#she studies the blade

[caffeccino]

Apparently having Crusader Team Spirit is discouraged now 😱

[giantkillerjack]

Me: hm, I want something to put on the TV as background noise... Huh. Looks like YouTube is recommending something called The Last Unicorn. That's perfect, it's probably some old shitty animation that has aged poorly! I can watch it ironically!

Me, 2 hours later as the credits roll: *crying, cheering, buying the book, composing the songs*

Me, 2 weeks later: So I have compiled all of the quotes from the book that I think could make good tattoos, and also, HOW HAVE I NEVER LEARNED ABOUT HOW THE LAST UNICORN FUCKING SLAPS??? This gay-ass little fairytale fed my soul! Watered my crops! Transed my gender! Can't believe I heard of this story from youtube recommendations, of all places!!

[wanderingmongoose]

Kill me if you choose, pet. You're the only one who can.

If I must live with your hatred, then I will not live at all.

[esmes]

[bonefall]

cackling over "maybe you should've kept a closer eye on your mate. *I* did." She got his ass good, I just know Acorn Swoop and Bumble were whooping and hollering over that one

Just imagine Acorn Swoop and Bumble Mumble watching this little snot for her whole life from uncracked egg to hoebag phoenix, consistently picking life's funniest dialogue options, only for her to die in her very first action as an un-blessed leader. Going, "shoot. Well, funs over I guess :/"

And then ROWANSTAR cries that he can't let this happen, decrees his dead daughter his deputy, and plunges into the moonpool with her body. They would be POGGING out.

I'd never leave her alone after that, as a bored god. I'd be obsessed. Everything is extra funny when Heartstar is around. Imagine being blessed by the heavens simply because you're their silly little girl.

[bigmeandragonlady]

practice with briony + some shepherd hands

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

I don’t know if this is going to resonate or matter to anyone, but as a black gamer who has seen this trope time and time again in video games and tv and movies, I really like the way NotGames goes about establishing Jeremy’s character. Specifically, how they dive around turning him into another victim of the dreaded white savior trope.

[Not for Broadcast spoilers beneath cut 🫡]

Personally, I think Jeremy separates himself from falling into this trope in two ways. The first, and the most simple of the two, is Megan’s presence and character. Though she starts out being the culture correspondent without much political or cultural sway, she inevitably rises to the same position Jeremy once held of being the country’s most beloved and trusted news anchor. Despite having this position, she hardly treats it the same way that Jeremy did before her.

She’s willing to use her power to benefit Advance- and by extension, herself. She understands that the country trusts her, and uses her position on Channel One to placate them, lulling them into a false sense of security and compliance. She acts in every way Jeremy wouldn’t- and while she comes to her senses as the world begins to crumble around her, she made a bold departure from Jeremy’s ethics in a way that has explicit consequences.

Not saying that Megan is white, because she isn’t- or her actress isn’t, at any rate- but she hits every other beat that Jeremy hits in regards to power and influence, and by introducing a character who does it wrong, it’s way easier to digest a character who does it right. It doesn’t feel as out of the blue. In many ways, Megan is a great foil for Jeremy’s character.

The second (and more important) element of Jeremy that stops him from drifting into the white savior trope is the way that he weaponizes his defiance. I’m not sure if it was written intentionally or not, but Jeremy is a really great example of being an ally to those around him- regardless of if it’s in regards to race, or status, or gender.

Jeremy is acutely aware of how much influence he has over people around him. He knows how much his word matters to those who watch Channel One- he knows the National Nightly News is the station everyone trusts. And so, when he is asked by everyone around him to throw his morals to the wayside for the sake of Advance, he refuses and defies them in whatever way he can.

He addresses the power outages and resource shortages directly, despite being scripted to treat them as alleged claims. He outright goes off-script after J-Zuss’ performance to tell their viewers that the NNN will never silence ideals. Even when he has to endorse things like the Team Membership Cards or transition centers, he twists the knife just enough to elude to his disapproval, even if he can’t say the quiet part out loud.

But he also goes out of his way to abide by his moral compass even to his own detriment. And I think that’s a really important- and potentially even overlooked- element of his character.

The entire reason he has a gun during the Heatwave broadcast in the first place is because he wrestled it off an officer. And why did he wrestle it off an officer? Because he was silencing one of his guests- arresting them for speaking their mind- and violently retaliating when his friends tried to help. Even when Truman was practically slandering him- accusing him of being the Advance bootlicker he would rather die than become- push comes to shove, Jeremy would rather scrap with an officer than stay silent and passive.

Jeremy Donaldson is not a passive man. Because he is aware that passiveness is the same thing as compliance. He is aware that staying silent about Advance is the same thing as endorsing them. He is aware that not helping is the same thing as harming. And his moral compass will not allow him to become a blunt instrument for Advance to wield.

The CCO would have tackled and arrested anyone else who dared to get in the way of his work. But no one would dare hurt Jeremy Donaldson- especially not on live television.

The security team in the Heatwave B route would have gunned anyone else down in a matter of seconds. But they wouldn’t dare do that to Jeremy Donaldson. They give him a countdown- hell, the even slow down their counting to give him more time to come to his senses.

Because they know the power he has over the country. Because they can’t just put their boot on his neck and bully him like they bully everyone else.

I found it very fascinating that Alan’s race was meant to play a critical part in his position as a pawn to the dark side of Disrupt. How he was supposed to be a pied piper for people of color, lulling them into a dance sense of security so they could all be rid of once Advance was out of the picture. Admittedly, I bristled a little bit when I realized the new, race-related layer that added to Jeremy specifically being the one to expose Disrupt for who they really are. But, when looking at his character in a deeper light, I feel like it’s hard to see him as a standard issue of the white savior printing press.

Jeremy, to me, is a great example of a white ally protagonist. He weaponizes his position of power for the purpose of good- does things that other people can not do for the purpose of good. I feel like I don’t see a lot of characters written that well in most media- especially not explicitly political medias like this one.

[bonescaps]

[brokeassgoing]

"A Sizzle Summer"

Look, we're not even going to go over this, okay? There's no need to. It's the same as it ever was-- Badou either walked into something he shouldn't have and farted, alerting someone of his presence, or he opened his big mouth and said too much. We've been here before, and we shall be here again next week. The only difference this time is, there's a festival? Party? Going down, and he wasn't working.

Somehow, as his usual luck goes, he's found himself running around from some threatening types, and this time ducking between vendors and knocking cabbages over, as it usually goes. He knows this--

He even knows how it goes when he's cornered in an alley. Back pressed against the wall, at least it doesn't smell like piss in here, and the guys have knives-- haha, that's cute.

"C'mon, guys, I didn't mean anything by it, y'know! I'm just a guy, a little guyyyyy, guys!"

@enduringdevotion

[la-scree]

So You Wanna Know More About Mira Chambers...

I mean, some probably don't but I wanna talk about her a bit outside of gposes because she's my quiet goober and I love her. So here's some of her backstory before ARR and some things that are different within canon.

Despite her looking the part, Mira is no prim or proper lady. She's born and raised in the Brume by a single mother, her father was killed by an ambush of cloudkin before Mira could walk. One would think that being raised in such a place would make them upset but Mira was different, taking it as a point of pride. After all, Brumelings tended to be much tougher and close knit compared to highborns or nobles. Sure they didn't have much and it was tough but they always managed to make due for the most part.

Mira's mother didn't want her to stay in the poorest area for the rest of her life so she worked as hard as she could to afford to send Mira to school so she could learn how to read and write...and read she did. In fact, Mira loved to read so much that instead of of playing with the other children during their free time, she devoured all the schoolbooks she could. There was the rare time when she did get to play with the other kids but some of them thought it was a good idea to tell Mira that she needed to play a role more suited to girls instead of pretending to be a knight. This actually sparked a moment that would shape Mira into the woman she is today because as she and her mother headed home one evening, they both saw someone donned in black armor with a large greatsword take on several temple knights. Those in the Brume never tell the authorities what they were but they knew: a dark knight.

And Mira wanted to be just like that.

So much that the next time when she ran into the same boy who told her she couldn't be a knight, she did the most logical thing a nine year old would do: get the biggest and longest stick she could find and beat his ass with it, declaring that one day she will instead become a dark knight and help those of the Brume. But this is still Ishgard and talking about dark knights out in the open was not a good thing so the adults had to tell her to keep that quiet otherwise the temple knights would kill her. Yes, they said 'kill', not 'arrest' because it's best to tell the kid the truth in order to keep them safe.

(And in like twenty years time said kid goes off and saves the universe. Oops.)

While Mira still kept that dream, her other one was to make sure her mother had some more comforts and so once she couldn't learn more from school (see 'learned more than the teacher had'), she attempted to work alongside her mother as a maid but therein lies a problem: Mira had a hard time keeping focus on her work. Instead of scolding her daughter, her mother decided to take note of how she acted and what could be done because Mira is normally a good kid so why was it hard for her to focus or pay attention? She realized that things like books and learning stimulated her and that maid work was simply out of the question. So she pulled some strings and talked to an old acquaintance who specialized in bookbinding and book repair for the lowborn folk. This was how Mira became an apprentice bookbinder and things were going great...until the Calamity happened.

Now with eternal snow, Mira felt like she had to work harder to provide for her mother. But she and her boss knew that Mira would not be satisfied where she was, needing to spread her wings. Both of them agreed that Mira would suffocate staying in Ishgard and convinced her to try being an adventurer for some time and find her calling. But Mira did protest a bit when she said she wanted to help her mother for all that she's done but her mom did tell her that while she appreciated all that she's done for her, she refused to let Mira stagnate behind these stone walls forever.

Turns out it was a good call given what happened next.

Given all of this, Mira is still a quiet person who does genuinely want to help those she cares about. While it tends to also be a general world bit, Mira's focus is more on those she cares about like in true dark knight fashion. Protect those who cannot do it themselves, that's the power of the Flame in the Abyss. She's not above cutting down someone who has harmed innocent's, not wanting to wait for the 'proper authorities' to take action. In fact, she does this while helping out a postmoogle and meets two Moon Keeper sisters, one of them trying to escape the poacher life and from the implied abusive Coeurlclaw King (fucking Seekers). He taunted that Mira wouldn't be able to help them because she'll get in trouble but in reality, she knew the Adders would not touch her. So she cleaved him down and got the sisters to Camp Dragonhead to lay low for awhile until they can get things sorted out.

But with this mindset, Mira also has a certain...distain for gods and other higher beings. Mainly because throughout all her adventures and even before then, she questioned why the gods didn't intervene during certain moments. Why did Halone allow the inquisition to make people jump into Witchdrop and prove their innocence by dying? Why did Azeyma not hear her prayers after the attack on the Waking Sands? Why did Oschon not protect the people of Nym from the curse that turned them into tonberries? She doesn't hate the gods per say but thinks that people can make their own prayers come true. She does change a bit on this stance once she goes through a different version of the Myths of the Realm story, one focused on her and her faith and interaction with the gods.

Another thing about Mira is during her journey as the WoL, she realized that the dreams she had before like becoming a dark knight was something she has already done and she didn't know what her new one could be. Like she didn't understand what her purpose could be outside of helping others, especially as the so called savior to everyone. It bugged her and she knew it since going back to Ishgard because it was 'her' who said it. You know, Dark Knight Things.

But despite her appearing as someone cool, mysterious, and powerful...she can be oblivious as fuck at times, mainly in the realm of romance. So many people did confess to her like Aymeric, Y'mithra, G'raha and others but the problem was that they were so vague that Mira took it as friendly or platonic, never romantic. It wasn't until Endwalker that someone actually managed to tell her and it was thanks to a friend she made that told him that he had to be blunt with her about his feelings.

If anyone wonders how Mira and Vrtra became a thing, that's what happened.

She still has those moments but there are times when she realizes and responds appropriately like friendzoning G'raha because she didn't ever see him like that or when she and Oschon don't take finishing blows during Myths and the realization of 'Oh...Oh.'

Basically Mira is a quiet little bookworm who can also beat your ass with the biggest sword she can (along with various other weapons).

[hazelkjt]

"If it was merely skill that could impress me, I would have long since found the one I seek. What I glimpsed in you, it was beyond simply your skill.

Ingenuity,

Versatility,

Dedication,

Intelligence,

These traits have defined the greatest swordsmen and women in our history. Perhaps one day they will define you, as well."

After gifting his Soul Crystal and his katana Gunromaru to Hazel, the mysterious samurai left Reunion as unceremoniously as he arrived. He challenged many warriors and hunters of the Steppe that day, turning away each and every one...until his gaze fell upon Hazel. She never saw the elderly man again, feeling regret over never properly thanking him.

From his garb, Hazel later deduced that he was a member of the Sekiseigumi, the peacekeeping force in the port city of Kugane. Given his old age the man was most likely looking for a suitable warrior to pass his legacy on to, but for whatever reason he decided to look outside the organization he was a part of.

After arriving in Kugane, Hazel took part in formal samurai training while waiting for the ship sailing for Eorzea to be prepared. Alongside the Soul Crystal now in her possession she quickly flew through the teachings, taking what she had learned and integrating it into the swordsmanship her father had taught her previously to create a style all her own.

[araneitela]

In the event which I consider to be highly likely, as I don't expect people to read my tag rambles, especially not in gifsets (I have the hugely unhealthy habit of putting important meta in there more often than I'd like), I thought I should iterate it here too:

It's so important to me that people know that Kafka (or well, from how I read her) is neat, with which I mean that she's tidy, she's neat. You won't catch a happy Kafka if there's even a speck of blood on her clothes, nor will she be thrilled if there's blood on her person directly. Is this inevitable, considering what she does? Certainly, but have you heard how disappointed she is at even one mere stain? The sigh, the disappointment, and then the little audible vocal equivalent of a little footstomp. Yeah, this woman is neat, there's no question in my mind about it. You can talk to her post-fight, but if there's a stain anywhere on her attire, please know that you simply won't have her attention, and you will hear complaints like in that VO on repeat. You just, you just won't.

[oltammefru]

Irene talking to Skadi and Laurentina about her inquisition days: While you two were having pre-marital sex, I studied the blade.

[dgitalgrl]

[kafkaesthes]

And nobody would ever see us anymore

📓 : honkai: star rail. blade & kafka. general audiences.

🖇️ : hurt/comfort, mostly comfort, character study, fluff with no plot, mentions of death, no beta, result of brainrot, just blade sleeping against kafka while she hums gymnopedie no. 1

An endless sea of stars was the only light that illuminated their ship and yet Kafka didn’t need more to see the obvious displeasure on Blade’s face.

Blade, who sat in front of Kafka on their ship cabin as they ascended further away into space, had this silent, troubled look about him again.

After the events in Luofu, it was no surprise to her to see the eerily silent disposition Blade has taken up on. It was not his usual mood of persistent quiet and solitude— no, Kafka assumes this to be somewhat deeper and personal.

Now, Kafka was not one to pry.

In essence, the Stellaron Hunters should primarily be co-workers more than anything. Though she would be lying if she denied certain friendships formed along the way— but that was certainly too wholesome of a term for them.

They’re more complex to put a word to, but one thing was for certain: intimate relationships skirting more than ‘friendships’ risks danger to Elio’s scripts, and without their sense of purpose, what would all this make of them?

Exactly the reason why both Blade and Kafka understood clearly the nature of their relationship.

She was his tether, his leash; He was her weapon, her Blade.

Surely there was a physical attraction too, to which they’ve indulged themselves in countless of times across several missions all over the galaxy, but that intimacy was purely physical and nothing else.

And yet, at the sight of his seemingly melancholic mood, Kafka wanted nothing more than to dissect it apart and study piece by piece the reasons for someone who swore to be nothing else but a weapon is able to feel so human.

Perhaps it was her fascination in understanding emotions she could not feel; perhaps it was her own pursuit of the rough beauty of his agony that pleasured her. Either reason made sense, and yet Kafka knows it was not the entire truth.

“Kafka.”

The sound of her name rolling off his tongue finally snaps her out of her thoughts. Her? Lost in her thoughts? It was an occurrence that rarely ever happens and so as if second nature, she smiles at him, coy and almost sultry just to distract him of that fact.

“Yes, Bladie?”

And yet Blade sees it too— the performance of it all.

Kafka was a talented actor. Flawless, even, as she always is in most things she enjoyed to do, but nothing of her nature seemed to slip past his keen gaze. Not even her alluring smile could distract him from the hidden curiosity brewing deep in those lilac eyes.

When they first met, Blade was all rough edges and sharp teeth. She defeated him in that battle though he barely recalled the details of it. The only lasting memory he remembered is one of how he died at her hands— and the peace he felt in that momentary ‘death’.

It was different from the previous deaths his immortality cursed him; in those deaths, he remembers the feeling of the weapon piercing his skin, how his blood felt warm as it rushed out of his body, how he could still taste the iron in his tongue. His vision would flood with red and then he’d feel his muscles stitch back together in endless persistence of inflicting him agony.

Only by the death at her hands did he experience peace— at first, he thought the monster inside him subsided, that this would be it. But no. The monster was still there, it simply listened to her.

It was such a rare marvel in all his hundred years that he simply allowed it and followed her through in seeking destiny.

It was her gift, it seems— an ability she masterfully uses for manipulation. Though for Blade, it was his peace and saving grace.

“Listen, Bladie, unleash the mara.”

When she needed a weapon, she simply had to tell him so.

“Listen, Bladie, loosen up.”

And when its all over, she simply had to sheathe the weapon back and the monster inside him listened obediently.

“Listen, don’t think about anything at all.”

Even at times when thoughts flooded his senses and the overwhelming grief was too much, she only had to speak and it would all be gone in an instant.

Those were the same words she uttered to him when they first met and he agreed with a nod at her then, feeling the emotions subside to a calm.

Though now that he recalls it, he wonders if she actually used her ability on him. He still remembers a singular thought that pestered him that moment: how she smiled at him, and how he thought how sad that smile looked.

It was the same smile she’s giving him now.

“Earth to Bladie? Hello?” she repeats again, her voice always calming him even without the use of her ability. “You’re staring.”

At the mention, Blade instantly looked away, setting his gaze back to the endless sea of stars beyond them.

“You stared first.” he replies.

Kafka chuckles, almost shy and amused, though Blade knows it was only an act.

“I couldn’t help it, Bladie.” she reasons, leaning back comfortably on her seat. “You were having this look on your face again.”

‘This look’ , Blade sighs at it, closing his eyes and wishing away his previous thoughts before they drifted to Kafka.

Even without saying it, Blade could anticipate the next words coming out of her mouth. He knew her too well, and she knew him well enough to see the pain he keeps.

“Do you want me to whisper them away?” she offers kindly, though he assumes this not to be true either.

Kafka simply offered for the sake of the next mission they were heading to. She would need a weapon then; an efficient and sharp one, not the kind that he is right now.

Kafka has already done so much to get him back to his senses. Blade already felt uselessly reliant on the peace her voice brings him.

“No.” he answers curtly, silently insisting himself to fix it on his own. “I’m fine.”

Kafka hums, a sound that said ‘if you say so’ without even uttering the words out loud.

Still, Blade could still feel her gaze prickling his skin, demanding to be acknowledged.

He could never refuse her for long.

“Kafka.”

“You’re thinking deeply. What are you thinking about, Bladie?”

A forgotten part of Blade deep inside him instinctively answered home as he thought of Luofu. He didn’t even know he was still capable of this feeling— didn’t even know he was capable of remembering his history past the hurt and suffering blinding it all together.

And yet, back in Luofu, some of it came back to him like a movie in which he was both audience and main actor.

Pain, nostalgia, suffering, betrayal— they all molded together inside Blade’s mind and he wanted nothing more than to stop thinking.

These were not memories of home, and even if Blade had the vaguest idea of home, home would not give him the peace he seeks.

Only Kafka could give him that. She even offered her abilities and he knew it would work. The memories would condense back into the deepest recesses of his mind and he’d be numb of feeling this pain— finally at momentary peace.

But until when would he be reliant on her?

Blade knew more than anyone about the dangers they face, especially the dangers Elio’s scripts always pose upon them. And as always, Kafka was at the center of it all.

Unlike him, she is not immortal, and yet her lack of fear convinces most people she is.

That’s why he was needed for the next part of the script. To be her protection, to be her weapon. Blade could not allow danger to befall her. Though her skill in battle is not to be underestimated, a nagging fact keeps pestering his thoughts, troubling him to the point of silence and contemplation—

Kafka was mortal, beautifully and tragically so.

The thought of losing her felt too much pain enough as it is.

“The mission.” he answers instead, finally turning back to stare at those lilac eyes.

They seem to be staring past the white lie he gives, and Kafka thinks he’s right to assume so.

She didn’t buy the reason one bit but Blade already declined her offer to whisper to him.

Kafka always respected his decisions, so she doesn’t push further, even when she notices how he looks more exhausted than he lets on, even when she knew that grief was ripping apart every fibre of his immortal being.

Instead, she gets up.

Blade thought she was about to leave him alone— it was the last thing he wants— and he almost stops her from doing so until he realizes she simply circled over to his side of the seat, placing herself next to him.

“I understand. But we’re not due to another warp until tomorrow.” she says simply, placing an elbow on the table and placing her chin on her open palm, her face turned to the side to look at him.

“Relax, Bladie.”

Being under her whisper numerous times already, Blade knows the familiar grasp of it to his subconscious. It always felt like a string, wrapping and coiling around him at the sound of her velvet voice, caught like an insect on the spider’s web. He also knew the tone of her voice when she made an order but this one, none of those things were this.

Her suggestion to relax merely sounded like a request.

And even then, ‘relax’ was a word not in his dictionary. Blade didn’t know what to do with himself.

To Kafka, it was obvious the thoughts still troubled him. She didn’t even understand why his troubles bothered her too: was it because of their upcoming mission? Is it a leadership instinct to keep the team in tact? Is it still her curiosity to pry apart the emotion he feels to study for herself?

But Kafka knows Blade’s signs. She could see when he’d need her to whisper to him, she understands her responsibility to keep him in check.

This time though… it doesn’t seem like the mara is the one causing his internal struggle.

Kafka would rationalize with herself all she wants of the reason why she was so insistent to help with his worries, pointedly evading the truth of it all.

The truth that she cared for someone other than her own. The truth that she was able to feel it in her own way.

It was not part of the script.

It was not a move she planned on or an emotion she foresaw. It didn’t even seem like an emotion she thought herself capable of. Her affections for Blade was like an extension of herself, they were hers and she saw him as a part of her being.

Still, all of this feelings were foreign to her.

It was not part of the script…

…then again, if it wasn’t, then why should it matter?

Kafka gracefully stretches her arms out, yawning into her palm. By all means, she was not tired, but it was easy to pretend just to be able to lean her head to his side, her head resting on his solid shoulder.

“Mmn, we should rest, Bladie.”

Blade made a low sound that vibrated in his throat. Kafka has learned to understand that as his sound of agreement.

She made no move and simply rested herself next to him like that. Blade didn’t dare to move either.

In their silence, they both found their own comfort.

It was Blade’s voice that broke the silence, “Tell me a story, Kafka.”

With her eyes still closed, she hums, pondering which story to tell him this time.

A more recent memory came to mind: of dinner parties and expensive gowns, of pearl necklaces and tailored suits. Kafka told him that story, even when Blade himself was a part of it.

Could you blame her? Seeing her Bladie in a suit was a core memory even when there were parts of the night she’d rather forget.

On the other hand, Blade knew better than to bring those parts up— he’s always so obedient, isn’t he? Or perhaps he simply did not find interest in doing so. Blade rarely ever finds interest in anything, really…

Except this time, Kafka finds the reason for his unresponsiveness.

As Blade’s weight slowly piled on the crown of her head, Kafka heard the low rumble of his chest— Blade has fallen asleep, leaning into her with his arms crossed over his chest.

Still, Kafka finished her story, voice going lower until it almost seemed like she was whispering her words to float within his dreams. All the while, she carefully slips the sword clutched in his arms and placed them carefully beside her.

Blade was still in deep sleep as she replaced the sword with her own arm, looping it around his as she made herself comfortable against his shoulder.

Then, she closed her eyes, humming a classical piece she knew like the back of her hand.

The sound of his breathing was the deep undertone to her own orchestra, and she knew no other melody could be any better than the one they made.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

cross-posted on AO3. english is not my first language and i wrote this in my notes so apologies for errors. i was brainrotting so bad i had to get them out of my system.

title is taken from the quote:

I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more. — Franz Kafka, The Castle

created by omamorens. please do not plagiarize.

[oh-good]

It's been said before but it needs to be said again I hate that Strong Female Character ™ has been watered down to Can Fight instead of being about writing women who are compelling in and of themselves

Why does strength mean violence?