#but slavery still happens and there are people still fighting it

[cupcakegalaxia]

When 20 years ago atheists said that the decrease in religion (*cough* Christianity *cough*) would lead to a more enlightened society are suddenly concerned about the slow moving ball of Western Society collapsing, authoritarianism rising and political unrest on a level the world has not seen for a very long time.

sigh

[aealzx]

As Sonic slammed through the enemy’s weapons Knuckles slid to a stop next to Shadow and threw his body protectively over the black hedgehog’s smaller form, a hand resting on Shadow’s head, and face turning to snarl at the soldiers. Only when significant damage had been done did Sonic skid to a stop, standing between the soldiers and Shadow with his arms spread wide, blue lightning rippling off his form. The quiet that fell over the field wasn’t complete, but it was still numbing. “Stay down, new hedgehog. I’ll keep you safe,” Knuckles spoke quietly to Shadow when he tried to push himself up despite the form over him. He smelled of blood mixed with ash, and Knuckles could hear the slight wheeze in his painfully heavy breaths. It was a simple command, but Knuckles was uncertain if the way Shadow’s form relaxed after a moment was a good thing or not. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

____________

“Mr. Wachowski. Care to enlighten me why you’re here?” Commander Walters returned the greeting. “Well, I live here,” Tom answered with a brief smile. “Green Hills is right over there, in case you weren’t aware. We’d appreciate it if the military wasn’t firing off weapons so close to town.” “A minor incident. We have it under control, and will be leaving shortly.” Sonic snorted and opened his mouth to shoot a bitter reply, but Tom stopped him with a hand. “Great! Well then, I’ll just pick up my kids, and we’ll pretend this never happened. We can tell the town you were cleaning up a rogue Eggman drone?” Tom suggested brightly. That got Commander Walters to crack a fake smile. “Ah. Yes, that should do nicely.” “Cool! Keeping it simple. I like it,” Tom breathed, clapping his hands together and turning slightly. “Honey, is kid number four safe to move?” “Four?” Commander Walters spoke in mildly confused protest. “Uhhhhh yeah. Two right here, and then two over there with Maddie makes four,” Tom returned easily, pointing to Sonic and Tails near him, and then Knuckles and Shadow as Maddie reached them. Commander Walters cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Mr. Wachowski, there seems to be a misunderstanding. Project Shadow is property of G.U.N.. I can’t allow you to take it.” “Huh,” Tom voiced, forcing a pause. “That’s strange. I thought slavery was illegal in the United States.” “You know what I mean.” “No, I actually don’t. Care to enlighten me how kidnapping a lost child and subjecting him to experimentation and indefinite imprisonment is something the government does?” Commander Walters’ expression twitched, and Tom started nodding his head. “Yeah, we figured some things out,” Tom confirmed the unspoken, possible question. It prompted Commander Walters to change tactics, shifting his shoulders and drawing a breath for a new conversation. “We’re simply containing a dangerous weapon. It’s standard procedure.” “Excuse me? The only dangerous weapon we’ve had to deal with recently was that moon slicing cannon your people built. The one that my kids stopped, because some nutcase stole it from you. Remember that?” “Didn’t he almost kill you in the process?” “Because he thought I was you!” Tom snapped. ���And seeing what you've done to him now I can see why his first reaction to seeing you was to fight!” “He's dangerous-” “He is a child!” Tom bellowed. “And if you would treat him as one, as a person, instead of a weapon he may have come to like you instead of wanting to kill you the moment he saw you! Now are you going to take my suggestion and get the hell out of here without a fuss, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”

____________________

“I think he passed out.” Maddie faltered for a moment, but then pushed through, somewhat reassured since they were already in the clinic. “Alright. That’s okay, bring him over here,” Maddie directed, pointing to a shallow bathing station. “We need to get him clean. Can you get his gloves and shoes off?” she gave for further instruction before turning to her three boys. “Knuckles, take your brothers to the front room and call Uncle Wade to come help watch you three.” “But I wanna help!” Sonic protested, already having been dancing around their feet staying out of the way but also trying to stay as close as he could. “I know, but this is a little more intense than I’d like you to have to deal with,” Maddie assured, running her hand over his head. “I’ll be good, I’ll listen.” “No, Sonic,” Maddie stressed. “I’m gonna have to do surgery to fix his ribs, and I don’t want any of you to see that. Okay?” Sonic’s eyes went wide, and Maddie raised her hands to steady him if needed. It was a little blunt, but she didn’t have time to keep trying to convince him. “It’ll be okay, boys. I’ll take care of it. So just be good for Wade, alright?” “I’ll watch over them, mother,” Knuckles assured, moving forward with Tails already clinging to him and putting a hand around Sonic. “Come. Let us contact our Uncle, then construct a plan to welcome Shadow home.”

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Iiiiiii have a lot of scattered incoherent thoughts about Shadow getting adopted that I cannot figure out how to string together in a straight story, so I'm just doodling and writing the lil bits that pop into my head. 8 |

Something about Shadow trying to find his inhibitor rings again, but he only gets the 2 for his legs and G.U.N. finds the other 2 first, which leads to Shadow trying to steal them back but inevitably getting worn down by them and his own chaos energy beating him up. So he gives in and goes to Green Hills to find Sonic for help because "I thought that...since you wouldn't kill me… even after all I did, all I said, I thought that maybe…. maybe… you could help me"

This all took long enough that the Wachowski fam had enough time to talk things over about everything.

This also might be the 'I may have beat Shadow up a lil too much haha whoops' headspace 'cause he ended up with this list of injuries by the time the fam got him:

2 displaced broken ribs on the right (stabilized by Maddie with pins to be removed later)

broken right arm

broken left leg

injured right lung (causes wheezing mostly)

large laceration on right torso and right thigh

I'm still not sure if I want Walters to be the one there chasing Shadow or if it should be the other military lady and Walters helps stop them and let Tom and Maddie take Shadow 8 |

anyway post is getting way long so * finger guns and leaves ya'll with this *

[pikavani]

How Outono was found

The marketplace was as lively as ever, packed with vendors shouting prices and people bustling from stall to stall. Among the crowd was Masha, a young maid making her usual rounds to gather supplies and ingredients for the castle.

And there she was again. Masha (22 years old) had noticed the little girl several times before, darting through the streets, always keeping her distance from strangers. She didn’t beg, didn’t steal—just played with the stray cats and dogs like she was one of them. She was always alone, sitting in the dirt and keeping to herself.

It wasn’t uncommon to see orphans wandering the streets, especially after the war. But this girl stood out. Bright blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin—she didn’t look like she belonged there. People couldn’t help but notice her, and that made Masha uneasy.

Masha had watched her from a distance, wondering about her story. Where was she from? How old was she? Seven? Eight, maybe? But what really bothered Masha was how much attention the girl could draw just by existing. A chill ran down her spine at the thought of what might happen if the wrong person noticed her.

Masha had heard the whispers in dark alleys. Men who offered food and shelter but delivered nightmares instead—slavery, prostitution, factories. The girl was practically a walking target.

No, Masha thought, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She had to act. It was reckless, impulsive, but she didn’t care. “There you are!” Masha called out, pushing through the crowd toward the girl. Her voice was sharp enough to make heads turn. She grabbed the child’s arm—not hard, but firmly enough to keep her from slipping away.

The girl froze, staring up at Masha with wide, startled eyes. She didn’t fight or run, just stood there, too shocked to react.

“Come on,” Masha said, her voice softer now as she led the girl through the busy streets. She kept her head down, ignoring the curious glances from the crowd. To them, she was just a frustrated aunt dragging a mischievous child home.

As they made their way to the castle, Masha’s thoughts raced. What was she doing? She wasn’t anyone important, just a maid trying to keep her head above water. She had enough on her plate without adding a lost child to her problems. This could blow up in her face. But as she felt the girl’s small, cold hand in hers, she pushed the doubts aside. It was too late to turn back now.

When they arrived, Masha wasted no time. She took the girl’s dirty, torn dress and helped her into a warm bath. The child didn’t resist, but her wary eyes followed Masha’s every move. As the grime melted away, Masha got a better look at her.

Her skin was smooth, untouched by scars or bruises. No signs of the abuse you’d expect from a child on the streets. But she was so thin—her ribs showed, and her small frame seemed almost fragile. Malnourished, but not beyond help.

And her dress… Masha frowned as she picked it up. The fabric was fine, high-quality, definitely not something a street orphan would wear. Someone had cared for this child once. So why was she out here alone?

As Masha gently scrubbed the girl’s hair, she tried to ask questions. “What’s your name? Where are you from? Do you have family?”

At first, the girl didn’t say a word. She shrank into the water, clearly overwhelmed. But as the bath’s warmth set in, she began to relax. When Masha asked again, the girl shook her head faintly, her expression confused.

“Nothing?” Masha pressed. “You don’t remember anything?”

Another small shake. Masha sighed, brushing back her frustration. “Alright, it doesn’t matter right now.”

As she rinsed the soap from the girl’s hair, Masha noticed the way her small hands played with the bubbles. The child giggled softly, and for the first time, Masha saw her smile. It was a tiny thing, fleeting, but it lit up her face.

After the bath, Masha dressed her in one of her old tunics, the smallest size she could find. Still, it hung awkwardly on the girl’s petite frame, the sleeves drooping well past her hands. Masha couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, don’t you look like a little bird in borrowed feathers.”

The girl didn’t seem to mind. She hid her shy smile behind her blond hair, her cheeks tinged pink.

Later, Masha handed her some bread and cheese she’d bought at the market. The girl devoured it eagerly, taking bites so big Masha had to laugh. “Slow down,” she said, patting her head. “There’s plenty more.”

As the girl ate, Masha felt some of her worries melt away. There was something about her—innocent, endearing. She rested a hand on the child’s head, thinking aloud. “You know, you’ve got the most beautiful eyes. Since you don’t remember your name, how about I call you Blue? Sound good?”

The girl paused, then gave a small nod.

And just like that, the little girl became part of Masha’s life.

She was still shy, always hiding behind Masha when strangers came near. But in the quiet moments, she was a joy—giggling to herself, chasing sunlight, and even whispering to the stray animals that seemed to follow her everywhere.

As time passed, "Blue" found her voice. She made up silly songs, told little stories, and even helped Masha with her chores. The work of a maid was tough, but with Blue around, it didn’t feel so hard. Her tiny hands and sweet voice brought a light to Masha’s world that she hadn’t realized she needed.

[bisamwilson]

“This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker, forever:

The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain.

The light burns you. It will always burn you. Part of you will always lie upon black glass sand beside a lake of fire while flames chew upon your flesh.

You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down.

You don’t even have lungs anymore. Mechanisms hardwired into your chest breathe for you. They will pump oxygen into your bloodstream forever.

Lord Vader? Lord Vader, can you hear me?”

And you can’t, not in the way you once did. Sensors in the shell that prisons your head trickle meaning directly into your brain.

You open your scorched-pale eyes; optical sensors integrate light and shadow into a hideous simulacrum of the world around you.

Or perhaps the simulacrum is perfect, and it is the world that is hideous.

Padmé? Are you here? Are you all right?

You try to say, but another voice speaks for you, out from the vocabulator that serves you for burned-away lips and tongue and throat.

Padmé? Are you here? Are you all right?

I’m very sorry, Lord Vader. I’m afraid she died. It seems in your anger, you killed her.

This burns hotter than the lava had.

No…no, it is not possible!

You love her. You have always loved her. You could never will her death.

Never.

But you remember…

You remember all of it.

You remember The Dragon that you brought Vader forth from your heart to slay. You remember the cold venom in Vader’s blood. You remember the furnace of Vader’s fury, and the black hatred of seizing her throat to silence her lying mouth…

And there is one blazing moment in which you finally understand that there was no Dragon. That there was no Vader. That there was only you. Only Anakin Skywalker.

That it was all you. Is you.

Only you.

You did it.

You killed her.

You killed her because, finally, when you could have saved her, when you could have gone away with her, when you could have been thinking about her, you were thinking about yourself…

It is in this blazing moment that you finally understand the trap of The Dark Side, the final cruelty of The Sith —

Because now yourself is all you will ever have.

And you rage and scream and reach through The Force to crush The Shadow who has destroyed you, but you are so far less now than what you were. You are more than half machine, you are like a painter gone blind, a composer gone deaf, you can remember where the power was but the power you can touch is only a memory, and so with all your world-destroying fury it is only droids around you that implode, and equipment, and the table on which you were strapped shatters, and in the end, you cannot touch The Shadow.

In the end, you do not even want to.

In the end, The Shadow is all you have left.

Because The Shadow understands you, the shadow forgives you, The Shadow gathers you unto itself-

And within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.

This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker.

Forever…

-Matthew Woodring Stover, Revenge of the Sith

Vote for whoever you think is the most tragic! The top two most voted characters will win spots in the bracket for the full competition!

[angelsndragons]

hi, veilguard peeps, can we take a moment to talk about rook mercar? because rook mercar is possibly one of the most batshit rooks in the game and they deserve to be recognized as such.

but not only that, mercar's backstory shades the shadow dragons and venatori conflicts in very interesting ways so let's talk about them.

so first, the nessus job.

i don't blame you for forgetting (or not knowing, i know the shadow dragons aren't everyone's cup of tea) so here's your quick refresher from the shadow dragon background blurb found in the character creator:

Breaker of Bonds

“Rook risked everything to liberate the enslaved people of Tevinter, even knowing it would anger the ruling elite. The foundling Rook was adopted into a military family and joined the Shadow Dragons to fight from the shadows for change in Minrathous. While guarding a visiting dignitary who was investigating a slavery ring in the nearby city of Nessus, Rook concluded that the mission would fail without throwing caution to the wind. Alone, s/he(/they) sneaked the dignitary deep into Venatori-controlled zones and brought him back, along with the rescued slaves. These actions brought Rook to the Venatori's attention, and the Shadow Dragons decided to keep Rook out of sight.”

that is the nessus job.

except this doesn't quite square with what the game has to say about it.

the background:

first, here's the viper's letter about the job:

so right away, note how weird it is that the viper's writing mercar's letter. i say this is weird because, with the other factions, the person writing rook's letter is someone they're familiar with, usually in a position of leadership. antoine and evka are the notable leadership exceptions here, having actually been involved in thorne's backstory actions.

here's the rub: mercar doesn't know the viper. they've heard of him, certainly, but when that little popup telling you that you've worked with these faction agents before appears, mercar doesn't have the option to act like they know the viper.

the lines mercar gets are:

it's an honor to stand beside a legend

i know he likes to make an entrance

i know he gets things done

now, i will grant you that some of the responses to mercar's comment indicate tarquin is familiar with both rook and ashur (his response to the honor line is 'well, that'll go straight to his head' while the entrance line earns the viper's comment 'no one watches the rooftops' and tarquin's exasperated 'sure, that's what he says') but the point is, for a character mercar is "supposed" to be very familiar with, neve still tells them about the name ashur. like, seriously, it's the same dialogue tag every rook gets.

which is weird because veilguard is actually pretty good at keeping track of rook's faction and seamlessly changing up the conversation while still getting across the relevant information.

but it doesn't stop there, oh no.

during mercar's unpacking scene, we get these default shadow dragon lines:

now, these right here ping for the following reasons:

varric isn't the "visiting dignitary" that rook was guarding, given that rook had to get to nessus before meeting varric

the fact that rook's backstory happens dao style, where all events are true but only one has duncan varric available to pluck rook out of the immediate consequences

minrathous slaves, specifically, are mentioned as being freed here, even though we're supposed to be in nessus. now i'm not saying that minrathous citizens can't be enslaved and sent elsewhere, i'm just pointing out the phrasing here

the magisters who were financially benefiting from the nessus ring (aka venatori and their backers) knew enough about rook to put a name and a face on them. the structure of the sentence here is that everyone knows who is "too much trouble" to keep around and that is fucking wild kids. no, seriously, that is wild. there is so much wild here, put a pin in it.

no, seriously, this matters and matches the backstory blurb that the job "brought Rook to the Venatori's attention." put a fucking pin in it.

whatever rook's feelings, they always take pride in freeing those slaves- impulsive rook just dislikes that it comes at the cost of putting the shadow dragons in danger (put a pin in it), righteous rook thinks that the shadows should have used the crackdown to start a full out war with the venatori and their magister backers mind you while finally stoic rook just hopes that the shadow dragons weathered the storm safely.

okay, so ready for more batshit mercar?

the next solas conversation is the one where rook tells solas why they're going to stop the gods and here's what mercar has to say about that operation:

i just want y'all to marinate in that little gem of a line for a sec.

done screaming yet? it's cool, take another minute. no one's doing it like mercar.

okay, so finally a fuller picture of mercar's backstory comes into focus, if you ignore the weird bits. like the fact that the shadows made a plan with varric to rescue a friend, which does not appear to be the original nessus job, mind you.

mercar met varric, something went screwy, and mercar and varric decided the only way they had a chance was to start an armed rebellion in the city of nessus. the slavery ring is busted, said rebellion is (apparently) put down, the venatori and the magisters know who to blame for it all, and mercar hightails it out of the country with varric. simple and straightforward, right?

wrong, we have so much to work through.

the fallout:

like why the fuck are ashur, mae, and dorian squatting in dock town, exactly? tarquin lives there but those three surely have a high town shadow dragon cell they can go bug, right? and why is ashur the only one of the three making any cell decisions? i mean, points to mae for being a decent house guest, i guess, but what exactly is going on here? why are the venatori breathing down the shop's neck, to the point that they knew its location well enough to deliberately target it in the save treviso route?

remember those pins? it's time to pull them.

i repeat: this is real fucking bad for the shadow dragons. unlike the rest of the origins, the shadows are a covert operation. they don't want anyone knowing who their members are, who their backers are, any of it. the people in power being able to identify shadow dragons is how you lose shadow dragons: to arrests, targeted killings, beatings, destruction of their livelihoods, etc. ya know, like the viper mentions in his letter.

the fact that the first warden can not only link rook's face and name to the shadow dragons but to very specific crimes, crimes for which rook can absolutely be arrested, should set off all the alarm bells. as dorian says, the man is more politician than warden and as charter's letter from marnas pell states, "Assume every noble Tevinter family not with Shadow Dragons has Venatori pulling strings." this is extremely bad.

after nessus, the venatori had rook's identity as mercar and what did they do? they started looking into every single person mercar had known contact with, every path they took, their home, their family, the bar they stopped in for breakfast that one time. that's how resistance cells die, by the way. including, potentially, mercar's. this is why the shadows were more than happy to see mercar out of the way for a while where they couldn't cause any more trouble; so long as they're not around, they can't compromise more of the various cells' activities and members. it's the safest move for literally everyone involved.

because the damage has been done:

mae's related to varric via marriage, by the way, if the full picture hasn't come into focus yet.

mercar and varric were id'ed in that rebellion, the venatori were pissed at the lost revenue streams and suddenly mae's knocked out of the magisterium?

yeah.

my guess is that there is no high town cell anymore because of the nessus job. for all that mae worked to ensure that dorian was out of the line of fire and squeaky clean, the shadows and their backers couldn't stop the venatori crackdown after nessus, as mentioned by ashur's letter. ashur and mae are here specifically because there is no other cell to go to.

this is why tarquin is snippy, by the by. mercar and the highbloods are drawing attention to him and endangering all of his people just by being there.

hang on, it gets worse.

because the venatori are obsessed with the viper and proving that he's the divine (he is the divine, for the record, there are too many ambient dialogues, codices, and missions pointing in that direction). and to that obsession, i say, what the fuck? how did they come to that conclusion, exactly? what trail did the divine leave behind that first got the venatori on his tail?

well, he's related to and has close ties with mae's family. secondly, the divine is known for being quietly supportive of slave liberation. but the real reason, i think, is the original nessus job.

because again, why were the shadows in nessus originally? why was mercar in nessus to meet varric in the first place? who was the "visiting dignitary" that mercar was guarding?

yeah, i think the dignitary was the divine. and i think he was there in his official capacity. it would handily explain the discrepancy that ashur knows mercar but mercar doesn't know ashur. while the divine might not have a lot of actual power, the power of the press and drawing attention to issues and plights should never be discounted. especially when it's a plausible excuse to get several minrathous shadows in place to shut down the nessus slaver ring.

the divine being guarded by a now known shadow dragon (the viper likely made an appearance, ashur is known to pop up when slave rebellions start) combined with his anti-slavery views and ties to anti-slavery politicians turned the venatori's eye on ashur's night job.

remember, the shadow dragons are officially labeled as insurgents; if the venatori can tie the divine and all his people to them? that would be a death knell for any political support for liberation. the checkmate for the anti-slavery cause for the next age.

tldr: mercar exposed their ties to the shadows (and possibly the divine's) by starting an armed rebellion with varric to free slaves and shut down a slaver hub. in response, the venatori sniped several cells using mercar and varric's likely contacts, which led to ashur, mae, and dorian squatting in the dock town shadow dragon cell instead of some high town cell.

lucky the gods show up to cause trouble, huh?

god i love this game.

[starcurtain]

Hey! I apologize if this question has been asked before since it seems like a pretty obvious one, but where do you think the idea of Aventurine being a sex slave came from? Other than the obvious factor of it being something fun for the fandom to mess around with, I mean.

It's something I kind of took for granted as being true before playing his quest, but after finishing it I realized there wasn't really any indication. The only thing I can really think of is his master's comments about him having a good body. Is there anything in his behavior you can think of that would lead to this conclusion if it wasn't a popular fan interpretation already/kind of just an easy conclusion to reach with a slave character?

(also kind of related but what do you think of the idea that he sleeps around/with his clients to make deals? he's obviously willing to sexualize himself with the boob window, but that doesn't necessarily mean he goes further.)

As far as I can tell, the idea that Aventurine was involved in sexual slavery comes from three (maybe four) places:

First, the comment from the master about Aventurine's appearance. People were holding this comment up as refutable proof that Aventurine was used in sexual slavery on top of being tossed into the Hunger Games; however, the response from other players on this interpretation, especially the Chinese side of the fandom, was very mixed, with a lot of people pointing out that the context in the game probably meant the slave master was talking about Aventurine's ability to attract attention from fans watching the literal Sigonian Hunger Games, rather than having a direct sexual-slavery connotation.

Second, the comment from Sparkle about stripping naked and getting on his knees for Sunday. This one has way more implication in English than I think it might for an Eastern audience, actually. In English, this pretty much sounds like Sparkle saying Aventurine trades sexual favors for success in his gambles. However, I suspect the original intention in Chinese was more about humiliation. Western audiences don't have as much history with honor-based prostration, i.e. accepting corporal humiliation as a form of reconciliation that Eastern audiences might be more familiar with. And in any case, Sparkle is Sparkle. She probably just went for the lowest blow she could think of here.

Third, the general assumption that if Sigonian slaves were being chained, branded, beaten, sent to death matches, etc., it seems logical that they would also be taken advantage of in other ways. I honestly think this is probably the fairest take--many, many real slaves around the world faced (and still face!) sexual abuse, so if slaves from Sigonia were treated so poorly you could make them fight to the death for entertainment, it stands to reason they were probably also not safe from other forms of assault. We also have no idea what happened to Kakavasha in any of the years between his being a tiny child fleeing the massacre and then being purchased as a slave as a late-teens-early-twenties person. That's a very long time for a child to have to survive on their own on an extremely hostile planet and not face risks of all kinds or end up needing to do unspeakable things to survive. So I think this is at least not that far-fetched, although it's important to say there's nothing in the game that directly confirms this.

And fourth: I read a tweet semi-recently that stated that one of the Chinese (or maybe it was Japanese) names for a quest Aventurine was involved in was actually a reference to a book about a teenage sexual assault survivor. However, when I tried to verify this myself, I couldn't find any quest Aventurine was in that was based on a book about sexual assault in either English, Chinese, or Japanese. It's possible I just missed something, but I'm taking this one with a bit of a grain of salt currently, since I can't confirm it personally.

Regarding your other question, about whether I think Aventurine sleeps around to make deals...

I definitely think he does not, for one major reason.

First, I will admit that Aventurine is definitely willing to use his appearance to his advantage. This is pretty obvious. He wears incredibly flashy clothes, baths himself in cologne, overloads on glittering golden jewels, and absolutely calls attention to his appearance when working with clients.

We see him actively doing this in his Moment Among the Stars video, where he is clearly using his looks as an equal tool (to his wealth), to daze his target.

It's not an accident that he says things like "Use me as you wish," with all the explicit connotations preserved. The implication is there. However, unless he was absolutely backed into a corner, I think that implication is all it will ever be.

The reason I think this is that the devs go out of their way to give Aventurine three fairly noticeable physical behaviors in his in-game scenes:

For one, he has some of the most closed off body language of any character in the game.

Aventurine's default conversation pose is arms crossed directly and tightly in front of himself. This is like "Defensive Body Language 101." By crossing your arms, you put a symbolic barrier between yourself and the person you're speaking to, and also ensure that your hands are up and available in case you actually need to physically defend yourself.

Virtually all of Aventurine's conversations take place from this stance, no matter who he is speaking to (from the Trailblazer all the way to Topaz). He deliberately closes his pose off and tightens up his silhouette, which just sends a glaring "Don't touch me" message.

This closing off is also blatantly apparent when you compare it to the deliberately open poses he strikes while trying to make himself seem accessible to others (like tempting clients) or seem powerful (to intimidate):

Complementing this habit of closing himself off is a second noticeable aspect of his body language: He frequently avoids eye contact to the point that he even holds conversations while entirely facing away from the person he's speaking to.

I might be a bit lenient and say maybe he's doing this to on purpose to be mysterious, whoo~~ But... in all honestly, he just does this with everyone, even with Ratio while trying to talk about an actual important issue (wanting to look into Acheron's real identity). Hell, even the fake Aventurine does it to himself!

We can even say that wearing the rose-tinted glasses in the first place is another intentional barrier, one Aventurine deliberately removes in specific moments to give people the (false) impression that he's "letting them in" to his circle:

Now, this might be a bit more complicated in Aventurine's case, because eye contact has a whole extra meaning when eyes are the defining trait of your species and come with particularly challenging racial stereotypes. So it may be that Aventurine is simply used to conducting conversation while looking away to minimize racial prejudice against his eyes' unique appearance.

However, I'd also argue that the devs deliberately turned his entire model away in cutscene after cutscene to create a clear sense of being inaccessible, unapproachable, and unwilling to engage in the physical intimacy of standing closely, directly facing, and staring at his conversation partners.

While he faces away, he controls both the figurative and the literal direction of conversation, forcing people to keep their eyes on him while he is free to move as he pleases. Over and over again, it just says "I want to be the one in control. I'm not afraid to show my back to you, but you are not welcome to come near me."

And, in fact, that's a third aspect of his character's body language that I am sure the devs did not include accidentally: More so than other characters, many of Aventurine's conversations are conducted from weirdly far distances. Like, half the time he's talking, he's standing all the way on the opposite side of the room!

This habit of speaking from a-larger-than-normal distance is apparent in the first scene with Himeko...

And then in just about every other conversation too:

The bubble is twenty feet in every direction.

Like yes, he does approach and have conversations like a normal person... sometimes... But it is significantly more noticeable with Aventurine than with other characters that he often conducts whole conversations--even with his allies--from a distance. Just genuinely weirdly far apart.

Leaving space for Gaiathra, I guess.

And it's because these significant decisions were made with Aventurine's in-game body language that, when he deliberately alters his own behavior, it is instantaneously noticeable.

In 2.0, he closes the distance, the glasses come off, and he gets directly up in the Trailblazer's face.

It's uncomfortable not just because the player is suddenly being loomed over, but because this behavior has already been subconsciously established for the player as out of character for Aventurine.

The barriers the character himself was putting up are deliberately stripped away so that he can use physicality and demanding eye contact to intimidate his target. He has to reverse his own normal body language in order to come across as domineering (and, I guess if you're into that, appealing in a domineering manner).

And ummmm, just a tiny aside here because I can't resist:

This does mean that when the game goes out of its way to demonstrate Aventurine altering his own normal habit of distant and defensive body language, it is absolutely intentional.

Yes, this is a Ratiorine post in disguise. There literally isn't any other character in the game that Aventurine is shown being comfortable standing so close to and interacting with in this manner. This doesn't occur in every one of their scenes, but Ratio is the only character that this happens with repeatedly. It's not an accident that the devs literally added "They were walking side-by-side" as flavor text.

But look, I'll be fair: There's a great example of this in Aventurine's scene with Acheron too, where he closes the distance and attempts to make eye contact with her--seeking her guidance and closeness--and she is actually the one stepping away, speaking with her back turned, demonstrating her power and control (and issues with connection!) in that scene.

Anyway, this was a whole longggg tangent into analyzing Aventurine's body language, but my point is that, overall, the devs deliberately adjusted his model's actions in-game to give the impression of a person who clearly wants to be in control of every interaction he has with other people, who insists on distance over intimacy, and whose stances and habits suggest that he is significantly less accessible and open than his "Use me as you wish" motto might suggest.

Long story longer, I think that there is almost zero chance Aventurine is willingly ceding control over himself or the actions expected of him to anyone he isn't 100% comfortable with, and I think that using physical intimacy of any kind would be an absolute last resort for him. Frankly, he comes across as more likely to shoot himself in the foot than let someone he doesn't trust lay hands on him.

To me, he reads very much as "You may look, but you may not touch."

[cerastes]

How thinly veiled are we talkin?

See, in Unicorn Overlord, there’s many characters you can spare or execute. UO attempts a moral quandary where you can put aside your moral apprehensions and spare absolutely awful people in order to recruit them, or just not kill them without them necessarily joining you.

“Attempts” is the key word here because while the gameplay is very fun, the writing of the game has all the charm of a stiff doorknob, it’s not a game I’d recommend if you want to get to know wonderful, innovative, and or charming characters per se.

Big preface coming:

A rare good example: There’s a pair of plague doctors who engaged in actual honest to god human experimentation of the cruelest most utilitarian kind, BUT it was ultimately, genuinely because that particular case was one where you really couldn’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs. If that plague they were attempting to placate spread, it really was going to be a continent-wide pandemic. One of them dies, the other one pleads you to let her finish the research, because it’s almost done and it’ll make all the sacrifices worth it. This is good because you can put the bag on it to punish an objectively cruel and cold doc but potentially fuck over a lot of people by effectively cutting out the potential cure, OR let her finish up and thus validating all the incredibly cruel experiments she carried through but potentially saving a lot more people.

Now, contrast this with this one regional lord who was severely rationing food, and who was very much a massive asshole, but the guy had a point: Famines happened in this particular region, he survived one such famine as a kid, seeing many people die. The way the good guy that puts you against him describes, he’s starving people, but literally every other villager tells you “yeah we don’t eat much but we still are pretty ok and we’ve never actually been hungry because our larders are always full”, and this guy, who was very much just an asshole but completely right and not at all unreasonable, you have no way to spare him whatsoever.

That’s fine and all, but then you have our Main Course here:

There’s a dude early on who’s gleefully killing people and looting villages who you can fight. Upon defeat, he spins you a sad story about his sick, sick sister who needs an expensive medicine, asks you to spare him. You can’t execute him, just incarcerate him, which is odd and unique to him. If you do, predictably, he escapes.

Soon after, a guy is assaulting a church, pilfering all he can with hostages, makes sure he’d enjoy putting some arrows in some foreheads. You fight, beat him, and we have a story about his friend’s sick sister, you see, and this is to help pay for her medicine. You CAN execute him.

MUCH later, in elfland, the first guy is straight up, again, gleefully killing elves and kidnapping a lot of elven villagers, selling them to slavery and worse, you fight him, he says his sister is just so so sick that he has no choice but to traffic elves. You can forgive him again or execute him. Except if you pick to not forgive him, the piece of shit Gryphon Rider that joins you this map stops you and tells him to go to her family, they’ll provide him with a full on cure free of charge for her :) yippie! Hell, if you forgave him twice, he joins you and this is framed as a really cool thing. Fuck those elves that got trafficked already, by the way. Literally no recourse, justice, or anything. Game almost guilts you for not forgiving the guy that happily murders and traffics civilians because he has a sick sister. Cool.

So at least that’s over with, except another entirely different guy who in the early game was hunting witches (who are good in this setting) for profit and glory, and who you beat, has escaped to a late game area, in the beast folk country, and has ingratiated himself with the local beast folk community, while in the darkness, he’s kidnapping and trafficking beast folk civilians. You beat him and then he gets a whole cutscene about how hard he’s been trying to reverse his fortunes — despite always showing to enjoy himself a LOT while enslaving and trafficking beast folks — and how that’s admirable and he’ll Never Give Up. You get no choice to execute him whatsoever, again, a rarity, and he becomes a defender of the beast folk, no repentance whatsoever. The beast folks who git trafficked, by the way? Fuck them lmao, because the guy Never Gives Up. Oops!

The way Unicorn Overlord handles the complete inability to punish slavemongers and traffickers of life in stark contrast with the fates of literally everyone else is incredibly jarring and weird, down to the way it’s always framed as “awww but it’s for an admirable reason though!” whereas far nobler enemies, some of which are literally just fighting to defend their people, get put in the woodchipper or have the choice to get put in the woodchipper completely unceremoniously, which is so so weird when only, specifically the people traffickers are unkillable and glorified.

[rockwgooglyeyes]

In and of itself, Nowhere is the prophecy that Ivan has written for himself, one of self destruction. Fitting for one of the most tragic characters in this show, the one whose love was requited but who never let it be anything due to his own stubbornness and blindness. Not only that but the way that he thinks of himself, as a monster who only serves to hurt those who he loves, is something that proves not to be true, necessarily, but it proves to be true through Ivan's twisted worldview as he hurt Sua by making fun of her sacrifice and he hurt Till by kissing him at the worst possible time. This song, Ivan's first solo since Black Sorrow, echoes that in being another self-fulfilling prophecy of Ivan's, another lie that he told himself so many times that he made it come true.

The repetition of musical elements such as the lifting scale of chimes, the swing of the instrumentals, the snare and percussion being pretty much the same every time only adding to the sensation of mounting foreboding up and up, a rising action that continues to rise but never truly reaches a climax, no culmination, no conclusion until death. My friend Zen (@verdantlights) called it eerie, and I agree. The way that the song all comes together, it feels like a tragedy unfolding in front of you, over and over, one that you know will happen and yet you can do nothing to prevent. It's almost like the "tainted history" that Ivan talks of, the repetition of events again and again over time, the way that history seems to be cyclical and we, as humans, never seem to truly learn.

In certain ways, the song is about the way that the perceived reality of the world and the world's actual reality are very, very different things. Considering the line about "a stiff dream dyed in rose-colored hues" that slowly changed to a dream dyed purple, to a dream dyed black, it is the way that when we are children we are able to hope for a better future than the one we think will actually come and how as we age, we are traumatized by the world to the point where we can no longer hope for anything better. Becoming someone who dismisses hope because you've tried hoping before and you only ended up with a kick in the gut and a punch in the face, well, that's a trauma response. We are all slowly traumatized over time into believing that the world can't get better, our rose-colored dreams becoming purple until they finally fade to black, blotted out by the corruption of memory, those times when we dared to dream and we were shot down from out of the sky, our wax wings not even given the chance to melt. We are beaten down by life, over and over again, until we are simply forced to go through the routine that society demands of us and say that we are content (wake up, wake up to the usual routine & wake up, wake up to this beautiful life, is it for real?).

The worst part is that Ivan knows better (a dustlike existence can't open its eyes to look. I close my eyes). The whole reason why Ivan admires Till so much in the first place is his willingness to fight, his hope for a future without slavery for humans, his unadulterated and true love. Ivan knows what hope feels like and he knows that he just can muster it anymore, too exhausted to be anything other than apathetic (the wounds that kept reopening just became numb), but he can still love Till's vivacity and drive for change. Ivan views himself as something dirty, something broken that only serves to break others. He thinks that he's a monster who can only do the people he loves harm, and to a degree, that's true, his belief a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Ultimately though, Ivan is an immensely unreliable narrator, someone so biased against himself and towards literally anyone else but someone who is so stubborn that he is unwilling to believe anyone else's opinions on him because they have never met his "true self" only the mask that he wears that he ends up digging a deeper and deeper hole. He thinks of his story as one that's already written, the repetition of the line "this always happens to me" echoing that, especially with the way that eventually that song ends with it repeated again, "yeah, it's always like that, this always happens to me." Ivan isn't trying to fight it because his dream has long since been stained black, despite the fact that he knows that he could break out of this cycle of despair. He knows this prophecy that he is submitting to is one that he wrote himself and yet, where he stands right now? He has no will to change it.

note: My friend Ish (@chevalperd) screenshotted @/ivantill7089 (on twitter)'s english translation of this song for me, which is what I am referencing for the lyrics! I love you Ish thank you again so much :3

[aphroditelovesu]

Persian Queen

❝commission: non-con/dun-con smut with Alexander the Great where the Reader is the Queen of Persia and Alexander decides to... know the Reader in front of the King and Reader enjoys it.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I really need to try to improve my smuts... But I don't write them that often :V anyway, I hope you like it! Forgive me for any mistakes!! ❤️

❝tw: non-con/dub-con elements, smut, NSFW, threat of murder, adultery.

❝📜pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,833.

Your heart was racing and it felt like it was beating harder and harder inside your chest with every step you took towards the new chambers of the new King of Persia.

Alexander of Macedonia.

You felt your mouth go dry with disgust. He was not the King, just a barbarian who invaded your Empire and took it at the cost of the lives of thousands of people. Darius, your husband, tried to fight against the Macedonians but even the strength and power that the Persians possessed were not enough to stop Alexander's ambition for Persia.

And now, you were his hostages.

You looked at one of the windows in the hallway and observed what little you could see of the city. Babylon was a beautiful and lively city and even with the occupation of the Macedonians this had not changed. And for that you were grateful.

When you reached the door to Darius's and now Alexander's old chambers, you took a deep breath and mentally counted to three and when you did, you finally knocked on the door hesitantly.

"Come in." A loud, hoarse voice resounded from within the chambers. You slowly opened the door and peeked inside. You felt your anxiety increase, your breathing become heavy when you noticed that Alexander was with Darius, your husband.

And Darius was securely strapped to a gold-trimmed chair.

You entered the room slowly and closed the door behind you, feeling terrified of what could happen.

Alexander looked at you with a smile gracing his lips. You felt a shiver run down your spine due to what that smile could mean.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Your Majesty." Alexander said, looking at you with interest shining in his different colored eyes. One brown and one blue. You cursed yourself for finding them beautiful, for finding Alexander an attractive man.

One thing you found good about Alexander, perhaps the only thing, was that he still treated you with respect and dignity. Although he had the right to kill you or send you into slavery, he allowed you to maintain your status as Queen, your privileges and all your due honors.

"I say the same, my King." You tried to hide the disgust you felt when calling him King. Alexander wasn't your king, at least you didn't consider him one.

You turned your gaze to Darius, who looked slightly terrified, although he hid it well. But you knew him and you knew that what he felt was pure fear. Fear for him and for you.

Alexander followed your gaze and smiled, "Your husband is here to have full knowledge of my plans as King of Persia."

You swallowed hard, "... What does that mean?"

You had a bad feeling when Alexander approached you and stood behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders covered in the rich fabric that adorned your body.

Alexander tilted his head to the side and you suppressed a groan of revulsion — that's what you believed it was — when his warm breath caressed the sensitive skin of your neck.

Alexander's hands went to your arms, caressing them with his calloused fingers. You closed your eyes, not being able to bear to look at Darius, who was watching everything angrily.

You felt your face heat up when you felt Alexander's calm breath in your ear, "It means I'm going to take you as mine."

You felt your body tense even more as Alexander's words registered in your mind. What they meant.

In the blink of an eye, Alexander spun you around so you were facing him. When you looked into his eyes, you saw desire, pure lust shining in them. Alexander smiled and brought his index finger to your chin, lifting it. You held your breath as he brought your face closer to his, capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

Your body trembled slightly at the brush of his lips against yours. You closed your eyes when Alexander brought his hands to your head, holding it as he kissed you harder, with more passion. You opened your mouth a little wider when you felt Alexander's tongue on your lips, indicating that he wanted to deepen the kiss and, for some inexplicable reason, you allowed it.

You hesitantly wrapped your arms around the conqueror's strong body, kissing him back with the same desire. It was wrong for many reasons, but it had been a while since you had been touched and Alexander's kisses were hot, they warmed your body in a way that even the thickest fur blankets couldn't.

It was the kind of kiss, of touch, that you knew you would never forget.

When you separated, your breathing was ragged, your face hot and your lips slightly swollen. You refused to look him in the eye, feeling guilty for having betrayed your husband, who was watching everything. Alexander noticed this and smiled mischievously.

''Don't worry about him.'' He purred and grabbed your hand, pulling you to the huge bed in the middle of the room. Bed you knew well enough, remembering the passionate and steamy nights you used to have with Darius. You shook your head, trying not to think about it as you were laid down on the bed by Alexander.

You knew what was going to happen, you knew what Alexander planned to do the moment you felt him analyzing your clothes. Your body trembled slightly at the thought, but you couldn't help the heat that was also inflicted on your body as you were kissed. It had been so long since you and your husband had slept that it wasn't your fault that your body betrayed your mind.

Alexander removed his own robes, a white chiton with some gold trim, and let them fall to the carpet. He approached the bed, where you remained lying like a beautiful statue. He climbed onto the huge bed, sitting next to you. His calloused hands ran over your face gently, caressing it with tenderness that you knew could melt your defenses easily.

''Beautiful...'' He whispered, kissing your forehead gently. You smiled weakly at the compliment. Alexander kissed your lips softly, his hands going to your legs, caressing your soft thighs. He squeezed them tightly, drawing a sigh from you. You bit back a moan when you felt his fingers dangerously close to your center covered only by your clothing. Alexander smiled and without you being able to do anything, he slid two fingers into your intimacy, arching his eyebrow when he felt the moisture there.

You blushed heavily and turned your head, looking to the side. Alexander began to lift the hem of your dress, exposing your legs and leaving them free to be touched and appreciated. You let out a soft moan when Alexander's fingers rubbed your pleasure spot between your legs, making you relax your body, opening your legs a little wider. Alexander took the opening and slipped between your legs, caressing your thighs with one hand and the other exploring your wet cunt.

''A-Ah...'' You sighed when Alexander finally entered a finger into your tight, wet hole. Your body felt hot, the robes you wore didn't help with how hot the room became.

Alexander smiled even wider and kissed the inside of your warm thighs, inserting a second finger into your pussy. You cursed as he moved back and forth and your sensitive walls squeezed his fingers. You were already wet and ready, your cunt sensitive to the touch it hadn't had in a long time.

''You're so beautiful, so soft.'' Alexander purred, removing his wet fingers from your pussy and taking them to his mouth, tasting you. You felt like you were going to pass out at the sight, at the sight of him delighting in your taste.

He stood over you, bringing his face closer to yours and taking your lips in another passionate kiss, and this time, without any hesitation, you kissed him back, your tongues meeting. Alexander pulled the top part of your dress down, ripping off the jewelry that adorned you and throwing them anywhere in the room. He stopped kissing you and went down to your breasts and licked the tip of your right breast, sucking it a little hard.

You moaned at the contact and threw your head back, enjoying the licks. Your breasts have always been a sensitive part of you and it only proved more and more that Alexander paid attention to them and the desire inside you grew more and more. You didn't even notice when you started rubbing one thigh against the other, in an attempt to alleviate the desire.

But Alexander noticed and he decided not to make you wait any longer to be filled. He positioned himself correctly between your thighs and you caught a glimpse of his erection. Your face turned a shade of scarlet with his visible desire, the tip leaking precum. Alexander grabbed your thighs, lifting them a little for a better angle. He placed the tip of his cock against the entrance to your pussy and, after squeezing your thigh once more, Alexander thrusted into you hard.

You moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion and gripped the sheets tightly, your knuckles turning white. Alexander didn't really give you time to adjust, he just started fucking you hard, pushing you harder against the silk sheets.

The only sounds in the room were your moans and Alexander's hoarse moans. He grabbed your left breast, squeezing it as he thrust his hips hard, slamming into you. You threw your head back, your eyes closing as all you felt was Alexander inside you.

''So fucking beautiful...'' Alexander groaned, watching your face. You were so beautiful. And so his. Alexander didn't care that Darius, your husband for now, was watching him take you. Alexander just wanted you.

Alexander squeezed your thighs tighter as he felt his climax approaching. Feeling this, he started to hit you harder, eliciting loud moans from you. When he finally came, he moaned your name loudly like a prayer, his cum filling your warm insides. Alexander took a deep breath and pulled away from you.

You continued to lie down, feeling as guilty as you were satisfied. You could feel Alexander's seed inside you, with the possibility of making you pregnant. But you were too breathless to do anything, too tired to care.

Alexander smiled and turned to Darius, who had an expression of fury. The conqueror had almost forgotten the former King.

''Now that I have taken your Empire and now your wife...'' Alexander smiled mischievously at Darius, ''The time has come to take your life so that I can marry your wife.''

The Macedonians loved to conquer what did not belong to them.

[heathersdesk]

The Crimes of Brigham Young: the Briefest Introduction

If you're going to be LDS long term, one of the facts you have to accept and make peace with never trying to dispute, is that Brigham Young was a horrible person.

We don't openly talk about this as a community, so you can reach adulthood without ever having to wrestle with this too much. But that makes it all the more shocking when you discover how bad he was.

To say he was deeply flawed doesn't do it justice. Your uncle who says hateful stuff at the dinner table and disrespects his wife and children is deeply flawed. Brigham Young is so much worse than that, by several degrees of magnitude. He introduced and was complicit in extreme violence that was unnecessary and unjustifiable. By the standards of his day and ours, from the perspective of those inside the community and outside, he wasn't a good person. If what you imagine a good leader to be is the King Benjamin definition of someone who does good for his people and doesn't enrich himself from their labors, that's not a test Brigham Young can pass. At all. Not even a little bit.

There's too much history to get into, but here are the basics:

Brigham Young enriched himself constantly from other people. He gave himself the largest allowance of any Church leader in our history. He was living in finery when the rest of the Utah Territory was living in deprivation and squalor. He abused his position within the Church/consecration to make sure he never went without. D. Michael Quinn is the best authority we have on church finances and, to summarize his work, Church leadership has only improved over time in terms of leaders not abusing Church resources. But that was very easy to do because of how much Brigham Young abused them for his personal benefit.

The fact that he was openly racist and introduced slavery to the Utah Territory, undoing the work of Joseph Smith to put black and white Saints on more equal footing with each other is no secret. The Church openly admits to that one now, which is good. We need to be honest about the harm the institution has done in the past towards black people, and we're doing better on that front.

Where we still fail is the overwhelming amounts of violence and genocide our people engaged in against various indigenous tribes across the Midwest and in the areas of pioneer settlement in the Intermountain West. You may have heard of the Mountain Meadows Massacre, which is the event where John D. Lee murdered a group of innocent white travelers that were passing through Utah. What you may not know is that skirmish was part of the larger Black Hawk War against indigenous tribes that included over twenty years of violence, in which our people were consistently the aggressors. Mountain Meadows is the one you've heard of because, true to American form, we only acknowledge white wrongdoing when it hurts other white people. The number of indigenous people who were murdered in genocidal violence by the hands of our people, at the express orders of Brigham Young, is undeniable. It's well-documented history.

This is just one extermination order that exists in which senior Church leadership calls for the total extermination of entire indigenous tribes and nations. They used the Nauvoo Legion to do this.

You would think a group of people who were exterminated with orders like these would know better. But that's the trouble with unhealed trauma: it keeps you from learning from the worst things that happen to you and makes you repeat them instead.

Brigham Young didn't want to live adjacent to indigenous people in the Utah Territory and surrounding areas. He wanted their anhialation. He wanted to take their lands and their possessions. That's what he did to indigenous people who helped our people survive in terrain and elements they weren't prepared to live in. He rewarded them with violence, dishonesty, and betrayal.

There are many reasons you will hear me say that I want a one-on-one socker bopper fight with Brigham Young in a Wendy's parking lot. He has a lot to apologize for, to me and many other people. You cannot begin to understand what that means if you've never seen the scope of how much harm he did.

I love y'all. I'm sorry if I'm the one to tell you this, especially if your people were involved and you were lied to about it. You deserve the truth. That's why I'm telling you. We cannot heal from what we don't acknowledge, and so much of the way we are today as a community is a direct result of all this violence. It's why our people mistrust outsiders, attempt to solve problems with unnecessary violence, and discredit any criticism for their loyalties to the prophet and senior Church leadership. It's who our people have been for so long, there is real intergenerational fear in trying to be anything else.

But that healing is necessary so we can stop repeating the mistakes of the past.

The Book of Mormon teaches in 2 Nephi 9:40:

I know that the words of truth are hard against all uncleanness; but the righteous fear them not, for they love the truth and are not shaken.

We are comfortable acknowledging this to be true about outsiders. Do we believe it when it concerns our own? Do we actually care more about what is right, rather than who we want to believe is right?

Such examination requires faith, honesty, and courage. Truth doesn't have the power to destroy faith, only flimsy and undeserved certainty. And if your certainty was based in falsehood, then best to dispense with it so you can live more fully in the truth.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

Authors note: I was going to post this tomorrow but honestly I couldn’t wait. The banter between Wooyoung and Yeosang is one of favorite parts of this story, I love writing it! Enjoy! And get ready for the next chapter! The big moment is coming! 💜

‼️if you have read chapter 7 already please go back and make sure you have read the reunion part with Ella/yeaosang! It’s after the flash back scene! Something happened with posting and it got removed‼️

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Masterlist

Chapter 8

Hidden Currents

Morning in the ATEEZ's galley was chaotic but organized. Crew members grabbed quick meals before their daily duties instead of sitting down for formal dining. Unlike the officers' mess with its scheduled mealtimes, the main galley stayed open all day to work with the ship's various watch schedules.

Ella paused in the doorway, feeling a bit out of place in the casual atmosphere after her previous meals in the more formal officers' dining room. Pirates in various states of wakefulness sat at scattered tables, some clearly just ending night watch while others were getting ready for day duties. The conversations flowing around the room suggested these people were more like a family than just workers on the same ship.

What caught her eye was how officers and regular crew mixed freely. There was no special seating or service for officers - everyone helped themselves from the same food stations. Seonghwa sat at a corner table with navigation charts spread in front of him, eating absently while making calculations. Two gunners talked with Mingi by the drink station, looking serious enough that they were probably planning something rather than just chatting.

"Ella!" Wooyoung's voice cut through the noise. "Come in! Breakfast is casual today—we're too busy for sit-down service."

He waved enthusiastically from behind a serving counter where he seemed to be cooking three different things at once. Several assistants moved around him in well-practiced patterns that somehow worked despite the apparent chaos.

As she approached, Wooyoung kept cooking while chattering away. "The captain's dealing with some tricky currents today, so everyone's grabbing food when they can. Help yourself to whatever looks good—bread's fresh, and we have actual eggs today, thanks to that merchant ship that should have surrendered faster."

The casual mention of piracy—delivered with the same enthusiasm as his menu suggestions—caught Ella off guard. Even after days aboard the ATEEZ, she was still surprised by how easily these men blended violence and everyday life, how the feared pirate ship also felt like a community.

"Thank you," she said, taking the plate Wooyoung pushed toward her. "Everything looks amazing."

"Of course it does," he agreed without a hint of modesty. "Food matters even more on fighting days—might be someone's last meal, so it should be good."

The dark joke, delivered cheerfully rather than grimly, reminded Ella that despite its unusual culture, the ATEEZ was still a vessel of calculated violence—feared throughout the seas, its black sails striking terror wherever they appeared.

As she gathered food from the available options, Ella noticed Yeosang entering the galley, his face composed despite the morning chaos. He nodded slightly to various crew members as he walked directly to the medicinal tea station near Wooyoung's cooking area.

"You're up early considering your late night," Wooyoung called to him, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Midnight medicine mixing again?"

Yeosang's neutral expression didn't change, though Ella—watching carefully after their reunion hours earlier—noticed the slight tension that appeared in his shoulders at Wooyoung's teasing reference to nocturnal activities.

"Inventory requirements," he replied blandly, selecting specific herbs with practiced efficiency. "Unlike some, my work benefits from methodical organization rather than chaotic improvisation.

"Chaotic?" Wooyoung clutched his chest in theatrical offense, somehow managing to continue stirring a large pot with his free hand. "This is carefully orchestrated creative genius, I'll have you know."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Yeosang deadpanned, his tone perfectly neutral despite the subtle barb. "I thought it was simply randomized ingredient selection based on whatever hasn't spoiled yet."

Several nearby crew members snickered at the familiar banter, clearly accustomed to this dynamic between ship's cook and doctor. Wooyoung's exaggerated gasp of indignation only heightened the comedic effect, his natural dramatic flair turning routine morning interaction into entertainment.

"Randomized? Me?" He gestured wildly with a wooden spoon, narrowly missing one of his assistants who ducked with practiced ease. "Everything I create is precisely calibrated for maximum nutritional and morale benefit. Tell him, Ella—wasn't yesterday's breakfast a masterpiece of culinary precision?"

Suddenly drawn into their exchange, Ella found herself momentarily caught between Wooyoung's expectant gaze and Yeosang's carefully neutral expression. The dynamic between them fascinated her—Wooyoung's effusive animation deliberately drawing reaction from Yeosang's controlled reserve, the contrast creating balance rather than conflict.

"The cinnamon wheels were exceptional," she offered diplomatically. "Though I lack comparative experience with your other creations."

"Ha!" Wooyoung exclaimed triumphantly. "Even our newest passenger recognizes culinary excellence when she tastes it."

Yeosang's expression remained impassive, though Ella noticed the slight softening around his eyes that constituted amusement in his restricted emotional display. "Recognition of quality and recognition of spectacle are not necessarily the same thing," he observed mildly.

"Spectacle?" Wooyoung's voice rose dramatically as he waved both arms, abandoning all pretense of continued cooking. "Is that what you call feeding this entire crew of ungrateful pirates three times daily? Creating meals that keep morale high during weeks at sea? Transforming basic provisions into feasts that make even the captain smile?"

His theatrical indignation expanded with each statement, body language growing increasingly expansive until he resembled a performer rather than ship's cook. Several crew members paused their own conversations to watch the familiar entertainment, evident amusement in their expressions.

Throughout Wooyoung's escalating performance, Yeosang continued calmly preparing his medicinal tea, his methodical movements contrasting sharply with the cook's animated gestures. Yet something in his careful precision suggested deliberate participation rather than mere tolerance—as if his controlled reserve provided necessary counterpoint to Wooyoung's exuberance.

"Your creative approach has merit in appropriate contexts," Yeosang conceded with clinical precision, measuring herbs with the same careful attention he would give to potent medicines. "Though I maintain that consistency and methodology produce more reliable results than spontaneous inspiration."

"Consistency?" Wooyoung scoffed, dramatically flourishing a ladle like a conductor's baton. "Do you know what happens with too much consistency, my methodical friend? The same meal, day after day, until the crew starts eyeing seagulls with hunger and contemplating mutiny."

"Methodical doesn't mean monotonous," Yeosang countered, not looking up from his preparations. "It means intentional rather than accidental."

Wooyoung gasped, clutching his heart as though mortally wounded. "Accidental? You think my culinary masterpieces are accidents?" He gestured expansively at the various dishes arrayed across the serving counter. "This, my skeptical friend, is what we call 'intuitive genius.' Something your rigidly organized mind cannot possibly comprehend."

Yeosang finally looked up, his expression betraying the faintest hint of amusement only Ella could recognize from their childhood. "Is that what we're calling the incident with the exploding dumplings last month? Intuitive genius?"

A chorus of laughter erupted from nearby crew members, several calling out supportive comments or making explosion gestures with their hands. Clearly, the dumpling incident was well-known throughout the ship.

"That was a CONTROLLED flavor release!" Wooyoung protested, pointing his ladle accusingly at various laughing crew members. "And every single one of you still ate them, I might add!"

"After they stopped raining from the ceiling," someone called from across the galley.

"And we scraped them off the walls," added another sailor.

"The medical bay treated three burns and one concussion," Yeosang noted dryly. "Your 'controlled flavor release' required more bandages than our last skirmish with the Royal Navy."

Wooyoung swiveled toward Ella, who was watching this exchange with growing amusement. "You see what I deal with? No appreciation for culinary innovation aboard this ship of critics!"

Ella was silently giggling. She looked to her side seeing Yunho already watching her with a soft smile. He gestured to the two bickering and shook his head in feigned exasperation. "Like an old married couple," Yunho mouthed to her, causing a wider smile from her much to Yunho's delight.

Ella turned back to the bickering pair.

"The captain appreciated it," Yeosang deadpanned. "Especially when a dumpling landed directly in his navigation charts. I believe his exact words were 'tactically unprecedented.'"

"It was a difficult nautical element to chart," Wooyoung defended, struggling to maintain his indignant expression as his own laughter threatened to break through. "The captain now has the only sea chart in existence with a dumpling-shaped island in the western strait."

"Which is apparently creating significant navigational challenges," Yeosang continued, his delivery perfectly serious despite the absurdity. "Seonghwa reports that we keep sailing in circles trying to find it."

"It's a migratory dumpling island," Wooyoung declared, completely abandoning his cooking to fully embrace the ridiculous narrative. "It only appears during certain lunar phases and can only be summoned with the proper culinary incantations."

He dramatically raised his hands above his head, wooden spoon pointed skyward like a wizard's staff. In a deep, theatrically mystical voice, he intoned: "By the power of excessive garlic and questionable fermentation techniques, I summon thee, Sacred Island of Explosive Dumplings!"

"Please don't," Yeosang sighed, though his eyes betrayed the faintest crinkle of amusement. "Im still exhausted from the aftermath of the last Wooyoung 'summoning.'"

"The casualties were worth it," Wooyoung insisted, now fully committed to his performance. He turned to Ella, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "Yeosang's just upset because one dumpling flew directly into his meticulously organized medicine cabinet and rearranged his alphabetical system into what I maintain was a more intuitive categorical framework."

"It spelled 'chaos' in three different languages," Yeosang corrected. "And required four hours to properly sanitize."

"It was a message from the culinary gods!" Wooyoung declared, spinning in a dramatic circle with his arms extended. "They were telling you to embrace spontaneity!"

"They were telling me to invest in stronger cabinet locks," Yeosang countered, finishing his tea preparation with the same calm precision he'd maintained throughout their exchange.

Wooyoung clutched his chest again, staggering dramatically as though mortally wounded. "Such cruelty from our ship's healer! This is why pirates have a reputation for scurvy—medical professionals with no appreciation for culinary artistry!"

Without missing a beat, Yeosang picked up a small orange from a nearby fruit basket and tossed it directly at Wooyoung, who caught it with surprising dexterity despite his theatrical flailing.

"Vitamin C," Yeosang stated flatly. "Medicine's contribution to culinary health. No explosions required."

"Unless you're doing it wrong," Wooyoung quipped, immediately juggling the orange with two apples he snatched from the same basket. "Everything is more interesting with a little danger involved."

As he juggled with impressive skill, he began tossing the fruits higher and higher, his expression one of exaggerated concentration. "Observe the controlled chaos of true culinary mastery!"

Just as the juggling reached its peak, the ship pitched slightly with a wave. One apple went off course, bouncing off Wooyoung's forehead before he could catch it. His expression of complete surprise, combined with his theatrical gasp of betrayal as he pointed accusingly at the fallen fruit, was so perfectly comical that Ella couldn't contain herself any longer.

The laugh burst from her unexpectedly—not the careful, controlled chuckle she sometimes permitted herself in social situations, but a genuine, unrestrained sound of pure amusement. It rang through the galley, surprising even herself with its intensity and freedom.

The room seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, several nearby crew members glancing toward the unfamiliar sound. Wooyoung froze mid-gesture, the remaining fruit forgotten in his hands as he stared at her with undisguised delight. Even Yeosang paused, his normally impassive expression softening into something like satisfaction. Even he had only heard her genuine laugh once in all the time they spent together.

Ella immediately tried to compose herself, years of conditioned restraint making her self-conscious about such unguarded expression. But Wooyoung, sensing the moment's importance, immediately doubled down on his performance.

"The apple!" he cried, pointing dramatically at the fruit rolling across the floor. "It's escaping to join its brethren in the mythical Orchard of Wayward Produce! Quick! Someone stop it before it convinces the oranges to mutiny!"

The absurdity broke through her composure again, and Ella found herself laughing even harder, one hand pressed against her mouth in a futile attempt to contain the unfamiliar sound.

Across the galley, she caught sight of Yunho and Mingi pausing in their conversation, both watching her with expressions that mirrored Wooyoung's delight—Yunho's open and warm, Mingi's subtle but unmistakable. Even Seonghwa had looked up from his charts, his analytical gaze softening as he observed her unguarded moment.

"You see?" Wooyoung declared triumphantly to Yeosang, gesturing toward Ella with obvious satisfaction. "This is why spontaneity trumps methodology! When was the last time someone laughed like that over properly measured tea leaves?"

"Enjoyment and medicinal efficacy serve different purposes," Yeosang replied, though his tone lacked its usual clinical detachment. "Though occasionally they can complement each other."

As her laughter finally subsided, Ella felt strangely lightened, as if some tightly-wound spring within her had loosened slightly. The sensation was unfamiliar after fifteen years of careful self-control, yet somehow reminiscent of childhood moments aboard The Crimson Serpent when Wooyoung had first taught her to laugh silently to avoid unwanted attention.

Now, surrounded by the ATEEZ's crew—men feared throughout maritime waters for precision and ruthlessness—she had laughed openly for the first time since captivity had taught her the danger of unguarded expression.

"I apologize," she said automatically, years of conditioning making her uncomfortable with attention.

"No apologies for laughter aboard this ship," Wooyoung declared firmly, his usual playfulness momentarily replaced by genuine conviction. "Captain's orders."

"Genuine medical benefit as well," Yeosang added, surprising her with his supportive contribution. "Physiological advantages to unrestricted expression of positive emotion."

Their coordinated defense—Wooyoung's heartfelt encouragement balanced by Yeosang's clinical endorsement—revealed complementary aspects of protection rather than contradictory approaches. Despite their apparent contrast, both men sought the same outcome: her comfort and wellbeing aboard the ATEEZ.

"Thank you," she said simply, the gratitude encompassing more than just their current kindness.

Wooyoung beamed, his expression suggesting her laughter represented personal triumph. "My life's mission is complete. I've made Ella laugh—the rest of my culinary career can only be anticlimax."

"A concerning statement from the person responsible for feeding a crew of seventy-three pirates," Yeosang observed dryly, though his eyes remained warmer than his tone suggested.

"Seventy-three pirates with excellent taste and appreciation for culinary genius," Wooyoung corrected, immediately returning to his theatrical self-promotion. "Unlike certain ship's doctors who wouldn't know culinary inspiration if it exploded in their meticulously organized medicine cabinets."

"Which it did," Yeosang reminded him, lifting his completed tea preparation. "Hence the need for stronger locks."

As their banter resumed, Ella found herself still smiling—a real smile, not the careful one she usually put on. Something about their back-and-forth, the contrast between Wooyoung's enthusiasm and Yeosang's calm precision, let her respond naturally instead of calculating every reaction.

She caught Yeosang's eye briefly as he prepared to leave with his tea. In that moment of shared understanding, invisible to everyone else, two survivors of Blackwell's cruelty found an unexpected moment of freedom: through Wooyoung's absurd theatrics and Yeosang's dry comebacks, they'd found space for real laughter after fifteen years of necessary caution.

As she collected her breakfast and found a seat at a small corner table, Ella realized the ATEEZ was more complicated than she'd thought—a feared pirate ship whose culture made room for both Wooyoung's creative chaos and Yeosang's careful precision, for both calculated violence against enemies and kindness toward friends.

This complexity drew her in as she watched the crew's morning interactions. These feared pirates seemed genuinely human in their private moments—laughing at Wooyoung's antics, respecting Yeosang's quiet authority, working together with a sense of community rather than just tactical advantage.

Most importantly, five officers who had once been cabin boys on The Crimson Serpent were still searching for a little girl sold at auction, their childhood promise now the mission that defined their adult lives. And now that very girl sat among them, her identity hidden by choice—a decision that remained hers alone despite the blood oath that had driven five boys to become the most feared pirates on the seven seas.

After breakfast, Ella found herself heading to the upper deck, drawn by the need for fresh air after the crowded galley. The morning sun bathed the ATEEZ in golden light, softening its fearsome look. Crew members worked efficiently, adjusting sails and securing rigging as the ship navigated through challenging currents.

Near the helm, Captain Hongjoong stood with Seonghwa, both focused on navigation charts while occasionally looking toward the horizon. Their conversation seemed intense—clearly planning something important, not just chatting. The way they stood showed their partnership: Hongjoong's stance suggesting leadership, while Seonghwa's precise posture reflected careful analysis—different approaches working toward the same goal.

As she watched from a distance, Hongjoong suddenly looked up, his eyes finding hers with uncanny accuracy, as if he'd sensed her watching. Something like recognition flashed across his face—not of her identity, but of her presence. He said something brief to Seonghwa, who nodded before gathering the charts and walking away, deliberately avoiding where Ella stood.

Hongjoong walked toward her with measured steps, his captain's authority clear yet softened by the same consideration he'd shown since she boarded.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice carrying easily over the wind and activity. "Was breakfast good? Wooyoung can be... over the top, but he really can cook, despite all the drama."

"Very good," she confirmed, still amused. "Though I hear the 'exploding dumplings' incident has become quite the legend."

A brief smile touched Hongjoong's features—a rare expression that made his usual strategic composure seem more human. "A story we'll be telling for years. My cabin still has dumpling fragments turning up in odd places."

The casual humor, so different from his usual careful interactions with her, gave her a glimpse of the boy beneath the captain's authority—the child who had taught a little girl about stars during secret midnight excursions on another ship long ago. Ella found herself responding with her own small smile, feeling more natural after her unexpected laughter in the galley.

"We're approaching the Meridian Straits," Hongjoong said, pointing toward the horizon where distant land created a narrow passage between open waters. "It's one of Blackwell's favorite shipping routes, which is why I'd value your thoughts. The charts in my quarters would be easier to work with than out here on deck."

The invitation—professional yet somehow personal—offered both practical purpose and a chance for the private conversation she'd been considering since reuniting with Yeosang. After days of watching life aboard the ATEEZ, Ella found herself increasingly curious about the captain himself: the boy who had called her "Treasure" now grown into a man whose brilliance had created the most feared pirate vessel on the seven seas.

"Of course," she agreed, following as he led the way to his quarters.

Unlike her previous brief glimpses of the captain's space, this visit let her really see how Hongjoong had made it his own. Navigation tools shared space with personal touches—carved figures she now recognized as Mingi's work, books ranging from technical manuals to poetry, even a small collection of unusual shells and stones. The room balanced practical function with personal identity—necessary tools alongside touches of humanity.

Most noticeable was the locked sea chest she'd glimpsed before, now positioned prominently near his desk. The antique box, decorated with navigation symbols and secured with heavy iron, caught her attention despite her attempts to look casual. Something about its placement suggested it was more than just storage—almost like a reminder or symbol.

Hongjoong spread charts across his large desk, weighing down the corners with smooth stones that seemed chosen specifically for this purpose. "These show Blackwell's usual shipping patterns through the Meridian Straits," he explained, his focus professional despite the private setting. "Based on your information and our observations, we've found potential weaknesses in his security."

As he outlined their assessment, Ella was impressed by how much the ATEEZ knew about Blackwell's operations. Their understanding went beyond just shipping schedules to include key personnel, communication methods, even emergency plans. The detail showed years of careful study, not just casual observation.

"You've been tracking him for a while," she said, both asking and confirming.

Hongjoong's expression shifted subtly, professional assessment giving way to something more personal. "Fifteen years," he said quietly, the simple words heavy with meaning.

The specific timeframe—exactly matching her years in captivity—created momentary silence between them. For the first time, Hongjoong had directly referenced their shared past without explicitly saying he knew who she was. The opening seemed deliberate, an invitation without pressure.

"May I ask why?" she asked carefully, keeping up her persona while trying to understand more. "Blackwell certainly deserves opposition, but your focus seems... personal rather than just strategic."

Hongjoong studied her for a long moment, as if weighing an important decision. Then he gestured toward two chairs near a small window overlooking the ship's wake.

"Please," he said simply, waiting until she'd seated herself before taking the opposite chair. The arrangement created a conversation space separate from the tactical discussion at his desk—shifting from professional consultation to personal exchange.

"The ATEEZ was built for a specific purpose," he began, his voice carrying a new quality—neither the captain's authority nor strategic calculation, but something more genuine, more human. "Ship and crew gathered around a central mission, not just for profit."

He paused, glancing briefly toward the locked sea chest before meeting her eyes directly. "I wasn't always Captain Hongjoong of the feared Compass Crew. Before that, I was just Hongjoong—orphaned cabin boy on a vessel called The Crimson Serpent."

Though she'd pieced together much of this history through observation and Yeosang's confirmation, hearing Hongjoong speak these words directly created an unexpected emotional response. His simple acknowledgment of his origins offered a potential bridge between her carefully maintained present and buried past.

"The Crimson Serpent," she repeated carefully, showing appropriate recognition without revealing personal connection. "A slave ship?"

Hongjoong nodded, something dark crossing his features. "Though they called it 'labor recruitment' and 'personnel acquisition' in official documents. Captivity hidden behind fancy words."

The bitter observation revealed genuine emotion beneath his usual control—moral outrage rather than just tactical opposition. This wasn't simply professional assessment but personal conviction born from direct experience.

"Five of us were taken as children," he continued, his words flowing more naturally than his usual measured speech. "Myself, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yunho, and Mingi. Orphans or street children with no one to report us missing, no one to demand our return."

Ella remained silent, understanding the significance of this disclosure. Though she'd glimpsed aspects of their shared history through observation and hints, Hongjoong's direct story represented a deliberate choice to share rather than a casual revelation.

"We learned to survive together on that ship," he continued, his gaze momentarily distant with memory. "Formed an alliance that became the foundation for everything that followed. But it wasn't until..." he hesitated slightly, "...until another joined us that we found purpose beyond just surviving."

"Another cabin boy?" she prompted when his story paused, careful to maintain her disguise despite her growing emotional response.

"A child," Hongjoong corrected, something soft entering his expression. "Captured during a coastal raid. Five years old, torn from everything familiar, expected to accept captivity without resistance."

The explicit reference to her own history—the first direct acknowledgment from any officer beyond Wooyoung's veiled comments—left Ella momentarily breathless. Fifteen years of calculated survival had taught her to keep her composure during even the most difficult circumstances, yet Hongjoong's simple description of her childhood self threatened that hard-won control.

"What happened to her?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral despite her inner turmoil.

A shadow crossed Hongjoong's features, regret and determination mixing in equal measure. "We tried to protect her. For three months on that floating hell, we created whatever safety we could. Then, during a stop in Halazia, we tried to escape."

His voice hardened slightly, the captain's strategic assessment temporarily displacing personal narrative. "We failed. Badly. A fire broke out during our attempt, creating chaos that separated us from her. The captain used the confusion to take her directly to auction. By the time we could move freely again, she had been sold."

The clinical description of that devastating day—stripped of emotion, reduced to tactical assessment—revealed Hongjoong's continued struggle with their failure. Fifteen years later, he still analyzed the event strategically, identifying errors in planning and execution rather than simply accepting the emotional impact.

"That night, we made a blood oath," he continued, unconsciously touching his palm where that long-ago cut had sealed their promise. "To survive, to grow stronger, to find her again—no matter how long it took, no matter what we had to sacrifice."

He looked toward the locked sea chest, tension visible in his shoulders despite his controlled expression. "Everything that followed—our eventual escape from The Crimson Serpent, our years learning necessary skills throughout the maritime world, our claiming of the ATEEZ and turning it into a vessel feared by slave traders—all started from that single promise. All focused on fulfilling a blood oath made by five children who failed to protect someone vulnerable."

The raw honesty of this disclosure—delivered without theatrical gesture or manipulative intent—affected Ella more deeply than Wooyoung's emotional hints or Yunho's gentle stargazing references. Hongjoong offered neither pressure nor expectation, simply truth: that finding her had defined their existence for fifteen years, that the ATEEZ's fearsome reputation had been built upon the foundation of a childhood promise.

"You've searched for her all this time?" she asked, the question emerging with unexpected emotion despite her efforts to maintain distance.

"Without stopping," Hongjoong confirmed, meeting her gaze directly. "Every port, every auction house, every slave market. Every rumor of a young girl sold in Halazia fifteen years ago. Every possible lead, no matter how unlikely."

He hesitated, then added with quiet certainty: "We'll continue searching until we find her or confirm beyond doubt that she's no longer alive. The oath remains unbroken regardless of years passed or obstacles encountered."

Something in his tone—not just determination but absolute commitment—affected Ella profoundly. For fifteen years, she had survived through calculated isolation, believing herself forgotten or abandoned by anyone who had ever shown her kindness. The reality that five boys had transformed themselves into the most feared pirates on the seven seas specifically to find her challenged fundamental assumptions that had guided her survival since childhood.

"And if you find her?" she asked, the question revealing vulnerability she rarely permitted. "After fifteen years, she would be much changed from the child you knew. Perhaps unrecognizable in ways beyond physical appearance."

Hongjoong considered this carefully, his expression showing deep thought rather than a hasty response. "We understand this," he said finally. "Fifteen years of captivity would necessarily transform anyone, creating a person shaped by survival rather than childhood potential. We're not trying to reclaim what was lost but to fulfill a promise that remains binding regardless of changes time and circumstance have created."

The distinction—seeking fulfillment of promise rather than restoration of past—suggested understanding beyond simple nostalgia. Unlike potential expectation that "y/n" should somehow match their childhood memories, Hongjoong acknowledged the inevitable transformation that fifteen years would create.

"Your campaign against Blackwell," she said, shifting toward practical implications rather than emotional response. "It's connected to this search?"

"Directly," he confirmed without hesitation. "At first, we simply targeted all slave traders as a matter of principle. But two years ago, we discovered Blackwell had purchased a girl that same night, at the Halazia auction. Since then, our operations have focused specifically on disrupting his activities, gathering intelligence about his organization, and systematically dismantling his trading network."

The timeline aligned with her own history—her transfer from Blackwell's direct ownership to his business associate had occurred approximately two years ago, shortly after the ATEEZ had apparently discovered her connection to their target. The correlation seemed unlikely to be coincidental.

"You believe Blackwell transferred her to prevent you from finding her," she observed, the realization crystallizing as she spoke. "That he recognized your campaign's personal motivation and deliberately hid her location."

"It's our working theory," Hongjoong acknowledged, professional assessment temporarily replacing personal narrative. "The timing suggests deliberate countermeasure rather than coincidental business arrangement. Blackwell's records regarding that specific transfer were methodically eliminated—unusually thorough even by his standards of operational security."

The implication clarified aspects of her captivity that had previously seemed arbitrary. Blackwell's decision to transfer her to Calloway—his associate specializing in "premium domestic personnel"—had appeared merely a business opportunity at the time. Now, understanding the ATEEZ's targeted campaign against Blackwell's operations, the transfer revealed strategic dimension beyond simple profit motive.

"He feared you finding her," she concluded, pieces connecting with increasing clarity. "He recognized her value as leverage against a potential threat."

Hongjoong nodded, the captain's strategic assessment evident despite the personal context. "Blackwell's operational methodology prioritizes advantage through intelligence. Once he identified connection between our campaign and his past acquisition, he would naturally implement countermeasures to maintain control of a potentially valuable asset."

The clinical terminology—"asset," "acquisition," "countermeasures"—revealed how thoroughly Hongjoong had integrated tactical thinking into his understanding of their shared history. Unlike Wooyoung's emotional responses or Yunho's gentle reminiscence, the captain analyzed even personal tragedy through a strategic lens—necessary perspective for a leader responsible for crew's survival during increasingly dangerous operations.

"And now?" she asked, careful neutrality masking deeper inquiry. "If this search has driven your mission for fifteen years, what happens if you succeed? If you find this girl who has shaped your existence from absence rather than presence?"

Something shifted in Hongjoong's expression—the captain's strategic mask temporarily giving way to more vulnerable humanity. For a brief moment, the boy who had once called a little girl "Treasure" during midnight stargazing emerged from behind fifteen years of necessary authority.

"Then she would be free," he said simply, the words containing both promise and limitation. "Free to choose her own path without obligation or expectation. Our oath was to find her, to restore the choice that captivity had eliminated. Not to impose new constraints based on childhood connection."

The declaration—simultaneously liberating and carefully bounded—revealed complex emotional territory beneath Hongjoong's strategic exterior. Unlike potential expectation that fulfilling their oath would create specific relationship or outcome, he offered something more profound: respect for agency that fifteen years of captivity had systematically denied.

"Many girls came and went from Blackwell's ownership. I wish I could help you find her. However I don't remember any girl named y/n in Blackwell's possession." She said nervously. "But I will help where I can."

Hongjoong stared at her for a long moment, almost in amusement. "I appreciate the help greatly. However, I never said her name was y/n." His eyes shinning with something she couldn't understand.

Ella's heart rate picked up as she tried to mask her panic. "Wooyoung mentioned this story earlier, he let her name slip." She said stone faced.

"Ah, I see." Hongjoong's amusement never fading. "For an intelligence specialist he has very loose lips."

Before she could respond, a sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Hongjoong's expression immediately shifted, the captain's authority replacing personal vulnerability with practiced efficiency.

"Enter," he called, rising from his chair with smooth movement

Seonghwa appeared in the doorway, his expression revealing urgency despite characteristic composure. "Captain, vessel approaching from eastern quadrant. Flying Southern Trade Company colors alongside official pennant."

Hongjoong moved immediately toward his desk, professional focus displacing the openness of moments earlier. "Distance and heading?"

"Three miles, course suggests interception rather than parallel tracking," Seonghwa reported, his attention briefly acknowledging Ella's presence before returning to the captain. "Yunho confirms it matches the escort class recently commissioned by Blackwell's organization."

"Prepare the crew for potential engagement," Hongjoong instructed, already examining the charts they had been discussing earlier. "Standard protocol—hide primary weapons until identification confirmed, maintain course that suggests we're just merchants rather than trying to run."

As Seonghwa left to implement these instructions, Hongjoong turned toward Ella with an apologetic expression that nonetheless contained the captain's authority rather than personal regret. "I need to handle this situation. Please return to your quarters until we've assessed the threat level."

The abrupt shift from intimate conversation to tactical necessity reminded Ella that the ATEEZ was both a vessel of personal quest and feared pirate ship with a reputation built on precision and calculated violence. The men who searched for a lost girl were simultaneously commanders whose tactical brilliance had created a maritime legend.

"Of course, Captain," she replied, acknowledging both his authority and the necessary transition.

As she moved toward the door, Hongjoong's voice stopped her—softer than his tactical instructions to Seonghwa yet carrying equal certainty. "This conversation isn't finished," he said, something in his tone suggesting significance beyond mere scheduling. "Just paused for now."

The subtle distinction—pause rather than ending—offered connection that went beyond their current interaction. Unlike potential dismissal once practical information had been exchanged, Hongjoong indicated value beyond tactical advantage.

"I understand," she acknowledged, matching his tone. "Until circumstances permit."

Something passed between them in that moment—recognition not of shared past but of potential future, connection based on present choice rather than childhood memory. Then the ship's bell rang, calling crew to battle stations, and the captain's focus returned with practiced efficiency.

As Ella made her way to her quarters amid increasing activity above decks, she found herself processing the implications of Hongjoong's disclosure. Unlike her conversation with Yeosang, which had confirmed suspicions through shared experience, this interaction had revealed emotional dimensions previously hidden beneath strategic exterior—the human motivations driving tactical brilliance, the personal quest underlying fearsome reputation.

Most significantly, Hongjoong had offered his story without demand, history without expectation. Unlike potential manipulation that might have used shared past to extract specific response, he had simply shared truth: that finding her had defined their existence for fifteen years, that fulfilling blood oath remained binding regardless of changes time and circumstance had created.

The ATEEZ's sudden encounter with Southern Trade Company vessel perfectly mirrored her current situation—caught between past and present, between memory and reality, between comfortable anonymity and risky recognition. Like the black-sailed ship now preparing for potential combat, she navigated dangerous waters where decisions carried significant consequences.

As the sounds of battle preparation filtered through the ship—Seonghwa's precise commands, Wooyoung's unexpectedly authoritative coordination of below-deck crew, Yunho's calm instructions to rigging teams, Mingi's low voice directing gunners toward concealed positions—Ella recognized how seamlessly they transitioned from peaceful sailing to potential violence. These men who had shown her consistent kindness were simultaneously feared throughout the maritime world for ruthless efficiency and unwavering purpose.

In her cabin, secure behind closed door as naval confrontation developed above, she whispered, the familiar names carrying new significance after Hongjoong's revelations.

"Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy, Angel," No longer merely comfort ritual but acknowledgment of connection maintained despite fifteen years' separation, of paths converging against seemingly impossible odds.

As naval confrontation developed above decks, tactical brilliance flowing through coordinated action, y/n found herself facing parallel challenge beneath strategic surface—navigating emotional waters more complex than any maritime passage, where recognition carried both promise and risk beyond simple identification.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @hanniehq

[sequence-trotter]

With Sunday's drip marketing, one reaction I've seen is surprise that he's still on his same path toward the same goal of paradise.

But of course he is! HSR patch 2.2 Penacony is a long string of scenes where Sunday is like "debate me, please debate me, I feel a little bit like I'm going crazy here, how are none of you seeing what I'm seeing, someone please debate me." He sees a cold and uncaring logic to the world and desperately wants to be wrong about his conclusions.

And no one debated him. They overpowered him and broke his illusion via power rangers distress call and "severed [his] Path with their hands," as he put it, but no one really debated him in good faith on the terms he set. Of course he hasn't changed! No one was even faintly capable of articulating an alternate position!

unacceptably long-ass boring post incoming. if you click the read more you have only yourself to blame. i had to put in subheadings for navigability this post is a MESS

(authors note: in an absolutely embarrassing travesty i managed to hit the picture limit per post so this will be a post in multiple parts. this part covers Sunday's goals and Robin's initial response. A follow-up post will cover Firefly and the Astral Express's response, as well as the final confrontation and what this all means)

(double note: due to post length limitations this ended up being three reblogs long. completed version here.)

(A note before we set off: I do not think the HSR writers are very good, or more charitably, I think the constraints under which HSR is made pretty much preclude it having a thematically satisfying narrative. Not the least of these constraints is the obvious fear around having anyone playable be "too bad," which is why Blade was introduced as an implacable force of ancient vengeance for crimes unutterable, and now he's your 35-year-old coworker who jokes about killing himself. Everything I'm saying here is just interpretation, and it will certainly not be the game's take, since the game's moral reasoning doesn't seem to extend very far beyond "the Astral Express is good guys :)". Accordingly, please take this in an appropriate spirit, as someone looking for griminess and nuance in a game with a distinct deficit of either and an extreme unwillingness to treat its most interesting concepts as anything more than set dressing or very loosely-implied subtext.)

So to start you gotta ask, what is Sunday so mad about? Why does he demand that you debate him?

I. Sunday's Goals: "A Paradise Exclusive to Us Human Beings"

In his own words, what Sunday is fighting against is the fact that the world runs on predation and violence. Order is the enemy not of Chaos, but of Nature, and natural selection.

For Sunday, the problem is not merely that bad things happen in the world, or that the weak suffer. The problem is that the world is cruel in its design. The logic of survival is cruel. The extent of the problem is not just the dove dying to predators, though that is a huge part of it. It's the average worker, required to work at drudgery or worse, usually for the benefit of another, and always under possible threat of deprivation and death, because the nature of the world is that you must work or hurt or exploit or kill to survive. It's the man who sold his children into slavery for the chance at a better life, but more importantly it's those children, an afterthought in the end even to their father.

It's not just the suffering alone that he is responding to, either. In suffering and deprivation, Sunday sees a loss of control and choice. that necessarily entails a loss of dignity and meaning. Both the Astral Express and Firefly object that people should have the right to choose, but Sunday simply responds that they have no greater ability to choose under the status quo. To Sunday, a man who lives in a literal dream world, a life lived struggling for better things might be noble, but it is unequivocally not as dignified or happy as one lived in bliss.

This is part of why he's so fixated on the idea of weakness. Sunday perceives a distinct difference between people who believe their struggles give their lives meaning, and people who do not feel themselves to be free in the first place and thus find no greater meaning in their struggles. He clearly sees the second group as weak (a term he uses without judgment), and unable to fully express and experience their human dignity as a consequence of their position.

Sunday sees the history of Penacony as essentially recapitulating this struggle over and over. Hanunue frees the prisoners, but can neither secure Penacony's permanent freedom nor give the former prisoners full and dignified lives. Then Hanunue dies, and Sunday's sort of intriguingly ambivalent in how he portrays the Harmony taking over. It's actually kind of inspiring and humanist! This is a guy who's still deeply invested in Harmony's ideals.

But of course, we don't need a direct critique from Sunday to know how the Harmony has failed Penacony. We've seen it with our own eyes over and over. Do we need Sunday to tell it to us again when we've already spent our time with Chadwick, and Cocona, and Tizocic II? We have already seen over and over and over again in Penacony how systemic constraints and problems drive people who could have lived bright lives down dark paths, even in the Dreamscape.

Most intriguing is the third act, ostensibly the future, in which Ena arises and then is cast down because the people reject THEIR paradise in which THEY control and define all things. This could kind of be a jump to the past...except that Ena's previous "death" was due to absorption by Xipe during THEIR ascension, not because the people cast THEM down. The only event it appears to bear any resemblance to is...well, you beating Sunday in a few missions' time, because you reject his paradise since it's all in his control. Weird!

Back to the main matter, Sunday believes that true human dignity and flourishing requires not just freedom from outside control by otherss, but freedom from suffering and privation. He sees the weak (in his thinking, people spiritually unable to rise above suffering) as people unable to fully express themselves, who deserve the dignity of a life free of suffering or bitter choices. He spells this all out quite plainly in his opening lines to you when you arrive at the grand theater:

So we know what Sunday wants. And we know his answer to it: the Sweetdream Paradise (as I will be calling it here because I think it's funny and also because the sweet/bitter dichotomy is a huge part of Penacony thematically). He will use the power of Xipe's Emanator (Dominicus, the Harmonious Choir), and the remains of Ena (unclear if these are like, conceptual or metaphysical or what) to become something new (context implies possibly a new Aeon of Philosophy) that will enable everyone to sleep forever, entering a Penacony-esque dream in which nothing bad can truly happen, sustained by whatever new thing Sunday becomes. Everyone will be experiencing life through dreams while Sunday is the only thing awake in the real world, but that won't matter anyways because the dream will be basically the only thing that exists, without even Aeons interfering. It would be a truly human paradise. (One interesting little note here is that Sunday seems to quite clearly resent the Aeons for standing above humans and for offering no true solace to the suffering. No Aeons No Masters)

(I know I said above I think Sunday may have been becoming the Aeon of Philosophy and he says here his intent is not to become an Aeon. But the enemy description is pretty clear that Order and Harmony are forming the shell of an egg for a new god and the enemy is called "[Embryo of Philosophy] Sunday" I think it's pretty fitting both for his Icarian plan and the narrative role of Aeons that he was on the brink of accidentally becoming one, and probably having his original goal and his humanity subsumed into the nascent Aeon's Path. To me that seems an equally fitting ending for his hubris.)

What's really interesting to me about the Sweetdream Paradise is that the game goes out of its way, before it begins, to make it seem like a viable alternative path.

Such a dream could never be stable! Well, with a Stellaron and an Aeon (and idk, an Aeon's metaphysical corpse), all things are possible, so jot that down. You just want to set up a totalitarian regime under your dead God! No, LOL, I also hate God! Did you miss the whole dungeon before this about how much people hate God, and how much I in particular resent God for allowing suffering and human weakness? People will have no freedom of choice! People are free to make whatever choices they like in the Sweetdream Paradise, they just won't ever face bitter consequences as a result. Sorry I'm removing their freedom to [checks notes] sell their soul to the literal devil (hi Jade!) for short-term gain and guaranteed long-term suffering. I'd hate to lose that! People won't be real! Okay, well, Penacony seems to count as plenty real, and it's literally the same thing. Hell, Black Swan is literally a memetic entity who exists only in your perception! But she counts as real. So clearly we're just haggling along some kind of continuum of real-fake here, there's no hard line like people want to say there is.

The implicit purpose of all this setup is to force a true philosophical debate about the suffering of the "weak," the way the status quo demands and accepts this, and whether it can be justified or redeemed by freedom or choice. The other, more common approach would be to use practical limitations as a narrative eject button, e.g. "well, we've learned your Sweetdream will inevitably collapse anyways due to Stellaron Reasons, so even though your purpose was noble and our stance on it is still ambiguous, we have to stop you." I thought this was neat on HYV's part, because I think that other approach sucks. Call it the Legend of Korra approach, if you like: a plotline comes too close to criticizing the power fantasy underlying this particular type of genre narrative, so it's time to "fix" it by revealing the villain as comically evil and actually totally insincere.

So here's Sunday's position: suffering is not just bad but inimical to the truest possible human dignity, and if we can abolish it by means of totalitarian magic god ritual we ought to. How do our heroes respond?

II. Robin – "Which Aeon Can Make Our Dreams Come True?"

Well, first up is Robin, who responds so poorly I honestly felt like the writing was unsubtly overcorrecting for Sunday's position's inherent unpopularity (no one really likes totalitarian philosopher kings and gamers hate being controlled, Gamers Rise Up). She's like, "I get that people feel like they achieve some essential happiness or dignity here, but the big problem with Penacony is that it's FAKE and it's TOO TEMPORARY" and Sunday gets to just sit there and be like "yeah hmmm sure would be nice if someone could answer those problems easily by making the Dreamscape the literal only thing in the world and therefore the realest thing there is and also permanent."

Then Robin makes a hard left turn into completely wild arguments and is like "and that man suffering from a terrible illness who lost everything should have to be suffering in the real world because idk maybe they could have fixed his disease? I'm not like a doctor or anything but they say doctors are real good these days."

Completely deranged argument. Though honestly I kind of love this version of Robin and wish they'd go all the way with her. She's a girlboss bootstraps libertarian pop star let her live that truth.

Anyways here's where Sunday and Robin have their direct argument.

Humans deserve a chance to fly, says Robin. Okay, says Sunday, well we live here in the real world where vast billions of people never will. It's all great and cool for the anime protagonists and pop stars of the world to talk about self-determination and the human right to make your own meaning, but the rest of us live every day in a world where the powerful determine the future.

That last line of Robin's is so funny to me. "If that were true, then only the powerful would have the right to determine the future." BINGO, QUEEN! YOU GOT IT! That's the world you live in! Not one where everyone flies!

When you say "Birds belong in the sky, even if they can't fly," what you mean is "I see the death and suffering of others as acceptable and even necessary to give my life meaning." You can't have one without the other. This is what Sunday objects to.

What's interesting about this is both Sunday and Robin are actually slipping in their attachment to the Harmony. Robin credits her failure to sing to her own weakening faith in the Harmony, and Sunday later claims it was actually due to him and his attachment to Order (and also the whole Oak family's like psychic hive mind of evil under Gopher Wood). But here, Robin is like "Well, the Harmony says we should care for the weak." She doesn't exactly claim the statement for herself. And she shares Sunday's fears that the Harmony is incapable of creating the kind of paradise they both dream of.

So here we are right at the start of Sunday introducing his beliefs, and Robin's responses not only have been kind of weirdly un-nuanced in a way that makes her side look bad (I just can't get over her saying that dude who lost everything in war should have chosen expensive and painful rehabilitation as a moral matter. Robin what are you talking about), but she clearly is sympathetic to Sunday's concerns and is openly asking him what his conclusions mean they should do.

Of course, HSR 2.2 ignored Robin for no discernible reason, so we will be denied any further development of this discourse between the siblings. But Robin will return in the final battle, and when she does, she will both reveal that she is not thinking in the Harmony's terms, and that she has only practical objections to Sunday's course of action, rather than what he really wants: a different and more compelling logic to replace his own.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

a collection of thoughts about Veilguard

it's pretty good! it's a fun, straightforward adventure story where you play the good guys, the bad guys are bad guys, and there's one morally ambiguous character but don't get scared, you have the whole game to decide what to do with him. the combat is fun, the cast is likable, and the world is pretty. if you like fantasy rpgs, you will probably like this one!

I said the cast is likeable. I didn't say they were interesting. everyone kinda comes off like they've been to therapy for at least six months, and have put in some effort to "do the work." Your party's character flaws are things like "people pleaser" or "rude (but still well-intentioned)" or "justifiably cynical." These are all more or less functional and mature adults who want to get along and experience very few obstacles to doing so.

The obstacles they do experience to getting along are pretty flimsy, and are sometimes resolved in under a minute.

Le wokisme is a problem with the factions, which is a problem with the game, because the game revolves around the factions. None of the factions are allowed to be - again - morally ambiguous. There's a faction of treasure hunters, but don't worry, they have experts to make sure they don't sell anything important to anyone's culture. There's a faction of assassins which in a previous game have been shown to be harsh mercenaries who traffic in slavery in order to acquire children to raise into professional killers, but don't worry, they've mellowed out a lot since then, and now they ~don't kill innocent people~ and all of the members are excited to be there. There's a faction of death-worshipping necromancers, but don't worry: they're pretty much treated as a joke faction, and they don't do anything darker than raising some friendly skeletons to do custodial work.

A lot of the game takes place in the Tevinter Imperium, which we know from previous games to be a racist imperial power built upon the labor of a mostly-elven slave force. I say we know that 'from previous games' because it really doesn't come up in this game. The Tevinter faction is a group of slave abolitionists, but you don't actually help them free any slaves. In fact, you never even meet any slaves. In fact, you never even see any slaves. In Minrathous, the capitol city of the slave empire.

We also never see any anti-elf racism, in Minrathous or anywhere else, or meet any elves anywhere who have much of anything negative to say about the current world state. I think it would have been interesting to engage with why some elves might actually support the Morally Ambiguous Guy Who Is Looking To Tear Down The Current World Order In Order To Restore The Elves To Their Bygone Glory, but then your protagonists might have been placed into an ethically dubious situation at some point, by opposing a guy, who is, among some more alarming intentions - let me be so clear - trying to free the elven slaves. And god forbid we make the player uncomfortable!

There are no titties in this game. You do fuck your love interest on the eve of the final battle, as is traditional, but there will be nary a titty in sight. That, like ethical conundrums or moral ambiguity, is evidently too grown-up for the target Veilguard audience.

Whoever it was on the writing team who was interested in the Qunari has either left the team, or is no longer interested in the Qunari. They are a non-presence, and the Big Grey Guys With Horns who you fight are just violent assholes who don't follow the Qun. They've also been redesigned again. They basically just look like tieflings, with even more awkward foreheads. RIP to a genuinely original fantasy race. We'll always have Sten and the DA2 Arishok.

Fans of previous games will, however, be pleased at how generous the writers have been with answering outstanding questions! You will learn what the titans were, what happened to them, what the Blight is, what caused the Blight, what the Golden/Black City is, why breaching it unleashed the Blight, who the Tevinter old gods were, what the deal was with the elven gods, and (not that anyone was in doubt of this after Inquisition anyway) that the Maker is fake for sure for sure.

Every religion in Thedas is proved to be fake by the end of the game, though, so it feels a bit less like "kids raised evangelical stick it to Big Church" this time.

Morrigan is back! Isabela is back! Dorian is back! Welcome visitations.

People are being shitty about there being an explicitly non-binary character. Fuck those people obviously, but I do wish they'd found something better to call this character than "non-binary," such a modern term that it slingshot me out of my fantasy world full of dragons and magic into a corporate diversity and inclusion training module.

Being a mage doesn't matter anymore. Sorry if you were hoping it might, but honestly that's on you. If they chickened out of doing anything with the mage conflict set up in DA:O and DA2 in Inquisition, I don't know why you expected they'd find a renewed interest in engaging with it now.

You can't be a blood mage. You can't actually do anything evil. Your PC is a Hero. I don't have a problem with this, exactly, but it contributes to the feeling of the series having moved to the kiddy end of the pool over the years.

Overall, I think this is almost surely going to be the last Dragon Age game, and I think that's almost definitely a good thing. It's a fun send-off that takes you on a whistle-stop tour of nearly all the places left in Thedas you haven't seen yet, ties up nearly all of the loose ends, and lets you hit an ogre with a warhammer so hard that he goes flying like he's full of packing peanuts.

Time enjoyably, but not meaningfully, spent.

[jedi-enthusiast]

I still find it funny as i get older that the jedi took down one slaving and monstrous empire

And it wasnt enough

The remnants of that same empire apparently had all the time to demolish slavery themselves both in legends and canon and never got to it as soon they got back to power but they didn’t why?

The remnents strangely find supporters outside of their galaxy too

Yeah, the fact that the Jedi already took down the Zygerrian Empire and yet people jump on their asses for "not stopping slavery," like...my dudes they literally took down a slaver empire and eradicated slavery in the Republic, what else do you want them to do?

They can't take down slavery outside of the Republic because it's not their jurisdiction and therefore they wouldn't have the support of the Republic, which they would need in order to both take down other slaver empires and then make sure that another group of slavers doesn't just re-capture the people and start another slave trade.

Without Republic support, the Jedi can't fight slavery in any way that would be effective---which, hilariously, seems to be the point that anti-Jedi morons are dedicated to ignoring! The Senate needs to decide to take out slavery in the Outer Rim in order for the Jedi to be able to help because, ultimately, it's going to be the Republic that keeps the slavery from coming back NOT the Jedi, simply because the Jedi don't have enough people, time, or resources to do it on their own.

Not to mention that, even IF the Jedi could theoretically eradicate slavery by themselves, what happens to all the other people and causes that they can't help now because 100% of their people/energy is focused on making sure slavery doesn't make a comeback??? Because the Republic isn't helping the Jedi eradicate slavery in this scenario, and the people that the Republic would usually send to help those in need are currently eradicating slavery.

Trick question, anti-Jedi idiots would still be pissed at them for not helping everyone else while they're busy taking down more slaving empires.

It's ridiculous, especially considering that they don't put the same level of blame on the Senate or all the planets in the Republic---who have plenty of time, resources, and would have enough man-power if they worked together---that they put on the Jedi---the small community or religious warrior-monks who are juggling like 1000 different problems at once.

Like dude.

What the fuck?

[icharchivist]

when you know the critisms often given to the DA franchise it's so obvious DA4 is reactionary to everything people complained about without a care as to why it was a complain and it makes me so mad dklfhdjlkfjd

Like there was this whole meta about how the Storm Coast having a paper saying "careful, rocks can fall!" but never delivering on it was encapsulating the way DAI tells you things will have consequences but you don't really feel it (whether you agree or not), and i could NOT stop thinking about it when Arlathan had whole sections where Rocks fall randomly on you at all time. Meanwhile DA4 doesn't make you feel the consequences of what you've done much better than DAI did, in fact it's worse because it gives you illusion of choices without actually showing diverting paths.

The total removal of talks about racism, slavery, or even the Vallaslin, is reactionary to people saying "careful you're playing too hard on racist tropes and you really need to handle it better". Instead of "handling it better", they removed it all together.

Likewise with complains about how the Elves are too much in focus, where they instead just decided to stop addressing the Elves.... without exactly focusing on any of the other groups of Thedas, and now they say "the time for the elves is over" without addressing at all that the elven are left in the worst situation possible after an apocalypse in the name of their gods. Likewise for people being tired to hear about Mage Rights.

There was complains about the omnipresence of the Chantry in DAI and discussion of Faith? Don't worry, now no one has Faith in anything and the Chantry, or any other religions for that matter, is never mentioned again. Similarly to critiscms about the way the Qun was handled translating to "no discussion of the Qun anymore, the enemies broke from it so don't worry about it."

They said there will be no fetch quest that are useless, instead every side mission is focalized on the factions you try to help, as a result you just feel like you're working for a selected few people instead of just helping the world heal even if it doesn't advantage you.

They made a huge deal about "you're not special now, you don't have a magic hand" as a reply to the concerns about thee Inquisitor being too chosen-one-ey (disagree but it was a complain) and instead made a MC who has no reason to be here... if not for a magic connection to Solas and the special weapon of Solas. But don't worry you're not that special. You don't even feel guilt for what you unleashed.

They tried so hard to capitalize on "everyone loves Purple!Hawke right?" without realizing that people love Hawke because of the small scale of da2, and love Purple Hawke because you still have different personalities available for Hawke and can play mix and match. My purple Hawke honestly used just as many diplomatic options and a few very angry options esp when Carver was in danger. Rook only has Purple. The others options are just Purple A Bit To The Left.

People complained about how you could do the game without doing the character quests and nothing of note would happen (unlike DA2 where if you ignore your companions they can turn against you in the end of the game, or DAO where eventually some of them will fight you for it), or how there's no stakes because unlike the previous games they can't leave or die, so now they keep telling you to play the companion quests else they will die in the final battle. Doesn't matter that the Companion quests are incorporated in an even worse way that feels disconnected to the main plot (which was NOT the case in DAI), or that there isn't exactly this much change depending on the branching path, the characters don't change. It's really just about whether or not they live in the final battle.

DA4 is inherently reactionary to the criticisms (fair or not) put onto DAI, but somehow missed the point of what those criticisms were about (ultimately: "DAI is a step down from the previous games in the way consequences manifest itself" and "careful you're threading into topics that can get very offensive") and hypercorrected into something worse (mainly: "no more consequences now outside of "if you don't play them you die"" and "we can't be offensive about those topics if we refuse to mention them")

the moment you know some criticism sent at the rest of the saga da4 becomes just this sort of feeble game that is terrified of its audience that it's trying to do whatever it wants without ever once questioning what those criticism were even about.

[princelysnape]

alright, let's do this.

a few people came up to me asking about the fight in the comments of @maxdibert 's post. they showed up late and aren't sure what the fuck happened because a lot of stuff was deleted, and i decided to address all of them at once so we can move past this. i have no way of knowing if these anons are genuine or if it's just someone trying to stir shit up, so i'll just delete them. if someone still has questions, they can dm me.

so basically, what happened was this: maxd has been receiving threatening and insulting messages from a certain anon for a while now. today, someone sent her screenshots of two accounts referring to her as a "dirty little monkey" and reblogging the anon in question. they were exposed, and one of them decided to double down and call her a "dirty little monkey" yet again. they replied to one of my comments and i called them out on their behavior.

now, pause.

calling someone a "monkey" is widely recognized as racist. the term has historically been used to dehumanize and mock non-white people by comparing them to animals—specifically primates—as a way to imply a lack of intelligence (which she admitted was her intention, btw) and savagery. it's more than just offensive; it's rooted in colonialism, slavery, and pseudoscientific racism. even in places where racial dynamics are different, it's still generally an insult with a lot of baggage and racist undertones. one may claim ignorance, but intent doesn't erase impact. it doesn't matter if op is white; it's not something you can just toss around.

after that, she used the argument that, actually, maxd is the one who's racist and showed me screenshots of an account who has been harassing her and using xenophobic and racist comments. she claims that this account is friends with op and that she backs them up. admittedly, i did not look too deeply into it because that was simply not the point i was trying to make, and it seemed like she was just trying to deflect. those are serious allegations though, and unfortunately, i cannot confirm or deny them. however, i have followed op's blog for a while now, and not once have i encountered anything remotely racist, xenophobic, or even misogynistic there. you are welcome to search, of course.

i was also accused of being xenophobic because, apparently, she wasn't from the usa and didn’t know the full connotations of her insult, so it was prejudiced of me to focus on that. i thought it was a very interesting argument, because i am not from the usa myself and i know exactly what she meant by "monkey." @thatlittlefangirl said the same and was also accused of being racist and defending a racism apologist. @lilithofpenandbook was also implicated and accused of racism. mind you, i hate when serious matters are thrown around just to win an argument, so i blocked her. i didn't fully catch the end of the fight myself, and honestly, good riddance.

i understand people who are unsure about all of this, of course. if you have any doubts about where i stand and whether i'm being genuine, you're welcome to look through my blog and find answers yourself. i didn’t delete a thing. my account is, always has been, and always will be a safe space for poc and queer people. always.

it was brought to my attention that we made it to the harry potter confessions blog too, which is one of the reasons i decided to make this post.

now, as a black woman, it’s not the first time fandom spaces have proved themselves hostile to people like me. i doubt it will be the last. i've been fighting shit like this for years now—since i was a teenager, even. so, if girly pop is seeing this, don’t you EVER accuse me of something like that EVER again. i will not be used to further your hateful agenda, nor will the other poc in this fandom.

that’s it. a few words of wisdom from your prince.