as there could be no hope without sorrow, no joy without sadness but Sharena learned to accept she was no longer mortal and instead a concept.

   An idea.

   The one who was muttered about under a mortal’s breath as they tried to invoke her image with a hasty prayer. Tears streaming down their faces as they beg for the health of a lover or family member, for peace after war, and more. All things that Sharena, the princess and the human, was all too familiar with.

   Yet entirely alien to her in her current self as a Goddess.

   That was the cruellest irony that hurt Sharena the most about this situation. She couldn’t even help. Her domain was capricious and unwily, difficult to tame and harder to channel even if wielded. She had all this joy and mirth and happiness within her and it turned action to inaction and her heart to stone.

   No empathy, no sympathy, no compassion. Just nothingness behind a smile that was bright and pearly-toothed. 

   Once upon a time, Sharena loved to help. It was her calling. She was the people’s princess and now, she was their duplicitous goddess, a good for nothing. Someone who was not worshipped and never beckoned upon in dire circumstances. Her name twisted with disappointment and spat out with contempt.

   A Goddess who instead focused on herself. contenting herself with all her pleasures and all her favourite indulgences and other hedonisms.

   The sound of birdsong, the jewellery she wore on her fingers or around her neck. The feeling of a lazy morning overslept. Good food. Everything and more she had once denied herself to save face, to seem frugal as expenses overran the Order of Heroes.

   And best of all? Her lover by her side all day every day and what a torment that was for Nerþuz…

   It was all her fault for disturbing the natural order of things. When humans die, they become Heroes and yet, she had dared to trespass on the domain of another Goddess, though she might be deceased. Her power lingered, transforming grief into the foulest monster to behold.

   One who smiled and had a sweet voice, hair as blonde as sunshine and eyes like the vision of spring.

   Whether or not Nerþuz was able to live with the guilt of being the one at fault, remains to be seen but even now. They can be found in Nerþuz’s castle, away from humanity, on the edge of the land and in a realm akin to that of a twisted marital bliss.

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ REFLECTION OF DECEPTION

ᯇ summary ! ✦ jack kelly's mirror lies to him, and david jacobs would rather take a lifetime of bad luck than let the mirrors continue with their deceitful schemes ᯇ warnings ! ✦ lowkey just angsty, uhh i mean not too angsty ig but i think you get the idea, a single cuss word lol ᯇ vienna's thoughts ! ✦ sorry this is lowkey so short! i thought it was gonna be a lot longer but it didn't turn out that way. reblogs & notes are greatly appreciated♡. also its 1 am & this was only edited once so if it doesn't make sense just pretend it isnt here. also!! this is very different from what i usually write so bear with me 823 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Jack Kelly was a sculpture, a gift sent from the gods. He was just as much a piece of art as he was an artist. From his calloused hands used in only the softest of ways, to the way his eyes spoke every truth of his soul. There had never been such a human to walk the earth, David Jacobs was sure of that.

David could talk about the abstract creation that was Jack Kelly until his heart stopped. About how Jack Kelly was the design of Aphrodite and Apollo, and how he would worship him as the people of Greece had worshiped his creators.

For Aphrodite blessed him love, with beauty. She pressed the dimples into his cheeks and painted the freckles on his face—the ones that only appeared when the sun shone. His laugh, that could send anyone within a twelve-mile radius into an early grave, was all her doing. Aphrodite had spent days, if not weeks (hell, Dave could argue it took years) perfecting him.

Apollo had blessed him with the sun. For his smile, the toothy smile that was so wide it could make someones jaw hurt just from seeing it, radiated more warmth than a hot New York day. And Apollo blessed him with light, for his eyes shone brighter than the brightest star. His artistic gifts had also been hand-curated by Apollo, an ability unique to Jack. Because there was nothing that anyone else could create that could compete with his works.

Jack Kelly put every bit of his being into his art. Every single stroke of paint held a little bit of his soul. His rough hands would glide over dried paint, and everything he possessed would leak into his canvases. Every line his calloused fingers traced stole its first breath from his fingertips.

He knew of beauty. He knew that beauty was everything. Beauty was a young mother holding her terrified sons' hand and pretending she wasn't just as scared as him. Beauty took form in the way of brotherhood, and beauty was ten thousand fists—ones of different background and beliefs—angrily thrown into the air.

Each and everything that blessed Jack's eyes was art. There, however, was one exception. And it was quite possibly the best piece of art in existence. Himself.

Apate, mistress of deceit, had stolen the creation of Jack Kelly just before he had been sent to bless the Earth. Though she could not undo the work of another deity, she could curse him to a life of falsity. She could change his story from one of art and blessing to one of tragedy. And she did. She took a film of insecurity and deception, and gently pressed it atop his eyes. Then, as an extra fuck you, she manipulated mirrors to whisper heinous lies to him for the rest of his life.

And the story of his creation turned from a story to a tragedy. For Jack had been blessed with the beauty, skills, and warmth of the gods; but he would never be able to admire the piece of art that changed David Jacobs' life. Himself.

While Jack Kelly had changed his life, David Jacobs had changed the other boys' fate.

"Davey," Apate—in an attempt to keep Jack Kelly's story one of tragedy—whispered to him from the clouds, "Be wary, for mirrors shall be your downfall. And with every mirror that you break, you shall be punished with seven years of badgering luck."

But Aphrodite's voice spoke to him loudly and with confidence. "It is untrue that mirrors shall be your downfall, for your story is one of great love. You will love greater than I have loved, and it will be your downfall. But for every love you love, and for every reflection shattered, you shall fix the broken. Do not be wary, for your fate is written in the stars."

And so it was told.

Jack Kelly had been stolen by the goddess of deceit and was misled by his reflection. And while David Jacobs had been the product of Athena and Momus, their tales had been curated by Zeus. Zeus, god of fate, wrote their story into the stars so that David Jacobs may save Jack Kelly from the fate that was himself.

They had been destined to save each other since the stars had been formed. While Jack Kelly drowned in the deception of his reflection, David pulled him out and broke every mirror that dared whisper into his lovers' ear.

Jack Kelly had been made to be a tragedy, an artist who would never be able find the art within himself. But David Jacobs had been made to save him. For David Jacobs' love was his downfall, and his lifetime of bad luck meant nothing when he got to feel Jack Kelly's lips against his own.

And so true was it, that the story in the stars had been their fate.

[twinsunsintatooine]

frankenstein (1818) - mary shelley: ★★★★★

mary shelley's frankenstein is what i would call a book worth reading at least once in your lifetime, even if it's just to see the origins of a classic halloween pop culture icon.

i considered this is a 5 star read for me barely halfway through; the first conversation between the monster and victor frankenstein is truly an incredible scene, and shelley's manipulation of prose is just awe inspiring, engendering a visceral pathos in the reader for the alienated monster, spurned by even his creator.

“Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.”

this encapsulation of the monster's desire to live, an innate desire to love and be loved if not for the hatred and viciousness he (it? it feels improper to refer to the monster as an 'it' haha) was met with for reasons entirely out of his control, really struck a chord with me. there's something undeniably beautiful in the basic will to live, and Frankenstein poignantly touches on the question of; what does it really even mean to exist, as a person?

despite many interpretations of Frankenstein as a cautionary tale against 'playing god', personally i think it's not simply a warning against staying within ethical limits of science and medicine, even though this is a clear theme as well, the crux of victor's issues is his lack of care and responsibility for his creation, and in my opinion the novel serves as a great commentary on a obligation of care for creations; whether the creation is good, bad, something in between, it is yours and thereby you have a responsibility for any repercussions that consequence, and it is victor's negligence that set off the novel's cascade of tragedies.

shelly's dissection of the human condition, the duality of man in our capacity for compassionate tenderness and simultaneously ruinous violence and prejudice, is something that can be seamlessly applied to all humans, all societies across time and space. it is this timelessness that i believe solidifies Frankenstein as a classic literary work, a pioneer of the science fiction genre. the horrific impacts of 'othering' and discrimination explicated in the novel's events still ring true in our society today, and in my personal opinion, it is the prolonged pervasiveness of these issues at hand that make it such an amazing read.

its easy to sympathise with the monster, and at the same time of victor's human ambitions and reasoning can be easily understood despite the irrational and honestly self-centred actions and viewpoints he holds.

“My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy; and when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without torture such as you cannot even imagine.”

i think reading this quote, its difficult to not feel a deep sorrow for the monster, as shelley's handle of language truly lends tangibility to these abstract emotions of rejection that can be experienced wholly and entirely by the reader.

Frankenstein, as with all novels, is admittedly not for everyone and not everyone will enjoy this as thoroughly as i and countless others have, but i believe its message is absolutely worth delivering, its story worth appreciating :)

cross-posted on goodreads here!

[cto10121]

I vaguely remember reading an essay once that tried to argue in favor of shipping Romeo/Mercutio from a serious, academic standpoint, citing all the usual clown take "problems" with Romeo/Juliet (Rosaline, Juliet's age, etc.), and then pointing out that at the tragedy's central turning point, Romeo "chooses Mercutio over Juliet" by killing Tybalt to avenge Mercutio's death. Maybe that "Twilight" commentator thought that was the correct reading.

How clownery begets more clownery. And it all begins with the academic fandom. Color me unsurprised.

No, Romeo does not choose Mercutio in avenging him. He chooses honor culture, which is a distinction Shakespeare is very careful to make.

I’ve already talked about how Romeo’s initial reaction to Mercutio’s injury comes with curious deliberation on his part, in contrast to the split-second rashness favored by other adaptations. In his mini-monologue Romeo first describes Mercutio as “the Prince’s near ally” before he describes him as his friend, and Tybalt as his newest cousin. This suggests that social status was first and foremost on his mind.

And then there are his lines about Juliet’s ~feminizing influence softening “valor’s steel.” More precisely and revealingly, it’s her “beauty.” To Romeo Juliet doesn’t even have to do anything—she influences Romeo just by existing.

Benvolio then enters and tells Romeo that Mercutio is dead, in language best suited for a fallen warrior: “brave Mercutio is dead,” “a gallant spirit” that “too untimely here did scorn the earth.” But it’s Romeo’s reaction that is most curious: “This day’s black fate on more days doth depend. / This but begins the woe others must end.”

A death of nigh cosmic significance is one that, to Romeo’s mind, others must end. Other days? Other men? There is a clear longing for justice, but almost abstract, and Romeo doesn’t seem to act as any agent here. It’s only when Tybalt returns (an awkward and unnecessary stage direction that may just have been intended on Shakespeare’s part) that spurs Romeo into action, grief, and finally anger.

It seems clear to me that Shakespeare’s purpose in illustrating Romeo’s true motivations in dueling Tybalt made him slow the action and momentum of this scene drastically, risking boredom in his fickle audience. This isn’t, these lines suggests, just about Mercutio and Romeo’s relationship with him. It’s about honor culture and the role Romeo realizes he had scanted. In accepting that role again in avenging Mercutio, Romeo goes against his own character, his love, and even his own friendship with Mercutio.

In our modern world that honor culture is almost dead except in mafia/gangster circles, so this is often missed. The influences of modern adaptations that decide to take shortcuts for time or spectacle is also a factor. But Shakespeare definitely had lived experience with duels, with some of his friends engaging in and even being killed or injured by them. He knew that emotion had nothing to do with duels, much less love.

Anyway, tl;dr, Shakespeare was concerned with honor culture and slash shipping based on that dynamic just doesn’t make sense. There is literally no homosexual explanation for any of this.

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2024-06-24

Hosting

Listening: It's important to put music on while there are people kicking around the house to fill in the gaps, a lot of that has been Vienna Teng, so, Green Island Lullaby :

Also as another note, I am closing in on the end of The Magnus Archives, and I like some of the stuff of this last season. It gets to get a lot more into absolute horror when it doesn't have to reasonably fit into the real world and I appreciate a lot of that, I've always liked my short story to veer a little abstract.

Watching: After my parents left for Amsterdam I was like "hey I should watch something" and put on Funeral Parade of Roses/Bara no Soretsu, which is such a banger of a movie if you love queer art films from five minutes after we invented the concept of editing and horrible tragedy. We should make more extremely heavy movies that include within themselves comedic making-of documentaries.

Also, courtesy of @canmom's Animation Night, Mars Express, a very beautiful robot sentience animated movie by Jérémie Périn. It follows a Space Cop who ends up working with a renegade engineer who jailbreaks sentient slave robots. Extremely space-noir. Extremely detailed world of future-tech, thoughtful design, and a by-the-numbers but well-executed plot. If you like cyber neo-noir you'll love it, also check out Animation Night on twitch.tv/canmom most Sundays at 20:00 UK time, truly a gem, the first place I watched PMMM.

Reading: All but finished with Iron Widow, it's a shame that it's not a very good book because it feels like much more aggressive editing could have saved it. There's so many words and maybe 30% of them don't have to be there, this book loves to tell instead of showing, or to show and then tell you all about what it's shown you. Again, very compelling setting and themes, the way that being in a mech transcends your material form while simultaneously making you very responsible for other people is a great idea!

Zetian is a clumsy protagonist in-world, which is fine if frustrating. She's not calculating enough to pull off Taylor Hebert long-term plans and careful considerations, but she's not impulsive enough to get into interesting problems for very long, there's lots of opportunity to create intrigue that just get snipped in the bud because she decides not to care, which means a lot of threats just aren't very credible.

Playing: Hades! I got tutored through a full clear and had the boons system laid out to me and I have now got a clear with every weapon except the fists, and that's only because I haven't gotten around to it yet. I still don't think I enjoy the way the narrative of Hades is presented, but I am appreciating the gameplay, I enjoy enginebuilder-likes like this, you know, Inscryption, Noita, that kind of thing.

Making: Not much, too busy.

Tools and Equipment: I picked up a LowePro Creator Box, which is their line of mini-camera storage cubes intended to help turn normal bags into camera bags. Transporting camera equipment is a huge pain in the ass, because you have to keep it all padded, but dedicated camera bags are frequently awful as, you know, bags. Lowepro does make some camera bags that are also okay day packs, but these boxes are really nice for just dumping into an existing backpack or carry-on to safely travel with a camera and a couple lenses. This is the Large size.

There's a line of outdoor backpacks that even let you access your box from a side hatch directly, but I don't have one of those. This makes it much easier for me to, say, hoof my camera to work when I have somewhere I want to go later in the day. There's some gigantic cubes for larger bags as well which I guess are for if you're doing wildlife photography on foot, or running a full production in a remote area.