#not an in depth discussion of current events but i do hint at that so potential content warning just in case

[stormcloudrising]

I was wondering if you have any metas discussing the white walker threat. Or maybe know of any that you like? There’s so much content about Dany and the Fire threat and what GRRM is saying with it. But most of what I’ve seen about the Ice/white walkers is like “oh, it’s global warming” and then nothing deeper really.

Hi Nonny,

Thanks for the interesting ask. I tried to answer a couple of nights ago and accidentally deleted my response, which I think was much better than this one. I tried to remember everything I wrote but no doubt, I forgot some things and my second response is not as concise.

I have not written any in-depth metas on the White Walkers/Others yet. I add that caveat because the topic of the Others will play a big role in the final two parts of my Florian and Jonquil series.

The Others and their motivation are the great mystery that’s been hanging over the series since the opening prologue of AGOT. What do they want? Why are they back? Basically, what’s their motivation?

I will say that I don’t think it’s that they want to extinguish all known life to get rid of memory as was D&D’s BS explanation on the show. However, I do think that it’s possible they want to prevent humans from entering the weirwoods, and so on some level, their motivation maybe about wanting to get rid of the memory of the trees. It isn’t, as the show suggested to arbitrarily kill all living men. 

Nonetheless, even though D&D’s writing was atrocious once they moved past the books, and their explanation for the Others made no sense, I do think that they dropped many hints on the show about actual upcoming events in the books. This is what made their writing doubly horrible. They knew the actual outcome of the books but didn’t have the interest in putting in the effort and time to do the story justice simply because they wanted to move on to another project. 

I think that when TWOW comes out, fans will look back on the show and say, oh, that’s why D&D did that nonsense that made no sense. And yes, I do think that there is a very strong chance we get TWOW, but unless George is lying to us and he’s writing both books before making the publication announcement, I don’t think that we will ever get ADOS. 

However, there will likely be enough in TWOW to allow fans to extrapolate the ending of the series. The funny thing is that Dan and Dave may think and hope that fans may look more positively upon the things they did on the show, but, if possible, it will be even worse for them as fans will call them out even more for not following through on all the beats in George’s story.

George doesn’t write evil for evil’s sake ala Sauron and the Orcs. He also doesn’t write characters that are purely good like the Hobbits and the Elves who purpose is simply to oppose the evil villains. He, as he has said on multiple occasions, writes about the human heart in conflict. 

This says to me that there is much more to the story of the NK, the Others, and their motivation than is currently suggested on the page or from the mouths of characters. I suspect that their motivation will be more like that of Ineluki and the Sithi from Tad Williams’ Memory Sorrow and Thorn that George has said inspired him to write ASOIAF.

My other reason for thinking that there is more to the Others than meets the eyes is because their legend is closely connected to House Stark, and let’s face it, the Starks are the central protagonists of the story. 

This is not to say that past, current, and future Starks have not done, and will not do some arguably dark deeds that may surprise fans. They certainly will.  This is more obviously foreshadowed in Arya’s arc, but it’s there for Bran, and strongly for Jon and Sansa as well. Revenge is a dish best served cold after all.  

If you have read any of my essays, particularly my Florian and Jonquil series, you know that I’ve proposed that those two ancient characters were the NK and CQ and leader of the Others, and that the same will be true of Jon and Sansa. This may sound as sacrilegious to some as saying Dany will be the major villain at the end sounds to other parts of the fandom. Nevertheless, I think both will be the case.

I’ll be going into this idea in more detail in my last two chapters of the Florian and Jonquil series, but I propose that George has been setting up Jon and Sansa as the NK/CQ since the first book. Originally, I think the plan was for Jon and Arya to play those roles, but somewhere in the writing of AGOT, he switched it to be Jon and Sansa.

In my opinion, he’s been dropping clues since AGOT and has up the quotient in AFFC and ADWD, as well as the Alayne preview chapter from TWOW. These clues include Jon’s murder at the Wall; placing Sansa in the Vale; her coming up with the idea of Winged Knights to protect Sweet Robin to mirror the Kingsguard, and the little boy’s request that there be 8 instead of 7; the fact that Jon and Sansa are the only two starklings referred to as the Blood of Winterfell; Ghost and Shade; making them both bastards; and Harry asking for Sansa’s favor to name just a few.

George is an expert at wordplay as is the case with any good writer. He uses play on words throughout the text in most interesting ways where a sentence or passage can have double meaning. He does this in the Alayne preview chapter for TWOW when Harry the Heir asks Sansa for her favor the night before the Tourney begins.

He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek. "Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I'll be all the spice you'll want."

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. —TWOW, Alayne I

George loves to use ellipses to indicate information is missing and to make the reader wonder what he might be hiding. Sansa tells Harry that her favor and all that implies is promised to another, or in other words…pun fully intended, her favor is promised to *an Other. *

There is another bit of wordplay in the same chapter that tips to Sansa being the CQ as well and this time it comes from Petyr.  Sansa the Chthonic Persephone character of the story descends to the underground granary, a symbolic underworld where the wheat is being stored for the winter. Here she meets with the pseudo-Hades and we get this dialogue.

“Yes," she said, "but he thinks that I'm a bastard."

"A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector's daughter." Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."—TWOW, Alayne I

The night belongs to Sansa. Interesting wordplay when you consider the tale Old Nan told the kids about the Night King. More importantly for this brief analysis is a certain part of her tale Bran remembers when at the Nightfort.

No, Bran thought, but he walked in this castle, where we'll sleep tonight. He did not like that notion very much at all. Night's King was only a man by light of day, Old Nan would always say, but the night was his to rule. And it's getting dark. —ASOS, Bran IV

When you consider all the clues tying Sansa to the CQ, one can see how the comment by Petyr, just as the new Long Night is about to fall mirrors the one Old Nan told to Bran. The NK was a man by day, but the night was his to rule…suggesting as LML and others have proposed, the night he ruled was the Long Night. And he did not rule alone, he had a queen by his side.

So, the night belongs to Sansa, and the night is also destined to be ruled by the NK who was also the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, and the brother of the man who brought him down. See where I’m going.

Old Nan is right. It is getting dark, because winter is coming and the king and queen of the Long Night shall rule.

Regarding other metas about the Others, LML has a few theories, which you can find on his YouTube channel here. Sweetsunray is another person who has put forth some interesting hypothesis on her blog. LML’s theories are based on mythological symbolism, while Sweetsunray is partially centered around George’s previous writings in his Thousand World universe. I don’t necessarily agree with all their theories, but they are certainly thought provoking and worth a listen and or read.

Again, thanks for the ask.

[einsamkalte]

ooc. tl;dr sorry for the absence and hopefully the coming weeks i’ll be around more on this gal + my other blogs.

without getting into current events, lemme just say things have been really uh, wild offline for me the past few weeks and work is kind of eating me alive at times. i will admit it’s dulled some of my muse for at least two of the characters i write (and effectively pushed me into dropping at least one character i was excited to take back up) and has generally made it difficult to write. i’m sure i’m not the only one running into a wall like this and getting stressed out and that we’re all of us going through a hard time right now.

anyway!

i was debating going on hiatus (on weiss + at least one of my other characters, if not 3 of the 4) but i’m not sure if that’s going to end up making me feel more or less stressed / guilty for being absent from a hobby i enjoy. like i figured i’d be able to ease back into things once i started the new job and then lol no! anyway. anyway! i’m getting off-track here and this is half for my own peace of mind anyway.

basically i just wanna say that i will be sticking around and staying off hiatus if i can mentally + physically + emotionally handle that, but that i will still likely be lower on the activity side until things... stabilize. i like my job in the pharmacy, don’t get me wrong! it’s just not leaving me with a lot of energy for my writing, both for myself and for roleplay. so again, thanks and sorry if you read this far lol. (also i’m sorry for the gigantic pile of unanswered asks in my inbox, weiss has been a somewhat nerve-wracking muse for me given that rwby is relatively popular and well-known, so that’s all on me being a wuss. i’ll try to eventually clear those all out... no matter how old. i still really appreciate all the IC messages i’ve gotten!! ;; )

[whysojiminimnida]

So What's with Jimin Lately, You Asked

WARNING THIS IS A LONG-ASS POST And please remember that this is a NO SOURCE NO RECEIPTS HOUSEHOLD OKAY. I don't know shit, I ain't confirming a damn thing, anything you read is my opinion based on maybe info or maybe utter garbage. That's my disclaimer and I am STICKING TO IT. I can't be the only one who has noticed our Jiminie looking a bit...like this, recently:

And I think I may have one reason why.

Scandals are a fact of life among idols. What in the West might be considered a normal life event is, in the world of the K-pop system, often a career-ending event. Like, IDK, members dating actual women. Or men. Or each other.

In the last couple of months, all of these things have been alleged - one of them in the press. The other two, behind the scenes. We know about Jimin's mail being stolen and the security failure there, and it's not a stretch to believe that security for BTS overall has taken a hit. It was adequate, even excellent, for years. BigHit pays very well.

But information pays better, and blackmail pays best. Lest you think "NO but that whole Taehyung-Jennie thing was a stunt"... maybe. Maybe not. Tae, actually, is one of the most scandal-proof idols in the business because he primarily or only dates women. Sorry not sorry, I said what I said and I ain't wrong.

I have said privately, if not publicly, that Hybe will NEVER DENY THOSE RUMORS because Taehyung himself will not deny them. They aren't even bothering to keep them out of the press.

Being straight or even passably so is not a problem, for artists on Bangtan's level (is anyone else even ON Bangtan's level? NO.) The Jeon-Parks, though.

See, the thing about being *gaily involved* in Korea is that... it's a problem no matter how famous or powerful you are. Idols are not immune - ask Holland.

That's Homo Hill, kids - the WeHo of Seoul. The gayest gayborhood in the entire of Korea. And famous unstr8 people are not safe, there, now.

There was a pay-for-info attempt floating around about JeiKei awhile back. And he was alibi'd for the date(s) in question. Wasn't there, wasn't him, the fakes were good but not good enough to put him somewhere he wasn't. You maybe didn't hear about it because those of us who did, didn't discuss it out loud.

More recently, though.... I'm gonna say this in public this ONE TIME and we will not speak of it again. OKAY? Okay. Sometimes people are for sale that shouldn't be. And security failure has happened more than once in the last couple of months - a problem that, I am told, has since been rectified. And I am not saying money changed hands, do not get me wrong. I'll come find you if you say I said that. But there are REASONS that Jimin and Jungkook are currently not sharing vehicles, not being seen as too friendly, are not "together" in public, not even in interviews or photoshoots. Sometimes a bit of perceived distance is necessary. I don't feel like I should or should need to elaborate.

Add to that the depth of emotional and psychological damage, it's no wonder Jimin doesn't trust anyone, very much, lately.

My favorite couple have not been seen together in public since their off period began and I don't think I need to further expound on why, unless you're completely unaware of the eyes that are currently on BTS as a whole. (Sorry, I keep deleting stuff. This is taking longer than I thought). But Jimin was the one whose security had already failed - enough that Hybe had to clean up after them.

The others have had sasaeng problems and those are constant and pretty normal business. All idols get that. But all of them are not Park "It Boy" Jimin.

So being threatened with a very real tax lien, and immediately following that even a hint of the possibility of being outed, right NOW? I've deleted a lot more than I can ever write on how gross, how invasive, that is. And that when this is his normal commute:

In the West, Jimin gets a lot of hate from cultists and we don't like to talk about that. But within the last year, a small but rude wave of anti-Jimin sentiment has made its way into Korea. Airplanes and money exist. I've been shocked at what some people are willing to do to further their narrative. If your favorite translator can afford to hit every show with their anti buddies but can't seem to remember to support Jimin's OSTs or solo efforts, ask yourself how they benefit from that and who they support and what else they might be up to that we aren't aware of. If you casually see cult-adjacent accounts that seem to somehow be turning a for-profit narrative ask yourself what loyalty that cash might be buying. It doesn't take a lot of people to crowdfund someone's entire livelihood. Maybe 1000 at $5 a month could get it done.

HELL IF I COULD COMMAND $5K A MONTH FROM Y'ALL I WOULD MOVE OUT MY MAMA'S HOUSE NEXT WEEK AND PAY MY MEDICAL BILLS.

If y'all don't have anything else going on I'll just put me up a whole Ko-fi or Patreon and write fanfiction for a damn living and YOU THINK I AM JOKING I AM NOT EVEN. My services can be bought. Most people can, if they like what they're doing and can get paid to do it. I won't lie to you for cash and I mouth off here for free but hey, a girl needs rent all right, my fanfiction commissions are OPEN.

Get up to a quarter, half-million ad-revenued followers and do the math on that kind of income.

We can't all be Ryan Kaji, Super Spy, but it ain't for lack of trying.

Now imagine a paparazzi journalist with the idea of a second and third source of cash, plus the street cred of breaking the biggest news story in K-pop history, and their neighbor's second cousin happens to know someone with a vacant window view to a certain apartment and this is how careers get shot down and reinvented much later on another continent.

That's the level of stress, I think, for all of them in general but for Jimin in particular. Maybe on a similar level for Jungkook, somewhat less so for Taehyung. The hyungs have it a little easier, but not by much.

Now add to that Schrodinger's Hiatus and other things we never know about - family stress, life in general, maybe Jimin's plumbing went out or his invisible cat got sick, we don't know everything -- how would we begin to look at our lives, in Jimin's place? Would it be worth it?

Based on his smile at MNet last night, I really hope so.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Beautiful Time Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 锦时之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ Release Date: 24 December 2021 ]

It’s the weekend, and I’m currently nestling on the sofa. Looking at the “New Year Bazaar” proposal on the laptop screen, I excitedly give Gavin a call.

MC: Gavin, let’s go to the bazaar on the night of New Year’s Eve! Mr Keller contacted me earlier and said that Loveland High plans to organise a bazaar on the night of New Year’s Eve. The school hopes for a professional company to keep things in control, so they’ve sent me an invitation. I brought this up to Anna. The company has sufficient manpower and resources, and it’s been a very long time since we returned to our alma mater... which is why I agreed.

My words pour out in a steady stream, but I don’t hear Gavin’s voice from the other end.

MC: Gavin? 

Gavin: Mm, I’m listening.

He pauses for a moment.

Gavin: I really want to go, but the STF is holding a New Year event on New Year’s Eve for agents who aren’t able to return home. I’ll be making a speech during the event. Since there are activities after that, I’m not sure when it’d end.

When he speaks again, his tone is slightly apologetic.

Gavin: Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t go with you.

His words instantly shelve away the anticipation in my heart.

Even though I repeatedly say “it’s fine”, and tell Gavin that his participation will bring the STF agents much comfort and encouragement...

A wave of disappointment surges from the depths of my heart.

Gavin: But... although we can’t walk around the bazaar together that night, we could participate in other ways.

MC: ...hm?

I blink in confusion.

Gavin: Since you’ve agreed to take up this event, you’ll have to do on-site checks beforehand.

He responds with a question, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Gavin: How about adding one more member to your workforce?

-

It’s already winter, but the school remains filled with a lively atmosphere.

Student: Senior Gavin, could I trouble you to stick this signboard on for us?

Gavin: Sure, no problem.

Gavin takes the sign, pasting it on the booth effortlessly.

I stare at the side of Gavin’s serious and focused face.

Amid the buzz of activity, including decorating the venue and distributing the workload, we’re all active participants.

Especially Gavin, whose tall frame and strength makes him the highest in demand.

Whenever the students face any difficulties, they will subconsciously think of the legendary, somewhat frightening but actually exceptionally reliable senior.

Putting down the barricade in my hands, I sweep a glance at the words on the signboard.

MC: “Delicious Snacks Street...”

Anticipation immediately surfaces on my face.

MC: Will there be lots of unique snacks during the event?

Student A: Mm! We’ve prepared red bean steamed rice cakes, baked stuffed sesame biscuits, and baked spongy gluten...

While I’m happily discussing with the student, Gavin suddenly speaks up from beside me.

Gavin: But there’ll be a large volume of people on the day of the event. There will definitely be hidden dangers in the soot, noises, and gas tanks from the snack booths.

MC and Student A: ...

The atmosphere suddenly becomes quieter. Noticing our widened eyes, Gavin coughs softly.

Gavin: Cough. But it’s fine as long as care is taken, and there are appropriate preventative measures. Having a small snacks street is a good idea, and it should be very popular.

Once he’s done, Gavin smiles at me. I can’t help but burst into a chuckle.

Student B: Erm, sorry to disturb the both of you.

We turn towards the voice. A male student is currently looking at Gavin.

Student B: May I know if Senior Gavin... is free?

The male student’s eyes are filled with admiration as he stares at Gavin.

Student B: I’m a student participating in the lion dance performance during the New Year’s event. When I was practising earlier, Senior was there for a while too. I’ve seen lots of news related to the STF, and really respect you...

The male student appears somewhat bashful. I suddenly remember what Mr Keller mentioned when explaining the New Year’s event to me.

MC: Mr Keller mentioned that he wasn’t able to find a suitable student to operate the lion’s head. Has a student been found?

Student B: Well...

Gavin: Cough cough.

Student B: Oh! Yes, we found one!

A tinge of confusion flits across my heart. Although I wish to probe further, I spot the student gripping his phone nervously.

Student B: I was wondering if Senior Gavin would take a photo with me?

When the both of us hear this question, we’re stunned at the same time. Then, I can’t help but laugh. Taking half a step backwards, I poke Gavin on the back quietly.

Gavin blinks, then smiles in resignation.

Gavin: Sure.

Student B: That’s great!

The eyes of the male student brighten, and I volunteer to take the photo for them.

MC: Ready? Three, two... Senior Gavin, don’t look so solemn! How about striking a pose?

Gavin is taken aback.

After a moment of slightly painstaking deliberation, he suddenly lifts up his right hand, making a clumsy peace sign.

Suppressing my laughter, I press on the shutter with a “click”.

In the photo, both of their postures are somewhat stiff, but the smiles on their faces are sincere.

MC: Done!

After returning the phone to the student, I smile while watching him leave with high spirits.

Gavin: Why are you smiling so happily?

MC: I just think that no matter where you are, Officer Gavin is always in high demand!

I deliberately release a huge sigh.

MC: Looks like there’s less time for you to belong only to me...

Gavin’s gaze flashes slightly. A student’s voice suddenly rings from faraway.

Student C: Senior Gavin, could you come over and look at this cart for a while...

Hearing this, I quietly release my grip on Gavin’s hand.

He pauses. After muttering to himself, he turns his head towards the student.

Gavin: Give me a moment. I’ll head over after 10 minutes. Tell the students to take a break and put down the work on hand for now.

After saying this, Gavin takes my hand in his, warming it in his palms.

Gavin: Now, my time belongs only to you.

-

As the sky gradually darkens, the students head over to the canteen for a meal.

Gavin and I head to a classroom, waiting for the other employees to gather.

Seeing the props for the lion dance on the rostrum, I walk towards them curiously, picking one up and moving it around.

When I turn my head, I notice that Gavin is leaning against the doorway, smiling while looking at me.

Slightly embarrassed, I mutter with feigned unhappiness.

MC: Why are you laughing at me? Do you know how to perform the lion dance?

Gavin: A little.

MC: Huh?

My eyes widen in astonishment, not expecting him to actually know it.

Gavin: Not long after I joined the STF, I participated in a New Year’s event. I had squad mates who knew how to do the lion dance. While watching them rehearse, I found it pretty interesting and decided to learn a little.

Gavin walks over to me, taking the lion’s head in my hands.

Gavin: The most important thing about operating the lion’s head is being alike in spirit. For instance, this lion is searching for food.

While saying this, he lifts up the lion’s head, making it dance nimbly in his hands -

The awe-inspiring “lion” lowers its head slightly, its chin bobbing up and down, its eyes blinking in an orderly manner.

The originally stationery prop seems to have “come alive” in Gavin’s hands.

MC: ...that’s incredible!

I release a sincere gasp. In response to my “encore”, Gavin shows me how the “lion” looks when it’s frantic, and when it’s happy.

MC: HAHAHA I never knew that the lion dance could be this interesting! Are there any other moves?

Seeing the anticipation on my face, Gavin ponders for a moment before curling the corners of his lips.

Gavin: Yes.

He lifts the lion’s head once again. The “lion” blinks its eyes, drawing closer to me suddenly. Its eyelashes brush my cheek, tickling me.

I laugh out loud, and the head of the lion sways from side to side.

Noticing Gavin’s slightly sweaty fringe, I reach out to tidy it for him.

However, he leans his head forward, nuzzling against the palm of my hand.

Gavin: This is how the lion expresses liking.

The tangerine coloured sunset embellishes the entire sky.

Gavin stares at me with sparkling eyes, and I feel his warm breaths on my face.

Feeling my heartbeat accelerating slightly, I pick up the embroidered silk ball on the rostrum.

MC: A-actually, I know a little bit about the lion dance!

Gavin chuckles. He puts down the lion’s head, listening as I continue to speak.

MC: According to traditional culture, “The Lion with the Embroidered Silk Ball” symbolises the chasing away of all disasters, and how good tidings will soon arrive. As the saying goes, “The lion plays with the embroidered silk ball while fortune knocks on the door.”

Gavin: Mm, you’re right. Are there any “good tidings” that you’re looking forward to?

He leans against a table casually while watching me.

The glow of sunset streams in from the window, reminiscent of a paintbrush as it traces Gavin’s outline gently.

MC: Something I’m looking forward to...

I blink. The words, “is walking around the bazaar with you” surges to my mouth, but I swallow them back.

MC: There are too many things! I can’t think of one right now...

Gavin: There’s no hurry. Think about them one by one.

Gavin chuckles softly, his palms enveloping the hands that I’m cradling the silk ball with.

Gavin: I believe that all of them will be fulfilled.

-

Amidst the lively atmosphere, the night of New Year’s Eve arrives quickly.

Colourful lanterns are strung up in the school. Students walk around with their companions, and the small booths flanking the streets are busy.

Winding around the crowd and numerous cameras, I arrive at an empty corner.

Even though Gavin couldn’t walk around the bazaar with me, I’ve secretly prepared a surprise for him.

I take out my phone. When Gavin notifies me that he’s done with his speech, I hurriedly tap the video call function.

After a few seconds, noises can be heard from the other end.

Gavin: Hello? Can you hear me?

MC: Yes I can! Gavin, did your speech go well?

Gavin: Mm, very well.

The moment I hear his voice, the corners of my lips subconsciously curl upwards -

It feels as though I’m no longer alone in the crowd and clamour.

I happily tell him about the situation at the venue, but realise that it’s still completely dark on his end.

Gavin: Cough. It isn’t convenient for me to have the camera on right now.

He pauses for a moment before continuing.

Gavin: I think I saw cameras at the venue?

MC: Mm! I was hoping to record today’s event, so I suggested it to the school. On one hand, the results of the students’ hard work will be collected and stored. On the other hand... I wanted to give it to you as a surprise.

I smile at the camera.

MC: You were part of the preparatory process, and I hope you can feel the lively atmosphere even at the STF.

Faint breaths drift through my earplugs. Despite the clamour of the surroundings, I’m able to hear them exceptionally clearly.

Gavin: MC.

MC: Hm?

Gavin is quiet for a while. Then, he chuckles.

Gavin: Nothing much. What did you do just now?

MC: Just now?

Although I don’t know why Gavin is suddenly changing the topic, I respond frankly.

MC: I bought a bowl of glutinous rice balls. They were really delicious!

Gavin: In that case, eat more. Along with my share.

I agree happily while walking along the street, continuing to share whatever I hear and see with Gavin.

Aside from happiness, there seems to be another emotion in my heart.

I wish to snuggle up next to him and experience all of this together with him.

A winter breeze brushes my cheeks, bringing with it an icy sensation.

Rubbing my cheeks, I arrive beneath a string of lanterns. Lifting my head, I see the “Delicious Snacks Street” signboard that Gavin had personally pasted.

All of a sudden, I think about his serious and focused side profile.

Along with the warmth from his palm as he held my hand underneath the signboard.

Tender light from the lanterns enshroud figures leaning against each other and their interlaced hands. All of a sudden, I’m struck with a realisation.

Right now, the breeze doesn’t have the iciness of winter. Instead, it’s slightly warm. The words that I’ve been suppressing in the depths of my heart subconsciously slip out of my mouth.

MC: Gavin, I really miss you...

Because of the softness of my voice, I’m guessing that he probably can’t hear me.

Student: Wow! It’s the lion dance performance!

The crowd behind me suddenly explodes in cheers.

Turning my head, I spot an awe-inspiring “lion” moving towards the crowd along with the music.

MC: Do you see that? The lion dance has begun!

I relate this to Gavin excitedly, but the noise in the surroundings makes me uncertain if he responded.

The “lion” moves closer and closer to me. I’m standing in the front row, and can clearly see its robust posture.

In particular, the person operating the lion’s head. His moves are agile and nimble, which makes my worry from earlier vanish. I find myself releasing a sigh of relief.

All of a sudden, the “lion” takes large strides towards me.

After dancing in front of me for a while, it suddenly opens its mouth, handing me the embroidered silk ball in its mouth.

I catch it, feeling pleasantly surprised.

MC: Thank you!

It sways its head in acknowledgement. Then, it circles around me twice.

While the crowd in the surroundings cheer, my face flushes slightly.

The embroidered silk ball in my hand gives me a sense of déjà vu...

In the past, someone had dressed in red, crossing a bustling crowd before appearing in front of me, placing an embroidered silk ball steadily into my hands.

[Note] This is a reference to Gavin’s Splendid Glimpse Date!

I think of returning the embroidered silk ball, only to realise that the lion dance is already drawing to an end. The performers are currently walking towards the depths of the crowd.

MC: Students, wait...!

I do my best to jostle through the crowd, chasing after them.

While the students carrying the props get closer and closer, a figure runs towards me -

??: Please make way.

Someone lifting the lion’s head shuttles through the crowd. Because it’s overly crowded, he seems to have grown impatient and decides to put the lion’s head back over his head.

Thinking that another performance is starting, the crowd automatically paves a small path for him.

His footsteps are brisk and nimble. Since I’m only focused on running forward, I crash straight into him.

MC: ...ah!

??: Be careful!

I catch a whiff of a faint soap fragrance and scorching breaths. Above my head, his voice finally lands on my ears clearly.

I lift my head in a daze, meeting that pair of amber eyes.

The coloured lights are gorgeous and stirring. They illuminate Gavin’s face, leaving a gentle halo.

The moment our gazes meet, a tender emotion ripples in his eyes.

MC and Gavin: You...

We speak in unison. In the next second, he chuckles.

Gavin: I’ve kept you waiting.

While Gavin says this, a handsome smile surfaces on his lips.

Gavin: I heard what you said earlier. I really missed you too.

-

Gavin and I walk side by side around the school. I didn’t think that we’d get to walk around the bazaar together on New Year’s Eve.

Although this is a familiar setting, it seems quite different when he’s by my side.

MC: Why did you come over? Shouldn’t you be at the STF?

Gavin: Just like you, I wanted to give you a surprise.

Gavin looks at the nearby cameras, then smiles calmly.

Something seems to stir in my heart...

It turns out that we’ve been hiding a small surprise from each other, hoping that we can spend New Year’s Day together.

Gavin: I didn’t tell you beforehand just in case I couldn’t rush back in time and disappointed you.

MC: So you immediately rushed over once you were done with your speech?

Gavin: Mm. Participating in the lion dance was also one part of the surprise.

Gavin chuckles, looking at the embroidered silk ball in my hand.

Gavin: “The lion plays with the embroidered silk ball while fortune knocks on the door.” I wanted to hand this ‘good omen’ to you personally.

My heart stirs. Beneath the bright lantern lights, Gavin’s eyes look so beautiful that they leave me slightly dazed.

Although his angular face has lost its youthfulness, his gaze is still clear and pure as always.

Blinking my eyes, I take Gavin’s hand, stuffing our hands into his warm coat pocket.

MC: How did the STF’s New Year’s event go?

Gavin: It was very lively.

We continue walking down the noisy street.

Gavin: Although it was obvious that some new agents really missed home, they were very strong.

He says this calmly, and I can’t help but wonder - was Gavin like that in the past?

Suppressing the conflicted emotions in my heart, I speak slowly.

MC: Actually, when you weren’t by my side earlier, I felt that something was missing even though the surroundings were very lively. Now that you’re here, that empty space seems to have been filled quickly.

The hand holding mine tightens a little. Gavin turns his head towards me, meeting my gaze silently.

“Whoosh--”

Fireworks suddenly rise into the sky. Turning towards the sound, the magnificent fireworks bloom in the sky, akin to shooting stars.

Glancing at my phone, I see that it’s midnight.

Cheers and the sound of well-wishes are incessant. Under the influence of such an atmosphere, I turn to Gavin excitedly, swinging our interlaced hands.

MC: Gavin, happy new year!

I hug the embroidered silk ball in my hand tightly, my heart filled to the brim with a sense of satisfaction.

MC: In this new year, we will definitely have many good tidings!

He’s taken aback for a moment. Then, the corners of his lips curl upwards.

Gavin: Mm, definitely. That’s because you’ve already accepted this “good omen”.

Puffing up my cheeks, I can’t help but emphasise once again.

MC: It’s “we”.

Gavin: [chuckles] Okay. But it has already been fulfilled.

With a soft chuckle, he pinches my face, leaning our foreheads against each other.

In the sky, the rustling sparks descend, reflecting in his eyes, and falling into my heart.

Gavin: To me, a good omen is when you're smiling with me by your side.

🎉 Calls and Moments: here

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[crimsonrae]

Reckless Intent: Part Two

Summary: When the dance between Sherlock and Delia first began, learning the steps did not come smoothly. But then that would happen when affections haven’t been made clear and a murderer is on the loose.

SherlockXOFC

Rating: M

Warning: Some manhandling, allusions to nudity.

A/N: Set about ten years before the events in Enola. Sherlock has only been away from home for about three years. So this is more from Sherlock’s point of view and I had fun with this, because despite how intelligent he is, I think that he would still be lost to a woman’s way of thinking or reacting. Also there will be a part three. A culmination if you will of all my teasing : )

Reckless Intent: Part Two

It had taken more time than he would have liked to get the bestial efflux that had swarmed his blood to calm.  

Sherlock pulled a long-drawn breath through his nose as he silently counted the seconds until a certain menace in the shape of woman appeared by his side. Never had he met someone who could stir his anger so easily. She made him want to rage, to shake her until sense fell into that cob she called a mind. How she could incite him with just a few well-placed words was boggling.  

Yet, images of Delia on that stage danced before his eyes as he waited outside the club. The hint of cleavage through the feathers of her fan, the shapely curve of her thigh... Lust had seared his veins at the unexpected display of her womanly assets. His palms had itched with the need to cup her silky flesh, to leave his mark on her unblemished hide, and pull the most melodic notes of pleasure from her dainty throat. His manhood had hardened with a demand that only her tempting hole could satisfy.

And had they been alone?  

Had the ravenous stares and drunken jeering of the swine inside not been present... he would have taken her there on that staged. He would have answered her teasing seduction, shown her what happened when such a flag was waved before a bull.  

But they hadn’t been alone. He wasn’t the only one to gaze upon her bare flesh and that was unforgivable. Fury still spurned his veins, only the remembrance of their kiss tempered his lingering ire.

Sherlock bit back a groan as he tried to ignore the memory of the delightful contrast of her wired nest against her smooth skin and her heat... his fingers had been brushed by her desirous warmth, had felt the hint of her promising dewy depths. He marveled that he hadn’t sunk into her depths there and then. Her protest to his advances had been meek at best. There was no doubt in his mind that his Delia was a wanton... but she was his wanton. It was high time that he made his claim known.

He would not tolerate another incident such as this.

His fingers flexed and tightened over the head of his cane, releasing the frustrated bur that Delia so expertly pricked in him. It wouldn’t do to walk the streets with an erection like an adolescent boy. As if she knew his struggle, Delia appeared at his elbow only to add oil to his smoldering flame. Her frock covered little more of her chest than her stage attire.  

His nostrils flared with annoyance. Even her hair was still unrestrained, her curls falling loose about her shoulders, “That was longer than ten minutes.”

Delia arched a brow at him, unimpressed by his dour reproach, “Yet, you didn’t come back for me. You should be pleased.”

His glare was glacial, but she refused to simper –stubborn mule of a woman.  

Sherlock snatched her elbow before she had a chance to send another volley. The firm grip teetered on the edge of impropriety, but it was hardly the most improper act that either one of them had committed so far. He nudged her forward, refusing to speak further until they were away from this infernal club.

Luckily, Delia took the hint as she adjusted her arm in his grip and fell into step. It wasn’t lost on him that she had quickly masked the aggressive undertones of their current meeting. It no longer looked as if he were dragging an unruly woman through the street but had taken to escorting a potential paramour. Strangely, they fell somewhere in between the two paradigms.

They swept down the dimly lit streets with marked silence. He, still simmering, unwilling to vent his anger where it could be heard by the restless populace of London and she – he darted a glance to his companion – she was remarkably stoic. Her features serene as if nothing was amiss, but the darkened hue to her cheeks and the tense set to her jaw belied her discomfort... or perhaps her anticipation.  

Sherlock wasn’t sure which beset her and ignored the little voice in his ear that whispered it was the later. He had decided long before he had exited the club that his baser urges would be denied that night. Far more pressing concerns needed to be addressed before he conducted any further intimate explorations of her body.

As if she knew where his thoughts had led, Delia smirked dimly as he prodded her up the steps to his apartments. He wanted nothing more than to steal that smile from her face and it wasn’t until the door clicked firmly shut that he began his attack, “Have you lost your damn mind? Did you even for one minute think about what would happen to you in that place?”

“Sherlock -”

“No.” He continued as if he hadn't heard her, “You didn’t. You’re lucky I was there – that I even had an inkling to show up. Else wise you would’ve ended up like your friend or worse on your back -”

SMACK.

Fire laced up the side of his face as he felt the imprint of her palm reverberate through the bone of his cheek. Glowering he turned back to her and found Delia torn between shock at her actions and indignant.

Her breath came fast as she spat, “You are not my keeper, Sherlock Holmes. If you’re not going to discuss this case, say so now and I will take my leave.”

Sherlock smiled grimly, “Oh, I am taking the case, Delia. I’ve said as much already. And you’re right, I’m not your keeper. I’m far more than that and you will acknowledge it before the night is over.”

“How dare you!” Indignation seemed to have won out in his little menace as she hissed, “To make such assumptions based on one measly kiss... I would think such acts beneath you. Impervious king that you are.”

Volatile.  

Rash.  

Words that could be used to describe both of them in that moment, Sherlock noted distantly. He fought to keep a hold of his temper. He had pushed her tonight and she had already been walking a tightrope by going undercover in that club. He shouldn’t be surprised that the bewilderment and anger she had carefully kept under lock and key had been released now.  

However, he was sure that he had made his intentions clear long before his stolen kiss, in fact he was sure of it. A resounding crack echoed through the foyer, stunning both occupants as the head of Sherlock’s cane fell from its body. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had been gripping the implement or even that he was still holding it.  

He cast the ruin staff aside with a barely contained growl, “One measly kiss?”

He prowled forward like a stalking jaguar, “Is that what you think I based my assumptions on?”

Delia, to her credit, did not cower from him as she lifted her chin defiantly, “I think you saw naked flesh and responded as all men do.”

Again, Sherlock wondered if she could read minds. Hadn’t his thoughts dwelled upon her wicked display before she had arrived at his side? But she was very mistaken if she thought that his reaction was merely a result of her dance... No, his interest in Delia Woodson had started long before this night.

“Blue myosotis.”  

Delia blinked, her confusion apparent by his pointed delineation, “Pardon?”

“Blue myosotis.” Sherlock repeated definitively, “Or more commonly – forget-me-nots. You pinned them to my lapel three months, one week, and two days ago. After that murdered child was found by the docks. I was upset, but you...you were the only one to notice. You saw through the impassivity that I had carefully cultivated to keep myself detached.”  

He refused to use the word impervious.

His voice grew soft, “You pinned the flower to my lapel and said, ‘It’s a small token, Mr. Holmes, but colorful – bright. You need a little of that I think.’ I knew I loved you then.... and the flower you chose? More than appropriate for that realization. I doubt you knew but forgot-me-not's represent true love.”  

Stricken with shock, Delia could only gape at the unexpected confession, “I - Sherlock.”

“So, yes, Delia. I am far more than your keeper.” He continued stoutly, daring her to interrupt, to protest his words, “And not yet your lover, but that state will be rectified soon enough I’d wager. And no, our kiss had little to do with your irreverent show, though I do wish it had been under different circumstances, I don’t regret it.”

He could see her floundering. By not hiding from the truth, nor ignoring his earlier actions he had stripped bare any defensive armor she had managed to cobble together in their brief time apart. And he had finally acknowledge the elephant that he had been alluding to all night. He didn’t need to hear the words reciprocated – he knew she felt the same, though she hadn’t realized it until he had accosted her in that club. He had seen the moment she comprehended where her affections laid.

His hand came up to grasp her chin as he made sure that he fully held her attention, “And such antics will not occur ever again. I won’t stand for it and your bottom won’t sit for it, should you attempt such an act.”

Her eyes widened at his pointed threat, knowing he was serious her defiance flickered at him. Sherlock nearly grumbled. Why did he have to fall in love with the most obtuse woman on the bloody planet?

“This...” She drew a calming breath and laced her delicate fingers over the top his that still grasped her chin, “This is not talk of the case.”

Dull amusement laced through him at her poor deflection, but he took his cue and drew back a step, “I garnered several leads while you were performing. I’ll be able to more thoroughly investigate tomorrow. I haven’t forgotten about your Margaret.”  

“What leads?”

Sherlock shook his head in the face of her hungry interest. She had taken far too many risks as it were for this case, “No. You want me to take this case and investigate? Then my price is that you stay out of it.”

“But -”

“You were reckless tonight.” Sherlock vented, his anger rising back to the top. She hadn’t seen the men that had watched her – followed her, but he had. Not all of her audience had been lustful brigands. His little menace had made no secret of her inquiry into her friend’s death, “Purposefully, I’m certain.”

Her lip jutted out temptingly and he nearly cracked a smile in the face of her pout, “She’s my friend, Sherlock. Surely, I deserve to know – to help.”    

“You will stay out of it. That’s my price – take it or leave it, Delia.” He stated resoundingly, unwilling to budge on this point. He would fill her in once he had solved the crime and the murderer was being carted off by Scotland Yard, but not a second before that occurred.

Delia huffed as she dared ask, “And if I refuse and continue to investigate on my own?”

Sherlock stiffened at her challenge as he raised an unimpressed brow and smiled thinly, “Oh, I dare you to try. You won’t make it out that door, I can promise you that.”

“I have to leave some time; I don’t live here.” She muttered lowly, after all he only had just started his investigation.

“Yet.” Sherlock returned arrogantly as he stepped towards the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson!”

The shadow of his housekeeper appeared at the top of the stairs within seconds. He had no doubt that she had heard every word passed between himself and Delia, but ever discreet the matronly woman had waited until he beckoned. Draped in her robe and bonnet, he felt a stirring of guilt for having disturbed her slumber with his return, but even still as she blandly met his stare – he couldn’t help the mischievous spark that entered his mien.

“Please ready the guestroom. Miss. Woodson will be staying here tonight.” Loathe as he was to have her out of his sight, Sherlock knew they needed space. Too much had occurred in a sort time span and to be perfectly frank he needed a moment away from the weight of her presence. He needed to recoup.  

“That’s not necessary.” Delia started softly.

Sherlock barely contained a weary sigh, “It’s late and I’m not in the mood to escort you back to Hoxton.”

She blinked, bemusement once again piercing her features, “How did you know - ?”

Sherlock didn’t deign to answer. To say he wasn’t thrilled that she lived in such a horrid area was a vast understatement, but he had to admit that it was a step above White Chapel and far better than Old Nichol. Another situation he would soon need to rectify.

“I’ll have warm water brought to your room.” He said instead, “Rest. We’ll speak more in the morning when calmer heads prevail.”

Delia stared at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher but found that the calm he had just manage to reclaim was rapidly deteriorating. His heart lurched and the familiar itch to his palms returned as she stepped back into his sphere.

“Delia...”

“You followed me. You accosted me. Kissed me. Protected me. Took a case that is boring just to make me happy -”

“Keep you out of trouble -”

“Told me that you love me.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken and soundly shut him up. 

Delia smiled then. A small smile, but so bright before she leant up on her toes and claimed a kiss so gentle that it stole his breath.

Unconsciously, his fingers latched into the folds of her gown as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. The supple swell of her lips felt like silk under the brush of his tongue. She tasted sweet, like honey and tea. She moaned lowly and a pleased growl rumbled through his chest at the sound.

They must have stood like that for only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.  

Delia, as tenderly as she had approached him, broke away again and started up the stairs. Sherlock could only watch after her dazed. 

She paused halfway up and glanced at him over her shoulder, “And you send me to the guestroom? You’re an odd man, Sherlock Holmes.”

She disappeared over the landing and Sherlock was left in stunned amusement. He had half a mind to go after her. Her teasing knew no bounds it seemed... but despite her words, he knew she was virginal, and he planned to take his time divesting her of that chaste state.

However, he should have known that Delia had no such patience...

Damn her.

Previous Chapter

[itariilles]

My Statement on Tolkien 2019

[ French translation and German translation availible. ]

It has been incredibly difficult for me to speak on my experiences regarding my experiences of hostility and othering in spaces that I loved and still hold dear to my heart, and for that reason I have been silent. That is until now. 

I have decided that now is the right time for me to come forward with my experience and statement regarding my negative experience as a person of colour engaging in Tolkien spaces. 

I want people involved in the wider Tolkien community to reflect on their roles in the specific spaces they inhabit, and how you can foster a better environment for marginalised groups to interact and engage with those spaces in a safe and inclusive manner. 

Take your time to listen and put effort into listening to fans of colour when they are speaking about their lived experiences and their grievances especially when they are speaking about a topic as personal as racism. Being critical of a work you love and the media surrounding it is not easy thing, but we need to recognise that these criticisms are valid and deserve to be taken seriously when it affects a collective of people across different backgrounds. 

I want to preface this by stating that I am speaking only for myself and my own lived experience as a vocal young non-black POC in a predominantly white space. I acknowledge that my experience is by no means universal or indicative of all POC in Tolkien fandom spaces. 

I also understand that real life interactions differ widely from interactions on online fandom spaces, but there are disturbing similarities across both online and real life spaces with specific regard to the environment and treatment of vocal POC in both. 

The tragedy is many people do not realise their impact not only on the individuals involved, but on the wider attitude towards POC voices in fandom when the topic of racism is discussed. We need to build safe environments where critical discussions of diversity and race from the people most affected by them are taken to heart, not invalidated or spoken over as targets of microaggressions. 

To give a bit of context, Tolkien 2019 was an in person conference organised by the Tolkien Society (which I was a member of at the time). The official website for Tolkien 2019 has been taken down but the Tolkien Society has a nice summary written in August 2018 breaking down the event here. 

I was approached by the Education Secretary at the time about my possible involvement in a panel discussing the history and future of the Tolkien Society which I elaborate on further in my statement. It was the first time I had felt that I had a platform where I could freely express my voice as a diverse reader and consumer of Tolkien media who held diversity in Tolkien as a core value in the wider Tolkien brand. 

I felt that as the only non-white member on the panel I had an obligation to speak out on the topic of diversity when it was raised. I tried to speak briefly about some of the points and discourses I had heard on portrayals of diversity in Tolkien media with as much nuance as I could manage at the time. In response to some points I had made I was met with vocal disapproval by some audience members and visible signs of disapproval and hostile body language from others. 

This was made even more jarring when later during the course of the event when two white creators hinted at vague notions of diversity were met with a far greater degree of approval. The former instance was during the context of a panel regarding the upcoming LOTR on Prime series, and the latter was during a talk presented by the chair of the Tolkien Society.

I felt intimidated and reluctant to involve myself any further in the Tolkien fandom, especially in real life spaces as my experience at Tolkien 2019 had only solidified and reaffirmed my fears and unease I had engaging in a predominantly white fandom with few visible POC members and creators who tackle topics of diversity and racism in both the community and source texts.

Following this event I was approached by an affiliate of one of the attendees who very kindly took the time to listen to me and suggested that I should write a statement in response to my experience. To my knowledge, my statement has not been shared or published on any platform yet and this will be the first time I have ever spoken about it publicly. 

Since then some of my thoughts and opinions on certain aspects of Tolkien fandom and meta have shifted or evolved which I will hopefully expand on in the future, but I wanted to share my initial unchanged statement I wrote reflecting my immediate reaction to my experience. 

I want to be seen as a Tolkien creative and critical thinker above anything else, but I cannot move forward with my work without speaking about my lived experience in a space which has been consistently hostile to me and so many others across different Tolkien spaces for so many years starting with my account of this one experience.

I hope my statement finds itself in good hands and I will always be willing to engage with others about my experiences so long as you engage with me in good faith. 

The statement I wrote on 25/09/2019 is as follows:

From the 9th to 11th of August of this year I attended a conference held by the Tolkien society aptly named “Tolkien 2019” that advertised itself as the “largest celebration of Tolkien ever held by the Society” in which I both spoke as a panelist and independant speaker. The event itself was a mixture of both formal and informal panels, papers presented by selected members of the society, and evening social events.

My invitation to speak on the “History of the Tolkien Society” panel was presented as deliberate choice made by the panel organiser as a gateway for discussion about diversity and representation in Tolkien. On the official programme, the panel was described as a discussion concerning “what the Tolkien Society and Tolkien fandom in general may become as it encounters digital spaces, issues of representation and diversity, academic interest and a myriad other factors that make up our lived experience today”.

Although there was much excitement and anticipation on my half in the weeks and days leading up to the event, it soon turned to dread when the tone and climate of the discussion dawned on me when I took my seat alongside five other panelists ranging from seasoned Tolkien scholars, long-time members of the Society, and a member with a leadership position within the Society. On that four person panel, I was the only one racialised as non-white. In fact, I was one of only three people in a room of approximately fifty to sixty people racialised as non-white.

It wasn’t long before the true motive of placing me — a young, new member of the Society, who felt already out of place and out of my depth even being offered the opportunity to participate in the first place — on a panel of what I perceived to be more seasoned members of the society.

When the topic of diversity and representation in the Tolkien fandom was raised by the moderator, I saw it as an opportunity for me to share my own experiences as a young fan who predominantly consumed Tolkien content online, as well as some observations I had made regarding the current pop-cultural perception of Tolkien as being heavily influenced, if not wholly entered around the Peter Jackson trilogies and being deeply ingrained with the issues that seep from those interpretations into our overall perception of the Tolkien brand.

One of the talking points that seemed to have caused the biggest uproar and dissent was one in which I referred Tolkien’s description of Sam’s hands as brown in two instances — the first in the Two Towers, and the second instance in Return of the King and how this has been translated into film as both literal and symbolic interpretations. The former in the Ralph Bakshi’s the “Lord of the Rings” released in 1978 in which I noted that the decision to portray Sam as more ethnically ambiguous compared to the other Hobbits was a deliberate choice, whereas the latter was depicted in the recent Peter Jackson trilogy released in the early 2000’s took the description symbolically and cast the white American actor Sean Astin for the role.

The backlash I received for this was, I believe, absolutely disproportionate to the views I expressed. I saw members frown and grunt in disapproval, as well as some visibly shake their heads at me. In spite of me parroting how I saw both interpretations as equally valid as a defence mechanism in the face of such an aggressive response to what to me seemed like an innocuous observation made by a young person of colour who did not see many portrayals of people of colour in Tolkien. 

Comments such as “I don’t care who they cast as Sam whether he’s black, brown, yellow, blue or green!” and “Tolkien’s message is universal I don’t see how race factors into this!” were shouted in between points I was making, and countless others were made as an effort to dismiss the effort I put in to hopefully start an open dialogue about the lack of diversity in adaptations of Tolkien and how it has coloured our perception of the overall brand, and perhaps fantasy as a whole.

Some other talking points I decided to mention included Peter Jackson’s Easterlings (coded as being North African or Middle Eastern in the film) as being appallingly Orientalist and damaging in a post-911 world, as well as referring to Tolkien’s vague descriptions of certain characters and people groups that can be interpreted as ethnic coding or perhaps hint at a more diverse cast than the popular brand of Tolkien that may have us believe. I iterated that it is the responsibility of consumers of Tolkien and Tolkien related media to push for different interpretations of the text in order to break the perception that Tolkien’s works are entirely Anglo and Eurocentric with no place for people of colour in the vast world he had created in my opinion as a love letter to his own.

A month later it is still difficult for me to fully wrap my head around what I had experienced during the conference, much less articulating it in a statement, but if there is a note I would like to conclude on it would be this: it was never about changing Tolkien’s works, but reinterpreting his 20th century text littered with colonial artefacts and reimagining the foundations of his work through a 21st century lens in an attempt to decolonise the interpretation of his works in popular culture.

To change the way we read, write and depict the Tolkien brand is to fundamentally change the landscape of the entire genre of fantasy which has and still derives so heavily from Tolkien’s works and the global Tolkien brand.

End.

[redstaratmorning]

Headcanons and Musings of Pirate-y And Plunderous Proportions: Astarion Says What

Synopsis: Random musings and ramblings regarding and spawning from the differences between how Astarion says just one word, depending on your choices—“What?” This got very long and touches not only on Astarion’s difference in presentation in aforementioned moment, but also some discussion-thoughts to chuck onto the dashboard regarding some other elements of Astarion’s content thus far in Early Access, and some thoughts to add onto others’ speculations and wonderings (I did not save sources so pardon the lack of proper citation, oops. We’re going informal here anyway.) Spoilers for Chapter 1 BG3 scenes, plot, etc, under the cut in case someone hasn’t filtered out the tags. Trigger warning/content warning: some discussion of heavy topics is mentioned and explored, including starvation, abuse/torture, and trauma. Other topics of note for summarization include speculation on Astarion’s largely unknown as-of-early-access background and a touch of his possible pre-vampire morality leanings, possible mental state/trauma reaction in a couple of scenes, and vague speculation on Larian’s gameplan for Astarion’s arc ending. Gather thy party and venture forward, for here be dragons and lots o’ text, matey! [/stereotypical pirate accent]

“What?” Just that one word, between the goblin party and the tiefling party. If Larian keeps the body language and tone presentation more or less where it’s at now in Early Access, they are worlds apart and delightfully up for interpretation of just what’s going on in our favorite vampire spawn’s head. This won’t be an in-depth post about all the tonal and body language differences, just picking out a few due to personal constraints (ie too broke to buy this game currently.) Edit: And also a lot of other thoughts and ramblings tacked on, lol. On the one hand we have him at the goblin party, where he seems much more superficially comfortable there, knows what’s going on and knows what to expect—it feels like he’s done this kind of scene a hundred times before. The comfort of familiarity. Did Cazador throw “parties”, much like how he “invited” Astarion to dine with him? I wouldn’t be surprised if he mingled at regular dinner parties either before his turning, or perhaps after when he’s ordered to hunt for Cazador’s evening repast. I doubt the goblin party has anything as potentially horrific as what Cazador would have lined up on the nightly basis, which is why Astarion isn’t aggro’d: he’s in a position of power at this party after all, not a powerless one. A conquering hero, as he describes the MC. A Precarious position, as it turns out.

Circling back to that one word though, the way he says “what” in that scene after he propositions the MC and the MC picks the “Maybe. If you say please” line feels like Astarion’s response could be interpreted as pretty abrupt. On guard, perhaps, squaring up, offended, even perhaps lowkey challenging/hostile. Expressing social displeasure and possibly staring down the MC mayhaps? Could be, especially if Astarion’s body language remains as it is rigged now in-scene with that step forward, his shoulders shifting, the lack of a smile, that assessing glare, all combined with that flat tone of voice. The animation could just be temporary and subject to change, but if it does end up as more or less the final version of that moment’s depiction, it’s pretty interesting as a shift. I’d read it as potentially “not actually truly comfortable in this situation, just familiar and numb to it all”, especially when combined with some of his other earlier potential lines at the goblin party, such as the following: Astarion: So, what are we drinking to? Other than a pile of corpses. MC: That’s not funny. Astarion: Oh don’t be so sour - It’s a party. You did what you had to. Don’t be ashamed that you did it well. MC: I wish things had turned out differently. Astarion: And I wish I was drinking out of the skulls of everyone who’s ever wronged me. Life is tough. Although that’s not to say we can’t have a little fun. This supports the whole “has been through his personal hell and has adapted to survive it albeit not unscathed” story Larian seems to be going for with him quite nicely in the little tells and details. A sort of “take what joy you can even amidst the dark situation surrounding us” trauma-induced adaptation, coupled together with actual enjoyment on his part for killing. It’d be easy to say Astarion is moreso in his element at the goblin party, and to a degree he is—it’s one he is well practiced with in his current mindset. Compare now how he acts at the tiefling party—we can all agree he’s not having a good time, our friendly neighborhood vampire sulking in particular over the fact that “there’s a worm in [his] brain, [he’s] surrounded by idiots, and all [he] has to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar.” But the delightful thing is he’s complaining so vividly about it. The wine likely is worse at the tiefling party, seeing as they’re refugees, and the goblins had previously captured a duke whom they likely stole loot from and under orders from Minthara et al stored said goods elsewhere for a later date (likely some of said goods were consumed at the party if it happened. Edit: Shadowheart’s drunk dialogue at the goblin party mentions the goblin’s wine there being good, poor dear. Fascinating hints at her story and character in that scene though.) This is assuming Astarion is drinking wine at the goblin party, of course. He may very well be drinking something red and full-bodied there, just not made from grapes. But even in his complaints and presentation, he seems arguably more relaxed and less on guard compared to his demeanor at the goblin party. Let’s be honest, he doesn’t view goblins as equals or stimulating company judging by his various voice lines expressing his disdain, distrust and overall low opinion of them as vermin among other things. The fact that he’s willing to call the tiefling refugees idiots while in earshot of them? Definitely doesn’t respect them as a group—though he has a less negatively opined line regarding them earlier on if the caged goblin (Sazza) is killed,—which is not surprising given that MC and company at the time of the party just saved them from certain death. Astarion’s reaction however also reads as potentially at ease enough to say what he’s thinking. He’s not going to get murdered for saying so, and there aren’t any punishing power games at play with the refugees and do-gooders he’s found himself surrounded by. There aren’t any hedonistic shenanigans going on and the drinks are terrible, so it’s not an entertaining party for him, but one could make an argument that Astarion might actually be feeling more secure or at least less threatened-as-is/was-his-accepted-ongoing-norm there. Which might mean he’s feeling quite out of place, or even just not...entirely engaged with what’s going on around him and even within him as far as emotional states go. Would he casually pull the same stunt at the goblin party? If you’re a bastard to him, yes, but that’s not in the same emotional vein as his dialogue during the tiefling party at all. Loyalty from the goblins is fickle, the goblins worship the Absolute and those that are chosen by the Absolute—so long as said Chosen remain powerful enough to subjugate them and is in favor. Astarion knows this kind of power structure well: ruling by fear and power. With the tieflings? It’s not superiors-and-subordinates, it’s just...people. People celebrating surviving an event that could’ve very well and most likely would’ve ended in their deaths. Will he get to celebrate like that one day? That could very well be a painful and bleak thing to consider, and not something he wants to contemplate as of yet, based on his dialogue lines that demonstrate his fear of Cazador. How’s he supposed to get lost in the fun and revelry if the wine doesn’t even taste good to him? I don’t know wines, but I’m guessing from what little I do know and what I’ve read of flavor descriptors for wines hyped as good, it might actually be bad wine based on the adjective “sharp” when mixed with the rest of the description if the MC takes a sip. Sharp seems to suggest too many tannins, or maybe improper storage so the wine actually did turn to taste a bit more like vinegar, or maybe not enough sugar in the grapes used, perhaps? To be fair, I do believe there’s a non-conversation line somewhere of Astarion’s regarding solid food tasting terrible to him, but I can’t verify that so a pinch of salt there. Still, if his taste buds are aligned with regular living mortal ones for wine at least, RIP Astarion, he’s stuck with a terrible drink for the foreseeable night. Unless, of course, you know. ;D Compared to the tieflings, the goblins as a whole? As a group they’re a scraped together army of pillagers hungry for destruction and spoils. They don’t have ANY loyalty to you—in addition to being willing to betray you via murder immediately despite working with them when Sazza first brings you back to meet Minthara, there’s also when Minthara potentially opts to try to kill you post-goblin-party. If you persuade her not to, Minthara does mention “do not return to the goblin camp, as far as they were concerned you were destined to die tonight.” This is not a group to get chummy with, obviously. Doesn’t say good things about the Absolute’s followers in general, either, or the Absolute depending on if Minthara’s being honest about the Absolute intending that the MC dies after razing the grove. Minthara could just be lying to serve her own ends and is out to destroy any rivals for the Absolute’s favor, after all, I can’t verify that from dialogue exploration at present. So it’s not surprising that this is not a group Astarion is going to let his guard down around I’m sure, or around an MC that sided with the goblins, because fortunes can shift like the wind in a scene like that, and I think his utter lack of surprise at Minthara trying to kill you all (whether or not the MC had a romp with her) is potentially spawned because he recognizes this fact. He’s been here before, in another time, another place, with different faces, but he’s seen this play before. And the MC is just another face for the same old role of a player in this rat race for power when they side with the goblins, aren’t they? The difference this time though is: will they succeed and make it to the top? Is Astarion betting on the winning horse, or not? Far less reason and far more motivation to not be emotionally invested in anyone or anything around him because it’s survival of the fittest, and the most ruthless will be the ones who win—the MC just reinforced that perspective for Astarion, in slaughtering the tieflings. But Astarion isn’t fully corrupted yet, despite however much Cazador has twisted and tormented him so. Isn’t it fascinating, that the MC, one of the first people Astarion can actually interact with relatively freely without Cazador’s puppeteering influence hanging over him quite so acutely, is someone who might very well and very likely will have a huge impact on how Astarion develops and sees the world? For better or for worse, the MC will shape all the companions’ futures and perspectives it seems, depending on their choices. On a meta note, isn’t that thrillingly fascinating and engaging work by Larian Studios? Bravo, honestly. Continuing, for Astarion this could very well just feel like a better but complimentary and thematically continuous segment of the nightmare that is his existence under Cazador as it goes on: he’s a vampire now, and the world is only ever a power struggle between the strong and the weak, and he knows better than to ever be weak again. Kindness and virtue belonged to Before. Before he died, before he turned, before he was taken. Those are things in stories and fairy tales now, that belong to other people, other places and times, other lives—things that belong to the living, not the undead. Sentimentality, more universally-accepted morality, all of those Good™-aligned or softer feelings can feel like they have no place in his world now, on this darker path. But he knows what they are, not just in theory I think, but also perhaps knowing from memory and experience, however distant and faint. The way he speaks on many occasions has subtext that could very well suggest he wasn’t without a better side through implication and emotion. Which is not to say I think he was a shining paragon of virtue before he died—guessing based off of the dev team’s writing of him so far, I’m expecting nuanced and complex but ultimately very human (or elf if you’re being fantasy-based technical) morality with both merits and flaws, for polarizing opinions in the fandom. That being said, I’m holding off judgment on what kind of person he was before he was turned for now despite reading about pre-early-access, preliminary ideas the dev team had for his background. The reason I’m waiting to see what the dev team puts into the game for his backstory of Before, is because some of his datamined lines could be taken in a couple of different ways, and some of his emotional responses as is currently don’t track as truly Machiavellian or I’d say malevolent in nature for manipulation or otherwise. Granted, not all Evil™ acts stem from intentions to be malevolent. Sometimes people do evil both in-game and in life without really intending to, or recognizing that they do, nor seeing the harm they have caused or will cause (I’m looking at you, Mayrina.) Manipulative yes, but so far it’s looked like it’s for defensive purposes in a world that is out to hurt or kill him if given any opportunity whatsoever. Personally I actually wouldn’t even say he’s been really manipulative at all, but your mileage may vary. He lies because he’s afraid you’re going to murder him for being a vampire, and because he doesn’t want to reveal the cause of two centuries’ worth of trauma to someone he just met and likely can’t predict if they’re emotionally safe for him to interact with. Note: “emotionally safe” does not necessarily denote being sympathetic here, so much as “will their response cause me pain in some fashion?” from Astarion’s point of view, which does not necessarily require the MC to be mean to him though obviously that wouldn’t help. We touch upon why sympathy can hurt later on in this essay. And why would he expect sympathy in the other instance, regarding revealing that he’s a vampire? How often would we not murder strange vampires we just met in DND-worlds? Is that not a common response and practice in Faerun for the most part? They’re on the list of acceptable prey for a monster hunter to be kidnapped and taken to who knows what fate (probably nothing good we’re sure), and who would come rescue them? In all actuality: No one. If he wasn’t a companion he’d easily just be one more random encounter to kill—as he and all the companions are in the right circumstances, *cough cough* like when sacrificing anyone to Boooal *cough.* Astarion’s had little cracked moments where he seems to be showing genuine vulnerability, and I’d say he likely displays real genuine emotion plenty of times, just not all the time. While the vulnerable moments could be a ploy, were he the type to actually be fully acting, I’m disinclined to bet that he’d act in the way he does during those moments if he planned them out or even improvised. It could be a mix of both, where it’s both true but also an act of manipulation. Were it the last option, that would require more exploration of his character in various situations to determine imo. I still doubt that though. I think he’s a little too raw and real in his pain, anger, and aggression to say he’s being malevolently manipulative at the end of the day, at least thus far in chapter one. The MC’s choices may change and influence that, on the Evil™ route. I’ve been following some of the fantastic dash discussions on Astarion’s reaction to when the MC tries to comfort him (because of course I have, I’m here for BG3 content and Astarion content especially, aren’t we all here for the same party in his tag? Also hello fellow Astarion stans! :D I hope everyone’s having a good day), and if some of these datamined lines from Pjenn’s blog post are actually implemented and kept as canonical [link], specifically the ones Astarion says regarding heroes, I do think it ties in very strongly with some of what other folks have said regarding his recoiling reaction. Copy-pasted the potential dialogue lines of interest below: Astarion: Heroes. |said with disgust| Astarion: Heroes had two centuries to save me from my torture, but not one came knocking. Astarion: The strong had two centuries to pluck me from torture, but no one came. No, it was the mind flayers that rescued me. Astarion: I spent centuries as the victim of a corrupt man. It was the mind flayers that plucked me away from that. I very much enjoyed all the takes on Astarion’s potential motivations in his response, and I do want to chuck another idea into the fray that supports the vein of ideas that have him being truly afraid and then angry at the MC in that scene, with the speculation including those possible hero lines above as influence. Specifically, I’d like to bring in an outside comparison to part of Molly Grue’s reaction to seeing the Unicorn from The Last Unicorn animated movie for the first time, transcribed below: The Unicorn: I’m here now. Molly: [Bitter laugh] Oh? And where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent, young maidens you always come to? How dare you. How DARE you come to me now, when I am this. [begins to cry, heartbroken] Consider Astarion being shown kindness when he is now away from Cazador, not fully free or safe yet but not currently actively fully suffering Cazador’s torment all up close and personal. Consider that only on that very night before he was snatched up by the mindflayers, which might’ve been anywhere from only a day to a handful of days before this conversation about his nightmare, he was going out to falsely smile and lure some innocent—(“No innocents. You have my word.”)—or perhaps not so innocent, beautiful soul back to Cazador’s mansion to very likely die or be turned. How often must he do so? Is it every night he is ordered to go out and condemn someone else to that unfortunate fate? Do you think Cazador killed them cleanly? Quickly? Why would he, instead of agonizingly grinding out any last traces of sympathy his spawn might have through the guilt that they are the ones who “choose” who suffers and likely dies at Cazador’s hands that night? To give the illusion of choice is one abuse/torture tactic that can be used to break a soul that we see often in games: choose who suffers or dies. Cazador is unquestionably a personality who enjoys the psychological aspect of tormenting his victims, as evidenced by giving Astarion the “choice” to be either flayed or to “dine” on a rotting, dead rat, as well as other mentions of how he puts thought into torturing those around him. Astarion is still so fresh from his torment,—torment that is still technically on-going with the very real threats of resuming once more—he is emotionally bleeding enough arterial blood at the seams to fill a sea. His actions, words, and emotions so often metaphorically smell of blood, and not because he’s a vampire and the traditional role of a vampire being a predator among humanoids ironically enough, but because being a vampire spawn means Cazador. And Cazador means horror. Astarion has survived, yes, and it’s been hell. He’s still in hell, because he isn’t free yet. Not truly. It’s a desperate gasp of air, this taste of freedom, to dream that he could be free of Cazador. Imagine his feelings when he’s now in something like freedom, a reminder of what could be, what his life might’ve and likely was like once upon a time, an uncertain here-and-now where he has the possibility—just a possibility, and an unlikely one at that for most ordinary or less-than-ordinary people, not a certainty—of being free, and he’s just admitted to the horror that is Cazador. Admitted in this moment how much Cazador frightens him, how much just the thought of Cazador frightens him, how much the possibility he might be sent back to his master and having his previous tormented existence resumed truly frightens him. And the MC reaches out in sympathy. In acknowledgement that what Astarion has been through is horrifying. To look at this horror and say it is pain, and terror, and awful, that it isn’t normal. It isn’t something to ignore. It isn’t something to pretend is just everyday same old, same old, to numb and take off the edge as much as one can. That Astarion’s pain and fear aren’t to be sought out for entertainment or at best to be willfully neglected in an act of malice. That stark moment of contrast, like night and day, could bring the pain of two hundred years crashing down inside his head, all compressed into one moment. Feelings he tried so hard to survive through, ignore perhaps, suppress: fear, helplessness, loneliness, misery, anger, sorrow, hatred, pain, anxiety, distress, need. Memories, of so many instances that hurt in that moment and then continued to hurt for so long afterwards. How much must it hurt him, wound him, to lift his head for air and have a perspective outside of his suffering that is sympathetic...but knowing that nobody came to save him.  That perhaps, no one ever will, if he loses this so-called freedom and is dragged back under. That those that care, cannot help you. And that those that can help, do not care.  Why would anyone help him at this point after all? He’s a vampire spawn. A classically defined monster in the eyes of society, and he knows it. (”I’m not some monster!” / ”At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs.”) He must have been truly desperate in his starvation to chance anyone finding out he’s a vampire in the party. Not surprising, he can’t rest at the end of the day like the other companions can. He has to expend extra energy at that point to find food discreetly after fighting all day, and subpar food at that. (”Animal blood tastes like muck.” verification needed, it’s a conversational line in some branch of the morning-after he asks to bite the MC the first time) He’s not eating breakfast, snacks or lunch during the day, and he isn’t guaranteed to find food while hunting in the woods. Game might be scarce, he can be wounded or exhausted after a long day of fighting, and he wasn’t starting out in the peak of health to begin with either. He is a vampire spawn yes and apparently can take down large game such as boars to drain them, but that is a rough existence to condemn anyone to mechanically speaking. He knows what he’s risking, regardless of his int stat. But he takes that risk anyway. The character who is so survival driven, risking a very high likelihood of expulsion at best or death as the much-more-likely worst outcome of this attempt? His bite isn’t painless, and pain can wake a person up readily enough if they aren’t a deep sleeper, and how deep a sleeper are most people when in an uncertain and unfamiliar wilderness, potentially while hungry and cold, with the fretting fear of a agonizing death looming over their head? Even accounting for a lack of mental clarity from hunger and exhaustion and other factors, I find it deeply unlikely that Astarion is unaware of how big a risk he’s taking with the odds are stacked against him, rogue class or not. And even if he’s just thrown out of the group? He’s alone. Vulnerable. A target to be hunted by a much bigger, meaner predator. One that won’t kill him quickly, we can guess. His odds are much lower, on his own. Specifically his odds of not being dragged back to Cazador...assuming the MC doesn’t just turn him over to Gandrel. How terrifying is it to imagine that your suffering will never end, to be told it will never end, and then you are reminded of what it is like to not suffer for a time. To have felt the painful hope that maybe there is a possibility that you could escape an existence of torment...but knowing you very well might not? It is desperately bleak. It is no great leap of the imagination to hear Astarion saying—(or more likely thinking because this would be terribly vulnerable...but he might say something when pushed because he’s so full of sharp edges and bleeding insides still)—something similar to Molly Grue’s line in his own fashion, is it? Astarion: “[Bitterly laughing, mockingly so. As he speaks his tone breaks, an edge of raw, desperate hysteria slipping through, attached to centuries of pain turned to anger] And where were you two hundred years ago? A hundred years ago? Where were you when I still desperately thought in the deepest parts of my heart that someone might come? When I still had hope?  Astarion: [his voice turns low and venomous, raising in volume and accusation before finishing with a break on the final word “this”, a tonal admittance of how distraught and self-aware he is of what he’s had to do, of what he’s had to become to survive] How dare you. How DARE you say this to me now, when I am this.”  (the above lines are entirely fictional and are not from any in-game, data-mined, or otherwise official source or content) He’s been made to do so many terrible things, even just based off of the few lines we have heard in early access he’s been through so much horror. An hour of torture, a day, a month is so incredibly long. It can have such lasting impact on a person—PTSD, as we know it in this day and age. A year? Five years, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred? An elf he may be, but from a human perspective...he’s been tortured for lifetimes. Even as an elf, two hundred years is a long time. More than long enough to seriously alter how someone’s brain works—people are both amazingly resilient, but also so incredibly fragile. Cazador has had all this time to play with Astarion’s brain, honestly I find it impressive Astarion has any sense of self left after all this time. That he’s still driven to survive, that he still feels anything at all. (”It doesn’t look broken. But then again, none of us do.”)  It doesn’t surprise me that he’s intensely bitter when encountering the “paladins” of Tyr—(ie Anders and company if you know who I mean—and was that a Dragon Age 2 reference? If not that is an amazing coincidence with the whole Anders-Justice-Vengeance-Demon thing there)—if the MC asks something to the tune of “Don’t you wish someone had helped you when you needed it?” Oh. Oh that had to be a painful question for him. Astarion had his basic needs denied and abused, to ask if he wished that someone had helped him when he needed that and more, and no one came? Why was he denied but the paladins get help? Why does he have to be the hero when no one came for him, when no one very well might come for him when he might still very well be in dire straits in the near future?  I can see the possible desire to inspire sympathy intended in the question from the MC, but it can be so utterly without sympathy to ask that in some contexts, and in Astarion’s case it is. He was being abused and controlled without any way out—Anders and his cohorts opted into the deal with Zariel for personal reasons, not as far as I know under threat of imminent death, and they are relatively capable of fulfilling their end of the bargain barring their current injuries at the time. They certainly have more freedom of choice than Astarion and other vampire spawn ever did, and they were not being tortured right then and there. Warlocks, referring to Anders and co., might even have the option to get out of deals, a la Wyll’s personal questline hook thus far. Astarion can’t get out of his servitude from Cazador. Cazador holds all the cards, makes all the decisions, has all of the power. To compare Astarion’s situation to his face with that of the “paladins”? I’m surprised he wasn’t spitting fury, honestly. They still have normal elements to their day to day life, despite their devil’s deal. They are not being tormented on the daily—yet. They are not in hell—yet. They can get out. They have the possibility. A possibility Astarion didn’t—until now. And isn’t that the most fucked up thing, that it wasn’t a force of Good™ that saved him, but an even bigger monster than Cazador himself? He was saved—by mindflayers, intending some fate that was likely worse for him than before. Even when the Absolute’s hand begins to be revealed in all this, he is still a pawn among monstrous masters. What heroes there are in the world, won’t come for him. They never did before, and they didn’t now. Heroes are for other people, for realities aside from his own. They are for other people, living Other lives. Not his life. Forces of Good™ swooping in to save the day, to correct the wrongs of the world and to make things Right™ just isn’t his normal. Not anymore, if ever it was. His normal was warped by Cazador a long time ago. Is it a stretch of the imagination that if Cazador twisted “dinner” to be a choice between consuming a rotting, putrid rat corpse or being flayed on a nightly basis, turning “poetry” into the memory of a “sonnet” carved into Astarion’s back with a razor over the course of an entire night full of Astarion’s own pained screams? Is it hard to imagine that Cazador also took pleasure in turning other ordinary situations one might encounter in normal life into nightmare versions as well for Astarion and his other spawn? One illithid mind-power option shows Cazador controlling Astarion by holding his chin, though without any further context. Cazador wouldn’t have had to do more than that to invoke terror, after a certain point in time. It seems highly unlikely the gesture wasn’t followed up with more pain, though. Perhaps in that moment when he speaks of his nightmare in the first conversation and the MC reaches out to him in sympathy...Astarion was reminded of something. Multiple somethings, multiple moments, when Cazador reached out to him oh so casually, and it ended in pain and terror. The way the camera is framed as of the current time in early access, the way he flinches away crying “No!” so quiet and low, his eyes wide and staring just so, how he goes so far as to pull back almost entirely out of frame and the camera slowly pans to follow him? Perhaps that is just a stand-in scene, but as it is, even now, it emphasizes that he is I would argue genuinely afraid, and reflexively responding in what is likely his first opportunity to freely respond to his traumatically induced fear. The first opportunity where he wasn’t supernaturally compelled to do exactly as Cazador ordered him to, the first opportunity where he was likely not going to be tormented further for expressing his fear, for having his main tormentor laugh and delight in his distress. The first instance where he for a split second let his guard down, and didn’t expect to be hurt—until the MC reached for him, echoing possible memories of what happened last time someone (Cazador) did that. It’s not Cazador reaching for him. But...it is not Cazador. He doesn’t have to worry about Cazador hurting him right that second, but...will the MC hurt him, like Cazador did? Will they make it look like they’re going to help him, that he can trust them, and then betray him? (”How can you be so cruel?” / “It [Raphael playing games] reminds me of Cazador, taunting his slaves with hope when he knew the game was rigged.”) But they scared him. They scared him, and perhaps for a moment he was back there, in another time and place, where he knows, where he remembers, vividly, perhaps even recently, what normally would have happened to him. And how dare they make him feel that. (“I can do without reliving that particular night, thank you.” [Nightmare about Cazador dialogue, a separate scene if you miss the insight check from the first post-nightmare camp discussion I believe.]) He’s so raw and upset, both aggressive and defensive when he speaks about his nightmares in quite a few of his lines, asking and waiting to explain just why his nightmares are truly so terrifying, especially in the second-nightmare conversation. The way he speaks there, and in other scenes, makes me very disinclined to interpret him as actively intending evil in general so much as having been shaped to be ruthless through a centuries-long trial by fire that he isn’t free and clear of yet. Based off of how he reacts on more than one occasion, I’m personally inclined to take a leaf from Wyll’s book and say I do think he has more than just potential to be good. “Good™” being relative of course to his situation and undead-life—Astarion has GREAT potential as a character to explore not only what it means to be Evil™ aligned, but also what people on the meta perceive as evil, as well as what prejudices we may carry from that labeling.  He is I think very much an excellent walking morality test and ironically a mirror for the player’s character. What kind of person is the MC, in how they treat and interact with him. He is a complicated and morally-entangled character, and it is so very easy to only read him in the here and now within the stark, daylight context of societal’s average norms without looking at the very real, very recent nightmarish Twilight Zone reality he’s lived in that echoes through his words and story thus far. It’s a marvelous bit of echoing reality and real life here by Larian, truth be told: how do you tell people about your life, when it’s been a ceaseless, unending nightmare? With smiles, witticisms, and the occasional polished lie that bleeds out pain, for some folks anyway, including Astarion. He says he’s having more fun at the goblin party, but at the tiefling party? That’s probably the first time he’s been at a normal party where he hasn’t had to obey and fear Cazador’s orders and inevitable torment during or afterwards. That’s the first time in his entire undead existence when he’s been in a social situation like this without being afraid, hurt, or manipulated. It’s not a fun party on its own by his standards, but it is a safe party for him. In a way though, safety can be boring. A luxury, yes, but in this case? For him, boring. And boring...might very well be irritating, in an anxiety-turned-irritation fashion, because he’s not being tormented right this very moment. He should be finding something to enjoy, because in his normal everyday routine? In the day to day that he would expect, that his subconscious expects out of habit? Opportunity for any form of enjoyment must be rare indeed, twisted and tainted by Cazador’s ever looming shadow over every minute of Astarion’s vampiric existence so far. It could be anxiety-inducing, to not seek pleasure or some form of happiness or comfort while there is opportunity for it, in what one perceives as a respite from constant, on-going suffering. (”Why do you insist on exhuming the past?” - when you ask about his past in camp, after you know he’s a vampire. An unpleasant reminder of an unpleasant past, why would he want to dwell on it? He has enough pain to last him multiple lifetimes. Literally.) From the deep, deep depths of prolonged suffering, it can potentially take a great deal more intensity of sensation to feel anything at all, let alone something approaching happiness. (”For the first time in two hundred years, I felt happy.” [presumed Astarion-origin line after drinking from a sleeping companion] / “I feel strong. I feel...happy!” [after MC succeeds in persuading Astarion to stop drinking from their neck after giving him permission to do so.]) This isn’t even taking into consideration how vampirism might have impacted Astarion’s psychology on a metabolic/biochemical level, so to speak. Where Larian goes with that is still to be determined, though my money’s on they give him more a murderous edge and natural inclination—not unlike a Beast-lite version of bloodlust from Vampire: The Masquerade— but still keep his core traits very much human rather than supernaturally-alien/2D-cut-out-monstrous. (Or elvhen, if we’re being fantasy-world-linguistically technical here again.) Touching on the matter of monstrous behavior though...It is a powerfully understated moment of casual cruelty that Larian allows the MC to decide once and once only, if Astarion may also drink from people or only animals. It’s so fitting I don’t believe it to be coincidence that he was a magistrate in his backstory—isn’t the MC passing a judgement too on him, a sentence to change his life for the foreseeable future, possibly forever without realizing or perhaps not caring about the full extent of their actions? And one cannot forget Wyll’s comment about the rat diet. Oh, can you not hear the resonating parallel real life pain from how those ignorant of another’s hurts might unintentionally mock the person and hurt them so? How some might apply their own morality from their own life experiences, without looking at the full extent of the consequences of their actions? A life and perspective that more likely has never been tested under the lash and upon the rack of some of life’s worst possible realities? Even if Wyll and the MC don’t mean to be, it is so very, very cruel. It is beautifully painful, Abdirak and the goddess Loviatar would be proud. (”My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel...happy!”) To be denied not just better food, but the ability to think clearly, to feel well, the actuality of being happy as a norm? It is so very hollow an existence to feel so constantly weak of both body and mind, and oh isn’t it just the richest thing, that an MC might echo Cazador’s choice and power over Astarion thusly? It’s enough to make one laugh an Evil Laugh™ of appreciation at just how unthinkingly, horribly cruel a person can potentially be while playing a Good™ character. This is actually a level of genius on Larian’s part that I wonder how many in the audience will actually look at and appreciate the subtle horror of. The horror that we do this too, in real life, sometimes without ever knowing the seemingly small, far-reaching ripples of harm an unthinking phrase or comment can do when we don’t take another’s reality into consideration—that we don’t know what it is we don’t know. It is a fine piece of storytelling, to offer up a story with so many facets to reflect upon. It’s so beautifully crafted that Astarion speaks and dresses like a noble, that he can so easily be perceived as a person of privilege at first glance should one merely look at some of his surface behaviors and inclinations—remnant trappings of his distant past most likely, from once upon a time. It’s a delightful reveal and subversion that he, I think we can safely say, isn’t that. Perhaps he was, once, but he isn’t at this point in his life, not anymore. Appearances are deceiving, and doesn’t that just tie so nicely right into some of Astarion’s potential themes and behaviors? The lies that crack open as truth and pain come bleeding out from underneath? I do wonder how many of Larian’s audience have known hunger—and not known when the next meal will happen, what it might be, if it will have strings attached? The kind of hunger that follows you everywhere, that roots down into your bones and hollows out a home there forever more? It changes how a person sees things, how they act, how they think, even when they’re removed from being hungry all the time. One doesn’t need to be skin and bones to feel like one is starving constantly,—(I very much enjoy that headcanon just to clarify, I’m not intending to throw shade in any of this or future rambling)—to be kept on a hollow diet of empty calories that are enough to keep your heart pumping, but your body struggles because it doesn’t have the nutrients it needs in the amounts it needs? To feel your mind fog over with exhaustion and blanketed despair, a primal and low level desperation whittled down into a tired and numb, anxious background static from adrenal fatigue? Miscellaneous aches, pains and problems that seem unrelated but in reality, if only you knew, were because your body can’t function the way it should ideally, because you don’t have what you truly need? A very real problem in real life, for far too many people. And oh, the beautiful, casual, so very human monstrousness Larian lets us exercise here, knowing or unknowing. It is such a powerful, understated cluster of ideas. And I think Larian knew—someone on the dev team did their homework on both traditional starvation but also what one might call masked-starvation as no doubt other tumblr folks have also speculated, just based off of what we’ve seen and because of that Happy buff Astarion gets when he uses his Vampiric Bite ability in combat. It fits right into his whole theme of “what makes a monster and what makes a man?” (Sing the bells of Notre Dame~♪) But not necessarily asking that question only of him. Rather, asking it also of the MC. This fits into the game’s whole theme with the tadpoles, the choice of using the power and turning into “Something More Beautiful” as Minthara put it, of taking the darker path, it all fits so very well. I just want to applaud this because it’s not a major story-beat moment. It’s a companion-side-quest moment. It’s going to be for the most part seen as a combat-game-mechanic and head-canon defining moment, deciding if Astarion may feed on people or not. I doubt we’d see Larian actually changing Astarion’s demeanor much in how he delivers lines with a “allowed to drink people blood” code flag, as cool as that might be. It very well could factor into later outcomes but for voice acting I doubt they’ll make an entire second/third/etc set of each line spawning from that one seemingly small choice. It makes me very hopeful that Larian can handle such weighty themes so deftly thus far—we’ll have to wait and see if they can stick the landing once the game is finished, but boy oh boy their nuance and delivery so far is strong as steel and sharp as a double-edged sword right out of the gate. The studio is in a fantastic position to explore and to challenge people’s thoughts and ideas regarding character builds like Astarion’s imo, depending on how the dev team chooses to play it out. Seeing some of Gale and Shadowheart’s dialogue trees from the goblin party, I have high hopes that the dev team will allow a great deal of exploration and flexibility all across the moral spectrums, not only allowing us the option to drag the more seen-as-good-aligned characters down paths of moral corruption,—(note: I’m including Shadowheart in more neutral-ish territory for now but the fact that she seems to feel emotionally ill—guilty, one could say—at the goblin party and is busy trying to get drunk to drown that feeling out suggests to me she Definitely does have a more good-aligned moral compass to a nuanced degree)—but also the chance to drag more seen-as-evil-aligned characters along the path to more traditionally good endings and persuade them to see the benefits of playing nice with others per more classic Good™ societal rules (subjectively speaking ofc.) But Larian is also in a very precarious place too—speaking strictly of just the one character as the focus of this essay, Astarion resonates very easily through that very real fear, pain, anger, bitterness and so many other emotions as a result of what he has survived, is still surviving through, and struggling against: trauma. How bitter indeed would it be should a character—that people with very deep, real pain can relate to—not get at least the option for a well-crafted, hopeful and merciful epilogue? Oh the sympathetic pain that Larian could reap could be pain of the very worst kind, if they condemn him to only death and darkness with bleak endings that lack nuance and care. I’ve seen some posts where people worry about Astarion not potentially having a good ending, with possible unspoken implications that he might be railroaded into betraying the MC. I’d like to say that I think a lot of his subtext, even looking at the instances where he lies and the datamined details of the voice-acting-directions, would run counter to railroading him to only ever betraying the MC. I think straight betrayal is going to run as mostly antithetical to his core themes in a way. He might betray your MC—but it will likely be because the MC betrayed him first in a myriad of small ways, or in a big way. Approval-rating-system based choices are a very real possibility too, separately or as a part of the equation naturally, in addition to your major in-game choices. That would also include the scenario of betrayal through using the tadpole powers enough to be mind-controlled into having no will of his own, much like the other characters, including the MC. I do think we have plenty of good, solid reason to be very hopeful that he will have a possible good continuation—not ending. A continuation where he manages to free himself from Cazador with the help of his companions or perhaps dare he even say friends, manages to begin the process of healing the immediate pains of his trauma and learning how to truly live with all that he’s been through and all that he’s done, to have the possibility of not only living but living both happily and well for the most part? Who knows what else Larian Studios might have in the works for him and the other companions, as well as the MC and the story of Baldur’s Gate 3. But good outcomes for all seems like it very likely could happen, for all of the companions. His wiki page’s summary tagline hook in particular offers up that implied promise from the developers to the audience, I would say, “Astarion prowled the night as a vampire spawn for centuries, serving a sadistic master until he was snatched away. Now he can walk in the light, but can he leave his wicked past behind?” What that promise is, varies from creator to creator. In this case, based on the wording, I would say that potentially implies a satisfyingly well-crafted and engaging story wherein we find out and determine if the answer to that question is yes or no, and in a DND-based RPG full of choices that have an impact on the people and world around you? In a game genre that has a history of multiple, varied endings for your companions based on how you play? That checks out. Larian so far has been handling things admirably well in my opinion, and I’m willing to invest emotionally in this story they’re telling with the trust that they will deliver a good continuation and conclusion. But on the off-chance that somehow Astarion’s endings all turn out painful and tragic on the meta for the fanbase, that the associated intentional or unintentional messages wound and grieve those who recognize and resonate most strongly with the pains he has felt? On that off-chance, in that instance where we are left bereft and disappointed because of what happened to him or any of the companions or the story itself should somehow things go awry, then it would be your right to ask Larian the very same question Astarion asked you once: How can you be so cruel?

[drifblimss]

content warnings for my blog❤️🐌

✨this is my personal blog, i didnt make it with the goal of gaining a following in mind. i vent here sometimes. everything i share is completely random based on if i want to share it!! so it might not be the blog for everyone. if you are looking at my blog, please be mindful that some of the content i share here may be triggering to anyone who:✨

🧃struggles with disordered eating, or has in the past [whether to are currently in recovery or not] [i share posts of imagines of food, posts describing food, posts discussing eating and i may occasionally share posts that related to struggling with disordered eating, like not wanting to eat or not eating for periods of time]

🧃is struggling with self h//rm via self inflicted w//unds [ex c//tting or p//cking], has struggled with it in the past, or who has contemplated intentionally causing injury to their own body at any point. [i share imagines of sharp items like knives and swords, and on occasion may share imagines of things like r//zor bl//des. i will never reblog imagines of recent wounds. I may reblog images of people with scars.]

🧃is uncomfortable with or triggered by traumacore, or by people venting in places you can see it [talking in images or text posts about feeling angry, sad, depressed, empty, used, traumatized, dirty, violated, misunderstood, unloved, unwanted, worthless etc. these are strong emotions to take in and you are not a bad person if you are uncomfortable with or upset by seeing these things]

🧃is uncomfortable seeing content that is sexual in nature [references to sex, references to kink, photos or images of people or characters in lingerie, sexual jokes, or images that are depicted prior to, during, or after the character[s] depicted have had sex or done sexual things]

🧃is uncomfortable with or triggered by seeing posts about age regression, also known as agere [any and all posts that have anything to do with agere that are shared on this blog will be SAFE FOR WORK, cgl is another thing entirely. This blog is a safe space away from ddlg/cgl and age regression will not be spoken about in an even remotely sexual way on this blog. Diaper related content will also not be anywhere on this blog. Diaper-use isn’t always sexual, but my exclusion of it from the content I share is a personal preference.]

🧃is uncomfortable with discussion of i references to non-monogamous relationships [discussion of ongoing or past non-monogamous relationships, text or images referencing or hinting at non-monogamous relationships, etc]

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🧃is uncomfortable with the subject of Wicca, or any religions that practice witchcraft [the meanings of crystals or herbs, references to the purposes that items like crystals, herbs, jars, bone and other organic matter from living creatures, candles, etc serve when practicing witchcraft, references to contact with spirits or deities, mentions of Wiccan holidays/events like Litha, Ostara, Yule, Manon etc, or mentions of people celebrating these days, mentions of covens or other gatherings relating to the practice of witchcraft, mentions or images of runes, pentacles/pentagrams, grimoires [book of shadows/‘spell book’] or anything else relating to witchcraft. [this subject will likely come up often on my blog, as I am a witch.]

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🧃is uncomfortable with or triggered by seeing or reading use of the f slur [(f//g)g//t], the t slur [tr//nny], or words like sl//t or wh//re [these words are only used in a light-hearted, non-derogatory way on this blog ; we do NOT stan sl//t-shaming or making people feel bad/guilty/dirty for having sex, enjoying sex, not being virgins, having high body-counts, getting pregnant, having early pregnancies etc]

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my apologies if i missed anything! thank you for reading :3

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.2K~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.

____

Chapter 6: Greg

Hours pass.

Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.

All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...

He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?

 Right??

Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.

His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.

Helpless.

His son... oh stars, his only son, he—

He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.

The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.

“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”

“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”

“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”

“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”

“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”

He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“

He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.

He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.

With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.

Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.  

His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—

“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“

A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.

Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.

“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”

Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.

“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”

He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.

Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.

Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”

He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?

“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”

“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”

Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.

“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”

“No, you numbskull,” Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”

“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”

“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”

Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”

[pachitoherrera]

Pacho // safe – pt.2

a/n: alright my lovely angels, here is part 2! you can find part one here although it is not necessary to read it beforehand, as this part can be seen seperately! I hope you guys like it, and let me know what you think !🌸

You knew he was trouble from the moment you laid eyes on the self-confident smile and the gun that flashed under his jacket as he walked in. In fact, you should have seen it coming even before that, when the sound of motorcycles drowned out the music inside the bar and heads were turned to find the source of the disturbance, conversations ceasing.

You knew he was trouble before the whole country knew. You could tell by the expensive watch on his wrist, the golden chain hanging from his neck and by the way his eyes were watching you over his glass, dark and cold, hiding depths that you would slowly get to discover in the following years. 

You knew he was trouble the closer you got to him, slowly becoming one of his confidants, inevitably being dragged into the glorious and dangerous life of drug business. But never had you realized the reality of the danger until the wedding night of Gilberto Rodriguez’s daughter. It wasn’t the first time you had seen death, yet it was the first time you had felt true terror, fear for your life, fear for his life. 

The shuffling of footsteps outside your room made you snap out of your nostalgia trip, and soon a knocking was heard on your door. “Come in.” The man – one of three assigned by Pacho to guard you, endearingly labelled as Babysitters by you – appeared at the opening, his gun in its holster. “Navegante is here to see you.” “Oh?” You immediately got up, following the man to the entrance room of your small house. Navegante was no stranger to you, a peculiar man, although you always assumed he was hiding much more behind his silence. And so you knew that he was no man for small, insignificant message deliveries. 

“Don Pacho sent me to get you. Please pack your bag.” You scoffed, shaking your head. The events of the wedding hadn’t changed your mind about leaving the country, Pacho knew that. “Where to?”, you asked as gently as possible, trying to cover your annoyance. 

“A safe place.” 

“Thanks to these gentlemen” – you gestured towards your personal guards “ – my place is quite safe too. So I would prefer to stay here.” Navegante’s eyes hushed over the other men before looking back at you, nodding sympathetically. “I can’t allow that. Please understand that my orders are to not leave this place without you, no matter how. But truth is, I would prefer without force.” 

With a small suitcase containing your most important travel baggage and you in the backseat, Navegante drove up the driveway to the luxury villa. You faintly remembered this place, away from the city, surrounded by wild fields, a small paradise in the middle of nowhere. 

Pacho was already waiting, hands in his pockets, and by the cocky smile you could tell he was expecting your mood. “What‘s that all about?“, you asked slightly irritated, even before having fully stepped out of the car. He greeted you with a kiss on each cheek, his hands on your shoulders to hold you in place, knowing very well that else you would resist in your current state. “Change of plans. It’s safer for you to stay here.“ You stopped moving, eyes seeking his, looking for a hint to give away any worries. “What happened? Did you do something again?“ He tilted his head, fake indignation written on his face. „It hurts me that you think it is something I did.“ “Because most of the time it’s true. You attract trouble like a magnet, Pacho Herrera”, you said, watching Navegante carrying your suitcase inside. “So, where is my champagne reception? Is that how you treat your guests?” He laughed – a sound that had become rare lately, but made your heart smile – and leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “Only the special ones.” His left hand gestured towards the entrance while his right hand found its place on your back, softly pushing your forward. “Why did you send Navegante?”, you asked while allowing him to lead you inside, admiring the paintings on the walls. “I figured he would be better at persuading you than I am.” “How right you were.” 

The place resembled a small holiday resort, big pool outside, even a small inside pool, a bar, own cooks, only the heavily-armed guards disturbing the picture of tranquillity. To your surprise, you spent a great amount of time with Pacho. Your conversations came naturally, reaching from complex political and business discussions to – after one or two cocktails too many – playful flirtations. When he was away, you tried to befriend the guards, engage them in small-talk or deeper conversations. You even managed to get Navegante to talk, and came to the conclusion that there was, in fact, a lot more behind his silence, true to the saying still waters run deep.

On the eighth day, you woke up to find yourself alone in the house, save the usual amount of guards. Pacho was gone, and to your surprise, it saddened you. Even though this place was a small paradise, the only reason that made your stay enjoyable was the time spent with him.

To make time run faster, and occupy your mind before worrying thoughts of Pacho’s whereabouts would start driving you crazy – after all, you cared about his safety as much as he did about yours – you decided to bring your baking skills to use, as long as the kitchen staff was absent. 

Humming to yourself, absorbed in your work, you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. If you had turned around, you would have seen Pacho leaning in the doorway, his eyes soft and a smile on his lips that was so different from the smiles he usually wore. And maybe you even would have noticed the hint of confusion, as he tried to come to terms with this unusual feeling caused by your presence, the feeling that was the reason he felt as if every ounce of breath was taken from his lungs when you smiled at him, the feeling that ached his heart, but at the same time drove out the anger to replace it with warmth.

But you didn’t turn around, didn’t see the way he looked at you like a colourblind man, seeing a blooming garden of flowers for the first time. And when you finally did turn around, he was gone.

On the tenth day, you grew weary of your shortened wardrobe and sneaked into Pacho’s closet, a neatly organized room, filled with the most extravagant shirts. You let your hand slide over the different colours and fabrics until you pulled one out. The silk felt smooth under your grip, and you recognized the pattern immediately. He wore it on the day you first met, years ago in that small bar, a day that would forever change the course of your life. Unsurprisingly, the shirt was too large, and so you decided to leave it unbuttoned, only tying the ends together to cover what needed to be covered.

Pacho was on the phone in his office, by the tone of his voice you figured he was speaking to Gilberto, so you casually waved at him while walking past the room. He raised his hand, and just before you went out of view again, you saw his expression change. With quick steps you rushed to the living room, before he could stop you, picking an apple from the fruit basket. 

You barely had time to take the first bite before the soudn of steps could be heard behind you. “Why are you wearing my shirt?�� You shrugged while swallowing.  “I ran out of clothes to wear. Besides – ” with a smile, you twirled around. “It looks much better on me.” The corners of his mouth twitched, but his expression remained the same, and for a short moment you wondered whether you had hurt him. And then you remembered who you were talking to, and that it took more than that. “I will send someone to get your things”, he finally said, earning an eye-roll from you. “Just let me go home already.” “No.” He leaned closer, face inches away from yours. “Just be patient, alright.” While you were trying to figure out why this physical proximity drove heat to your cheeks, he grabbed the apple out of your hand and took a bite while walking back to his office, leaving you frowning at him.

On the twelfth day, over a strawberry daiquiri, you admitted that you didn’t know how to dance properly. Through a detailed argumentation about the great importance of dance in Colombian culture, especially in the city of Cali, Pacho had persuaded you to “exclusive dance lessons – a once in a lifetime chance”, as he called it. The carefreeness evoked by alcohol prevailed against embarrassment,  and so you allowed him to take your hand and lead you to the dimly lit lounge.

You wouldn’t be able to recall what you talked about that evening, when his hands felt so naturally around your body, the familiarity between you bordering on intimacy. All you’d remember would be the way his body felt against yours when you touched, the way his eyes seemed to stare into your soul, his voice – husky but soft, and ultimately, the moment you realized that maybe it had always been more than just friendship.

Two weeks after you first arrived in this place, the news channels talked about the end of Pablo Escobar. Medellin went back to normal, life and laughter rising once again in the streets, the fear that had previously ruled the city was slowly disappearing, although the terror that was caused by one single man would never be forgotten. He wasn’t caught yet, but left without anyone to support him. And even though you grew used to this place, you came to the conclusion that spending any more time with Pacho would be challenging. Your latest realization only scared you, and as a natural human reaction to uncomfortable truths, you decided to avoid it. 

It was one of the hot days, where you spend the late morning lying by the pool and reading one of the many books you found in Pacho’s office. El viejo y el mar – the old man and the sea. “A classic.” You looked up to see Pacho standing in the entrance to the house, hands casually in his pockets. “Didn’t know you were that literate”, you said nonchalantly, putting the book aside. “All the good things in life.” He walked over to the sunbed next to you, sitting down. “My men find it quite distracting when you walk around half-naked, trying to engage them in conversations.” A short laugh escaped your lips, surprise mixed with confusion, the serious expression on his face indicating discontent. “Maybe you have the wrong men for this job then.” This time he laughed, face soothing, although the laugh didn’t reach his eyes. “Or listen, Pacho, maybe it is just time for me to go back home. Pablo Escobar is done”, you carefully started while watching him, noticing the subtle tensioning of his jaw. “He is still out there. As long as he is alive, he will be a threat. I don’t want to keep you here against your will, but it is for –” “Just for my safety, yes I gathered that”, you cut him short. “But is it really? For me? Or are you doing it for yourself, to have a clear conscience?” His eyes widened, only for a brief moment, but you had noticed. Body frozen, he then lowered his gaze, cigarette in his hand left to burn out. You waited, expecting him to brush you off, telling you to not be ridiculous in his usual sophisticated tone. But after a long pause, he just looked up, no words needed to express the guilt in his eyes. You stood up, taking the cigarette out of his hand in the process. Leaving Pacho speechless was not an easy achievement, and under these circumstances, you wouldn’t want to call it an achievement even. “I am tired of being treated like a prisoner, Pacho.” With a long drag, you finished the cigarette and leaned forward to put it out in the ashtray before walking back inside.

“Wait.” You stopped, turning around to face Pacho who was coming up to you, relieved that he didn’t let you walk away. “Do you really feel like that? Like a prisoner?” His voice was softer than usual, containing an insecurity that was new to you. It was strange, the way he managed to make you feel bad like no other, almost like out of the two of you, you were the cold, ruthless one. “I – no, I’m sorry. It’s nice here, but it’s not home”, you said, trying to take the weight out of your earlier statement. “We can make it your home.” You opened your mouth, but couldn’t think of an answer, astonishment sitting deep in your bones. “You are right”, he continued. “I am being egoistic, because I like this place better when you are here, and even the thought of something happening to you out there sickens me.” More than once had you tried to avoid the idea of the two of you being more than friends, afraid that it would be a ridiculous wish, which, in the end, would cause you more pain than a bullet in your body. And so, because it had been such an absurd notion, you had never thought of the way you would react in case it actually happened. You slowly forced yourself to awake from your trance-like state, knowing that Pacho rarely talked about his feelings, and your silence would only be unsettling him. And that’s the last thing you desired, because actually, you wanted him to know that he was the source of your happiness, that no safe houses, no amount of guards would make you feel as safe as being by his side. But you were afraid of blurting it all out, years of friendship and trust at risk. So instead, you reached for his hand, bringing it to your lips. “As long as you walk this earth, I refuse something happening to me”, you whispered against his skin, “after all, I need to look after you and all the trouble you cause.” He smiled, visibly relieved, and pulled you closer to place a kiss on your head. Moments of silence passed before you spoke again. “If I am to stay here longer now, we have to make a few changes to this place.” “Anything you want.”

[fauzhee10069]

JoJolion chapter 107 review (starring Higashikata Caato)

Why not? This chapter does star her.

We’re finally almost free from the crap of Caato’s hypes because she finally does something right now. This chapter is about her fight against Tooru and more about her character.

Previously related post: 

The Long-Awaited Most-Hyped Character Finally Made Her Appearance: Caato

MAJOR SPOILER AHEAD!! Don’t read more if you haven’t read the newest chapter (107) yet and don’t want to get spoiled!

JJL chapter 107: Kaato Higashikata's "Attack"

First, I’d like to try her recipe.

Actually, the reason she is in Higashikata’s house right now is to deliver Jobin’s favorite dish made by her… what a lovely mother. Too bad, instead she found her son’s dead body.

This actually should debunk some Caatofags silly idea of her as an evil person who doesn’t really care about her family. When it looks like more about Jobin, I think she does care to her daughters as well when she asked them to stay in their place.

Also, the speculation of Tooru’s tricking Caato also got debunked, obviously because Yasuho is there to tell her about what was really going on.

Yasuho in this chapter mostly just explains anything happened and her explanation regarding rock-humans and New Locacaca is because she has no reason to assume that Caato already knows about these things.

I like how Caato looks calm when Tooru was pointing knife (more like saw I think) at her, those tears in her eyes are still tears of grief over Jobin’s death, not due to her fear.

read it from left to right -->

That really sounds like a villain speech and it is said by Tooru. At this point I’m getting even more conviced that he is the true main villain of part 8.

Caato then revealed her Stand, the name is 「Space Trucking」 and I have explained its newest mechanism in my other post, so I won’t go in depth in discussing her Stand here. In short, she uses her Stand to hide some of Tooru’s limbs to incapacitate him.

Apparently, the one who called her “K-Kaato-san” in the last page of previous chapter was Yasuho and Tooru also knows about her (Caato). Just like what Maako, the girlfriend of Ojiro said that the news about her murdering a child 15 years ago is a well-known sensational news in Morioh, so it is not surprising if several characters in JJL know her.

I like Caato’s composure and softness here, kinda reminds me of Jolyne… yeah, she has been compared to Jolyne numerous times, her intro in prison is definitely a Jolyne’s reference. Araki once said that Norisuke IV is the JJL version of Josuke in part 4, as his elder counterpart so, what if Caato is also the elder counterpart of Jolyne in JJL? That kinda makes sense.

Caato already knows about the New Locacaca and so, does this mean that Caato was hiding another pot of the New Locacaca?? Or is that the same pot that Tooru and Yasuho had been fighting for in previous chapters?

My guess is that it is the ‘same’ pot, look how the pot that Caato reveals does not have any fruit either. I think Caato is just playing with her Stand’s ability while talking about the New Locacaca  or… perhaps, while she looks like she is playing, she actually manages to hide and steal a part of the plants(?)

Look, a flashback of Caato and Jobin! I think it officially becomes her trait to always barge in unannounced and startled whoever was in the room. They were in Jobin’s beetle collection room where he hid the New Locacaca there.

Look at the window that still looks intact there, then this flashback happened before the fight between Jobin-Tsurugi and Ojiro.

This is so wholesome this scene basically tells that no matter how old Jobin is he is still Caato’s baby.

Okay, I’m not into symbolization but now I want to talk about it just a moment, while this could be simply a JoJo thing that Jobin was wearing such impractical design for the sake of fashion, with that outfit he basically locked his own wrist which might symbolize of being handcuffed.

If you’re willing to take a look at the flashback scene in chapter 64, Jobin started wearing such outfit when he was a teenager right before Caato got caught by the police. Is this a form of Jobin's empathy for his mother who was in prison? Even though this symbolization is slightly missed because he was already wearing that outfit just before Caato got caught.

Told ya, the window still wasn't broken yet.

So, Jobin eventually told everything to his mom, about the New Locacaca, its equivalent exchange ability, the orchard burning and Tsurugi’s involvement.. and the most important thing that’s being revealed here is that the sap has the same power as the fruit! Those beetles show that we don’t necessarily need to have the fruit to get the effect of perfect equivalent exchange!!

Also, this actively debunk those wild theory of Caato being the mastermind of everything, she did not seem to possess any Locacaca before, she did not know the existence of the New Locacaca (and possibly about the rock-humans either), she did not know what truly happened during the orchard burning, she doesn't look like she is a secret rock-wahmen either, etc.

She is not as mighty as those Caatofags want her to be, however…

…her character remains consistent since the early of her introduction, that she actually had a conflicting view with Norisuke IV regarding the family’s ethic and moral value. This is about what we call “selflessness vs selfishness” again, and Caato’s view is more dominant in influencing Jobin.

Caato is not the mastermind controlling Jobin like a puppet like those Caatofags was promoting. Everything Jobin has done in this story is of his own will, starting from his cooperation with rock-humans, the struggle of the New Locacaca and the burning orchards. However, Jobin's way of thinking, motivation and ambition have been influenced by Caato's views and how she has nurtured him.

And in this chapter, Caato is being supportive towards Jobin like she had always been (read: chapter 59 and 64). Plus, Caato and Jobin’s Stand names being references to Deep Purple’s songs may signify their close relationship.

Looks like she just basically activated her Stand on the plant, it could be hidden whenever someone tried to come and get it but it wasn’t truly activated, at least that’s what the translation implies.

read it from right to left <---

「Wonder of U」 starts appearing behind Caato, does it mean that Caato really start harming Tooru? Another new feat of her Stand’s ability that it is able to fully hide a living being, which she uses to hide her grandson Tsurugi.

She makes Tooru to do equivalent exchange with dying Tsurugi while 「Wonder of U」is seen rushing towards Caato… end in cliffhanger. Probably my favorite page here. Basically, what Caato does is ‘two birds in one stone’ movement, breaking the Higashikata family’s curse by saving her grandson while eliminating Tooru.

And what could happen next?

My thought…

This chapter shows how awesome Caato truly is, starting from her soft side as a mother to her toughness against the enemy.

Araki is really doing her well, I thought there was no need to turn her into an antagonist with great power/influence or a silly plot twist that this unassuming grannie is the mastermind behind anything.

Caatofags had once described her as a mother who directs Jobin like a puppet and supervises Tooru as her subordinate whereas in reality, Araki has been portraying the three of them in a more balanced way rather than one being above anothers.

I really like her relationship with Jobin, I once said that they would make good partners if they were to be the final antagonists after Tooru, but sadly at this point I feel that Jobin is permanently dead.

There won’t be Yoshihiro-Yoshikage(like)’s cooperation against Josuke in this part… however, Caato continues to carry out her supportive role towards Jobin by trying to fulfill his main goal of curing Tsurugi and breaking the family curse.

Even so far, I haven't considered Caato as an antagonist, I still think of her as a 'wild card' for Josuke and Yasuho.

The mystery and next chapter prediction…

If this goes well, it looks like Caato's action in doing equivalent exchange to Tooru and Tsurugi will succeed in curing Tsurugi. The cracks on Tsurugi's face seemed to be diminishing. But with the 「Wonder of U」 following behind her, it shows that Caato's life too is in danger.

Then what will happen to the fully healed Tsurugi? Considering that the fusion happened to Josefumi and Kira does not make any of them 'alive' with their consciousness and instead creates a new consciousness we called “Josuke”, the new Tsurugi might not be the Tsurugi we know all along.

Besides, the equivalent exchange that happened on Tooru and Tsurugi is an exchange between rock-human and normal human and so far we still don't know what the effect will be. Will this be the answer to Tsurugi's weird behavior in the flashforward of chapter 83?

Then I also questioned about the harvest countdown of the New Locacaca in the flashforward, that in the previous chapter (106), the fruit in the pot was already gone. But in this chapter, there could be a possibility that Caato might hide the other parts of the plant (perhaps some branches) using her cards.

I think that there is starting to appear a slight hint linking the current events to the flashforward in chapter 83.

[chibivesicle]

Golden Kamuy chapter 262 - an early version of a car chase . . .

I’m definitely slow with my meta for this chapter.  The end of the year exhaustion has caught up to me and I still have some things to do for work, but I’m waiting to discuss them with my supervisor so - yay, I guess?

The chapter 262 cover is a very horse-missing-brain-bits-buddies something in color.  Sadly a waste of a color chapter of you ask me, but I’m not Noda.

The chapter starts out with Hijikata’s group playing it safe, creating a way to hide Jack’s body and Kirawus is assisting a rough looking Kadokura.

Since Hijikata is no idiot, he quickly hops on a horse to pursue the beer car with Sugimoto, Shiraishi and Boutarou.

Interestingly, Sugimoto is the one who demands to slow down to talk to him.  Could it be that Sugimoto has developed a soft spot in his heart for Hijikata?  Pfffttt.  Likely not, but he recognizes he’s a competent individual and to rescue Asirpa he’s a worthwhile ally.

This shows since the first thing Hijikata asks is where Asirpa is, which allows the rest of them to clarify that Tsurumi’s group is hiding as firemen.

This gives us a nice view from the back of the fire engine, and also a concerned look back from Tsukishima.  It really tells us a lot about how aware Tsukishima is, he did travel to Karafuto and back with Sugimoto and Shiraishi, so he’s got a good idea who these men think and act.

Now, we don’t know where Asirpa and Usami’s body are placed.  When I saw this panel I saw two possible places and have pointed them out with the purple arrows. The beer car pursues them and as Shiraishi encourages Boutarou, we finally get an update on his overall status.   He’s feeling tired and Shiraishi asks him if he’s okay.

He’s bleeding a lot - he did get stabbed and shot at.  I’d like to point out he also regrew his cut off ear!  Perhaps, he’s part axolotl!  I think Noda was just tired when drew this or it got lost in the action.

I’m glad to see Shiraishi concerned about him, but we have hints these two men are friends.  Of course Boutarou proudly declares that he’s a man who is going to be a king and Shiraishi needs to witness this historic event. The 27th has been spotted and it is Koito who notices the car in pursuit of them.  Can we take a moment to appreciate how great this is for Koito?  Sure, he’s still working for Tsurumi, but he’s levelheaded and comes up with a quick solution.

Tsukishima then tells Tsurumi he can go ahead and they will stay behind to block the pursers.  They do their best to try to stop the car, but Boutarou has other plans and drives through some random guy’s house to avoid the gunfire.

Due to Boutarou’s creative driving (he would not pass his driver’s test at all!) his gamble allows them to catch up to the fire engine.  This gives a clearer view of the two tied bags of mystery on the engine.

Poor Shiraishi gets tossed all around and is half hanging out of the car and on Boutarou’s lap.   Tsurumi then gives the simple order of ‘Go!’  And with that order things become more complicated since the two men on horseback are also carrying more tied up bags!

Shiraishi, Boutarou and Sugimoto then shout at each other what is going on and who to pursue.  Sugimoto of course things Asirpa must be on the engine, but Hijikata makes the decision for them - he goes after the men on horseback so by default they have to pursue the fire engine. . .

Sugimoto is trying to shoot the driver, and he tells Boutarou to pull up closer.  Wow, Sugimoto and shooting . . .

Once almost even with them, Tsurumi ducks down and swings back to make a single shot with his pistol, hitting Boutarou in the right side of his torso.  Shiraishi takes control of driving and asks him if he is okay again.

Boutarou gets the comment of just ‘well, damn. . .’ as they drop back and we can see a figure on the back of the engine stand up.

Of course it is the very sexy, Kikuta.  He takes aim at Shiraishi with his double revolvers and Shiraishi has the look of complete terror.

This then leads to one of the best pages of GK for some time, Boutarou, pushing Shiraishi out of the way leaving him at the mercy of Kikuta’s aim.  Three shots land in this panel hitting him in the chest.

The action continues with more shots fired by Kikuta into Boutarou.  Shiraishi cries out in great concern after watching him be shot! Not all of the shots hit him as some instead hit the car.

The car then slams into the engine and Kikuta holds on by ducking down.

With Boutarou seriously injured and Shiraishi concerned, the car crashes and it seems the threat has been dealt with.  Kikuta tells Tsurumi that the car can’t follow them any more and we get to see that the second cloth bag is now gone.  It was Kikuta curled up under a cloth so that he could emerge undetected.  We can still see the other bag shoved under the seat on the engine under Tsurumi.

Of course, Sugimoto, somehow was able to grab onto the engine after the collision. Well damn, this was one hell of a chapter! First off, I want to yell, “Hang in there Boutarou!!!!”  It has not been a good day for him.  Since I’m a fan of Boutarou, I have to have a little faith that he’ll pull though.  I have several reasons to believe he’s still got a role to play.

1.) Boutarou is a good friend to Shiraishi.  He saved his life and he’s brought up the point that Sugimoto, may be his friend, but he doesn’t treat him like an equal.  Having another one of Shiraishi’s friends killed by the 27th just makes me feel sad. 

2.) Boutarou is like Sugimoto.  He’s an incredibly tough guy, who is physically able to handle a lot.  The more he’s around Sugimoto, the more uncomfortable he makes Sugimoto.  Both survived while their families died, and they are able to continue to survive by almost ‘willing’ themselves to keep going.  The only difference between them is one is a legal criminal while the other committed terrible acts as a member of the military and working for the government/law.

3.) Boutarou is working with Kikuta.  This is my crazy theory.  We know that Kikuta told Ariko he is a spy.  Therefore, they are working together on something . . . Ariko and Boutarou have spent a fair amount of time together and when Kikuta grabbed Asirpa and talked to her, Boutarou was hanging back.  This is a long shot, but I love to think about it . . . . come on Noda, give me the flashback I want to see with Kikuta, Ariko and Boutarou. . . .

The bullet proof vest was invented in 1893 and I recently watched the movie ‘The Sting’ so a good con is tickling my mind.  I want to see an excellent plot twist surrounding Boutarou . . . sure, Tsurumi shot him for sure, but if Kikuta was in a con with him to make it look like he got shot a lot - damn, I’d love that.  It would also be an excellent spy reference - I’m thinking of the James Bond movie ‘You only live twice’ which certainly has not aged well from a politically correct viewpoint, but is a great example of how to fake a death.

Where is Asirpa?  Seriously, someone is going to be disappointed when this all ends.  With Kikuta revealing that he was the second cloth bag on the fire engine, it still leaves the bag under Tsurumi to be Asirpa or she could be on either of the horses.  Hijikata is pursuing them, but he can only go after one at a time unless he’s able to shoot one of the men and catch the other. With the two horsemen, we also have the possibility of Ogata sniping them.  Or is he still tied up in his battle with Vasily?  We currently lack enough information to determine this.  TOO MANY VARIABLES NODA!  Damn you! Tsurumi is the type of person to keep Asirpa close to him, but at the same time he is next level when it comes to his planning and what he expects from others.  Plot wise, having Tsurumi successfully kidnap Asirpa makes a lot of sense to me at this point.  It would force everyone else to ‘regroup’ and have some frank conversations about what they want.  It would tie back nicely into the conversation about what they’d do with the gold from the boys’ night sleepover situation.

‘Cause I’m a ‘terrible person’ I really want to see the Sugimoto fight with Kikuta and Tsurumi end with him grabbing the bag somehow and to end up with Usami’s body instead.  I want Sugimoto to be disappointed and realize that Asirpa isn’t someone he has priority with.  He can care about her as a younger kid sister but she isn’t his and his alone. Honestly, despite the extreme excitement of this chapter, not a whole lot actually happened that allows for crazy in depth meta.  Well that is all for now and I’m waiting to see what happens next.  Hang in there Boutarou!  I sense you have much more to do in the plot.

[slippinmickeys]

The Countess (2/4)

She did one country dance with the Duke before dinner was called, and she was forced to sit next to him during the meal. Food and spittle came out of his mouth at regular intervals as he spoke, and when she tried to converse with him of books and science in an effort to find a shared interest, he informed her that he thought women had no place reading, much less discussing topics like science.

She grew more and more depressed as the meal wore on, and when Missy tried to catch her eye from across the room, she couldn’t take it anymore and excused herself awkwardly, rushing off down the nearest hallway, just needing to get away from him.  

She rounded a corner into an empty corridor and leaned back against the wall, taking large, heaving breaths, her breasts practically spilling out of the top of her dress as she did so. She hated this dress. She hated this place. She hated the Duke and her father and all the choices made in the world that led to her current situation.

After a few deep breaths, she began to calm a bit and felt cool air on her face coming from further down the corridor.

She knew she shouldn’t be on her own anywhere in the house without a chaperone -- the very last thing she needed was to ruin her reputation and thereby her chances of an advantageous marriage if she were discovered. In London Society all it took was a word in one person’s ear and any woman’s prospects could be shattered. Her family would be ruined and so would she. Nevertheless, she welcomed the feeling of the cool air on her hot skin, and rather thought a breath of fresh air might help her to center herself so she could return to the party.

She rounded the corner and found a door that led to the garden. She stepped through it gratefully.

The garden smelled of roses and jasmine and was blessedly deserted. She stepped under an arbor dripping with wisteria and found a bench in front of a small fountain. She sat.

She wanted nothing more than to loosen her corset and fling it away, but she leaned back instead, trying to take as deep breaths as she could. It was hopeless. Everything was hopeless. She felt the sharp sting of tears at the corner of her eyes and finally let them fall.

She wept for what felt like an hour but was probably only a matter of minutes, before she heard what she thought was a footfall from the doorway through which she’d come. If her mother found her out here, she’d be furious, and Dana had no doubts that she’d noticed the empty chair next to the Duke and would come looking for her. She needed to get back to the dinner -- and the Duke. There had to be another way back into the house.

She stepped around the fountain and under another arbor, and when she turned the corner, there sat the Earl of Wexford, sitting on a twin of the bench she had just been occupying.

They both started at the presence of the other and then the Earl shook himself and stood politely.

“Lady Dana,” he said, squinting at her, no doubt seeing the tracks of tears on her cheeks, “are you all right?”

Dana quickly wiped at her cheeks then smoothed her dress. Finally she raised her eyes back to the Earl.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

He nodded once and reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a crisp white handkerchief that he handed her without a word.

She looked at it for a long moment before accepting it with all the dignity she could muster, wiping it delicately under her eyes and nose. She handed it back with a small smile.

“Can I escort you back inside?” he asked kindly, “it wouldn’t do to be caught out here alone together. I’m afraid I do have a bit of a reputation -- earned or otherwise -- and being out here with me is sure to get you one, too.”

She knew he was right but didn’t want to go inside just yet. The open sky and the fresh air lent her a feeling of freedom she knew she should revel in while she still could. She sat on the bench. He looked at her for a long minute then sat gingerly down beside her, giving her as much room as was possible on the small seat.

“Your reputation isn’t earned?” she asked him boldly. He leaned back and smiled at the ground in front of him.

“I suppose that depends,” he said.

“On what?”

“On what you’ve heard,” he looked back at her and she hoped he couldn’t see the blush she could feel blooming on her cheeks in the dark.

“I’ve heard you keep a fallen woman in a luxurious apartment in Mayfair,” she said, surprising both of them with her boldness. “Is it not true?”

He looked at her -- his eyebrows still up -- and then back to the ground.

“It is true,” he finally said.

Dana was shocked. She barely knew him, but he seemed a decent man and had treated her with dignity and respect. He didn’t seem the kind of man who would keep a whore.

“And you keep her there for your…” she wasn’t sure how to demurely ask it, but something inside of her really wanted to know, “...personal use?”

He threw his head back and laughed once, mirthlessly.

“That part is not true.”

“It’s… not?”

“She is a friend,” he said simply.

Dana didn’t want to pry further, but couldn’t keep the interest from her face.

He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the flowers surrounding them.

“She is an old friend,” he went on, “who was met with an unfortunate series of events in her life. We were childhood friends. When I found out what became of her, I… did what I could for her.”

“So she now lives comfortably in Mayfair?” Dana asked, realising only after she said it how rude it sounded.

“Yes, and she no longer has to prostitute herself to do so,” he said curtly.

Dana felt the sharpness of the words in her chest.

“What is her name?” she asked quietly, and his posture softened. He turned to look at her.

“I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that,” he said. “It’s kind of you.”

She waited for an answer and finally he gave it.

“Her name is Marita.”

“Then I shall tell all who will listen that your reputation is unearned,” she said, sitting up smartly. “When I’m a Duchess, they’ll have to listen.”

“I pity the person who doesn’t listen to you,” he said softly. “Duchess or no.”

She felt tears well in her eyes for his kindness.

“I do hope we can be friends,” she said, standing and then holding out her hand for a shake, “after I’m married.”

He stood as well and clasped her hand warmly, giving it a firm shake. The hair on her arms stood on end from the contact. He let go after a moment.

“It is my hope as well,” he said, “though it would require your Narcissus of a future husband to permit you.”

“He had better,” Dana said, laughing a bit now with gallows humor, “for it sounds like he won’t permit me to discuss anything more exciting than the weather... I shall need someone to discuss Evanston with.”

Lord Wexford’s eyebrows rose.

“You read Evanston?”

“Evanston and a good deal more,” she said, proudly.

He smiled at her, impressed.

“I look forward to discussing his newest prose with you --  I admit I have a hard time picturing those elegant words emitting from the Duke’s flexuous lips.”

“Ugh,” Dana shuddered, thinking of the food that had flown out of the Duke’s mouth not an hour ago, “do not speak to me of his lips! And to think -- my first kiss will be to those.”

A look came over his face with her words.

“You have never been kissed?” he said, his voice taking on a rough quality. His eyes drifted from her eyes to settle on her lips and then flitted briefly, for the first time, to her bosom.

“I have not,” she said primly, for the first time feeling a bit nervous about being alone with a man in an empty garden.

He seemed to sense her change in comfort and put his hands behind his back as if to reassure her.

“Would you like to be?” he asked quietly.

“Would I like to be what?” she said dumbly, both hoping and not hoping that he meant what she thought he did.

“Kissed,” he said simply, and unconsciously licked his lips slowly, drawing her attention to his mouth, to his plump lower lip.

She felt something low in her gut, and before she realized she had said it, the word sat there in the air between them:

“Yes.”

He said nothing but took a slow step toward her, allowing her time to turn and run away if she had any second thoughts.

She was surprised to find that she didn’t. Not one. In fact the only thing she wanted in the world right now was to feel this man’s lips upon her own.

When he got close, as close as he had been when they had been waltzing, he reached his hands up to lightly touch her face, and her breath hitched in her throat.

“You will permit me?” he said as he leaned down slowly to bring his lips level with her own. She nodded once and her eyes slid closed.

She felt the light fan of his breath on her face, smelling a hint of honey and something else more sharply masculine. And then his lips were upon her own.

His first touch was gentle and light, the briefest whisper, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. His second was more firm, the press of him becoming more insistent. She found herself kissing him back, leaning into his lips as he pressed into her. She felt one arm come around her waist to pull her body into his own, and she felt a thrill -- a frisson of energy running from her toes up to the top of her head and then settling, like the fizz of champagne, where their lips met.

When her body pressed into his further, she heard the lightest of moans from him and her heart thrilled at the power she felt -- like Aphrodite holding the golden apple. She tentatively put a hand around his waist and pressed gently.

It was all the encouragement he seemed to need, and she suddenly felt his tongue gently insisting on entry passed her lips. Surprised, she opened her mouth, and his tongue plunged inside, rubbing against her own. She felt her womb contract up into her body and a heavy feeling she’d never felt before settle between her legs.

She released a moan of her own and he moved his head slightly more to the side so that he could more thoroughly plumb the depths of her mouth with his tongue. Feeling a bit like a fencer, she parried with her own and he breathed in once deeply through his nose, moving his other hand into her hair.

She had never felt anything like this. Not once in all of her 20 years. All she wanted was to kiss this man for the rest of her life and never stop, not for sustenance, not for air.

Then in the haze of her desire and the ringing in her ears, she heard a noise and a sharp intake of breath from behind her.

She pulled her lips from the Earl’s as if in slow motion and turned just in time to see both her brother and her mother standing behind them, shocked looks upon their faces. Her brother’s face slowly turned to outrage.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he shouted, and took a menacing step forward.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Things to Look Forward To

Summary:  A series of four missing moments from Forged Through Fire from other points of view to the main ones. They didn’t really fit in the main fic, but I feel they add colour and depth to the side characters and I wanted to write them anyway.

Part one: Chris and Trisha discuss the latter’s pregnancy and Chris reflects on Trisha and Hohenheim’s relationship. Set about two weeks prior to the events of Chapter Six.

Rated: T

Things to Look Forward To

The night was winding down, with most of the regulars having already left the bar and gone to their own homes. At least, Chris hoped that they had homes to go to. There were some people that she saw so regularly in the place that she wasn't entirely sure. Clinic had finished for the night, Trisha coming out from behind the curtain and settling herself on a bar stool whilst Hohenheim took care of the final cleaning up.

"What can I get you, Trish?"

Trisha shook her head. "I'm ok, thanks."

"You sure? Seems like you had a busy night tonight. Miles brought some of that Cretan rosé that you like last time he visited from Briggs on the vodka run. How on earth he got Cretan wine in Briggs is anyone's guess."

"I think Briggs is just an entire microcosm country all of its own." Trisha laughed. "But no. I'd love to, but no."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Something you're not telling me, Trisha? I've never known you turn it down before."

Trisha nodded, and in spite of the tiredness pervading her expression and stance, a warm smile crept over her face.

"Yes. It's still early days yet. Van reckons I'm eight weeks along, so we're going to wait a bit before we make it public. I figure you can keep a secret though."

Chris smiled; if there was one thing that she was good at from her many years in this line of work, it was keeping secrets. She had known for a long time how much Trisha wanted to start a family, and in the bleak times that they were facing, the slightest hint of good news was something to be celebrated. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. We'd intended to wait until we were out of the city, but I guess nature had other ideas. And then again, I don't think Van would stop doing what he's doing unless he had a reason to. Neither would I."

Theirs was an odd little love story. Chris had known Hohenheim for a long time; he had always been a transient figure, flitting in and out of her life as he moved around. She never really knew where he called home, but she knew that he wasn't Amestrian, and that had been avoiding the authorities here long before the current regime had come into power. He had gone out into the east for a few years, nothing out of the ordinary for him, and when he had returned, Trisha had come with him.

Hohenheim was a strange man, one of the most solitary people that Chris had ever known, and she had considered herself privileged to have won his trust. She had known immediately that Trisha had to have been someone remarkable. Over the last few years that she had got to know her, her initial impression had been confirmed. Trisha was kind and caring, just as Hohenheim was, but she had a brightness to her that he had never had. Her optimism was stubborn and unshakeable, but there was nothing naive in it, which made it all the more precious. Trisha knew exactly the circumstances that she was living in and she knew exactly how hard it would be for them to change, but she never lost hope.

The balance of light in the bar changed for a split second as Hohenheim sealed up the room and then came out from behind the curtain, settling on the stool beside Trisha.

"Busy night, huh?"

Hohenheim nodded. "Yes, but at least there weren't any emergencies."

Trisha batted his arm. "Don't tempt fate!"

"Can I get you anything, Hohenheim? Or are you going dry for a while in solidarity?"

Hohenheim looked from Chris to Trisha and back again.

"I might have known that you'd figure it out."

"Alcohol is my life, Hohenheim. I notice when people are in a place they can get it but they don't want it. Congratulations, by the way."

"Yes." Hohenheim smiled, but he looked more nervous than anything.

“Worried?”

Hohenheim just gave her a look. “When am I not worried?”

“That’s very true. But I think you should maybe take a leaf out of Trisha’s book. Try to see the positive in everything.”

“I can see the positive.” His smile became more genuine as he reached across and squeezed Trisha’s hand. “I’m just very good at seeing all the negative as well.”

That was certainly true. Although she knew nothing of his past before she first met him, Chris knew that he must have lived through a lot, and it had all stayed with him. It was only since Trisha had come into the picture that he had really gained any real sense of optimism.

“Still, I think new life should always be celebrated. It might be new life coming into a terrible world, but it’s still a miracle.”

Hohenheim nodded, his mind obviously very far away, and Chris exchanged a look with Trisha.

“Sometimes I wonder just how many voices he’s got in his head.”

Trisha laughed. “I’ve never inquired. Come on, Van. Let’s get home.”

He nodded, coming back to the present, and Trisha leaned in to kiss him. What was intended to be a soft peck became deeper and desperate, and Chris busied herself with polishing glassware to give them some space.

When she glanced back, the passionate moment was over, but they were still pressed in close, foreheads resting together. Chris wanted nothing more than to protect them from the forces outside that were constantly threatening their happiness, but she knew that there was nothing she could do, and she knew, deep down, that they did not need her protection. They weren’t helpless - she’d seen Hohenheim’s alchemy for starters, and although Trisha gave the impression of a waif, she had a core of steel, a small town farm girl coming to the grimy, dangerous city and not only surviving but thriving here.

“Go on,” she said softly. “Be off with you, lovebirds. Make the most of the time you’ve got whilst it’s still just the two of you.”

Trisha smiled. “Thanks, Chris. See you tomorrow.”

They left the bar, Chris watching them go as they passed Roy and Riza in the usual booth.

If any two couples deserved their happy ending, it was those two. If only she could get Roy to get his act together...

[ppatpranss]

GAYA SA PELIKULA EP. 02 Review: Let’s talk about that dinner scene.

“May nahanap ka na bang mauuwian?”

I always have this kind of fear over a series that I already liked in the first episode: a fear that the second one will not live up to it, and so will the rest. But Gaya Sa Pelikula on its second episode did not disappoint, and instead set a whole new pace that further strengthens the story it wants to tell. In this episode, you get easy banters, hilarious make-believe and intriguing fantasies, heartwarming softness, a piercing tension at every turn, that very subtle buildup of romance, and of course, that wonderful conversation on the dining table.

Early warning that I have been gushing about the dinner scene since last night, so it will take up a lot of space in this review/discussion.

[WATCH EPISODE 02 HERE]

What sets Gaya apart

Every time I watch an episode of this show and would rewatch it, I am always overwhelmed with the amount of observations I am able to write down. There are a lot of elements that make this such a good watching experience, and all of those elements just naturally come together. By this, I mean that it does not rely solely on, say, just directing or writing or acting. All of these come together, and I appreciate that you can clearly see how well-thought out everything is.

Episode 02 is a lot more free-flowing and non-structured in my opinion. Transitions feel a lot smoother this time compared to the more scene-after-scene approach of the (no less incredible) pilot episode. Because of this, I actually feel like this point is the real beginning of the story – that this sets the tone for a lot of the future events that could possibly happen between Karl and Vlad, and the people in their lives.

Personally, this is what sets Gaya apart not just among the BL series, but also in Philippine TV in general. For the longest time, we got used to stagnant or repetitive conflicts. Sometimes all the drama are injected to overwhelm the audience. But this one takes its time well. This is a show that wants to bring its audience along its every journey.

Parallels, heartbreaks, buildups

The opening scene picks up where we left off, with Ate Judit now writing a check for Karl’s rent because Vlad will stay over. She reminds Karl that while she’s a cool sister, she won’t stand for her brother getting hurt again. With this, she specifically mentioned “a boy too sweet to swat a fly” who broke his brother’s heart before.

First of all, I’m getting a sudden whiplash whenever this is brought up because I know exactly who it is. Given the first encounter of Karl with Vlad, where he saw him drunkenly dancing to a song about intense heartbreak (again, stream tyl by kakie!), it must have been something truly painful. It doesn’t help as well that there is an obvious parallel going on here with the fact that the description also fits Karl. At one point, Vlad also tells him that he does not need to worry because he looks like someone who does not have a power to hurt him anyway. They are really setting us up as early as now for the heartache, no?

In the same way, I appreciate how this show inserts the sexual attraction also forming between the two of them. Sexual attraction is a part of romance. Gaya normalizes it and emphasizes that it is just natural. The couch scene was particularly genius because of the double meanings of Karl and Vlad’s exchange. But more than that, I like how it also unapologetically shows the physical component of that attraction by having Karl and Vlad sit close together. Vlad even has his arm around Karl. Even the fact that Karl stared at Vlad when he got out of the bathroom was a nice touch.

While the One More Chance dream fantasy was all sorts of hilarious and sexy, it is a testament to how Karl’s subconscious is already telling him something that he keeps on denying. I also like the nice touch there when Karl woke up, he was just disoriented that he had a dirty dream, but not disgusted by it (there are some series and dramas that do this). He is attracted to Vlad. However, for Karl to accept his feelings, it also means that he needs to accept his sexuality. A point which was discussed primarily in the scene before this – the conversation at the dining table.

The phenomenal dinner scene

I wish I am able to give justice to this scene through words, and I’ll try because we need to talk about it (or I need to talk about it). As a fan of films and TV series, I feel like conversations are the most difficult to bring to the surface. You need to keep the audience’s attention while also making sure that the depth is there. For me, what I always look for in conversation scenes are three things: (1) how normal these conversations would sound like as if you are overhearing them from the table next to you; (2) how a director captures the rawness of the exchange between the two actors; and (3) how natural would the delivery be of each line. I think the third point is very important. Some actors have this tendency to talk in a certain kind of perky tone that makes it sound superficial. Thank goodness, both Ian and Pao were really great in this scene.

Of course, the most well-known example for a good conversation scene is the entire Before trilogy – it remains the gold standard for exhibiting the power and the magic of conversations, of an entire film with just these two people talking and forming connections. While this dinner scene isn’t exactly a Before levels type of perfection, to me it was a perfect scene in the face of BL series and the Philippines TV landscape in general.

𝗚𝗮𝘆. 𝗕𝗮𝗸𝗹𝗮. 𝗕𝗮𝘆𝗼𝘁. 𝗕𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁. 𝗜𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀 𝗻𝗼 𝗲𝘂𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗺. 𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗹𝘁.

One of the things best highlighted in this scene is when Karl did the gesture with his hand. That is unfortunately common in the Philippines, with people literally doing it to your face when they ask you. Or some of them done behind your back with matching giggling and knowing looks. I should know because I’ve seen it among my relatives when they try to refer to or describe a cousin or an uncle who is gay or might be gay. Karl was conditioned to think this way, and it’s no surprise that he would struggle to ask the question and get the word out. Meanwhile, Vlad is confident in his own skin. He doesn’t miss a beat and tries to get Karl to say the words in a way that both lectures him and encourages him.

This is what makes the scene purely amazing. It is confrontational, but it is not dramatic. It isn’t even preachy at all. It’s just a seemingly ordinary conversation between two people over a meal, trying to get to know and understand each other. You really got to hand it to Severo for constructing a dialogue this way because it also brings out both of Karl and Vlad’s current disposition. Moreover, this topic is a big deal and there are a lot of conversations that need to be had around it. But this scene easily summed it up around that one simple gesture. In less than a minute, it was able to tell you that being called gay, bakla, bayot, bading is not an insult. No grand monologue was needed.

Aside from that iconic exchange, I also loved the second part of it. It’s not going around much on Twitter so I can see some people reacting to the earlier exchange as if Karl was really just insulting Vlad. But the deal here is, Karl is also in the process of unlearning his bias and conditioning. He grew up in a household where his Dad would take digs against his gay uncle, Tito Santi. There’s even a hint of Tito Santi being physically hurt by his father if he’s “babakla-bakla” (basically another insulting way of saying lalambot-lambot). You can just imagine how difficult it must have been for him to grow up and feel like he needs to follow a certain path that his parents see for him.

Hence, when confronted by Vlad with the question, “Ikaw ba, bakla ka?” he was defensive. His tone shot up much higher than normal and was almost panicked. You can literally feel all of his guard come up. Vlad asked him why he was acting like he just accused him of a crime, and to his credit, Karl immediately apologized. But again, I just really understand Karl and I can’t wait for him to really see himself and get to know himself. There is so much about him that I am interested to learn and for him to learn as well about himself. I always see him as like a kid learning to take his first steps – he stumbles but tries to stand again even for just the sake of himself. His many mess-ups in life make his character compelling… and I guess this is just me on my #ProtectKarlAgenda.

Interestingly, as per Direk JP, above scene references an iconic scene from Jose Javier Reyes’ 1993 rom-com film MAY MINAMAHAL which, coincidentally, I just watched last month when I found its restored version on iWant. Amazing as well that the specific scene of them having a meal together was really my favourite from the film because it was a turning point for Carlitos (Aga Muhlach) and Monica (Aiko Melendez). It was when they finally start to get to know each other because for the longest time, they would just flirt in the cafeteria. It was a fitting reference because for Karl and Vlad, they are already starting to get to know each other by sharing even a small part of themselves. I also find it adorable watching Karl watch Vlad messily eat his food. I live for those small soft moments because it just seems so pure and innocent.

All in all, the dinner scene truly delivered. It was iconic and powerful. Major props to Gege and Direk JP, but also to both Ian and Pao. I loved how Pao was able to capture Karl’s reluctance and embarrassment, and Ian just exudes the confidence you need to see in Vlad. How can I describe this connection? Magnetic, I guess? They can easily throw these lines at each other, sustain the tension, and kind of just get lost in it. At every turn, Vlad has the power in this scene as he tries to pull Karl towards him, but also Karl stands on his own ground despite being unsure. I appreciate that about Karl – his life can be a mess, but he never really loses his sense of self and principles.

Finding a home

Aside from everything that happened in this episode, one of the things that I definitely loved is its subtle hint of these two people finding a home in each other. The most striking line for me, really, was when Karl asked Vlad, may nahanap ka na bang mauuwian? I like that this can translate to have you found a place to stay in? and have you found a place to go home to? The episode had such a great run in double meanings, and this one takes the cake more than anything. Karl was starting to feel guilty about kicking out Vlad, and it also happens that over his phone call with Tito Santi, he told him to always find a way to repay kindness with paying it forward to another person or to the community. Luckily, Vlad went back to his apartment to use the restroom.

When Vlad was about to leave, Karl called him back and asked, “Nag-dinner ka na ba?”

Vlad stayed for dinner.

When Vlad was done with dinner and was about to leave again, Karl stopped him and said, “Dito ka na lang matulog.”

Vlad stayed the night.

When Vlad was about to leave to come live with his ex-boyfriend after cooking breakfast as a thank-you, Karl offered him a place to stay, “Will you be my housemate?”

Vlad said yes and stayed.

Epilogue

In today’s epilogue, Karl is still seated on his side of the couch, but Vlad this time was standing at the back of the other side, leaning forward. A stuffed whale occupies the space beside Karl. Every now and then, the two of them would look at each other but it is Karl who would often glance back at Vlad – as to what his eyes are telling him, I don’t know. But if I am allowed to guess, perhaps he was trying to get him to sit beside him? Perhaps, as the closing note goes, there is always a space for Vlad there.

Comments; Ramblings

It’s only the second episode but Gaya is already sparking conversations and it does it in such an engaging way for its many fans. For me, this one really sets the foundation for what is yet to come for the story of Karl and Vlad. If anything, this episode emphasizes that struggle will always be a part of queer love, at least in our current socio-political climate. It isn’t just in regard to identity, but also with everything that comes with the acceptance of who you are by yourself and the Other.

For the pilot episode discussion, I talked about how there seems to be a running theme in this show about seeing – of looking at yourself, the other, or a beloved. This episode shows us Karl seeing Vlad; closely and slowly starting to unravel what it was about him that compels him. For Vlad’s part, I’m pretty sure he’s starting to see who Karl is, too. I feel like him feeling comfortable enough with the idea of staying in Karl’s place and actually living with him over the sem break is an indication of strangely feeling at ease (home?) with someone he just met.

The concept of persons as homes takes me back to a post from a Facebook page called Bibliophile, which was lifted from a poem written by Warsan Shire called ‘For Women Who Are Difficult to Love’: “You can’t make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that.” This episode made me think a lot about that. On one hand, it feels romantic and uplifting to know that you have someone you can call your home, someone you can always return to as Yiu-fai put it in HAPPY TOGETHER [1997]. On the other hand, it feels scary because people change and if today the door and the windows are open, it might not be the same the next day. But I suppose I can feel hopeful for both Karl and Vlad. Perhaps, the door to Karl’s apartment will always be open for Vlad and the space beside the couch will always be reserved for him.

--

Gaya Sa Pelikula airs new episodes every Friday 8PM (Manila time) on Globe Studios’ Youtube channel.

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GAYA SA PELIKULA Ep 01 Review [x]

[terramythos]

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 34 of 26

Title: The Harbors of the Sun (2017) (The Books of the Raksura #5)

Author: Martha Wells

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Epic Fantasy, Adventure, LGBT Protagonist, Female Protagonist (Kind Of), Third-Person

Rating: 9/10

Date Began: 12/11/2020

Date Finished: 12/25/2020

Moon and his friends are reeling from the betrayal of a former ally. With several members of their party kidnapped, and a mysterious weapon stolen by their new enemy, the chase is on. He and the others must infiltrate unknown territory to rescue their missing family and avert a deadly calamity. At the same time, a massive army of Fell are gathering to attack the Reaches. The Raksuran colonies of Indigo Cloud and Opal Night must join forces to defend their home before they are overrun and destroyed. 

“But you don’t want to be near Fell,” Moon guessed. Considering what had happened to Shade when they had been captured by the Fell flight northwest of the Reaches, it was only rational. 

“No, I don’t.” He looked at Moon hopelessly. “Is that weak?” 

Consorts were supposed to be weak and delicate and need everything done for them, but Moon and Shade were different, and nothing was going to change that. And “weak” wasn’t really the right word for what Shade meant. What he was trying to say was harder to express. It was giving into feelings other people thought you were supposed to have about things that shouldn’t have happened to you in the first place, but were not like the actual feelings you did have. There wasn’t a word for that in Raksuran or Altanic or Kedaic or any other language Moon knew. Moon said, “It’s not weak.” 

Full review, some spoilers, and content warning(s) under the cut. 

Content warnings for the book:  Graphic violence and action. Implied past r*pe (it’s the same plot point as previous books). Genocide is a big plot point of this one. 

The Harbors of the Sun is the fifth, and presumably final, book in the Raksura series. And boy what a ride it's been. I've enjoyed settling in with a longer fantasy series. While I'm excited to read something new, I'll miss these characters and the captivating world they inhabit. Since this is probably the last installment, I'll look into book-specific details, but also provide some series retrospective commentary. I won't touch on everything, just things that stick out to me.

From what I can tell, The Harbors of the Sun is a little controversial with long time fans. I can see why, and it's the same reason I added "Epic Fantasy" to the tag list. Most of the series has focused on small-scale conflicts centering on the Raksuran characters. There's hints of large-scale stuff in The Siren Depths, but that crisis is averted, so thus not fully realized. However, these last two books contain a much longer storyline, and the stakes in The Harbors of the Sun are potentially catastrophic not just for the Raksura, but thousands if not millions of people. Think The Lord of the Rings trilogy vs The Hobbit in terms of ramp up.

Due to the larger scale, this book also embraces a rotating point of view. The original trilogy is entirely from Moon's perspective, and The Edge of Worlds only dips its toes into alternate POVs. The Harbors of the Sun features multiple character groups all doing important things to the story, so there's lots of perspective shifts. While I still consider Moon the main character, he shares the stage with many others.

Personally, I like the scaled up conflict. It seems like a natural progression of the series. While not every point of view wows me, finally seeing some stuff from Jade and Chime's perspective (for example) is really cool. While Moon is an enjoyable protagonist, he often interprets characters and motivations wrong. Getting someone else’s take on a given situation or character is refreshing. 

One of my favorite alt-perspectives is Frost. She's a young child and minor character, but serves as the perspective for a tense political discussion between Raksuran queens about impending war with the Fell. This whole section serves to convey important information, but also as great worldbuilding to see how Raksura interact with, indulge, and care for their young. While we have seen adult perspectives such as Moon happily playing with his children, it's interesting to see a child's view of life in the colony. This is emblematic of Wells' approach to the series and her technique when crafting this world. It would be easy to pick a major character like Malachite and tell this section from her perspective, but we would miss many interesting details. Using Frost isn't something I would necessarily consider, and is just a cool writing choice.

By the end, The Harbors of the Sun feels like it's been a long, epic journey-- more so than the shorter adventures of previous books. A LOT of stuff happens in this book, and there's so many different interesting places the characters visit. Even events at the beginning feel distant compared to where everything ends. There is a unique appeal in this kind of story. Maybe it's not for everyone, but I personally like the change of pace and tone, especially as a finale. 

For a series retrospective, the Fell are an interesting subject to discuss. I'm impressed with what Wells pulls off with them. One of my criticisms of The Cloud Roads is the Fell aren't especially compelling villains. They're an evil race of shapeshifters, distantly related to Raksura, who infiltrate cities and eat the population. The Fell are parasites-- they have no real culture or ability to survive except through the destruction of others. They’ve recently taken to destroying Raksuran colonies, kidnapping survivors, and forcing them to produce crossbreeds. Obviously, this introduces two narrative problems. One, "evil races" in fantasy are boring and already done ad nauseam. Two, how can one make the Fell interesting when they're literally irredeemable monsters? 

The answer, it turns out, is a nature vs nurture debate, and it's mostly approached through the Fell/Raksura crossbreed characters. While these ideas have been explored throughout the series, The Harbors of the Sun brings it full circle. The Cloud Roads' main antagonist is Ranea, a crossbreed queen raised by the Fell. She sees the crossbreeds as a natural way to strengthen the Fell and make them an even deadlier force than they are by default, since Raksura have their own set of powers and traits. She’s soundly defeated, supposedly concluding the subplot. Until, of course, it comes back. 

In The Siren Depths, we meet several crossbreed characters who are, for all intents and purposes, Raksura. Malachite rescued them as children and chose to raise them as Raksura of Opal Night. The result is that, while Shade and Lithe are aware of their heritage, they've experienced love and acceptance throughout their lives. Sure, they may have some physical traits and abilities that differ from the others, but often these have practical uses in the story. Their families don’t treat them differently because of this. As characters, they're just as Raksuran as everyone else.

In The Edge of Worlds, we're introduced to another crossbreed queen, a foil to Ranea. While she makes some early mistakes, unlike Ranea she seems capable of reason and compassion. We learn her name and backstory in The Harbors of the Sun. Consolation was born in a Fell flight, but most of her childcare came from her father, a captive Raksuran consort. Hence her name, which is painful with context and distinctly Raksuran. Apparently, the consort's influence didn't just extend to Consolation, but to other outcasts in the flight. After his death, Consolation and her allies slaughtered the leadership and took over the flight, and seek a place to live in peace independent of traditional Fell corruption and influence. 

One of the interesting things about this are the kethel and dakti in Consolation's flight. Throughout the series, these two Fell castes are basically treated as cannon fodder. If you need a big intimidating enemy, throw in a kethel. For annoying imp swarms, dakti. The Raksura tend to think of these creatures as intelligent animals, not people. They only talk when a Fell ruler takes over their mind. They're treated badly among the Fell; cannibalized them when food stores get low, thrown into suicidal situations, etc. 

In The Harbors of the Sun, the kethel and dakti can speak, much to the surprise of the main cast. Consolation's main advisor is a crossbreed dakti named First. There's also a kethel (presumably pureblooded Fell) that follows and assists Moon and Stone throughout the book and engages them in conversation. They clearly distrust it, but over the course of the story go from calling it "the kethel" to "Kethel", like an actual name. It has ulterior motives-- to convince the Raksura to help Consolation-- but is certainly not "inherently evil", nor just an intelligent animal. This is counter to everything we've been led to believe through the series, and it shocks multiple characters and challenges their way of thinking. 

The argument at the end is that the Fell are evil because of a poisonous ideology and the total control of the progenitors (female rulers). Raised with compassion and better treatment, they're very similar to the Raksura. I'm honestly impressed with where the Fell end up vs where they start in The Cloud Roads. I don't know if Wells planned this arc for them from the beginning, but I like the amount of nuance she introduced without it feeling gross or trite. Does it work 100 percent? I'm not sure; I'd have to reread the series in more depth. But based on my current thoughts, it’s a good development; it doesn’t “redeem” or justify the Fell, but demonstrates the ways in which future generations can change and break the cycle. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, and many characters clearly distrust these “new” Fell (understandable considering the sheer trauma most of the cast has), but it’s an interesting take nevertheless. 

On another subject, we never really learn what was up with the forerunners! Except they really liked flower motifs, I guess. I kind of like this; there's an impression that the long forgotten civilizations of the past were technologically advanced, but no one knows what happened to them. It's just an enduring mystery of the series. Ultimately it doesn't matter to the characters, and that's fine.

Also, we now have confirmation that The Serpent Sea is basically filler. It felt like a side story when I read it, but part of me hoped it would have some relevance to these last two books. Nope. I’m a little disappointed in this, but it’s not the end of the world, just something to keep in mind when reading the series. I think the book is entertaining on its own merits, but there’s little to connect it to the main story besides the characters. 

Overall I recommend these books to people looking for a non-traditional fantasy series. There's no humans or typical Tolkein-esque fantasy races. Instead there are dozens of sapient humanoid species invented whole cloth, with some obvious real world inspirations. The shapeshifting Raksura are lovingly crafted, with lots of interesting detail about their culture, customs, and daily life. I love how they feel like believable people but are distinctly nonhuman. As a setting, The Three Worlds is deadly and fascinating, with lots of interesting places and people. There's always a sense of a big, vibrant world, even when the books choose not to explore it in depth. While The Harbors of the Sun feels like a finale to the current Raksuran story, I wouldn't be surprised if Wells visits this setting in the future.

There are some short story collections in this series which I do plan to read sometime in 2021. However, I'm going to take a break from the Raksura series and dive into something else for now. Thanks for reading!