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lightrises · 3 years

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"Only in allowing her to pass..." — Hornet, The Radiance, and the means by which Hallownest turned its victims against each other

A quick note: I read Hollow Knight as an anti-colonialist text. As such I'll be touching on topics related to colonialism as it's depicted in the world of the game, and said analysis will reflect both a sympathetic take on The Radiance and a critique of The Pale King that won't pull its punches. If this sounds up your alley, hello and thank you for the read! Let us be sad about these bugs together.

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So!! A while back I realized something about pre-canon that felt rather... "curious" is one way to put it, I think. To wit: for all the effort and scheming and determination The Pale King poured into trying to get rid of The Radiance, neither of his plans involved directly killing her.

Was that his long game? Well, sure, that seems clear enough. His tack changed from luring the moths away from their god and creator to a more literal form of incarceration once the infection became a factor, but at its core the end goal never really changed—The Pale King very sincerely wished to destroy Radiance via obsolescence. The Seer lends us foreshadowing to confirm as much:

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Hollow Knight, showing the Seer and Ghost in the Seer's alcove at the Resting Grounds. Across both screenshots, the Seer tells Ghost the following: "None of us can live forever, and so we ask those who survive to remember us. Hold something in your mind and it lives on with you, but forget it and you seal it away forever. That is the only death that matters." End description.]

(Which, by the way and given the context, talk about an extremely unsubtle allusion to cultural genocide huh!!! Whew.)

In any case, we're left with a whole bunch of machinations which build up to... well, two very roundabout attempts at committing deicide. That's kind of weird, all things considered! Why not just do the deed in one fell swoop and get it over with?

This could be for any number of reasons. Maybe the king was devoid of the means to instantly kill another higher being. Maybe his personal sense of scruples stopped him short of signing off on MURDER murder (although, y'know, the aforementioned genocide + eternal imprisonment = still cool and copasectic apparently!). Maybe the long drawn-out cruelty was the point. Maybe the idea of playing fuckign 4D chess with the circumstances was too delicious for him to pass up—that man did love to tinker and stick his claws where they sure as hell didn't belong—or maybe it was a little bit of All The Things. Who knows!!

But interrogating The Pale King's methodology on this count isn't what I'm here for, at least not really. The main reason I raise this question at all is that in her own way, Hornet did too.

"I'd urge you to take that harder path... "

See, going by The Pale King's actions and what The White Lady explicitly says, they both foresaw two outcomes wrt the infection: it can be allowed to spread, or it can be contained. At Teacher's Archives, Quirrel acknowledges the fact that Ghost is expected to do... something about this, but he doesn't elaborate on what HE thinks that's supposed to be apart from the obvious "Gotta bust into Black Egg Temple first". Hornet is the one person who presents to us—to Ghost—what's framed as a third option: confront and destroy the infection at its source.

And she doesn't bring it up like it's just another tactic for Ghost to consider, prim and indifferent to what they would do. She nudges them towards it, actively, up to the point where she throws herself into the fray against Hollow at a juncture that's uniquely dangerous to her and her alone just to make that option feasible.

Even when she's couching it in disclaimers that this is still Ghost's decision to make (and let's be fair, she's extremely not wrong about that lol), no one can pretend Hornet is unbiased. It's obvious in that buttoned-down Hornet kind of way that she is way the hell done with the increasingly tenuous stalemate that's kept Hallownest's desiccated corpse from collapsing in on itself. Personally it's hard for me not to read some Toriel Undertale-esque "My father was too entrenched in his own foolishness to pursue any course of action that would have DEFINITIVELY ended this" shade into her stance here, regardless of whether that's strictly true in canon.

And that bit—Hornet's hopes for an end to Hallownest's stasis, moreover her grim calculation of what needs to be done to get there—that's the bit I find super interesting but likewise tragic and depressing as shit, on multiple levels. In no small part because a) canon itself gestures towards Hornet feeling conflicted about the very plan she's pushing, and moreover b) she has at least two (2) damn good reasons to feel that way.

So, what do I mean by that? Let's look here first:

[Image description: A screenshot from Hollow Knight, of Hornet and Ghost inside the Temple of the Black Egg, standing in front of the unsealed egg itself. Hornet has been struck by the Dream Nail and her dialogue is displayed as follows: "... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?" End description.]

As the curtain is about to drop on things one way or another, Hornet thinks,

... Could it achieve that impossible thing? Should it?

Now, looking at that last bit it's easy to go "Oh no, Hornet's worried that Ghost won't survive killing The Radiance!" And I do think that's part of it: Hornet is, categorically, not her father. By endgame it's clear she's not content to view her Void-borne siblings as tools to be used then disposed of. She's also well aware that as a healthy autonomous Vessel amongst the countless dead, Ghost is the only person left alive who has a fighting chance against The Radiance. Knowing someone is the only qualified candidate for the job doesn't make encouraging them to embrace a probable death sentence any less of a bitter pill to swallow, though. And odds are on that this sentiment extends to Hollow too, who IS going to die no matter what happens here. To put it bluntly, it's more than reasonable to conclude that Hornet hates the absolute fuck out of this.

But I don't think that's all there is to it either. Remember what I said earlier about The Pale King's bids for genocide? Well, it's not like the man deigned to limit his efforts to just the moth tribe.

"We do not choose our mothers... "

On top of everything else—an infected Hallownest being all she's ever known, the fact that she only exists because of the infection, the list goes on—Hornet has spent her life wedged into a position that's been uncomfortable and terminally unglamorous at best: she is both a daughter of her father's kingdom and of Deepnest.

Deepnest, which like the moths and many others was here long before the wyrm and his lady wife swanned onto the scene and the God Become Bug laid claim to everything the Light touched plus a considerable amount of change. THAT Deepnest, which has fought claw and thread to retain its sovereignty against same-said settler king, and for which Herrah not only surrendered her life but also agreed to bed her worst enemy, all in hopes of securing a viable future for her people (put a pin in that last part by the way, I'll come back to it soon).

Two Worlds, One Family (Ft. An Indigenous Woman Trying Her Damndest To Work With What She's Got Versus An Imperialist Who Only Signed Up For This Because He Needed The Political Favor THAT Badly, So It's The Height Of Dysfunctional Actually). Fun times!!!!

The baggage this entails for Hornet is gnarly enough without implications made by The White Lady and the pre-canon timeline of events and even Team Cherry's dev notes that the king may well have looked at baby Hornet, gone "YOINK", then ensured she spent the lion's share of her childhood reared within the pearly auspices of his Pale Court*. That would be rather advantageous for Him Specifically after all, the potential to mold a born foe into a future ally and even have her trained in combat under the same tutelage as her doomed sibling. And far be it from him to stop a grown Hornet—his own flesh and blood too!—from making Deepnest her forever home if she so pleased. He totally wouldn't be reneging on his "fair bargain made" by doing this one simple thing until Hornet came of age, not t e c h nic c a l l y.

If that is indeed the case, there's a non-zero chance Hornet's formative years were a hot mess of cultural alienation and being a good deal more privy than most to just how much of a bastard her father could be. There's an equally non-zero chance that at some point she stood or sat within earshot as The Pale King finally, finally dropped all pretense and euphemism to name the Light for precisely what (for who) it was.

See, in conjunction with the question that started this whole dang train of thought I've been asking this one too: Does Hornet know? When she speaks of confronting "the heart of [the] infection" does she know she's talking about not just a literal person but someone very specific? The Radiance, who god though she may be shares skin in the game alongside Hornet as a native woman screwed over by the same settler king, likewise deprived of her kin and saddled with a life gone horrendously pear-shaped?

I'll assume for the sake of exploring the possibility and because I think it's a likely one anyway that yes, Hornet does know. She knows, and despite everything can't help empathizing. She might even look at Radiance and see bits and pieces both reflected and slightly inversed in her own mother: Radiance was forced to the sidelines while her people—her children, the brood she was meant to lead and care for—died out under The Pale King's rule, and it's no stretch to assume she's at least as upset about that as she has been about everything else; Herrah too took drastic measures for her people's sake, trying to head off annihilation by relegating herself to the sidelines in an act that was as much calculated risk as an attempt to find wiggle room and leverage in the face of a nasty proposition.

A calculated risk that, if things continue as they are, might well amount to nothing as the rest of Deepnest gets eaten alive by the infection. It survived The Pale King's advances for so so long, only to fall here. Herrah's sacrifice would be for naught; the other tribes—themselves the king's victims—would keep succumbing to the infection too.

And this is where things fall apart.

"... or the circumstance into which we are born."

Let's be clear: I think Hornet is wise enough to know what's what here, that all the carnage and suffering falls on her father's head for starting this slow-motion trainwreck in the first place. Hallownest wasn't always Hallownest. This domain was Radiance's home first, along with many others. It was the worm-turned-king who rolled up on the scene unsolicited and decided this was a ""'problem""" that had to be """solved""".

But the fact of the matter is that he's gone and The Radiance is here, raging, seemingly inconsolable. Above and beyond being Deepnest's rightful heir, Hornet isn't in a position to countenance more splash damage even if the grief and fury fueling it makes perfect sense. She can understand without ever bringing herself to love Radiance, and she can bend her knee to practicality even if she hates the everloving shit out of it because the fact that it "has" to end this way isn't fair.

This lends itself to one last awful conclusion: that Hornet has probably considered and (rightly or wrongly) discarded the possibility that Radiance can be saved, at least not without dragging more collateral along for the ride. If even her mother and every other enemy to the king seemed to dismiss talking Radiance down as an option way back when... well. Why should Hornet hope for any better after things have escalated so far?

Again, it's practical. A practical net good is what Hornet strives for. And again, it fucking sucks.

For extra tragedy points, this makes Hornet's extended crypticness around Ghost followed by her last minute casting about for a reason to tell them "Wait, don't; not just yet" that she never voices even more of a gut punch. She can't bring herself to burden Ghost with the context that haunts her so, least of all when it might weaken their resolve to go through with what (she thinks) needs doing.

It's the "same song, different verse" which led to the mantis tribe and Deepnest being pitted against each other: Hallownest rigged the game so that two women who could have been powerful allies—who have a mutual vested interest in driving out settler rule—wound up poised as enemies instead. And how awful is that? The king for all his being extremely fucking dead still gets the last laugh, because outside of a miracle the game never manifests Hornet can salvage what her mother started and look forward to a future where Deepnest pulls itself back from the brink if and only if The Radiance dies.

Resolution comes at the price of a completed genocide. Add two more dead siblings to the unconscionable pile thereof, while we're at it. That's what it boils down to whether or not Hornet can bear to articulate it as such, and there's no grace or even a properly bittersweet ending to wring from this clusterfuck. And that is rough.

———

* This has been better explained elsewhere, but a quick rundown: The White Lady tells Ghost that Hornet and Herrah "were permitted little time together." On its surface this can be taken to mean that Hornet was still very young when Herrah was shipped off to Eternal Dreamland—except this doesn't jive with the fact that we meet Hornet as an adult. If the stasis kicked in once the Dreamers went to their rest, which in turn halted the aging process for every living bug in Hallownest, AND before all this Hornet experienced little by the way of quality time with her birth mother... I think you can see where I'm going with this.

To top it off we've got Team Cherry weighing in ominously from their dev notes on Herrah: "As part of the agreement for her alliance and her role as a dreamer, King gave her a child (Hornet). Was she allowed to keep this child or was she taken away?" This isn't confirmation by itself of course, but given additional canon details (see above): Can I get a "yikes" in the chat fellas.

#hollow knight #hornet (hollow knight)#hornet hollow knight #hk hornet #the radiance #hk radiance #herrah #hk herrah #hollow knight meta #sup folks it's been a minute since i dropped a whole dang essay but Here We Go!!!!!!

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galloperthompson · 3 years

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Regarding Galloper Thompson’s clothes

Including his (slutty, thigh high) boots

It’s been brought to my attention that galloper’s slutty thigh high boots actually look like ankle boots with the thigh high part tucked into the boot. So I’ve decided to go beyond my jokes about him being a slut anyways and make this post going over his clothes. And buckle up folks, it gets long.

I’ll be honest, it’s pretty difficult to find details about 13th century (and 12th century) Scandinavian life specifically, especially since I’m using google. For this post, I have just used general European fashion, but in the future I’ll be mixing viking things with general European things from this time (but I’ll mostly try to keep the general European things to German and English/Irish stuff). I’ll also be referencing things from both the 13th century and the 12th century, since galloper “lived” during the early 13th century (and every website seems to think the 13th century started in 1250).

But anyways, an English knight from the mid 13th century apparently wore something like this on his bottom half (underneath other layers):

Now as you can see in this terrible quality picture (sorry about that, but I did try to label it), the hose are thigh high just like galloper’s leg coverings, which is what gave me the idea that maybe it’s hose he’s wearing. So let’s begin.

I would explain the whole system they used, but this does it better than I could (you only need to read until it starts talking about chausses since we’re only talking about the hose). The linked text is a bit weird and may (or may not) be unreliable, but it’s compact, explains things well, and has pictures (it’s where I got that *stunning* photo I labeled). However, keep in mind that it depicts a mid 13th century English knight, and galloper is from early 13th century Scandinavia, so while there may be similarities, there’s also definitely differences in how he would’ve dressed. Braies were apparently longer in the first half of the 13th century, for one, and didn’t really become “underwear” for everyone until the second half and later. Hose were also referred to as stockings, and apparently hose and stockings didn’t really refer to different things until later on. Additionally, clothing differed between class, but we’re not going to go over that today.

So how does this relate to galloper? Well his lower half actually sort of resembles the picture above, doesn’t it? His “hose” are thigh high, with ankle high shoes over them, just like the picture. Despite the similarities, though, there are differences. His “hose” aren’t pointed, and so there are no ties for them. Apparently, hose didn’t have to be pointed, and those thigh high hose that weren’t pointed were held up with pins.. but there are no pins to hold them up either. Without one of these mechanisms to hold up the hose, they would not stay in place. And considering we can see where the thigh high part ends, we should also be able to see at least part of what’s holding them up. The thigh high part could also theoretically be “leg bandages” that extend above the knee. However, his “hose” don’t look like wrapped or crisscrossed cloth, they look solid, so leg bandages are unlikely.

Now, I wanted to present hose as an explanation based (somewhat) in history, but I don’t actually think he’s wearing hose. We’ll go over why later in this post, but let’s keep going for now.

On to his tunic and coat. Well I say tunic, really it isn’t a tunic by medieval standards. Back in the 13th century, tunics didn’t have buttons—at least not on the front. And his coat.. well it’s not something you’d find in the 13th century. Longer coverings, down to the knee or lower, were the style then. Shorter coverings with buttons down the front didn’t appear until the 14th century in the form of things like doublets. Those “things” were usually very padded and form-fitting, however, and neither galloper’s shirt or coat seem to be padded or exceedingly form-fitting at all.

The history of gloves (in everyday wear, at least) is surprisingly complex, so I won’t be touching his gloves. I’m also ignoring his belt because I don’t have much to say on it, but they did have leather belts with “single-looped” buckles (whatever that means) in the 12th and 13th centuries.

Moving on to his cape. Ah yes, his tattered little cape (which matches his mare’s tattered little saddle blanket!). Who knows why the fuck he wears it. There doesn’t seem to be a hood (like the medieval chaperon) or a part that comes around to cover the shoulders, and it’s too short to be a cloak. My best guess is that it was a design choice based on the fact that such a short cape doesn’t need a fluttering animation. Why not axe (lol) the whole idea of a cape? Well, all the coolest characters have capes!

His weird ass shoulder pad I can’t come up with an explanation for, though (or at least a medieval one). If he had a neck, the shoulder pad would be digging into it based on the position. Maybe it’s supposed to be like those shoulder pads with tassels on some formal military uniforms (technically “epaulettes” with “fringe”)? Except instead of tassels it’s feather looking things and also there’s only one shoulder pad for some reason?

All of this is to say that none of what he’s wearing can realistically pass for 13th century clothing, except maybe his lower half, and that’s still stretching it.

His entire outfit actually most resembles military uniforms from the 18th and early 19th centuries, as @inkowl13 pointed out in this post. When he floats, you can even clearly see his tattered coattails, which are his trademark green on the underside. In the case of 18th century garb, his shirt would be a waistcoat (he doesn’t seem to be wearing an 18th century shirt underneath his “waistcoat” at all, but maybe we just can’t see it or distinguish it from his “waistcoat”), and his jacket-thing would be a uniformed soldier’s coat. His lower half would be breeches with either a. ankle boots and over-the-knee stockings, b. ankle boots and thigh high gaiters (those things with buttons that go over the top of the shoe), or c. thigh high boots, which appeared as riding boots in the 15th century and remained common until the 19th century—including in military uniforms (in fact, some cavalry units today still use them in their ceremonial dress uniforms). His shoulder pad would, in fact, be a strange attempt at an epaulet/epaulette (which were used in the 18th century (and beyond) to denote rank) with fringe the color of his trademark green. The fact that there’s only one also makes sense within this period; whether the epaulet/epaulette was on the right, left, or both shoulders indicated rank (Galloper’s “epaulet/epaulette” is on his right shoulder, our left). The issue of glove history is also eliminated since it seems military uniforms in the 1700s made use of gloves. Men’s capes/cloaks at this time went to the knee or below it, so my explanation for his cape is unchanged. Through this lens, things start to become clear.

This is a mannequin (is that what you call the fake models of historical clothing? does mannequin apply in this context?) wearing an 18th century cavalry uniform:

As you can see, he looks incredibly similar to galloper, despite the many differences.

And these are two sets of 18th century soldiers (again, sorry for the less than ideal quality):

On the left there’s a pair of soldiers with over-the-knee boots and on the right there’s a pair with over-the-knee gaiters (see how they go over their shoes). Thigh high boots would make more sense for a horseman, but thigh high gaiters would explain some things about his lower half, like how his boots and the thigh high part are different colors. However, there are no buttons on the sides (like gaiters have) or garters at the knee (like both stockings and gaiters had), and the thigh high part is tucked into the shoe, more like stockings rather than gaiters. In these pictures you can also see how his upper half looks incredibly similar to all four soldiers, again, even with the differences.

Now, unless galloper was keeping up with fashion until the 18th century when he stopped (he gave up I guess? said “fuck that shit” and hasn’t changed clothes for the past 300 years?), he shouldn’t be wearing an 18th century military uniform. Especially since he was shown wearing the same clothes in his execution scene (which I don’t put too much stake in considering the Jarl was in his ghost form and even the soul riders don’t have 2 sets of clothes in game).

So why does he look like this, then? The reason why he looks like a revolutionary war soldier can be traced back to the inspiration used for his design. According to Jorvikipedia, his “...design takes direct inspiration from author Washington Irving’s Headless Horseman from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow...” which explains why he looks the way he does. Jorvikipedia has been wrong before (they list his place of birth as “Jorvik (presumably)” which doesn’t fit with his backstory), but if Galloper’s design was based on the headless horseman of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” (which it very likely was), it would provide justification for the 18th century look of his clothes. Washington Irving’s horseman was, after all, (alleged to be) killed during the revolutionary war in the 18th century.

It’s obvious his upper half is based on 18th century uniform, but the intention behind his lower half remains a mystery. Whether it’s meant to be stockings, gaiters, or boots, I don’t know. Theoretically, his lower half could even have been intended to be hose, braies, and shoes. But considering his entire look and the inspiration behind his design, an 18th century explanation seems more likely (I just don’t know which 18th century explanation, exactly). It would be pretty strange if half of him was medieval and the other half was from the revolutionary war era. Though, I’ll admit, it’s not completely impossible.

My theory for the contradiction between his design and his backstory is that his backstory came after his design. The 18th century look of him, along with his inspiration, and the lack of medieval elements in his design all make a compelling case for this theory. The only thing I can think of that may disprove it is his mare’s y-shaped bridle, but even that could be explained if she was designed after galloper, while his backstory was in its first stages of development (I’ll probably do another post on his horse’s tack, since this post is already long, but that’s for another day). But that’s just a theory; the star stable team could very well have just not done any research on 13th century attire, instead modeling his look on depictions of Irving’s headless horseman and adding the bridle as an indication of the origin they had already established for him.

Ok, but what about the rest? The other parts of his and his mare’s designs (color scheme, hanging pumpkin jack-o-lanterns) can be attributed to the fact that he is the halloween event character. Though his color scheme could be inspired by the headless horseman in World of Warcraft, who was introduced in 2007 (I found out about this horseman while looking into other possible inspirations for galloper’s design), all the colors seen on him and his mare (black, green, red, orange) are general Halloween colors. The hanging jack-o-lanterns are not historically accurate for the Middle Ages (or the revolutionary war era, actually) as pumpkins were not introduced into Europe until Columbus “discovered” the Americas, and did not become commonly carved into jack-o-lanterns until the 19th century in America -which was when and where “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” was published (though the pumpkin “head” was not even carved in the original story). I suppose galloper could have developed an affinity for pumpkins (and for carving them) later on (Jorvik seems to have a lot of them), but it’s more likely that they added them (to the keep and his mare’s design) based on modern halloween practices instead of historical halloweens or consideration of galloper’s feelings on pumpkins.

Ok, so we’ve established he’s not historically accurate for the 13th century, but what would his clothes look like if they were actually historically accurate? The answer is: I don’t know! Maybe I’ll do another google deep dive and make a post on that, but for now we’ve come to the end.

All of my information about historical clothing came from sorting out google results, so take the historical bits with a hefty grain of salt (more like a bowl of salt actually). If you have any actual knowledge about history, please feel free to correct me.

#i am planning on doing more of these little deep dives into what life was like back then #a large chunk of this post is a bit of a mess but oh well #sso #star stable #star stable online #galloper thompson #gunnar thrymson #tagging this #googling history #separate from the ‘me overthinking’ tag

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sk1fanfiction · 3 years

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the many faces of tom riddle, part 5

- more myth than man... or not? the mortality of tom riddle and the anatomy of a villain-

That leaves us with Ralph Fiennes’ portrayal of adult Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort in movies 4-8.

I generally find adult Tom Riddle disappointing, even in the books, in terms of character depth. Instead of delving into his motivations and the inner psychology of a villain, we get... slight body horror? And in the movies, it’s even more egregious.

If a story is as good as its villain, adult Tom Riddle is a bit of a let-down, especially on-screen.

“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive.”

Perhaps the very first time I watched it, I found this scary, but I must confess that nowadays, Voldemort’s resurrection is more funny to me than anything else. The forked tongue and the nose slits, yes, are supposed to allude to Tom Riddle’s loss of humanity, but I don’t think it...worked out that way in practice.

I know that’s how it is in the books, but ugly equals evil (and vice versa) is a tired trope. not only that, but under the CGI, Lord Voldemort is so difficult to relate to, so inhuman, that it’s hard to (1) see his true depravity (2) connect with him emotionally (3) at least for me, not laugh at him flapping around the graveyard in GOF like an oversized crow.

Now, the reason I’m going on about this is not (just) me being petty. Lord Voldemort is the Boggart for most of the characters in the HP universe, meaning their greatest fear is Lord Voldemort. He represents Fear; as such, he should be utterly terrifying. Now, I don’t mean horrifying in that sense, but Voldemort’s grand entrance should at least feel somewhat unsettling, have some sort of a Gothic atmosphere...

"But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron."

Visually, this looks great. But it’s not scary. And I’m not a purist by any means, but the words are scarier than the book. Darkness induces fear.

“The lack of any kind of visual stimuli increases anxiety, uncertainty, and tension.”

So, having Voldemort’s pale body materialize isn’t as scary as it could be.

Furthermore, I think Fiennes’ overexaggerated expressions would actually come across as properly horrifying/threatening rather than funny if they just left his face alone. Yes, Fiennes does manage to emote the fear and the anger through the CGI, but it’s like he’s too alien to be scary, at least to me. The amount of memes with Voldemort suggest I’m not the only one this way inclined.

I think there’s probably a problem going on with the uncanny valley. (Images from the Mori essay linked).

[When things are still]

[Creepy things are creepier when moving]

Now, I assume Voldemort is meant to be zombie-creepy, or at least that how Harry describes him in the books.

"The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry...and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's but with slits for nostrils...."

Now, we can’t get Harry’s experience of being haunted by Voldemort in his dreams, because what I think makes Voldemort’s countenance so truly frightening to the other characters isn’t his snake-like nose or his red eyes, but the potential. Voldemort is, in essence, the Grim Reaper. You are at his mercy, and you’re probably going to be dead.

“This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.“

And yes, Voldemort can be quite funny and witty, but..

“I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers will give their right hands to perform.” (To Peter Pettigrew)

...it’s still incredibly dark, sadistic humour. Whereas the teenage Tom Riddle we’ve been discussing has just barely dipped his toes into evil, Voldemort is, well... swimming in it. At this point, he think he undeniably enjoys causing pain.

And much of what makes Voldemort scary is subtle.

For example, what I personally consider haunting is the fact that he’s got a cave full of Inferi. A cave full of reanimated dead bodies.

Either he dug them up, which is unlikely... or perhaps, a twenty-seven-or-so-year-old Tom Riddle would lie in wait like a bird of prey, very quietly and patiently, perhaps reading a book, waiting for an unsuspecting Muggle to wander past. Maybe killing is a game to him at this point, when it’s not so personal as killing Harry Potter. Maybe it’s a whispered Avada Kedavra, and then he carries the dead body away to his cave. Maybe he Imperiuses them to walk off the cliff. Maybe he tortures them first.

Shudder.

And I don’t think you can show that kind of horror through any CGI or make-up, so...

You know what is terrifying? Revolting? True crime; real-life people who do unspeakably horrible things. And I think a lot was missed out on, in stripping Tom Riddle physically of his humanity. Yes, Riddle is a monster...

But, as we’ve seen, he’s a human monster, not some eldritch horror from the seventh level of hell or something.

I just think it would be interesting to have this perfectly normal-looking human do all the horrific things Voldemort does. I want to see that sick joy in a human face and feel disgusted. I want to see fear make his bottom lip tremble, and feel a misplaced sense of empathy. (Think President Snow from the Hunger Games -- now, that’s a sick, twisted villain who we can relate to as a human being, but still love to hate -- or what about The Joker?).

And out of everything they chose to CGI, why on earth did they not make his eyes scarlet? That might have made him look at least somewhat menacing, rather than a failed lab experiment.

(Don’t even get me started on his and Bellatrix’s death scenes in the movies-)

Here’s President Snow. He’s got a cute little granddaughter, he sends kiddies to kill each other Battle Royale-style every year, and he poisons all his political opponents. He’s also a master manipulator and has a penchant for white roses. They cover up the smell of the sores in his mouth from eating the poison too, to conceal his treachery.

Heath Ledger as the Joker in Dark Knight (2008), who is, according to NYT (which I totally agree with), the best Joker. Now this is a villain done right, with many Voldemort-like traits. On a scale of one-to-ten, he’s absolutely terrifying. Why? He’s (unlike Voldemort in the movies) incredibly intelligent, shows young-Tom-Riddle-like skills for charm and manipulation, plays with humans like they’re his own personal psychology experiment (and to hell with the Institutional Review Board), and has one, single, very clear goal -- chaos. Like Voldemort, he wears an inhuman mask that’s not horrifying in its own right; but unlike Voldemort, the human is all there -- terrifying, real, and with a bottomless, obsessive desire to destroy. His disordered thinking is all out there for the audience to see. The Joker’s motivation is to enjoy himself; whereas Voldemort seems to lack drive. Why does he want to take over the world -- who knows, with Voldemort? The Joker wants to see it burn.

Let’s try to do the same with Lord Voldemort:

[SLIGHT FLASH WARNING]

I had to go with this because Voldemort isn’t legitimately terrifying in many scenes. And yes, this unrefined anger somewhat speaks to Tom’s immaturity

By this point, seventy-one year old Tom Riddle is a hollowed-out shell of a human being. After decades of building his power, he was defeated by a one-year-old, and ended up slumming it as a spirit for a decade, got defeated again, was a shrivelled-up baby for a year, then finally got his body back.

He’s angry, okay! And Fiennes does a great job of portraying the sheer, destructive, unbridled rage of this character.

The body language. again, since his face is inhuman, this is super important. and Fiennes’ body language is great. Voldemort/Riddle commits to his actions. He is very emotionally-driven.

But yet, he doesn’t feel capable, in the way that the Joker or President Snow do. Yeah, we know anecdotally that he’s incredibly evil, sadistic, and second only to Dumbledore in terms of power, but he loses to a baby, and then that same baby as a teenager. So, we really could have done with seeing Voldemort’s power, cruelty, and evil firsthand a lot more often.

Voldemort is not well-characterized. I don’t understand his motives, and the ones that I do understand are not compelling.

Not to die? Well, he’s already made several Horcruxes. Why not sit back and relax? Why start a war and risk himself?

JKR said that Voldemort’s great desire was to become all-powerful and eternal. But that’s... boring! It does little to tell us about Voldemort, other than that he’s a villain and a wannabe dictator.

Furthermore, the charm, manipulation, and cunning that are hallmarks of younger Tom Riddle’s personality are gone.

Is Voldemort (to return to Jungian terms) all shadow? An empty creature of simple creation and destruction, perhaps? We’ll discuss this further down...

And this isn’t a problem of having a fantastical world with magic and the like. Grindelwald’s quiet, self-possessed, almost coy “So you think you can hold me?” was infinitely scarier than anything that has ever come out of Voldemort’s mouth. It was chilling.

OOTP is my favorite book, and the Ministry sequence is one of my favourite in the films.

This scene where he psyches out Harry, talking so quietly that he could just be a little voice inside his head (and again, during the possession scene)? Absolute perfection.

Why? Because this showcases what’s truly scary about him. Voldemort can get into your head. He can make you do things. And perhaps, if we had seen that more often, we’d understand how scary he is.

I wish this had been his grand entrance, and not whatever that scene in GOF was. Somehow, him screeching “I WANT TO SEE THE LIGHT LEAVE YOUR EYES!” is not menacing. At all.

But, I can’t help but think how much greater the emotional affect would be if he had more human features (think the burned-and-blurred, waxy features from Dumbledore’s memory).

Just imagine these scenes if Voldemort looked human, and spoke as quietly as he did in this one.

Because of the reason that I have little to go on in terms of characterization that I haven’t already covered, we’ll discuss the myth and legend of Lord Voldemort.

I can’t decide if the statue in the films is supposed to be the Angel of Death or the Grim Reaper. He has a skeleton and carries a scythe, but he also has wings. There are so many different interpretations, attitudes towards, and personifications of Death across the world that I don’t want to draw any one conclusion. But I must wonder if Lord Voldemort, with his yew-and-phoenix wand (which carries heavy symbolism of immortality and rebirth) and almost deified figure is meant to be a personification of Death himself? His name, Lord Voldemort, is a shade close to Lord Death.

For years, it has stumped me that wizards and witches are afraid to utter Voldemort’s name, especially since we only see the Taboo in the middle of the last book. It didn’t make sense just based on fear; in the real world, we don’t circumvent Hitler’s name, for example.

Perhaps this may have been obvious to others, but it wasn’t to me.

Here’s a counterargument to myself; why Voldemort shouldn’t look human.

Voldemort, in the Wizarding World, is seen as a literal deity.

I promised to attempt to answer this question in Part 3:

And so, I can’t help but wonder if the opposite is true… if Tom Riddle creates Horcruxes, would that grant him additional magic powers?

In Part 3, I likened Tom Riddle to a sorcerer in Russian folklore, Koschei the Deathless, also famous for sequestering his soul in objects. This source suggests that Koschei was considered not an ordinary magician, but a representative of the ‘other’ world, the world of death.

So, what if... creating Horcruxes makes you... more than human? Now, I could definitely see god-like status being appealing to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. Perhaps, even appealing enough to kill for. Now, his proclivity for Avada Kedavra makes sense. We know it’s an incredibly sinister spell, but at the same time, it’s a very humane way to kill. Why might it be so horrifying?

Here’s a weird theory.

To the best of my knowledge, no one but Voldemort is seen using the Killing Curse more than once or twice.

Perhaps, ordinary mortals can only cast Avada Kedavra a few times, but Tom, having split his soul and having become in some way a non-human instrument of Death, can cast it however many times as he likes, and that is part of what serves to make him so terrifying.

This makes the idea of Voldemort tossing around Avada Kedavras actually incredibly terrifying, if you take into account what that might mean.

The collective cultural fear of speaking Voldemort’s name supports this theory.

Take the chthonic (underworld) deities of Greek mythology; most notably, Hades and Persephone, the king and queen of the underworld.

Hades, the god of the dead, was feared.

So feared that the word ‘Hades’ (”the unseen one”) was so frightening, that people came up with all sorts of euphemisms to circumvent actually saying it and he was rarely even depicted in art. For example, they would refer to him as Pluto (”the rich one”), Clymenus ("notorious"), Polydegmon ("who receives many"), and perhaps Eubuleus ("good counsel" or "well-intentioned"), amongst many other names.

However, he was not seen as evil; just stern, cruel, and fair. Like most Greek gods, he had an associated cult (the Death Eaters, anyone?)

Another interesting connection between Hades and Voldemort is that Hades was associated with snakes.

Persephone (suggested to have a pre-Greek origin and probably pre-dates Hades), who was also a vegetation/fertility/spring goddess, similarly, was referred to as Despoina (”the mistress”), Kore (”the maiden”), etc, because as the terrible Queen of the Dead, it was considered unsafe to speak her name aloud. In mythology and literature, she is sometimes referred to as ‘dread Persephone.’

--Just like how Lord Voldemort is referred to as The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who... (and if you’re Dumbledore, ‘Tom’.)

Her central myth served as the context for the secret rites of regeneration at Eleusis (which was basically a mystery cult devoted to her and her mother, Demeter), which promised immortality to initiates.

We don’t know for certain what exactly went on, because, mystery cult -- the members were sworn to secrecy -- but it revolved around immortality and rebirth and possibly psychoactive drugs.

Perhaps ironically, in comparison to the Death Eaters, anyone could join, as long as they could speak Greek and had never committed murder.

And that concludes my assessment!

#tom riddle #the many faces of #tom marvolo riddle #character analysis #lord voldemort #character study #tw: murder #the body horror was 1/10 #don't make your character design hilarious if you want him to be scary #i'm not saying voldemort is a vegetation deity #but i'm not-not saying it either

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lo-55 · 4 years

Text

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 3

The Rift

Ichigo wonders, more often than not, why it is that even though he can see ghosts, he never sees the ones he wants to. His mother, and now his friends from Chaldea. He can’t see them anymore. The singularities are gone, and humanity has returned to the way it always was. But it’s missing so many people, from his own point of view. Olga Marie isn’t bound to him anymore. She’s moved on. And the rest…

Ichigo sits in front of his mother's grave with his dad at his side. Karin and Yuzu have gone for drinks, leaving them alone for the time being. Rukia, and Kon too, sit on a hill, watching over them and waiting for trouble. He doesn’t want to admit it. He’s carried the guilt in his heart for so long, but now… it’s possible that Rukia is right. That the reason his mother is dead is because…

“Hey, old man,” Ichigo looks towards his dad, who’s been acting weird since he’s come back. More than once he’s caught him just staring. Like he’s trying to figure out what changed his kid so much. As if they were ever that close in the first place. Ichigo let’s him. There’s no way for him to understand what’s changed Ichigo into the person he is now. It’s not something that can be easily explained, and in any case the Mage's Association was pretty clear. No one is supposed to know that magic exists. Including his own family. Anyone who finds out must be killed.

“Yeah?” Isshin looks his way, away from the grave that reads his mother's name.

“About mom. Could she ever see ghosts, do you know?” he looked right at him. Testing Isshin, watching his eyes. He’d never noticed before…

That his dad was hiding behind a dozen walls. And they all started to come up when Ichigo asked his question. Ichigo has spent years with master assassins and traitorous knights. He can see clearly now, for the first time ever. His dad isn’t such a colossal goof off after all.

“Why are you asking this all of a sudden?” he asks and it hurts . It hurts more than Ichigo thought, to know that he was keeping this secret for so long. To know that he could have told him, that both of them could have told him when he was young and he couldn't tell who was alive and who was dead, that he wasn’t alone in it. Karin had always had him, and they’d learned together after their mom had died, who was real and who was not.

Why? Why had they hid these things from him? And could he trust their dad to tell them the truth now?

“... No reason. I was just thinking about her.”

No, he decides, looking back at the headstone. He can’t trust his old man to tell him the truth. So, he’ll have to learn it some other way.

Sometimes, Isshin looks as his son and he sees a complete stranger.

He’s still brash and angry, and he would die for Yuzu and Karin, might have while Isshin wasn’t looking, but he’s not himself. He isn’t the same son that had climbed onto a plane for what should have been a simple job months ago. He’d only been gone for a week. How could he have changed so much?

He was taller, for one thing, and yeah teenagers have growth spurts but they don’t grow three inches in seven days. Their hair doesn’t grow out in a week either, and they don’t get so strong or so self assured that fast.

More than that, his son has this look in his eyes…

A terrible age, even though he’s only fifteen. He looks at them like he’s afraid they’ll disappear. He looks like he’s always waiting for something. For something to go wrong, for the other shoe to drop.

Even before Rukia had shown up and given her powers over to him, and then started living in his son’s closet of all places, he’d been the same. On edge. And the way he’d greeted them…

Ichigo did a lot of things when Isshin attacked him. Hugging him wasn’t one of them.

On top of all that, he’d gone to see Kisuke, to ask what was going on in the spirit world, where he could no longer see, and it turns out that Kisuke agrees. There’s something strange about Ichigo. He’s stronger than he should be, and stronger than he ever was, even without Rukia. And he doesn’t know what exactly happened between Kisuke and Ichigo, but it’s enough that now the old captain is interested in him.

It’s not nearly as comforting as Isshin wishes it was. When Kisuke got involved, things rarely went well. No matter how good his intentions were.

Then he asked about Masaki, and Isshin had faltered.

It was time, it was the perfect time for him to tell him the truth. To sit him down and explain what had happened all those years ago, and tell him about the kind of heritage he had, and what it might mean. He’s wondered, whose power did he get? Isshin, or Masaki. Shinigami, or Quincy? Or both? Or hollow? It’s hard to tell.

But he chickened out. The words got stuck and the world closed off and Ichigo turned away from him. The moment was lost, and now Isshin doesn’t know what to do. It’s so much easier raising daughters than sons.

* *

By the time his ridiculous duel with Uryu is over, Ichigo is willing to bet money that his mother was a Quincy.

Ichigo ends up sitting on a bench, breathing fast but he’s not so exhausted nor so beat up as Ishida, who sits patiently while Ichigo carefully stitches up his arm. It’s easy enough to pass this particular skill off as one he learned from his father and not knee deep in a war, trying to help Roman with the dozens of injured Chaldea staff.

“Isn’t your dad a doctor? Wouldn’t it be better to have him do than let me?” Ichigo finds himself asking They’re lucky Uryu had a needle and thread on his person, even if they did have to bend the needle in an awkward, sloppy approximation of the ones used for real stitches.

It’ll do for now.

“It’s best if my father doesn’t know about this,” he says simply.

“Oh yeah?” Ichigo grins at him. “I take it that means he doesn’t want you doing this kind of stuff then.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Uryu sniffed at him stubbornly. Ichigo glowers at him, and pulls the next stitch harder until Uryu yelps. “Hey! Watch it!”

“Of course it’s my business. This whole stunt that you pulled was insanely dangerous.”

“Are you admitting that you’re weaker than I am,” Uryu lifts his chin, his nose in the air, and Ichigo has to stop himself from karate chopping him in his throat.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m weaker or not! What matters is that we’re not the only people in town that you could have gotten killed with this stunt! Didn’t you notice? There’s hollows that disappeared that neither one of us took out.”

He snaps the thread and grabs Uryu by the front of his shirt, watching his blue eyes go wide and realization dawn for what is apparently the first time. “That means other people are fighting. Other people might be dying. My sister has high spirit levels too you know?! When you pull shit like this you’re putting the lives of everyone around you into the same danger, without even telling them about it! How can someone with top grades be so damn stupid?!”

Ichigo forces himself to lean back, anger still bubbling under his skin. All this trouble because Uryu hates shinigami, and Ichigo isn’t even a real one.

“ Listen ,” he leans in , forcing Uryu to bend backwards over the back of the bench, “I’ll fight you one on one any time you want. But this hollow fighting isn’t a game. And if you ever put other people in danger unnecessarily again, I’ll beat your goddamn face in.”

“Y-you!” Uryu pushes against his chest but Ichigo is immobile, stone and still.

“Do you understand, Uryu Ishida?”

“I. Yes,” he says at last, looking down and away. Only then does Ichigo let him go, leaning back and letting out a grunt when it pulls at his shoulders. He’d over strained himself, just a little bit.

“Hey, Kon!” Ichigo waves his body snatcher over to the pair. “Gimme my body back already, huh?”

“Ah, you’re no fun,” Kon whines, but he sits on the bench and lets Ichigo slide back in without a fuss. Ichigo pulls Uryu up off of the bench and gives him a shove.

“C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

“I don’t need you to do that!”

“Well I’m doing it anyways. You’re injured, what if there’s still a few more hollows lingering around, huh? Just shut up and start walking.”

Uryu scowls, but starts walking forwards anyhow, with Ichigo in his shadow. During his whole trauma speech and background story Ichigo’s mind had been turning over and over. His dad was a quincy too, even if he didn’t want to admit it, and if Uryu was to be believed, they were the last of them.

Goat-face isn’t going to answer his questions, so Ichigo follows Uryu home, to a house that far too big for just two men alone. He feels old, walking into it. It’s fanciful, but he’s seen the theatres of Rome and the courts of King Arthur.

Ichigo will never be a sensor, but he’s gotten used to trusting the sense inside him that says when someone else is around, and even though it took him a while he’s good enough to be able to follow it if he has to. He didn’t know about the spirit ribbons. Ichigo is used to being clueless, but he’s not stupid. He files the information away for later, and quietly memorizes that feeling of Uryu. It’s more like a taste, clean and sharp, and vaguely like citrus.

His father is much the same. And he is utterly unimpressed by Ichigo arriving on his doorstep with his son in tow.

His eyes are colder than ice, not exactly something Ichigo would want in any doctor he has.

“Hey, old man,” Ichigo raised a hand and, with his usual level of tact, asked ever-so-discreetly, “Did you know my mom?”

* * *

“Do you know where you are?”

The scent of roses and daffodils and the feeling of soft worn wool brushing against his cheek. A ribbon made of magic brushing his nose.

Ichigo opens his eyes and looks into a pale blue sky, wisps of cotton candy clouds stretching across from one horizon to the next.

“I am in a dream,” he says dutifully.

“Very good Dolores.”

Ichigo punches him in the stomach, sending the mage doubled over in a fit of coughing and laughing together. A smile that’s far too mischevious to be soft is aimed at him.

“You have an amazon prime subscription out here?” Ichigo asked, sitting up slowly. The tower still floats, through the sky at the end of the world.

“Well yes. I do run a blog, you know?” though it’s said with a straight face he can see a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, where even eternal youth hasn’t been able to curb laugh lines. He’s good humor, and a good company.

“Seriously?!”

That gets a laugh out of the mage of all mages. He lays back in the flowers that climb and bloom, thriving in his very presence. He is life and light and mischief, a watcher and a strange sort of guardian.

“Well yes. I can’t spend all of my time merely watching people. The internet made things much more fun! Humans are such innovative creatures, even without magic to help them along.”

Ichigo nodded along with him. “Does that mean that you can email me instead of hijacking my beauty sleep?”

“Oh, you mean you don’t enjoy my company, oh great Master of Humanity?”

Ichigo scowls at him, but there’s a smile trying to pull at his mouth. He struggles to squash it, and he can tell from the glint in his companions eyes that he fails.

“Stop calling me that,” he says for a millionth time.

A firm hand pushes him back into the flowers, under the warmth of the sun in the soft crush of fragrant petals. There’s no perfume that could ever compare. This is a strange place, a beautiful cage, and Ichigo doesn’t fully understand how he can be here and home at the same time. Not that that’s new. He’s been in two places at once more times than he cares to count, and he still only vaguely understands how it’s possible.

“I understand that your life is interesting once more.” The mage stretches out beside him, taller than he and cloaked elegantly in his same old robes. He’s showy and modest at once and it hurts Ichigo’s eyes to look at him for long.

Ichigo groans. “If you mean my entire existence is one giant clusterfuck then yeah. It’s real ‘interesting’ again. But I’m not time travelling again yet so…”

“Poor little master. Your life is so very hard…”

“I’ll hit you,” Ichigo threatened. “Master mage, but a shit fighter. I can take you.”

The laugh that he is granted is bells on the wind.

“True, true. But I believe that things will get worse before they get better. Perhaps you should begin your mage craft training once more.”

“You know I always sucked at that. I could only use real magic if I had a mystic code. Every other time, it exploded in my face. I’m a secondrate mage, that’s how it��s always been,” he says it all simply.

“That is true… Isn’t it funny how that works out? A boy who cannot cast a single spell without assistance ends up defeating the most powerful mage in history. You really are a remarkable human, Ichigo.”

“And you’re trying to get me to do something for you, aren’t you?”

“Aha! You do know me! Yes, I need you to mail something very important to me…”

“You get mail here?!”

* * * *

It’s the tenth time he’s been thrown into the dirt today.

A normal person would have given up and packed it in. A normal person would have humbly accepted that the strength of these titans was beyond their abilities to keep up with.

Instead, Ichigo stands again.

He picks up his borrowed practice sword, dulled so no one can get hurt, and faces his opponent once more.

Mash, Cu, and Medusa, his constant companions, watch him narrow his eyes and plant his feet again.

“One more time, Nero!”

“He’s stubborn, if nothing else,” Medusa mused, not quite out of his earshot. Cu nods his agreement, his eyes never wavering.

“Tha’ll help him,” he said simply. Ichigo didn’t know why but his accent seemed to change just a little each time he opened his mouth. Sometimes he was barely understandable. Sometimes it is perfect english. Or whatever language the magic was auto-translating it to. Japanese for Ichigo, english for Mash, and probably latin for Nero and the surrounding soldiers.

“ ‘He’ can still hear you!” He glared halfheartedly at the pair of Servants, who looked perfectly innocent. The longer he was around them, the more familiar he was with the small changes in disposition and expression, their likes and dislikes. And, to his eternal surprise, the feeling of them.

Cu Cullain felt like trees. Like thick moss on a stone, and early morning mist rolling through thick, ageless trees. His presence was as familiar as an old, trusted hound. They’d only been together for a few months, but his spellwork and the steady draw of his mana felt as natural as breathing to him.

Medusa was the deep ocean, power beneath every surface but beautiful to behold. A crash of waves against the stony shore, her every touch fleeting and feather light while her chains lashed with horror and the chthonic strength born in the age of gods. She was the smooth brush of scales against his wrist, the flash of teeth behind a sweet smile, and gold eyes in the darkness that Ichigo alone did not flinch from.

Theirs was a tenuous relationship. She kept looking for him to stab her back, to cut her head and use it as his weapon. Ichigo was still half expecting to wake up as a statue one day. They only had the barest trust between them but…

She hasn’t let him down yet, and Ichigo endeavours to repay that much if he can.

He raises his sword and barely blocks a vicious strike from Nero. She was shorter than him by far, but he had no chance matching her for raw strength. Or speed. Or her damn near perfect swordplay.

“Focus on the performance at hand,” she orders, her mouth curved in a strange smile. Ichigo didn’t totally understand her. They’d been travelling with her for over a month now, on the way to reach what would one day be london.

“Right,” Ichigo lunges for her, his strikes quick and hard. He’s not worried about hurting her since he can’t even hit her.

It’s graceful, elegant, and nearly effortless for her to knock him flat on his ass again, smacking the flat of her blade against his chest so hard he sees spots. He’s left sucking desperately. His nails bite into the dirt and his grip on his sword tightens until the leather wrapped around the hilt creaks.

“That’s enough for today, I think,” Nero decides. Ichigo wants to argue, but he doesn’t have any breath for it. So he groans like a dying whale and lays in the dirt, his hands shaking, his body refusing to move at all.

Nero lowers herself to the ground, on her knees beside him and how strange is that? A goddamn emperor kneeling with him in the dirt. A demi-goddess, and a druid, and a demi-servant. And Ichigo, just human. But Nero is human too. She’s as alive as he is and she is wiping the fucking floor with him.

“You’re a - fuck,” he wheezes and finally gets his elbows under him so he can sit up.

“Now that’s very rude to say, considering that I’ve been training you out of the goodness of my own heart,” Nero sniffs at him, tilting her chin to the sky.

Why did Ichigo always get stuck with these kinds of bewildering people? Everyone he knew was so weird…

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Nero.” A perfectionist and slave driver, but Ichigo was getting better every day. By the time they reached their destination, maybe he’d even be able to land a single blow per bout. Ichigo had never expected to get along with a roman emperor of all people, but even outside of fighting Ichigo has always been, if only mildly, interested in the arts, and Nero only stokes those embers.

Nero smiles beatifically at him. “You have the makings of a fine performer. Even without an Imperial Privilege. I enjoy teaching you.”

Her smile is interrupted by a pinch of her brows and purse of her lips.

Ah, another headache.

It’s very strange, trying to reconcile the young woman in front of Ichigo with the tyrant from history. She’s put her people ahead of her at every turn, and helped Ichigo and his friends. She’s under no obligation to teach Ichigo swordplay but she does, even after long days on the march.

At the same time, there’s a reason Boudica is only her reluctant ally. Nero cared for her people but she was, in another word, a merciless bitch when she put her mind to it. But she was on their side, for now, and Ichigo is learning not to look gift horses in the mouth. So he gets up and goes to her side, and shows her how to press her fingers into pressure points on the back of her neck, and hold it for a few seconds until the headache goes away.

He’s made an archduke for that one.

* * * * *

A rift forms in the Kurosaki household.

It’s always been there, a cut stitches tenuously together by blood and loyalty, and reinforced by love, but now it’s split.

A gaping chasm, and Ichigo doesn’t know what to do with it.

It feels like it’s not something he can bridge. Like this is one obstacle that even he cannot conquer. Master of Chaldea, Final Beacon for Humanity. Commander of Heroes, Beloved, the First Guardian.

He is a hundred things but at the end of the day he is still.

A teenager.

Fifteen and eighteen and four thousand at once.

His dad had lied to him. If not directly, then by omission. For years, for so very long he’d let Ichigo hold the responsibility of Masaki’s life in his hands, had kept quiet when he grew frightened and dark and closed off from the living, so preoccupied was he with the dead.

Never once did he offer reason. Never once did he show his care or cradle his son, or tell him that the monsters were real and it wasn’t his fault .

Not once, in six, seven, eight, nine years did he tell Ichigo that he was not alone. That he and Karin were merely Masaki’s children. That they were born of quincy blood, even if that never put a bow in their hands.

Half the blood means half the power,” That was what Ryuuken had said. And how sad is it that Ichigo had had to hunt down a veritable stranger, once who’s son had spent the entire day bickering and competing and hating his guts, to get answers from?

“ Does my old man know all of this?” Ichigo had asked.

Ryuuken was honest, even if he didn’t want to get into the tangled web of family drama. “Yes,” He’d said, “ But it’s more complicated than that. Isshin has the entire story.”

And he wouldn’t tell Ichigo.

He didn’t tell him on the bloody banks of the river, when a child wandered in desperate hope of finding a phantom of his mother.

He did not tell a ten year old at the foot of a grave marker. He kept silent at eleven, at twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

Fifteen. Under the watching grave of his mother Ichigo had asked. And Isshin had not told.

The house is tense like it hasn’t been since Ichigo got back. It’s tense like a storm, cracking along the edges of the walls and windows. Tense like there’s no coming back from this and Ichigo cannot take the building static in his veins or the hissing of betrayal in his ears, like snakes.

He misses Medusa, suddenly. She would take his pound of flesh for him and then some.

Ichigo go knows, for certain, that if he stays in this house he’ll go mad. Yuzu and Karin, they know something is up. Ichigo’s pretty sure Karin saw the hollow, Grand Fisher, at the grave site. Dead now by his blade, but the vengeance tastes like ash on his tongue. His mother is still dead. His father is still a liar.

His sisters still love them both.

Ichigo loves them, too. More than anything in the world, he fought gods and demons for their sake. For them to be born for them to have a future.

But he can’t spend all of his time at home, and Chad is starting to ask questions that Ichigo has a difficult time answering.

Not ‘was that a demon ghost you just punched in the face’ hard. That answer is ease. ‘Yes’.

But ‘is everything alright at home’ hard. Chad had asked the first time he saw Isshin launch himself at his son in a surprise attack and he’s about to ask it again, Ichigo can feel it in his bones.

So he makes a phone call.

The rest of the world will never know what they did.

The world will not know about him or Mash or Roman or Olga Marie, or the countless others that built Chealdea and kept her running. They’ll never know how much they fought, how much they bled, how much they sacrificed for the sake of the future.

It’s fine with him.

But there are some who know. The Mage's Association, and the United Nations. And a select few people from the Clock Tower in London, where Ichigo has already been offered schooling and job. They know that he stopped the incineration of humanity.

And they owe him.

Three years of pay for working in Chaldeas, and even more for everything else he’d done.

He finds a backpack while he waits for a familiar voice to answer.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” There's a shuffle of sheets and a groan in the background and Ichigo barely pays it any mind as he stuffs a hoodie into his bag and goes looking for his running shoes.

“Not a clue,” he said blandly. “But listen, Waver. I need a favor.”

* * * * * *

#Ichigo Kurosaki #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #well sorta #bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach/fate grand order #olga marie animusphere

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wordsablaze · 5 years

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Avalon Smiles

Merlin's immortal and no stranger to New Year's but this time, Avalon makes it special by giving him the only gift he's ever desired... Enjoy!

A.N: it’s my last fic of the year - the decade - and i just wanted to finally write about merlin being happy so here you go ^.^

New Year's.

Merlin was not a fan of New Year's.

Of course, he appreciated the way families and friends got together, travelling round the world to meet and celebrate and spend time together - it would be rude of him not to.

But it was always difficult for him to join in.

His best friends were dead.

And his family was long gone.

The acquaintances he made over the years never really knew the true him, and he always had to mysteriously disappear after a while or else they'd realise they were all growing older without him.

It was painful to leave them all behind, the people he grew to care about despite telling himself that he should stick to being alone, but he never knew how to tell them about his past and he knew he’d never be able to handle revealing the truth over and over and over again.

Natural ageing spells were far too tiring to maintain anyway.

So, when New Year's rolls around yet again, Merlin isn't particularly excited.

He couldn't care less, to be honest.

Instead of joining his co-workers in their plans for a night out they claim they’ll never forget, Merlin keeps his head down and makes plans for which country he should move to next.

He politely declines any invites he gets, laughs his way out of being persuaded to join everyone, and tries not to think about the disappointment on the faces of those who try to convince him to tag along.

He just thinks about how it's always exciting, moving somewhere different and finding a new place to stay, often giving himself a fresh identity just for the fun of it - he’d sometimes name himself after the Knights of The Round Table just because he could.

"Lin, you're coming too, aren't you?"

Merlin blinks, looking up from the beautiful watch he'd been mending. "Sorry?"

It sometimes took him a minute to remember the name he’d given himself but, thankfully, this was one of the easy ones because it was essentially the truth.

And if his fake birth certificate said Lincoln instead of Merlin, well, it didn't matter anyway because everyone called him ‘Lin’.

The manager, Nick, smiles at him, an almost sad look in his eyes. "New Year's. Are you coming?"

Sighing, Merlin slowly shakes his head. It'll be sad to leave 'Lin' and this job behind but there's no other choice: he’s been here far too long and they’ll get suspicious if he claims he’s still at university for much longer.

“I’m not surprised,” Nick says, but not unkindly. “I’ll miss you, you know?”

“Oh?” Merlin smiles a little, putting the watch down properly.

Nick chuckles. “You know I will, Lin, you have such a unique way of fixing time…” he gestures to the watch Merlin has impressively all but brought back to life.

“It’s my pleasure,” Merlin replies, and he means it. He’s grown to love the irony of watching time pass in a place surrounded by reminders of how far he’s come.

It definitely helps that the owner of a watch shop is called Nick, that makes it so much easier to deflect personal questions with puns and jokes. It’s the safest he’s felt in a long time and he knows this shop is a place he can never forget.

Nodding sincerely, Nick leans forward so their conversation is more hushed. “If you ever decide to come back…”

When Merlin opens his mouth to protest, Nick just holds up a hand. “I know you’re not planning on returning from New Year’s break but I want you to know, there’s always a place for you here.”

With that, he places a small, plastic card on the table, one with a little photo of Merlin in the corner and the words 'assistant manager’ printed in the centre.

Merlin exhales softly. “Nick, I…”

“It was going to be a surprise gift at the party but I don’t want to risk you never knowing because you’ve skipped town,” Nick admits, the sincerity in his voice making Merlin’s eyes prickle with regret.

“You don’t have to say anything but, you know, the offer’s on the table. For as long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes to what?” Merlin asks, clearing his throat because he’s definitely not about to cry at the thought of being so dearly appreciated.

Nick shakes his head with a smile. “As long as it takes for you to find what you’re looking for in life.”

It’s been a long time since anyone has understood him so well and Merlin has the strange urge to both cry and hide away so he can process it.

Thankfully, Nick claps Merlin on the shoulder before he can make a fool of himself and flee. After a moment, he squeezes Merlin’s arm slightly. “I hope to see you soon, Lin.”

Merlin has to brace himself on the counter as Nick leaves.

He catches sight of the card and sighs heavily, picking it up and slipping it in his pocket, just in case 'Lin' ever needs to resurface in future.

Then he gets back to the watch, adding a few finishing touches before placing it in the right case and signing out, throwing a glance at the cosy shop he’d found refuge in before closing the door behind him and starting to walk.

He walks until he reaches the end of the road, and then the end of the next road, and then the next, and the next and the next until he’s not on roads anymore and the sound of water softly hitting the shore replaces the dull hum of traffic.

“Hello again, dollophead,” Merlin breathes as he sits in front of the quiet lake.

“And that’s another year passing but who’s counting, right?” Merlin continues, pulling his knees up resting his arms on them, trying to get comfortable.

“I’m not sure I want to leave,” Merlin confesses quietly, pulling out the card Nick had given him and staring at what could have been his new job, “and I know I’ve said that before but it was really looking good this time.”

As usual, there’s no answer, only the perpetual rise and fall of the ocean waves.

Merlin curls his fingers around the card and lets his head fall onto his arms, his eyes falling shut even though it’s only early evening. He can feel the warm sunset light fall over him and the ghost of a smile flickers on his face, knowing how beautiful everything must look right now.

He’s seen the sun set over this lake thousands of times but it never gets any less impressive, any less beautiful, any less painful.

“I miss you,” Merlin whispers quietly before dozing off.

When he wakes, it’s to the feeling of something digging into his back.

“Ow,” he mumbles sleepily, yawning as he stretches his arms and pulls himself upright.

It’s a small mercy that it’s never cold at the lake, nor too warm. It’s always a comfortable temperature, as if the place itself knows to take care of its visitors. Of its Visitor.

“Good morning,” Merlin whispers, smiling at the sunlight reflecting off the water because it reminds him of his Prince, his King, that ridiculous but endearing smile.

“It’s the last day again,” Merlin points out for what feels like the millionth time as he pushes himself to his feet and brings the feeling back into his limbs so he can start walking to his usual spot.

The spot where a dragon had bid him farewell.

“Here we go again,” Merlin says to nobody in particular, settling against his favourite tree and leaning back so he can watch the water as he always does, surrounded by the closest to peace he’s ever able to feel.

Said peace flies by quickly, the sun rising and falling before he’s ready for it.

Merlin sits up as he feels the millions of people around the world start counting down, closing his eyes and letting the darkness of the sky envelop him entirely.

“Ten…”

It’s been a while since he’s had to count down to a new identity and the usual thrill of leaving almost feels wrong this time, out of place.

“Nine…”

Maybe he’ll go to France, he’s always wanted to try those lovely treats that anyone in Camelot would have fought tooth and nail for.

“Eight…”

Or maybe he can try Venice again, with less falling into the water this time around.

“Seven…”

It doesn’t matter in the end, because all he cares about is being able to get back here when he needs to, back to familiarity.

“Six…”

It’s hard, sometimes, to hide his magic, but it’s even worse when he finds himself forgetting that he can use it at all - that’s always when he knows he needs to relocate.

“Five…”

Although, Nick had never been suspicious of his magic and Merlin had never felt like he had to suppress it, disguising it under talent and a family history in clock-making.

“Four…”

In retrospect, that sounds like a hollow and unbelievable reason but he’s not complaining about the freedom it gave him.

“Three…”

He just wishes he could truly be free, truly go back to dealing with herbs and cloaks and horses that eagerly awaited his arrival at the stables.

“Two…”

He can’t remember the last time he felt loved - truly loved - and he can’t help missing his friends, his family, his people as yet another countdown comes to an end.

“One…”

And that’s it.

Merlin’s another year older and has nothing, nothing to show for it.

Small, warm tears escape his eyes as he exhales, blocking out the rest of the world and curling up, wishing he hadn’t been destined for a future that never seems to arrive.

“Merlin?”

No.

Impossible.

Merlin’s eyes snap open as he looks around wildly, unsure if he’d just wishfully imagined that voice. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Merlin, I know you’re there.”

He’s never imagined that arrogance though.

Regardless, he finds himself frozen, unwilling to move and break the illusion.

“Come on, Merlin, I’m getting chills!”

A small noise slips past his lips, a mix of a gasp and a sob.

It can’t be.

But it must be.

“Arthur?”

Merlin knows he’s barely even whispering, his voice so quiet he can barely feel it forming, but he hears someone sigh in relief.

“Why is it so dark?”

Biting his lip to stop himself from laughing or crying, Merlin wobbles unsteadily to his feet, trying to steady his racing heart.

“There you are…”

And then someone’s running and Merlin can’t breathe because there are arms around him, arms pulling him close and keeping him close.

“Arthur…” Merlin breathes, returning the gesture and bringing his arms up to pull the other closer, hoping this is real.

It is real, it has to be real, because who else would be wearing armour and a soft, red cloak except the one and only Arthur Pendragon?

Arthur smiles and only tightens his grip in response. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“What?”

Apparently amused at Merlin’s confusion, Arthur chuckles. “Thank you for waiting all this time.”

Oh.

Merlin almost sobs, letting his drop onto Arthur’s shoulder as he shakes his head, wishing the lump in his throat would go away. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

At that, Arthur starts laughing but, before Merlin knows what’s happening, they’re both crying, shaking, deciding to sit down before Merlin’s knees give out or Arthur trips over himself because it’s too dark to see.

Once they’re settled against a tree, Merlin takes a deep breath and conjures a small orb of light that hovers beside them.

Arthur’s startled expression is the first thing Merlin sees and he panics, clenching his fingers into a fist so the light disappears.

He'd thought…

“Merlin, you idiot, now I can’t see you,” Arthur chides after a moment of silence.

He'd thought right. Thankfully.

Merlin coughs sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I-”

“I know. It’s okay, I… I know.” Arthur’s voice is quiet but sincere and Merlin almost starts crying again as relief floods through his blood.

He conjures the light again and this time, Arthur is beaming at him, already reaching for him and pulling him close so they’re leaning on one another as if they’re just out hunting again.

“Merlin?”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing Arthur say his name.

“Arthur?” he mimics, a smile fixed on his face.

A few beats of silence pass before Arthur interlocks their fingers, squeezing his hand gently and whispering, “You need to stop running.”

Merlin frowns, torn between confusion and the warm feel of Arthur’s hand making his heart happy. He settles on shaking his head minutely. “I’m not… I’m not running.”

But Arthur’s not ready to accept that. He glances at Merlin with concern in his eyes. “I heard you, Merlin. Every year. You’re always running somewhere different every time.”

Swallowing audibly, Merlin just sighs. “It’s not that bad.”

“But even I can tell it’s not that good,” Arthur argues, turning so he’s staring directly into Merlin’s eyes, the gold from the orb reflecting the compassion in his eyes as he raises an eyebrow.

Merlin shrugs.

Arthur smiles at him again, taking his other hand too. “Stay here. Don’t run away this time.”

Thinking of the card still in his pocket, Merlin bites his lip. “I don’t know…”

His thumbs gently rubbing circles on Merlin’s hands, Arthur shifts again so Merlin has no choice but to look into his eyes, almost losing his breath at the hope and promise he finds in them.

“Would it help if I stayed here with you?”

Yes.

Yes

“Yes,” Merlin manages, his eyes watering again as he throws himself at Arthur, the two of them toppling and landing awkwardly but not caring because it’s been so long, too long, and all that matters is that they’re together again.

And that they can stay together because Merlin has an assistant manager’s position waiting for him and there are plenty of cosy flats that need new tenants and there’s nothing stopping the two of them from building a life for themselves.

They end up settling on their backs, staring up at the sky, their fingers entwined and matching smiles on their faces.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks yet again.

“Yeah?”

“Happy New Year.”

Merlin smiles, turning to Arthur. “Yeah. It is.”

Sharing a sideways smile, they curl around one another and barely notice when they drift into a peaceful sleep, content in one another’s arms.

Unbeknownst to them, for the first time in a very long time, Avalon is smiling.

Apologies for mistakes! I hope y'all have an absolutely magical New Year's, I'm sending my best wishes! xox See you in the next decade ;p

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

#merlin #merthur #merlin fanfic #bbc merlin #merthur fanfic #merlin emrys #Arthur Pendragon #merlin x arthur #fluff and angst #new year #happy new year #angst with a happy ending #hurt comfort #fanfic #fanfiction #merlin fanfiction #my writing #as #avalon

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thevoilinauttheory · 5 years

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Music Profile

Rules: For many of us, music is a source of inspiration for our characters, so I want to know what songs inspire and/relate to your muse! Choose between 10-15 songs, compile them into an album and tag some friends to share the beat!

As tagged by @lukawarrioroflight so very, very, very long ago. You made me do a bad thing - which was spend at least 3 hours compiling a list of 10 songs for each of the characters I roleplay the most. M’nhea’s will come first - since I haven’t thought too much about songs for him - and all the others (Maximiloix, Danny, and Amosis) will be listed under the cut. These songs aren’t in a specific order~

I’m going to pick up the tags again for once, so I’m tagging: @renofmanyalts, @jasleh, @amdapori, @prodigalsong, @spotofmummery, @journeybetweenworlds, @astralyehga, @houserosaire, @cadrenebula, @ever-searching, @munchix-home-cooking, @egrine

M’nhea Tia:

Silhouettes - Of Monsters and Men

There's nothing that I'd take back But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret Cause when I sing, you shout I breathe out loud You bleed, we crawl like animals But when it's over, I'm still awake

Coming of Age - Foster the People

When my fear pulls me out to sea And the stars are hidden by my pride and my enemies I seem to hurt the people that care the most Just like an animal, I protect my pride When I'm too bruised to fight And even when I'm wrong, I tend to think I'm right

RUNAWAY - half.alive

I hold my life out in front of me, dreams of who I want to be I'm seeing every empty page But I find that everything I am is everything I should be I don't need to run away I don't need to run away Yeah I don't need to run away

The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy

Hey young blood Doesn't it feel like our time is running out? I'm gonna change you like a remix Then I'll raise you like a phoenix Wearing our vintage misery No, I think it looked a little better on me I'm gonna change you like a remix Then I'll raise you like a phoenix

Knights of Cydonia - Muse

No one's gonna take me alive The time has come to make things right You and I must fight for our rights You and I must fight to survive

It’s Not My Fault, I’m Happy - Passion Pit

It's not right, it's not right How am I the only one who sees us fight? What are we? Who are they? Who says those bastards don't deserve to pay? Well it's enough, it's just enough 'cause we don't stand a chance So long you stay around, you're just another song and dance It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair Still I'm the only one who seems to care

Hunger - Of Monsters and Men

Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you Voices disappear when you are speaking, in somber tunes I will be the wolf and when you're starving, you'll need it too Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you It isn't you, it isn't

The Best - AWOLNATION

I'm hardly perfect I'm barely good Just shy of greatness Ah-ah I'm heavy metal And hollow wood Just shy of patience Ah-ah

Titanium - David Guetta, ft. Sia

Cut me down, but it's you who'll have further to fall Ghost town and haunted love Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones I'm talking loud, not saying much

I Just Wanna Shine - Fitz & The Tantrums

So I wake up I get out of bed, and stay up Stay out of my head 'Cause it's dangerous And I don't wanna lose my mind, no

Maximiloix:

Warrant - Foster the People

Fear is like a fake friend It warms you up and takes you in You mouth the words but no sound comes out Fear is like your best friend Manipulates and takes you in You mouth the words No sound again

Choke - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Now shut your dirty mouth If I could burn this town I wouldn't hesitate To smile while you suffocate and die And that would be just fine What a lovely time That it would surely be So bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep

Punching in a Dream - The Naked and Famous

All the lights go down as I crawl into the spaces Fight, flight, or the screams, life tearing at the seams Wait, I don't ever want to be here Like punching in a dream, breathing life into my nightmare

I Am a Nightmare - Brand New

So come shake your Zen out And give me pure energy My heart is glowing fluorescent, I want you to possess it I’m not a prophecy come true I’ve just been goddamn mean to you So what is this thing laced with Please, don't replace me I surrender, embrace me Whatever I'm faced with

Crystals - Of Monsters and Men

I know I'll wither so peel away the bark 'Cause nothing grows when it is dark In spite of all my fears, I can see it all so clear I see it all so clear

Crown of Love - Arcade Fire

They say it fades if you let it Love was made to forget it I carved your name across my eyelids You pray for rain, I pray for blindness

Thank God I’m Not You - Himalayas

You could call me narcissistic You could say I'm of no worth You could call me the scorn of Satan But I could be so much worse

To My Enemies - Saint Motel

You know that talk is cheap Keep talkin' as I turn my cheek You know that no one really cares (Did you know that, did you know that?) It wasn't that long ago You wanted to slit my throat To find out if my blood bleeds blue (Did you know that, did you know that?)

An Honest Mistake - The Bravery

Sometimes I forget I'm still awake I fuck up and say these things out loud My old friend... I swear I never meant for this I never meant...

Forgive Me Friend - Smith & Thell

'Cause I fell in the hole, in the hole, in the hole My heart was turning cold, turning cold, turning cold I never wanted this to end, can you forgive me friend?

Danny:

Upside Down & Inside Out - OK Go

I wish I had said the things you thought that I had said Gravity's just a habit that you're really sure you can't break So when you met the new you Were you scared? Were you cold? Were you kind? Yeah when you met the new you Did someone die inside?

Houdini - Foster the People

Got shackles on, my words are tied Fear can make you compromise With the lights turned up, it's hard to hide Sometimes I wanna disappear

Dance Dance Dance - 65daysofstatic

[Instrumental]

Cradles - Sub Urban

Tape my eyes open to force reality (Oh no, no) Why can’t you just let me eat my weight in glee? I live inside my own world of make-believe Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities Some days I feel skinnier than all the other days Sometimes I can't tell if my body belongs to me

Fire - Barnes Courtney

Oh, a thousand faces staring at me Thousand times I've fallen Thousand voices dead at my feet Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone

Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron

I have seen what the darkness does Say goodbye to who I was I ain't never been away so long Don't look back, them days are gone Follow me into the endless night I can bring your fears to life Show me yours and I'll show you mine Meet me in the woods tonight

Simmer - Hayley Williams

Control There's so many ways to give in Eyes closed Another way to make it to ten Oh, how to draw the line between wrath and mercy? Gotta simmer, simmer, simmer, simmer, simmer down

Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second - STRFKR

All my life There you go Oh please stay Just this once Anyway

Cigarette Daydreams - Cage the Elephant

Funny how it seems like yesterday As I recall you were looking out of place Gathered up your things and slipped away No time at all I followed you into the hall Cigarette daydream You were only seventeen So sweet with a mean streak Nearly brought me to my knees

In the Woods Somewhere - Hozier

The creature lunged I turned and ran To save a life I didn't have Dear, in the chase There as I flew Forgot all prayers Of joining you

Amosis:

Vy från ett luftslott - Kent

Där missilerna möts De viskar: hålen i himlen ska bli våran död Ovanför molnen Där djävulen bor De viskar: hålen i himlen är från hans klor

Where the missiles meet They whisper: the holes in the heavens will be our death Above the clouds Where the devil lives They whisper: the holes in the heavens are from his claws

Panic Station - Muse

Ooh, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes And this chaos, it defies imagination Ooh, 5, 6, 7 minus 9 lives And I know that you will fight for the duration Ooh, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes And you know I'm not resisting your temptations Ooh, 5, 6, 7 minus 9 lives You've arrived at panic station

Destruction - Joywave

I wanna know who you told 'til they're all laying on the floor Frozen to the core I wanna know who you told 'til it's nobody anymore Nobody anymore

Little Dark Age - MGMT

I grieve in stereo The stereo sounds strange You know that if it hides It doesn't go away If I get out of bed You'll see me standing all alone Horrified On the stage My little dark age

The Wolf - SIAMÉS

I’m out of my head Of my heart and my mind 'Cause you can run but you can’t hide I’m gonna make you mine Out of my head Of my heart and my mind 'Cause I can feel how your flesh now Is crying out for more

It Doesn’t Matter Why - Silversun Pickups

You hear us come and go, we know You wonder if we're not alone, we're alone You think about us all the time, don't Because it doesn't matter why we're known We're just known, we're just known

Sleep Alone - Two Door Cinema Club

He sleeps alone He needs no army where he's headed cause he knows That they're just ghosts And they can't hurt him if he can't see them, ohh And I may go To places I have never been to just to find The deepest desires in my mind

still.feel - half.alive

So when I lose my gravity in this sleepy womb Drifting as I dream, but I'll wake up soon To realize the hand of life is reaching out To rid me of my pride I call allegiance to myself

Iron - Woodkid

This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands I'm frozen to the bones, I am A million miles from home, I'm walking away I can't remind your eyes, your face

Content - Joywave

I'm searching for the difference between What content and content can bring Maybe they're no different 'cause they look the same (They look the same) Maybe I'm just an algorithm with a given name (A given name) But... trying to find the difference The difference, the difference, the difference

#tagged answers #character music #about: M'nhea Tia #about: Maximiloix Voilinaut #about: Danny Harold #about: Amosis #the cold truth: tagged

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