#and hearing it in that context too i will ascend | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quicksilversnails · 24 days ago

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Making a post compiling some of my thoughts on the new Pristine Cut music broken down by chapter because I have. many thoughts and thought maybe people might find them interesting!

The Cage's whole sound was so instantly memorable to me. I love all the different metallic percussion used: perfectly in-theme for a world envelloped in chains

There's soft yet eerie metallophones like the mock birdsong of chains, clanging bells like a death knell

It's mixed with shrill strings: reminscent of the scraping sound that plays in All Eyes On Me as the Prisoner cuts her head off, but quiet and distant, like a haunting memory that repeats itself in your mind

I also love the way the sound echoes - giving the impression of the emptiness of the woods & cabin

An Open Door pulls at my heart: the soft piano and drawn out sound stands in contrast to everything leading up to it

It plays whether you break the pattern by leaving or perpetuate the pattern and watch your dance, so the contrast of it feels representitive to me of a shift in perspective (either the Princess realizing her own control, or you realizing your lack of it)

Our Happy Ending is so damn evocative I need to break it down

It's so. drawn. out. Every note drags, with every instrument coming in at slightly different times

It has a really hollow sound to it: where Damsel's tracks have piano, strings, and woodwinds, Our Happy Ending is reduced to only the strings. There's a lot of full and rich music out there written for strings, but this (intentionally) isn't one of them.

Instead of playing every note in each chord, the instruments frequently double the same notes (just in different octaves) and omit other notes, making the sound even emptier

The arpeggio of the Princess' motif (which is prominent in Damsel's tracks) does appear around 1:30 in, but for a lot of the track the melody is very static, mostly stepping between a few nearby notes, as if it's too exhausted to do anything more complicated

It doesn't even loop smoothly in-game: there's a record scratch and a few seconds of silence before it continues, like it's forcing itself to keep going through the motions

It all sounds serene when the chapter begins but the more you listen the more deeply lethargic it becomes. It did so much to make this chapter even more viscerally uncomfortable for me

And then there's I Meant It. What is there to say. (Actually I do have some things to say)

It's noticeably in 3 (which I think is unique to this track), giving it an appropriately dance-like feeling

While it starts beautifully simple, the embellishments added to the theme as it goes on bring a sense of playfulness, reflecting the energy that grows in your dance the longer it goes on

The Princess & The Dragon!!! I speculated about this one when it was teased a few months back and it was so gratifying to hear it in context! I was very wrong about the route it plays in but I absolutely caught onto how it's an inversion of the typical setup!

The biggest example of this is how the main melody of the theme is the same as The Princess' main theme, but played in reverse! (and with a different rhythm)

The piano also plays descending lines, as opposed to the ascending lines usually heard in other tracks in this game (a good example is in The Unknown Together)

This all reflects how the chapter itself reverses the setup of the game by putting the player in the perspective of the Princess (maybe this is the melody she's used to hearing?)

The call and response nature between the humming (done by Amelia aka the Shifting Mound vocalist!!!) & flute invokes the Princess & Dragon themselves: the melody would be incomplete without both parts

It's such a warm theme too - where The Princess has a quiet somberness to it, The Princess and The Dragon feels rich and vibrant - it feels right

The Life-Taker takes the new motif from The Princess and The Dragon and puts it in the minor key of the World-Ender (I also really like the way the names of these tracks parallel each other)

Like World-Ender it's tense and uneasy, but it plays at a slower tempo, with plenty of long pauses and empty space in the melody: it feels appropriate for the silent, staring body standing in front of you

It also feels more static to me than World-Ender does with its constantly moving piano, which is reflective of how little power you have in the scenario. As TLQ, you have to make the decisions, but as the Princess, the most you can do is watch and wait in suspense

Also this is more of an audio editing thing but I ADORE the way World-Ender cuts in when you switch back mid-chord - really hammers in how your perspective is being forcibly shifted right in the middle of the action

The reversed motif returning when you leave with the Princess or merge with her again is also very sweet: whether you're sharing a body anymore the connection and understanding you've gained remained :)

I love all the new Fury tracks! They're so gritty

I'm happy they kept a similar sound to The Fury's track in the base game because it has such a cool and unique vibe and I was mildly worried that the process of being unwound would just lead the droning sounds of TLQ (still cool, just less unique)

I like how the music still cuts out when you get initially unwound, leaving just faint buzzing - it keeps the shock of that moment from the base game but keeps you grounded in the present by denying you the silence of death. Where in the base game Fury denying you death barely mattered, now you can feel it down to the unwound yet still present soundtrack

I like how Hand In Claw (which plays when escaping the tunnel with Den) introduces this growling sort of guitar sound, rumbling like the sound of caving rocks

It keeps the fast, driving percussive elements of the other Den tracks but gives it a more obvious melodic shape, as you realize that there's more to her after all

It sounds totally distinct from the other Den tracks in general, and that makes sense since its respective path is also unique among the many, many variants of the chapter

The live rendition of The Apotheosis was a fun surprise - I heard it play and just went "...that's different right?"

I still love the way the theme begins as the Apotheosis herself unfurls from the cabin: it's just as breathtaking as it was the first time

I was wondering before release how this track could be expanded on when it felt like such a transcendent and insurpassable theme (it's also used for The Shifting Mound after all) - but the game actually doesn't build on it, just letting it play, only cutting from it in extreme moments. I think that's kind of nice: the power and awe of the track speaks for itself

Meanwhile A Tapestry Undone is essentially The Apotheosis without the piano, orchestra, or any of the instrumentals that give it its sense of power

The vocals sound hollow and distant - she seems farther away, her influence less overwhelming, whether due to dissociative pain or because in that moment you're compelled to lash out at her in spite of whatever godlike power she might have had over you

In-game, the drones of TLQ are also faintly audible, which makes sense since the Apotheosis is tearing at the walls of the construct (ie. you)

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kalims · 28 days ago

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⭒ㅤnot gonna lie !

premise. pov prefect opens a ngl, except! the story they shared it from can only be viewed... by one person!

characters. first years

ace

not gonna lie ! smash tbh

unironically pretends that he never sent one when you start bombarding him.

uniquewhere: i didn't even see ur story

shrimp: [attatchment]

uniquewhere: i have no wifi to see that sorry not sorry

vehement denial is actually the most effective defense according to him. even if it bypasses all forms of realism, it's not real if he doesn't believe it to be! <- real life advice from ace trappola guys.

if you haven’t already guessed, he can indeed see the picture you just sent and just assumes his very first form of defense… no amount of proof will remove him from his little ball of: “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

you gotta prepare some kind of miscrosoft presentation, and sit him down. though he will 100% do that thing where he plugs his ears in with his fingers pretending he doesn’t hear anything even though it doesn’t block out you reading out the words.

“here is the real, actual screenshot of my replies—”

“I NEVER EVEN SAW YOUR STORY.”

“ah, good! next slide after this is the views of the story!”

deuce

not gonna lie ! i like you

very demure, very straight to the point is deuce.

he would've written some long ass paragraph in all honesty but he just can't because he sees what he writes, deletes it, then cringes to himself.

atleast with that one he has the excuse for whichever scenario that might randomly ask about it.. (yes, he's thinking that far) weird flex but ok

1. "you ever confessed to your crush?" someone asking

2. "yeah sorta....." deuce

3. "???" someone confused

he was feeling reaaallyyy proud of himself. the anxiousness finally settles down, alongside with his rapidly beating heart. even if it isn't a real, confession it still brings him a bit of peace.

shrimp: I know what you did

tokyodefenders: WHAT?

there goes his heart rate.

like, you did not offer context to any of that but he's still gonna think you somehow, actually do know even if you didn't provide an explanation to... whatever it is you know about him!

tokyodefenders: whaTEVER IT IS IS NKT TRUE

shrimp: please, ur breaking my heart

shrimp: I like u too :(

heart? ascended

he's not even gonna question it. all his braincells got dumped out, and all he can focus on is that particular message. he isn't even gonna remember backtracking about the ngl cause he's gonna be like:

how did they hack my keyboard.. are they tracking it?! LOL

"I'm a mastermind,"

"HOW DID YOU KNOW?!?!" <- deuce, scared for his life.

jack

not gonna lie ! stop getting into trouble. I'm not always there to pull you out

is concerned with how many times you've managed to unknowingly walk into trouble, jack had been lucky enough (yes, him. not you, cause knowing you, you wouldn't be too phased) to be a near constant presence when the shenanigans during the tournament concluded, he stuck to you then.

as in reluctantly following around you like a tail. narrowing his eyes at the less than friendly faces often wore around you, that you were... well, amazingly oblivious to. or maybe you acted like you didn't know, the carriage didn't pick you up for nothing if you were here in nrc.

shrimp: do u rlly think I'm a troublemaker?

iheldheroncejacob: yes

the random topic being brought up went completely over his head. jack probably had forgotten he'd given the link to your story the time of your day, in all honesty

shrimp: well maybe I keep getting in trouble so u can rush in, and pull me out?

iheldheroncejacob: you're a terrible friend then

shrimp: :(

in retrospect jack is able to keep up with joking around, usually. but it's so hard to take you seriously that he takes whatever you say with a grain of salt, you're almost always tipping between flat sarcasm, or calm nonchalance between your words. it almost always has something to do with the people you're with.

the heartslabyul prefect for example, you take a kind, subtle undertone of teasing to (which is crazy, because you're scarily tame in the presence of the vice-dorm head.) and then you're all stony faced when you're with someone you don't like.

^ and you obviously don't dislike jack, if the little selfish, presumptuous nrc part of him would like to claim confidently so... would you really be joking?

only does jack realize the connection between your text, and the ask he sent when he's just finished his laps.

"I'm not your guard dog! why would you even get in trouble for that, next time I'm not even gonna spare you the time cause—"

"what a pee brain."

"what? don't compare my brain to a tiny pee—"

epel

not gonna lie ! CAN I PLS TRANSFER TO RAMSHACKLE AHHHH

you've never met anyone who's disliked being sorted into whatever the dark mirror fitted their 'soul' into as much as epel.

even without the private story only limited to his response, you're sure you could pick out his message and put a face to it.

epel, in his defense, still has savanaclaw as number one in his heart. though upon asking jack if it was possible to transfer there, the latter confirmed but it was... a tedious process, and suggested asking rook, who literally came from savanaclaw!

the boy only spared his friend a side glance before scurrying away. no use traipsing around that...

but of course, getting away from pomefiore is only a goal! always being near your proximity was a biiiiig bonus!

shrimp: hey I need ur files for the dorm transfer

catchwhathands: [escapeplan.jpg]

catchwhathands: I knew u wanted me in ur dorm!!

shrimp: actually I don't. ur the one that asked ;)

catchwhathands: who cares. I'm finally getting out of this hell YEAHHHH!!

shrimp: who said I was gonna use the files you sent?

okay, admittedly the moment he'd sent over the files, epel shut his phone, and quite literally did a victory lap around his room. making sure to frolic so vil has less chances of hearing his chaos...

the dorm leader woke up so easily from noises that you'd think rook was the reason he developed such a habit.

probably.

epel was already planning the plan! he could see the vision! maybe he could plant around ramshackle since it is a pretty big area. you guys would be together for the remainder of the year—and he'd finally bump the adeuce duo from their pedestal!

*ping*

"AGHHHHH STUPID FRIGGIN'—"

"epel!"

"sorry..."

sebek

not gonna lie ! since it is a request for unbridled honesty, I shall deliver what you've requested. you have done so without much thought, clearly! if you've given such leeway for... criticism! you, human, could use a lot more educating in terms of the glory of our eternal lord, the glorious malleus! in accordance to your previous, description of our relationship. the farthest I can give is acquaintance, but I shall only call you a companion (AKA friend) if you are atleast educated about my interests! as the good companion you desire to be!

woo, alright. he really wrote all that...

oh, uh oh.. you just got another ask from him, maybe even longer..?

shrimp: what would that make silver then

rizzvolt: my brother in arms!

shrimp: but hey, actually I do want to know

rizzvolt: ah! finally! I knew you atleast have some common decency, and sense. for that I shall agree for your request in our friendship! these are the most accurate ones pertaining the great lord malleus' biography! [link] [link] [link]

rizzvolt: is that enough? I will send you more, but only if you finish these three. I will test you rigorously to confirm that you are indeed genuine in your interest!

why he has all that, you have no idea.. if only he displayed that much dedication for his studies...

shrimp: I don't wanna learn about malleus

shrimp: I want to learn about you

rizzley: how dare you! the lord's name should only be addressed with a: 'lord', 'the great', 'the

...

sebek stares at his screen, just in the process of finishing his... educating sentence, because even in text, malleus should only be treated with the highest form of respect!

have you no integrity?! he wonders.

only then does he focus on your response, does he make a rather... dubious sound of shock? sebek doesn't know why he breaks into a cold sweat as he runs the sentence through his mind a hundred times in the span of a minute.

what is this... some sort of human illness? or maybe love—

of course he'd never even consider such a thing! (just did bro)

shrimp: sooo.. since you sent me an ask, does that mean you actually like me?

shrimp: sebeeeeekk.. did you actually read?

with the speed of lightning (and the adrenaline maybe, what else could this frantic pounding of his chest explain besides that you are indeed, dangerous!) he opens the story on your media

'send me an ask if you like meeee :)'

sebek promptly falls over.

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lxmelle · 7 months ago

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“Best Friend” / 親友

I’ve been mulling over this for a few days, wondering if I’m overthinking things, or if there is actually something to it.

Gojo and Geto are like a pair of parents. And I think it’s deliberate. Hear me out.

See, from a non-native pov, I can pick apart this coined phrase for best friends, shinyuu “親友” or “family friend” into its individual kanji: 親 and 友

The first kanji on its own, oya “親” can be read as “parents”. The second kanji on its own is tomo “友” can be read as “friend”. How a kanji character is read changes according to context within a sentence, topic, or what it is paired with. It can be difficult to explain if you’re not used to the language, so I’ll leave it at that for the purposes of not complicating this post.

They both considered each other their 親友 - best friend. There is only one pair of people who considered each other this “best friend” terminology in the series. Gege could have used Nakama 仲間, or Brother, or even just Tomodachi 友達. TaisetsunaHito 大切な人 is definitely a step too far. No other best friend. Yuji is several people’s “brother” but not best friend. Gojo and Geto are a pair. A duo. The canon-confirmed “たった一人の親友” my one and only best friend status is mutual.

As friends, we know they split up. There is no mention of 親友 / best friend-ism at this point. But they unequivocally considered each other as such, and they never ever had another 親友 until their dying day.

The fact that there is the kanji for “parent” in the phrase for “best friend” is poetic. “Oya/親” is obviously the same word used by Gojo in the kfc breakup scene, because that’s the kanji for it, and that’s what Geto did - kill his parents.

I’ll use this to illustrate:

親 = parents (consisting of mum + dad).

親友🤍 + 親友🖤

To add to the latter, this potential theme, they both go onto adopting kids. Their different parenting styles speak for themselves ofc, but that’s by the by.

Gojo and Geto’s separation played a part in setting off this huge domino effect too. Geto also described how his parents are not his only family now. We also know he considers close non-blood-related persons to be as “family” - like how he offered Kuroi the acceptance of her feelings towards Amanai as “family”. He saw Gojo and the school as family - that is, until he saw how the system was willing to sacrifice their own kind. It isn’t a stretch to see the parallels between what Geto is sharing about severing that bond with his parents (and also with Gojo) and finding another “family” by choice.

Obviously Gege isn’t drawing the parallel by bringing parents into it just due to their best friend status. I headcanon that it was to start anew, not be a hypocrite, to spare them from the monster he’d become, and to eliminate the likelihood they’d be used against him in any way. The last 2 reasons would be to drive in the emphasis that there is a similarity with Rika (who was rumoured to have been the reason for her parents’ deaths although they occurred separately) and... that this would mean that Geto was also separating from his “family” in HI - the duo that was Gojo and Geto. Gojo ascended without him in his quest to become the strongest, and Geto descended to pursue his twisted form of meaning to make his ideal a reality.

It might just be reaching and a coincidence, but I remember that Gege loves these little itty bitty details in character and lore design - like birthdates, dates, flower language, religion, specific kanji used for names, etc - just to name a few. It helps him illustrate significance and I guess adds a touch of sophistication and layering in his storytelling. I absolutely love it. We know by design SatoSugu / Gojo and Geto are meant to be counterparts, so black & white, yin and yang, light and dark, elite and common, even their names are quite fitting, GojO SatoRU and GetO SuguRU .

The kanji / characters selected are also deliberate - Satoru 悟 being “enlightenment” and Suguru 傑 being “outstanding”. The Gojokesa 五条袈裟 was also deliberate, Geto 夏油 has the word “summer” as part of his name and his birthday is setsubun (1st day of spring) where ghosts/evil spirits are chased away. Gojo’s is the heaviest snowfall.

My examples are limited to just satosugu, but you know other characters have similar situations with how the kanji for their names were chosen - e.g. simplest that come to mind is 七海建人 Nanami : 七 = 7 and his ratio technique 7:3 and his hair style too 70%30% parting, 海 = sea, 建人 = human builder (…lol, Gojo entrusted Yuji to him after all…); utahime 歌 = song/music, etc.

My point is that there are a lot of little details like these, so I concluded that I’ll just share this thought I had. The pair of 親友 breaking up is a bit like “partners in crime” no longer being partners anymore, and went about their separate ways but fostered “families” of their own.

TLDR: scene in front of the KFC was really a breakup (◞‸◟)

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mossxolotl · 23 days ago

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OKAY MASSIVE VENOM THE LAST DANCE SPOILERS AHEAD BUT I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS PARALLEL ALL WEEKEND WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT HOW ONE OF THE SCENES AT THE END MIRRORS A PAINTING I wrote a whole analysis under the cut. I’m normal about this symbiote and you should be too

OKAY SO one specific parallel I found is in one of the final scenes of the movie, as Venom is sacrificing himself and saying his goodbyes to Eddie. The positioning of Eddie’s hand and the framing of the reaching shot feels incredibly deliberate, and seems to be a direct mirror of Michaelangelo’s The Creation of Adam, as shown below:

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN THOUGH?? For some art history context:

The Creation of Adam is a fresco piece created by Michaelangelo on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. Whilst the frescoes in the Chapel were commissioned by a variety of Popes to a variety of Florentine Renaissance master craftsmen, the collection by Michaelangelo on the ceiling and behind the altar, commissioned by Pope Julius II, are widely considered to be the most important. They depict scenes and figureheads of the Old Testament. The Creation of Adam was made in 1511 and took sixteen days of work to complete.

The fresco depicts an illustration of the moment in Genesis where God gives life to Adam, the first man. It seems to be directly inspired in particular by Genesis 1:26:

“Then God said, "Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness"”

The outstretched pose, with the almost but not quite contact, symbolises the divine breath of life, the spark between them that gave mankind life in the first place.

But they don’t touch. Are they reaching out to touch, or are they letting go? If they’re reaching for each other, the painting could depict desire, a want for closeness- and if they’re letting go, an independence, separation, an assertion of “me without you”.

To examine the movie itself: If we look at the screenshot attached, Eddie’s finger placement feels VERY deliberately reminiscent of God’s hand within Michaelangelo’s piece.That outstretched hand, unsure if it’s letting go or grasping out one final time, to Venom’s approaching, then retreating, tendril. Interestingly, though, if Eddie is standing in for God here, he’s depicted in the lower part of the canvas, Venom-Adam approaching from above. This could be reminiscent of His creation becoming “more than him”, ascending beyond His reach.

The roles here are pretty self explanatory. When the symbiotes first landed on Earth in Venom (2018), it was discovered that they could not survive without an oxygen-breathing host, hence the beginning of the symbiosis trials by Drake in the first place. In providing Venom with a suitable environment in which to live, it could be said that Eddie gave Venom life. The inverse could probably also be said to be true- Venom healing Eddie, and providing him with all the strength he does, could be seen as godly acts, especially in the revelation in The Last Dance that he was directly responsible for Eddie’s resurrection. Perhaps one interpretation puts Venom, the strange alien with the ability to keep Eddie walking no matter what, as God initially created Adam with the prospect of eternal life. The other could be stated that Eddie is directly allowing Venom to live in providing him with the perfect host, in a unique way to any other temporary host.

The Venom story in Spiderman can be seen as biblical, anyway - a lot of Venom’s scenes are around churches, and the storyline shows Peter paying for his sins, purging his “inner demon” and being reborn. A lot of Venom’s storylines can be seen in a similar way, with him being a literal personification of a violent, intrusive line of thoughts before he and Eddie find a way to coexist in a healthier (albeit imperfect) way.

The science bit that ties it all together:

A deeper dive into the composition of the fresco reveals a lot more, though. An article written by Frank Lynn Meshberger, MD, makes an argument that the painting can be interpreted in a neuroanatomical manner. The shape of the drapery and the angelic figures around God resemble a human brain, in surprising anatomical detail.

In this interpretation, God is superimposed over the limbic system, which is responsible for emotion, memory, learning, behaviour and motivations. His arm extends through the prefrontal cortex, “the most creative and most uniquely human region of the brain”.

Michelangelo had a lifelong interest in anatomy that extended beyond the artistic, participating in public dissections from a very young age. Thus, it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that this brainlike imagery is entirely deliberate - especially when his religious views are considered. He believed that the divinity we get from God is not life itself, but our intelligence, that it is one thing to give life to stone but another entirely to give it the ability to “try all things received”. In the painting, Adam is completely formed, aware, alive even, so perhaps it is not the gift of life being given in this moment - it’s the intellectual spark that the artist believed makes us human rather than beast, and the awakening of human ability and consciousness.

In this line of reasoning, the symbolism in Venom: The Last Dance makes even more sense with Eddie as the Godlike figure in this instance. In a literal sense, Venom lives within Eddie’s mind when he is dormant, and puppets his body similarly to an external nervous system. More figuratively, though, at this point in the movie, it’s perhaps made most obvious just how much Eddie has changed Venom. He is capable of emotional reasoning, as starkly shown in his sacrifice. He has spent half the movie reminiscing on his and Eddie’s memories. He is very obviously a being that behaves very differently to how he did in Venom (2018), with very different motivations.

Eddie, in metaphorically reaching through that prefrontal cortex towards Venom, has made him more human, has gifted him with that human spark of life and intelligence and human ability to do and to be and to try all things received (and he does, most dramatically, in Venom: Let There Be Carnage, and in his enthusiasm in throwing himself into things Eddie is more hesitant to - singing in the car, dancing, gambling even). And that’s how he dies - humanly, emotionally, simultaneously reaching out to Eddie and letting him go in the same motion, independent from him in a way that is both a first step into individuality, and the last sacrifice he will ever make for his best friend. (Well, boyfriend. Come the fuck on. “You would make a great father” and then the wedding scene cut?? MARVEL WHEN I GET YOU MARVEL)

ALSO THE FACT A PAINTING ABOUT LIFE’S CREATION MIRRORS VENOM’S DEATH?? HELLO. Either this is some massive dramatic opposition for effect or it’s foreshadowing. What if something was created at that moment. Cue the cockroach, cue the whole thing with Knull. Even if we don't get Symbrock back, Venom's probably making a return in some form - Venom or some other symbiote. Teddy's symbiote is still alive, after all - and so is the cockroach.

#venom 3 spoilers #the creation of adam #tw bible #venom the last dance spoilers #venom 3 #venom the last dance #symbrock #venom movie #eddie brock #venom symbiote #venom last dance #veddie #venom

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nyerus · 1 year ago

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Hi! I would love to hear your thoughts about classism in TGCF, but specifically regarding XL. It surprised me to see people hating on XL for not knowing or doing better during his teenage years of luxury as the crown prince and making XL a complete villain because he didn't take down classism and restructure society despite still being a kid himself. It struck me as odd that the fandom is well aware of his 800 years in poverty but also not really addressing the fact that XL, too, is a victim of classism albeit a little different from someone like MQ.

Hi there! So sorry it's taken me this long to get to this ask, I've just been in sort of a funk for a few days haha.

But yeah, this is definitely a topic that comes up from time to time, with lots of discussion about. It surprises me that despite that, there are still people (maybe just newer fans? idk) who still hate on Xie Lian for his naive views as a 17yo. Especially since, despite being a naive 17yo, he still really wanted to help people less fortunate than himself. He didn't quite understand how to do this in the most effective ways (because he was a teenager), so it came off as somewhat patronizing as he was a person in a position of power compared to everyone else. Yet his desire to help people was genuine, and he didn't personally think of "common folk" as being any lesser than "royalty" -- even though in this case, there kind of literally was a difference. (E.g. when Lang Ying goes from being a commoner to a king, he gets a "kingly aura" that protects him!) So it's honestly kind of incredible that Xie Lian is willing to say things like "I think people are equal, even gods and humans, and if the Heavens disagree with me, then it's the Heavens that are wrong" with his entire heart.

I imagine a large part of the hate Xie Lian gets from certain fans is jealousy or resentment, due to the fact that Xie Lian was "born privileged." But on it's own, "privilege" is not "the great enemy" -- it's what said privilege means in the context of society, and what someone does/doesn't do with it that merits judgement. Xie Lian doesn't fully understand the privilege he had until he loses it (again: because he was 17!), but he still understood it enough to use it to protect and help people. That's more than many other characters can say. Him starting out as a prince doesn't automatically disqualify him from class struggles or the horrors of poverty. It's nonsensical to think so, when this is a character who literally spent almost 800 years busking for scraps, while sleeping in dirt outside and eating garbage….

On the flip side, as you mentioned Mu Qing -- yes, he was a victim of classism. But he's a very strange figure to use as the poster boy for that, though he often is by people who are critical of Xie Lian. This may be a controversial take, despite it being something I think that makes the character of Mu Qing really interesting: but he's a very "typical" guy within the concept of classism. He's someone who started off with a bad lot, but then ended up ascending to the highest point you pretty much can in that world/society. Which is great! He did that through hard work, and it paid off! But now, since he got his "happy ending," that's kind of it for him. He doesn't do anything to materially improve the lives of those less fortunate, especially those he has no personal connection with. This doesn't make him a bad person -- it's not really his job to that, even as a god. He's a martial god, so he's there to subdue threats and all that. Yet you can clearly see, that's exactly the type of person society values because such "rags to riches" stories give legitimacy to the whole system, and because they don't rock the boat once they're on top.

So then it's odd to be angry at Xie Lian but not Mu Qing (or others) for the lack of some "grand revolution" that some readers seem to want.

Ironically, Xie Lian used what power he had to try and help people -- and he was worse off for it. If he had done nothing, he would have been able to live a happy and carefree life. He would have lived and died as a rich prince/king with no troubles. Like, that's the point! The societies we live in punish those who want to broadly help others or make meaningful change, while rewarding those who quietly play the game for themselves -- because it helps keep the wheels turning. It doesn't matter at "what end" of the spectrum you start out on, the rules apply the same way. If you go against the establishment, there's a price to be paid.

Throughout Xie Lian's long journey, he learns this lesson the hard way. And the fact that in order to change it, he would somehow have to change the hearts and minds of pretty much everyone -- which is an impossible ask. How is he even supposed to that, or restructure society as a whole, without vast amounts of collateral damage? In the end, Xie Lian discovers that he was not wrong in his desire to help people, even if he cannot help everyone. He can still help people he meets in whatever ways he can, and that is still important. To show kindness, mercy, and empathy towards your fellow man is worth it. Helping your neighbors or complete strangers you meet once and then never again -- all that is still worth it.

I wish I had the time to sit down and really talk about this in a more organized way, but these disjointed thoughts are all I can manage at the moment! I hope it was still valuable to you in some way, and thank you for sending in the ask!

(Also, I recently reblogged a post that talked about something similar if you wanna check it out, Anon. It's right under the manhua highlights I think!)

#Anonymous #asks #tgcf #im seeing a LOT of chatter on this topic lately so it makes me wonder if there was some discourse i missed due to being under a rock lol #nyerus.txt

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edwinspaynes · 14 days ago

Text

I've spent most of my writing time working on chapter 3 of Now We're at the Starting Line (I Did My Time) this month. The good news is that the chapter will be out on the 15th as planned! The bad news is that I didn't write anything for Crystal week.

Luckily, this chapter has a Crystal-and-Edwin scene in it that I'm extremely proud of! I'm posting it independently a few days before the chapter for @crystal-week, because I love our little psychic so much and want to post something for her.

Starting Line spoilers under the cut!

CONTEXT: After getting home from an awful meeting with her mother, Crystal finds herself crying on the stairway of the Agency building. Edwin, after a rather emotional moment with Charles, ascends the stairs and sees her there.

Crystal should go home. She knew that she should – her bed would be a great distraction right now, and the promise of a night sleeping beside Niko’s ghostly form was a comfort. But she didn’t want to go home to Niko a crying mess, so she sat on the stairs between the parking lot and the Agency above with her knees pulled to her chest.

Her mom really didn’t care about her. She didn’t give two shits what happened to her daughter. It had never been clearer to Crystal than it was today, and it had already been pretty fucking clear.

You have twelve minutes, she had said.

This conversation has been a perfect waste of time.

Crystal, I’ve let you have your little delusion for long enough.

She should be beyond sadness. She shouldn’t be such a baby. She was Crystal Palace Surname Von-Hoverkraft, and she’d always been a force to be reckoned with. Not just psychic, not just magical, but strong. Emotionally sturdy. Reliable.

Even if her memories didn’t feel like her own, she recalled feeling that way. Powerful.

And, apparently, she couldn’t catch a break. Not even to have a good long humiliating cry on her own. Because the last voice she wanted to hear sounded behind her, echoing through the rickety stairwell louder than she’d ever wanted it to. “Crystal?” Edwin sounded weirdly worried. “Are you… crying?”

“No,” she said. “Someone’s fucking chopping onions.”

Edwin sat down beside Crystal gingerly, lowering himself with his hands awkwardly. He cocked his head to the side and hummed. “I can in fact recognize when you are being sarcastic,” he said. “You are not particularly subtle.”

Crystal snorted. “Did you think I was trying to be?”

“I do sometimes,” Edwin said lightly. “Perhaps not now, though, as you seem rather… tense.” He paused. When he finally spoke, his voice was oddly stiff. “Would you like to… discuss your particular malady?”

Crystal touched the buns in her hair, one after the next. She was already crying, and Edwin knew it. She might as well talk to him. What was the worst he could do?

And, as much as she hated admitting it, somewhere deep inside her she knew that she and Edwin were birds of a feather. Crystal might as well talk to him, right? Besides, she didn’t really care what he thought about her. He’d see her, and he’d be honest. Maybe that was all she needed right now. So she took a breath and said, with absolutely no prelude, “it was my mother.”

Edwin’s response was short, and his voice was light. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Crystal said, grateful for his brevity. It made her feel like she could go on. “When Charles and I met up with her today, she was… I don’t know. A real asshole, honestly. But I hate saying that. She’s my mom, even if she was super clear that she didn’t want to see me.” She paused. “Did you know that she only gave me a fifteen-minute appointment? I’m her daughter, and she gave me a fifteen-minute scheduling block.”

“That is… less than positive,” Edwin agreed in an oddly sympathetic voice.

“That’s very British of you,” Crystal told him, and he smirked. She did, too, but felt her face fall again after a few seconds. “Just… and, like, I don’t want to bitch and moan about it, even if I’m speaking to the world record holder for bitching and moaning.”

“Now you are just needlessly instigating,” Edwin said, but there was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “A well-known facet of your personality, to be sure, but unnecessary right now.”

Crystal rolled her eyes. “Well, like I was saying, I don’t want to gripe too much, but like… she didn’t care that I was missing. She didn’t even fucking notice, and neither did my dad. What kind of parent doesn’t even notice when their child is missing? What kind of parent doesn’t even give it a second thought when they learned that their kid was a literal missing person?”

She was angry. She was indignant. But Edwin was looking off into the distance, his expression calm and contemplative. He looked like he wanted to say something, but was holding back for some reason.

Which sucked, because one of the reasons that she liked Edwin – though, ugh, why would she think that – was that he never bit his tongue. But his face was careful now, even if his eyes shone with some unidentifiable emotion.

“What is it?”

Edwin turned his head toward her, his shoulders rolling. He assessed her with an almost practiced nonchalance before speaking. His voice was kind, but there was an undercurrent of anger in it that Crystal didn’t understand.

Not yet, anyway.

“I do actually know something of that,” Edwin said. “Believe it or not.”

Crystal blinked. “What does that mean?”

Edwin paused. He opened his mouth once, shut it, and shook his head quickly. “When I went to Hell - ”

“God, Edwin,” Crystal said. “I know that what’s happened to me isn’t as bad as literal Hell. You don’t always have to compare.”

“I’m not,” Edwin said. His fists clenched and pressed together on his lap. “I am very sorry that I have given you reason to believe that I am.”

All the fight went out of Crystal then. “It’s fine,” she said.

“Might I go on now?”

“Fine.”

“When I went to Hell,” Edwin continued, “my disappearance was labeled an Act of God. I believe I have told you that, but… well, I have had decades to contemplate the implications of that, and to research precisely what the declaration entailed.” He paused. “One facet of such a statement is that I was not looked for. Not by anyone. Society at large, to be sure, but I do not care much for the opinions of that lot. I do, however, care that my family abandoned my search.”

“Jesus,” Crystal said.

“Yes, I do believe that is a likely reason that no one searched for me.” Edwin’s voice was saucy, but Crystal sensed an undertone of real hurt. “They did not even start, in fact. I was an Act of God from the day I went missing. To this day, my death is what Charles calls a ‘cold case.’ I remain unburied, and my mother and father could not even be bothered to purchase an empty casket for me despite their abundance of money.”

“That sucks,” Crystal said sympathetically.

“Yes,” Edwin agreed. “It is not an ideal outcome. And I know that you think me unemotional, or cold. But remembering that no one around me cared to search for me – it is the only time that I remember that I was once a person.” He cocked his head. “But this is not about me. It is about the truth that you are far from alone in your sentiments, and-” Edwin made a vibrating sound with his lips, his eyes wide. “Well. That is rather enough emotion for one sitting. I daresay that I had far too many feelings after… well. I shall have to find a way to cleanse myself of it.”

Crystal snorted, and in that moment, she felt a bit herself again.

Then, to bring the mood back to something adjacent to normal, she turned toward Edwin. “Did you know that when I was born my mom signed my forehead?”

Edwin gave her an odd look. “With one of those… magical markers? Whyever would she do that?”

Crystal laughed slightly. “No, it was a temporary tattoo of her signature. It was like I was an art piece they were curating. They wanted to make some weird statement online.”

“Your internet is indeed an odd place. A wealth of knowledge, but also a wealth of independent publications waiting to be ridiculed.”

Edwin sidled off the stair next to her wordlessly and walked away, up the stairs and toward the comfort of his books and notes. Crystal watched him go, and he never turned back.

And she knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t give up, not for herself. Not just for her own sake, though that would have been a pretty damn good reason in itself. She had to understand her powers for Charles, for Edwin… and for Niko, who had been lighting her up inside in a weirdass way lately that she didn’t even understand. She had to know who she was, even beyond her memories, and if Maddy Surname wasn’t going to help her…

Well, fuck her.

Aicha, she thought, are you there?

Her eyes went white as Aicha responded.

Always, my sweet child.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #crystal week #crystal palace #edwin payne #starting line

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lalune9x · 2 months ago

Text

SCTIR Translation - Chapter 467: Even A Good Person (3)

“What the hell.” Moon Hyuna’s expression twisted. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter translation under the cut.

Story context: The terrorists who attacked the Association building used firearms and bombs. They delivered a message that they were a 'fan' of Director Song. That's why a certain character makes those references in this chapter.

---

“Isn't it time to tell the kids?” Moon Hyuna pressed the elevator button as she spoke. “Or at least Director Song. Even if Hyung-nim gets rejected as expected, we still need to assess her rank, right?”

Lowering one's Hunter rank honestly wasn’t a major issue. On the other hand, falsely inflating one’s rank was strictly forbidden because entering a dungeon beyond one's abilities could endanger not only oneself but also the entire team.

However, this case was different. This involved someone meeting with an F-rank who had already been targeted multiple times. Even if there were special circumstances, they should have at least informed someone like Song Taewon or an S-rank Hunter contracted to the Mount Rearing Facility for protection.

“Not yet,” said Sung Hyunje.

The elevator doors closed, and they began to ascend swiftly to the top floor.

“Well, I don’t how the others will react, but the young master would probably be the first to draw his sword,” Moon Hyuna said. “Hyung-nim might fail anyway. He might end up just talking about business the whole time.”

She chuckled and leaned casually against the elevator wall. Then she stopped laughing. After listening to the mechanical hum of the machinery, she spoke in a low voice.

“Something must have happened to Han Yoohyun. For Han Yoojin to go back to the past, I mean.”

“If not for a reason of that magnitude, he’s not the type to easily give up on the present and the people around him, is he?” Sung Hyunje replied.

"Not just that. There were times when he seemed almost desperate. It’s less so now, but… it was like, I don’t know, like he was a parent who’d lost a child.”

Even though Han Yoojin had only been Awakened less than half a year ago, he already knew a lot about hunters. Yet at the same time, he worried excessively about Han Yoohyun, an S-rank hunter. Even though Han Yoohyun was much stronger than him, despite being the little brother he’d cared for since childhood. Even though Han Yoojin wasn’t ignorant of what S-rank Hunters were capable of.

The elevator doors opened, and the two of them headed straight for the emergency exit. With no guests or staff around, the surroundings were quiet.

“Five years from now, you guys said? I’m curious, even if it doesn’t have much to do with me now, but how would I even ask?”

Hyuna furrowed her brows slightly as she opened the emergency exit door with the key she had obtained in advance. A dim stairway appeared before them.

“Hyung-nim still has some insecurities, doesn’t he.”

They ascended the stairs in one go, their footsteps barely making a sound. They unlocked door to the rooftop and pushed it open. The sky was already pitch-black as the sun had long since set.

“The wounds from losing something truly important don’t heal easily.”

Even if one went back to the past, with memories and experiences intact, things couldn’t remain the same.

“Especially for someone like Hyung-nim. If the situation became dire, he might throw his life away. He can’t afford to lose something so important twice—it would be too hard to bear.”

With a bitter expression, Moon Hyuna walked to the edge of the rooftop, overlooking the terrace garden to where Han Yoojin was headed. Although the difference in elevation was big enough that not even an S-rank hunter could hear the conversation from this distance, it wouldn't be hard to observe Han Yoojin’s facial expressions and lip movements.

Perhaps because of the considerable distance from the lounge to the terrace and their slow pace, Han Yoojin was only now emerging into the garden. His tense face was clearly visible to both observers. He glanced around a bit before stopping in front of the terrace railing.

“He must’ve liked her a lot to even remember her exact height.”

“He seems frightened,” Sung Hyunje remarked.

“Isn’t that normal? Getting rejected would be better. At least the person he likes would remain the same. Oh, they’re talking. Seems they’re still just discussing the broadcast.”

As Moon Hyuna slightly bent forward to get a better look, her body suddenly twisted sharply.

Thwack!

Her raised hand caught something in midair. Blood faintly seeped from her tightly clenched fist. It was an arrow.

“Now, what’s this?”

Moon Hyuna’s eyes sharpened. The arrow had come from the opposite building. Her cold gaze quickly scanned the line of buildings beyond the eight-lane road.

“Is sniping trendy these days? You don't need me, right? Or should we let the ones below know?"

Moon Hyuna’s feet touched the edge of the rooftop. At the same time, the Searcher’s Chain appeared. Unlike its usual appearance, it was currently a faint silvery chain that hadn't absorbed any electricity, stretching outwards. Moon Hyuna jumped into the air, stepped on the chain and then leapt higher. In an instant, she landed on the roof of the opposite building.

A faint killing intent emanated through the air like a signal. Without hesitation, Moon Hyuna dashed toward the source. She swiftly crossed the gap of more than ten meters between buildings, having drawn a long spear into her hand, and then came to an abrupt halt.

Someone was standing in the long shadow cast by the adjacent building. Still holding a bow, they seemed to have no intention of concealing their crime. Their eyes curved in a slight smile behind their glasses.

“What the hell.” Moon Hyuna’s expression twisted. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Breaker Guild Leader,” Evelyn Miller greeted her nonchalantly.

Moon Hyuna threw the arrow she had been holding. Thunk! It grazed the tip of Evelyn’s shoe and embedded itself into the ground. The arrow’s fletching quivered from the impact. A faint scent of blood lingered in its wake.

“What kind of game are you playing? Don’t tell me you’re here to confess to being one of the Association’s terrorists.”

“Do I look like Director Song Taewon’s fan?” Evelyn asked. Then she murmured in a low voice, “You still have no discerning eye,” which made Moon Hyuna’s expression grow more severe. “You know I don’t like the smell of metal and gunpowder.”

“Whatever,” Moon Hyuna retorted coldly, "As you said, I have no discerning eye. I can't tell what's real and what's fake with you."

“Still holding a grudge?”

"No. We just don't match—our dispositions. I like honest people.” Moon Hyuna’s foot dragged slightly as she stepped backwards.

“I like you,” Evelyn said.

“Cut the crap.”

“Moon Hyuna is someone who’s hard not to like. That’s why.”

“So that’s why you shot me? Alright. I’m leaving.”

Realizing it was pointless to continue the conversation trying to learn Evelyn’s motives, Moon Hyuna turned to leave. But Evelyn’s voice halted her.

“If you jump, I’ll shoot you down.”

A pale finger rested on the bowstring. There was no arrow, but Moon Hyuna knew well how quickly an arrow could be nocked by that fingertip. Thanks to the inventory, arrows could be instantly drawn into a Hunter’s hand. Evelyn was even faster than that, with the drawing of her bow and releasing of the arrow happening almost simultaneously. Rather than nocking and drawing, the arrow was nocked, drawn, and released at the same time.

It was a speed difficult even for an S-rank hunter to keep up with, and the power of the skill-imbued arrow was not to be underestimated. For Moon Hyuna, who didn't have a flight skill, it would be hard to dodge the arrows while airborne.

“At least tell me why,” Moon Hyuna demanded, not hiding her irritation.

Evelyn shrugged lightly. “I was just asked to hold you back for a while.”

“Asked? By whom—don’t tell me it was Sung Hyunje?”

“Who else could it be?”

“...What’s that guy plotting?”

Moon Hyuna ran a hand roughly through her hair. Evelyn's eyes seemed to convey that she sympathized with Moon Hyuna, at least at the moment.

“I’m curious too,” Evelyn said. “He opened the candy box, peeked inside, closed it again, and now he’s just shaking it. Normally, he would have already tried one of each flavor before tossing it aside.”

Even if there were a variety of candies, he’d lose interest halfway when they all tasted pretty much the same.

"Is he hoping for the candy to offer itself?" Evelyn wondered.

"...Who knows. I’d rather just leave than waste time standing here."

Baring her teeth fiercely, Moon Hyuna leaped over the rooftop railing. Instead of jumping to the adjacent building, she dropped straight down and soon disappeared between the buildings.

I hadn’t expected much. Rather, I’d thought the possibility was high, so, this... this. I swallowed a small breath. I reactivated my Fear Resistance. The trembling in my chest subsided, but the complex mix of emotions remained the same.

Yeah, things could definitely turn out this way. That was possible, right?

Come to think of it, things had gone well with most people until now. I had reconnected well with those I knew in the past. Needless to say, my relationship with Yoohyun improved. The people I went through dungeons with—though we weren’t as close as before—had reestablished good relationships with me. I was able to repay them. Even with people I’d had bad ties with, like Seok Shimyung, Kim Sunghan, and others from Haeyeon, I was getting along well this time. The people who had harmed or threatened me were either estranged before the regression or were people I had never known.

So, of course, this kind of situation could happen too. If things can change for the better, they can also change for the worse.

‘...From the beginning, it was just me liking her one-sidedly.’

And she’s still a good person. I wasn’t sure if it would have been better if the image she’d crafted for her broadcasts had been fake all along, or if it had been real.

“...I just wanted to say it.”

My gaze naturally dropped to the ground. It hurt inside. I wanted to take out the cigarettes still left in my inventory and light one. I should have drunk more.

No, now wasn’t the time for this. I needed to organize my thoughts. The conclusion was already clear.

The same message appeared as it had with Park Hayul. In that case, it was likely that Chloe had also received help from that so-called ‘noonim’ just like Park Hayul had. I still didn’t know that noonim’s identity, but for now, it seemed she was part of a faction different from the cult and the Pious.

‘They kidnapped me to China, but didn’t cause any further harm beyond that.’

Could they have made a deal with the Chinese military? So, although I’d been kidnapped, it was too early to judge them as definite enemies. If they weren’t part of Chatterbox’s faction, there was still room to negotiate. After all, there aren’t many people who actually want the world to end.

“Director Han Yoojin.”

“...Yes?”

“Since you’ve been honest, I’ll answer you just as candidly.”

My fists clenched reflexively. How was she going to respond? Would she try to persuade me? Or maybe—

“I don’t like people like you,” she said.

“... Pardon?”

Startled, I raised my head. On my shoulder, Gyeol fluttered his wings restlessly. Well, I’d heard people say they dislike me plenty of times before, but…

“It’s not right to judge someone I’ve only met a few times, but I just couldn’t see you in a good light.”

“R-really?”

Had I done something wrong? Publicly, I’d only been kidnapped a couple of times… Was it because I was weak? But Chloe didn’t seem like the kind of person to dislike me for that.

“Asking for a mere pet monster in exchange for a mount-rearing contract doesn’t sit well with me,” Chloe spoke with a slightly cold tone. Well, I… that was… “I don’t necessarily criticize luxury. But treating such a unique power as a personal indulgence leaves a bad impression on me.”

… I could understand why Hyuna-ssi had said Chloe was somewhat similar to Director Song. Director Song had also seemed to be a bit wary of me, though for different reasons.

“It wasn't a trivial request. I had a reason for it.”

“Does the Gold Hamster have some kind of special ability?”

“...No.”

It was really just a pet. I was trying to draw in Do Hamin, but even so, I could see why Chloe was still uncomfortable with it. She wasn’t wrong in thinking I was too cavalier. And since I couldn’t explain Do Hamin’s abilities, it probably just seemed like I was trying to win someone’s favor.

“I have no defense for that.”

I cradled the fairy dragon in my arms, trying to calm his irritated tail flicks. At least it wasn’t for some other reason. Just like how I liked Chloe from watching her on broadcasts, maybe she disliked me after seeing only part of my actions...

“Thank you for being honest with me,” I said.

Well, I was cleanly rejected. So cleanly that it was hard to believe she was associated with Park Hayul. Could it be that she knew a dozen other people who could grant growth buffs, and wasn’t telling me? The Irreverents had made such a fuss about how rare Caregivers like me were that I had assumed there were only two of us.

Still, she had hidden her true rank. But to go that far... wait a minute.

“Then, why did you come all the way here?”

If she had disliked me from the start, it didn’t make sense.

“Why did you accept the request to capture the Gold Hamster? There was no reason for you to help…”

It was strange for her to go out of her way to help capture the hamster, travel to Korea, and conceal her rank when she wasn’t even a guild member. If she had other business here, she could’ve just entered separately. Besides, concealing her rank wasn’t an issue unless she was meeting low-rank Awakened people like me or others who needed protection. It wasn’t like in Japan, where we fought duels with rewards on the line.

So, why did she come all this way?

At that moment, the glass door opened. A familiar face appeared and the man stepped inside. Chloe moved aside, and Sung Hyunje approached me.

“...What is this?” I asked. The little fairy dragon in my arms flattened his ears warily.

“Shall I offer you some comfort first?” Sung Hyunje said.

“Just get to the point.” I still couldn’t grasp the situation. "Were you two acquainted? From before?"

“Not exactly. Hunter Chloe didn’t come here to meet Han Yoojin-gun, but to see me.”

“To see... you?”

“When it comes to matters involving Director Han Yoojin, it’s easier to approach through the Sesung Guild Leader,” Chloe said.

So that’s why... But, then, when did they meet, and what exactly did they discuss? I wanted to step back, but there was only the railing behind me. I stared at the two of them, mentally preparing myself to jump if I had to.

#sctir #the s classes that i raised #s classes that i raised #my s class hunters #내가 키운 s급들 #novel translation #ahhhhhhh the plot twist! i love the drama in this arc so much #also the tension between hyuna and [redacted] is crazy #i'm falling asleep so i'll continue translating the rest later

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kirain · 9 months ago

Note

your gale takes actually got me to look deeper into forgotten realms lore (esp where it pertains to the afterlife) and long story short i’m at least a little bit fixated on it now and also will go to bat for that wizard basically at any point. also wild magic. i’ve been reading so much about wild magic, it’s so so interesting. esp wild magic sourced from the far realm and the implications that could have for a wild magic mage in esp the bg3 setting

Thank you, I'm so glad to hear that! I'm still learning about the lore myself (there's so much), and we should all be thanking Larian for introducing so many new people to D&D!

Wild magic is insane, and I had a great time using it with my sorcerer. The magic system in general is truly fascinating, as is its history in context of the game. It's just too bad it's linked to a god. I think I've said this before, but an irksome detail about Mystra is that she technically isn't a "bad" god, but she should definitely keep her fingers to herself. Every iteration has done objectively horrible things to mortals, but because she's written by a man who clearly favours her (in my humble opinion) nothing she does is presented as wrong. 😒

These asks actually reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend of mine. He basically said, "Elminster is on Mystra's side and he cares about Gale, so obviously Mystra is right." But here's the thing:

Not only is Eliminster a really annoying self-insert made by Ed Greenwood, the creator of the Forgotten Realms (and I mean that literally, he's admitted he's a self-insert), but Eliminster has also had ... "relations" with his surrogate daughter. He's betrayed his friends for Mystra. He's killed arguably innocent people. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't look to him for moral guidance. He also slept with the previous iterations of Mystra and blindly follows her commands, so he might just be a teensy bit biased. In fact, if you look at various forums, you'll see a lot of players complaining about the character's irritating Gary Stu status, and that Dungeon Masters hate putting him in their campaigns.

Elminster will never question Mystra, because in his mind she's a perfect being who deserves everything, including people's lives; ignoring the fact that pretty much every god in D&D is canonically flawed. He's the type of person who would tell a grieving parent that God took their recently deceased child for "reasons we cannot comprehend".

He says he took no pleasure in burdening Gale with her ultimatum, but let's be real—he wasn't that hurt by it. In fact, the Elminster we meet in game isn't even real. It's a snow clone. He couldn't be bothered to visit Gale, who he apparently respects and cares about, in person. The only time he shows any genuine emotion towards Gale is in the ascended epilogue, when he writes him a disappointed letter. And I wouldn't be surprised if that disappointment is more about him challenging Mystra than actually achieving godhood.

Though it should be said that Elminster is also a victim of Mystra. The iteration before Midnight (current Mystra) groomed and abused him for a millenia, yet for some reason we, the audience, are supposed to pretend there's nothing wrong with that. If anything, we're supposed to view it as "sexy". As if Gale and Elminster are "lucky" to have caught her attention.

Reading up on the lore surrounding these two is truly horrifying. Elminster is old enough now that his actions are informed and unforgivable. He helps Mystra groom boys to exploit and never questions her. He's not merely complacent, he's active in her ploys. Despite his numerous heroic feats, I personally can't overlook it, especially when he could have been Gale's biggest defender.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #larian studios #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #bg3 mystra #elminster #lore

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wardensantoineandevka · 10 months ago

Note

Thoughts on parallels between the scene where Phineas beats Sherman and where Imelda tortures weepe?

Jonas Spahr is there, and he's also not having a good day. 😔

So, I initially meant that as a joke about how I'm a huge fan of Jonas and will obnoxiously take any opportunity to talk about him. I do think there are many parallels and resonances between these scenes, and there is much to say about the four characters named and the central action of nearly killing someone for the sake of the Trust, but those angles are more obvious and more likely to be recognized by most. (And I'm willing to talk about some of those as well, if asked again. Or, if there's a specific aspect you'd like to hear about, let me know.)

In terms of my interests, it IS a pretty interesting point to be made: Jonas Spahr is there, watching. It's integral to both scenes that Spahr is a witness; he's even the ONLY witness in the Arca. His role as such is also explicitly recognized by the active character in each scene:

Since this is about the cabaret and Arca scenes specifically, I won't spin off into an entire commentary and analysis of Spahr's role as an observer and witness. For now, we'll have to content ourselves with the short version just for context, but I can go into it at a later time.

The heart of it is: thus far, his role in the narrative is a generally passive one that largely centers on watching and observing. It's the first thing he does as a player in this story. He steps back and watches how Phineas handles the Ginsberg situation, and the narrators remind us four separate times in 1.03: Mica:

Deeds of Valor—and Caenum, apparently—need to be witnessed, after all! Thing is, Spahr does a lot of watching but, until more recently, doesn't really SEE all that often. He is for a long time a passive, immovable, unreadable observer to events as the eyes of the Trust. He is that witness for much of events he's involved in, for better or (more likely) worse.

After Phineas attacks Sherman, Spahr himself is quick to identify this problem with himself in 2.02: Ascendancy, that he is watching and looking but he is, perhaps intentionally, not seeing and noticing:

The incident in the cabaret and the incident in the Arca are directly connected and bound together by Spahr as witness. Phineas attacking Sherman and Imelda torturing Weepe are moments that Spahr is truly seeing, bearing witness to events and comprehending them, their context, and their implications.

In both, he bears witness specifically to the damage that the Trust causes and the ways that it harms people inside and outside of it. Phineas and Imelda believe that Spahr will witness something else—Phineas hopes that Spahr will not be witnessing a failure where Imelda hopes that Spahr will be witnessing one—but what he is seeing instead is the raw brutality that the Trust and its systems and pressures naturally engender at their logical extremes. He immediately recognizes it to be a horror:

Spahr experiences a dread born of comprehension typically reserved for moments of understanding in eldritch horror. Sucks to be the guy whose role is to see things and you end up actually comprehending some of them! And comprehend them in these two scenes he does.

Spahr doesn't do a ton in terms of active action in either scene—the cabaret scene is notably set off by his mere presence, and he ultimately freezes in the Arca scene—but in each, he does ultimately move to attempt to stop what is happening. And, notably, he does so under his own power and motivation.

That said, he fails to prevent a significant amount of the damage. He moves fast enough to prevent Phineas from killing Sherman, but too late to prevent the harm done to Sherman and all the spiraling consequences of this. He is frozen into a paralysis by Imelda's threat, so he fails to follow through and stop her, stop the harm done to Weepe, and again stop the spiraling consequences from this.

Twice, once in each scene, he fails to meaningfully prevent the harm done here. He attempts to stop them when he is standing here in the room with them, but by then it's too late. ("Too little, too late," as Sherman will eventually say.)

Obviously, Spahr is not the sole bearer of responsibility in either incident. Phineas and Imelda have an immense amount to answer for there, and the system of the Trust itself created the conditions that one way or another pushes them and Spahr to do as they do. However, both are incidents that he in some way has allowed. He reflects on having not seen, or even ignored, the signs of what was brewing inside Phineas and what he was being pushed toward; he helps engineer this intervention and stands by while Imelda locks Weepe in the Arca, never asking enough questions.

He has allowed both to happen. When he begins to feel the emotional aftermath of each, in 2.02: Ascendancy and 2.17: Compensation, the narration of his internal monologue even uses that wording:

They're both critical scenes to Spahr's development as someone whose role is largely passive, both within the Trust systems and within the narrative. Just as much as he is to be seen, he is also very much here to see—and to refuse to see. To stand by as a passive witness to horrors and allow them, silent and impassive and watching. He can try to intervene, but he's already facilitated this.

He is coming to understand his part in this, in brutalities such as these, with horror. In the aftermath of the Arca incident, we see him increasingly discontent with his role in the Trust and desperately in search of ways to stop what he can. He is not yet successful, but his vision is very much clarifying. His arc turns around these scenes as paralleled experiences for him in his narrative, as moments that he witnesses, allows, and fails to stop against even his own belated efforts. These two scenes bookend his growing comprehension and self-reflection throughout season two.

Twice now, it's been asked of him: What are you refusing to see, Jonas? What horrors and brutalities are you allowing to happen? Will you always be intervening much too late?

Third time's a charm, perhaps.

#ugh ugh ugh some of the stuff I haven't transitioned or articulated as well as I wanted but I've worked on this for like over a month so #it is what it is #I had to cut out a whole aside about Spahr and interiority and POV bc it was tangenting #and I can go “I can expand on this later elsewhere” only SO many times and I did it twice already #Jonas Spahr #Midst #Midst podcast #Midst things #long post for ts #Midst Cosmos

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sincerely-sofie · 7 months ago

Text

Thinking about the Hollow Knight time-travel fix-it fic I talked about in these tags and losing my mind. I dug through the old snippets I have for the AU and I’m so sorry but I need to yeet them into the great void of the interwebs so I don’t explode. Context indented below, but feel free to skip it and just read the snippets.

During the events of the Embrace the Void ending, Ghost has become the next Lord of Shades (a sort of inherited godhood in this fic). After defeating the Radiance she immediately sets to work remaking history, and after some finagling is able to erase the Radiance from existence past a certain point in the timeline. Once she's done so, she enters the timeline and starts manually fixing everything she couldn't correct by abruptly retconning an entire goddess— and this means starting by rescuing the surviving vessels who are still trapped in the Abyss.

TPK brings up the Hollow Knight as his daughter after the Radiance disappeared and he came to the worrying realization that the mindless weapon he'd been raising was actually, for all intents and purposes, a rather normal kid. He has issues with his past but shunts the guilt to the background so he can function as a king and father. But once Ghost enters the new timeline, he starts having visions of there being other vessels who survived in the Abyss— and he starts going on a wild goose chase through all of Hallownest looking for his kids as he's forced to face the impact of the Abyss head-on.

(Ghost searches for survivors after giving herself a mild concussion:)

The first thing Ghost did upon entering the new world was materialize into the Abyss and immediately knock herself out by banging her head on an overhang. She definitely misjudged the size of this form.

She woke with a headache, one of her horns snapped off and lying at her feet, and surrounded by too-tiny, too-empty shells.

She wanted to be sick.

But she was on a mission.

Ghost took in a deep breath and called out.

Silence was what met her at first, then a single, quiet cheep.

Ghost called back with a coaxing chirp.

A head popped up over a large mound of corpses. Just one horn on this one— just one nubby little horn that sat over their brow. Ghost would have thought they were cute if they didn’t look so horrified. She reached out to them, cooing softly, and their fear gave way to interest. They rushed over and hopped onto her back so they could scramble onto her head and pat near where her horn snapped off.

“Did you fall?” They asked through the Void, the question twisted with worry, and she could hear in their voice that they were a little boy.

“No, I didn’t fall. Just hit my head.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She tilted her head forward to slide the sibling into her outstretched palm. A brother. She figured there must have been at least some boys among the hatchlings in the Abyss, but the only other vessel she knew was Holly. She had a little brother. The thought made her weirdly dizzy. “Where are the others?”

“Eating.”

Ghost froze. There was nothing down here but stone, Void, and corpses, and only one of those was remotely edible. She fought down the terrible memories that crawled up— she remembered the crunch of empty chitin in her own jaws, how it scraped her throat and did nothing to fill her belly— and she reached into her Void to find the supplies she’d been given by Mato before she ascended the Pantheon. Her claws closed around the bundle, and she didn’t even wait to see if they were still good before calling out a sharp, commanding chirp. Come, there’s food here.

The number of little vessels that peered over the mounds of carapace and raced over to her was overwhelming— There were eleven. Eleven survivors, including the one on her shoulder. She didn’t come too late after all. But then she saw what they were all gnawing on and fought the urge to be sick all over again.

“Don’t eat those,” she snapped, and several vessels looked down at the pieces of carapace clutched in their hands, confused. “They’re bad. Come here. I have something better.”

She undid the tie holding the bundle of preserves closed and set it on the ground in front of the other vessels, mentally thanking Mato for his parting gift. There were berries, crawlid jerky, bread, roots and mushrooms and vegetables she didn’t have the energy to name. The vessels eyed the food warily.

“It’s… bright?” One ventured.

“Colorful.”

“Smells weird,” another said.

“Where did you find it?” Asked the one with the single horn.

“Outside. Eat, eat.”

(Ghost is tunneling out of the Abyss with the surviving vessels:)

Ghost carved another stretch of path in the rock wall and swept the rubble out and away, over and over again, hoping she knew what direction she was digging. The vessels on her back questioned her relentlessly while she worked.

“What happened to your thingy?” Asked one, gesturing to her two curled-down horns.

“Horn,” Ghost corrected, and focused less on answering her question and more on ensuring that none of the vessels were swept away with the rubble or slipped from their places on her back while she dug upward.

“She hit her head,” said the one-horned vessel.

“And it broke?” The curled-down horns vessel was aghast. “I didn’t know that could happen! Did it hurt?”

“I was alright.”

“But your thi— your horn!”

“It’s okay. I brought it with me, see? We can find a cloak to tie it back on.”

“But she said there weren’t any old shells outside,” said a bored-sounding vessel with horns that stuck out rather than up or down. “How are we supposed to find a way to tie it?”

While the vessels debated how to reattach her horn, which the one-horned vessel apparently brought with him without her realizing, Ghost made a mental note to check all of their hands when she had the chance. She was so concerned with getting them to drop their siblings' carapace they were gnawing on that she hadn’t looked twice at the wicked-sharp horn in that vessel’s eager grasp. She needed to confiscate it.

But when she broke through the other side of the stone wall and stepped out into Greenpath, only to be met by the Hunter looming with claws at the ready, she knew she had bigger things to worry about.

(The Pale King is able to track down and reunite with the vessels while Ghost is away hunting... at least at first:)

The vessels all crept forward in their own time, until he was able to hand them the rest of the loaf to pick at to their content. He counted them— eleven in total, ranging in height from his knee to his waist. Eleven survivors. Eleven children to take home and ensure they’d recover from their early years.

Oran felt a small weight lift from his chest.

And then he heard a blood-chilling shriek, shot to place himself between the sound and the children, and he was slammed into the cavern wall with a resounding crack.

Oran was not an idiot. He heard that shriek start as a growl that sounded like a blade dragging across ice, like an echo of the language of wyrms, and he knew it meant get away. He was not an idiot. But by the gods was he stupid sometimes.

He snapped to his feet, ready to fight a vengefly king and lead it away from where his children stood on unsteady legs, hungry and weak— easy pickings. His stomach dropped when he saw not an apex predator, but a bug with a pitch black shell rushing towards them. A lance of light sprung into his hands without a thought, but he couldn’t move fast enough, it had already closed the distance—

—And looped its wyrm-like tail in careful coils around the children, then roared at him in a primal rumble he understood on instinct: If you draw any closer to my young, I’ll kill you.

A god— no, a goddess. A goddess with a shell like midnight, eyes like suns, claws like scythes, horns like castle spires. And she was hunched low to the ground, terrified, trembling as she bared her teeth at him. The Lord of Shades, reborn.

(Ghost threatens the Pale King for a good few paragraphs when he thanks her for protecting the vessels before he could rescue them.)

A pale-shelled head popped up from over the coils, shortly followed by all of its fellows. One small vessel chirped— chirped— at the goddess, who simply rumbled tightly and nudged them back down with her cheek, keeping her eyes on Oran. For every wide-eyed vessel that she hid away, two popped back up, intent to watch what was happening outside their guardian’s coils. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that his life was being threatened by the newly reborn Lord of Shades with the sight of his children peering up at him excitedly from where they perched in her coils. Adorable, the father within him remarked when one of them pointed and waved. Horrifying, the survivor within him said when the Lord of Shades fixed a vicious glare upon him as he reached out to them.

The one-horned vessel raised the loaf of bread he gave them and prodded the Lord’s cheek with it. She bared her teeth at Oran, eyes still trained on him, until the vessel tapped her top-most coil and trilled irritably at her. She pouted at them, no longer wearing the face of a feral beast ready to rip him limb from limb, but rather an exhausted elder sibling being pestered by their junior. “What?”

The one-horned vessel held the loaf of bread over their head excitedly.

“Where did y—?” She glanced at Oran narrowly. “And it didn’t make you sick?”

The vessel shook their head, patting her coil happily. They pointed to Oran and bounced up and down, and the bewilderment in her face deepened.

He took the opportunity to speak. “They’re starving. I brought them food. Please, I intend to take them home to my palace to be cared for. I don’t know why you’ve decided that they belong to you—” She bristled, growling at him once more. “— but it’s clear that they recognize me as their kin. They deserve to be with their family. Be reasonable.”

She paused, expression crossed with grief, and sat back on her haunches while relaxing the coils of her tail. The vessels clambered out and gathered around her legs to chirrup gently at her. She stooped down to sweep them into her arms and stand at her full height, towering over Oran as she spoke to them. “Are you sure?” She asked the larger one as they shrugged and moved to perch on her shoulder. “He’s not… he isn’t…” One nudged her jaw with their brow, and she returned the gesture of affection. “No,” she sighed. “No. I don’t like him. He hurt me. He hurt us.”

One small vessel hopped down from her arms and cautiously stepped toward Oran, holding something that didn’t quite fit under their cloak. They held it out, revealing a long, jagged, midnight-colored horn, snapped off near the base— and pointed to the goddess, posture hesitant in its silent question. He furrowed his brow. The tinier vessel pointed again, more insistently this time. It was then that Oran noticed the goddess, who still stood speaking to the vessels perched atop her, was missing a horn on the left side of her head. The dots connected.

He accepted the horn from the vessel, then turned to the goddess. “I am able to repair your horn, if you’d like.”

She gaped at him, silent for a moment. “You… really?”

Motioning for her to kneel, he wove Soul around his fingers in a spell of mending. She shrugged the vessels off and slowly bowed her head into reach. He held the broken-off horn in place with one hand and traced the break with the fingertips of the other, murmuring the incantation to fuse it together under his breath. The carapace snapped back into place, and the goddess flinched away.

"That was a seal of binding," she said.

He quirked a brow. "I suppose one could describe it as such."

Baring her fangs, she hissed, "If you ever work those spells near any of us, I'll swallow you whole."

(Ghost accidentally reveals that she is related to the Pale King during her explanation of how she stitched together time in a way that would mend the damage he did. The Pale King awkwardly changes the subject.)

The vessels finished their game and stood up to cluster around the god’s legs, tugging on her cloak and asking to be picked up.

“What are their names?” He found himself asking. If what she said were true, perhaps the goddess had picked up his own tendency to dodge questions.

She knelt down to let the vessels climb onto her back and shoulders, perch between her horns and crawl into her many arms. When she stood, her expression was dark. “They have none.”

“And yours?”

The goddess leveled him with an icy glare. “I am the Forsaken, Failure, Refuse and Regret, Master of Dreams, She Who Swallowed the Sun, Lord of Shades, God of Gods. I knew no name until the Daughter of the Beast branded me with one. I am the monument to my sire’s sins. I am the Ghost of Hallownest.”

Oran buried the dread that bubbled up at that damnation of a name and waved over a servant to ready the royal tram.

A child named after the things he’d done in another life. Things he would have done in this life, had she not swallowed the sun. A child who had slain his greatest enemy, and would not hesitate to cut him down as well should he prove himself anything other than tolerable.

He had so much to explain to his Root when he returned.

(Ghost + TPK + the vessels travel to the White Palace and meet the White Lady, who is confused by TPK introducing Ghost as Hollow's twin)

The White Lady’s brow furrowed. She idly rubbed the back of her knuckles over the branching-horns vessel’s cheek as she spoke. “Dear one, Calla’s not even a quarter of this bug’s size, nor do they look remotely alike. Forgive me my skepticism.”

Ghost looked down at herself. It hadn’t occurred to her how different she looked now— she’d actually been enjoying her new height and shell. But maybe…

Ghost shrugged the vessels perched on her back onto the ground. The King and Lady snapped to look at her when she abruptly burst into Void, leaving scattered pieces of carapace in her wake, only to reform as her old self. It hurt, being in this ill-fitting shell again, but she stayed in it long enough for recognition to dawn on both of their faces, then snapped her new shell’s pieces back into place over her Void.

“Oh, stars,” the Lady gasped. “She looks just like she said.”

The King had gone paler than normal, if that were possible, and stood in silence, shaking.

“Dear Life, Calla needs to hear this. My Wyrm, you’ve sent for her, haven’t you?”

“Not… yet?” He choked out, remarkably undignified.

“Go, then, Oran, she deserves to know.” She watched him until he staggered out of the chamber, nodding once he left. And then those sapphire eyes were back on Ghost. “Is something the matter, child?”

“You… have arms,” she blurted out, recalling the White Lady’s bindings in the old world.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You can see us? And— and the room?”

“I’m not blind, little one. And I’d be rather disappointed if I were. I’m beyond relieved to see your faces.”

“And you know I’m impure?”

The Lady’s eyes widened, brows drawing up in concern, lips pressed into a thin line. “Oh, child,” she breathed. She reached out to Ghost, cupping the side of her mask with a gentle hand. “Child, you’re no less pure than I am.”

(The White Lady didn’t care much for Ghost’s presence beyond reminding her of the King. Ghost had gone through so much, traveled so far, fought so hard to be nothing like him, and the White Lady mistook her for her father the second that she entered the dusty chamber. The White Lady looked down on the Grimmchild with open disdain, told him that the very earth rejected him with good reason, and told Ghost to destroy the charm that gave him life while she still could. The White Lady didn’t see Ghost, she saw a vessel, and she told her to cut down Hollow and take the failure’s place.)

Yeah. Yeah, that was a wonderful compliment. Ghost took the branching-horned vessel out of her arms a little too snappishly to be subtle, and the vessel voiced his protests through the Void. Ghost ignored them. “Where will we be staying?”

“There’s a guest chamber in my and my Wyrm’s wing of the Palace. Though we’ll have to build more rooms so each of you have your own in the future, I’m afraid.”

“We’d prefer to stay together,” Ghost scoffed. Was it really not obvious with how the other vessels clung to her and each other?

The White Lady led them to a chamber that had obviously been tidied recently— everything inside glittering with cleanliness— and Ghost slammed the door in the Lady’s face.

(TPK ruminates on Hollow describing a sibling making the climb to reach him alongside her:)

Oran took the long elevator ride up the Watcher’s Spire in stride. He was handling this with inexplicable grace and majesty. And by that, he meant he was pacing circles in the narrow space and fighting off a panic attack.

Calla had spoken of a twin when she was younger and still learning to sign. It was difficult to understand what she was attempting to get across with such frantic, disjointed signs and spotty grammar, and in the years following she seemed to have either forgotten about the issue or given up on trying to explain it.

(But Oran wouldn’t— couldn’t— forget. Not the way the grub phrased it. “Calla-Two stop climb. Down. Big crunch. Quiet.” Confusing as it was, it settled like ice in his stomach. Something horrible had happened. He knew it. He found Calla drawing the next week, several pages of vessel-shaped blobs of colors scattered across the floor, and the room spun around him when he spotted a page showing a vessel very much like Calla clinging to the lip of the final overhang, Calla standing above them, and Oran himself off to the side. He was there when it happened. There was a vessel that nearly finished the climb with Calla, that he could have taken home, and he hadn’t noticed.

(And now that vessel had returned, and she hated him. Poetic justice, he supposed.)

The elevator stopped. He stepped into the Watcher’s office.

(The vessels explore the room they're staying in at the White Palace:)

The vessels took one look at the massive, fluffy bed in the guest chamber and decided they didn’t like it. The chorus of sleepy confusion that tumbled through the Void was as hilarious as it was exhausting.

“Why is it squishy?”

“It feels weird.”

“Why does it smell like that?”

“What’s it for?”

“I’m tired.”

“Can we go to the Abyss? I wanna sleep.”

“We are not going to the Abyss.”

“But I’m tired!”

“Me too.”

After watching her siblings toss and turn in a struggle for comfort, Ghost tore off the sheets and untucked the downy comforter and pillows so she could stuff them under the bed. When the comforter in particular brushed up against the weary group of vessels, she could hear them gasp in awe at how nice it felt. They chirped excitedly as they tangled themselves up in the blanket, squishing it in their hands as they marveled at how something this soft could exist. And then one of them touched the silk sheets and they all lost every last one of their collective marbles.

“It’s too bright in here.” Ah. That was a fair point. Even with the curtains drawn and the lights out, the Palace managed to be significantly lighter than the Abyss. She blamed it on everything being white. The vessels wandered the room for a while longer before deciding that the only logical place to sleep was on the floor beneath the bed itself.

(Ghost saves Tiso from an unexpected strike, and Tiso has no filter, much to Quirrel's exasperation:)

Ghost lowered her outstretched arm, waiting until the vengefly skewered on her claws stopped squirming to uncurl herself from around a stunned Tiso.

He looked from the vengefly, to Ghost, to the arm still wrapped around his middle, and back again. “Not gonna lie, that was pretty hot.”

“Tiso!” Came Quirrel’s exasperated shriek.

(Ghost stumbles across Hollow and TPK while walking around the White Palace, and Ghost has some emotions about the sudden reunion with Hollow and a revelation about TPK's character:)

The King halted abruptly when Ghost rounded a corner and nearly bowled him over, and she was so busy glaring at him that she hadn’t noticed the Hollow Knight in his shadow.

There she was.

Hollow— no, Calla. She was alive, and safe, and she had paint and charcoal smeared on her mask. Ghost hunched in on herself to be closer to her sister’s height (how weird it was, to be the tall one all of a sudden) and reached out shakily.

Then the Pale King stepped between them, and she was tempted to take off his head for that, until she saw his face. His jaw was set, and he tilted his head in such a way that showed… something. She couldn’t figure out what he was trying to communicate. But then a small hand took hold of his, and it became clear.

Calla had tucked herself behind him, peering out from his side, tightly gripping his hand, obviously frightened.

Ghost had scared her.

Ghost was scaring her.

She decided at that moment that she hated being the tall one.

She dropped into a shadow on the wall, mind alight with shame and anger at herself, shaking.

The Pale King said something to Calla. She nodded and left down the corridor on her own, a little too quickly to be at ease with her surroundings. And then the King turned to the shadow Ghost had tucked herself into. Apparently she wasn’t being as subtle as she thought with her shadow-travel if he knew exactly where she was then.

“I need some time to break the news,” he murmured. “She has a lot on her mind at the moment. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“If you wouldn’t show your smaller form, I believe it would be easier on…”

“It hurts to stuff myself back in there anyway.”

“Thank you.”

Silence.

“Is that all, or—?”

“You won’t show her that vision,” he said, voice suddenly sharp and clear and indisputable. Ghost hadn’t ever heard him speak as a king before, never heard him announce decrees and demands, but she could see him doing so in that tone.

“That vision,” she echoed.

“The one that I cannot sponge from my mind no matter how I try. The one that has haunted every last one of my waking hours. You will never show it to her, you will never discuss it with her, you will never so much as allude to it around her. If you feel so inclined to be cruel enough to touch on what happened in that gods-forsaken moment, you will choose me as your victim. Not her, nor her mother, nor the other children.”

“It affected you,” Ghost observed.

His glare was icy. “And how did you expect I would react, if not by being affected?”

“To shrug it off. To brush it aside. To ignore it.”

“She’s my daughter. My flesh and blood, pride and joy, and you thought I would ignore seeing her do that?”

Ghost let the light of her eyes shine through the shadow. “Forgive me, I should have spoken more clearly— I expected you to look me in the face and say there was no cost too great.”

He fell silent.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing what you described. I swallowed the sun, yes, but I didn’t inherit her cruelty, Pale King. I stitched this world together so my sister could be happy. Void swallow me whole if I’m the one to ruin that.”

He sighed, long and heavy, and strode away. Ghost slipped into his shadow as he passed.

“… I scared her.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t want to.”

He didn’t reply.

“If I can’t use my old shell, how am I supposed to not scare her?”

“Don’t approach her.”

“She’s my twin.” Ghost barely kept from wailing indignantly. “I can’t just sit here and… The last time I saw her, she was barely clinging to life, and not willingly. I want to talk to her!”

He paused at that. “She survived the…” He swallowed dryly. “The attempt?”

“We weren’t going to let her die before she ever had the chance to live. I channeled all the Soul in the area into healing her, and Hornet—”

“Hornet?”

“You might know her as the Gendered Child, depending how far along we are in this world.”

“No. Nettie— Hornet was with you when that happened?”

Oh. His voice was tighter than she realized. The clipped element of his tone wasn’t anger. It was fear.

Ghost squirmed. The shadows felt claustrophobic all of a sudden. “… She didn’t stay away. She said she would,” Ghost murmured. “She didn’t want to stand by like she did when her mother…”

The Pale King took a sharp left as he walked, locked himself in an empty council room, and sobbed.

Ghost began to understand, seeing his glow brighten and brighten until the whole room was nothing but white light as he choked on his tears, that this wasn’t her sire. He was a sire, yes, but also a father. One who wept at the thought of his children suffering and being abandoned, let alone dying or witnessing each other’s deaths. He was a sire so unlike hers. She’d been placing her grudges and burdens onto someone who didn’t deserve it.

(And that is why she was so like him. So like him that when she visited her mother that’s all she saw. So like him that his enemy thought her a disguise he’d taken on. So like him that she was following his every step.)

Ghost left him to weep.

(Ghost gets into a scuffle with the Nightmare King and wakes up with the same injuries she gained during her dream:)

Promptly expelled from the Nightmare Realm, Ghost jerked awake on the floor under a massive bed and curled around her little siblings as they snored softly. She reluctantly rose and walked the castle grounds, staring at the gashes, gouges, and burns running all the way up her arm. She’d have to explain this to someone at some point. How would she phrase it? Would she just bluntly state that her tendency to pick fights had risen to threatening gods now? Yeah, that wouldn’t send anyone panicking.

She was so numb with exhaustion that she didn’t notice the Pale King in the corridor across from her. They locked eyes. Neither moved until he glanced down at the arm she was favoring. He wordlessly reached out a hand in offering.

Silence.

She drew over to him and knelt closer to his height, then placed her arm in his reach. His brow knit together in worry as he traced his fingers over the wounds, never touching, just hovering over them. He reached for another pair of arms, and it was then that Ghost realized the palms of this pair were badly burned from when she strangled Nightmare. She hadn’t even noticed.

He spun Soul around his hand in a luminescent glove. The Pale King didn’t lift his head all the way to ask if he could help, simply glanced up warily. Questioningly. Ghost nodded.

He healed the wounds in silence. It was obvious what had inflicted them, and he couldn’t erase scars made by a god. They both knew that. But it was painfully clear that he was trying. He passed over the mended burns several times, and Ghost recognized the words he mouthed as a spell to change something’s colors. Nothing returned the singed-white claw marks in her shell to their original black. He tried so many times, but the spell bounced off the scars uselessly with each attempt. Finally, long after Ghost had accepted his efforts were futile, he tucked his arms back into his robes, shaking his head slowly, mouthparts working in frustration.

Ghost was the one to walk away. She could feel the King's eyes on her until she passed the corner, and it was only then that she heard him turning away.

(TPK and Ghost have a chat, and Sofie has a favorite trope that is totally not used here at all:)

“How old are you?” The Pale King asked.

That gave Ghost pause. “Strange thing to ask a god, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps if the god in question had ascended more than a few months ago, but not in this situation, no.” He looked her up and down. “This form looks significantly older than you behave, and it’s also the form every Lord of Shades would take while walking among mortals. It’s not clear what age you truly are.”

Ghost had to consider that. “I must be an adult by now. As for numbered years, though, I don’t know.”

“You don’t—? What do you mean?”

“Hallownest was in stasis when I entered it. There was no way to mark the passage of time, and it seemed like most things were… blurry. They could age, but not correctly. Some didn't age at all. And before I set foot in the kingdom, I was in the Wastes outside it. That lends itself even less to a good estimate of how old I am”

“If you had a caretaker, I’m certain they would have an estimate.”

“I was on my own until halfway through Hallownest.”

“Gods,” he hissed under his breath. “What world did you live in where a child was left to fend for themself and fight wars on their parents’ behalf?”

“Same world where a child cut down every last member of the Pantheons.” She gave him a narrow look. “I wasn’t an ordinary grub—”

“No, because you never had the chance to be one. I’ve heard of children being forced to mature too soon, but to ascend to godhood because of the pressure heaped on you…”

“I got the job done.”

“And what did you pay for it?”

“My life for the kingdom. It wasn’t very much.”

“I’d think that’s far too great a cost to pay from any child’s purse, even one capable of swallowing the sun.”

She froze.

“You were a child,” he murmured, “no matter how old that stasis made you. You were meant to laugh and play, and to be swaddled and doted on— not to kill a primeval goddess simply so others could have that basic right you’d been deprived of.”

#guys i SWEAR i'm not becoming an exclusively Hollow Knight-centric blog but the brain worms are looping the Mantis Lords Theme 24/7 rn #hollow knight #hk #hollow knight fanfic #hollow knight fic #hk fanfic #hk fic #stuff by sofie

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obscurecharactershowdown · 1 year ago

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Semi-Finals

[image ID: the first image is of the cover for the Hello from the Hallowoods podcast. it depicts the silhouettes of trees, and a large creature emerging from behind them. it's furry, with many red eyes, horns, large antlers, and a clawed hand raised up, as if waving at the viewer. above the creature, in the middle of a red gun sight, reads: "Hello." in red text. the second image is of No Significant Harassment, a shadowy figure standing behind a sleeping pink-red, fox-like creature. their green hands seem to be holding up the floating creature. end ID]

Diggory Graves

Convinced they only lost the deadguydeathmatch because not enough people knew about them. A bit of a Frankenstein's monster scenario. Uses they/them pronouns, is dating a ghost trans man. Despite their intimidating appearance they are lovely and would go to the ends of the Earth for their friends. Their arms are for hugs and their claws are for fighting

No Significant Harassment

They're just a silly little guy. A jokester. Significant harassment if you will. Anyway, a more in depth run down: They're a city sized supercomputer built by a Buddhist adjacent society to figure out how to transcend the 'Great Cycle' (semi-metaphorical cycle of death and rebirth) in a safer way than the previous method (submerging oneself in the 'void sea' which is a mysterious golden liquid that dissolves whatever it touches). Despite being built for this express purpose NSH never really shows a pressing interest in ascension, even cracking jokes about those who are still looking for a solution. Whether this is due to indifference, dislike of, or humor to cope with being unable to ascend is not clear and really up to interpretation. Example: NSH: I wish them super good luck in that endeavor. How is it going to happen? Have the overseers gnaw through bedrock until their entire can crashes down in the void sea? BSM: Please be respectful when speaking of the Void Sea. Grey Wind, where did you hear this? CW: I really shouldn't say. He's going to attempt some sort of breeding program. Thought you might want to know. NSH: Haha with the slimers, lizards and etceteras? Surely the answer was in a lizard skull all along! He's very flippant, but does care very intensely for those close to him. NSH: Moon? It's me again. NSH: I do not know if you are receiving these. Please signal in any way you can. NSH: I need to talk to you. I need to know you're okay. NSH: … NSH: Its difficult for us to assist you over this distance. NSH: Even more difficult for us to do anything in the midst of these tantrums. NSH: Were going to try everything that we can. NSH: Just hold on a little longer. (Context for previous convo: They genetically engineered a super organism of a slugcat (the species you play as in Rain World) to help reset his coworker/sibling after her collapse and restart her systems. He was so desperate to fix her that he accidentally messed up the slugcat's (Hunter) genetic code and as a result it became riddle with the Rot (relatively similar to aggressive cancer) :( which parallels his other coworker/siblings condition who also has the rot. ) He canonically uses he/they pronouns too! Nonbinary swag! NSH has major internet troll vibes. He has sent a data pearl of "something distasteful" to his neighbors on several(?) occasions and causes chaos. If he had access to the wider internet he'd probably be an influencer So…yeah! Vote NSH this website likes the allure of heavy machinery and stuff like that so… there you go. Kind of a blorbo. End post.

#obscurecharactershowdown #obscure poll #semi finals #diggory graves #hello from the hallowoods #no significant harassment #rain world

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firapolemos05 · 5 months ago

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@ft-platonicweek Day 4 - Silence

AO3

GET YOUR TISSUES READY, THIS IS SAD

They have only each other to rely on, to find comfort in.

CW: child abuse (mostly psychological, some physical), manipulation, dehumanization, disassociation, reliving past trauma, implied ableism, victim blaming, Jose is a piece of shit

Gajeel whump taglist: @heartonxions , @bambamnesiac , @grayseyebrowscar , @ostensiblyfunctional , @blackberry-bloody

“Easy for you t’say, he always goes easy on ya!”

“And Juvia is sorry about that, but we still cannot leave. There is nowhere for us to go!”

“Fine! Then you stay! Clean his boots while yer at it! But I'm leavin’!”

Three days it's been since Juvia last saw Gajeel. Three days since their argument.

She'd thought she'd been doing the right thing, trying to convince him not to run away. He'd been angry, nerves frayed after a bad scolding from the master. Anger never made anyone think rationally. But she must have not explained that well since trying had only further aggravated his temper.

Perhaps her fear had also influenced her judgment. Gajeel had been so confident the two of them could make do on their own. Live off of the streets, in the woods like he had done before. Just them, no Master Jose, no rules, no punishments. He thought it'd be a good plan.

Juvia had said no.

The floorboards remained quiet as the girl ascended the staircase. She had long learned which spots would creak and stepped to avoid them. The chatter from the main hall offered somewhat of a cover, but she wasn't taking any chances. She didn't want to be discovered with a bowl clenched in her hands and lose the fresh fruit she swiped from the kitchen. Her friend would be hungry.

Master had given the guild a revised story, she was sure there were details missing or twisted out of context.

‘ “The little brat thought he could run off and neglect his responsibilities. Live in the woods again like some animal. Guess the cold was too much for him to handle, cause all I had to do was wait for him to come crawling back to accept the consequences.” ’

It had been cold that night, and Gajeel hated the cold. Which was why he'd been wearing that thick jacket and scarf when they talked. That should've been enough to keep him warm. If he had returned, as the master claimed, it would've never been for a reason so trivial.

For as much as he hated the cold, Gajeel hated Master Jose even more.

‘ “I know he tried pressuring you to run away as well, Juvia. You did the right thing not listening, I'm very proud. But next time, you must come tell me. Understood?” ’

The revelation that their argument had been spied on, used as a means to punish, had dropped a rock into her stomach. Master Jose praising her should've made her feel good. No adult had ever told Juvia they were proud of her. It should've been good but instead it only made her feel sick. Master only wanted to use her against Gajeel. To hurt him. She would not do that. He was her friend.

The door to his room stood tall before her. She raised a hand and gently rapped her knuckles against the wood. “Gajeel, may Juvia come in?” she whispered.

It was enough for him to hear. Should've been enough. But only the silence met her. She knocked again, repeated her request for entry, just a tad louder. But no answer came, and a twinge of anxiety twisted in her gut while the Bad Thoughts wormed their way into her head.

Was he still mad at her?

Was he angry she didn't go with him?

Did he blame her for him getting caught?

The door thankfully wasn't locked, as she'd feared. The master often locked them in their rooms when they've been bad. Gajeel had a talent for picking them.

Juvia opened the door.

The bedroom was darker than usual, and when she looked up, part of the window had been recently bricked up. Gajeel's jacket laid on the floor, ripped and torn beyond mending. The scarf tossed aside. His bed looked untouched, empty save for a familiar misshapen bundle of wrappings.

She took a step into the room. “Gajeel?”

Still nothing.

She would've thought the room was empty until a shape caught the edge of her peripheral vision.

Her friend sat curled up far in the corner, scrunched into a tight ball. Knees clutched against his chest, face buried between them, hidden under unkempt hair. Bundled in a dark gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up.

“Gajeel? Are you okay?” she asked, walking towards him.

He did not speak, didn't even move, made no sign that he acknowledged her presence. Juvia knelt down next to him. His chest rose and fell slightly, so he was still breathing. But as she listened, the more labored it sounded. Shaky. And even under the warm garment, his figure shook with faint tremors.

He didn't make a sound. Not when Juvia said his name again. Nothing to break the suffocating quiet.

A few times his stomach growled loudly and Juvia asked if he was hungry, told him she brought food. But still he didn't respond. She almost reached out to tap his shoulder but thought better of it.

‘Maybe he's asleep?’

The silence stretched. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty.

Until Juvia thought it might be best to leave. Perhaps Gajeel wanted to be alone, to not be bothered. She placed the bowl down on the floor and rose to her feet, making way to the door.

“...‘Via?”

The voice was so uncharacteristically small and hoarse. She turned around.

Gajeel's head had lifted just enough for her to see his face.

He looked awful.

A strange ring of bruises dotted his jawline and the bridge of his nose a mottled purple. The scars she always remembered seeing him with looked newly inflamed, as if he'd been scratching at them too much again. Dark circles hung under vacant, bloodshot eyes.

Juvia had never seen Gajeel cry, but now there were telltale streaks of tears down his cheeks.

“What happened?” she couldn't help but ask, even though she already knew part of that answer. What had the master done to him for him to be like this?

Gajeel lowered his gaze again and shook his head. “How long were ya here?”

So he didn't notice when she came in. Did he just realize she was even there? “A little while. Juvia tried talking to you.”

“. . .Oh.”

He didn't elaborate, so neither did she. Though part of her was a bit relieved that he hadn't intentionally been ignoring her. He wasn't mad at her.

“Why were you crying?”

At that, he rubbed his face against the heel of his hand, erasing most of the tear tracks. “I wasn't.”

“Gajeel-”

“‘M fine.”

By the small trembles that shook his figure, Juvia could easily tell the lie. Whatever the master did, it was bad. Not even the cane ever reduced him to such a state. She sighed, defeated. He never did like talking when he got hurt. She tried not to take it personally, even though she always went to him whenever something troubled her. She trusted him to listen and he would. Was he too embarrassed? Did he not trust her? Did he not know he could trust her? Perhaps she should-

“How much did ya hear?”

“Hear? You were very quiet, Juvia didn't hear you say-”

“No, I mean, from when I was . . .not here.”

Oh, he must be referring to what everyone downstairs is saying about him. He could likely hear them from up here. “Master Jose told everyone that you ran away, and that he punished you when you returned.”

He buried his face into his arms again, curling his knees in a little tighter. Once more, the silence swallowed the room for a few minutes.

“‘M sorry,” he eventually murmured. Before Juvia could question what for, he added, “for gettin’ mad at ya the other day.”

Their argument. She'd nearly forgotten. “Juvia is sorry too. She was scared, of things changing too quickly. She wasn't sure how to explain it at the time.” He seemed to understand that, something she would always be thankful for, someone who understood. As simple as that, they forgave each other. “The thought of being on our own to fend for ourselves is scary, but Juvia wishes things were better here. That people were nicer.”

“Yeah, me too. This dump is full of fuckin' assholes. Yer right though.” The sadness in his admittance worried her. “We can only trust ourselves, no one else. As shitty as this guild is, would any other place be different?”

That was something she hadn’t thought about. Had he planned to find another guild to join? She could see herself doing that, a smaller change that kept to the familiar. But Gajeel did make a good point. Would other guild's treat them any differently than Phantom Lord? No one except her appeared to bat an eye when someone left Master Jose's office with new bruises, so perhaps that was just a normal expectation. Would they even be accepted elsewhere? At least staying in Phantom meant the security of assurance, that they've already earned a place amidst the rankings. No matter the discipline and bullying, they were legal wizards with the various privileges that bought them under the law.

“Juvia, do- do ya think I'm a monster?”

Her train of thought derailed. “What? No, of course not,” she replied immediately. Why was he asking that? He was human just like she was. Of course he wasn't a-

Oh, Master Jose probably said something to him.

“You're not a monster, Gajeel.” Another tear fell, and a cold wave swept through her body as she realized she couldn't tell if he believed her or not. “May Juvia hug you?”

The question clearly caught him off guard, if the surprise in his widened eyes was anything to go by. For the several long seconds he didn't say anything, Juvia almost expected him to refuse. He'd never been too keen on being touched. That's why she always made sure to ask or to let him initiate. But something told her at this moment that he needed to be held.

So when he leaned towards her, ever so slightly, it was all the acceptance she needed, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. A safe touch. He rested his head against hers.

The two sat embraced in the silence for a long time.

Three nights ago

Even before he climbed out of the window of his room, Gajeel was having second thoughts. By the time the edge of Oak Town was in sight, his heart was fighting him to turn back.

Juvia should be here with him.

They were the Freaks Club, they were supposed to stick together. They should both be going. Ditching Phantom Lord and Jose and taking back their freedom. They could do whatever they wanted, be whatever they wanted. No Jose to force them to fight each other, or lock them in their rooms, or deny them food, or beat them when they did something he didn't like. No obnoxious, creepy adults making fun of how they looked or spoke.

He knew how to survive. And the two of them had powerful magic to protect themselves. They could've made it work.

Why didn't Juvia want to leave?

Sure, Jose didn't hurt her as often as he did the dragon slayer, but she still hated being there, right? All the ridicule she got for causing the rain? For her unusual manner of talking? Did she not want to be rid of that?

With each step his feet felt heavier. Until they refused to go any further.

He didn't want to leave without her, the only person he was willing to consider a friend. He couldn't leave her behind with all those assholes. Couldn't stand the thought of being all alone on the streets again.

Not after what happened last time.

Gajeel turned around.

If he returned quickly enough, maybe no one would notice his absence. Juvia wouldn't snitch on him, even if she was mad. It hadn't been that long since he left, Jose wouldn't know.

No one else would know. He would go back. He and Juvia would talk. He would apologize for snapping at her even though he hated saying sorry. Or maybe make her something with one of those recipes she gave him. They'd figure out something else.

No one else would know.

The bushes surrounding the guild hall were easy to hide in. It wasn't like a grand castle, guarded with an array of waiting archers or a moat filled with giant crocodiles. Just a simple building with stone walls that were no trouble for the iron dragon slayer to climb.

The window to his room stood dark up above. He could hear no noise coming from within. Good. That meant his escape wasn't discovered yet. He still had time.

A hope that got dashed about ten feet from the opening, when his nose caught a scent.

‘Fuck!’

He didn't get the chance to think of a new plan. To retreat back down and wait for them to leave. To think of some story to give that may save him. Because the stone beneath him liquefied.

There's not many words that can adequately describe the viscosity of dry rock. Unnatural can be one. Mud and clay at least had moisture to them. Lava was its own thing. Magic was the only thing that could make solid rock look wet and act wet but not actually be wet.

It's not a pleasant feeling having it snatch your body like a giant hand.

Gajeel yelped in alarm as a tendril of stone burst from the wall, seizing his torso and limbs like a constricting snake. Squeezing tight. Allowing no room for resistance against the threat of crushed bones. It didn't even give him a moment to breathe before bolting up, shoving the captured dragon slayer through the window and onto the floor of his own room. But even then, it did not release him yet.

The end of the tendril reshaped, reforming into a body, a face, brown suit, green hair, that stupid monocle.

“Tiens tiens, seems I've caught quite the naughty petit renard, haven't I?”

“Sol, ya creep! Get off me!”

His protests get cut off, for a light suddenly filled the room, revealing two other men. Master Jose stood in the center, face neutral but eyes glaring. Behind him, Aria stood by the door, his wide frame a blockade.

In his mind, Gajeel cursed every god he didn't believe in.

“Care to explain what you were doing out of your room?” the master began interrogating.

“I-” Fuck, he didn't know what to say. He hadn't thought of a cover story. No need for one if you didn’t mean to return. “I was… just takin’ a walk. I couldn't sleep.”

“A walk, is that so? After curfew, when you are strictly forbidden to leave?”

If he can hide that he almost tried to skip town, maybe he can get away with just being punished for breaking curfew. It's not like he's never done that before. “I wanted some air. It's stuffy as hell in here.” Sure, Jose will lock him in some dark, tiny closet somewhere for a day or so, but he can handle that.

“You seem to have this false belief that my rules only exist when you deem them convenient,” the man said, disappointed but not surprised by Gajeel's insolence. He should be used to it by now. “This defiance of yours is getting out of hand. Curfews are important for safety and maintaining order. Keep breaking them and I will find new ways to keep you inside.” Probably a couple days in the closet. He'll be fine. “That would've been the case if you were not lying to me.”

How-?

“I ain't lyi-”

Gajeel's iron scales were durable. He could brush off hits that downed most people. Metallicana made him spend hours honing his defenses until a strike no longer hurt, no longer did damage. His normal human skin retained a bit of that resilience, but not to the same degree.

Which is why Jose made sure to wear rings whenever he slapped him. The backhand whipped his head to the side and the room spun. The rings left harsh scratches across his cheek, not deep enough to break skin but definitely enough to sting.

“Sol, why don't you show him?”

“Bien sûr, Master.”

Still reeling from the slap, helpless to do anything but watch, Gajeel sat frozen as the stone walls morphed. Twisted and sculpted themselves into new shapes, figures, a boy with long hair and anger in his face, a girl with a furred hat looking worried. Familiar faces. A scene copying a memory not even two hours old.

And voices.

“We don't have t'stay, Juvia! We shouldn't have t'put up with their shit. We can leave and start over somewhere else.”

Incriminating voices. A perfect replica.

“The earth remembers all, petit renard.”

Gajeel's mouth felt full of lead. Nothing to say. What could he say?

Jose spoke instead. “Sol heard everything about your little runaway fantasy. Shame on you for trying to force Juvia into your scheme.”

“Miss Lockser is a respectable young lady. Polite and dutiful.” Aria sang praises Gajeel knows mean nothing. If they actually gave a shit, all the bastards who harassed her would actually face consequences. “You are a terrible influence on her.”

‘You fuckin' know nothin’. Ya only think that cause she stands up fer herself now.'

“I know all about your little nightly excursions too, the many times you sneak down to my kitchen to steal food,” Jose added. Gajeel's blood ran cold. “Is that what you thought you'd do upon running away? Stealing from people again? Did you learn nothing from the last time that got you in trouble? It's only thanks to my generosity that you're in a guild and not a prison.”

Something snapped, sending all thoughts of pretending out the door. How dare Jose bring up that memory. “Fuck you! Like yer any better! Generous my ass, y’all treat me like shit! The scraps ya give me ain't ever enough.”

“Not this again,” Jose shook his head. “Lying to make excuses for selfishness will not work.”

“And taking such foul language with the master is a big non non,” Sol added, like he did every single time he heard Gajeel swear. “Where I come from, children would have a bar of soap shoved into their mouths for talking like that.”

It was so damn frustrating. Gajeel knew he wasn't lying. Everyone seemed to believe he could just eat scrap metal and be fine but it wasn't enough. He needed real food too, but the tiny portions he was allowed always left his stomach gnawing for more. Hunger became a constant pain that refused to go away. Jose never believed him.

“I've been patient enough to tolerate those grievances, but this disrespect has crossed a line.” Jose moved his arms to his front. Gajeel expected to see the thick discipline cane the man kept in his office, hung looming on the wall. It was a tool he utilized often.

But when Gajeel saw what Jose had actually been holding, he wished it'd been the former. The blazing pyre of anger extinguished, smothered by the icy grip of dread. “Why… do you have that?”

This was not supposed to happen. Jose wasn't supposed to have that thing. He wasn't supposed to be like those other people.

“I have used various methods of disciplining you, and if tonight has shown me anything, it's that those have proved ineffective. Perhaps this will get the lesson through. Aria.”

Gajeel didn’t pay attention to what the air mage did. His vision had tunneled in on the item in Jose's hands. Not that. Anything but that.

Sol held fast until the sharp scales snaking over the boy's skin - tearing the warm fabric of the jacket - forced him to retreat. Gajeel managed one step before Jose's shadows snatched him instead. They did not falter as he writhed, kicked, pleaded for them to stop, for them to not put him in that awful thing.

But then Aria raised his arm, fingers dancing across a magic circle, and the air was sucked out of his chest.

When his eyes opened next, it was cold. And he was no longer in his room.

Stone walls, a lashing wind, and the inky black of night beyond.

He was in the Sky Prison.

With the stiff leather straps of a fucking muzzle enclosed around his face.

No.

No no nO NO NOT AGAIN!

He lurched up, a panicked roar muffled to almost nothing. His balance nearly faltered but his mind wasn't there enough to register the absence of his leg prosthetic. Jaws sealed shut. He tried to claw at it, shred it to pieces, but he could not pull his hands free of the freezing shackles bolted to the floor behind him. Could not call his magic to protect himself.

And with those two simple tools, his mind transported him elsewhere. A dark and grimy jail cell. These same restraints stealing any agency he had. The phantom pains of bleeding gashes cutting across his back and arms, placed by a sharp belt buckle. A nightmare taking shape. A memory returning to haunt.

History repeating itself.

It was cold yet sweat formed on his neck. His ears rang with his own pounding heart. He heaved down breaths of air through his nose because he couldn't open his mouth, he couldn't breathe, the muzzle wasn't even around his neck but somehow something must be choking him because it's hard to breathe. Why can't he breathe? The cold air is stinging his lungs but it must be a lie because there is no air, he isn't breathing, his throat is closed, he can't get the muzzle off, he can't breathe.

“Control yourself, Gajeel. You're acting like a rabid dog.”

Jose and Aria stood a few strides away. The lingering residue of the air mage's magic still hung in the surrounding space.

‘Take it off!’ Gajeel tried to yell through the muzzle, but anything that came out was unintelligible. He let the sound ground him back to reality. Made him aware of the air that was in fact moving in and out with the rise and fall of his chest. Or was that just the shivering? His jacket, scarf, and boots were left behind and the short sleeved shirt he wore was not a suitable wind buffer.

“It’s saddening that I have to do this, but your behavior has left me little choice,” Jose chastised, ignoring the protests of his charge. “You will be spending time up here until you prove to me you've learned your lesson.”

“Tis truly tragic, trapping one of our own up in this prison, but it is the only way you'll learn.” Aria's tears soaked his mask, Gajeel always doubted if they were genuine.

“These are the consequences of disobedience, Gajeel. You've only yourself to blame. I've sheltered you, kept you fed, protected you from the Bureau, and look how ungrateful you are. You should know there's not many people willing to put up with an animal like you as I've had.”

‘I'm not an animal I'm not an animal I'm NOT an animal!’

“What did you expect to happen once you left? Did you think you'd find people who'd want to help you? People more patient and generous than me? You'd sooner find yourself on display in a zoo.”

It couldn't be true. There had to be some who would see he's still human despite everything. People who wouldn't care about the scales on his face and shoulders, the pointed ears, the sharp fangs and claws.

Jose had to be wrong. He had to be.

“You remember Nerium, don't you?”

At that name, the boy flinched. How could he not? He could only dream of forgetting that horrible place. Where all this began. He had learned its name months after leaving, while learning the language of this country, for the sole purpose of remembering never to step foot there again.

“You remember how they treated you. They saw your draconic physicality and thought you a monster, a demon. Normal humans don't have scales or fangs. They don't growl at things they don't like or eat metal. Magic is not supposed to change a body like that. You're an anomaly, and most people do not like anomalies that aren't under control.

“That's why I brought you here. Unlike many, I can see you for what you can become. A strong wizard. One whose name can become synonymous with the strongest guild, the prestigious Phantom Lord. People won't dare to disrespect you then, no matter what they think about you. They will fear our retribution too much to even think of crossing you.

“But that only happens if you're under control. Under me, your master. Leave and there will be no one to protect you. And the only treatment you can expect is chains and a muzzle just like that. Or perhaps they'll hand you to the Bureau to be turned into a science experiment, just as those in Nerium planned. So consider this lesson a sneak peek into the so-called freedom you wish for.”

Gajeel didn’t notice the tears running down his face until he saw droplets falling to the floor. He turned away, wiping them off against his knee.

He didn't want it to be true.

But he noticed how people looked at him. At his bizarre appearance and mannerisms. The glares and raised voices whenever he got too angry, whenever he looked like he lied because he didn't like making eye contact, whenever he overheard a conversation he shouldn't have because tuning out the noise was so hard.

The people of Nerium had called a demon slayer to deal with him, as if he were a pest to exterminate. And she'd nearly done it. Turned back not due to him being a terrified child but only because he wasn't her chosen quarry.

And the Bureau again. The town's plan b before Jose showed up.

Is that really all that he is to people, some wild monster? Something to be chained and caged? Would-

Would Juvia be in danger traveling with him? If not from him, then by the people who hunt him? Would they see her being friends with a monster and think she's one too?

Gajeel turned back and the two men were gone, transported back to the Oak Town hall with Aria's magic.

All alone.

Left to his thoughts and tears in the cold, cruel silence.

Gajeel hated the silence, so he tried to fill it.

If it weren't for the muzzle, anyone within proximity to the tower would've heard the young teen screaming himself hoarse. Thrashing in his bindings until one shoulder dislocated. Carving grooves into the stone beneath him until his claws broke. But the biting winds drowned him, sapped at energy until they forced him to the floor, curled into a crumpled heap. Trying to stifle a sob.

No one could hear him. They wouldn't help even if they did.

Now.

Gajeel had sat beaten and bloody in Nerium’s jailhouse for less than a day before the master of Phantom Lord arrived to collect him.

Jose forced him to endure the Sky Prison for three.

The shoulder that'd been dislocated protested the pressure, but he didn't tell Juvia.

Hugs, he decided, were okay, but only if it was her. The thought of anyone seeing him so pitiful made his skin crawl, but at least he knew Juvia wouldn't judge. Wouldn't think him weak. He could think about this and not think about how humiliating it was begging the master to be released, with desperate apologies for running away.

He would not think about that.

He would not think about how he'd spent the last couple hours crying in his room, ignoring his parched throat and pleading stomach because he was too damn scared to walk down and face the other guild members.

He can hear them gossiping. Laughing about the ‘little dragon brat’ who tried to run. Who ran right on back because he couldn't handle it, even though that wasn't why he returned at all. Who got what he deserved. Several theories were flying on how he was punished and while none were accurate, they made his ears burn.

He couldn't go down there. They'd be on him like a pack of hunting dogs with an injured fox.

Gods he was hungry.

He didn't know when Juvia entered the room. Those past hours felt like a blur, an emptiness. The pain dulling to a consistent buzz and then numbness. He didn't remember when the tears began falling, didn't even notice they had until Juvia pointed it out.

What was wrong with him? He usually noticed things like that.

He pulled away from Juvia, stretching out his arms and legs to get some feeling back into them. Then took in the state of his room.

The window had been altered. It had already been only barely wide enough for him to squeeze through. But now the middle was filled in, bricked up and blocked, leaving only two small holes letting in minimal light.

No more escaping.

Aside from that, the rest of his space appeared untouched. The cloth he used to bind his chest still lay bundled at the foot of his bed. He's glad he took it off before venturing out, thinking he'd find a better one on the road. It probably would've been bad if he'd worn it the entire time in the tower.

His boots and prosthetic sat on the floor. Bracing with a hand on the wall, Gajeel slowly rose, his left leg sore but holding his weight. Following his eyes and seeing where he intended to go, Juvia stood up as well to offer assistance. Too tired to even use his magic, he accepted it.

He just wanted to lie down.

He collapsed onto the mattress as soon as they were close enough, nuzzling into the soft fabrics. His stomach growled, the emptiness like a monster's claws hacking at his insides.

“Are you hungry? Juvia brought some food.”

His ears perked up. “Ya did?”

She walked back to the corner they'd been sitting and picked up a bowl that'd gone past his notice. Several cut fruit, including a few orange slices.

The memories of getting sick from eating too much after periods of going hungry were all that stopped him from wolfing down the bowl by the handful. Juvia risked punishment by sneaking that up. He wouldn't let them go to waste. If she noticed the dried blood on his fingers, or the ripped up state of his nails, or the scabbed abrasions and dark bruises encircling his wrists, she didn't point it out.

"Did you? Did you actually run?" Juvia eventually asked. Gajeel paused, then nodded, hoping she could catch the regret in his expression. "But you came back, and Master Jose caught you?"

He can still see the man's face, that cruel smile haunting his mind whenever he thought about that night. He hoped the bastard dies slowly and rots in the deepest hells. Gajeel nodded again, and mentally prayed to be spared having to explain how he'd been punished as a result.

For once the heavens listened, for the next question Juvia presents is, "why did you come back?"

'Cause I didn't wanna be alone.'

"Cause I didn't wanna leave ya behind.” It wasn't even a lie. “If I left, ya wouldn't have anyone else fer the Freaks Club.”

And now he could never leave again. But maybe that was for the best if it wouldn't be worth it.

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shadowshrike · 1 year ago

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Ascended Astarion Appreciation Post

I'm not going to do a true analysis here because I feel like all the individual lines of spawn/ascended/neutral Astartion and how broad the interpretations of them can be depending on the context of your playthrough have already been discussed ad nauseam by the fandom. The stellar voice work only adds to the ability for a player to feel a connection with whatever narrative they like best. However, I want to throw my personal experience with his storyline into the ring because I feel it's rather unusual.

For my style of play, I initially only brought Astarion along on my 'clever evil' run. I had no knowledge of his storyline before I started and didn't do any metagaming to win his approval; I just brought him along because the 2 minutes I saw of him in my main run made him seem like a good fit for a Tav with selfish choices. This was a custom bard playthrough where I made everyone love me by being a great con artist, killed the few who might make my rise to power more difficult (like the Nightsong), and lightly manipulated our companions into giving me their protection while I only took on minor risk. Naturally, Astarion played well with this character. He was entertained by having a partner to 'play' with, one who didn't get put off by cruel comments or his lust for power and was good at pretending to be manipulated by the questionably charismatic vampire.

I expected the power lust and loss of humanity toward the end of his story. What I did not expect was that by doing an Ascended playthrough first, I would ruin my desire to reload for the Spawn ending later. After all, aren't you supposed to want to do the "Good" thing when your default gameplay style is Good-aligned?

What solidified it for me were two things. First, his response to the Gur. His reaction suggested to me that he was probably a power-hungry noble before he was turned, one who paid the consequences for his cruelty, jumped at the chance for an escape through Cazador when faced with the consequences of that cruelty, and then spent the next 200 years being tortured horrifically for it. From everything I gleaned through his half-retelling, his story was much like the victims of hags or devils. I felt bad for the disproportionate horror of his fate, but there was an odd sort of justice in it as well, one that had long descended into pure evil thanks to the creature he fell victim to.

The second thing that turned me from doing a full playthrough just to see the Spawn ending was, oddly enough, the confession where he explains he's been manipulating you and has accidentally developed feelings. Now, this is partly because I may have accidentally skipped part of the animation, but when I decided to reciprocate the 'heartfelt feelings' as part of my character's manipulation, his answering smirk seemed to say, "Gotcha. So all I have to do is act vulnerable, weak, and like I would be nicer if someone just loved me for once in my life, and they'll protect me forever. I can do that."

After that point, I could never take any statement he made about redemption seriously, especially not if he was particularly blunt about it. The nail-on-the-head speeches I'd seen from him on the spawn path seemed exactly that - too perfect. Like it was exactly what a good character would want to hear, and something a rather poor manipulator but one who specializes in making people feel loved (which Astarion is) would fall back on. That's not to say the words don't ring with truth - they really do thanks to the beautiful voice work - but in the context of his relationship with power and dependence, every word felt like falling back on old habits to manage his fears. Ones he may not even be aware of, truthfully.

Do I think that was the intent by the writers? Absolutely not. But the more I pressed on in the story and he never reverted to that overly sweet act after he realized my character was actually more interested in giggling with him over how to obtain absolute power, the more it felt like the whole 'poor victim' act, although absolutely rooted in some truth, was truly an act to him.

He was terrified, would always be terrified, and had no problem doing whatever he needed to do in order to keep that terror at bay. His desperation made him easy to manipulate. He begged for both the tadpole's powers and Raphael's deal, staying true to a character that would always take the risk as long as it didn't threaten his vanity like the astral tadpole did. He was clearly incapable of forming a healthy relationship with anyone and had no interest in actually working on himself. Still, he was a master at adjusting his behaviors just enough to make himself safer in his new 'goodish' environment by acting like he had come to appreciate goodness. Not that he was ever completely heartless, even on a selfish/evil run, but it became clear that he mostly wanted goodness for himself. He didn't want a lack of chains in the world. He wanted to be the one holding them.

Ascending him was the obvious choice in an evil run. I would both be giving him the one thing he truly wanted and putting him forever in my debt...at least until his annoyance at having a debt outweighed his fear of being alone.

Becoming his spawn, on the other hand, was a hard choice. And probably the most satisfying narrative choice I made in all my playthroughs, good or evil.

For context, I had refused to use any tadpole powers in this run, giving it to him instead, so he could deal with the risk while being pleased by being handed more power. I didn't want to sacrifice anything personally while I was busy putting everyone in my debt. But here I was faced with a dilemma - did I have confidence that my character could still manipulate this vampire driven by fear enough to take the world if I let him turn me into a spawn so I could be immortal? Would the good and evil armies I'd raised to my name be enough to stop Astarion if he started to lose his utter devotion to me and made me a mindless thrall? If I said no or suddenly cast doubt on him, he'd certainly be enraged, given my prior support of him and his fear of rejection. Was the danger of angering him on top of losing that ascended vampire power worth my mortal freedoms? How long would that freedom even last if I said no, assuming he truly did end up exactly like Cazador, who would likely have just taken it from me in a rage?

Interestingly, this choice was made for me by the insight check that some people hate so much. When I saw he thought my character was still above him, that I had to degrade myself to be with him, I realized the man's leash hadn't gone anywhere. I could use him to get me the world. Yes, he would continue trying to manipulate me with empty promises, but I would continue manipulating him in turn by appealing to his petty vanity and insecurities. And together, we could have everything he ever lusted after with the only cost being a soul he was more than willing to lose.

I think the perfect cap to this was the ending. A romanced Ascended Astarion's ending was easily the most satisfying ending part of all the little character moments of all my playthroughs. The evil power fantasy was perfect. With the choices I made, it implied he was 100% as much my thrall as I was his (less literally in his case), leaving the corruption of his character beyond pure power lust open to interpretation. Add to that the satisfaction of his new unique dialogs near that end, and I was blown away. His confidence, for once, did not seem fake, though it was still informed by the fears that had driven him from the beginning. It was not his most healed or kind self (and how could he be either of those in any ending after 200 years of torture unless he was lying?), but his most free self, enjoying everything he ever wanted in a blaze of glory, relishing in his control, and fully giving himself to the newfound passions given by his second life.

Is he evil, selfish, and controlling? Absolutely. Will some hero inevitably take him out down the line when he gets a little too crazy with his powers? Probably. But such is the beauty and fun of the evil power fantasy.

It's unfortunate that playing this route, I can't enjoy how he is chained by the spawn route. I can understand what it is trying to do. Promoting the power of forgiveness, love, and support to allow someone to be their best self. It aims to apply human healing patterns to a supernatural creature in a cathartic way, one that has been successful for a great many people. But for me, it just doesn't land.

On runs where I care about his fate on a personal level, I hate to see him forced into a life where he loses all the things that have brought him joy, either now or when his lover dies. I don't want my choices 'for his own good' to mandate he forever sacrifices his own wants and needs. I hate how he tells you that you made the right choice after things have calmed down if you refuse to help him because what other option does he have? You've stripped him of hope outside of your protection. Without a cure, he's helpless at the feet of the Good heroes surrounding him who could end him in an instant if he's anything other than grateful and fawning for how much you've saved him. After the other route, that fate feels like dying a second slow death for a character so desperate for freedom and power, no matter how self-destructive it is. And since he basically says you did the 'right thing' when you have a high relationship no matter what end you choose with him, Good or Evil or in-between, it loses its power to me as a narrative anchor to any feel-good moments.

Personally, I like Astarion most as a character who is able to fulfill his base desires, ugliness and all. I think he's written in a way where he's well-suited to be both a victim and an awful person. I like the unique narrative of him being someone who is a bit of a monster and most fulfilled by being his worst self rather than seeking redemption, but appreciate that most people feel more fulfilled by a route where he's humanized and gets to heal through romance or a supportive friend.

I encourage everyone to find their own favorite variation of him. To me, he is one of the messiest characters who can have wildly different 'truths' depending on the context of your playthrough and your interpretations of his lines. Since he's a known liar and manipulator (and an unfathomably old one at that by human standards), there are a million and one different headcanons you can use to fill in the blanks on what he really means, who he really is, and what he really wants or needs.

I hope everyone out there enjoys whatever version of Astarion they like best. For me, I think I just might have to try a different variation on an evil playthrough. I want to see what other contexts I can get for his Ascension story and whether any of them hit as many satisfying narrative notes as my first.

#ascended astarion #essay #baldur's gate 3 #astarion

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