#its reaching into the more alien mind of the elementals which changes you

[impossible-rat-babies]

eyrie being primarily warrior is so good like you cannot kill them. they cannot be stopped they are so committed to this all consuming senseless thing inside of them they cannot understand and yet it prevents them from dying. they will grasp onto the threads of life and pull it close until their hands are bloodied. they will bear every burden and they will hold it fast with nothing but determination and the consumption of their own flesh as witness

[djamilyaova]

Hello everyone,

For this last week I’d like to present one of my secondary sources, which is a psychological study on Billie Eilish’s music that sheds light on how her songs resonate with the mental health struggles, especially of today’s youth. I’ve really enjoyed reading that one, even if you are not familiar with the artist it easily presents an interesting study of her art but also of psychology.  

The research uses Freudian psychoanalysis to explore the themes, lyrics, and even the visual storytelling of her work. The authors argued that her music goes beyond a personal storytelling to reflect broader social issues like loneliness, alienation or even grief. What’s striking is how these themes are not just relatable but also a massive symbol, representing a collective mental state of many young people today, which was initially part of my final theme

One of the studied theme how her songs often incorporate metaphors for depression. The study examines tracks like 'everything i wanted' and 'idontwannabeyouanymore' and identifies the key symbols of helplessness and internal conflict in general.

 In “everything i wanted,” the artist grapples with feelings of worthlessness and disconnection, despite her huge success, which captures the paradox many young people might feel in a hyper-competitive world. The lyrics “If I could change the way that you see yourself / You wouldn’t wonder why you hear they don’t deserve you” reflect not just a longing for acceptance but also the pressure she undergoes to mask vulnerability. Those songs are an emotional tug-of-war that can be felt both personally and universally, a major theme that the study notices as a marker of her artistic skills.

An even more compelling element is the way the study ties her soundscapes to these emotional narratives, Billie’s sparse arrangements and her whispered vocals that create an atmosphere of a suffocating introspection, erasing the barrier that separated us from the ‘outside’.  The rsearch notes how the minimalist productions evoked the feeling of being trapped within one’s own mind, that can be silent yet overwhelming. Her music (according to the study) isn’t just a reflection of depression; it immerses the listener in its whole experience. This creates cathartic an unsettling space at the same time. Finally, the study argues that this is the reason her music has become an anthem for those navigating the complex and isolated realities of youth in today’s world. And when listening to any kind of song that shares the same psychological features, I’d always wonder if this art was simply reflective, or is was offered as a way to cope, if the artist found a way to embrace chaos through music. Anyway I’m surprisingly not a huge fan of the artist, but I’ve always had a lot of respect for her artistic genius (esp. considering how young she was at the beginning), for her being able to crush my mind with concise and minimalist phrases, and the way she knows how to perfectly sing any word to reach straight into one’s vulnerability

[dojimakaichou]

★. ―

Daigo continued to shake. He could feel it : the influence of his mother ( which was akin to a touch at the back of his neck that made the hairs there stand up ) combined with his own overwhelming anxieties made him want to weave. The creature didn't have the ability to reply when Melissa gently touched him ; his head, simply put, wasn't his own. It belonged to the alien instincts that drove him.

Melissa's words, though, brought him some peace. Notably, Daigo sat up to free his hands but didn't move away from her. Now that the room was quiet, still, she was re - accepted as simply part of it. A trusted person, something he hadn't had since his ghastly transformation, and a curious puzzle he couldn't solve. All he knew was that her presence comforted him ― even if he didn't understand why.

Daigo started to strip the mess of glowing thread on the floor, taking his claws to the great strand connected to his person still in an effort to separate it into smaller ones that he could use more readily. As he did so, his fingers wove it. The image formed slowly, each element of it made again and again until it matched the vision in Daigo's mind. He worked with dizzying speed. Every so often, the creature required an additional measure of thread ; to obtain it, he pulled on the source emerging from his throat and retched up whatever he needed.

Finally, it was done. Daigo cut the thread between his teeth and swallowed it all back. Once, twice ― his eyes burned, tears stinging his lashes, with the work of forcing it to return to the miserable pit in his being it came from. Perhaps, if he could weave in his real body, this process wouldn't be so agonizing . . . or that was wishful thinking. Quietly, he clicked.

His creation spilled over his lap, the floor, and also Melissa's knees. It contained two scenes. The first, to the right, showed a representation of Daigo beside a body of water. His longing and dread was palpable in it. At his side was a dark - haired figure resembling Melissa. On the left, the water remained, but the being interacting with it was changed. A large spider laid on its back on the imaginary shore, legs curled tight to it. Killed by drowning, the stress of finding a solution to its fears, or the simple act of being there ― all fears the creature possessed as the process of crossing the sea to America was mulled over during the phone call with Melissa's family. No matter the reason for the spider's death that was assumed from the weaving, the message in the great, shimmering piece was clear : Daigo yearned to go, but he was terrified.

The creature shakily reached for Melissa. His claws scratched her pale skin accidentally. Daigo flinched momentarily. With his other hand, he plucked at the roots below them, tapping at the carpet. A faded vision of her came back, and he was able to find her fingers.

Shining eyes turned toward the witch. ' I'M SORRY, ' he said softly. ' IT'S . . . YOUR SUGGESTIONS WITH TESTING SEDATION. THE PLANE. I WANT TO FIND AN ANSWER, BUT IT SCARES ME. THE REAL ME. '

Daigo drew a shuddering breath. The motion helped soothe him. ' I NEED TO THINK ABOUT IT. IF I HAVEN'T DISGUSTED YOU WITH THIS . . . YOU ARE WELCOME TO STAY HERE. IF YOU NEED A PLACE. '

Perhaps because of her own excitement with the brainstorming session and the real chance of moving Daigo to somewhere safe, Melissa failed to notice that they had accidentally overwhelmed him. It took the creature to hastily pull away for the witch to realize they had gone a bit overboard - but before there was a chance to apologize, the hybrid seemed to be in pain and experiencing some sort of physical discomfort.

The brunette managed to just warn her sister and brother-in-law that she would call later; disconnecting the video was the one thing she was successful in doing in relation to the device, a feeble attempt to preserve Daigo's privacy. Melissa watched him for a second, unsure of how it would be best to act - it was possible that the man had felt pressured to adhere or trust these strangers. Had the woman abused their special connection and read too much into it given her own beliefs?

But as Daigo seemed to produce some sort of material that appeared to have its own special glow, Melissa's eyes went wide: was it a type of silk? She had watched her own children weaving before, and it was an art form that never ceased to amaze their human protector, but this was not a skill that the witch thought the hybrid to possess in human form. Were there other different traits in addition to the physical distinctions noted when they met? The woman's knowledge of his species was incomplete, obviously.

At any rate, Melissa wasn't going to achieve much by just sitting there - they couldn't communicate otherwise and Daigo seemed to be struggling, a vision that really made something heavy and unpleasant take root in her very core. The brunette moved again, leaving the phone behind to kneel at his side, choosing to use simple words in English before touching him and probably worsening his mental state.

"I'm sorry, Daigo," she said softly, head canting in order to try and get a better look at the hybrid, but he seemed to be keen on avoiding her gaze. Was it shame? Fear? Melissa didn't know what she had done to prompt such a reversal of his reactions to her when he had seemed to be welcoming the closeness of another being, but the woman decided it was not her place to make guesses while the creature was unwell. The witch's job was to help him, and not make his life worse - if Daigo didn't want to try or even make the journey to America... She would need to accept it, no matter what her faith and visions since a little girl promised her.

Her hand reached for his closest one, still clinging as fiercely as he could to the carpet. Trying to keep it as light as she could, Melissa took a deep breath and sat by his side, a free hand smoothing the fabric of her long dress in order not to accidentally trap her legs and then pushing some of her long, dark hair over a shoulder. Despite Daigo not being able to see it all, there was regret and sadness on the witch's features - she was genuinely sorry for having upsetting him, and did her best to keep the previously excitable thoughts and plans at bay.

'I'm sorry if we overwhelmed you - it was never our intention. I'll give you some space now but I'm here. Do what you must to feel better, Daigo - if you want to speak, you need only reach out to me.'

Melissa then removed her hand - she hoped that it showed him additional evidence that he would be left alone to reorganize his thoughts, and collected her limbs to prevent them from accidentally touching and jumbling his rational process. Nevertheless - the witch did not move, true to her world. The woman remained sitting close by, hands resting calmly on her lap and breathing even; despite not being fully sure if she could be of assistance, Melissa had decided to give Daigo the choice in how to act next - it was his home, his life, his fate; it was only fair.

[moominvalley-odyssey]

Sage, the lamplighter

(please don’t mind that i’m introducing a new character AND my groke head canons at the same time) 

“What does the Groke represent?”

“The Groke is both a live representation of loneliness and a psychological depiction of very lonely people who have a hard time accepting and expressing love in the right way, making them seem cold and scary to others, which, in turn, only leads to more loneliness.” - Moominwiki

She freezes everything she touches. She seeks warmth and friendship, but can’t have either. Fire and other light sources get extinguished by her and people are too terrified to approach her (hell some are even scared of the mention of her name).

So for a while I’ve been thinking... how did she become the way she is? I raise you 4 head canons

The Groke is her own identity (and there’s no one like her)

People can become grokes through a curse

People can become grokes through a magical condition linked with strong negative emotions (just like how Ninny became invisible thanks to her Caretaker)

Grokes are just a whole different species along with other magical folk in the Moomin world (i personally think of them as a type of elemental beings) 

(yeah i know i should be rambling about Sage by now but i just had to get it out of my system in a way that makes sense-)

Sage is an ancient being. He was cursed many, many centuries ago and has seen so much. Why was he cursed? By who? No one knows, he doesn’t remember, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't want to talk about it.

The old creature has memories of his earlier years tho, how he used to wander the earth, searching for warmth and compassion. It wasn’t any different from our Groke, except that his demeanor was much more.... intense than hers.

He got furious and went on rampages whenever people ran away from him or when he put out fires, no matter how hard he tried to avoid both of those situations. Never took out his anger on others, no no no. Those times he simply wrecked havoc deep in forests or mountains, so no one can see his frustration. He believed he can be saved, that people or the light can fix whatever he had become. 

Years went by and the cycle of hope, desperation, disappointment and fury repeated over and over again, till it shaped him into a mindless beast. Anger blinds you. He was lost and often forgot about the whole purpose of his search for warmth. It became an urge, a must, an addiction. And always being out of its reach made everything so much more difficult for the lone creature.

However, things took an unbelievable turn, when he found himself at a small, remote village in the mountains. Somebody was observing him without any fear. It was... comforting and alien. The more time he returned, the houses buried under the snow and the people who left food for him at the main gate became the closest thing he could call home. He got attached to the street lights, the voices belonging to people he’s never even met, and the stars he never payed too much attention to before.

And one by one, little by little, the village folk sought him out, still keeping safe distance. They sat by his side for comfort, told him stories or came to him when they just wanted to vent. Slowly, his touch became less cold and the urge to chase light or warmth left him. Regaining his speech (tho it’s still incomprehensible to some he doesn’t have a bond with) and control over his powers, he became the protector and lamplighter of the village. 

He might remain a groke for the rest of time, but he’ll always have a home to return to and people who truly care.

Some more info about him:  

was originally named “Marigold” but got changed to “Sage” to fit his post-recovery, calm and wise self

people really do treat him like an experienced, know-it-all being. got used to it over time

as well as being a lamplighter, he goes on patrols every night to make sure everyone got home safe

is also a guide to lost travelers

his emotions greatly effect his powers. if he’s furious, his touch becomes so cold it feels hot (legit you would feel like you’re burning)

only uses his abilities to defend or when it’s necessary. a true pacifist, real gentle giant

doesn’t hunt anymore (tho he still uses his old hunting song as a warning signal)

only eats fish and roots

wears a straw hat and a Shimenawa (enclosing, sacred rope), which is used for ritual purification in the Shinto religion. they’re believed to act as a ward against evil spirits and are often found at Shinto shrines, torii gates, and sacred landmarks

it’s a mystery where (or from who) he got his staff. it can create light, heal, and summon juvenile fire spirits

to strangers (or to people he deems untrustworthy/dangerous) his voice sounds like the cracking of fire, while people who know him can hear his real voice (which sounds something like The Spirit Tree from “Ori and the Blind Forest”)

after his recovery, his coat (or dress?) turned white, so it’s literally impossible not to notice him in the night (so just imagine that he looks like the Groke from 1972 Shin Moomin)

[balioc]

A Taxonomy of Magic

This is a purely and relentlessly thematic/Doylist set of categories. 

The question is: What is the magic for, in this universe that was created to have magic?

Or, even better: What is nature of the fantasy that’s on display here?

Because it is, literally, fantasy.  It’s pretty much always someone’s secret desire.

(NOTE: “Magic” here is being used to mean “usually actual magic that is coded as such, but also, like, psionics and superhero powers and other kinds of Weird Unnatural Stuff that has been embedded in a fictional world.”)

(NOTE: These categories often commingle and intersect.  I am definitely not claiming that the boundaries between them are rigid.)

I. Magic as The Gun That Can Be Wielded Only By Nerds

Notable example: Dungeons & Dragons

Of all the magic-fantasies on offer, I think of this one as being the clearest and most distinctive.  It’s a power fantasy, in a very direct sense.  Specifically, it’s the fantasy that certain mental abilities or personality traits -- especially “raw intelligence” -- can translate directly into concrete power.  Being magical gives you the wherewithal to hold your own in base-level interpersonal dominance struggles. 

(D&D wizardry is “as a science nerd, I can use my brainpower to blast you in the face with lightning.”  Similarly, sorcery is “as a colorful weirdo, I can use my force of personality to blast you in the face with lightning,” and warlockry is “as a goth/emo kid, I can use my raw power of alienation to blast you in the face with lightning.”)   

You see this a lot in media centered on fighting, unsurprisingly, and it tends to focus on the combative applications and the pure destructive/coercive force of magic (even if magic is notionally capable of doing lots of different things).   It often presents magic specifically as a parallel alternative to brawn-based fighting power.  There’s often an unconscious/reflexive trope that the heights of magic look like “blowing things up real good” / “wizarding war.” 

II. Magic as The Numinous Hidden Glory of the World

Notable examples: Harry Potter, The Chronicles of Narnia, H.P. Lovecraft’s Dream Cycle

The point of magic, in this formulation, is that it is special.  It is intrinsically wondrous and marvelous.  Interacting with it puts you in a heightened-state-of-existence.  It is -- ultimately -- a metaphor for The Secret Unnameable Yearnings of Your Soul, the glorious jouissance that always seems just out of reach.

It doesn’t so much matter how the magic actually functions, or even what outcomes it produces.  The important thing is what magic is, which is...magical.

This is how you get works that are all about magic but seem entirely disinterested in questions like “what can you achieve with magic?,” “how does the presence of magic change the world?,” etc.  One of the major ways, anyway.

The Numinous Hidden Glory fantasy often revolves around an idea of the magic world, the other-place where everything is drenched in jouissance.  [Sometimes the magic world is another plane of existence, sometimes it’s a hidden society within the “real world,” doesn’t matter.]  The real point of magic, as it’s often presented, is being in that magic world; once you’re there, everything is awesome, even if the actual things you’re seeing and doing are ordinary-seeming or silly.  A magic school is worlds better than a regular school, because it’s magic, even if it’s got exactly the same tedium of classes and social drama that you know from the real world. 

Fantasies of this kind often feature a lot of lush memorable detail that doesn’t particularly cohere in any way.  It all just adds to the magic-ness. 

III. Magic as the Atavistic Anti-Civilizational Power

Notable examples: A Song of Ice and Fire, Godzilla

According to the terms of this fantasy, the point of magic is that it doesn’t make sense.  It doesn’t make sense within the logic of civilized human thought, anyway.  It is nature and chaos given concrete form; it is the thing that tears away at the systems that we, in our [Promethean nobility / overweening hubris], try to build. 

There’s not a baked-in value judgment here.  This kind of magic can be presented as good, bad, or some of both.  Same with civilization, for that matter.

It’s often presented as Old Myths and Folkways that have More Truth and Power Than Seems Reasonable.  Narratively, it often serves as a dramatized version of the failure of episteme, and of the kind of entropic decay that in real life can take centuries to devour empires and ideologies.

This kind of magic is almost always the province of savages, actual inhuman monsters, or (occasionally) the very downtrodden. 

(I think it is enormously telling that in A Song of Ice and Fire -- a series that is jammed full of exotic cults and ancient half-forgotten peoples, all of whom have magic that seems to work and beliefs that at least touch on mysterious truths -- only the Westerosi version of High Medieval Catholicism, the religion to which most of the people we see notionally adhere, is actually just a pack of empty lies.)  

IV. Magic as an Overstuffed Toybox

Notable examples: Naruto, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

Or, sometimes, we care about what magic actually does.  More than that -- sometimes we want to see magic doing really interesting things, and then other magic intersecting with it in ways that are even more interesting.

The fantasy here, in simplest terms, is “magic can achieve any arbitrary cool effect.”  There doesn’t tend to be an overarching system that explains how it’s all supposed to come together, or if there is, it tends to be kind of lame and hand-wavey -- a rigorous system of Magic Physics, delineating the limits of the possible, would get in the way of all the cool effects we want to show!

Once again, this shows up a lot in combat-heavy narratives.  Less with the genericized D&D-style “magic is a fist that can punch harder than your regular meat fist,” and more with people throwing weird and wacky powers at each other in order to show how those powers can be used creatively to overcome opposition.  Sometimes, instead of combat, you get magicians using their cool-effects magic to MacGuyver their way out of problems or even trying to resolve large-scale social problems.  Issues of magic usage within the narrative being “fair” or “unfair” or “cheesy” are important here in ways that they generally aren’t elsewhere, since the fantasy on offer comes close to being a game. 

(Ratfic often falls into this category.) 

V. Magic as Alternate-Universe Science

Notable examples: the Cosmere books

This covers most of what gets called “hard fantasy.”  The fantasy on offer is a pretty straightforward one -- “magic has actual rules, you can learn them, and once you’ve learned them you can make predictions and achieve outcomes.”  It’s puzzle-y in the way that the previous fantasy was game-y.  It’s often a superstimulus for the feeling of learning a system in the way that video game grinding is a superstimulus for the feeling of rewarding labor. 

The magic effects on offer tend to be less ridiculous and “broken” than toybox magic, because any logic you can use to achieve a ridiculous effect is going to influence the rest of the magic system, and special cases that aren’t grounded in sufficiently-compelling logic will ruin the fantasy. 

Not super common.

VI.  Magic as Psychology-Made-Real

Notable examples: Revolutionary Girl Utena, Persona

This kind of magic makes explicit, and diagetic, what is implicit and metatextual in most fantasy settings.  The magic is an outgrowth of thought, emotion, and belief.  Things have power in the world because they have power in your head.  The things that seem real in the deepest darkest parts of your mind are actually real. 

This is where you get inner demons manifested as actual demons (servile or hostile or anything in between), swords forged from literal hope, dungeons and labyrinths custom-tailored to reflect someone’s trauma, etc. 

The fantasy, of course, is that your inner drama matters. 

My personal favorite.

VII.  Magic as Pure Window Dressing

Notable examples: later Final Fantasy games, Warhammer 40K

This one is weird; it doesn’t really make sense on its own, only metatextually.  I think of its prevalence as an indicator of the extent to which fantasy has become a cultural staple. 

The fantasy on offer in these works is that you are in a fantasy world that is filled with fantasy tropes.  And that’s it.

Because the important thing here is that the magic doesn’t really do anything at all, or at least, it doesn’t do anything that non-magic can’t do equally well.  It doesn’t even serve as an indication that Things are Special, because as presented in-setting, magic isn’t Special.  Being a wizard is just a job, like being a baker or a tailor or something -- or, usually, like being a soldier, because the magic on offer is usually a very-simple kind of combat magic.  And unlike in D&D, it’s not like magic is used only or chiefly by a particularly noteworthy kind of person.  It’s just...there. 

The great stories of the world, in these works, don’t tend to feature magic as anything more than a minor element.  The point is to reassure the audience that this is the kind of world, the kind of story, that has magic. 

-------------------------------------------------

Thoughts?  Critiques?  Other categories to suggest? 

[veronicamarsconfessions]

Editor’s Note: TV moves on, but we haven’t. In our feature series It Still Stings, we relive emotional TV moments that we just can’t get over. You know the ones, where months, years, or even decades later, it still provokes a reaction? We’re here for you. We rant because we love. Or, once loved. And obviously, when discussing finales in particular, there will be spoilers:

There was a time when Veronica Mars’ legacy was that of a beloved cult show that was canceled too soon by network executives who didn’t understand it. With the arrival of a crowd-funded feature film in 2014, its legacy evolved as one of the first shows to see the benefits of a revival. Now, it simply brings thoughts of sadness, rage, and betrayal.

When Hulu first announced it was reviving the series for an eight-episode fourth season, the news was met with resounding joy from a vocal and passionate fanbase that had never given up hope it would return after the crowd-funded feature film reunited Kristen Bell’s Veronica, a pint-sized private eye with a sharp mind and even sharper wit, with her one true love, the reformed bad boy Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring). But the fire that had burned for more than a decade and twice-revived the show was suddenly extinguished in a single, heartbreaking, and wholly unnecessary moment when Logan was killed by a bomb left in Veronica’s car shortly after the couple exchanged wedding vows.

I can still remember the shock I felt when I reached the end of the screeners Hulu sent. The whole thing felt kind of surreal, like if I didn’t acknowledge what had happened out loud maybe it didn’t actually happen. But it did happen. And I’m still filled with a fiery rage and a deep sadness when I think about it now, nearly two years removed from the episode in question, because needlessly killing Logan was a betrayal of the worst kind. The character’s untimely demise felt engineered for nothing more than shock value, like it existed only to leave Veronica even more isolated and cynical. But the interviews that series creator Rob Thomas gave in the aftermath, in which he tried to defend the decision, revealed something much worse while only driving the knife he’d stuck in fans’ backs deeper.

“In order for us to keep doing these, I think it needs to become a detective show—a noir, mystery, detective show—and those elements of teenage soap need to be behind us,” Thomas told TV Guide of the decision to kill Logan, noting that he also hoped to take Veronica out of Neptune and on the road in potential future seasons. “I sort of viewed these eight episodes as a bridge to what Veronica Mars might be moving forward.”

Instead of being a bridge to the future, it was a bridge to a grave of Thomas’ own making. Not since How I Met Your Mother ignored literal years of character development to deliver a half-cooked series finale the creators had come up with several years prior has a show felt so out of touch with its characters, the story it was telling, and its fans. Thomas’ decision to kill Logan is the perfect example of a creator being unable to recognize their own biases to the detriment of their creation.

He wrongly believed that Veronica needed to be hardened by years of nonstop torment and trauma in order to prove she was a great detective whose story was worth continuing. In putting her through the emotional wringer (again) after spending the entire season attempting to dig into her flaws and determine the root of her problems, Thomas swiftly undermined his heroine and her trauma with one misguided act of devastating violence. The fact that Thomas then chose to also skip over Veronica’s grieving process entirely reveals how little he ultimately thought of Logan or Veronica’s relationship with him, which had pushed her to be better and work through her longtime trust issues.

It is common knowledge by now that Logan was not intended to be Veronica’s love interest when the show debuted, but the fans took to the character more than they took to Teddy Dunn’s Duncan “He Used to Be My Boyfriend” Kane, so the latter was jettisoned from the show after Season 2. And in the end, Logan turned out to be a much better partner and match for Veronica’s personality. So what’s truly unfortunate about Thomas killing Logan, and killing him so violently, is that his thought process during Season 4 has the potential to color everything that happened in the show up until the moment the bomb went off. There is also the issue that Thomas apparently believed that Veronica achieving some level of romantic happiness was a one-way ticket to the grave, as if shows like Friday Night Lights hadn’t already soundly debunked the myth that happy couples did not make great TV.

Obviously an emotional family drama does not play by the same rules as noir, but Veronica Mars had already proven that you don’t need to play firmly within the sandbox of the genre to excel creatively. So why should the more adult version of the show attempt to put itself back in the box to be confined to something more traditional or stereotypical? Furthermore, love and contentment are not character flaws or weaknesses. They are not an element of “teenage soap,” as Thomas put it. In fact, one could argue that by allowing herself to believe that she and Logan could have a happy future together regardless of everything she’d witnessed in her line of work, Veronica had shown more personal and emotional growth in the show’s fourth season than she had in the entire run of the series.

At the heart of the matter, though, is one simple, glaring truth: Logan’s death was a fundamental misreading of the entire Veronica Mars fandom and what they liked about the show. Storytelling should never be dictated by the fans and their desires—one of the loudest and most common complaints critics had about the movie was that it felt too much like Thomas was just giving the fans what they wanted rather than attempting to tell a good story—but when your fandom has dug their hands into the cold soil of the TV graveyard to raise your show from the dead, you should probably have a grasp on what exactly the fans like about it in the first place. After all, they’re the reason you still exist and will be one of the final arbiters of whether or not you get to continue to exist in the future. And the idea that fans would somehow be interested in watching a version of Veronica Mars in which Veronica was on the road, completely alone, and Logan was blown to bits is just a wild miscalculation.

This isn’t to suggest Veronica Mars could not ever survive without Logan. That would be to undercut the rest of the show and the woman Veronica has become since we first saw her cutting Wallace (Percy Daggs III) off the flagpole in the series’ pilot. But there is a difference in writing Logan out of the show’s ongoing story arc—his secretive Naval career offered the perfect out—and violently killing him in an attempt to shock viewers and show just how resilient your heroine is in the face of trauma. A survivor of rape who had to solve the murder of her best friend (Amanda Seyfried) while still in high school because the sheriff’s department was too inept to do it (or simply did not care to do it), Veronica had already been through more in her young life than anyone should ever have to live through.

Although Logan’s death led to her finally seeing a therapist, it seemed to be a one-time thing, so nothing has really changed. Veronica is still the same person she was before the show returned, except now she’s also a widow and Thomas has alienated an entire fanbase to the point that many fans, though likely not all, have no interest in revisiting her story. And they’re not likely to either, since Hulu chose not to move forward with another season.

So much for that bridge to the future.

[tendaysofrain]

Random Stuff #10:  Daoist Elements and More in The Untamed/MDZS Part 2 - Weapons and Magical Objects

(Part 1 Here) (Super-long post ahead!)

Talismans/Charms/符箓/符咒

The talismans in both the live-action and animated shows originate from Daoist talismans, which in turn developed from early shamanistic traditions.  Like what Lan Wangji tells Jiang Cheng in the show, real life Daoist talismans are usually made for beneficial purposes, one of which being to ward off evil spirits.  Other purposes of such talismans include everything from curing illnesses to controlling floods to communicating with the gods.  In order to call forth gods to accomplish these goals, writing/drawing on the talismans usually include “incantations” that start with “勅令”, or “command”, on the very top. The word can be traced back to 敕令, which refers to orders from an emperor, but since 敕 is traditionally reserved for the emperor, Daoists use 勅 on their talismans.  The meaning is also slightly changed, as 敕 has 攵 on the right, implying the order is written; meanwhile 勅 has 力/force on the right, implying the order is executed by “force”.  

The body of the talisman sometimes include complex combinations of Chinese characters (合体字/複文) that are more like visual symbols and do not have their own pronunciations.  On a talisman these “combination characters” are usually arranged in a specific pattern. These combination characters aren’t exclusive to Daoism, however.  Below is a well-known combination character created from the word 招財進寶 (lit:  “gaining wealth and attracting riches”), commonly seen pasted on doors and windows around Chinese New Year for luck.

Other elements of a talisman are mostly made up of symbols such as the yinyang symbol, eight trigrams, and special strokes that also hold symbolic meaning.

A fun detail from the animated show:  in the scene where Jiang Cheng shows the inverted evil-warding talisman to Lan Wangji, we can see that WWX’s addition in blood near the top turns the 人 part into 夷, as in 夷陵老祖/”Yiling Founder”, giving the viewer a solid hint as to who changed the talismans.   

Sword (Jian)/剑

Jian sword refers specifically to pointed double-edged one-handed straight swords.  The sword is important to religious Daoism, but its origin as a culturally-significant symbol lies in history.

The sword was an actual weapon used on the battlefield before Han dynasty (before 202 BC), and it was that time, long long ago, that the sword was associated with certain human qualities, such as an unyielding sense of justice.  From there, the jian sword eventually became an ornamental item symbolizing high social status.  Evidences of this can be found in the Book of Rites (《禮記》), a book detailing etiquettes and rituals for nobles of Zhou dynasty (1046-256 BC).  For example, a chapter mentioned “when looking upon a gentleman’s attire, sword, and carriage horse, do not gossip about their value��� (“觀君子之衣服，服劍，乘馬，弗賈”).  One such decorative jian sword artifact even survived to this day:

Sword of Goujian, King of Yue (越王勾践剑), part of the collection of Hubei Provincial Museum.  Note:  the engraved “bird-worm seal script” (鳥蟲篆; basically a highly decorative font) text says “Goujian, King of Yue, made this sword for his personal use” (戉王鸠浅，自乍用鐱).

By the Eastern Han dynasty (25-220 AD), Daoism had established itself as a folk religion.  Many of the customs and etiquettes passed down from pre-Qin dynasty times were mystified and given religious importance in the then newly-established Daoist belief system, including the aforementioned etiquettes involving the jian sword.  People came to believe the jian sword as holding magical properties, a weapon gifted by heaven itself, allowing its wielder (usually a Daoist priest) to fight and triumph over demonic spirits.  As the jian sword became more and more of a Daoist ceremonial item than an actual weapon, it also slowly changed to this familiar form today:

(Modern ceremonial Daoist jian swords.  Fun fact:  it is widely believed that jian swords made entirely of peach wood have better demon-banishing abilities than regular swords, since peach trees were said to have demon-warding effects.) 

So, a sword that was worn to show respect, used to showcase social status AND have demon-warding powers?  Does that sound familiar?

It was no accident that the day WWX refused to take his sword with him (since he gave his core to Jiang Cheng so Jiang Cheng could continue to use swords) was also the day the other sects/clans started to alienate him.  The sword symbolized status, and WWX was only the son of a servant, a “lone genius” (一枝独秀/”a lone blooming branch”, in the words of Jiang Cheng) among all the young nobles, so it was fitting that WWX abandoned the “righteous” sword path to walk a new and unique path in order to reach his full potential.

“Fly whisk”/“duster”/fu chen/拂尘

Remember the funny-looking duster-like objects that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen held in the live action series?  Those are called fu chen, or “拂尘” in Chinese, and hold symbolic meaning in Daoism.  To explore that meaning, let’s first explain the name “fu chen”.  Fu chen literally means “brush dust”, so the Chinese meaning is really more like “duster” than the common English translation of “fly whisk”.  But then what sort of “dust” is it really “brushing”?

The concept of “dust” (尘) in both Daoism and Chinese Buddhism refers to the normal secular human society, with all of its material objects and worldly wants and worries.  Thus, the symbolic meaning of fu chen/“duster” is to clear these worries and wants--in other words, worldly attachments--from one’s mind, allowing one to exit the secular world.  For this reason, in China, the process of abandoning one’s normal life in society for the life of a Daoist priest or Buddhist monk is called “出家” (lit. “exiting home”) or “出世” (lit. “exiting world”; world here meaning society).

Since both Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen are Daoist priests (they were both referred to as “道长”), and both wandered through the world banishing evil rather than settling down somewhere and integrating into society, it was a nice choice to have them each hold a fu chen.  

"Stygian Tiger Seal" or “Yin Tiger Seal”/阴虎符

This one is a non-Daoist reference, but it’s still rooted in Chinese history, so here we go.

The fact that the Stygian Tiger seal is called a “tiger seal”/虎符 and has two halves that unleash powerful resentment energy when fitted together (this mechanism is present in both book and live-action but is absent in the animated show, where the two halves appear to be conjoined), points to the inspiration being the tiger amulet.  In imperial China, tiger amulets/虎符 are metal tiger figurines that split into halves lengthwise, and serve the important purpose of approving military deployment.  The imperial court would hold the right half, while the left half would be issued to military officials.  

When army deployment is needed, the official would bring the left half of the figurine to the imperial court, and if it combines with the right half into a whole figurine, then the military deployment would be officially approved.  Historically, tiger amulets are a security measure designed to give the imperial court control over the military.

Finally, some joke talismans I found on the web:

Translation:  “No need to work overtime”; “hold the talisman and chant ‘PIKA PIKA’”, “will confuse your boss so you can get off work early”.

Translation:  “passes exam without studying”, “bullshitting it”, “no need to study”.  (I think I’ll need one of these lol................................)

[caguaydreams]

A thorough analysis on why Vah Medoh’s dungeon theme makes me want to cry

Yep, that’s an accurate title. Hi there! do you have a moment to hear about Breath of The Wild soundtrack? posting for yet a third time in hopes that tumblr won't hide it. I'm so tired

What started as a quick and harmless post, pretending to simply point out a couple of things, rolled downhill, out of my grasp and turned into a massive snowball of a short essay. How and why did this happen? Well, I assume a lot of people know about this song, and know what I’m talking about when I say that it makes me tear up and sob uncontrollably with every change in key as the seconds tick by and I spiral down into a dwell of misery from where I struggle to find the exit and to later recover.

……No?…..At the VERY LEAST it makes you a little uncomfortable. And I state this with much certainty, because after reading hundreds of comments everywhere online where this song is present, I picked up on a vast majority of people who expressed to feel the same way I did when it came down to our current music subject. See, statistics don’t lie… normally. So, naturally, my intrigue got the best of me. I wanted to find out exactly why this soundtrack was mercilessly stirring up everyone’s emotions, so I caved in and we ended up with this.

Buckle in, fellas.

Out of all Divine Beasts’ dungeon themes, Vah Medoh’s is the one that I can’t sit through. Not without growing antsy and wanting to turn it off as soon as possible. I find it genuinely difficult to listen to, and it’s not only because Revali is my favorite character and the song is just, plainly put, depressing, mind you.

We’ll start from 0 terminals activated.

It opens up similar to the other three dungeon themes; the pace is slow but eerie, gives off the impression that it sounds broken somehow. Something is off here, and it’s easy to figure out what that is from the get go: you’re basically entering a majestic, ancient, mechanical mausoleum, where everything went terribly wrong a century ago. Someone is gone, someone you knew, someone who was probably close to you, but it’s impossible to be sure. You don’t remember a thing, and this entire ordeal is confusing at best, and terrifying at worst. It’s your duty to make things right again.

It’s the same for all four Divine Beasts upon entering, save for the obvious little differences that separates them from each other and make them unique. Ruta’s is played on a major key, adhering to a sense of hopefulness. Naboris’s begins with a startling smashing of the piano keys, much like thunder of a sudden lighting strike. And Rudania’s theme starts threatening, dangerous, like scalding lava.

But now, back to Vah Medoh. The tone here is… alienating. The dissonant chords are all over the place, and feel disconnected, cold. It’s almost as if someone doesn’t want us to be here, or just like the elusive key, our presence is unexpected. Fitting, for a Divine Beast that’s high above the land, impossible for most to reach, yet we somehow made it. Apart from the piano, we have the occasional hint to rito culture, in the shape of a short, synthetic version of the rolled chords at the very beginning of Rito Village. A quiet reminder of where we come from. There is also, of course, the morse code distress signal, but we’ll talk more about that later.

As soon as this formal introduction is over, we finally get to the more, say, intimate stuff. Oh, and wouldn’t you know, it’s just tragic.

One terminal activated.

There’s no better short way I can describe this passage, other than anxiety-inducing. Especially when the strings come into play, and there’s two reasons I can think of why I feel this is an important thing to point out:

1- Characters and Symbolism.

I tend to associate stringed instruments, all of those which compose the violin family, with rito culture. And Revali, most specifically. In Creating a Champion we can see the early concept art and designs for all or most major characters in the game, and Revali’s highlighted rough design might be the one that changed the most throughout proper development of the character, out of all champions. He looks quite different from our usual depiction of him, it’s fascinating. What truly catches my eye, however, is the design of his bow.

You thought bird puns were bad? Oh boy, how do you feel about Revali having a bow that looks like a violin/cello/viola??? And do you need a bow to play it also??? Like, is it even an instrument or it’s nothing more than a mere fashion statement?-

Anyway. I believe this was originally going to be a not-so-subtle wink to rito culture, being heavily musically inclined as we can see and conclude for ourselves. Perhaps Revali was going to be a musician as well, now how cool it that!

Needless to say, the idea was eventually scrapped. But one detail I am CERTAIN carried over to the character we know and love today(okay not all of us love him but seriously if you dislike him why are you still here lol): strings. The association between bows(weapon) and stringed instruments, aside from being a quite clever and creative one, goes beyond the concept art and remains strong as part of Revali’s character, settling for having a presence via score. After all, Revali is a master of archery, so in that way it makes sense to keep strings as symbolism to reinforce the idea and drive it home.

But can you guess what other thing Revali excels at? That’s right: flying. He’s the only rito we know of who successfully managed to take advantage of wind currents and bend them to his will. And do you know what musical instruments are often used to evoke the feeling of flight and gale? If you thought of bowed strings, you’re correct! Unfortunately, I couldn’t find much support on this topic online, so you’ll have to take my word for it. I am most certain that this is fact, although not something worth discussing on the Internet, by the looks of it.

Anyhow, violins/cellos/etc are ever-present whenever we’re close to Rito Village or dealing with a rito related mission. Attack on Vah Medoh, for example, features a sequence of strings that is meant to evoke the strong winds we’re fighting against in that particular moment(*). Another great example is The Final Trial, the song that plays at the shrine of resurrection nearing the end of the Champions’ Ballad. Preceding the activation of each terminal, you’ll notice that a new instrumental element joins the crowd: the first one corresponds to the tambourines, related to the zora and Mipha; the second one are strings, referencing the rito and Revali, etc. I tell you, the moment I heard this during the trial I almost started crying like a baby. And, although strings have a lot to do with Rito culture in general, they tie most strongly to Revali, since he was the champion of his people, and his legacy carried over throughout the years. His accomplishments became material of folk tale, a legend, a source of pride and inspiration for the village. And let’s not forget that, at the end of the day, Revali is the crucial and foremost connection Link has to this place. Other than appeasing Vah Medoh, Link’s responsibility here is to free his past fellow champion’s spirit from Ganon’s malice. The soundtrack is referencing Revali first, and by extension his devotion to his home.

With all that in mind, let’s move on to our next point:

2- Nowhere to Go.

You shoot the canons, land on top of the Divine Beast, do what you gotta do, activate the first terminal and the soundtrack goes off unannounced. Like some sort of surprise anxiety bomb. The rhythm turns fast, the melody erratic, incredibly desperate in its execution. There’s this sheer despair, fear, this feeling of suffocation almost, which are so well achieved in this particular piece.

And that is, partially, because a quite familiar resource is used here as well; one that we’ve heard before in songs such as Rito Village or Revali’s theme. You could even think of it as a motif: two notes are played in an semitone interval, repeatedly and in quick succession. For the sake of later convenience, we’ll call this the Flight Motif, now let me explain why. In Breath of The Wild, this semitone loop is often followed up by some form of resolution. In Rito Village, formerly known as Dragon Roost Island(**), that resolution consists of a graceful descent of the melody, from a high that was built up previously during the motif. On the other hand, if you listen to Revali’s theme, you’ll notice that the interval repeats itself for a couple of times as thought charging up, to then rise fast and determined into a triumphal reprise of Revali’s distinctive assigned melody. This juxtaposition supposes the difference that lays between common rito flight and Revali’s trademark ability; both musical sequences are speaking of flight, albeit in two different languages depending on the way to achieve it. While the rito traditionally use their wings to glide and let themselves get swayed by the air currents Buzz Lightyear style, Revali takes full advantage of his flying capabilities to somehow create an updraft of his own, rising meters above the ground whenever he likes or needs to.

So, now that I layed out my base of thought when focusing on the strings, this’ll be much easier to explain. We’ve settled what the instruments themselves are a symbolic representation of Revali, in this scenario specifically. He was the only one inside Vah Medoh, and the score is, in a way, a retelling of what we can vaguely assume went down here during the Great Calamity, as much as it is what sets the tone and ambience for Link’s mission. But what are we hearing exactly? What we talked about, the Flight Motif, is being repeated nonstop. And that’s the thing, remember how I mentioned that this sequence usually finds resolution at the end? Well. Inside Vah Medoh,… it never does. The melody picks up in numerous occasions, but it’s not nearly as graceful, or calculated, as we’ve grown used to by now. It gets tangled and lost, and then inevitably falls to the ground in disarray. The pattern repeats itself, reaching higher after a handful of failed attempts, but no matter how much it tries, the cycle never ends. What used to tell us about flying and freedom in the skies, has morphed into an almost sinister musical incarnation of a tornado, and there is no way out of this trap. What do you think it must feel like to mindlessly flap your wings against wind currents so strong and violent, that it is impossible to get anywhere nearby, let alone take off every time you lose your balance. Or every time you’re shot down. On top of that, trying to aim and fight back in whatever short breaks and opportunities you get, at an enemy that’s much more powerful and relentless, who’s using your own element as a weapon to destroy you… it’s a risk Revali surely had to take in order to put up a fight. Even knowing full well that the odds were not in his favour, that he was most likely going to lose this battle, that he was going to die. Let that sink in. I’ll skip the activation of the second terminal, since there’s barely any change registered in the theme in general. So-

Three terminals activated.

I know this post is supposed to be a breakdown of the song purely, but that doesn’t mean there’s no place for a little theorising, and the following scrutiny is also quite relevant for our discussion. Bear with me for a bit. I’ve read almost everywhere about people’s most common interpretations on the Divine Beasts SOS signals, and how everyone thinks that Revali’s coming in last (a few seconds later than the other champions) has to do with him holding on for longer. Or, also, overconfident as he was, it means that the idea of calling out for additional support didn’t cross his mind until it was too late, and that’s why the beeping sounds more frantic and panicked than the others’ when it does appear. After giving it some thought myself, I’m betting on the latter option holding more ground, and that’s not all. I want to touch upon a detail of the piece that I never acknowledged was there until very recently(after seeing myself obliged to listen to this song fully and a handful of times, suffering every minute of it for the sole purpose of this analysis. It’s okay I didn’t need my heart anyway). Soon after activating the third terminal, the SOS signal disappears, or grows distant and faint enough that we can’t make it out from the background anymore. In its place, we’re confronted by this… shrill, piercing and painfully slow tune. It sounds synthetic, artificial, devoid of life. And it’s funny, because you know what it reminds me of? I’ll tell you:

A heartbeat flatline sound.

And I want to highlight that this doesn’t happen in any of the other Divine Beasts themes. All their SOS signals carry on, but Medoh’s is no more. This abrupt stop, followed by this bone-chilling tune…. makes me believe that Revali was the first of the champions to fall. A few days ago I came across SuperZeldaGirl’s video on a similar topic, theorising that this could very much be the case. There is not much evidence to support this claim other than some visual cues that could be suggesting to it, but after I found this in the soundtrack, and if we’re to rely on it for anything, I believe Revali was either the first champion to be ambushed by Ganon, or well…. the first to be killed. It is plausible, because short after Calamity Ganon unleashes his power, Revali parts from the group and flies directly to Vah Medoh, and he very well could’ve been the first pilot to arrive.

On this note…. we’ll have to wait and see for ourselves, when Age of Calamity provides long-awaited answers to many of our questions.

Four terminals activated.

An interesting melody is being played on what, for me, would qualify as a glockenspiel or a celesta, which are keyboard based instruments that produce a sound similar to that of a music box(***). If you want to pay more attention to it, I suggest listening to Vetrom’s Instrumental Mix Cover of the theme, where they practically zoom in on this part of the song (keep in mind that it uses the All Terminals’ time signature so it’s being played faster). For some reason, this particular addition makes me feel profound empathy. The sound of this instrument could be described as cute or childlike, magical, even. It is more often than not used to represent innocence, but I highly doubt that’s specifically the intention here. Much like the leading strings’ melody, the melodic contour of this one is trapped in a loop of going up and down constantly, but the difference is that this time around it sounds more under control. And much more uniform too. It doesn’t lose focus or takes risky, fruitless leaps, but rather chooses to stay on a path of waves that consistently rises and falls without taking detours. Like a determined battle strategy, giving it your all. You fall, but get back up again, and try again, and again. It reminds me of Revali’s approach to training, being persistent to the point of overworking himself. He had discipline nailed down to a tee, which I also think served him well in combat. It’s not just about being hard on yourself, either, but being confident and having complete faith in your abilities; believing that you’ll make it.  For this to appear now, that the SOS signal is almost completely gone, is significant because it means that by this point, being so close to success on Link’s behalf, the music is sparing genuine encouragement for once, in spite of the tragic outcome of the past and the danger of the current situation. But, in all honesty, this is probably just me reading too much into it. Perhaps the composer just thought this addition sounded pretty bitching and there’s not much else to it, which is completely fine. Although, intentional or not, sometimes coincidences do happen, and at the end of the day, interpretations like this are a form of appreciation for an artist’s work and for what they can unknowingly accomplish.

All terminals activated.

This is the moment when the song finally lightens up. Notice how the strings abandon the wave pattern for a more even contour. The beat quickens, the melody stabilizes. At first I thought, coming from our flight analogy, that this meant a cease in movement entirely, and it was partly one of the reasons why the song in general makes me anxious. But thinking about it now, …there is something different going on here. The strings are playing on a steady rhythm. It resembles a march, it’s like a pounding heart. It’s a lively, hopeful statement. And what’s interesting is that, up until this point, there was so much fear and helplessness present in the score, even going as far as to reach a dead end when we activate the third terminal. But that’s it, isn’t it? the music just keeps going further. 

It’s saying: this isn’t over yet. Even after complete and utter defeat, there’s still hope and an underlying wish to overcome this predicament, and we started to hear this as soon as a fourth terminal is activated. The melody we previously talked about? it’s here as well, and its beat is much more daring and confident.

And I just want to say… this is so powerful. Because this sentiment is deeply tied to the game’s story and Revali’s character arc. You see, he is introduced as someone who resents Link for being the manifestation of his failure, in a way, because Revali has trained arduously his whole life to be where he is, to be recognised. And yet… this hylian gets chosen by a magic sword and some tale of divine destiny and, apparently, that’s all it takes for him to be deemed the hero that will save the land. In Revali’s eyes, Link has done nothing to prove his worth before him, so it is easy to see why he despises the silent knight so much; he is yet another individual that was born into their destiny. Meanwhile, Revali has had to build his reputation from the ground up, earning him a place among the greatest warriors of Hyrule, and even then he finds himself surrounded by people who grew up praised for being born gifted.  We can see how Revali is the odd one out, and can map out the reason for him acting so antagonistic towards Link.

But once we’re on Medoh, things start to change. When Link enters the Divine Beast, Revali greets him with disdain, as per usual. Of course, Link has no recollection of whatever happened a hundred years ago, other than a small glimpse of the rito champion talking down to him, a memory that came and went in a flash. So as Link, we more than expect Revali to act cold and mocking, which he does. He provides us with as little help as needed in order to free Medoh, reluctantly, shielding his wounded pride over having to wait for Link, of all people, to come to their rescue. But you can hear him starting to open up bit by bit(I wish I could translate his dialogue directly from Japanese but I’ll make do with a couple of dubs and other numerous sources from translators online). With each little step Link takes towards success, activating the terminals, the perception Revali has of him shifts from one of resentment to one of genuine admiration and respect. By the end of it all, he is willing to not only cheer on Link during the boss battle, but to trust him with his life’s worth achievement. And once left alone, he admits defeat and lets go of his bitterness, realising that he was wrong to underestimate Link, and later wishes he could’ve had a chance to measured up to him. To take all of this into consideration and work with it in the soundtrack I think it’s genuinely splendid. And for once, I am grateful that it ends in somewhat of a positive note that puts my soul to rest. I still have a hard time listening to the first two thirds of the entire thing, but now I can look forward to a hopeful and earnestly heartening conclusion for all the pain that this composition puts me in. I must admit that it’s beautifully and brilliantly crafted, and that I am enamoured of it regardless.

That is why I wrote roughly 4k words about it! I hate myself!

If you’re as crazy as me about the soundtrack of this game, I recommend you read the published cd interview with the composers themselves! if you haven’t already. I just found it yesterday(unbelievable but it’s true) and… after writing all of this and checking it out, I felt validated. It sure is a one of a kind feeling. 

Alright folks, we’ve made it to the end. Congratulations for sticking around and thanks being interested in my nonsensical rambling! 

I also hope that you, like me, will now be unable to listen to bowed strings without being reminded of Revali. Good luck!

————– Annotations/Sidenotes/Whatever

(*)The Flight Motif(in point number 2) is also present in this track. We can hear it in the background right after the Rito leitmotif, as per usual. It starts with a clarinet, I think, before the strings take the lead. (**) Note that the Flight Motif only comes into play in the Breath of The Wild rendition of the song. (***)I strongly associate this instrument with Mipha, given that it is used in her theme, in every “response” to the initial melody. It can be heard in Attack On Vah Ruta, as well, it enters the scene when the notes Mi(E) and Fa(F) are played. The initial tune, Si and Do(B and C) are played on a clarinet or oboe, wind instruments just like the flute that leads Sidon’s respective theme. The celesta can also be heard inside Vah Ruta, activating the first terminal…. when the song really takes a turn just like Medoh’s. Mipha has nothing to do with the song of this analysis, however. We must understand that instruments, although they are attached to characters/various story elements in some cases, can always be used outside of that context, for that is the nature of an orchestral soundtrack. If you have this many tools at your disposal, you will make good use of them.

[miscelunaaa]

I was thinking about your repost of warnings and being more inclusive to a variety of bodies in ff. Something that pulls me out of a fic so often is hairstyle descriptions. This obviously isn't the same as not being inclusive of different body shapes/sizes or readers of color, but to me its often really gratingly pushes white cishet traditional gender presentation. Like...not all women have long hair (which is my thing) or can have white girl hairstyles. Like why do you have to write about long flowy hair and messy buns so much? This is already really irritating as a person with short hair which is a much smaller deal than physical things you can't change. And I keep thinking that a lot of this language is probably also really alienating to pocs with curly hair. So....ugh!

I really appreciate you being vocal on this topic and I love your blog and your writing so much!

Hair is another one I catch all the time!!! I'm a white woman with loose, wavy curls but I keep my hair short. It's actually short enough that I can't really put it up right now, and while I love the idea of having long beautiful hair, it's just never been something I've been able to achieve because the maintenance alone drives me nuts. And I still have enough hair that it could be grabbed or played with. This is not going to be the same experience a person of color with curls might have!!

It's something that is so frequently overlooked. It's one thing if it's just a line like "He noses at the nape of your neck and smells your hair," because even a person with with a tight textured curl at any length will still have hair to smell, right? And with smut scenes involving hair pulling as a warning, like, I can suspend my disbelief because there's likely an element of fantasy involved. And then there's the matter of reader-insert characters that are explicitly written as POC which!! That's amazing! These characters are written with these traits in mind and that representation is so incredibly important, especially in a fandom that celebrates Korean men while also having a huge issue with white washing.

When it comes to a reader-insert that's intended as neutral, it just seems disingenuous to assume that everyone has long white girl hair that is easily thrown up into a bun at the end of the day. It bothers me in the same way that descriptions of super skimpy clothing do; it's just clear that the writer doesn't really care to have an eye for inclusivity, whether by willful ignorance or by coincidence.

And again, there are points where I can suspend my disbelief! Sometimes the reading experience is immersive enough that I don't even notice, or maybe the character is very specific and those are moments where the character writing is strong enough that I'm just stepping into their experience of the story. But ... there's an intent there. Not every writer approaches things as such, and with that in mind I think we have to approach the convention of a reader-insert character in a different way.

I often feel like I'm talking to the air about this stuff, so I really appreciate you reaching out. Seriously. I think this really important and it doesn't get the attention it needs. Folks will talk openly about the problems, but I don't often see action or change taking place within work. Effecting these changes can be difficult for some writers because they can be so set in their ways, and that's frustrating. They want the fantasy of it all, rather than showing people that it's okay to be desired as they are. I think this is disingenuous; if you want feedback and praise, writing your "fantasies" with more people in mind would probably get more feedback, right? idk, I'm just rambling again at this point 🙃

Anyway, again, I'm really glad yall are reaching out about this!! I'm happy you're enjoying my stories and reading my thoughts :)

[galatealiberata]

Years in the past, But not many…

A man in bulbous green goggles steps through a portal not unlike an Ultra Wormhole, opened from another universe, by another’s technology. On the other side waits a man, as tall and beautiful as a marble statue, pale blue skin wrapped in a fine white robe and golden finery, matching the elegantly curved ivory walls and gilded pillars that reach up to the vaulted ceiling of the grand hall in which they meet. “Executor Ballas,” he says, taking a knee before that imperious gaze, “It is an honor to finally meet you in person.”

“Branch Chief Faba." The gilded lord's voice is as smooth as honey, as perfect as his sculpted features. "It is my pleasure to deliver my thanks directly- The research you have sent on these… ‘Pokemon’ creatures, is already proving quite useful- Especially your RKS System prototypes. The ability your creatures have to harness and direct elemental energy has given us great insight into weaponizing the power of the Void- What you know as Ultra Space."

"Yes, yes- Er, you mentioned, a reward, for my.... Collaboration?"

"Of course," Ballas smiles, his serenity hiding any offense taken from Faba's impatience, "Your RKS system changes the elemental alignment of your creatures for the sake of offense- In return, I give you its counterpart in Dualism- Defensive adaptation." Ballas unfolds his arm from behind his back, revealing it to be freakishly longer than the other- But much more interesting is the device it contains- An alien-looking computer card, red and white with blue glow, that floats from his slender blue hand to hover in front of the scientist "This technology, we developed for our Sentient terraformers, who will brave the unknown dangers of space to create a new home for us on another world- One to which you may be invited, if you continue to impress us."

"Of- Of course, my lord Executor Ballas," Faba sputters, his head already spinning with possibilities, "We will-- Install it, yes, in one of our Type:Full prototypes, and bring it here to demonstrate its full potential. I already know just the one, it is under the direct management of one of our finest minds. He, heh, he loves it like a daughter, so, we may be assured he will guarantee a, successful integration."

[narcisocacoplex]

Ascendance of a Bookworm and the Multiversal Marketplace of Ideas

Something that fucking stuns me about contemporary isekai as a genre is the way that it handles cultural transmission from one world to another. There’s a very consistent formula (as with all things in standard-issue isekai), and it all hinges on this fascinating system for deciding what gets to filter in from Earth through the protagonist and what is handily discarded when it would become an obstruction.

Consumer goods and services penetrate through the protagonist into the fantasy setting most easily. The single most consistent thing that isekai heroes reinvent in their otherworlds is cuisine. Almost universally contemporary Earth cooking, whether it’s Japanese, Chinese, or Italian (it is very rarely anything else), outperforms anything the locals produce, if only out of sheer novelty.

This sort of thing often forms the basis for the isekai protagonist’s horizontal monopoly—I’ve lost track of how many of these books I’ve read where an overwhelming portion of the plot is dedicated to the hero managing human and material resources as their multiple intersecting businesses proliferate like a cancer across the setting. It turns out that more than being a world savior, isekai readers fantasize most about being an entrepreneur living for the grind—albeit freed from the trouble of having to come up with your own ideas, as you can just re-hash the achievements of thousands of years of human endeavor instead and take the credit. Call it the McFly approach.

What’s peculiar is that less tangible and/or economically exploitable things don’t penetrate or are actively stripped away in the transition from life on Earth to life in the fantasy world. The most obvious point that comes to mind has to do with basic political and ethical conceits like the right to the most basic forms of self-determination. Isekai protagonists are indescribably quick to roll over for and get cozy with flavors of aristocracy and totalitarian power that the global public has been consistently taught not to trust.

Consider, for example, Ascendance of a Bookworm. I’ve lost track of how many people I’ve seen argue that Bookworm’s one of the standout isekai titles, and I can see why: it’s extremely committed to realizing an in-depth fantasy setting that’s not neatly explained with Dragon Quest allusions; the protagonist has an interesting array of flaws and limitations; in spite of the level of power on which the characters operate, it consistently creates convincing scenes of tension and peril in multiple dimensions; and the story is driven by a legitimate interest in something larger than the narratives the author has already consumed. This much is all great.

But the thing that strikes me about Ascendance of a Bookworm—the thing that keeps me from liking it at all—is that all of this craft and effort is sunk into a narrative about how there is no escape from serfdom. Myne starts at the absolute bottom rung of society, and through a conjunction of hideous self-neglect, total accident, cosmological convergence, and internecine political infighting, arrives at a position of frighteningly far-reaching authority. As Rozemyne, the archduke’s adopted daughter, she makes decisions every damn page about how her vast entourage will spend their lives in service to her agendas. Huge swathes of these books are just characters talking about how they’re going to move around various subordinates and, critically, which subordinates can be put in positions where lives won’t be at risk because of a failure to communicate across inviolable class boundaries.

While Rozemyne frequently shoots herself in the foot because she still takes as a given from time to time that people deserve to be treated like human beings and not disposable chattel, it’s never really up for consideration whether any of the societal structures that create this profound alienation should, perhaps, be changed.

And it’s not like dramatic social change isn’t a subject the story explores! Rozemyne’s whole objective in this story is to establish a thriving printing industry and universal literacy so she can go back to the standard of living she was used to as a Japanese bibliophile. She’s radically altering the cultural and industrial landscape of this other reality; it’s just that she’s not interested in changing the parts where, if you’re an aristocrat, people will act weird if you don’t murder peasants that look at you funny.

It ends up feeling kind of sinister, like the narrative is trying to convince you in slow, small steps that hey, maybe the problem here really is with Rozemyne not being willing to walk all over people as much as she could given the latitude afforded her (it’s worth noting that in many regards it’s the only latitude she’s got; the nobility are just as bound by bizarre, self-destructive social contracts as every other social class—it’s just that they can take it out on the people beneath them), and she’s already buying orphans in bulk from the church to staff her printing operation.

This is not helped by the most persistent fantasy elements of the setting. “Mana” in Bookworm is, on its face, a fantastical gloss made to legitimize the divine right of kings and the great chain of being. People have limited but varying capacity for mana, which is both trainable and heritable; the people bred for high mana capacity rule the country because their expanded mana reserves let them pump blessings into the surrounding environment, improving crop yields. Literally every noble is a miniature Fisher King, and when nobles withdraw their support from whatever fiefdom’s getting shafted, it withers and the people who live there suffer. This may be cruel, Rozemyne opines, but It Must Be Done to remind people how order is kept, however much she may not like it. Human survival in this setting hinges on the nobility’s generosity with their mana, and if there’s another option, it’s not really up for consideration.

I think periodically about how, as dense and thoroughly realized as this setting is, there’s really only one “nation” that I’ve seen so far in this series. There are rival fiefdoms, internal struggles, and cultural variations from region to region, but nobody’s really “foreign.” Everyone speaks the same language and follows the same broad set of customs. I wonder, when these thoughts come to me, how someone from a different nation in the same world might think of the culture represented in Ascendance of a Bookworm, and the thing I keep circling back to is “oh, those are the people who can’t do without owning other people.”

Part of the thematic messaging of this series, however inadvertent it may be, is how quickly a contemporary Japanese person adjusts to these expectations, even if they might make an effort to be as lenient as possible in most cases.

But pasta and hardbound books—those our hero will fight tooth and nail to introduce to this world.

[thecreaturecodex]

Daemonic Harbinger, Shagrath

Image © @tredlocity​

[Commissioned by @crazytrain48​. Shagrath the Red Moon Spyder was first mentioned in the original Arduin Grimoire but never got much elaboration, beyond being Chaotic and Evil and having a holiday devoted to him. The 90s “Compleat Arduin” edition misspelled his name with 2 Gs, and that’s what I have used previously in the spiga entry. The Arduin Eternal version from the 2000s made him a creator god, but that information never made it into any of their published books, and their website is only available via Wayback Machine. So this version merges him with another spider-themed archfiend from Arduin, Calyandagg, but incorporates some of my own personal interests in making evil deities based on real-world evils. The idea that conspiracy theories are authored by a giant spider who lives on the moon sounds like a conspiracy theory in and of itself.]

Daemonic Harbinger, Shagrath CR 22 NE Outsider (extraplanar) This immense creature looks vaguely arachnid, with thirteen legs and thirteen eyes. Its carapace is a metallic red, with a mantle of bristling fur on it. Alien runes decorate its legs and abdomen.

Shagrath The Red Moon Spider, The Second Opinion Concerns alternate history, misinformation, torture Domains Darkness, Destruction, Evil, Knowledge Subdomains Daemon, Moon, Thought, Torture Worshipers conspiracy theorists, interrogators, spiga Minions crucidaemons, fiendish giant spiders, piscodaemons Unholy Symbol a ring of twelve red moons showing the lunar cycle Favored Weapon heavy pick Devotion Spend one hour promulgating an alternative version of a commonly held idea or belief. It does not matter whether you believe what you say, or if it is true, only that the information is spread. Gain a +4 profane bonus to saving throws against confusion effects and mind-influencing effects that deal damage (such as mind thrust). Boons: 1: web 2/day; 2: freedom of movement 2/day; 3: extended true seeing 2/day

Shagrath the Red Moon Spider is an ancient being, the first of the race of fiends known as spiga. When first formed, Shagrath lacked magical power, but he realized that belief was a strong enough force to shape the cosmos. By viewing himself as a god, he gained the ability to cast divine spells, and eventually forced his way into the courts of the daemonic harbingers through sheer force of will. His ultimate goal is to achieve full divinity, and his primary means to accomplish this is to expand his cult—if enough mortals believe him to become a god, he will be one.

As part of this agenda of apotheosis, Shagrath tells outrageous falsehoods: that he wove a planet out of his webs; that he can see everything that transpires in moonlight; that he knows literally everything. It matters not to him that the majority of his lies do not stick. If repeated forcefully enough, to enough people, they will take root and become history. His worshipers gleefully create and distribute “alternate facts”, particularly those that demonize a vulnerable group or that promote selfishness and disunity. Of course, Shagrath does enjoy inflicting pain in a more direct sense as well. He is a master of torture, and is especially interested at how the application of pain can cause mortals to weave extravagant falsehoods or completely change their beliefs.

Shagrath has all of the abilities of a spiga, and uses them in similar fashion in combat. He enhances his combat prowess with divine magic, entraps foes in his webs, and then paralyzes them with his claws and venomous bite. Shagrath can create new spiga by implanting eggs inside of paralyzed victims, which he keeps helpless but alive long enough for the spiga to grow inside them. Shagrath has access to many powerful clerical abilities, which he uses in combat as much to impress upon enemies his divine powers as much as to injure and kill.

Shagrath is about thirty feet long and weighs ten tons. He spends little time in Abaddon, perhaps because his interests in divinity make him distrusted by the Horsemen.  He typically lairs on a moon of the planet in the Material Plane he is currently interested in. From this vantage point, he descends earthward to spread lies and torture, and returns to his airless abode to avoid retribution.

Shagrath                CR 22 XP 615,000 NE Gargantuan outsider (daemon, evil, extraplanar) Init +11; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +39, tremorsense 120 ft., true seeing Aura fear (30 ft., Will DC 33), unholy (DC 29) Defense AC 38, touch 18, flat-footed 30 (-4 size, +7 Dex, +20 natural, +1 dodge, +4 deflection) hp 420 (24d10+288); fast healing 10 Fort +30, Ref +21, Will +30 DR 20/good; Immune acid, death effects, disease, electricity, fire, mind-influencing effects, paralysis poison; Resist cold 30; SR 33; Weakness vulnerable to cold Defensive Abilities freedom of movement Offense Speed 50 ft., climb 40 ft.; air walk Melee bite +33 (2d12+13 plus poison), 3 claws +33 (4d6+13 plus paralysis) Space 20 ft.; Reach 15 ft. Special Attacks breath weapon (80 ft. cone, Ref DC 34, 20d10 piercing plus entrap, 1d4 round), entrap (hardness 10, 30 hp, 1 hour), implant, paralysis (DC 34, 1 round), rend (2 claws, 4d6+19), tortuous rend Spell-like Abilities CL 24th, concentration +35 (+39 casting defensively) Constant—air walk, true seeing, unholy aura (DC 29) At will—greater scrying (DC 28), greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. objects only), harm (DC 27) 3/day—glibness, empowered greater shadow evocation (DC 29), plane shift (DC 28) 1/day—interplanetary teleport, mind blank, power word kill, summon (9th, 100%, any CR 20 or lower daemon) Spells CL 20th, concentration +32 9th—energy drain (DC 31, x2), mass heal (DC 31), shades (DC 31)D, quickened slay living (DC 27), quickened wall of stone 8th—quickened blessing of fervor, quickened cure critical wounds (DC 26), demand (DC 30)D, discern location, quickened divine power, fire storm (DC 30) greater spell immunity 7th—blasphemy (DC 29), quickened blindness/deafness (DC 24), destruction (DC 29, x2), disintegrate (DC 29)D, greater restoration, repulsion (DC 29) 6th—banishment (DC 28), blade barrier (DC 28), dreamD, greater dispel magic (x2), heal, quickened owl’s wisdom 5th—cleanse, quickened divine favor, dispel good (DC 27), quickened entropic shield, flame strike (DC 27), greater command (DC 27), shout (DC 27)D  4th—cure critical wounds (DC 26), death ward, dimensional anchor (x2), moonstruck (DC 26)D, sending, spiritual ally (+36/+31/+26/+21, 1d10+5 force), tongues 3rd—bestow curse (DC 25), contagion (DC 25), cure serious wounds (DC 25), deeper darkness, prayer, protection from elements, seek thoughts (DC 25)D, stone shape 2nd—bear’s endurance, bull’s strength, death knell (DC 24, x2), make whole, pain strike (DC 24)D, silence (DC 24), spiritual weapon (+36/+31/+26/+21, 1d8+5) 1st—cure light wounds (DC 23, x3), detect good (x3), faerie fireD, sanctuary (DC 23) 0th—detect magic, guidance, read magic, stabilize D = domain spell Statistics Str 36, Dex 25, Con 35, Int 35, Wis 34, Cha 32 Base Atk +24; CMB +41; CMD 63 (73 vs. trip) Feats Combat Expertise, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Empower SLA (greater shadow evocation) Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Mobility, Quicken Spell, Spring Attack, Stand Still, Whirlwind Attack Skills Acrobatics +34 (+42 when jumping), Bluff +38, Climb +53, Diplomacy +38, Intimidate +38, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, engineering, geography +, history, local, nature, nobility) +31, Knowledge (planes, religion) +35, Perception +39, Sense Motive +39, Spellcraft +36, Stealth +22, Use Magic Device +35 Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Common, Draconic, Infernal, telepathy 300 ft. SQ daemonic harbinger traits, expert climber, no breath Ecology Environment any land or underground (Abaddon) Organization unique Treasure double standard Special Abilities Aura of Fear (Su) A creature that fails its save against Shagrath’s aura of fear is panicked for 1 minute. A creature that succeeds its save is immune to Shagrath’s aura of fear for the next 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma based. Daemonic Harbinger Traits (Ex/Su) Shagrath is a daemonic harbinger, a powerful unique fiend. This grants him the following traits:

Immunity to acid, charm and compulsion effects, death effects, disease and poison

Resistance to cold, electricity and fire 30

Telepathy 300 ft.

Shagrath’s natural weapons, as well as any weapons he wields, count as evil and epic weapons for the purposes of overcoming damage reduction

Shagrath can grant spells to his worshippers.

Expert Climber (Ex) Shagrath can climb on any surface. Treat this as a non-magical spider climb effect, and this ability doubles its racial bonus on Climb checks to +16. Freedom of Movement (Su) Shagrath is constantly protected by a freedom of movement effect as a supernatural ability. Implant (Ex) As a standard action, Shagrath can implant an egg inside a helpless or paralyzed creature. This creature must succeed a DC 34 Fortitude save or the egg begins to grow inside its body for 1d4+1 days. Every day a creature has an egg incubating inside it, it takes 2 points of Constitution drain. Attempts to remove this larva require a DC 30 Heal check, or any magic that removes disease with a successful DC 34 caster level check. Once the duration elapses, the egg bursts free as a squirming larva, dealing 10d10 points of damage as it goes (Fortitude DC 34 halves). The larva is treated as a giant maggot with a spiga’s immunities, spell resistance and defensive abilities. It grows into a full-sized spiga in 13 days. The save DC is Constitution based. Poison (Ex) Bite—injury; save Fort DC 34; duration 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d6 Dex damage; cure 2 consecutive saves. The save DC is Constitution based. Spells Shagrath casts spells as a 20th level cleric. Shagrath gets a bonus spell prepared each day for his domains, and can choose between all of his domains and subdomains for that spell. He does not gain the ability to spontaneously cast inflict spells. He treats his own body as a holy symbol for the purposes of spell components. Torturous Rend (Su) A creature affected by Shagrath’s rend ability must succeed a DC 33 Fortitude save or be overcome with intense pain, suffering a -4 penalty to attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, skill and ability checks for the next 1d4+1 rounds. Multiple failed saves cause the duration to stack. The save DC is Charisma based.

[chacusha]

Quodo dynamics

So basically, when I get really into a pairing, my mind tends to obsessively attempt to catalog exactly what I like so much about the pairing. Usually the result of this obsessive cataloguing is a ship manifesto (so yeah, that is probably what is going to fall out of this eventually). But for now, just some scattered thoughts.

Basically, I think the reason Quodo draws me so much is that Quark and Odo have a very complicated relationship, and those different layers to their relationship, all stacked on top of each other gives one so much to think about and so much to play around with and poke at. It’s like candy to my mind.

One layer: Cat and mouse / adversaries / detective + criminal. Odo is the chief of security aboard Deep Space Nine. Quark is a dodgy businessman who’s trying to make profit however he can, even if it means doing legally dodgy things. So one layer of their relationship is that they’re engaged in this antagonistic game where each one getting what they want means thwarting the other. There is almost a cartoonish feel to this aspect of their relationship, like Tom and Jerry, or Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny, or Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner. Odo is always trying to get Quark, and Quark is always trying to do crimes for profit without alienating Odo/Sisko/the DS9 administration TOO much that it lands him in hot water. While this often makes them “enemies” there is also clearly a playful element to it where each action one character takes stimulates and challenges the other.

Another layer: Hatred / clashing personalities / opposing moral codes. A bit more seriously, though, Odo and Quark have not just roles that regularly put them into conflict, but they actually seriously just hate each other. On a more personal level, they have very different ideas of who/what is worthy of respect and the other person isn’t it. Odo is a lawful neutral “law and order” type who basically looks down on Quark’s criminality and trashy notions of entertainment. Quark is materialistic hedonist and finds Odo’s heartless “stick in the mud” personality offputting, and his rigid adherence to the law, while it can be admirable, it can also cause him to be callous toward and inhumane in his treatment of people. Here, too, though, there is a playful element to their dynamic where each of them delights in pissing the other off. For example, Odo is generally a pretty dour and grumpy guy, but when he does show mirth, it’s often at Quark’s expense -- when Quark is having a rough time or is in a jam, for example. And Quark is a troll who loves saying things that he knows will irritate Odo.

Layer 2.5: Mutual obsession. Both of them have their own reasons why they fixate on the other. Odo is a workaholic who only enjoys his work. Watching and surveilling Quark is his work, and he does it with a delight he rarely takes in anything else. And it’s true that Quark likes to irritate Odo, and you know what is the best way of irritating an emotionally repressed guy who hates having fun? Flirting with him. Constantly. All the time.

Yet another layer: Old friends. BUT ALSO, these two go way back. They’re the two main holdovers from the regime change on Terok Nor/Deep Space Nine and they’ve known each other for a long time. And not all their interactions are antagonistic. They’ve been known to cooperate with each other. Even hang out with each other. And also, you don’t spend that much time evading/trying to nab the other without understanding and being able to predict them on a deep level, so Quark and Odo aren’t just adversaries but they’re also genuinely close with their own form of rapport. Later episodes have an undertone of romantic feelings (see next layer) but even if you read them platonically, then it’s undeniable that Quark and Odo sometimes acknowledge that, yes, they are friends. They support each other, they give each other advice, and they sometimes express gratitude for that support (albeit in weird ways!).

More layer: Latent romantic feelings??? On Quark’s side, it’s easy to read his feelings for Odo as romantic. Pining, even. Quark flirts with him a lot -- maybe that’s just a form of entertainment for Quark; there’s always plausible deniability. When Odo gets with Kira, Quark’s interactions with him start to read like pining -- “I gave him so much of me and did he ever notice?” kind of thing, but it never quite reaches the level of text. In any case, if Quark did have feelings for Odo, it’d be hard for him to admit it because it doesn’t really go with his playboy/hedonistic sort of demeanor. On Odo’s side... Odo has zero emotional maturity. If he did have feelings for Quark, he isn’t capable of noticing them. You can easily read him as also carrying romantic feelings for Quark that he doesn’t yet know how to process.

Yet more layer: Protectiveness. Odo is a gruff security officer who is also a superhuman being that is pretty much invulnerable to most things. His job is to keep people safe and he’s a pretty intimidating guy (and he knows it). Quark is a fairly gender-conforming Ferengi which means his sense of masculinity is tied up in how much money he makes and how much sex with pretty women he has, and not at all in how bravely he faces danger. So when he’s in trouble, he’s not at all ashamed to react to it by screaming in a high-pitched voice and hiding, and in fact, he hates violent confrontation and often explicitly denounces it as barbaric and unnecessary. Oh, but also, his shady under-the-table dealings means he often has to deal with sketchy characters who might be tempted to use violence to get their way. It’s a great setup for having Odo have to save Quark and rescue him from danger as, like, just a normal part of doing his job. This means that, even if they DIDN’T have all those interesting dynamics I listed above, they’d still have a promisingly shippy dynamic just by virtue of this aspect.

Maybe I’m missing a couple of other aspects of Quark and Odo’s relationship, but for now, that’s all I can think of. In summary, Quodo basically functions on one level as enemy to lovers (complete with many of the fun tropes that are possible with that), and on another level as friends to lovers (with its own set of tropes), and on another level as just openly romantic flirtation, and on another as clueless pining -- it manages to be all of that at the same time, somehow. And that’s amazing.

[dragon-grunkle]

star wars and flight rising are in the same universe and here’s why, a ted talk by stanley

in an effort to both 1. talk about my lore more often like i’ve been meaning to and 2. explain what i meant when i went off about it in the tags of my last post, i’m gonna attempt to explain my rationale for deciding star wars and flight rising can totally coexist in the same universe.

there’s a tldr at the very bottom! i do use rebels as a basis for some of this lore, since it basically just confirms concepts i was already thinking of before i even watched the show, but it IS a little spoilery sometimes.

SO. what do we know about sornieth? here’s a summary: it’s the fourth planet from its sun. it has at least one but possibly two or more moons. powerful beings of pure elemental energy sprung up in the early days of the planet’s formation. a darkness from beyond attacks the planet, and the gods build a pillar to keep it out. after this, humanoid races flourish and they learn to combine magic with technology, but eventually someone gets too arrogant and builds a big machine that blows up all of civilization. from this, the arcanist is born. he grows curious and encounters the shade, which breaks the pillar. the other gods see this and decide to go their separate ways. they create dragons.

this new society has reached a point roughly equivalent to the 1920s, and that’s as far as we’ve gotten. that’s it, that’s flight rising. no aliens mentioned, except for the shade (and possibly the forbidden portal enemies if you count those, but that’s for another time).

what about star wars? as we all know, it’s set ‘a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away’. there is a lot of history here that isn’t really relevant, so i’m just going to talk briefly about the layout of the galaxy: it isn’t named, but there are different sections to it that are, and they’re grouped according to how far away a planet is from the center of the galaxy. you have: the core worlds, the inner rim, the mid rim, the outer rim, and wild space. generally, planets are more densely populated towards the center of the galaxy and less as you go out. compare coruscant, a core world entirely covered by a city and inhabited by trillions of people, to tatooine, an outer rim planet that wookieepedia states has 200,000 inhabitants total. 

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where does sornieth fit in this map? the answer is simple: wild space. this region lies beyond the outer rim, where not many bother to travel because it’s just not worth it, and it’s where i’ve placed sornieth in this scenario. wookieepedia says:

Unlike other regions of the galaxy, Wild Space existed along the entire circumference of the galactic disk and on the borderlands of the Unknown Regions. It was inhabited by sentient species but not fully charted, explored, and civilized.

star wars: rebels touches on wild space a bit: one of its main characters is a lasat, a species thought to be wiped out by the empire. lasats come from lasan, but they have a legendary ancestral homeworld called lira san. except it turns out that lira san isn’t a myth: it’s real, it’s populated, and it’s in wild space.

the fact that an entire species believed their original homeworld was a myth means we can easily set sornieth there without ever having to worry about political groups such as the republic, the empire, and the rebellion coming across the planet and mucking up our established rule of No Aliens Besides Shade (And Maybe Arcanist). it’s conveniently out of the way AND protects the lore of both continuities very well, ensuring that they don’t interfere with each other by introducing a previously-unheard-of super-powerful flying magical race to the galaxy, or having stormtroopers invade the southern icefields, or something else fucky like that.

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now that we’ve got location covered, we have to talk about the force, magic, and the gods. i’m gonna get a little handwavey here, but it’s also, i think, the most interesting part of this whole thing, so here we go.

first off, the force. what is it? here’s how obi-wan describes it in a new hope:

It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together.

with that description in mind, i want to draw attention to one little throwaway line from the flight rising lorebook chapter 1: the first age: 

From this bedlam, the magical energies themselves began to concentrate and change. Similar particles receded into four great beings, each overwhelmingly dense with a different element. As if eager to proudly display their emergence to some unseen divinity, these beings took on the shapes of great wyrms.

that ‘unseen divinity’? yeah, that’s the force. you could even take the ‘similar particles’ bit to mean midi-chlorians, if you want to acknowledge the prequels’ interpretation of the force.

as we know, some people are stronger with the force than others. these people usually become jedi or sometimes sith, depending on whether they use the light or the dark side. but the jedi and sith aren’t the only force users out there: there are plenty of civilizations who have different names and explanations for it and how it manifests itself varies from person to person. in fact, the lasat people i mentioned earlier recognized the force as something called ‘the ashla’. so different concepts for the force exist across the galaxy, and it’s very possible that what we know as ‘elemental magic’ on sornieth is simply how dragons see different aspects of the force. as if that wasn’t enough, we also know some force users can use the force to manipulate the elements themselves, like how palpatine can use the dark side to create lightning.

so really: i don’t think it’s a stretch to say some intensely powerful creatures born of the universe itself could specialize in a specific aspect of the force and manifest entirely that way.

[billy mays voice] But Wait, There’s More! i’m gonna reference rebels again. yeah, i know. on the planet of atollon lives the bendu, a being of the force who is neither light nor dark. he’s powerful, and at one point, turns himself into a giant storm and strikes down ships with lightning to defend his planet. loth-wolves are a similar concept. they’re animals which are shown to have a deep connection to the force, but only as it relates to the planet they call home, lothal. at one point a character asks if the loth-wolves are on their side and the answer is "they're on lothal's side.” this is how i see the gods as existing in the greater star wars universe: powerful beings intrinsically linked to the planet they originate from. they’re capable of great feats on their own, but can guide others (like humans or dragons) to use the force / magic in their stead.

the gods are real inasmuch as the force is real, and act as extensions of one another. if we wanna go a step further, the deities could all be light-side users and the shade is their dark counterpart, which is a REALLY fun concept to explore.

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phew, that’s it. i’ve covered most of it except for how dragons get off sornieth and into the wider galaxy, which is...somewhat less essential than the stuff i talked about above, but i still want to address it, especially since we’ve established they have no outside contact and are limited to 1920s tech. to keep it brief, the easiest answer is...magic.

i don’t want to get tooooo deep into rebels stuff again, but space-time portals do exist in star wars, which is really exciting for me personally, and also a nice setup for dragons to get out into the galaxy - if they have access to them, that is; in rebels they only appear in a jedi temple, but i think it’s possible other access points exist, given that other force-societies also exist. the point is, being handwavey and saying ‘eh, portals’ is a valid excuse that doesn’t totally break either universe because they are canon to both universes. you could also go the route of magic experiments gone wrong, the deities picking off a few special individuals and sending them out, or crazy lighning-arcane tech mergers shooting dragons off into space, never to be heard from again.

there’s any number of possibilities here, ranging from crazy space wizard shenanigans to early spaceflight gone very very wrong.

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tldr: sornieth is located in the far reaches of the galaxy, away from major events, and has remained undiscovered. the deities are manifestations of the force channeled through the planet itself; the gods and the force are extensions of one another. sometimes dragons can get off sornieth, but not often, so dragons are rare in the wider galaxy. there is no conflict of lore that says these two things CAN’T exist in the same universe, and in fact, the lore sometimes even supports them coexisting.

or in other words: star wars and flight rising coexist because i want them to, but also because i have legitimate justification for it. i’m too powerful and nobody can stop me from making star wars dragons now.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Finding Your Heart - fic

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, bits of Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown Summary: This wasn’t the way he wanted to find Damian, after everything that happened between them. This wasn’t how he wanted Alfred and Dick to reunite with him either. A/N: Dick was driving the plane. Crane blew up the building on purpose to cover his tracks, and was the one to lock Damian in the lab after he and the nameless henchmen fought. The whole family comes home and basically all live in the cave/Damian’s room as he recovers, and they all have conversations with him about what he was doing, why etc. Damian didn’t kill the guy who stabbed him because he recognized the henchmen was no the problem, Crane was. He’s still a good boy in my book. Glossed over kind of plotholes because I didn’t care enough and it wasn’t the point of this story ok bye. Don’t forget my Pateron and shit!

~~

If Bruce was grateful for anything, it was the fact that no matter what he lost, save for his parents, it always came back.

Jason came back. Dick came back. Tim came back. Stephanie came back.

Alfred, now, came back too.

Damian…he came back. And then he left again.

It was in the back of his mind, as they celebrated Alfred’s return to life, and Dick’s return from amnesia. The fact that their returns were not through darkness, not through aliens, not through a multiverse crashing down around them and changing time.

It was magic. It was a miracle.

But Damian wasn’t here. And Bruce would never ever forget that. Not now, as they shared delivery pizza at the island in the manor’s spacious kitchen. Not in the days after, as things settled back into a semblance of the old normal, with new quirks here and there. Not in the weeks after either, as Alfred returned to being Penny-One, and Dick began to retrain himself to return to the Nightwing title soon.

Just as Bruce would never forget the tears in Dick’s eyes when he explained to him and Alfred what had happened to their youngest. His breakdown, and resolve in the violence. When he explained why.

“It’s not your fault.” Bruce promised, even as Alfred pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and silently dabbed his eyes. “It’s mine. I…I didn’t see his grief. I didn’t understand how badly he was taking your absences. I didn’t know.”

“But I would have.” Alfred had whispered, closing his eyes.

“We would have.” Dick corrected.

And he’d never forget the despair on grandfather and son alike, when Dick asked if Bruce had any idea where he was, and he had to tell them no.

Damian was a sore subject, to say the least, after that. No one spoke of him, though Bruce found everyone stopping near the case holding his old uniform every so often.

Not a memorial for the dead, this time. But a memorial for the child they failed.

His name was like a bad word, a sour taste, and Bruce never forgot that either.

Most of all, he never forgot it was his fault.

Even now, as he, Tim and Stephanie fought against a gang that he had yet to determine which super villain they associated with, he thought of his son. The one not there, the one he chased away.

How much he could use his help right now. How much he missed him.

God, if Jason knew, he’d be furious. Furious because he didn’t learn the first time around, with him.

The fight was in the streets, and it was becoming a stalemate. Not that he and his partners for the evening would give up. But he was looking for an opening, a moment to retreat, regroup, then reappear with a new attack plan.

But the moment never came, because suddenly one of their enemies shouted.

“Boss said it’s a go! She’s blowin’!”

Before any of them could comprehend the warning, a building down the block – a lab, if Bruce had his bearings right – shuddered in an explosion. Glass from windows spraying into the street, flames pushing out right after. Dust and ash came at them in a typhoon-like wave.

And the gang members in the street laughed.

“You’re fucked.” One nearby cackled. When he came back into view, he had a gasmask on. “You’re so fucked, Batman.”

Bruce punched him in the Adam’s apple, and let him drop to the ground unconscious.

“Something’s in that building.” Bruce said through the comms. “How dangerous?”

“Gotham Labs.” Tim’s voice crackled. Bruce still couldn’t see him in the floating dust. “No major projects that I know of. Or dangerous. Vegan cosmetics was the last big thing I heard about coming from there.”

“And now it’s all up in flames?” Stephanie sighed. “So much for stealing Batman’s credit card on its launch date.”

“Spoiler, please.” Tim snorted.

Before Bruce could scold them, tell them to focus, get them to get these thugs off the street, there was a shriek from the lab, and a shape running from the destroyed building.

“Take care of them.” Bruce ordered. “I’m going up ahead.”

Stephanie and Tim both gave their affirmatives, and jumped back into fighting the henchmen, now with a small element of surprise in the fog. As Bruce ran forward, he saw the shape was a woman in a lab coat.

“Help!” She was screaming. “Someone…anyone! Police! Ambulance! Help!”

“Ma’am.” Bruce called as he approached, careful not to scare her. She turned towards him with tears cascading down her face.

Bruce frowned. She…was clean. No ash, no burns. Her hair wasn’t even out of place. He glanced back towards the building, now smoking.

“Are you alright?”

“What? Oh, me? Yes. I’m fine. We’re all fine.” She sniffed, trying to wipe at her face. “But he’s not. He’s trapped and…and I don’t think there’s any vents in there, and we can’t-”

“He who?”

“I…” The woman paused. “I don’t know. He didn’t give a name. He just…he just appeared! Out of nowhere! Got us all out of the lab, shoved us in the bunker, told us to stay there until help arrived. Then…then the explosion happened, and when we came out to check, he was still in the lab, but…but Batman…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He was bleeding when we saw him.” The woman’s tears suddenly flowed harder. “But the canisters were all broken, we could see them.”

“What was in the canisters?”

“I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The woman cried. “He…he was paying for our other research, and…and he was blackmailing us. We didn’t have a choice.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped.

“Who paid you?” He demanded. “What was in the canisters?”

“Fear gas.” The woman whispered. “Jonathan Crane was forcing us to make it. Mass produce. The…the boy tonight, he saved us, but whatever happened, all the canisters are broken, and the gas is in the lab.”

The woman hid her face.

“And there’s a failsafe on the doors.” She wailed. “That…that fucking shit is dangerous. So if even only one canister malfunctioned, the lab would seal itself shut to contain it.”

“For how long?” Bruce asked. “How long does the lab seal for?”

“I don’t know!” The woman yelled. “Crane installed it! He never told us!” She stopped her foot and pointed from where she came. “But he’s in there, the gas is flooding the place, he’s hurt, I didn’t see him have a respirator, and we can’t get him out!”

Bruce nodded, shoving his own respirator onto his face. “Stay here.”

The woman, surprisingly listened, but shouted information after him. The lab was in the basement, and the remaining scientists were still trying to first reach one of the doors to the lab through the explosion wreckage, and second, try to figure out if they could even open the door.

“Red Robin, when you’re finished, I’ll need you inside.” Bruce called through his communicator as he burst through the doors and looked for a way down. Not hard, when there were various holes in the floor from the explosion. “And both of you, there’s a potential for fear gas in the area. Masks on, now.”

They both returned an affirmative, and Barbara was immediately on the line herself, relaying last known sightings of the Scarecrow.

As Bruce got to the lower levels, he began to follow the voices, the sounds of things being thrown, or pushed. After a few rounded corners, he found the gaggle of scientists, three pushing fallen shelving units and chairs away from a large metal door, and a fourth knelt in front of said door, typing wildly on a keypad.

“It’s…it’s not working!” The typer growled in frustration. “There’s…there’s nothing I can think of! Nothing is working!”

“Then keep thinking!” Another one spat as he threw a table over the heads of the other two assisting him. “That kid is a fucking goner if we don’t get him out of there!”

Unlike the woman outside, Bruce didn’t announce his presence, just silently moved forward. As he reached them, he glanced into one of the windows next to the door, just to see what he was going to be working with. Who he was, hopefully, going to save, and not have to watch die a slow and painful death.

Immediately, his knees went weak.

The lab wasn’t that big. Smaller than an average fast food joint, but bigger than a grocery store public bathroom. Even through the opaque green gas, Bruce could see canisters lining the floor underneath the tables that followed the walls of the room, where microscopes, liquid-filled vials and partially constructed containers sat.

Each canister had a sizable hole in the side, and Bruce could only guess – remote detonation.

But none of that was important, not now, as he tried to stop himself from collapsing to his knees. What was important was the boy in the middle, wearing a black body suit, similar to Nightwing’s, and a black cape with a hood and faded gold trim.

Damian.

“Jesus Christ, no.” He gasped. The scientists nearby jumped, having still not seen him.

Luckily, it was Gotham, and even scientists were disillusioned to the sudden appearance of a vigilante. “We’ve gotta get that kid out of there, Bats. Just one inhale of that crap will make you hallucinate. He’s been in there at least ten minutes, probably more, who knows what the effects could be.”

“Death, probably.” Another one said. The one who spoke slapped her on the arm. “What? I’m being honest! That’s why we don’t have to waste, here!”

Damian hadn’t moved at their ruckus. He was lying on the ground, eyes closed, half curled in on himself, hand clutching his side. There was blood on his fingers, and coming from his nose. Even through the gas, Damian looked dirty. Tired.

Bruce wondered where he’d been sleeping. Was he sleeping? Was he safe?

But then his heart stuttered again, as he noticed something else in the room. In the corner, by a door on the other side of the room. A man. A body.

A body that was, surprisingly, breathing. A body dressed like the gang members outside, that was wearing a respirator that looked suspiciously like one Bruce knew Damian used to carry, when he was Robin.

“…You all need to get out.” Bruce found himself croaking, as his surprise and heartache began to transform into action.

“What? No way. We need to get that kid out!” The one at the keyboard countered. “And…and maybe that other one, I don’t know if he’s even still…”

“I’ll handle it. Now go.” Bruce heard a click on his communicator, other chatter. Alfred it sounded like, to Barbara. Dick, too. He was at the cave with Alfred. The scientists didn’t move. “I said now!”

The four jumped again, and one by one began to slowly move. The last one, the man at the door, stopped on his way. “…You get that kid out, Batman, or so fucking help me.”

Bruce glared down at him. The man shrunk away and ran after his coworkers.

Bruce looked back into the room. The man in the corner was unconscious, he could tell that much. But still.

Bruce put his hand on the window. “…I don’t know what to call you.”

Damian twitched at the noise, and twisted his head to look at Bruce directly. His mask was still green, and it didn’t move as he frowned.

“Oh, great.” Damian sighed, dropping his head. “You.”

“I’m going to get you out, son.” Bruce said. “I promise.”

“Save it.” Damian huffed. But it was quick, and Bruce knew it was because he was trying not to breathe. “I’m not talking to you, Mother.”

Bruce blinked.

The gas. The hallucinations were your fears.

“It’s…it’s me.” Bruce tried instead. “Not your mother.”

Damian turned away, rolled with a groan to lay on his back. “My father doesn’t show up in real life, why would he show up in a fear-induced hallucination?”

Bruce almost smiled at his attitude. He was trying to fight the gas, like it was a sentient being. That was so like him.

God, Bruce missed it.

“I…Rob…” Bruce swallowed. “Da-”

“Do not say another word, Master Bruce.” Alfred scolded on the communicator. His voice was loud. “Focus on getting that door open.”

“I…right.” Bruce shook his head, and crouched, pulling out a code-breaking device from his utility belt.

“Tim will be in to help you in a few minutes.” Dick now, but he sounded distracted. “And we should be only a few minutes behind him.”

Bruce froze. “…What?”

“We’re coming.” Dick said plainly. “We’re coming to get Damian.”

“Wait, no.” Bruce growled. “Nightwing, you’re not recovered yet. A-Alfred, you’re…you are not to be in the field. It’s not safe-”

“And you will have your hands full with the other man in the chamber.” Alfred shot back. “Not to mention, you only have a respirator for yourself. From your cowl footage, it’s clear Damian gave his to that man. You know as soon as you get in there, he will be in the throws of the effects of the gas, and won’t recognize you. He doesn’t recognize you now. He will fight you, or flee, before you can get him any kind of help.”

“And we are not letting that happen.” Dick hissed. “We’re bringing Damian home, Bruce, or so help me-”

“It’s not safe.” Bruce snapped back, hitting buttons on his device. He could hear Damian babbling in the lab now. Talking about how he’s not scared of anything, least of all his father, or his judgment. Which, of course, Bruce knew, meant the complete opposite. He ignored the guilt in his heart, at least for a moment. “You are both to stay in the cave and wait for-”

“Bruce.” Alfred said coldly. “I am coming to get my grandson. Nightwing is coming to get his brother. And there is not a goddamn thing you can do to stop us.”

Bruce heard the distinct sound of a link click off.

“…So…” Stephanie chimed in after a moment. “Red’s on his way in and…I guess I’ll wait out here for Nightwing and, uh, Penny-One to arrive.”

Bruce frowned, squeezed the device in his hand a little too tightly, heard it creak in his grip. He continued to search through codes, the others be damned.

They didn’t know what he would do. Their beliefs were wrong. He wouldn’t worry about the man who clearly stabbed his son. He was unconscious and had a breather. He was fine. Tim could take him, whenever he got there.

No. Bruce would rush in, and he’d take his son into his arms. He’d put pressure on the wound, and hold his boy, no matter how hard Damian fought him, no matter how deep in the gas’s hallucinations he was.

He’d hold his son and this time, he was not letting go. For anything, or anyone.

He heard Tim arrive behind him, and glanced back into the chamber as Tim pulled a wire from his glove to plug into the keypad on the door. Damian was muttering to himself now. But more than that, he was trembling. Sweating. His eyes were wild behind the mask, darting back and forth, or trying to keep them closed, and failing.

He stood, put his hand on the thick glass. He wondered what Damian was seeing, hearing. “Son.” He called, and Damian twitched, curling deeper into himself. “Focus on my voice.”

“No.” Damian shot back.

“Batman, it’s not a good idea.” Tim offered, clicking away on his pad. “You know he’s hearing things. It’s not coming across as you.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t be construed into something else by the time he hears it.” Tim snapped. “You know that.”

“So you want him to lie in there and suffer?” Bruce shot back. He saw Tim tighten his jaw. “The least we can do is try.”

“The least we can do is focus on getting him out of there.” Tim countered. “So save your emotional vomit for later and help me.”

He huffed a frustrated breath, but…Tim was right. Of course Tim was right. So he pushed at the door, testing how tight it was, if the explosion had loosened it at all, and settled back in next to Red Robin to hack into the system.

The code was seven digits, and after they believed they figured out three, Bruce glanced over to make sure Tim had his respirator on. Glanced up at the unsteady building around them, that could theoretically collapse on them all at any moment. After four numbers, he glanced back to Damian. His trembles had manifested constant twitching now. Fingers, ankles, lips.

The gas seemed to be settling a little now, the room a little less green. That didn’t help, of course, since Damian was on the floor, where said gas was settling. But it would make containment easier. Wouldn’t reach the city, or any one who wasn’t in this room.

One less thing standing between he and his boy.

His heart fluttered when they hit the fifth digit. Hope, he could hope, he had hope. Damian had hope.

And when Tim’s device dinged for the sixth a moment later, Nightwing and Penny-One appeared in the doorway.

Dick was in his full Nightwing uniform, the one he hadn’t yet worn since before the amnesia. The one he was wearing when he was shot, Bruce realized, as he noticed the shadow of the large bloodstain on the costume’s neck.

Alfred was in black and dull green tactical gear, a black eye mask and a clear respirator adorning his face. He had a shotgun in hand, but Bruce saw at least one more handgun on his hip.

He forgot sometimes, Alfred used to be in the British army.

“Move.” Alfred demanded. Tim shifted to the side of the door, eyes still on his tablet. Bruce didn’t. “Batman, I won’t ask again.”

“He really won’t.” Nightwing mused as they walked forward. He was just finishing putting on his own rebreather. “Seriously, Bruce. Let us handle this.”

“He is my son.” Bruce countered, but his voice wasn’t right. It wasn’t as authoritative. It was almost whiny.

Almost scared.

“And you ran him off in the first place.” Alfred countered. “So the likelihood that you are the first one he’d want to see is almost zero.”

“Not to mention, there’s an asshole in there who, by the looks of it, stabbed him.” Nightwing added, glancing into the window. “So it’d probably be better if you took care of that guy than one of us because let me tell you, B. We’re already not happy.”

Alfred pumped his shotgun. “Indeed.”

“We’d also like some cover, if you don’t mind.” Dick said brightly. “There’s still been no sign of Crane. And if he or anyone else shows up while we’re trying to wrangle Damian, there could be trouble.” Dick looked over with a dark grin. “And we don’t want any more trouble, you know?”

And he did. Bruce did know. Bruce knew all of that, and on a normal case, he’d have already suggested and done all of it.

But, still. His heart was getting in the way. For once, his heart was overriding his head, and all he found himself saying was, “But he’s my son…”

For the first time that night, Alfred softened a little. He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “So let us help you get your son home safely.”

At that moment, Damian screamed. No words, just a loud sound as he dropped to his back, body bowing as his chest and hips lifted.

Dick swallowed. “Red.”

“I’m working on it!” Tim snapped, angrily punching buttons on his tablet. There was the sound of something falling across the room. “I think if I can just…”

The tablet beeped, and the door sighed as the seal broke.

Dick was at the door instantly, digging his fingers into the seam until the door shifted. Bruce grabbed it too, pulling it until the gap was wide enough for their bodies to slip through.

“Kid!” Dick was calling as he fell into the room first. Damian growled in response. Dick jumped across the room anyway, dropping to his knees. “I’ve got you.”

Tim got into the room next, and he silently went for Damian’s assailant. Then Alfred, who followed Dick. Bruce remained just inside the room.

“Can you hear me?” Dick asked quietly, running his hand over Damian’s hair. “Can you hear me, D?”

“Fuck off.” Damian gasped, pulling away from Dick’s hand and struggling to twist up onto his elbows. His cape twisted around his biceps. “F-fuck off, I don’t have to listen to you.”

“I know.” Dick said smoothly. He glanced at Alfred, who already had gauze out, and was trying to assess Damian’s injuries. “…Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“What, did Satan suddenly forget his own name?” Damian spat, waving his arm like he was swatting at a fly around his head. “We already had this conversation last time I was in Hell, you twat.”

Bruce felt himself twitch at the statement. But he didn’t get any more time to think about it, as Tim was calling, “Any time you feel like it, Batman!”

Bruce shook his head, running over to help Tim with the other man in the lab.

“So yes, I know your name. And I know what you’re going to say.” Damian droned as he slowly shifted to his knees. “I know my parents hate me. I know I’m worthless. I know it’s my fault everyone is dead. Or was there something else you’d like to add?”

“…Oh, my boy.” Alfred whispered, and Damian froze. His eyes went wide as he slowly sat back on his knees. “My boy, it’s alright.”

Damian blinked, and tears appeared in his eyes. Almost robotically, he turned his head towards Alfred. “No.”

Alfred smiled. “Yes, my dear. It’s me. I’m here.”

“No!” Damian wailed. He turned back towards the room, searching. Eventually his eyes landed on something above and behind Dick’s shoulder. “Get him out!”

Dick glanced behind him, just to make sure there was nothing, and even looked over towards Bruce and Tim. They both shrugged.

“Pennyworth does not belong in Hell.” Damian hissed. “You’ve stolen him, haven’t you. You’ve stolen him and you’ve trapped him here, you overgrown piece of shit. No wonder you were kicked out of Heaven, you absolute waste of space!”

Damian tried to lunge, but the slice in his side reacted to the movement, and he recoiled instantly, shoving his hand against it.

“I’ll duel you.” He decided. “I’ll duel you for his soul, and I’ll kill you. Then I’ll rule Hell, and I’ll be sure to get all the souls you’ve stolen out.”

“Damian.” Alfred tried softly. He passed the gauze to Dick. “My dear boy, I’m not in Hell.” He reached out and carefully took Damian’s hand between both of his. Damian’s eyes, impossibly, grew wider, as he turned to look at Alfred once more. “And neither are you.”

“I should be.” Damian breathed. “I should be for what I did to you.”

“You did nothing to me.” Alfred promised. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

It was mine. Bruce thought, as he rolled the man and pulled his arms together for Tim. It was mine, and I let Damian take the blame.

“I should have done something. I should have figured something else out.” Damian gasped, tears rolling down his face. He jerked, but didn’t take his eyes off Alfred, as Dick pressed the gauze to his side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Damian.” Alfred promised, squeezing Damian’s hand. “Absolutely nothing.”

“D, I need you to breathe.” Dick hummed. Damian jumped again, looked towards him. “Or, well, I need you to breathe slower. In and out.”

“I’m sorry.” Damian continued, eyes looking around the space, looking right through Dick. There was an accent in his voice now, and both Dick and Alfred knew too well that his accent only returned when their boy was at his lowest. “Pennyworth, I…I should have sacrificed myself. Bane would have happily killed me instead of you.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Alfred continued to try to soothe. “Damian, just focus on my voice, alright?”

“I should have let him kill me. I should have been there for Grayson.” Damian rambled. “I could have pushed him out of the way. Taken the bullet.” He tried to tug his hand from Alfred’s but the old man wouldn’t let go. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I belong here. I failed you, and I failed Grayson and I am worthless so of course I belong down here in this god forsaken pl-”

“Hey.” Dick whispered. Balancing holding the pressure against Damian’s wound in one hand, he reached for Damian’s free hand with the other. Damian’s fingers twitched in his grip, and he watched with almost glee as recognition hit Damian’s eyes. “Kiddo, you didn’t fail me.”

Damian’s tears fell faster.

“You have never failed me a day in your life.” Dick smiled. “And look, see? I’m right here. I’m fine.”

“G-Grayson?” Damian murmured hopefully.

“Right here, Damian.” Dick nodded. Damian blinked at him, then looked at Alfred, then back. Then his eyes seemed to roam the room, like he was seeing it for the first time. He even looked over to Bruce, Tim and the man in the corner. “I came home.”

“…I’m sorry.” Damian whispered, looking back towards Dick. “I should have been there.”

Dick kept his grin, and shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t have.” He glanced behind Damian, watched as Alfred let go of his hand to reach into one of his pockets. It reappeared with the extra respirator they had brought, and he silently held the back of Damian’s head as he pressed it to his face. Once again, Damian didn’t seem to notice the action, nor Alfred retaking his hand. “I’m frankly real damn glad you weren’t.”

“It’s my job to protect Batman. My Batman.” Damian continued, frantically trying to blink the tears from his eyes. He turned to Alfred. “It’s my job to protect my family.”

“It’s not.” Alfred smiled too. “Your job as always been to allow us to love you, and to come home safe at the end of the day.”

“Your job is to be a kid.” Dick added. “Right now, your job is to not bleed out on this floor. Think you can do that for me?”

But Damian was shaking his head. Damian was pulling his trembling hands from theirs and hiding his face behind them as he doubled over himself and pressed his head to his knees.

“I’m sorry.” He cried. “I’m so sorry.”

“…I don’t think he believes they’re real.” Tim whispered as he leaned back from the unconscious man.

Bruce shook his head. “He won’t until his system is free of the gas.”

“Or until he stops losing blood.” Tim hummed. “We’ve gotta get him back to the cave.”

“I’m so sorry.” Damian continued across the room. “Please forgive me. Please, please forgive me.”

“…I agree.” Bruce sighed. He watched as Alfred pulled Damian’s hand back into his, and ran the other along the back of his head. As Dick, keeping one hand against the injury, wrapped his arm around Damian’s back and leaned his cheek on his shaking spine. “We need to get him home.”

“Want me to deal with this guy while you go with them?” Tim asked, pushing himself onto his feet.

Bruce watched for a moment longer. Listened as Damian sobbed, as Damian hated himself. Watched as Dick closed his eyes in sorrow, as Alfred wiped away his own tears too.

“No, I’ll…I’ll stay. They have him.” Bruce admitted, despite how tight his heart felt. “The more of us finishing this up, the faster we can all get home and be with him.” Tim nodded and helped Bruce to his feet, then leaned over to haul the man up. “…Nightwing.”

Dick opened his eyes and glanced over. After a moment, he nodded and sat back up. “Alfie.”

Alfred nodded too, reaching into another pocket and pulling out a syringe. Dick gently rolled Damian to his side, which Damian surprisingly allowed, and carefully gathered the boy into his arms.

“P-Please forgive me.” Damian continued, still hiding his eyes behind his one hand. As soon as he was settled, Alfred leaned forward and plunged the needle into his throat.

Like everything else, the fear gas made it so Damian didn’t notice.

They were all silent as the effects took hold. As Damian’s cries slowed, and tapered off into slow, watery breathes. As his hand dropped from his face in unconsciousness.

It was like a funeral procession as they left the remnants of the lab. Dick first, Damian in his arms. Alfred right behind them. Tim and Bruce bringing up the rear with the nameless man between them.

On the street, the GCPD were already swarming, taking the rest of the gang into custody. The plane Alfred and Dick brought sat in the middle of the road not far away.

“Get him home.” Bruce murmured as he passed Dick. “Call with any updates. We should be back soon.”

“Take your time.” Dick hummed. “It’s going to take us a while to get him stable.”

Bruce nodded, and gave Dick’s shoulder a grateful squeeze. He nodded to Alfred, who gave him a grim smile, and then they parted ways. Bruce watched as they loaded into the plane, as it took off down the street.

He exhaled, and let himself smile, just a little.

He’d found him. He’d found his boy.

It was another two or so hours before the rest of them could clamor home, the city saved, the day won. They’d found Crane, and they each took an extra punch or two to him, in honor of Damian.

But when Bruce stepped out of the Batmobile in the cave, the first sound to greet his ears was Damian crying. Still.

He frowned as he moved up the stairs. Had the gas not worn off yet? Why hadn’t they given him an antidote?

But he stopped as the medbay came into view. Damian was hooked up to every machine available, injuries bandaged and Dick was lying next to him on the cot. Damian himself was sat up, and engulfed in the embrace of one Alfred Pennyworth.

“You’re alive.” He was wailing, clinging to Alfred’s torso. To Dick, who was rubbing his back, he cried, “You came back.” Then to both, even as Alfred tried to wipe at the boy’s eyes. “You’re both here.”

“Like we could ever stay away from you, kiddo.” Dick smirked.

But still, among the tears of relief and reunion, was the litany that wasn’t as influenced as the fear gas as they’d hoped.

“I’m sorry.” Damian whispered. Alfred just stroked at his hair. Dick just rolled over and wrapped his arms around his waist, careful of the now bandaged stab wound nearby. “I’m so sorry. For everything that’s happened. For everything I did. Everything I didn’t do.”

It was something they’d have to work on, all of them. And a confrontation was coming, Bruce knew. But that was okay. That was fine. It didn’t matter. There was only one thing that mattered. One thing that Bruce, and everyone, was grateful for.

Damian was home.

[valiantly-onward]

The Serpentine War Ch. 5

Chapter 5: Fire And Water

Ray drew a hand across the back of his scruff. He needed a shave, badly. He used to shave every other day. But used to was so long ago. Ray hadn’t realized how many months had flown by until Maya mentioned something about his improvement since the New Year.

“What?” he said, parrying her strike.

Maya lowered her katana. “Your form. It actually looks like a form now.”

In Maya-speak, that meant brilliant, so Ray took it.

Maya frowned in concentration. She was about his age, seventeen or eighteen, and wore a simple red outfit that made Ray feel self-conscious about his own ripped jacket. Black hair hung lightly over her shoulders. She had a proud face - high cheekbones and dark, pretty eyes.

She raised the blade again. “I’ll defend this time.”

So she did. Back and forth they went, so painfully slow that Ray wanted to burst. But it was working - last week, they’d reviewed the moves at full speed and Ray kept up.

They worked themselves to a sweat until the monastery door slid open. They stopped to face Wu as he stepped down into the courtyard.

“Good morning, Master Wu.” Maya bowed.

Ray tried not to wrinkle his nose. Maya always called the guy Master but the word felt alien on Ray’s tongue, especially applied to a man who looked barely older than Ray himself (though Ray suspected he wasn’t). And Wu didn’t seem to mind, title or no.

Nevertheless, Ray nodded his head respectfully. Steam wafted from the teacup in Wu’s hand. In his other hand was the ever-present Nin-Jo, the bamboo weapon that Maya favored. Ray had laughed the first time he saw her training with it. Three seconds later, when the butt of the staff swung against his gut, he promised himself he’d never laugh again.

Wu sipped his tea. “Good morning. Today, we shall train powers.”

A frown flitted across Ray’s face, which Wu ignored. Ray thought of all those months ago, and the promise the Master made.

I am a ninja, Wu had said. But I will not teach you to be a ninja. I will teach you what you need to know to face the Serpentine. You will learn your powers. You will learn strength. More will follow in time.

But Ray had not faced the Serpentine. He had not learned his powers either. They refused to emerge. A dark thought lingered in Ray’s mind. Was it possible for Elemental powers to skip two generations?

Ray’s only consolation was that Maya was struggling too, and she’d been at this much longer than he had. At least she could move water. Fire would not listen to Ray.

Wu left his cup on the patio for a moment and stepped toward them. He set a water bucket down right before Maya - where had that come from? - and said, “Maya, remember what we’ve talked about. Flow. Move with the water, like the water.”

Maya nodded and faced Ray with an unreadable expression. From what Ray could gather, Maya was a private person, which meant that was about as much as Ray could gather. What little else he knew? A) she was pretty, b) she was smart, c) her presence at the monastery was about getting out from under her parents’ thumbs, and d) the two of them were alike like that. But unlike him, she’d been training with Wu for years.

“Ray,” Wu said, and Ray tried not to treat it like a rude interruption of his thoughts. “Your powers are being stubborn. But fire is not stubborn. It leaps out, eager to consume all it touches. Harness that feeling.”

“Let’s just do it.” Ray closed his eyes as he’d watched Maya do.

He tried. For many long moments, he tried. The mountain wind mussed his hair. He could hear the water in Maya’s bucket swishing. The good thing about Maya, he had to admit, was that she never rubbed anything in his face. Not even this.

No. Don’t think about the water. Just fire. Fire.

For a moment, Ray thought he’d found it. It was there, a word on the tip of his tongue, Serpentine sand slipping through fingers. Just - a moment - longer -

Ray growled with frustration and forced his eyes open. Maya was scowling at her bucket. The swishing was just the wind playing with it.

Ray kicked over the bucket.

“Hey!” Maya’s gaze shot up. Water spilled over the stones, darkening them.

“This is taking too much time!” Ray protested. He turned toward Wu for a moment, who looked concerned. “The Serpentine are out there and we’re here - doing this!”

When Wu said nothing, Ray fisted his hand and strode toward the monastery doors. “I’m just no good at this. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Ray,” Maya called.

Ray did not reply.

“Ray!” Maya bellowed.

Ray spun around, meaning to bellow back, but he pulled up short. Just between him and Maya, a small ribbon of red light flickered in the air. No, not light. Flame, disembodied from either candle or torch.

Ray stepped forward, circling the hovering flame but not touching it. “How -”

“You weren’t trying so hard,” Maya said. “Maybe that has something to do with it.”

He fumed. “So don’t try. How am I supposed to focus by not focusing?”

Then Wu stepped forward from his long silence on the patio. His expression hadn’t changed, still drawn and serious, but it seemed lighter somehow. He stopped between them, just shy of the fire.

“I believe we need to switch teachings,” he said finally. “Maya.” He tapped her shoulder with his staff. “You must be fierce. After all, a tsunami is the fiercest force in all nature. Ray.” Wu let his fingers curl around the floating flame. “You must flow. Let go. Fire can flow, and even become something beautiful.”

He gathered the spark above his palm and tossed it like he was tossing a ball. Ray caught it by reflex. It twirled over his fingers once before vanishing.

Ray opened his mouth to ask a question, but suddenly Wu stiffened, like he’d been struck. His gaze fixed on something over Ray’s head. Ray turned, squinting into the cloudy sky. Then he saw it. Up high, something was darkening a piece of the sun.

“Is that -” Maya started.

But Wu was already moving toward the red monastery doors. Ray exchanged a look with Maya, and rushed after him.

The dragon landed in the rocks outside the walls. Ray could tell immediately it was an Elemental dragon akin to the golden one Wu could create. Smoke rolled off its dark wings. It was grey, with cracks like white lava splitting its scales. Green frills sprouted around its neck.

As soon as the rider slipped to the ground, the dragon vanished in a whirl of grey smoke. The woman scrambled over the rocks, urgency in every movement.

“Wu,” the woman said when she reached the stairs. “They’ve done it. They’ve broken the line along the Sea of Sand.”

Wu took her arm as she nearly slipped on the stone stairs. “Their movements?”

“North. No Anacondrai yet, but they will soon follow.”

“They will try to break through the Echo Canyons. If we could hold them there…” Wu trailed off as he noticed Ray and Maya standing in the great doorway. The woman noticed them too. She wore purple robes, all cheekbones and dark hair. She pressed her pink lips together as she considered them alongside Wu. Ray was surprised that she looked about his age. But seeing as twenty-something Wu was actually a hundred years old or older, Ray didn’t trust his eyes much.

“Lei,” Wu said. “These are the young Masters of Water and Fire. Ray, Maya, this is Lei, the Master of Shadow.”

“That’s not an element,” Ray said.

Lei sniffed. “Don’t get haughty because yours is an Element of creation, Master of Fire. Wu, we need to move.”

Ray’s heart began racing. For these many months, Wu had apprised them of the situation. Small battles raged across the Sea of Sand. The Elemental Masters had erected a defensive line from Primeval’s Eye to the southern tip of the Echo Canyons. But there was only so much nine Elemental Masters could do against the armies of the Serpentine. That they had held out this long was incredible. But if the line was broken…

He realized Wu was frowning at him. Ray got the feeling that the guy knew exactly what was going through Ray’s head and he didn’t like it.

“You’re not ready, Ray,” Wu said.

“All due respect, Wu,” Lei interjected. “But it doesn’t matter if they’re ready or not. We need everyone.”

All was silent for a moment. Wu tapped his foot angrily.

“Tell the Elemental Masters to fall back to the Echo Canyons,” he said finally. “I will send these two with you to guard Jamanakai Village. Can your dragon carry them?”

Lei’s face seemed to fall a little but she nodded.

“Good.” Wu surveyed the three of them. “Come. Let’s get our friend some food, and then we’ll talk.”

~~~

The good thing about having nothing was that there was very little to pack. Ray stuffed a sleeping roll in his bag, along with an extra pair of underclothes and robes. The robes were the red ones Wu had given him upon arrival, the robes of a Master of Fire. Using the monastery forge, Ray had crafted an armored chest plate and pauldrons to go with them. But after he’d finished, staring at the dragon head engraved in metal and the red robes laid across his bed, Ray couldn’t bring himself to put them on. He didn’t feel worthy of them, not yet.

Maybe, at Jamanakai, he would.

Ray stepped out of his room. Maya was moving about in her quarters, just down the hall. For the first time, the door was thrown wide open. Ray slipped his bag over his shoulder and strode to the open doorway. Leaning against the frame, he watched Maya sit on her floor, her legs folded beneath her as she closed her bag.

Her room was cleaner than his, even though she had collected more things from her years at the monastery. A few seashells and stones sat neatly on a bedside shelf. Her screen window was open to the red-leafed trees that clung to the mountainside.

“He’s right,” Maya said, without looking up. “We’re not ready.”

“You’re telling me.” Ray knocked his head against the frame and let his eyes wander to the window. He started to say something but nothing came out.

Maya climbed to her feet. “You’re a good warrior, Ray. You’ve learned a lot in such limited time. Even without your powers, you’ll be okay.”

This was the most that Maya had ever said to him in one setting, and the nicest thing he’d heard come out of her mouth. Ray stared at her. “But my powers.”

“There’s something called true potential.” Maya hugged her bag. “Master Wu told me about it. When you reach your true potential, its supposed to help you unlock the full extent of your powers.”

True potential. “When?”

Maya shrugged. “If I knew, I’d tell you. I haven’t found mine yet. That’s why I can’t control water like I should.” She paused, hesitating. “I...procrastinated training all these years. Focused on weapons. Wu let me, but I don’t think he will any longer.”

Ray’s heart fell. If in years of training Maya hadn’t found her true potential, what hope did Ray have? “So I might never reach it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Maya replied.

“Didn’t you?”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Ray’s heart thumped unexpectedly, even as his frustration cooled. They always seemed so ready to argue - or rather, he did, but he wasn’t sure how to stop himself.

Maya looked away, taking her bag by the straps. “See you out there.”

She shoved past him into the hallway. Ray remained for a moment. He released a sound of frustration before pushing himself off the doorframe.

He paused as he passed the forge on the way back out. It was cold most days. Unless you counted Ray, it had been a long time since the monastery had a proper blacksmith. But it was in the forge that Ray felt the most like the proclaimed Master of Fire - surrounded by flames he could manipulate, by heat he was able to withstand when no one else could.

Ray stared at the hearth for a moment. Then he continued on to the courtyard, and Lei, and the war.

@greenygreenland