#potential and our worlds are only as big or as small as we make them

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

basically I'm convinced that Lindsey Stirling is actually the coolest person on the planet

[perseidlion]

Streaming in Kaos

Well, it happened. I can't say that I'm surprised that KAOS has been cancelled by Netflix. I am a little surprised at the speed at which it was axed. Only a month after it aired, and it's already gone.

That has me wondering if the decision to cancel was made before the show even aired. We have to remember that marketing is the biggest cost after production. If the Netflix brass looked at the show and either decided (through audience testing, AI stuff or just their own biases) that it wasn't going to be a Stranger Things-level hit, they probably chose at that moment to slash its marketing budget.

That meant there was pretty much no way that KAOS was ever going to hit the metrics Netflix required of it to get a season 2.

What makes me so angry about this (other than the survival of a show relying on peoples' biases or AI) is that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you decide before a show is ever going to air that it won't be a success, then it probably won't be. If you rely on metrics and algorithms and AI to analyze art, you will never let something surprise you. You'll never let it grow. You'll never nurture the cult hits of the future or the next franchise.

Netflix desperately needs people behind the scenes that believe in stories and potential over metrics. Nothing except the same old predictable dreck is ever going to be allowed to survive if you don't believe in the stories you're telling.

The networks and streamers have a huge problem on their hands. They need big hits and to build the franchises of the future to sustain their current model (which is horribly broken.) But people have franchise fatigue and aren't showing up for known IPs like they used to. The fact that Marvel content is definitely not a sure thing anymore is a huge canary in the coal mine for franchise fatigue. People aren't just tired of Marvel, they're tired of the existing worlds both on the big screen and the small one. Audiences are hungry for something new.

It is telling that the most successful Marvel properties of the last few years have been the ones that do something different. Marvel is smart to finally pull out The X-Men because that is a breath of fresh air and something people are hungry to see more of.

There's pretty much no one behind the scenes (except for maybe AMC building The Immortal Universe) that is committing to really taking the time to build these new worlds. Marvel built the MCU by playing the long game. That paid dividends for a solid decade even if it's dropping off now. That empire was built not with nostalgia for existing IP (don't forget the MCU was built with B and C tier heroes) but with patience. Marvel itself seems to have forgotten this in recent years.

Aside from that, I think people really want stories that aren't connected to a billion other things. That takes commitment on the part of the audience to follow and to get attached to. People WANT three to five excellent seasons of a show that tells its own story and isn't leaving threads out there for a dozen spinoffs. We're craving tight storytelling.

KAOS could have been that. Dead Boy Detectives could have been that. So could Our Flag Means Death, Lockwood and Co, Shadow and Bone, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, Willow, and a dozen other shows with great potential or were excellent out of the gate.

If you look at past metrics, you only learn what people used to like, not what they want now. People are notoriously bad about articulating what they want, but boy do they know it when they see it. Networks have to go back to having a dozen moderate successes instead of constantly churning through one-season shows that get axed and pissing off the people who did like it in a hamfisted attempt to stumble on the next big thing.

The networks desperately need to go back to believing in their shows. Instead, they keep cutting them off at the knees before they ever get a chance because some algorithm told them the numbers weren't there.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Describing Scene Locations

Anonymous asked: I've been writing for a decade, mostly short stories, and have recently started writing a fantasy set in the 17th century. My setting is a world pretty much like ours, but with made-up names for specific towns and whatnot. The characters are pirates, and a few are non-human. I'm finding it difficult to figure out where certain plot points take place when the story is mostly character-driven. There are parts where they need to be on land, but apart from 'vague port/island', I don't know what else to do with it. (Am I overthinking this?) I suppose my question is: How specific do secondary locations have to be for it to be immersive and realistic (for their world) without it being lackluster or overdone? I don't want it all be "it's a beach with a village," but adding a giant seaside kingdom seems overkill if it's only mentioned in passing once or twice. Thank you so much for taking the time to answer these - this whole blog is a gift, really.

[Ask edited for length]

First, thank you... that is very kind of you to say! ♥

So, I think it really helps to think of your story in terms of scenes, and to think of each scene almost like a scene in a play. Your scene's setting is like the stage in the play, and the amount of description is the amount of scenery and props on the stage.

If you've been to plays, you've probably noticed that the scenery can be very minimal or very elaborate, depending on the needs of the show:

With fiction, it works the same way. How little or how much you describe the scenery (setting) depends on the needs of the scene, but you do need to make sure to give the reader a sense of place. Looking at the first image, just with the little bit of scenery that's there, we know this scene is taking place in a home, perhaps a living room. If the two men were just sitting on chairs with no other scenery, we wouldn't have that sense of place.

However, that doesn't mean that any of your scenes need to be set in sprawling seaside kingdoms. There are all sorts of land-based settings for pirates:

-- bustling port town like Port Royal or Tortuga -- coastal village, town, or city -- isolated island or cove -- small fishing village -- seaside castles or estates -- pirate's stronghold on a hidden island/cove/cave/bay -- tropical jungle or rainforest -- remote island -- colonial outpost -- swamps and marshlands -- rural countryside -- ancient ruins

There are all sorts of reasons pirates might go ashore in these places:

-- to resupply (food, water, liquor, gunpowder, ammunition) -- to buy specific items (weapons, clothing, equipment for ship) -- to sell, trade, deliver, hide, or bury loot -- to hunt and gather resources -- to recruit crew -- to maintenance, repair, or refit the ship -- to meet with allies, informants, business partners, etc. -- to visit friends/acquaintances -- to avail themselves of various goods and services -- to drink in a bar, gamble and carouse with friends -- to enjoy some much needed rest and recreation -- to learn or exchange information -- to seek medical treatment/medicine/remedies -- to seek legal assistance or meet to discuss legal matters -- to "case" a potential target for a raid -- to visit family and love interests

Within these settings and potential errands, there are many specific settings you could use:

-- the docks of a bustling port -- the tavern of a coastal village -- a quiet moonlit cove where pirates are laying low -- the great hall of a seaside castle -- a masquerade ball at a country estate -- the crumbled ruins of an ancient civilization in an isolated jungle -- at a freshwater lagoon on a remote island during resource stop -- busy market at a colonial outpost -- fisherman's shanty in a quiet bayou -- an official's luxury town home in a big city -- the coastal farm belonging to a family member

So... having the different locations in mind, how much or how little do you describe them? Once again, all you have to do is create a sense of place for the reader. If your pirates are having a heated argument on the docks of a busy port town, you may at least want to give a vague description of the docks, whether it's night or day, what the weather's like, how crowded it is, and maybe a brief sampling of what the crowd is doing, notable sensory details (sounds, smells, visuals) etc. You can also weave those details into the narrative in a way that serves a dual purpose. For example, maybe in the argument, one pirate gestures to a toothless fish monger and uses them as an example in a point they're trying to make. Not only is this a necessary part of the dialogue, but it also fills in some of the scenery detail. Or, maybe instead, they're perusing spices in a bustling seaside market while they talk/argue quietly. Here are some posts from my description master list that will hopefully help further:

The Right Amount of Description (5 Tips!) The 3 Fundamental Truths of Description Description: Style vs Excess/Deficiency How to Make Your Description More Vivid Adding Description to Your WritingWeaving Details into the Story Guide: Showing vs Telling When “Telling” is Okay

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[st4rtar0t]

Random Uplifting messages for you

Pick a picture

Please DM for person readings

This is a general reading so only take what resonates.

Picture one

You are capable of achieving incredible things.

Your resilience is inspiring.

Don't be afraid to dream big; you have the talent to achieve it.

Embrace challenges; they make you stronger and wiser.

Your kindness makes the world a better place.

Believe in yourself, and others will too.

Your journey matters; every step is a victory.

Life may be tough, but so are you.

Your smile is contagious; keep spreading positivity.

You are not alone; your friends are here for you.

Each day is a new opportunity; make the most of it.

Your uniqueness is your superpower; celebrate it.

Don't underestimate your impact on others' lives.

Your potential is limitless; never stop exploring it.

Remember, progress, not perfection, is what counts.

Your efforts never go unnoticed; keep shining.

Mistakes are lessons in disguise; learn and grow.

Your courage inspires others to be brave too.

In every setback, there's a setup for a comeback.

Your heart is pure gold; cherish your compassionate nature

Picture 2

Every storm runs out of rain; brighter days are ahead.

You are stronger than you think; keep pushing forward.

Your positive attitude is your greatest asset.

Challenges are opportunities for growth; embrace them.

Your determination knows no bounds; keep going.

Life's hurdles are stepping stones to success; keep climbing.

Your presence brings light into the lives of others.

Stay focused on your goals; you are unstoppable.

Your energy is infectious; keep spreading the joy.

Believe in the beauty of your dreams; they will come true.

Your perspective is valuable; never hesitate to share it.

You have the power to change the world; start with kindness.

Your passion drives you; let it lead you to greatness.

Remember, even the longest journey begins with a single step.

Your creativity knows no bounds; let it flow freely.

Life is a canvas, and you're the artist; paint it vibrant.

Your laughter is music to our ears; never stop singing.

You are a beacon of hope; keep shining your light.

Your friendship is a treasure; cherish the bond we share.

Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day.

Picture 3

Your spirit is unbreakable; keep soaring high.

Believe in miracles; you are one waiting to happen.

Your generosity knows no limits; keep giving from the heart.

Life's challenges are like a puzzle; you'll find the missing pieces.

Your humility is your strength; stay grounded and keep rising.

Remember, the best is yet to come; keep the faith.

Your wisdom is profound; keep sharing your insights.

You are a masterpiece in progress; embrace your journey.

Your love and kindness create ripples of positivity.

Every setback is a setup for a comeback; keep fighting.

Your enthusiasm is contagious; keep inspiring us all.

Believe in the power of small steps; they lead to significant changes.

Your friendship is a gift; thank you for being you.

You have a heart of gold; keep spreading the warmth.

Remember, life is what you make it; create something amazing.

Your dreams are the blueprints of your future; chase them fearlessly.

Your determination fuels your success; keep the fire burning.

Believe in the magic of new beginnings; they hold endless possibilities.

Your presence is a present to the world; keep shining bright.

Remember, you are loved, valued, and cherished; never forget your worth.

[aerkame]

Just a silly thought...and more

Just a silly little thought I had on Wally headcanons while I was trying to take a nap. EDIT: This turned into a short fanfiction, I will now have to make this a full one, there's too much potential.

So like Wally comes off as super out of it when it comes to our world almost. Like he's never been outside of the show, he's so used to being in Welcome Home with all his friends. Wally also seems like he's the only one truly sentient of himself within the show and the outside world.

He also seems pretty smug, or some other version of him does, No doubt Wally's ego has to be through the roof with being the center of attention all the time. Not only that, but he gets to spend all day with each and every one of his friends!

I'd imagine that if one day some poor unfortunate reader just accidentally brings home all of the puppets thinking they're ordinary puppets and wakes up early in the morning to these very odd and colorful strangers in their house. Like the puppets just came to life looking like their cartoon versions of themselves and also became life-sized, even some of the shorter characters just tower over you easily, and Barnaby can hardly fit through any of the doors!

Wally is sitting at the edge of your bed staring at you with Barnaby sleeping against his legs, Frank is looking at your shelves reading through books, sketchbooks, etc, Sally being more interested in the sketchbooks, Julie found some workout equipment and is playing with a jump rope, both Poppy and Howdy are rummaging through the kitchen, already antsy about needing to make stuff, Eddie is pretty interested in your printer, and you're sitting up in bed getting ready to scream bloody murder.

You don't scream though, but you're ready to. You can't tell if you're dreaming or not. Dreams are usually a pretty trippy falling feeling right? This feels real though. Where's that weird falling feeling you get when dreaming? Why are you able to think so clearly? Your brows furrow in deep thought.

Wally just sits there smugly smiling at you, leaning forward to give you a hello, he's so tall you feel like a small child compared to him. "Hello, I'm sorry that we had to meet like this, I hope you don't mind." His voice sounds soothing, monotone, and deep, and he isn't blinking. Instinctively, you slap your hand on his face and keep it there, feeling his expression scrunch up in confusion.

Nope, not a dream.

He gently takes your hand in his and removes you from his face, a small red area showing up where you slapped him.

It took about an hour of talking you down from being freaked out for Wally and the others to introduce themselves. They had sooo many questions of course. Like "What is this thing that makes colored paper come out?", "Why do you have these heavy thingies?" Sally holds up a 50lbs dumbbell with one hand like it's nothing, or "Why aren't you more colorful like us? Ooo can we cover you in paint?"

Needless to say you also had a lot of questions too, none of them were really answered though as all of the colorful characters were busy inspecting your house or were preoccupied with asking you about all sorts of items, they were like little kids. Wally was the only one that seemed to be the more mature one here though, it felt off, like he already knew you or like he was used to this.

At dinner, you went ahead and made food for everyone while also showing Poppy how you cook in this world. You noticed Wally didn't touch anything but the food simply disappeared right before your eyes, leaving you slack-jawed and speechless. "Oh don't worry, that's just how he eats!" Sally waved off your concern. This was starting to freak you out a bit.

After dinner you did your best to find places in the house for everyone to sleep until Wally suggested they all just sleep in your room like one big sleepover...something told you that he just wanted an excuse to be closer to you or to be able to keep a close watch though. Que you being squished in between these giant softies like a kid hiding in a giant pillow fort. Barnaby did make for a comfortable pillow though, and Poppy's feathers were so soft...and..and..you dozed off, not taking notice of Wally's staring eyes.

Sure, Wally has his friends to keep him company, and Welcome Home is such a cheery and colorful world! But it's missing just one thing. You.

[pillow-anime-talk]

jjba month ; fourth day.

synopsis: Giorno and Bruno had no idea that Abbacchio had a younger, quite adorable, little sister.

# tags: scenario; strangers to friends; light drama; kinda comedy; gang!au; drug, death and blood mention; rather sfw

includes: female reader ft. giorno giovanna and bruno bucciarati (ft. rest of the gang in the background) {jjba 5}

author’s note: big bro abbacchio :(((

“… I don’t think this is a good idea, Leone.” You said once more as your brother grabbed the metal handle of the dark door. He just laughed softly under his breath and then turned to you.

“Y/N, I know that my job and my friends aren’t the nicest things in the world, but I promise you that everything will be fine. And if any of them make you feel bad or make fun of you, I’ll just kill him ro them all.” He replied in a serious tone, although you could feel a hint of amusement and joking about the situation in his voice. Of course, you were sure that your older brother would help you if necessary, but uncertainty and fear of your potential being pushed into the background still grew in your heart. And if that happened, you wouldn’t have anywhere to go and nothing to do with yourself; your parents had long since disappeared from your lives, you were doomed to the help of your older brother, he was the only one left in your life.

You responded with a nod, and then entered the small building after your brother. The house, the main and current residence of several men, was small but spacious and had the most necessary things: a bathroom, a few beds and blankets, a kitchen with a coffee machine and a few electronic devices such as laptops, walkie-talkies and GPS transmitters. The most important place seemed to be a table with a few cigarettes and guns on it, around which stood two couches and a few armchairs – that’s where the five men were sitting.

“… Abbacchio, where have you been. We have some things to discuss.” Said one of the men with blond hair. “Where have you been all this t… Oh.”

“This is my younger sister, Y/N. She’ll be staying with us for a while. Maybe longer, if she doesn’t find a job and a room to rent.” Without much trouble, he said to his friends, and then sat down on the couch next to what you thought was the youngest of them all. “Be nice to her, especially you, Fugo.”

“… Abbacchio, I don’t think it’s safe.” One of the men, whose hair was covered with a cap, whispered. “There are too many criminals, smugglers and drug addicts passing by. Something could happen to her.”

“Mista, I don’t think it’ll put her off. She’s more afraid of you not liking her than of blood being spilled during our missions. Besides, I taught her how to use weapons, she once did an internship in my police unit. She also has an extraordinary stand... It will be useful to us during the missions.”

You watched the conversation of the handful of men attentively, and your eyes crossed with the leader of the group and the blond-haired man, who seemed to be slightly worried about the whole situation, more than once. So you forced a light, somewhat charming smile towards both strangers.

At that moment, you could have sworn that the black-haired man choked on air slightly, and the other blushed hard on his cheeks and nose, which seemed funny to you, considering their professions and their earlier, very serious and distrustful expressions towards you.

Well... Maybe working with your older brother’s friends won’t be as scary as you thought at first? Also this whole situation will result in… something interesting.

previous day ; jolyne cujoh, ermes costello & foo fighters ♡ next day ; lisa lisa

[str4wberrysw4n]

𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 (๑·̀ㅂ·́)و✧

yesterday, my teacher said that we were gonna play a Kahoot! and the top 5 would be able to get munchkins as a prize. Im not sure if I've mentioned this on my blog before but i LOVE sweet things!! so i was determined to do well in this Kahoot.

every time a question came up and i clicked an answer, I basically just told myself "it's right" and pushed back any doubt I had in mind. long story short, i ended up getting 5th place and was called up to get a munchkin. however, as i walked back to my desk, i was proud of myself only for my mind to undermine it immediately by saying

"it's just a small manifestation"

and im here to tell u... THERE'S NO SUCH THINGGG!!

oh my gosh. so many people wonder why their manifestations take incredibly long to form in the 3d,but when they DO manifest something small, they immediately diminish their accomplishments bcuz it's not the "main thing" they want. they're so focused on getting this "big" manifestation, which actually ends up with them sabotaging themselves. why?

first of all, i want to explain why "small" manifestations should be celebrated. imagine: maybe u manifested a top. nothing more, nothing less. but that in it's own right is an incredible feat. u have quite literally imagined something in ur head and watched it project into the physical world due to the power that u hold. a lot of people aren't able to affirm, persist, etc. And simply give up when they don't immediately see results. a result, considered small in the eyes of ur humanity, is a representation of u taking back ur reality and controlling the 4d. which is why i think seperating them into groups of "small" or "big" is, in my opinion, keeping u trapped in the 3d.

in the physical realm that we reside in, we constantly attempt to weigh our options to see which one is better. for example, if u asked the average person, "is billions of dollars more important than a shirt", they would obviously laugh at you and think you're joking or something. It obviously is, at least in the 3d. However, I believe that this weighing and difference in values should not be applied to manifesting. imagine like I said, u manifested a shirt. that's great, BUT, ur trying to manifest a billion dollars -- and while ur kind of grateful for the shirt, u instead focus on how you DIDN'T get the money. because of the values that u have been taught in the 3d, u believe that one less important than the other. when u apply this belief, ur basically telling urself that u have some sort of "low power level" instead of seeing it as proof of ur great potential. it shows that you're still attached to the 3d and what it presents to u, rather than accepting the 4d and being truly grateful that its started to pierce through ur reality.

also, just saying -- i see ppl online call certain manifestations "small", and while i don't agree with it, i understand why they could possibly refer to it as that. looking at where they are in their journey and the things they are "receiving", there's a chance that manifesting a shirt is pretty "small" compared to the things that they've manifested before. this is mostly an issue for like NEW manifestors, like they just started making subliminal playlists a week ago. its a problem i definitely ran into and i feel like it could hold back ur progress. luckily, i was able to understand that even if i called it "small", that it wasn't actually that way.

to sum it up, there isn't anything as a small manifestation, and genuinely considering one more important than the other can limit ur potential as a manifestor!!

once again, this was something i experienced so i wanted to post this for anyone that might need some insight! this is all my opinion btw. happy manifesting!! ヾ(◍°∇°◍)ﾉﾞ

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Been having some ISaT tech level and timeline (as in 'when backstory things happened') thoughts and want to ramble a bit:

Tech

ISaT's setting is based on your classic sword and sorcery fantasy JRPG so its easy to assume that tech wise everything is 'fantasy medieval' and call it a day but consider:

Body Craft is at bare minimum is magic sex changing surgery (earliest known equivent in our world dating to 1930) that any old person can learn to do safely on themselves in only a few months, and more likely has many many broader applications like regular old surgery, the 'combat healing' Mira and Sif use, etc.

Cameras and photos are rare enough that Odile comments on it (namely she's happy the group get a photo in the House due to them being 'so rare') yet are also common enough that everyone in the party knows about them and doesn't question the existence of a camera beyond being surprised that the mirror was one. (In our world cameras date back to the 19th century, with the earliest manufacturing of them being in 1839). 

Printing presses and ways to make plenty of paper to feed those presses given absolutely everyone in this game can read, expects everyone else to know how to, and both mass produced book series and newspapers are a thing. (Note: Printing presses have existed since waaaay back but it's the mass paper manufacturing that makes newspapers and The Cursing of Chateu Castle possible that really has my eyebrows raised here, especially since neither Siffrin or Odile find either odd in any way, indicating such things are common everywhere, and while newspapers have been around since 1604 in our world, mass produced fantasy books didn't really take off until the start of the 20th century).

Food production and storage: despite being in the middle of a national disaster that almost certainly cut off trade networks and access to most suppliers for literal months now, Bonnie, a small child, is able to easily get their hands on fresh Pineapple, curry ingredients (for samosa), potatoes, plantains etc with no issues or anyone commenting on this being unusual or lucky. Oh and the only character who even brings up the concept of potential starvation is the Fishing One, and only in a sort of 'we're not at risk now but sooner or later...' kinda way due to noticing that the fish they fish up for fun are disappearing and likely being frozen. So yeah, that heavily implies Vaugarde has very good food storage tech/Craft (possibly better than ours), and likely also good food production and harvesting tech/skills also.

The Island's incredible knowledge of the stars: while the oldest known orrery in our world is dated from around 205 to 87 BC (ancient Greek, earth centric model), the fact Sif -who would've learnt this as a child/teen- is so very certain that stars are big balls of fire made up of gas is interesting as that's something our world couldn't prove the theory of until around the 1900s (note: it'd been theorized a LONG time but Sif talks like its complete facts to them . Additionally the earliest existing record of a telescope in our world dates to a 1608 patent and we see one of those in game.

Post posting EDIT: A wonderful user qds-place pointed out that Mirabelle has anti-anxiety medication in her room. This is in both ISaT and SAaP and though we're not sure what form the medication takes (pills? Valium? Megitech esc Craft boosters???) the fact they specifically have 'anti anxiety' medication at all (as opposed to idk dragging Mira off and drugging her through the gills) is kind of impressive and if it IS modern anti anxiety pills those could be as recent in creation as the 1950s! So um. Some high levels of tech implied in chemistry there <3

So... yeah. All this, plus the fact that the highest tech implied area, The Island, literally specialised in the study/Craft of turning wishes into reality (for a long enough time period that Wish Craft is culturally so ingrained in the King and Sif that they do it without thinking and it seems intertwined with their nation's religion) has been completely erased from memory to the point anything heavily associated with them has been forgotten, and also we only ever see Dormont aka a little village well away from the cities, it's not hard to conclude that you can basically justify giving the ISaT world any level of tech you want, so long as you lock any of the truly 'setting breaking' stuff like planes and rockets behind The Island's forgetting curse (I would've said trains too but thinking about it trains were invented in 1802 so it's honestly easy to imagine that they totally exist in the ISaT setting/Vaugarde but aren't ever on screen because rail is way too dangerous to consider using while the Curse is active and potentially time freezing things on the tracks).

Side note: We know absolutely nothing about Vaugarde's transport system but as a fan of fantasy RPGs it is honestly a travesty I have yet to see a fic that has flying dragons/wyverns or other fantasy mounts in setting. Like, ok yes, the party would probably have wanted to use those but maybe they don't like the Curse and fled? Maybe the King's Curse targeted them first? Maybe all their handlers dropped the heroes off in Dormont and said 'Well Saviors it's been fun, but well me and Scales here are off to Poteria until things wrap up so best of luck to you' before buggering off?

This isn't really a serious complaint just. Me reminding myself/potentially other fanwork writers out there that there's a lot about the setting we just don't know about and limiting all travel to walking, horse drawn carriage and boat is not actually required. (Also please mix up travelling to the Island. Boats are a wonderful classic and have great thematic vibes for Sif's original leaving of the Island but like. Imagine the sheer in-universe wtf of the memories of The Island suddenly coming back and people on the north coast suddenly realising there's a massive bridge, subway or underwater tunnel leading there that everyone just forgot about - potentially filled with all kinds of Sadnesses that need taking down. Or Warp Panels in a House of Change, idk XD).

Timeline

Canon notes first:

Bonnie is a preteen (8 to 12), Mira and Isa are in their early to mid 20s (with Isa slightly older), Sif is late 20s to 30, and Odile is 40+ Nille is stated to be around 18 to 20.

Siffrin ran away from home when they were a teenager (13 to 17? 18?) and this is heavily implied to be when the Island was Forgotten.

Bonnie (in ISaT specifically*) says that Nille told them that when it happened all the adults were talking about it, hence why they think The Island is close to their village. *In Start Again a Prologue, Bonnie says that they themself remember the adults talking about the Island disappearing, which er. Is a bit impossible given they likely weren't even born yet when that happened but that can be explained away by AU differences, InsertDisc5 still finalising details between SAaP and ISaT, and/or OG Siffrin having been in the loops so long they weren't actually listening when Bonnie was talking and just 'scripted' in their head something 'close enough' to what Bonnie was saying to get the idea (note: mentioned that idea before in my post here on the differences between the House and King in Start Again vs In Stars and Time for anyone curious so er please feel free to give that a read if you haven't already).

Odile mentions remembering 'when it happened' as well and has been 'travelling for years'.

The King 'appeared out of nowhere' sometime in his adulthood, and lived in the city of Corbeaux for a few years before he became the King.

The King became the King as was freezing people in time long enough before his attack on the House of Dormont that everyone inside knew he was coming, there were a wall's worth of newspaper articles about him, and everyone was expecting Euphrasie to defeat him.

Mirabelle's quest began 'almost a year ago' and Sif lost their eye 'recently'.

Thoughts on the above:

Calculating when The Island was forgotten:

Sif being mid 20s to 30 and having run away from home as a teen means that The Island has to have been forgotten somewhere between 9 to 17 years ago with nine only possible if he ran away at age 17 and is only age 26 now, and seventeen being the far opposite if he ran at age 13 and is currently 30.

To narrow down the timeline: Given Sif ran away from home because he 'didn't want to eat his veggies' and 'just wanted to scare [his] parents a little bit' it's probably safe to assume Siffrin was likely on the younger end of the teen spectrum (teens run off all the time sure but with loving parents and over veggies? That screams 'kid who has not yet learned that freaking out the parents will get their ass grounded and/or yelled at a LOT and is therefore best saved for doing fun forbidden stuff that ideally the parents will never find out about' XD) Additionally given Siffrin can't remember his age/birthday etc but Isabeau outright says near the beginning of the game "But you're older than most of the people here?" meaning Sif must be visibly older than Isa or Mira, so he's probably closer to 30 than not.

Those alone would imply the Island likely disappeared closer to the '17 years ago' side of things BUT Nille (tops 20 years old) told Bonnie that "[the Island's disappearance] was all the adults would talk about for ages" and kids usually can't remember anything prior to 4 years of age so with that in mind...

I'd say The Island most likely disappeared between 13 to 16 years ago.

Nille stuff:

This is more a general mention but. Nille is tops 20 years old. Bonnie is between 8 and 12 and doesn't remember their parents at all.

This means Nille ran away with Bonnie and gained emancipation and custody of Bonnie (if Vaugarde has formalised that kind of legal stuff) while she was at most 12 years old herself and could have in theory been as young as 6..!

Regardless, it's very likely the original home situation was that bad, Nille deserves a ton of credit for raising Bonnie as well as she has and I'd say it's very VERY likely she had a lot of help from villagers in Bambosche and/or the local House of Change in doing so. ...But also Bonnie is very adamantly 'my sister and village' and not 'my sister and [specific names who live with us]' so there's clearly by the time Bonnie was 4 or so they were living in their own place so... Yeah. Lotta drive for independence there too it seems (so the party might have more trouble adopting Nille into their group post ISaT than Bonnie might expect).

King stuff:

Already an adult 13 to 16 years ago so at bare minimum 33. Given his vibe probably much older though.

Newspapers get printed pretty quick though for there to be so much speculation and research done into his background so quick, either Vaugarde has some form of fast messaging system (something like a Chappe telegraph on top of the Houses of Change? Odile I think does mention that they'll have a message sent to let Nille know they'll be returning Bonnie...) or the King was freezing stuff for IDK around a month or two before reaching Dormont? Alas can't find out how long it takes to walk across all of France out very easily (I'm sure the numbers are out there but my brain is pudding rn) but if we had those numbers we could probably make some guesstimates based off the rough sketched map of Vaugarde InsertDisk5 did... Which I would link but apparently the tumblr post I had it linked on has been deleted???? 'wails at this very unhappy development'

Mira's journey and Sif's eye:

We really don't know a lot but almost a year ago gives us somewhere around 9 to 11 months to spread the journey out along and after eye removal surgery the patient can out and about as soon as 2 to 6 weeks after, maybe sooner with magic healing (though full recovery/growing used to the changed spacial awareness -which Sif clearly does not have- probably can't be sped up and takes around 3 to 6 months) so um. I'd guestimate Sif's eye injury is really recent; like two months ago tops recent. ...Which sorta explains a lot of why Bonnie is not dealing with it right now and also why the others might be trying to avoid bringing it up (since Sif clearly loves avoiding the issue but they haven't yet realised that maybe they really should bring it up even if it annoys them anyway?)

Odile with some Ka Bue speculation:

When it comes to The Island, how did Odile, presumably living in Ka Bue at the time, remember 'when it happened'? Was the Island well known enough even on the other side of the world that it's disappearance made waves? Or was Odile herself or someone she's close to paying attention to the region? (Like maybe her dad or a friend is/was into politics or trade, keeping up with overseas news and got concerned it could happen to Ka Bue? I'd say 'I remember when it happened' line implies it was more immediate knowledge than being informed by a messenger much later though...)

As for Odile's 'years of travel' I have to wonder, what's left behind for her in Ka Bue? She brings up going back there quite a bit, might just miss home and possibly her father if he's still alive, but given it took her years to get here for something so personal rather than idk 'materially rewarding' I think Odile might have some kinda family estate or something back in Ka Bue... Something she wasn't worried about potentially losing while far away, but solid enough to want to return to, beyond her father who she'd definitely want to see again if he's still around. (...But given how open she is to chilling about Vaugarde a few more months with the others, I really don't think he is alive, since well, given their respective ages and travel between Vaugarde and Ka Bue apparently taking years, there'd definitely an uncomfortably high chance of him passing away while she's gone and that seems like the thing that'd stress Odile out so... Yeah. Probably got an estate in Ka Bue she'd like to take the Family to visit/possibly sell off if she decides she'd like to live with them in Vaugarde so... Just my off the cuff headcanoning here and hoping that gives others ideas or something).

---

Anyway that's all the ramble I've got in me so... yeah! Hope this was interesting and useful for those needing a bit of a 'possible tech'/timeline calcs breakdown for the Island + a few more vague things and um. Probably will post a long winding ramble about my attempt at a ISaT Selkie AU fic I've been working on next <3 (Not to be confused with looped-140-and-counting's already existing and quite wonderful Selkie Siffrin AU which already has a completed oneshot fic, a snippet of sequel, two snippets of prequel/Sif flashbacking and I believe a comic too, all of which I highly recommend <3)

[buffkitties]

Please do the Komaeda's morals analysis

Okay, so first I think that I should explain something here. Everybody is morally grey, there’s no doubt about that. The terms “good” and “bad” person always bothered me because they’re unnecessary labels painting the world and our minds in black and white, while in reality it is all a spectrum of grey, varying from person to person based on how they had grown up perceiving the world. While adopting standards, many people (such as myself) will follow them, but they might not always feel right. Some people, instead, will stick to what feels right rather than agreeing with the majority because they’d rather stay honest to themselves, which most of the time goes against social norms.

We are shaped by everything in our environment, from the smallest things to the bigger ones, like the media. Our families, friends, peers, even strangers shape us. Observing the world around us, seeing how two people interact, seeing how people do not interact, etc. Not only people, but the lack of them is what shapes us, too.

Rules were set to be followed, but what are rules if not a thing to be broken? What truly makes a rule, if it can be bent and shaped however we please, anyway? Let’s take a simple one, for example: “Do not kill.”  That can be justified in many different ways, based on how the scenario played out, and many people do not consider that rule necessary. Why? It’s because by observing the world, their beliefs were shaped differently from yours, and they act and think different from you. Nobody is the same.

Deep down, we don’t have a path laid out in front of us. We make it ourselves and we do it by interacting with the world.

Now, a similar matter is at hand in Danganronpa—the plot is heavily surrounded around societal norms and standards, which we see every step of the way, from the very beginning even before Izuru Kamukura came to existence. It is a bit different from ours, so I will do my best to explain it. Talent is everything. People learn that talent is what makes the world great and what dominates everything else, worthless in comparison. Komaeda says so himself in his speech:

I’m sure we’ve all been taught this way. Even if we weren’t told directly, we should be able to see it for ourselves, from the world around us. The “messages overflowing with hope” that are shown on TV, the Internet and the news tell us this… People who can’t win…people who don’t do their best…and people who do their best but still can’t win…they’re all the same worthless trash.

From the moment they’re born, people are clearly divided into those who have value and those who don’t. Worthless people will never be able to become someone with value, no matter how hard they try… “Hard work leads to success”…what a misunderstanding! The world isn’t that simple. No matter how hard a small dog tries, it’ll never become a big dog… No matter how hard a penguin tries, it’ll never be able to fly… In other words…a worthless person will always be worthless, no matter what they do. You don’t “become” a talented person…you’re born with that potential. Yes…just like all of you. That’s why I look up to you. Unlike our world, Danganronpa’s universe heavily values hope and talent, or what they call ultimates, if you may. Even average people are considered worthless compared to that. Talent is important because it breeds and creates hope, which keeps their world going and holds great potential for the future, and for that hope, most people would do anything. Average people are a majority, which makes talent ever more precious because it’s something much greater than all of them combined.

To us, it might seem strange because we do not live in a world like that, but it would be just like any other problem we have. Those who have privilege (the talented) are often unmoved by the problems, do not notice them, or it is subconsciously engraved in their minds that they are superior in a way, or that they hold some sort of power, and even if they aren’t aware of that themselves, they still act on it the way they learned to by observing the world. The world is in their favour, and everybody is aware of that one way or another. Denying it simply doesn’t work, that’s just ignorant, or pointless.

The world was always corrupted, before Junko Enoshima even ever took her first step.

The Natsumi Kuzuryuu case, the deaths of the student council, The Kamukura Project, Komaeda’s suspension—they were all just examples of that corruption.

Why mention Komaeda’s suspension along all the other examples? That’s actually very simple. They expelled everybody who was involved except Komaeda, for his talent. It was something they didn’t understand, but found worthy of keeping because it was powerful and if utilised, could provide a great opportunity. Despite it being Komaeda’s plan, he was never directly involved due to his SHSL Luck excluding him from the situation and bringing out the plan through others, but in the end, his intentions came out just as he intended.

They found it worth keeping, so they excused Komaeda’s actions if not outright covered them up.

The Kamukura Project in itself is a very good example, too, although everybody knows of it by now (I assume). The reserve course at Hope’s Peak Academy was opened for the sake of creating the embodiment of talent. They created a scenario in which every student attending would pay a huge fee, which they would use for the project to then exploit a single person and turn their worthlessness into something of use. A tool for creating hope. In the process, they removed everything that would stand in the way of that (or so they thought), including memory, numbing Hinata’s feelings, and getting rid of his identity entirely to make him into a tool of their own—the ultimate hope. No regard for his life whatsoever, because he was worthless. He became the school's ideas, right to the rotten core, and he was used as intended, although not in a way they wanted to.

So where does Komaeda stand in all of this?

He views the world exactly as it was shown to him: People who have no talent are considered worthless, people who have talent hold all the potential.

So why does he view himself as worthless, despite being talented? That’s because his talent cannot be used for creating hope, and it does as it pleases, holding no potential whatsoever. His talent holds a pattern, but it cannot be controlled and wherever he goes, it will spread horrible misfortune to anybody it wants. There’s no hope in that scenario, not at all—there is nothing to look forward to, nothing to use for his future, nothing to give other people, nothing that would make something great. It’s just fate, luck and then misfortune, and that talent means nothing in that kind of world. I said this before, but Komaeda doesn’t insult himself because he loathes himself, but because “realistically” speaking, he is worthless. When people treat him horribly, he assumes that’s because of talent, because that is how worthless people are treated (that doesn’t mean he likes it), not because he says weird things, since he considers them perfectly normal and he’s surprised to think they don’t understand his beliefs. To him, they were obvious facts and he was simply following what the world told him, so it was weirder to see them think differently.

Komaeda doesn’t necessarily care about talent. He looks up to talented people because he could never be like them, just like anybody else would, but he still sees them as people, and he doesn’t even like most of them, just tolerates them and respects them like anybody else, while also remembering the fact that they’re superior to him. Again, he doesn’t blindly idolise them, and he expresses his distaste for their actions or even personalities. Many times, you can see him comment on the things they do, and he very clearly states that even if a talented person like them crosses the line, he will not hesitate to stop them, forcibly if he has to. Why? Because they’re still people, and the thought to excuse an action of theirs just because they’re talented doesn’t even come to his mind.

Actual important things to him are always about respecting others. Harassment, SA, homophobia, racism, misogyny, ableism, etc. Based on how he acts, you can easily tell that he would not tolerate those, and that he’s against them. Whenever he sees something like that, he intervenes, no questions asked. For example, Hanamura’s disgusting behaviour, or even smaller things, like when he says that he would rather consider somebody’s feelings than feed someone else’s curiosity.

When it comes to talent, like I said, he sees it just as the world does, but that doesn’t change the fact that he respects everybody, and that if someone goes against what he believes, he wouldn’t care about whether they’re talented or not. Many people write his interactions with Hinata as bullying or harassing him, but he would never—In fact, he would defend him if somebody was not giving him basic human respect.

That being said, respecting people might actually be the only thing where he draws the line, and the only strong standard that he holds for others.

Even as he speaks of things like hope, or despair, it all comes back to respect. Respect somebody’s life. Their death, use it for a greater cause to give it a meaning and do not let it go in vain. Put respect on their name, on their sacrifice.

Just doing things that cause pain and misery is disrespectful and meaningless, causing despair for the sake of despair, or for the sake of simply doing it, treats one’s life as if it meant nothing. Suicide, dying to a disease, or being murdered for nothing at all, all of those examples follow a simple rule:

Your life is disrespected.

Things like that should only be done for a reason, a good reason.

Also, many people think that Komaeda would blindly admire Hinata for having every talent, but it would be the opposite. He would feel disgusted to know how badly they disrespected his life for something like artificial talent, and it’s been proven already that Komaeda is the only one who respects him enough to see him completely as who he was, who he met before he turned into Izuru Kamukura, and that whatever talent they put into him didn’t matter, because he saw the person he was. He saw Hajime Hinata, not the life of a person they destroyed for their sick wants.

(which the DR3 anime portrayed really badly btw lmao)

He would detest the whole project and he would treat him like a normal person, and who he was, rather than what they made him.

Yeah, there are many things that could slip past Komaeda, but only as long as there’s a good reason and as long as it’s not disrespectful to someone.

With that, I think I’ve said enough. This is the only thing that truly matters to him and what guides his actions and behaviour. It links to everything he does and say.

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore

— PART NINE: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 10 ]

Welcome, friends and travellers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.

In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.

You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.

Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.

(no, this gif isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)

The Story of Solas: Him Solas Evanuris, Da'durgen'lin (2/3)

— The War That Made Him 'Sing Our End' —

If you're still here, I thank you, from the bottom of my tired heart.

From one single achievement icon, we've unearthed (hah) the workings of Thedas, its realms, its magic. We've come to understand the Evanuris, and we understand one of the youngest of them.

Now, we understand his title: the Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel. Walker of the in-between, as much Evanuris as he is Forgotten One. Da'durgen'lin, boy made from stone. The blight given to the Titan, Terror.

His existence opened the pathway to the end of all things. He and Mythal would fight to stop it. Mythal would lose the fight, and Solas would lose the rest of the world.

Let's keep going. Part 2 of 3, y'all.

Seriously, as ever, go read the other parts before this one. If you need to only read a few, then read 1, 3, 4, 5, and 7 (linked above). All of those matter for context here, you've been forewarned!

This post is going to be long. Let's dive right in. We've got:

The Beginning of the End, and the Rebellion that Tried to Prevent It

"The Wolf Chews Off Its Own Leg to Escape the Trap"

The Prison; the... Gangue?

Uthenera, and a Love of the Fade

The Truth About Solas No One (in Thedas) Ever Found... but We All Heard

(screenshot from the June 11 gameplay reveal.)

There were little hints to Solas being from icy terror throughout Inquisition, and I want to make quick mention of them.

First is the fact that when you load up Inquisition's prologue, Solas does not have one point in Spirit talents, as one might expect. No: he has one singular point in Winter's Grasp. I never could figure out why. This would make sense.

But also, one more small thing I noticed? If you solve a puzzle in Trespasser (the one in the Shattered Library) and open up the Dread Wolf statue's chest, you get... Rime.

An ice sword. The description says, "Etched into this blade: 'The way is full of tests and danger. Watch with the coolness of contemplation to stay safe.'"

Coolness. Contemplation—another word for wisdom, that was mentioned in the 'Callback' short story of Tevinter Nights as one of the potential spirits behind the big Regret demon. Both of those things being associated together: icy contemplation? Cold calculation?

Uh huh. UH HUH. OKAY MOVING ON. The next point I want to make is even more important, and I don't have time to hunt for every tiny mention of ice-Solas when we have a day and a half until Veilguard.

Take a breath in with me.

Solas has been singing to us this whole time. His song—the Hallelujah cadence—has been how he has told us of his past, the whole time. Every time he remembers his origins, his history, he is speaking in song. And the very first of those songs, that I can see?

"They're all singing. Coffers, coffins, corpses that aren't dead. A song crying out in the dark." — Cole dialogue, Trespasser

Cole is right, here. (and always.)

It is Mythal's lullaby to Solas, in the same cadence. Calling him into being, using the song he knows best.

His whole life has been a ballad. Not the ballad of his rebellion—though that was one piece of it.

The ballad of the Dread Wolf. The ballad of the blight.

Let's follow its story.

The Beginning of the End, and the Rebellion that Tried to Prevent It

(screenshot specifically from this Kala Elizabeth video that I have seen before, i swear i am not going through youtube or looking at new content!)

Remember what we know so far: Terror was the first Titan gone wrong. Before that, the elves did not call them Forgotten Ones, because there was nothing dangerous enough to necessitate forgetting.

It was Andruil, stalker of the Void, who would hunt the Forgotten Ones AFTER they had been named such. Who would break rules, cross boundaries, and return blighted.

It was not Terror she hunted. It was Pestilence. The other Evanuris each had their own Titans that they mined, and the others were all fighting back.

Solas's rebellion—which I imagine Mythal was his ally during—aimed to stop the Evanuris. Who better, after all, right? Who better, than the one who had survived what they hoped to unleash? Who better, than the one that the People recognized as stronger than the blight?

But to just curb their usage of blight magic would never have been enough.

It does not matter what the Evanuris did with that blight, initially. It matters that the blight existed at all, and we know that every single one of the Evanuris did actions that caused every Titan to fight back. That's why they have the names they do: terror, malice, spite, pestilence.

The world was doomed either way, because when the Titans turned before the time of the Veil, that meant that the Fade, a part of them, was also doomed.

There was nothing the damage would not touch. The only possible thing would have been to somehow have the Evanuris make up for all their many, many horrors—and would you forgive them, if you were a Titan, knowing what they've done?

We don't know the exact details of his rebellion, yet, and so I cannot properly analyze the legends of Fen'Harel that would have taken place during this rebellion (such as the one with Andruil and Anaris). I also do not have the time to devote to researching them before finishing part 10 of this series.

But it could only end one way.

With the Veil going up, the Evanuris locked away, all the Titans sundered from all their conscious minds—to save the Titans from THEMSELVES.

"The Wolf Chews Its Leg Off to Escape the Trap"

"He broke the dreams to stop the old dreams from waking. The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap." — Cole dialogue, Trespasser

I never understood what that meant, before. Solas created the Veil, yes—but what about the Veil was his leg? Because "chews its leg off" implies that Solas has done personal harm to himself, specifically, in the creation of the Veil. What would be true for Solas that is not true of the other elvhen impacted by the Veil? Shouldn't all of their legs have been chewed off, too, in this analogy?

No: because there was one of the Evanuris alone who walked among both clans of gods, remember?

Fen'Harel. Evanuris and Forgotten One. Da'durgen'lin, who the Titans recognize as their own. We do not know what happened to Solas during his rebellion or how he communicated with the other Forgotten Ones (or, I do not know yet, and have no time to find out), but we do know that he walked among both, seen as a peer among both sets of gods.

That means that, for all he looked like an Evanuris, some part of Solas still was Titan-borne, in ways none of the Evanuris were. What might the distinguishing feature of one of the Titan-borne be?

The song. The one he continues to speak in, trying to hint what happened.

Forever calling for home.

In creating the Veil and sundering the Titans, Solas broke his own home, his own source of life. In sundering the Titans, he sundered a fundamental piece of himself.

Who among the audience remembers Solas's greatest fear, as seen in the Fade during Here Lies the Abyss?

Dying. Alone.

Not dying without Mythal. Not dying without Arlathan. Not the empire of old never being restored.

Dying.

Alone.

While you're reaching for the nearest tissues, let me pull up some Varric/Solas banter for you.

Solas: Do you ever miss life beneath the earth? The call of the Stone? Varric: Nah. Whatever the Stone - capital S - is, it was gone by the time my parents had me. Solas: But... do you miss it? Varric: How could I miss what I never had? Varric: But say I did have that sense, that connection to the Stone. What would it cost me? Varric: Would I lose my friends up here? Would I stop telling stories? Varric: I like who I am. If I want to hear songs, I'll go to a tavern. Solas: You are wiser than most.

Solas is afraid. He is afraid of being the only one to remember the call of the Stone. Do the other dwarves miss it? Will they ever fight to have it back?

Solas: Is there at least a movement to reunite Orzammar and Kal-Sharok? Varric: What is it with you, Chuckles? Why do you care so much about the dwarves? Solas: Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars. Varric: I can think of worse lives. Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight? Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice. Solas: So it seems.

Most of his people fell to disease. He was the only one left.

Solas isn't talking about the blighted elves of ancient Arlathan. He is talking about the other beings of the Stone, all succumbing to the blight. The defence mechanisms of the Titans he was forced to sunder and put to eternal sleep.

Solas: I am sorry to have bothered you with my questions about your people Varric. I see so much of this world in dreams. Humans, my own people, even qunari. Dwarves alone were lost to me, save scattered fragments of memory where some spirit cared to watch. Now I know why I see so little. Varric: And why is that? Solas: Dwarves are the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood. Undirected. Whatever skill of arms it had, gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream. Varric: I'd avoid mentioning that to any Carta, Chuckles. They might not take it the right way.

Because the Titans are all gone, as far as Solas is concerned. They are gone, because it was necessary to sunder the waking world from the dreaming one. The Titans needed to be disarmed—and the Evanuris needed to be so caught off guard, they would be vulnerable. He only needed to successfully complete one ritual.

One we already know exists.

The Prison; the... Gangue?

(screenshots from Kala Elizabeth's video. i know her channel is spoiler-free!)

Solas did not intend to cause worldwide destruction with the Veil; it was what he had to do. He put the Titans to sleep so they would not—could not—fight back, and imprisoned the Evanuris so there would be no one left alive to manipulate the blight.

"Solas doesn't want to hurt people! He's not that kind of wolf! Qunari don't see." — Cole dialogue, Trespasser

But the Evanuris could not exist in any normal prison. Had they access to their bodies in any capacity, they would have killed each other, knowing they would soon come back through their archdemons.

Solas needed to take all access to their mobile bodies away. I wondered how, because we see him standing in "fade jail." But what I had not seen, or what I had not known to look for, were the statues all around Solas.

We know, from Inquisition, what can be done with those statues. We see it in the Hissing Wastes, and the Tomb of Fairel questline.

Until further notice: Do not tamper with the torches! Lighting them in wrong order summons demons. The inscriptions on the pillars indicate the correct order, but wait until we have confirmed the accuracy of our translations before proceeding. I have made maps to the other tombs where there are similar structures. Let the same warning stay your hand there. - Magister Gallus Below this, someone else has written complicated formulas and scribbled many notes: - Demons bound into the rock! How did the ancient dwarves manage it without mages? (Binding runes? Subtle properties of stonework? Investigate!) - "Gangue" carved into walls. Could be translated from Old Dwarven as "Stone waste" or "Impure spirit-of-the-stone." Dwarven superstition, saw demons as "impure" spirits of rock? - Study impossible with dormant demons. Ask Sephus and Urathus for help with binding.

Demons can be bound into stone. But what is a demon? A demon is a twisted spirit.

And we know from not only the Chant of Light, but prior theorycrafting in this series (part 3), that everyone who is alive has a spirit for a soul. Spirits and souls are the same thing: the thoughts of Titans.

Those can be removed from bodies. They can be placed into bodies. We've seen the Evanuris do it, with Dirthamen "taking secrets away" from the animals he experimented on.

And once put into stone? There would be no way for the Evanuris to act except for the tenuous connection to the other pieces of themselves: the parts of their souls stored in their archdemons, who would begin to whisper to the priests of old Tevinter.

But what would happen, over four thousand years?

"The prison in which I had trapped them had begun to crumble. I was moving them to another—"

This confirms, to me, that the Evanuris were trapped in those statues, AND that it was, in fact, a good plan!

Good job, Solas! Sorry we made fun of you for an entire franchise.

Still wish you would've asked any of your friends for help, ever, and maybe not murdered some of them.

But, no matter how good the plan, the result of Solas creating the Veil, sundering the Titans, breaking his own connection to the Titans, and imprisoning the Evanuris into stone took a massive toll on him. One he would not recover from for thousands of years.

Uthenera, a Love of the Fade, and the Desire to Remake the World He Knew

This section, thank the gods, gets to be short.

We all know that Solas, weakened, went into Uthenera: the eternal waking sleep. What I want to discuss is why he loved it so much.

Think about it with me for a moment: what is the Fade, from all we have learned in these posts? It is the sleeping Titans' consciousness. The domain of all the Titans' thoughts, and the natural dwelling place of Fade spirits—which are also the Titans' thoughts.

You know what that sounds like to me?

The closest that Solas can get to the Isatunoll he once knew, before the Veil. The one mentioned when Mythal sang that lullaby to him.

Remember what I thought of the elvish word suledin?

sul: possibly short for sulahn, "sing" e: possibly used in place of e'var, as in "our (in Isatunoll)" or "the Titans'" din: death; the dead; the end

Solas could 'sing our end' in the Fade, with the other spirits.

He doesn't have to be the lone man on the island, in the Fade. Not as much, anyway. The realm of the Fade takes the shape of the thoughts and memories of the spirits and people inhabiting it at the time. Thoughts communicate with Fade and shape it.

Is it any wonder, then, that things were always easier for Solas in the Fade, by his own admission?

He was always telling us the truth. We just didn't know enough to see it.

Solas stayed in uthenera for four thousand years (give or take?), and in that time, entrenched in his beliefs. How could he not? He had just caused worldwide devastation out of necessity, and was mourning the loss of all he never stood a chance of saving. He broke the world to break the blight—and when he slept, he mourned it. His people, made of stone, all gone. His people, in their greed, the ones who destroyed it all.

Titans and Evanuris; he walked among them both. He betrayed both.

Both betrayed him first.

Of course he planned to wake, to move the Evanuris to a new prison, and then take down the Veil. It would be so much easier, moving their harmless spirits from statue to statue. And once it was over? The Titans could wake, see that their tormentors were all gone, and—perhaps—heal.

He seeks... regeneration.

But Corypheus heard whispers from Dirthamen, long before then. Corypheus would survive what Solas had intended to kill him with. The Veil would be in danger of coming crashing down—and bringing the horrors of the Evanuris and Titans both back with its disintegration.

Solas had intended to sacrifice a world he didn't know in pursuit of healing the one he wounded.

Corypheus, however, would force him into the Inquisition—and the Inquisition would change everything.

---

Also: I am essentially FULLY OFFLINE to try and avoid game spoilers! As these reviews have just gone live yesterday (10/28), I am not reading my notifications/replies, and am appearing here only to continue posting my theories. I have heard that the embargo has been broken at least once already and I refuse to risk it, so I will respond to messages and notifications once I have played Veilguard for a bit.

(Mutuals, if you need me, you may DM me, as long as you do not mention the reviews in any capacity.)

[jewish-vents]

I'M TIRED. NONE OF THIS IS NORMAL!!!!!!!!

To white supremacists I deserve to die because I am brown and a Jew.

To leftists, to minorities, I deserve to die because I am a potential threat - a secret Zionist.

Can I live?????????

I know gentiles have never cared for us, it's been bothering me my whole life. I never felt safe, comfortable, happy or accepted in spaces that are supposed to be meant for me as a queer, disabled brown woman. Why? Because I'm Jewish and our existences have long been forgotten and ignored by marginalized groups. And the few times we were remembered there was always confusion. No one knows what we are (hence the whole "you were oppressed for your religion" thing that many believe). We're immediately seen as a threat but nazis hate us and goyim need to be morally superior and better than nazis which is the ultimate evil to them so that means they can't just outright hate us. They need to make as many loopholes as they can to hate us.

For the first time ever im seeing gentiles read books written by jews as in theyre seeking out these books with jewish authors. Why? Because they need to tokenize them as they write about how zionism is the root of all evil alongside racism and everything else. Where is this energy and passion when its time to care about our history our culture? All of it is going to self hating anti zionist jews who write about how we jews are the new nazis.

And as other minorities I am so ashamed. As a queer woman Im watching people who cant give up chick fil a and kept saying well im gay so i can eat it boycott mcdonalds. PLEASE CARE ABOUT WHATS GOING ON IN YOUR COUNTRY TOO. IN YOUR BACKYARD. PLEASE. DONT IGNORE PROBLEMS BECAUSE YOU THINK THEYRE SMALL AND LESS IMPORTANT THAN A GENOCIDE. Also the superiority complex of those boycotting is so strange. The way that they all talk its almost like the genocide is the only issue with these big corps. They rely on cheap labour from the global south. Why didnt you boycott for that too? Do you really force yourself to care about only the worst things in the world? Are you seriously incapable of caring about everyone?

.

[l-in-the-light]

Do you think Law would pass Amber lead disease to his children? 👀

I'm not a specialist in medical field, actually very far from it. Manga suggests it's a hereditary condition, though we don't know enough details to make a definitive statement. We have no idea how the intoxication started in the first place (manga only says it's because of the mining process), but I have seen people comparing it to asbestos, mostly because it's also associated with color white and there was this awful government's coverup of asbestos intoxication in Japan's modern history, which is probably what inspired Oda. Here's a good summary of how it went and how it still affects Japan even today if you're interested: http://www.ibasecretariat.org/lka-asbestos-truth-and-consequences-in-japan.php

That means Amber Lead Syndrome is likely similar to Mesothelioma, symptoms of which include pain, shortness of breath, loss of appetite, fever and sweating (we see Law with all those symptoms indeed!). The only difference are the white patches on the skin, which I think Oda used just to make it easier for people to know at first glance that they're sick but also because symbolically it looks like death marked you (color white is associated with death in Japan). The sickness is caused by inhaling small fibers and once it accumulates it often leads to cancer. Cancer and mesothelioma treatment can also lead to infertility. The sickness itself starts from lungs, but in Law's novel it was suggested it accumulated in the liver. That may suggest that it was simply very late stage of it so it affected other organs as well (we saw evidence of that in the flashback indeed) and from my limited knowledge about medicine I can say that liver problems often lead to skin conditions like changing color. Late stage sickness shows as white patches appearing on the skin and that happens only after liver itself is attacked (but not before that).

Though this illness isn't considered hereditary, there are some studies proving family members of a person who worked with asbestos have mutation in their genes that gives them predesposition to this sickness (it was 1 in 4 case, which imo sounds like a big deal). So like always in our sad world, not enough studies were dedicated to the problem, because it's not beneficial enough to people who have money to fund the research.

But back to One Piece. We know that amber lead syndrome spreads around because of the mining process, and mining suggests indeed inhaling-related sickness. It develops slow enough that people get symptoms very late, which means it's a silent killer. Manga tells us also very explicitly that effects are shared among generations, shortening the lifespans until finally youngest generations die before reaching adulthood. This suggests it's passed down in genes, even though it's not stated this way directly.

Summing it up: treatment makes you infertile, accumulated lead makes it more difficult to have children when it spreads to all the organs and affects them, or the child can be born but will die before they reach their own age of fertility. I would say there's a chance that it didn't make Law infertile, but it still dooms his potential child's lifespan in that case. No children will survive long enough to start the next generation. Whether pregnancy itself can happen or not doesn't really matter as far as the final result goes. He can have a child potentially (if other mentioned factors didn't affect him luckily) but that child won't survive the age of 10 or so. That's exactly why manga called it "biggest tragedy of Flevance", after all. If "shortening lifespan among generations" and "not contagious" doesn't suggest hereditary then it would mean every single person in Flevance got it by mining, using the metal for buildings and wares. That would be the only possibility for Law's child not inheriting the disease and living normal life. But that doesn't explain why each generation gets shorter lifespans, so we're back to square one. Logically speaking, it must be related to DNA in some way and so gets passed down to children.

I dunno how I feel about it while knowing Ancient Kingdom would have means to cure Amber Lead Syndrome, since we know now that it was very advanced. Seems whatever knowledge they had vanished with them, and even when scientists like Vegapunk try to restore it, he is still unable to recreate many of their achievements. Law's Amber Lead Syndrome and his fate is connected in more way than one to the mystery of the Void Century.

[goodolddumbbanana]

This episode leaves me with a lot of talk and potential outcomes...

1. The suspicious of Good Creator

He is so good, so caring and empathetic. I love him so so much, and that's why, I am not believing all his cards are on the table.

Why am I saying that?

First of all, he says not every his creations are friendly. But why? Good Creator is so good, why do they want to harm him?

Secondly, he seems so edged in wanting to help Sun and Moon. But also in their work too. I am talking about how g!Creator wants to work with Solar to create a new body for Molten. (Interfere at their work???... Suspicious)

Thirdly, how he doesn't want Sun and Moon to go to his dimension. He says it is not polite to let them find him, but I personally don't buy it. Something is wrong with his dimension, and he tries to hide it. And how he says he will die when his purpose is done, just like our Creator. What is his purpose?

Fourthly, the time. Let's say our Sun and Moon were only created 5 years ago, to give Our Creator some money and maybe spite the world. Why G! Creator make them so soon? He said he was invited by himself, I guess after he made Sun and Moon or before that because he doesn't know they usually don't make separate. (Unless he lied.) And what happened with Henry in his world? Does he become evil just like how our Creator is? Let's say our Sun and Moon are the first of his protocol, but why does he keep making more? I guess because of the business thingy, but from the way he is so dearly speaking to them, I doubt there may be something wrong with Sun and Moon in his world. (He speaks to Sun and Moon with the expression of his Sun and Moon may be dead, or not close to him)

And last but not least, the virus. He stated if anything happens, they can find him, even something small like virus. I feel like he wants to keep an eye on them, but the reason why? No one knows....

I theoretically think that maybe, in his world, there must be some viruses in his creations, which he is too late to fix, and now he finds the solution on the different dimension.

Or, he has some big plans that need Sun and Moon. He is a good creator but does not mean he does not have something on his sleeve. He may hurt them unintentionally, or like Ruin, for a higher purpose.

Or, he is just goofy like that and because of the show, I have 'trust issues' when someone is so suspiciously nice.

2. The virus

The virus seemingly has been the main theme on the show, and has been repeated to mention every single time.

Because they never confirmed if the Killcode on Nexus's head is active or not, they just confirmed it is not Ruin's viruses.

But they also make a bunch of red cracks and errors on Nexus's face, when he slowly goes into madness.

What if, Nexus is really infected by something, but it is not visible, it's not like what people think? What if Nexus is like Molten, stuck on Creator's command without knowing so, is not finished yet?

What if, the New Moon is fated to slowly turn into madness? Because we see Nexus, we see Moon's Solar. They are both new moons, the not dead ones, and they both go bananas really fast.

Sidenote: I really like the way Moon protects Sun when they both talk to Solar.

When Moon states that Sun asked Solar when he has the time to buy these goggles and boots and not what or how, proving even if Solar is a good friend and brother with his family, he doesn't let anyone talk down at Sun.

If that was Nexus, he will just ignore it or not take it seriously, because tons of time when Solar talks down at Sun and Nexus doesn't bat an eye.

And sadly, how Sun immediately falls back to his habit with Nexus, that leaves geniuses being alone, because he knows he can't help much.

[standfucker]

"The Fall of Ideals"

Character: Maren (young adult version)

Reader: AFAB

Word Count: 11.3k

CW: recreational drug use, explicit N.SFW content, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, size difference/size kink

Summary: Going to the Riptide Rock Festival instead of studying for your exam was one bad decision. A chance encounter with a stranger leads you to making several more.

Ao3 Link

[Happy Birthday @mewiyev! I swear I'm normal about Maren (hides word count) >.> In all seriousness, I truly adore this amazing character that you've created and I hope that shines through in this gift! Thank you for sharing him with the world!]

“This next song has never been heard before!” The lead singer of Violincense announces into the mic, prompting screams of excitement from the crowd. “We’re debuting it here at Riptide, the single for our next album–we present to you, Smokescream!”

The sound drifts from afar as you hurry back toward the crowd, having left to throw away your empty cup between songs. A rookie mistake, you soon realized, as the crowd closed up behind you, and now you were having trouble penetrating the throng of bodies. Had you any experience with these things, you would have just held onto the damn cup. Now you’re going to miss getting a good view of the band for what is possibly history in the making. You know Violincense was on the cusp of making it big, and here was your chance to watch it happen, front and center.

The crowd had formed itself into groups roughly based on size, with the tallest people closer to the back and sides. Some people of average height opted to stay close to their big friends, often sitting on their shoulders. One especially big man even wore some kind of shoulder-mounted table, carrying six of his friends. You can't help but feel a little jealous as you squeeze past them. You’re here alone, after all.

“S’cuse me…” you mumble, feeling out of place. Everyone else was dressed in band shirts and worn jackets, spiked bracelets and collars and chokers. In comparison, you look plain, but even if the trip to this venue hadn’t been last minute, you would’ve had nothing to wear anyway. It wasn’t your wisest choice to abandon studying for your big upcoming exam and blow all your food money on tickets, travel, and board for a rock festival. But now that you're here, that all seems like minor worries, a drop in the bucket of life. Who knows when you would get to do something like this again?

The Riptide Rock Fest was one of the biggest rock festivals on the Grand Line. Sporting multiple stages across the grounds and a myriad of different tents, it was a three-day haven to all fans of rock music genres. Each day had one big headliner show in the evening, with lesser-known bands filling the side stages throughout the day. It was currently the second day of the festival, and Violincense was one of the small bands you had been especially excited for, so you were eager to get back to a good spot before they started.

Alas, you were still stuck behind a wall of taller folk, unable to see the stage. The sound of drumsticks striking each other sounded as the band counted off, before a heavy guitar riff started the song. You paused to take it in, then shook your head and kept anxiously making your way along the perimeter of bodies, unable to find your way in and too polite to push through.

Finally, you spot an opening: closer to the middle and slightly off to the side, there's a little bit of space. The only person there is one of the big people, some guy that has to be at least fifteen feet tall. For some reason, he's being given a wide berth by those around him, but you don’t give it any thought as you dart for that spot before it gets taken. 

As you get closer, you see the potential reason people are leaving him be: rows of large, menacing spines stick out of his back through his clothes. However, those spines are far too high up to be a danger to you, so you step into place next to him and are at last able to get a decent view of the stage. Up close, the man is even more massive–not just tall, but thick-bodied and muscular, his burly arms alone bigger than you are. You decide to just avoid eye contact and return your focus to the show.

Smokescream, like all of Violincense’s music, sucks you right in from the start. Hearing the band live is a completely different experience. Sure, a studio recording could let a band trim off the imperfections in the sound, but it isn’t the same. This was how music was meant to be heard, you think. The fast-paced, harmonic chords strike you personally, heavy drums feeling like they’re replacing your heartbeat. Swept up in the music,  you’re so invested you don’t notice that the huge man is staring at you until halfway through the song, when you glance and accidentally meet his eye.

You stare back for a moment, stunned. He’s astonishingly handsome, if not a bit intimidating; a broad jaw and strong nose that balanced his features well, long, reddish brown hair that matches the color of his spines, a simple goatee, and gauged ears. He's wearing a black leather vest covered in various patches, but no shirt, showing off his husky build, a pair of faded green cargo shorts, and platform boots adorned in belts. His light skin sports a fair share of bruises and he's a bit scuffed up, likely from a mosh pit. Unlike you, he looks entirely in his element. 

The man watched you with a sour, unimpressed look, eyes slightly narrowed. Suddenly self-conscious, you look away, distracting yourself by pulling out one of the spliffs you had rolled earlier from your pocket and lighting it. After a few hits, you’re able to relax a little more, turning your focus back to the stage. You don’t think about the man until the next song comes to a close, the crowd cheering on the tail end of the final notes, when he leans over slightly in your direction.

“Do you need something?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

It wasn’t just his spines that kept others away. You’re abruptly aware of the prickly energy he’s giving off, his tone as guarded as his body language. Still, you have no idea what he’s talking about, so you just give him a look of confusion in response.

“What are you doing here?” he presses.

You look over at the band, then back up at him. “...Is that a trick question?”

“I mean here, in this spot.” He points at the ground. “Do you normally make a habit of approaching strange men?”

“You talked to me first,” you point out, pulling the cig from your mouth.

“Everyone else got the damn hint,” he says gruffly.

“I’m too short to care about the spines,” you say, wondering what his problem is. “And anyway, I wasn’t aware you owned this section.”

He leans forward a bit more, towering over your space. “It ain’t the spines you gotta worry about, small fry.”

“What are you gonna do? Bite me?”

“That’s right.” He smiles, showing off pointed teeth. It's not a friendly smile, but it looks good on him anyway, though it makes you uncertain–he really is enormous, easily a threat to someone your size.

Maybe it’s because you’re in a new place, already out of your comfort zone. Maybe it’s the few beers already in you at that point. But instead of giving him space like a sane person would, you instead respond, “don’t threaten me with a good time.”

That makes him smile even wider, leaning forward just a bit more. “I’m part Fish-man, you know. My teeth are razor sharp.”

“Even better.”

He laughs, his face lighting up in his amusement. You feel your face get warm and quickly stick the cig back in your mouth before you say something else embarrassing. He has a nice laugh.

The band announces that they are playing their last song of the set. Neither you nor your neighbor speak for the entirety of it. Either he likes the music too much to bother you, or he decided you were alright after all; regardless, he leaves you alone until the song is over. After the cheering of the crowd dies down, he turns back to you.

“I gotta say, I didn’t expect that coming from you.”

You rub the back of your neck, distinctly aware how plain you look. “I know I’m not dressed for a concert. I don’t really own any band shirts.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not allowed.”

“Not allowed?” He suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Are you a teenager?”

“Nope. Just a college student with a ruthlessly strict mother.”

“She sounds like a bitch.”

“Don’t call my mom a bitch,” you snap, all playfulness gone.

He isn’t thwarted even slightly, lip curling into a sneer. Reaching out with one giant hand, he pokes you in the chest, easily making you stumble back and imposing the difference in your strength. “What are you gonna do about it, small fry?”

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you could have sworn he had gotten bigger. You falter for a second, shocked that he would get physical and a bit intimidated. Then you get mad. If he’s going to be a cunt, you would be a cunt right back.

You stub out your spliff on his finger, hearing it sizzle. The man jerks his hand back with a yelp. “Ow! Fuck!”

“I'm not gonna let you push me around,” you bluff, pretending to be braver than you are. Jerks usually prefer easy targets, but there's still a chance he might get aggressive. You bare your teeth and pray he's all talk. “We're surrounded by people. Try me.”

“Are you stupid?” he growls, cradling his burned hand. “You could get seriously hurt, messing with guys like me. Sheesh…and you still haven’t taken the hint.” He grumbles, sticking his finger into his mouth, but he does not do anything else, and you deflate a little in relief.

Violincense announces that they're playing an encore, and the crowd roars as they launch into a familiar track–one of their most popular songs, Nightingales.

Attempting to ignore your surly neighbor, you close your eyes to really take in your favorite part of the song. Then you stare at the stage intensely, trying to burn the image of the band playing it into your memory. As it comes to a close, you glance at the huge man again. He’s closed his eyes, too, a serene look on his face as he listens. Right then, you feel bad for him–he just wants to enjoy the music in peace, like you. Maybe you overreacted.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him once the music stops.

“Whatever,” he spits, then mumbles, “you must be lonely, talking to me.”

“Yeah, I am,” you shrug. “But I’d bet you are, too. I mean, have you heard these lyrics?”

He looks surprised that you’d admit it so casually. Then he huffs, looking away. “I know em’ by heart.”

The crowd starts to move around you as the band packs up their things. You stick your hands in your pockets, feeling awkward. “Hey, uh, look… I’m sorry I did that. Really. I’ll make it up to you,” you said. “Want a pretzel or something? I’ll buy.”

The man visibly perks up, giving you another look of surprise. He’s kind of cute like this…

“They’re stale and oversalted,” you say enticingly, offering a hesitant smile. “But the cheese dip is…well, it also sucks, but at least it’s hot.”

“Fuck yeah,” the man grins from ear to ear. “I won’t say no to free food.”

You both head to the food tents, introducing yourselves on the way. You learned his name was Maren–“just Maren,” as he said after you gave him your last name. A lot of the patches on his vest were of bands you liked, so you were able to find some common ground despite the rough start.

You ended up buying Maren three soft pretzel sticks, just because he was so much larger–it only seemed fair. His attitude did a complete 360 at that, thrilled at the gesture.

“Thanks,” he says, and you nod, pulling out a program flier to see where the next band you wanted to watch would play. Maren peers over your shoulder as he shoves a cheese-slathered pretzel stick into his mouth. “Where ya headed next?”

“South stage,” you replied. “Shitty Kitties is playing soon.”

“Hm,” his voice is slightly garbled by his full mouth, which he does not hesitate to speak through, “Shitty Kitties? Kinda gimmicky, don’t ya think?”

“They're cool! The lead singer is a puma zoan. He transforms his vocal chords to do these crazy growls.”

“Exactly. A gimmick, not real skill.”

“Who cares how he does it, so long as it sounds good?”

“He leans on it too much. He can’t sing for shit, small fry.”

“Small fry,” you echoe, “is that a Fish-man thing?”

“Because of your shirt,” Maren points. You’re wearing a graphic tee that has cartoon french fries and tater tots, engaged in a shootout and bleeding ketchup.

“This my favorite shirt,” you say defensively.

“You have dorky taste.”

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?”

Maren grins. “Watch yourself, sweetheart. I haven’t decided if I’m going to eat you yet.” Despite his words, he’s less intimidating with a bit of cheese sauce smeared on his mouth.

“There you go again, threatening me with a good time,” you joke.

He smiles back, and your stomach does a weird little flip. For being kind of a jerk, he really is good-looking. Still, it’s probably in your best interests to wish him well and part ways here.

“Wanna go to the south stage together?” Maren asks.

“Yes,” you immediately reply.

You only made it to the Riptide Rock Fest by doing what you weren’t supposed to–what was one more bad decision?

Maren stuffs the rest of the food into his face, finishing it in two huge bites, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. You stare as he licks the sauce off his hand, following the trailing of his tongue. He meets your eyes as he does, grinning to himself when you break eye contact to look away and clear your throat.

“What is it, sweetheart? See something you like?” he teases.

“No–I wasn’t–you’re just messy,” you stammer, failing to save face. Trying to distract him, you point up at his vest. “Hey, isn’t that a Shitty Kitties patch? What gives?”

Maren looks a bit embarrassed. “That was from years ago. I’ve had this jacket for a long time–hey, don’t change the subject, now.”

Caught red-handed and losing your buzz, you start to walk away, feeling your usual shyness resurfacing now that the intoxication is wearing off. Maren follows you, hooking his thumbs into his pockets and chatting as you walk. He has no trouble making conversation, and picks up the slack where you falter. You find it easy to talk to him, and the more you talk, the more you want to know more about him. However, he dodges questions relating to himself, either outright ignoring them or just deflecting with more questions. By the time you make it to the south stage, you feel like you're talking about yourself too much, but he seems to prefer it that way.

“So where are your friends at?” Maren asks, as if it would be unthinkable for you to have come by yourself.

“Where are yours?” you try.

“Came alone.” It was the only direct answer from him in the last twenty minutes.

“Me too.”

“What, your friends don’t like rock?”

You shift from foot to foot, unsure how to respond in a way that doesn’t make you sound like a complete loser. “I don’t, uh… I don’t have any friends,” you admit. “Not where I live, anyway. After I graduated high school, mom moved us halfway around the world. Relocated to the best college she could find. I haven’t made any new friends since. Most students at that university are the entitled, wealthy type.”

“And you’re not?” Maren teases lightly.

You wrinkle your nose. “I got a full ride through scholarships.”

“Sure, sure,” he grins when you make a face at him, enjoying riling you up, “so you’re the nerdy type of smart! I knew it.” 

You doubt he really knew it, and are starting to wonder if he’s flirting with you. He seems to like your company, anyway. Oh, shit, is he flirting with you? 

Suddenly uncertain, you went for the only distraction you could think of, digging into your pocket for another pre-rolled spliff. “If I was actually smart,” you say, “I wouldn’t be here. I should be studying for this huge exam, but…” you trail off.

“But…?” Maren prompts.

“I felt like if I looked at one more book, I’d completely lose it.” You pat your pocket to search for your lighter. “All I ever do is study. I’m sick of it! I had to do something else or I’d snap. And I’ve always wanted to go to a concert–ugh, where the fuck is my lighter?”

Maren pulls a lighter from one of the many pockets on his shorts. “Here,” he says, crouching down low in front of you. You reach to accept the lighter from him, but he gently bats your hand away and instead holds the lighter up to your mouth. His hands are so large compared to the tiny spliff that he has to lean in close and focus, his tongue sticking out slightly. Carefully, he lights the spliff, his face filling your vision, and you find yourself staring again. The warmth from the lighter’s flame almost doesn’t register over your own heated cheeks.

“There we go,” he says, eyes darting up from the lighter to meet your own gaze. You glance away, the eye contact a bit much for you sober, and when you look back, he’s still leaning close, now smiling big. “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” you reply quickly. “You, uh, want a drag?”

“Depends. What’s in it?”

“Just weed and tobacco.”

“Hell yeah, hand it over.” 

You hand him the spliff, and he takes a deep drag, nodding to himself in approval. “This is good shit. You’re not as straight-laced as you seem, huh? Guess momma doesn’t know about this.”

“I have special hiding places for it,” you say. “No matter how much she digs through my shit, she won’t find it.”

“Sounds like you need to live on campus.” Maren passes the spliff back.

“I do,” you say bluntly, taking a drag and exhaling in a sigh. “She searches my things when she visits.”

“Yeesh. Why do you defend her?”

It’s not as simple as Maren makes it sound, and you aren’t sure how to put that into words. Luckily, before you can think of an answer, a familiar, high-pitched snarl echoes over the speakers. You look to the stage as the crowd cheers, but the view is completely obscured by other concert goers closer to Maren’s size. If you want to actually see Shitty Kitties, you’ll have to part ways and head up further to the “smalls” section of the crowd.

“Aw, hell. I guess I gotta go,” you say reluctantly.

“Wait!” Maren shouts to be heard over the lead singer’s introduction. “You can sit on my shoulder!”

“You’re full of spikes!” you shout back.

Maren pauses, thinking for a second. “No big deal! Here, sit on my arm!” He flexes one burly arm, patting it. “No spines and a perfect view of the stage! Deluxe seating, compliments of Maren. Whaddaya say?”

You blink, flattered at the offer but not wanting to impose. “But…won’t you get tired?”

“Nope!” Maren flexes his arm further, showing off his impressive muscles and grinning proudly.

He doesn't want you to leave, you realize. The thought gives you butterflies in your stomach that the spliff doesn't help to calm. Maren is roguishly attractive and good company, and he wants you around–why not accept?

“Alright,” you nod. “How do I get up theRE–!”

The moment you consent, Maren picks you up, wrapping his hands around your hips and hoisting you onto his upper arm as your words turn into a cry of surprise. Suddenly fourteen feet off the ground, you grip the fabric of his vest tightly, tucking your legs under his arm to hold on.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” Maren says cheerfully, patting your shoulder with his upheld hand.

You giggle nervously. From up here, you can see above the heads of the taller people and have an excellent view of the stage. Just in time, too, as the lead singer of Shitty Kitties finishes hyping up the crowd and begins counting down to their first song of the set.

“One, two, three!” The lead singer yells, then snarls into the mic.

“Oh! Oh!!” you exclaim. “This is Blightmare!”

Maren grins at your excitement. He nods along to the music, careful not to move you too much, and you pass the spliff back and forth as you enjoy the song. Blightmare was an old cult classic, one of your favorites. Once it hits the main verse, you're far too enthralled to not scream out the lyrics–hell, everyone else is.

“ROWR! I’m the wrong kinda crowd / I’m the devil in the day / and I’m no good for you / but you like it that way!”

You glance at Maren to see that he’s singing along, too. You can’t hear him, much less yourself, but you both grin at each other as you sing. The high of the spliff compounds the intoxicating feeling of the music, until you wrap one arm around Maren’s upheld one so you can steady yourself while headbanging.

“Fuck yeah!” Maren shouts, throwing devil horns up with his free hand. The both of you get swallowed up by the energy of your surroundings, screaming along song lyrics and pumping your fists for every song that plays. The set concludes what feels like far too early, and people begin to move around the two of you as they make their way to other stages.

“That was amazing!” you laugh, exhilarated. 

“It was pretty cute, hearing you try to growl like the lead singer,” Maren says.

Your chest tightens in a good way, and you giggle nervously, shaking your head. “My vocal chords will regret that tomorrow. But fuck it, right?”

“That’s right!”

“I didn’t know this would be so much fun! I’m so glad I came!”

“Is this your first time?” Maren asks, crouching down so he can let you off him.

“Yep. First concert ever.” You land and get your bearings, patting down your jeans. “There are lots of things I’ve missed out on because all my time was spent studying. Morning drills before class, prep school after, then homework in the evening.”

“Why don’t you just quit?” Maren asks like it’s obvious, and you balk at him.

“What? I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It sucks, you clearly don’t like it. So quit.”

“You don’t understand,” you explain. “Mom gave up everything to get me here. We were dirt poor. She would even skip meals to make sure I was fed. She worked hard to give me this opportunity! I can’t just throw that away.”

Maren doesn't look convinced, but he doesn’t argue, either, merely shrugging. “Well, alright. Where ya wanna go next?”

You look down to hide your smile, thrilled that he wants to keep hanging out with you. Pulling out the flier, you squint at it. “A band called ‘M-K’ is going to play on this stage. What’s ‘M-K?’”

“Monochrome Kaleidoscope.”

“Oh. Well, they’re up next. And on the east stage, there’s Taka Tora Batta… and BB Thunder on the north. They should all finish around the same time, right before the headliner plays on the center stage.”

The headliner for the second day was Preyer, a band with a self-described “carnivore gothic” theme that was rapidly growing in popularity. Maren hadn’t brought them up at all yet, which was surprising–they seemed to be right up his alley, considering his taste in other bands.

“I don’t have a preference either way–I’m good with whatever,” he says.

“Me too. Why don’t we stay here, then?” you suggest. “We can move up closer and get a better spot in the crowd. If we go stand right at the border between the large and small section, you won’t have to hold me up the whole time.”

“I don’t mind,” Maren winks, making you flush warm, “but alright. Sounds like a plan.”

You feel far more at ease walking through the crowds with Maren at your side. Concerts are supposed to be a group event in the first place, and with such an open venue, you had some concerns about being by yourself. But even other big people would think twice before starting a fight with Maren, which was all the more reason you should have never gambled on ticking him off earlier. A stupid risk, but in a weird way, the action seemed to gain his respect–and now that you had each other to hang out with, you’d never been happier in making such a string of poor decisions.

You and Maren find the good spot you had mentioned earlier, the people behind you all larger like him, and the people in front of you average-sized. Maren opts to sit down, as he’s still tall enough from there to see over the “shorties,” as he calls them. You, on the other hand, can't sit without losing sight of the stage, so you lean against him instead, mindful of the spikes.

Monochrome Kaleidoscope was a band that seems to be a mix of electronic and jam rock subgenres. They switch off between playing songs from their newest album, Shatterstatic, and having jam sessions right there on stage, improvising for five minute segments. The drums and synth players decide on a beat and background, and the rest of the musicians jump in with their instruments one at a time. You've never seen anything like it before, and let Maren know as much in between songs.

“Oh, yeah, M-K’s great.” He gives you a lazy grin. “I need to see if their merch table is selling patches later. Don’t have theirs yet.”

“If you hold our spot, I’ll go look for you,” you offer.

“Alright! Thanks, sweetheart.”

You flush warm and quickly excuse yourself before your flustering becomes obvious. As you weave through the “smalls” section, you couldn’t stop smiling to yourself. Maren is the last person you’d ever expect yourself to crush on. A small voice in the back of your mind tells you not to get too smitten, to keep your wits about you. You have only known Maren for a few hours, and he didn’t want to talk about himself. Maybe there was a reason for that, and that reason could have been a dangerous one. But he liked your company. And you craved the attention, truth be told. You never realized how starved you’d been for it.

The merch table was an assortment of stickers, buttons, patches, guitar picks, vinyls, and even some pricey tone dials. All of them had black-and-white designs around the band’s logo. Your hand hovered above the patches. For a moment, you considered getting two. But you didn’t have anything to put it on, and if your mother found it, she would likely throw a fit. The thought brought you out of your high somewhat  After tomorrow, you’d go back to your regular life. Back to the mundane rigors of academia and arithmetic.

There was no doubt this was the only time you’d get to hang with Maren. He’d eventually go back to whatever island he was from–hell, he might have even been a pirate (a scary thought,) in which case there was a slim chance you would ever see him again. You clenched your fists as you decided, right then and there: this weekend was your only chance to try something new. So what if he was literally rough around the edges? So what if you’d regret it later? You were far more afraid of the regret you’d feel if you didn’t take advantage of this opportunity.

Maren might only be your friend for a day, but that was one day more than you had in years. With that in mind, you went ahead and purchased a patch for him, and a guitar pick for yourself. You didn’t know how to play guitar, but the pick would be an easy-to-hide memento. 

When you returned, two songs had passed, and Maren was standing, looking far more scuffed up than when you’d left him, his hair all messy and a new rip in his pants.

“Woah, are you okay?” you ask, reaching up to touch his forearm, where a fresh bruise is forming.

“Yep. A mosh pit formed behind me, so I joined in,” he replies, letting you examine his arm. “So did they sell patches over there?”

“Yeah! Here,” you take the patch out of your bag and hold it out to him.

Maren’s eyes go wide. “You–you didn’t have to buy me one.”

You shrug. “I, uh…I wanted to. No big deal.”

He looks genuinely taken aback, a faint dusting of pink contrasting with his freckles. Then he smiles big. “Aw, thanks, babe. That’s real sweet of you.”

You’re already flustered from the pet name, so when he reaches up to brush your cheek affectionately, your brain nearly short-circuits. Face burning, you deftly avoid his gaze, staring at his arm and changing the subject.

“That looks painful,” you say, tracing the edge of the bruise.

“Nah, it’s nothing. It was fun. You should try it!”

“Moshing?” you blink at him, incredulous. “No way. I mean, me?”

“Why not? You can start one up in the ‘smalls’ section. I know you shrimps need to get out your terrier energy.”

“Wha–hey!” you laugh, making Maren grin.

“I’m serious. You said this is your first concert, right? Trying new things is good for you.”

You’re not sure what part of knocking into other people is good for you, but for some reason, you feel yourself drawn to the idea. You shouldn’t be, but what if this was the only concert you’d ever get to attend? And what is it about Maren that makes him so convincing? He’s not even pressuring you, not really. You just want to look cool in front of him, despite the fact he probably thinks you're a total dork. You want him to like you so bad, but clearly he already does, so why are you considering this?

Maren sees you looking out over the crowd hesitantly, and raises a thick finger to point. “See those people down by the southwest row? The ones jumping up and down? They look primed for it. All you have to do is scurry over there and give them a little push.”

You bite your lip. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he nods. “Don’t shove people who look like they don’t want to be involved, and don’t use brute force on anyone smaller than you. Help up anyone you see on the ground. Other than that, go nuts.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay…”

Maren salutes you as you head forth. You walk a little quicker, gradually picking up your pace. When you reach the aforementioned group, you're at a brisk jog, and, feeling a bit nuts, you shove into the most energetic looking guy there. 

He stumbles slightly, looking surprised. You freeze.

Suddenly you're shoved from the side by a random girl. She shouts something at the group as you recover, and then the man you shoved comes back and pushes into her. There's more yelling from the group, and then four of them start throwing themselves into the crowd around them. Pulse racing, you collect yourself and join in, running at the nearest person.

The lead singer shouts and points at your section of the crowd. The guitarist jumps in, shredding an improvised solo like a crazy man. Suddenly the area around you seems to erupt, your small group becoming a massive, frenzied pit of at least 30 people. You get jabbed with elbows and shoved into bodies, never knowing where the next impact is going to come from, but your adrenaline is pumping like crazy and you don't want to stop. 

A particularly hard shove sends you off your feet. You hit the ground and tense, expecting to get trampled, but multiple hands come out of nowhere, lifting you back onto your feet. You pause, get bumped into, and resume throwing yourself into the swarm. 

You get knocked down several more times, but every time, hands reach out from the crowd like magic and pull you back up. It's only after you're out of breath and hurting that you decide to call it quits, making your way to the edge of the mosh pit, through the crowd, and back to Maren.

“Ahh!” you inform him, overcome with adrenaline. It feels like you just got off a roller coaster. “I–I did it!”

“You were like a little tornado,” Maren chuckles. “How was it?”

“Fun!” you shout. Your body hurts in various places, and you're banged up and bruised, but grinning like a maniac.

“Attagirl!” He holds out his fist to you, and you punch it.

It takes you a bit to catch your breath. You lean against Maren in the meantime, trying not to smile when he loops his arm around your hips.

“It looks like they have so much fun playing,” you say after MK finishes their last song. “I’ve always wanted to learn to play the guitar.”

“Why don’t you–wait, let me guess: you’re not allowed?” Maren raises both brows pityingly, and you lightly punch his arm.

“I just haven’t had the free time.”

“I could teach you, if I had a guitar,” he says, then pretends like he’s thinking hard, rubbing his goatee. “Tell you what. You sneak backstage and steal a guitar, and I’ll teach you to play a song.”

For a moment, you find yourself seriously considering it. Then you laugh at yourself. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A straight-laced person like me, committing theft.”

Maren laughs too. “I think breaking the rules would do you some good.”

“That’s not the kind of person I am.”

“It could be.”

“It’s not, and I’m okay with that.”

“Boooring.” Maren sticks out his tongue.

“That’s okay, too.”

He regards you for a moment. “You seem to have it all figured out.”

“I have to,” you say simply. “I mean, my own mother doesn’t know me. If I don’t know who I am, then no one does.”

“…”

“Anyway, if I get caught and jailed. I’d be kicked out of college, and then I’d lose everything. So no theft for me.”

“Would that really be so bad?” Maren says suddenly.

“Wha–of course. Everything my mom did…”

“Okay, but it doesn’t make sense to me.” Maren looks at you seriously. “What’s the point of all that sacrifice if you aren’t happy?”

You open your mouth, but can’t find a response. The words sink in slowly, slowly, and you try and wrap your mind around them. He…He's right. This punk you've known all of several hours is completely and totally right, and you have no idea what to say.

“Uh,” you say. “Um. Wow. Okay. I mean, yeah. Yeah, you have a point there.”

“Don’t sweat it too much, sweetheart.”

Easier said than done–you’re mulling over what he said for the rest of the set, only breaking out of the trance when it finishes and the crowd starts to move. You and Maren get up and follow the flow of the crowd. Everyone’s headed in the same direction–the side shows are all done, and it’s time for the headliner at the center stage.

The excitement at seeing Preyer live cheers you up a bit. You like several of their songs, and you’ve heard they have a great stage presence. Some of the people around you even have signs, though they don’t look nearly as happy to be there as you would think someone who went to the trouble of making signs would be.

Come to think of it, Maren doesn’t seem all that enthusiastic, either. His grin is entirely absent, like it was when you first met him earlier in the day. After you both find a good spot to stand at the center stage, you decide to bring it up.

“I guess you don’t like Preyer?” you ask.

“They sound alright, but the bandmates themselves are douchebags,” is his reply. “I’m not about to hold up a sign over it, but I’m not going to cheer them on, either.”

The comment strikes you as weird, and you follow Maren’s gaze to get a proper look at one of the signs someone’s holding. Rather than a message of endearment, like you expected, there is bold, bright red letters reading out:

‘PREYER OF CHILDREN!!!’

The other signs read similarly, and you frown. “What's with those signs?”

“You haven't heard?” Maren says.

“No… Did something happen?”

“You could say that.” He narrows his eyes. “The lead singer of Preyer likes to hook up with underage fans.”

“What?!”

“Yep. Several teenagers have come forward about it. Apparently drugs were involved. But there wasn't any hard evidence, so nothing’s been done.” 

“Oh! That’s awful!”

“Sorry you had to find out like this.” He pats your shoulder, resting his giant hand there. “I know it kinda ruins the vibes of the festival.”

“It's not ruined,” you say quickly. “I mean, maybe this particular concert is, but I'd rather have known.”

Maren nods. “That bastard let down every single person who came out here. Everyone who looked up to him.” His grip on your shoulder tightens, his smile tense. “He doesn't deserve to be the headlining show. He doesn't deserve to play at all.”

You shake your head in agreement. When you next glance up at Maren, he has a sly gleam in his eye, his grin stretching like he just thought of something funny. 

“Maren?”

“I'm gonna head to the restroom. Wait for me, sweetheart.”

You both already made pit stops before coming to the center stage. He might just need to go again, but even having only known him a few hours, you get the distinct feeling that he's up to something. Before you can say anything, though, he pushes through the crowd behind you and disappears.

You wait for him. The time passes, and several minutes turn to half an hour with no sign of Maren. Just as you really start to get concerned, you realize that the crowd has grown unusually tense. It's not the excited kind of tension, either, not an eagerness for the show to start. Rather, every few minutes you look around for Maren and see more and more people looking restless, even angry. People are starting to turn to their neighbors and talk. 

Something is definitely going on. You focus, trying to pick out individual conversations.

“... serious! He slept with a minor, and…”

“...gave alcohol to a kid…”

“... can't be true! He's a good guy...”

“...she was my daughter's age…”

The rumors of what the lead singer did are spreading like wildfire, it seems. You've never seen anything like it. You're not sure how it's happening–there are some protesters, but not enough to cause this–until you see a shock of familiar, burnt-orange hair a ways down the crowd.

But, wait. That can't be Maren. He’s 15 feet tall, and those guys over there are only about 7. You squint, confused to see that yes, it's definitely Maren, albeit shorter somehow. He's got his hand cupped to someone's ear, their face changing from neutral to shocked to angry in quick succession. Maren pulls away and works his way to another section of the crowd, and you suddenly know exactly what's going on.

Maren’s making sure not a single concert-goer hasn't heard about what's happened! You're in shock. He didn’t strike you as the type to care that much. That, or he just wants to start trouble. You're reminded again that you really don't know him that well, but you can't bring yourself to look down on what he's doing, either. 

You lose sight of him as he disappears into the crowd again, and don't see him until the band has finished setting up, when he seemingly materializes next to you.

“Those pretzel sticks didn't agree with you, huh?” you joke. “Looks like the crowd does, though.”

“Imagine that,” he grins. 

The lead singer starts speaking into the mic, only for the crowd to erupt into a cacophony of boos. You glance at Maren, who’s joined them in full force, then at the crowd. You can't help it– you join in too.

The lead singer tries to pacify the crowd to no avail. He can't get a single word in. He grows more frustrated with each attempt, until he finally screams, “Fuck you! We are Preyer, and we're going to rock your world! Five, six, seven, eight!”

The band launches into their first song. It's a shame–the music itself is good, but you can't enjoy it the same, especially not with the undercurrent of jeering. You figure the best option at this point would be to just leave, but Maren has other ideas.

“Charge! The! Stage!” he starts chanting, and your eyes get huge. Before you know it, the people around you pick up the chant. It's barely audible over the music, but steadily, more and more people start joining in, and it grows louder, and louder.

Maren notices your alarm and crouches down next to you, shouting so you can hear him over all the noise. “All good, babe?”

“All good? You're starting a riot!”

“Fuck yeah, I am!” He holds his hand out to you. “Are you with me?”

You stare at his hand for a moment, wondering how you got to this point. You knew, you just knew hanging out with him was a bad idea. He was everything you weren't! Everything you were taught not to be, brash and opportunistic and self-concerned. He would only make you worse, you were sure. But…god help you, you wanted to be like him. You wanted just a piece of that energetic confidence, to feel the warmth of the fire that burned within him. 

Even if you would get burned.

You swing your arm and clasp Maren's hand tightly. “Yeah!”

The crowd festers, the chant spreading like a plague, madder and louder until even avid fans are screaming it. The dissent is close to bursting, but it isn't quite enough. It needs something to push it over that edge. You look around. The larger fans toward the back seem eager to go, but people your size at the front, while angered, are still in place. Those at the back can't move forward until the ones up front do, not without trampling the smaller concert-goers.

You suddenly have a really, really bad idea. It's so, so unlike you, but, hell. If you want to be different… Maybe not at home, but here, maybe you can be…

What's the point of all that sacrifice if you aren't happy?

Fine, then. You'll make the change for yourself, if you have to.

Without warning, you start pushing through the crowd. Maren shouts after you, but you don't stop, and his voice is swallowed up by the chorus of rage. Heart pounding, you elbow and shoulder your way past the throng of people, row after screaming row, the stage getting closer and closer, the music so loud it's deafening. You can't hear the crowd anymore, nor your own crazed, panicky breathing. Only adrenaline keeps you going. Up at the front now, you can see a line of several security guards dotting the space before the stage. You break through the last line of people, charge forward, vault over the divider, and leap for the stage. 

Somehow you make it. You scrabble up and on. A security guard grabs you by the foot, but you yank your leg, your shoe coming off in his hand. The band keeps playing, but the lead singer stops. You charge him, and he scrambles back. But you're not going for him, much as he deserves it.

You grab the mic and scream one word with all your lungs:

“RIOT!”

All hell breaks loose.

The crowd roars, surging forward like a busted dam. The band stops playing. The security guards who followed you onstage are swiftly overwhelmed. One grabs you, but is pulled off you by three other people. The stage is quickly overrun, shouting and chaos all around. You get pushed and jostled by the rush of bodies. Equipment is being thrown, instruments trashed, wires torn. You can't see anything past the bodies and can't gain enough footing to move in any direction of your own choosing. When the larger people from the back reach the stage, you start to worry about getting trampled. Your fear is quickly realized as you're knocked hard onto the ground.

Out of nowhere, a large hand grabs you and pulls you high up–Maren, lifting you into one burly arm.

“You alright?” he shouts.

“Yes!” you half shout, half laugh. 

He grins wide. “Cops are coming. Hold on!”

Maren runs away from the stage. You cling to his vest, but his hold on you is secure. The people around you are going every which direction, some still charging for the stage, some making a break for it like you are. Policemen start cutting into the crowd, rushing to protect the band.

���Where are you going?” you ask him once you've gained some distance from the crowd.

“No clue,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.

“Let’s go to the Saltwater Inn! I have a room there.”

“Where's that?”

“Head south.”

After you're a safe distance from the chaos, Maren slows to a stop and sets you down, catching his breath. You're panting, too, mostly from adrenaline.

“That…that was…” you pant.

“That was insane! You're amazing!” Maren yells.

“I don't know why I did that!” you yell back. “I–I hope no one saw my face! Oh my god…”

He laughs, one hand on his hip. “I was wrong about you, sweetheart. That was pretty ballsy.”

Right then, you notice that Maren has a guitar in his other hand. “Where did you get that?”

“I stole it from backstage while everyone was distracted.”

“Maren!”

“What? You did far crazier back there.”

You should feel guilty, and normally you would, but his toothy grin just makes you break out into a matching smile.

“Okay, good point. But let's not stick around.” You tug on his free hand, and Maren lets you lead him toward the inn.“I saw something weird while you were in the ‘bathroom’,” you say while you walk. “I could have sworn I saw another, smaller you in the crowd.” You give him an accusatory look.

“Heh. Yeah, that was me. I can change my size, cuz I'm a porcupinefish type Fish-man.”

“This isn't your normal size?”

“Nah, but I prefer it.”

The two of you chat as you make it back to the nearby Saltwater Inn. You were lucky enough to reserve one of the last rooms available back when you impulsively decided to attend the festival. The bed was made for someone Maren's size, so you overpaid, but it was worth it to be within walking distance from the festival. You ask Maren where he was sleeping that night while you both remove your shoes, only for him to reply that he had been camping out. At that point you weren't surprised by his answer.

“Wellll…” you flopped back onto the oversized bed. “If you wanted to…you could, you know…stay here? With me?”

Maren flops back next to you, making you bounce and giggle.

“Wellll…” he mimics your tone. “If you're gonna twist my arm about it….” He flashes you his signature grin.

Faces inches from each other, looking into his sparkling eyes, you're suddenly and totally overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him. But you haven't kissed anyone in years, and he's so attractive, you don't even know how to begin to process that urge. Cheeks warming, you sit up abruptly and clear your throat.

“You said you could teach me to play if you had a guitar,” you say.

“That I did.” Maren sits up and picks the guitar up off the floor. It's huge, jet black and crimson and covered in stickers. He gently sets it in your arms. “It's a bit big for you, but you should still manage.”

Maren goes over the basics, then spends a few minutes trying to position your fingers. When you still struggle to mimic him, he changes strategies.

“Here,” he says, and picks you up by the hips, making you yelp in surprise. His large arms coming to rest over yours. Like this, it's easier for him to reposition your fingers on the frets. Your face quickly gets hot, but Maren is entirely focused on teaching, his grin more relaxed than it has been all day.

Despite everything you've gone through since meeting him, you don't think he's ever been as attractive as he is when he's guiding you through a song. The intent focus on his face, the warmth of his skin against yours, his low voice praising you as you do well–it all makes your head spin. He goes at a slow, steady pace, teaching you one section at a time, until it’s an hour later and you’re playing your very first song.

You’re brimming with excitement as you finish. It’s your first time playing music, and you think you’re in love. You look up at Maren with a sense of awe and wonder. You created music, almost by yourself. He seems genuinely thrilled to have shown you, too.

“Well done, sweetheart,” he says. “Did you like it?”

“Maren, I loved it! Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“It’s the least I could do,” he says.

You set the guitar aside and lean back against him, and he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you.

“I’m glad I met you, Maren,” you say.

“Me too.”

You crane your neck back to look up at him. He grins, but it’s not as intense as usual. It’s soft, in a weird way. That feeling of wanting to kiss him washes over you, and Maren acts like he can sense it, because he cups your cheek.

“Whatcha thinking about, sweetheart?” he almost whispers.

“I–I. Um, I.” You giggle nervously. “I think you’re really hot, and I want to kiss you.”

“Yeah?” He leans closer. “What’s stopping you?”

“Nerves, mostly.”

He chuckles. “Alright, then. How ‘bout I kiss you first?”

You nod, heart racing so fast you think it’ll bruise your sternum. Maren’s thumb strokes your cheek as he takes in your flustered expression. Then he leans in. You shut your eyes, and a moment later, feel the smoothness of his lips pressing to yours.

Tingling, burning warmth courses through your veins at the contact, a taste of his fire. You open your eyes just as he pulls away, his face flushed like yours.

“Fuck,” you say, surprising him into laughter.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Really good.”

“Again?”

“Please, yes–”

He leans in again, and you shift in his lap to straddle one of his giant thighs, lips slightly parted as he kisses you a second time. He guides your arms to wrap around his neck, and you stretch up to meet him so he doesn’t have to bend so much. The second kiss is longer, lighting up your entire body with its passion. He’s not as intense as you expected, almost hesitant in his kissing. You’re not sure you’re doing well, either, but he stays put, so you gain confidence, parting your lips slightly and humming in approval. His tongue probes out to trace your lips, and you gasp before sliding out your own to meet his.

At the touch, you feel the blood rush between your legs. It’s a bit ticklish and wet and so warm, and as Maren closes his mouth to suck on your lower lip, a soft moan trickles out of you before you can help it.

You want him badly, you want all of him. You can feel the desire pouring out of him, too, that inner flame blazing bright and consuming you. He seemed confident throughout the day, but you can’t help but sense that you’re both seeking a kind of solace in the other. It’s been so long since you’ve been close to someone, especially like this, and he’s working up a need in you that’s impossible to ignore.

Maren moves his hands down your back and to your ass, squeezing before tilting you back slightly so he can deepen the kiss, tongue filling your mouth. His kisses turn messy and you do your best to keep up with his heated, dizzying pace, a second moan breaking free when he moves to kiss your neck. You tilt your head to give him easier access, his head filling the space between as he starts to suck on the skin, making a jolt rush straight to your center. You can barely feel the scrape of his sharp teeth, but he doesn’t bite. Maybe it would be dangerous, but you can’t help but feel a bit disappointed.

“Ah…Maren,” you breathe, “Bite me, I–I want you to bite me.”

“Huh? Wait,” he pulls away, giving you both a chance to get your bearings. “I wasn’t kidding when I said my teeth are sharp.”

“Just a nibble?” you plead. “Small and shallow?”

“What are you, a masochist?” Your face burns, but he’s grinning. “Hah! Alright, but hold still, sweetheart. I’ll try not to make you bleed.”

“What are you, afraid of a little blood?” you challenge.

Instantly one of his hands is in your hair, gripping tight by the roots to keep your head still. You moan at the roughness, feeling his grin against the base of your neck before the razor points of his teeth rake your skin. You squirm, and his other hand comes up to grab your shoulder to keep you from moving. The anticipation rockets your arousal from a spark to a burning need, but thankfully he doesn’t make you wait.

There’s a slight, sweet blossoming of pain as his teeth barely sink in. You gasp, legs squeezing his thigh, your breath hitching again when his tongue follows, soothing the sting. He licks back and forth along the spot before slicking his way back to your neck to suck another bruise there, and you can’t help it, you start grinding on his thigh to grant yourself some much-needed relief.

“Fuck,” Maren curses in surprise, pulling back to watch you. The sight must make him impatient, though, because a moment later he grabs your wrist and puts your hand on his crotch. There’s a very large, very hard bulge there, far bigger than your hand. You don’t hesitate to stroke him–you have to work your whole arm to do so–and are rewarded with the beautiful sound of his first moan. His hips cant forward, pushing into your hand, and he’s panting slightly.

“Lie back,” you instruct, and Maren complies, lying back onto the bed. You reposition yourself between his legs so you can grind your crotch directly onto his bulge. He throws his head back and gasps at the same time as you do, his hands coming to grab your hips and pull you onto him harder.

Before you risked buying a small, discreet vibrator, you used to get off by grinding on stacked pillows. The sensation of grinding on Maren, however, was so much better that you found yourself whimpering. His bulge was large enough to provide a firm pressure against your entire vulva, and his breathy, restrained moans only fueled your need. After all the teasing of his kisses, you were already worked up, and it didn’t take you much longer before you were rapidly climbing up and over the peak, a soft cry as you cum.

The orgasm wracks your body, and you hump him desperately throughout it until it finally subsides. You go still, leaning against his belly and catching your breath.

“Why’d you stop?” Maren raises his head to look at you. His brows rise in realization. “Did you cum?”

“Y-Yeah,” you pant. His toothy smirk makes you feel tingly all over again, and you crawl up his body to kiss him some more.

You make out feverishly, all earlier hesitation gone, replaced by hot, needy kisses and nibbles. You pull away just long enough to take off your shirt, throwing it to the side before your bra follows. Maren’s hands are on your breasts in an instant, kneading the soft flesh and making you moan into his mouth. It turns to a sharp cry as his thumbs find your nipples.

“Ya like that?” he husks, and you nod quickly, going to kiss him again and whimpering against his lips when he continues to rub the sensitive nubs. He grants you a brief reprieve as his hands slide down your sides and hips, fingers hooking under the band of your pants, and you break away to remove them and your underwear.

Maren slides a finger between your lower lips, eyes widening at the amount of slick he feels. “Shit, you are so wet.”

“Maren, please–”

You don’t need to say anything more. He slides his middle finger through your folds, up and down, up and down, building up an anticipation that shatters as his finger sinks inside you.

“Ahh!” you cry out as he pushes it deeper, grabbing his forearm to stabilize yourself. His hands are so large, fingers so thick that he can reach all the way to your cervix without stretching. You clench down on the thick digit, dizzy at how easily just one fills you up.

Maren starts to pump his finger slowly, and pleasure shoots through you. The muscles of his forearm flex beneath your hand as he soon fingers you into a mess, your legs shaking as you grind into his palm. He’s biting his lip at the sight of you coming undone on just his hand.

“Kuh, keep going!” you pant desperately. “More, more!”

“More?” he pushes his ring finger at your entrance. “Like this?”

“Yes! Nnnh–!” Your back arches as he pushes the second finger inside you along with the first, the stretch persistent and pleasant and filling. The slick, wet squelch rings in your ears. You rub your clit desperately with one finger, eyes rolling back.

“Shit,” he curses. “Look at you, so needy. Who woulda thought under all that, you’re just a needy little slut?”

Maren slides his other hand up your side to flick at your nipple with his thumb, and his fingers curl abruptly inside you, making you cry out in surprise and delight, the mounting pleasure spiking in intensity. He rubs insistently at your g-spot, and this time, when your orgasm slams into you, he can feel it fluttering around his fingers.

“Ah, ahh–!” You curl forward, almost weak from the intensity, shivers going through you along with the throbbing of your clit. “Coming!”

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel you,” he says, kissing your forehead. “It’s cute how easily you cum.”

“I want my third one to be from you fucking me,” you state intently. His eyes go wide a moment before he laughs.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

“That’s right. I want you to make me regret ever having run into you. I want to think about tonight for the rest of my life.”

Maren’s blush deepens, his tongue poking out to wet his lips before he grins. “You keep catching me off guard, you know that? Alright, then. You think you can take it, then I’ll give it to you.”

He pulls his fingers out of you and uses the slicked digits to tease your nipples. The stimulation is different with the new lubrication, but in a good way, a sigh falling from your lips as he works heat into your body anew. You take his hand, pulling it up to your mouth, and lick the sticky fluid from his fingers. His breath hitches as you surprise him once more, a tender moan coming out when you start to suck on his fingers, one at a time.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Maren groans, his other hand reaching down to undo his zipper. He hastily shoves his boxers down to pull out his cock, jerking himself to the sight and sensation of your little mouth on his fingers. “How–how do you want to do this? I don’t have a condom.”

You take his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. “I have the implant.” You glance over your shoulder and flush hot all over at the sight of his massive cock in his hand. Naturally he’s proportional, and there’s no way it’s going to fit as he is. “Um…you’re huge, Maren. I don’t think it’s gonna–wait, you can make yourself smaller, right?”

He looks conflicted at the idea. “How small are we talking?”

You weren’t sure what his aversion to being smaller was, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Thinking for a moment, you offer, “what if I mount you, and you just shrink until it goes in? If you get to a point where you don’t want to keep going, you can stop and we’ll do something else.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Maren nods, seemingly put at ease.

You tug at his vest. He chuckles and removes it, then his pants and boxers. As soon as he’s naked, you throw your arms around his neck and start making out with him again.

“You know,” you say between kisses, “perk of you–being smaller–can kiss and fuck me–at the same time.”

He hums in response, not outright rejecting the idea. At his current height, riding him meant he couldn’t kiss you without breaking his spine. But at his current height, nothing was going to happen anyway.

Maren’s heated kisses work you back into a frenzy of need until you’re breaking away, licking the large scar on his left pectoral before kissing down his chest and belly, until your ass is pressed against his cock. It’s so big it touches your lower back, leaving a smear of precum on your skin.

“Okay,” you say, taking hold of his cock and positioning yourself over it. Maren sucks in a breath at the touch, and you follow suit as you press the blunt head against your vulva. It’s like trying to fuck an eggplant, it’s just not gonna happen, though the wet, smooth skin does feel good against you. “I’m ready.”

Maren nods and lets out a sigh. You feel a slight shift, not immediately realizing he’s changing, until a second later when you realize his head no longer reaches the pillow. He shrinks slowly, losing inch by inch, and you wiggle your hips a little to feel if he’s small enough yet.

You both gasp as he starts to penetrate you, but he can’t get further than the head.

“A-Almost,” you stammer. Another inch of height off, and you’re able to sink down onto him slowly. “There! Yes!”

Overall, Maren’s only lost about four feet of height. At 11 feet tall he’s still huge in comparison to you, and you’re a bit surprised at yourself. 

He must be, too, because he asks, “It’s not too much?” 

“I think–I can handle–nnng…” You lose focus as he bottoms out. His cock is still huge, bigger than anyone you’ve been with or any toy you’ve used, and the stretch hurts just a little bit. But he seemed so reluctant to get smaller, you don’t want to push him any more than he has. You just need some time to adjust, and you tell him as much.

“Ya sure, babe?”

“Yeah…It’s, it’s kind of good like this…” you hang your head down, looking at the point where your bodies are connected. There’s still several inches of him left out. He’s so thick that the broad head of him pushes firmly against your g-spot and doesn’t let you forget it’s there. You lift your hips experimentally, and the movement makes you both gasp again, a jolt of intertwined heat.

“Fuck, how are you taking so much? Little thing like you,” Maren’s hands rest on your hips as you start moving up and down. “You like big dick, huh, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes, yes,” you pant as you start riding him in earnest. “Oh–oh, fuck, Maren…”

“You’re more wild than you let on. I think you’ve been waiting for something like this, huh? Waiting for someone like me.” His breath is heavy, his husky words encouraging. “So wound up when we first met–turns out all you needed was to let loose, hmm?”

He’s not even dirty talking, not really, but the way he speaks to you just makes you wetter. You’re able to keep going thanks to it, keeping the friction from getting uncomfortable. Panting, you roll your hips as you ride him, grinding him where you need him most.

“Tell me how it feels, tell me how that big dick feels,” Maren says.

“Good! Feels so good!”

He rewards you with a sudden, hard spank, and you gasp.

“You got tighter! You are a masochist.”

He smacks you again, making you cry out. “Maren!”

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my name!”

Smack!

“Maren-!”

Your pace slows as you tire–the festival has you drained–but Maren doesn’t hesitate to grab your hips, bracing his legs against the bed to thrust up into you. His tongue pokes out slightly as he pants, bouncing you on his cock, and you’re able to rub your clit now that he’s picked up the slack.

He moans, grip tightening on your hips as his pace picks up. Each thrust shoves you closer and closer to the edge until you crash over it with a strangled cry of his name, orgasm ripping through you.

“I got ya,” he pants, his hurried thrusts work you through your orgasm, head spinning at the feel of your walls spasming around him. “Gonna…ah, shit, I’m gonna cum…!”

He stops abruptly, pulling you down onto him so hard it hurts a little, head thrown back and moaning from deep in his gut. His cock throbs as he empties inside you, and then there’s no sound left but the both of you catching your breath.

He softens inside you, but is still so large he doesn’t fall out until you get off of him. You collapse next to his side, resting your head against him, a thick haze of relief and sated pleasure fogging up your brain.

Maren’s arm slings over your body, pulling you closer. You look up at him. He smiles when your gazes meet, that charming, devilish grin that got you here.

“You good, sweetheart?”

“Never been better.” You match his grin. “Next round, can you fuck me against the wall?”

“On the wall, on the table, on the floor…” he trails off, and you both giggle. “What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“One more day of the festival left.”

You cuddle into his side. “Will you spend it with me?”

Maren’s gaze softens. “Of course, sweetheart.”

It turns out that Maren has far more stamina than you do. He puts you through your paces, and you’re exhausted and sore the next day, leading him to practically carry you around. The final show is incredible, and when the day comes to a close and it’s time to part ways, you tear up a little. Maren’s as cheerful as ever, but you can see past the front he puts out just a little, now–you know he’s bummed, too.

“Keep your chin up, sweetheart. Maybe someday we’ll meet again.” He says, wiping at the corners of your eyes. “Promise me you won’t miss a guy like me too much?”

You smile and nod, even as you lie through your teeth. “I promise.”

[animentality]

Maybe a hot take, but I think Durge is the real protagonist of BG3. Like... I'm sorry, everyone love their Tavs, but from a narrative point of view, it doesn't have fucking sense. It's just another guy (gender neutral) in a The Choosen One situation. I've read this story before, hundreds of times. But Durge's recepción (or disgrace)... now that has juice! That makes sense on a narrative level. You started it, you end it, one way or another.

Anyway, I'm never (with my +500 hours) going to play a Tav run. Ever. Origins only, mostly Durge. Durge and Durgetash are waaaaay better, sorry not sorry.

You are spitting nothing but facts, anon.

You wanna know what the HONEST to GOD fundamental problem is with the writing of Baldur's Gate 3?

It's that it spreads itself so thin, desperately attempting to write an open sandbox sort of world in which ANY kind of character can fit in...that it ends up being this hollow nothing.

IMAGINE if the Dark Urge WAS the default protagonist. It WOULD'VE BEEN an amazing story, if it had been given the focus it deserved, instead of just blankly repeating the SAME dialogue you'd get as a Tav and as an origin.

The idea of a former villain turned amnesiac, and going on an adventure, learning about themselves from the perspective of an outsider and seeing firsthand the horror they've wrought? It's like a fucking Zuko arc, except finding out you were the Big Bad all along could've been written even better than that...

We could've had that blank, nothing slate that Tavs start out as...and then find out, that it has thematic significance, because WE CHOOSE who we become, after a childhood/adulthood of being unable to make our own choices, and being forced into the role of the villain before the game even starts.

It's a MUCH BETTER WAY to give people a blank slate to work with, for the fun of roleplaying, but ALSO asserting a particular theme. Which is, the gravity of your choices, big and small. To do good or to embrace evil.

YOU KNOW. How Baldur's Gate 1 and 2 did being a Bhaalspawn.

IT'S ALSO A REALLY GREAT WAY to DO an RPG because yes, you slightly infringe upon the freedom of the customizable characters a person can make, but in exchange, you actually tell a fucking story where choices are the main theme.

INSTEAD. Because they were so dedicated to Tavs and the variety of ways you could play as a Tav...they completely undersell and underutilize what could've been a really amazing character.

You can literally choose to DIE for your friends in the end...and then what?

Withers brings you back in five seconds, no one has any real reaction to you doing that, except saying good job buddy :)

And then you're basically a Tav.

And ALSO. I want to say this, because it's been bothering me.

The Dark Urge has Tav syndrome too.

They have TWO notes in the entire game that we have to read into to try and glean a greater depth to their character other than murder hobo.

And that's it. They're a blank slate too.

If the Dark Urge was the protagonist, we might've been able to look into who they were before, outside of just laughably evil flesh eating monster.

They might've had real fucking depth, instead of just tidbits.

I and my fellow Dark Urge/ Durgetash enjoyers have to do the fucking work for them and write in stuff that isn't actually there. The Dark Urge as a protagonist could've been really meaningful. We could've seen inklings that they had misgivings about being Bhaal's Chosen. We could've seen scars of resistance, where they tried to defy Bhaal, but were punished with death, disintegration by the loving hands of your own father and flesh. We could've had betrayal, redemption, loyalty to one's blood family vs one's found family.

But we don't get that, because it's taking too much time away from Tavs.

Sometimes I really wish the Dark Urge wasn't even an option. They gave me this thing, and I thought wow this is the only way to play the game...and then I look and see, ah. But the potential for greatness could drive me absolutely insane.

And it has.

Durgetash is the product of my frustration with the game's characterization of the Dark Urge.

And I know I'm pissing off the salty BG3 fans who love their Tavs and all, and think the Dark Urge is lame, and god FORBID a protagonist have a character, can't have that in an RPG, but I can't find it in myself to care.

I'm built different than the rest of y'all. I don't just feed on content, I analyze its nutrients. I calculate how good for me it actually is.

And BG3 has wonderful mechanics.

But the story has so many problems, from beginning to rotten end.

And it is what it is. I still enjoyed myself playing it.

But the story isn't good for anything except allowing you to create a far more compelling story on your own, in fanfic or in original work inspired by it.

And I guess if that's all they wanted, then fine.

But goddamnit, I'm gonna complain anyway! Divinity 2 did it fucking better.

[vaalthus]

End of Magic Part 2: Grand Finale of Book 3 (spoilers)

My My, what a magnificent conclusion

The rather terrifying realization that Aequilibria isn't just erupting to kill everyone on Lore to wipe its shell clean of "impurities" but that it is literally going to snuff out those lives to get the mana everyone has back into itself. Which was somewhat clear when it initially introduced itself to the Hero but it's becoming pretty easy to see why it sees no issue with what its doing since from the Elements' perspective they're only taking back what they loaned out in their new little playground.

The fact that this "aspect" refers to the Aequilibria as a separate entity or designation from itself only further cements my suspicion that Sk'aar, the god of nightmares, is indeed in some shape or form a part of Aequilibria. Another aspect, or sub-function if we consider potential ties to Mechquest, but something that is based on either thoughts or dreams but that is something I wish to put under a microscope another time.

It's a small thing but I just love that in short amount of time our little mage trio have learned to piggybacked onto each other's spells for cooperation. Ya love to see it and speaking of things I love to see...

Our dragon child entering a rebellious streak against their parents!!!

I'm totally going to choose to believe this image is nothing more than a quick background cutaway for the Aspect's ultimate attack. I'm definitely NOT going to bring up the fact that it used a rune coloration affiliated with the Infernals from the Exaltia Tower. I'm also definitely not going to bring up the fact that Notha mentioned that "Evil" was the "Will of the Infernals"

>:]

Ooof sure hope the Wastes have some answers on this because uh yeah...

Ya know it's fascinating that Alexander has become this sort of big brother/uncle figure at this point in the story though after all he's suffered and all he's been able to reconcile it makes a lot of sense that he has a few bits of wisdom to deliver and kindness to provide the innocent. His advice here about duty should not be ignored though. It's been brought up before, but the Hero's rather obsessive need to be THE hero in people's lives, to be that constant helping hand, is something that could destroy them if they aren't careful.

As it stands now, our primary goal is going to be keeping Aequilibria from killing everyone which is no easy task with this scenario, not to mention the new conflicts that will surely arise from this aftermath or those that have been lying in wait to be a problem later. Hopefully, when that time comes, the hero will not make the same mistakes as both his enemies and his allies have made when the challenges ahead prove to be too much to bear alone.

THE TRUTH JAANIA!!!: We woke up god, you realized you were wrong, and now we all need to work together before an uncaring deity swallows us whole with mana juice.

This saga tragically began with three and it ends with three, ends in acceptance and peace. Rest well gang, may you reawaken to a world where your efforts did not go to waste.

Ooof that's a lot more new fissures than I was expecting and there's no telling how many may have opened on the lands we can't see like Lhe'Shiyac.

Not sure how to feel about this news. On one hand, it makes sense to have someone from our side of the world to try and give the Shapeless Empire some much needed perspective on how it rebuilds in the coming years and it wouldn't do to have Alteon return and cause potential problems with his daughter's newfound authority. On the other hand, I can't imagine how pissed or hurt Victoria, Brittany, and Tara might be when they find out he just kind of bailed to be an adventurer. Additionally, I'm not sure how much assistance he'll be in changing the Magesterium but I guess that's a job for Ostromir and Vseslava perhaps?

As in you guys will be using more ethical approaches, right? RIGHT!?!?!?

Us and our dragon riding off into the sunset into an uncertain but hopeful future was honestly the best way to end this chapter. To the devs a very pleasant thank you for the effort you put into this game after all these yea-

YO WHAT THE CLUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT BUTTON, CYSERO!?!?