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projectproductions · 6 months ago

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Whenever I imagine the Voodoopunks (New Albion Tetralogy) I kind of always imagine them being representative of different groups within each instalment.

During The Dolls of New Albion (DONA) the Voodoopunks are first being invented and are still feeling out what they are as a group. Since it's primarily composed of teenagers and young adults the Voodoopunks are foundationally a sub-culture within New Albion born from the cultural installation of necromancy as an everyday standard consumer's commodity. However I would like to argue that they are specifically a counter-culture within New Albion. It's stated that most people treat Dolls as accessories or objects of projection rather than as real people but - while the Voodoopunks aren't much better - the Voodoopunks seem to take an almost opposite stand to this. Instead of objectifying the Dolls to the point of dehumanisation, the Voodoopunks objectify the Dolls to a point of reverence or deification. Most people would begin to think of death as trivial in the face of being able to reverse it, but the Voodoopunks instead revere death more than they appreciate their lives - they revolve themselves around death rather than trivialising it. They're countering the cultural perception of the Dolls. This idea of them being analogous to a counter culture is also supported by their political motivations. Most sub cultures - especially counter cultures - have some ideological or political motivation within them which ran against the popular zeitgeist of the time (grunge came from the rejection of the idea that poverty produced only undesirable things, emo from the rejection of the idea that negative emotions should be hidden away from public view, etc). The Voodoopunks are an anti-establishment group, and essentially voting for them would have been a vote to get rid of the establishment of the DONA-era New Albion government (something which was known to be corrupt and unforgiving as seen throughout the tetralogy). What sets them apart from most anti-establishment groups within media however is their emphasis on spirituality born from the change in culture around death in New Albion. The society of DONA-era New Albion is very scientifically- and economically-centred, they prioritise the advancement of science and enterprise over civilians wellbeing or connection. The Voodoopunks counter this cultural president by embracing the inherent spirituality of spirit summoning and co-existence - spirituality being something often seen as antithetical to science. They're basically a youth counter-culture, young political ideological group, and a rising religion all wrapped into one born from the birth of an economic enterprise and the culture surrounding it. Each aspect runs both parallel to each other and intertwined with each other, one aspect never dominating the others - although it all stems from the inherent counter- culture of the Voodoopunks.

Compare this to the Voodoopunks of The New Albion Radio Hour (NARH). Due to a prolonged sense of isolation from the larger connection of New Albion society for around a decade (most likely longer), the Voodoopunks have all but basically lost their counter-cultural roots since they've been disconnected from the culture they were countering. Additionally the ideological aspect of the Voodoopunks seemed to have seeped and been absorbed into the now more religious fanaticism aspects of the Voodoopunks. This isn't to say that they aren't a significant political and ideological force - they are literally the face of the residents against the New Albion government after all - but their ideological aspects have some second to their spiritual religious ones. They're basically a cult now (not in the exploitative way, but in the collective of concentrated religious activity kind of way). They have their own religious wrights and rituals, they have self proclaimed hymns and chants and prophets. Thomas is literally able to recognise them by their sound of their singing alone. The Voodoopunks in NARH are identified by their religious aspects, with other aspects of them being second to their fanaticism.

Both previous installations of the Voodoopunks have been similar in the fact that they aren't the status queo, they were in fact counter to the status queo and actively against the establishment of New Albion. However in The New Albion Guide To Analogue Consciousness (NAGAC) they are the establishment, or at least they run the establishment. Something noticeable is that in NAGAC the only time the Voodoopunks are referred to as the Voodoopunks are in reference to the people, while in previous narratives the title Voodoopunks referred both to the people and what they represented as a group. No, in NAGAC whenever the Voodoopunks are referred to as a collective outside of its people they are referred to as Arcadia Corp. I think this is indicative of the fact that the Voodoopunks as a group have lost almost all of their back bone in the sense of counter-culturalism and ideological individuality. What are the Voodoopunks in NAGAC except for just being the people who run Arcadia Corp? A religious group? Not really, they've lost almost all of their fanaticism as they became more mainstream and palatable from the population of New Albion. The religious aspects they have left are all watered down, music sounding like it's been Christian Rock-ed and sanitised. Heck there isn't even a song called The Voodoopunks in NAGAC! There's "The Voodoopunks Ascension" but that isn't even the Voodoopunks main/signature song in this album - Kyrie is! Essentially in the shuffle of becoming the mainstream and publicly acceptable norm for the pursuit of power, the Voodoopunks as a group lost what made them themselves - ending up with the people being only the Voodoopunks in name until they too die out.

I find the development of the Voodoopunks so interesting. They're never truly all good or all bad, but they are a significant driving force in New Albion throughout the years in the pursuit of their own goals and desires until eventually they drive them into extermination.

It's a really good representation of how ideology, government and politics, economics and innovation, and culture all interact with and influence each other within history and the real world. Also on how as years go by often sub-cultures and counter-cultures will lose their connection to their original purpose and become almost bastardization of themselves as they become sanitized and stripped of their essence as they enter the view of the socially accepted public eyes.

#New Albion #the dolls of new albion #the new albion radio hour #the new albion guide to analogue consciousness #shaperaverse #Voodoopunks #New Albion Voodoopunks #Analysis

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got-into-worm-by-mistake · 5 months ago

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Interlude 1 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

You know, I'm making reading Worm harder on myself by doing this. :thinking_face: Or at least more prolonged.

“We don’t know how long he had been there. Suspended in the air above the Atlantic Ocean. On May twentieth, 1982, an ocean liner was crossing from Plymouth to Boston when a passenger spotted him. He was naked, his arms to his sides, his long hair blowing in the wind as he stood in the sky, nearly a hundred feet above the gently cresting waves. His skin and hair can only be described as a burnished gold. With neither body hair nor clothes to cover him, it is said, he seemed almost artificial.

Scion! Everyone's favorite world-destroying genocidal golden freakshow!

“The golden age of the parahumans was thus short lived. They were not the deific figures they had appeared to be. Parahumans were, after all, people with powers, and people are flawed at their core. Government agencies took a firmer hand, and state-” The television flicked off, and the screen went black, cutting the documentary off mid sentence. Danny Hebert sighed and sat down on the bed, only to stand just a moment later and resume pacing.

While this is an important infodump, the 'character watching something on the TV' form of the infodump is probably the most... bland version of it, that's not just a David Weber style 'let's insert two pages on the history of hyperspace in the middle of this high speed chase scene' infodump.

It's fascinating worldbuilding, and it's always fucking hard to get it out, but this... not quite sure it works for me.

Also, Hi Danny!

Danny ran his hands through his hair, which was thinned enough at the top to be closer to baldness than not. He liked to be the first to arrive at work, watching everyone arrive, having them know he was there for them. So he usually went to bed early; he’d turn in at ten in the evening, give or take depending on what was on TV. Only tonight, a little past midnight, he’d been disturbed from restless sleep when he had felt rather than heard the shutting of the back door of the house, just below his bedroom. He had checked on his daughter, and he’d found her room empty.

It's 12:30 am! Do You Know Where You're Children Are?

Danny fucking doesn't! :rofl:

(I may have a bent sense of humor)

He had resigned himself to letting her reveal the details in her own time, but months had passed without any hints or clues being offered.

I can certainly see why 'Danny is a Shit Dad' is a take in the fandom, though most fics I've read thus far don't go quite that far.

Sure, he's not being a shit dad here, but he's definitely not winning father of the year here.

While it's good to give children their space, at some point you do need to push, and Danny is clearly not doing well with that.

Taylor hadn’t said as much aloud, but whatever had been going on had been mean, persistent and threatening enough that Emma, Taylor’s closest friend for years, had stopped spending time with her. It galled him.

Danny's known Emma for probably as long as Taylor has, give or take. It should seem obvious to him, I think, but everyone has their blindspots, and Danny seems like he's been checked out - not really of his own will - for a while.

Like, based on what I've read so far, and what I've seen from discussions and in fanfic, the worm-verse sucks. It's all going to shit slowly, though Brockton Bay does in particular seem to be a particularly bad case of it.

But equally, there's just a lot of people who just don't really seem to be trying? Which, realistic, especially when it seems hopeless and pointless but I'm not sure it's entirely so likely people give up so damn hard.

And yeah, there are people trying, but honestly, the whole picture of the wormverse - I mean, there's clearly a reason why people call it 'grimdark' and 'grimderp' (if they're detractors)

And also, unreliable narrator and all, or at least 'narrator with a specific perspective' but when that's all we have, it's all we have to go on. Unreliabl/biased/etc narrator can only cover so many authorial and worldbuilding sins.

(Whether or not such sins actually are present here remains to be seen.)

Danny Hebert felt a thrill of relief coupled with abject fear. If he went downstairs to find his daughter, would he find her hurting or hurt? Or would his presence make things worse, her own father seeing her at her most vulnerable after humiliation at the hands of bullies? She had told him, in every way except articulating it aloud, that she didn’t want that. She had pleaded with him, with body language and averted eye contact, unfinished sentences and things left unsaid, not to ask, not to push, not to see, when it came to the bullying. He couldn’t say why, exactly. Home was an escape from that, he’d suspected, and if he recognized the bullying, made it a reality here, maybe she wouldn’t have that relief from it. Perhaps it was shame, that his daughter didn’t want him to see her like that, didn’t want to be that weak in front of him. He really hoped that wasn’t the case.

Not that I don't understand why Danny doesn't push, and yeah, teenagers need their space to process shit on their own sometimes, but also, really, Danny, you need to make that effort.

I get it, I do, but fucking hell man.

He was being cowardly, he thought, as if his clearing of his throat would give reality to his fears.

On the other hand, it is hard not to sympathize. He knows he needs to do better, but for so many reasons, he can't and won't and doesn't. He needs, wants to do better, and yet can't, at least not yet. And there's reasons why, both internally and externally and it hurts him to not, to see Taylor like this, but he's as trapped as anyone else.

It's a very workmanlike quality so far, writingwise, I think, but that's always something I tend to prefer. And even then, Wildbow does manage to evoke and imply a lot with that.

He was stopped by the smell of jam and toast. She had made a late night snack. It filled him with relief. He couldn’t imagine his daughter, after being mugged, tormented or humiliated, coming home to have toast with jam as a snack. Taylor was okay, or at least, okay enough to be left alone.

I mean, he (theoretically) knows his daughter well enough to say this with confidence, but eating after being tormented or humiliated could be a comfort thing.

Granted, Danny's not wrong here, and presumably he does know Taylor well enough, or did, for this to be a fair reading by him? Or are we meant to see it as an oversight from him, because clearly he doesn't know his daughter as well as he thought?

Relief became anger. He was angry at Taylor, for making him worry, and then not even going out of her way to let him know she was okay. He felt a smouldering resentment towards the city, for having neighborhoods and people he couldn’t trust his daughter to. He hated the bullies that preyed on his daughter. Underlying it all was frustration with himself. Danny Hebert was the one person he could control in all of this, and Danny Hebert had failed to do anything that mattered. He hadn’t gotten answers, hadn’t stopped the bullies, hadn’t protected his daughter. Worst of all was the idea that this might have happened before, with him simply sleeping through it rather than laying awake.

Honestly, this whole interlude feels like it breaks several of the conventional rules of advice for writing - don't have a character spend too much time introspecting alone, don't infodump too much at once...

And yet, it works. Which both speaks to how... useless that conventional advice often proves to be, and how confident (justifably so) Wildbow was in this that he'd present us a big dump and then all the introspection character-work.

Then again, there's a target audience for both, which again brings us back to the issues with that advice.

He stopped himself from walking into his daughter’s room, from shouting at her and demanding answers, even if it was what he wanted, more than anything. Where had she been, what had she been doing? Was she hurt? Who were these people that were tormenting her? He knew that by confronting her and getting angry at her, he would do more harm than good, would threaten to sever any bond of trust they had forged between them. Danny’s father had been a powerful, heavyset man, and Danny hadn’t gotten any of those genes. Danny had been a nerd when the term was still young in popular culture, stick thin, awkward, short sighted, glasses, bad fashion sense. What he had inherited was his father’s famous temper. It was quick to rise and startling in its intensity. Unlike his father, Danny had only ever hit someone in anger twice, both times when he was much younger. That said, just like his father, he could and would go off on tirades that would leave people shaking. Danny had long viewed the moment he’d started to see himself as a man, an adult, to be the point in time where he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t ever lose his temper with his family. He wouldn’t pass that on to his child the way his father had to him.

What's that saying? "They fuck you up, your mom and dad, give you all their problems and then a few new ones" or something like that.

And here though, we have the reason why Danny isn't pushing. Why he's making a choice he knows is bad, because - especially right now - he's in no fit state to press her. And when he will be in a fit state, it probably won't be the right time anyway.

Four years ago, he had lost his temper with Annette for the first time, breaking his oath to himself. That had been the last time he had seen her. Taylor hadn’t been there to see him shouting at her mother, but he was fairly certain she’d heard some of it. It shamed him.

Broken people, break people. And Broken people aren't really in a great position to help other people who need it.

He would talk to Taylor in the morning. Get an answer of some sort.

Well, whatever he does, he's obviously not going to get an answer. Wonder what'll go wrong.

#Worm #Wormblr #Worm Wildbow #Worm Parahumans #Worm Web Serial #Kylia Reads Worm #Interlude 1 #Danny Hebert

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avrorean · 1 month ago

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@orxna "I'll be right here when you wake up." ↳ signs of comfort.

The Warden had already lost track of how many days it had been since she was brought here. Nanna she had been when brought forcefully through the doors of the hidden temple, but now-

Not for the first time, a frown tugged at her scar . Nadas'Melana, they called her now. She knew enough of the old tongue to lay its meaning - inevitability of time. It wouldn't be the first time someone had taken her name, but it by far had been the most unsettling. There was a jibe here, alongside the sickingly sweet way the pair were constantly referred to as da'fen, their precious little wolves, but the connection to... someone who'd left long ago, someone that apparently connected them. She'd wanted to puzzle it all out, find a solid string of logic she could follow that they might find some way to properly escape (and he wouldn't come, she thinks. And if he would, he shouldn’t..), or at least something that could be manipulated to their advantage and protection. And after last time... When Ghilan'nain had....

Nanna rubbed her eyes firmly to chase away the memory. She was tired. So tired.

"You should get some rest," whispered a tiny voice nearby her, and Nanna met the nervous gaze of her fellow da'fen. Trying still, so hard to be brave in the ways she knew how. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

It almost seemed as though Nanna were to reject the idea, but stopped the words before they could slip through. No, Orana was right. There was no point wasting energy running thoughts and worries in her head only to be exhausted later.

"... Thank you, Orana." Nanna always made sure to say her name outside the hearing of their deific jailers, wanting- no, needing to hold on to the pieces of themselves until she could figure something out. But even as her head thumps softly against the cage wall behind her, she hesitates, an uneasy look sent at the elven girl at her side. "If... If anything happens, anything at all, please do not hesitate to wake me."

#orxna #☼ ･°･⊱ answered asks ic. ∣ messenger ravens.#evanuris captee verse tbt.#da'fen gotta work together in the trenches!!!!!

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margridarnauds · 9 months ago

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The reason why you'll almost never see me reblogging posts about Historically Accurate Women VS Modern Girlboss Female Leads isn't even that I DISAGREE with them, but because they inevitably lead to takes like this that go the complete OPPOSITE way and are equally as wrong. (...Georgian Era women...you say...talking critically about reproductive rights....you mean like...Olympe de Gouges?) (Who was very outspoken in her belief that women should be more than reproductive vessels, that illegitimate children should have rights under the law, and that women should stand up for their rights?) (Like the main reason it isn't "reproductive rights" as we understand the debate comes from the fact that reliable birth control just does not exist at this point in time, but arguing for women to have rights even if they have children out of wedlock is really the closest you can have and she argued it.)

Anyway, point is -- I get tired of ridiculously modern protagonists, but there's often this nasty underpinning to the criticism...or to criticism that follows it, that says that ALL women at a given time period acted a certain way (and if they didn't act that way, they are "acting like men", which, way to toss GNC women throughout history under the bus), when it'd be more interesting, imo, to look up what real historical women were arguing (and not just about #TheStruggleOfBeingAWoman) and what led them to those conclusions than it is to just act like Oh, They Were Too Stupid To Think That. Like, tell me WHY your heroine has these thoughts, what led her to that conclusion, and ways that she still is flawed. (Personally? I don't like the pseudo-deification of Mary Wollstonecraft because I feel like she's painfully middle class and has a tendency of tossing women who are Not Mary Wollstonecraft under the bus...which explains her popularity among a certain brand of feminist. Which is GOOD because she was a real woman with real flaws.)

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formulaocean · 2 days ago

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A crumb of the ancient rome au for us poor roman history lestappies?

Roman history lestappies, my people have been found.

Here's a little scene in their future! Just scroll past if you haven't read this fic nothing will make sense :)

Charles breathed in the heady scent of incense as he sat before the Athena Palladium within the sacred walls of the private temple. Just a few months ago, a fire had broken out within the Vestalia after Charles had left the flame in the hands of two initiates when his and Lewis’s heats had coincided and Max had gotten a little...enthusiastic.

Not that anyone had to know the details, of course, but it was becoming harder and harder to tell Max no now that his term of service was almost over and the preparations for their mating ceremony were well in hand.

Max remained a pious alpha, and Charles dutiful to his vows, but it wasn’t uncommon for Charles to beg his almost-mate for his mouth or hands when the fire burnt beneath his skin for all that the lack of actual relief made everything even worse a few moments later. Occasionally Max would go on too long—stopping and starting until Charles was a crying mess and so hot that it hurt, but even that was rare.

Afterwards Max would be full of regret and shy away from Charles's bed, but Charles never stopped begging him and never had clearer visions besides. He trusted Max not to go too far. How could he not when he had already waited twenty years?

It would be simpler if Charles could go back to the temple for his heats, but Max wouldn't hear of it, the silly alpha insisting on being the only one to bring Charles small bites of his favourite foods and not letting even his fellow vestals wash him down with cool linens blessed in sacred waters.

All that to say, the statue that Aeneas had carried from Troy had instead come to stand in Max’s own temple within the imperial palace rather than the Vestals’ own storeroom where it had stood since Rome itself was founded. There was no damage to the marble of the Vestalia, and in truth the fire hadn't spread that far—but Max had insisted. And that was that.

The statue was wooden after all, made from the wood of an olive tree and dropped from Olympus itself. It made sense to keep it away from the flame. It really did. But the separation of the signum imperii from the hearth of Rome didn’t sit quite right with Charles, nor with Lewis if his dark look in Charles’s direction was any sign at all.

Part of the flame had been moved to the imperial hearth already; Charles knew this; he had carried it. For all that Max was Princeps, he was also Pontifex Maximus and took great care in ensuring appropriate devotion, especially to Charles’s own order. The issue was that Charles sometimes thought that Max was inspiring devotion to himself.

Statues, coins, collections of poets, galas dressed as Apollo, and more and more emphasis on Charles himself as the living embodiment of Vesta and the mores thatMax wanted to introduce to Rome. If Max wanted to be worshipped, then he was raising Charles up along with him, and at this point their mating ceremony looked halfway to a deification.

And that wasn’t even touching on Athena Pallas standing before him.

“I thought I might find you here,” Max called out as he entered the small shrine, his smile as simple as the toga he wore. In his hands lay a cup of light wine and Charles’s favoured pear cut up on a homely earthen plate.

It had been twenty years since Charles had spared Max’s life and presented in a single touch. Twenty years of courting and waiting and growing until Charles feared that their shared roots had grown in separate directions, yet one look from the alpha had blood rushing straight to Charles’s cheeks and his heart thumping in his chest in what could only be described as rightness.

The late sun turned Max’s hair into a burnished bronze as he bowed to Athena and Charles in turn, setting aside his gifts on the low bench. A shining light that would protect Rome as Athena had protected the spirit of Troy. How silly Charles was to doubt him now when nothing had ever felt as certain to him as the gentle warmth he found in Max.

Charles took a bite out of the pear, savouring the sweetness, before lifting the remaining half to Max’s mouth and shuddering at the warm sensation of Max’s tongue beneath the pads of his fingers.

Despite being in the very centre of imperial Rome, Charles could imagine life being like this forever, him and his mate eating pears in a shrine in their private garden. The kind of life Seb wrote of in his letters, that the pastoral poets raved over in their elegies. A simpler life to match Max’s simple toga and the natural lines etched into his strong brow.

He’d be bored within a week. Max within a day.

Charles liked the duties of being Vestalis Maxima, suspected that he would like those of an empress even more for all that he disapproved of the notion in theory. Navigating Roman politics and guiding their society into the light, into the dream of what Rome could be, into what his Goddess was showing him that Rome could be—nothing excited Charles more.

This was where Charles was meant to be, and if his preordained life involved Max smiling so sweetly at him after practically annihilating the old men of the senate, if the villa gossip was true, all the sweeter.

He felt Max’s calloused hand turn his veiled face into his palm and nuzzled up into the sensation in return, dreaming of the day they could do so in public as well as in these stolen moments. It was a thin line that they walked over the last decade, but one lauded in virtue for the most part, those too raucous in their jokes and words swiftly silenced.

“Where did you go just there? I didn’t interrupt you in prayer, did I?" Max asked in concern.

Charles smiled to himself and thanked the gods for such a sweet alpha to have been given the power of the world. Just how easily things could have gone wrong; they still could if Charles weren’t there to keep an eye over things, even without his connection to the flame and the visions it provided.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I was just thinking that it was less than a moon until we will be mated. How fast time has flown, my love.”

Max’s scent deepened so that the incense was practically drowned out by the smell of rainfall and dirt and something that could only be described as ichor itself. His shoulders tensed, and Charles could see the effort sustained to stay gentle as he ever so slowly lifted the corner of Charles’s veil to brush a finger directly down his heated cheek. “The very colour of Aurora’s chariot itself,” the alpha breathed out in admiration.

Charles blushed even harder before settling his veil back in place and pulling Max with him as he sunk to his knees. “Let us pray for Rome. For Athena to protect our sacred city and watch it grow.” He hesitated. “And also for us. For our union, for our pups, and for the future pups of all of our people too.”

“For us, for our pups, and for Rome,” Max repeated in a choked voice. His hand was firm in Charles’s grip; if he focused hard enough, Charles could almost feel their hearts beating as one.

#sorry didn't let myself open my fic docs until I submitted my assignments!#also not edited at all lol #Hunger games fic to be updated friday if anyones waiting on that :)#my fics

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rinwellisathing · 3 months ago

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Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh: Part 30

As Shadowheart pulled the knife from Viconia's chest and stepped over her corpse, Lae'zel followed her towards the doors at the back of the auditorium, Kroger and the others hurried after. The darkness only seemed to get deeper and more oppressive, the air was stale and heavy around them as they entered what appeared to be a prison, watched over by massive, imposing statue of Shar. The cells were mostly filled with corpses and Kroger's chest tightened as he noticed a Githyanki corpse in one of them. He knew it was expected of their people, but to die so far from home and imprisoned by such a cruel enemy...He lowered his head and murmured a prayer, he wasn't sure to who at this point, he knew Vlaakith would not care and nor did he believe in her as a deific being any longer. He was jolted out of his distraction as he heard Shadowheart gasp in surprise, turning to see her gazing in confusion at an elven man with her green eyes and dark hair and an old human woman in rags chained just beneath the statue of Shar and suspended in the air. They had to be her parents, Kroger sensed she wasn't certain yet, but they had to be. Shadowheart doubled over and winced as she approached, the wound on her hand aching sharply. Lae'zel's sharp eyes darted to the two imprisoned people above, who also cried out in pain and tensed in that moment. “They are connected to your wound.” She murmured, taking Shadowheart's shoulders between her hands to steady her and turning her to look up at the two. “No...it cannot be, just another vile trick...” The elf coughed. “No, this isn't a trick...it's our little Jenevelle...Our little girl.” The human smiled weakly down at Shadowheart. “Jenevelle?” Shadowheart looked confused. The others moved in closer to her, Kroger imagined they all felt what he did, how fraught, how tense this must be for the poor young woman. She needed them. “That must have been my name then...these are my parents!” She gasped, smiling with relief as she gazed up at them. “Yes, it's me! You needn't worry, I've come to get you out of here, it's all over! You're safe!” Her enthusiastic words were cut off by another cry of pain as the darkness around them deepened.

A chill ran down Kroger's spine as a dark, foreboding presence filled the room. Lae'zel's hand went to her sword and Octavia conjured a ball of light in her hands. It was a small comfort at least that Jaheira seemed unimpressed by all this, folding her arms and watching the scene unfold. The form of the goddess rose above Shadowheart, towering above the party as Shar gazed down at her wayward servant, her expression yielding nothing. The three Githyanki were used to fury in the face of disobedience, a goddess who ranted and raged when she was denied, and perhaps that was why Kroger felt fear in the pit of his stomach at Shar's passive indifference. At least if Lae'zel was afraid, she wasn't showing it, her dangerous quiet fury fixed on the powerful being. She did not leave Shadowheart's side, a protective bulwark should she need it. “It is not over” The being spoke slowly, evenly. The avatar of Shar was as cold and aloof as the goddess was described. “Even if you razed this place to the ground, killed all of my servants, it would not matter....” She sounded almost bored. She had manipulated Shadowheart's life for so long, taken nearly everything from her, and she sounded bored. “That was never where my power resided...Every time you reach for Selune, every time you disobey, my hold tightens....If you had simply obeyed, if you hadn't struggled.” Kroger tensed at those words. He could feel his instructor's hands on his body again at those words and he looked to Shadowheart, feeling a wave of empathy for the pain she felt. “You're no goddess, you're a monster” He spat at Shar. “I am neither....I am absence...” She replied, her voice so hollow as she regarded Shadowheart with the disinterest one might show an insect. “Make your choice...” And with that, she faded away deeper into the shadows, leaving the party there, gazing up at Shadowheart's parents. “You must let us go, Jenevelle. We've done our part, you are the future, you must guide our people.” The dark haired elf spoke so calmly, so ready to accept his fate as he gazed with nothing but love and pride at his daughter, even after all she had been made to do. “We got to see you again, Jen...That's enough for us....we can be at peace.” The old human woman smiled softly. “But...But I've only just found you again! It's not fair!” Shadowheart's voice rose in panic, tears welling in her eyes. She looked to her companions for answers. “This is a choice you have to make, Shadowheart, none of us can make it for you.” Gale replied, his tone stern but gentle. “You've heard what they want, girl, it's alright.” Jaheira nodded. “Do what you feel is right, Shadowheart, we'll be there when it's all done either way.” Octavia offered softly.

“Don't let her win, not after all it took to break free of her.” Kroger added. Lae'zel simply gripped Shadowheart's hand, squeezing it tightly, a serious, sturdy expression on her face, she would be there through whatever Shadowheart decided. The tears finally came as Shadowheart lowered her head and inhaled deeply before looking up at her parents and raising her wounded hand to them. White, luminous moonlight shone on them and on her as their bodies slowly began to fade, the pain washing away as all that was left behind were gently shimmering motes of light, which floated around the party before fading away. Shadowheart turned and slowly collapsed into Lae'zel's body, face buried in the breastplate of her armor as the Githyanki simply held her there, her amber eyes only on Shadowheart. Kroger had never known his sister to show open affection in this way, but he could tell Shadowheart needed it. Lae'zel's freedom from Vlaakith, he supposed, had helped her grow in many ways, just like he had. She was more ready than ever, he thought, to lead their people. ------- “So, you finally decided to show up. Those Netherstones would have probably been much more helpful a little while ago...but I guess you had other things to do...more important things.” Sentry shrugged, slowly turning to face his former companions. “Now, see, I understand that those things might have been more important to you than me...I understand now, better than I ever have...Enver has always been the only one who really cares for me, really understands me...You can all pretend, but at the end of the day, you prove that point more than you know.” He sighed and shook his head, managing a small, pained smirk. “But you always fancied yourselves these big damned heroes and yet you let the city tremble while you fumbled around after someone who, by the way, clearly never gave a shit about you, Wyll....And Jaina and Karlach both know that. Hells, they didn't even WANT to rescue your father. He wasn't worth rescuing...And still you did it, you did it and you destroyed my gift to Enver, our special place together....And now his Steel Watch is in shambles too...bet you had something to do with that...” He drew his halberd. “Well, I won't let you destroy him too. If you want to get to him, you'll have to kill me to do it...and as you've seen, I don't die easily...” He chuckled hollowly. “I'm like the vermin you so clearly would see me as if I dared to slip up in that way.” “Sentry...” Jaina bit her lip. “Please...we don't see you that way, we care about you!” She took a step towards him, stopping abruptly and staggering a few paces back as a swing of the halberd just barely missed her throat.

“Save your breath, any one could be your last.” The paladin responded. He tilted his head, eyes slowly moving to glance at Halsin and Astarion with a look of hurt and betrayal. “Because I did love you...both of you...I'll give you this one chance to hand over the netherstones and run.” “Fine then, let's go! If you're choosing him over your friends, that's fine!” Karlach snapped, taking a step towards Sentry, her own axe in hand. “I can't believe I fucking trusted you anyway, you were only using us to get back to him.” Sentry smirked and shook his head. “Did you ever think, Karlach, that maybe...just maybe...” He chuckled softly, bright eyes gazing at her with manic glee. “If you'd been better at your job he might've sold someone else?” Karlach gave a cry of fury and the two tieflings closed the gap between them, axes crossing, the clang of metal on metal filled the air. Sentry was less physically powerful, but what he lacked in strength, he made up for in maneuverability, catching the head under the blade of his halber, flipping the axe from Karlach's hand and firmly planting the sole of his boot in her stomach, kicking her backwards. “Karlach!” Jaina and Wyll both cried out at once, rushing to her. “Oh don't let your guard down, giving up so easily? It won't be any fun for me then.” Sentry scoffed, giving a playful pout as he advanced on the group, his axe glinting with red light as he approached, footsteps hollow and echoing. It seemed to Jaina he truly was The Dread Executioner again. But she couldn't let herself believe that. This was brain washing...it had to be, he couldn't turn on his friends like this. “Sentry, enough!” Halsin shouted, raising both hands and facing the paladin. Vines cracked through the floor, twisting and writhing, wrapping around Sentry. The tiefling's eyes widened and he began to squirm and struggle. “Fucker!” He hissed, barely concealing the panic in his voice. He forced a laugh. “Oh what was the safe word again? Come on, Halsin....Is that always your solution with me? Tie me down and wait for it to be over? For me to be a good boy again, quiet and well behaved?” He pulled and tugged, even biting at the vines. “Just keep me nice and secure until the bad parts go away and I'm perfect again.” “Sentry, please....This isn't you!” Jaina insisted. “We don't want to hurt you!”

The vines tore and Sentry rounded on her. “Aww, I don't want to hurt you either, Jaina....so I'll make your death quick and you and Wyll can be a beautiful new statue together...Maybe I'll have Enver encase you in stone or metal and you can take that hero Minsc's place in the wide.” He cleaved a powerful blow, the blade managing to bite painfully into Jaina's shoulder blade, blood spouting from the wound before a heavy blow of force hit Sentry in the gut, throwing him backwards and slamming him into a wall several feet behind him. “Oh excellent shot! This will be fun after all.” He snapped his teeth, staggering to his feet as he watched Wyll gingerly help Jaina to her feet and put himself between her and Sentry. The two circled each other. “Sentry, stand down.” Wyll frowned, his good eye meeting Sentry's as he raised his sword. “When I'm about to fight the fabled Blade of Frontiers? No way. Come on Wyll, with your flare for the dramatic? Don't you deserve a proper villain in the end?” Sentry laughed, slowly closing the distance between them. Wyll held his own valiantly, and despite Sentry's superior strength and the paladin's weapon having longer reach, as they exchanged blows, blood blossomed along the fabric of Sentry's shirt and doublet, hell fire singed the tiefling's flesh. But ultimately, Sentry's physical strength won out and Wyll was brought to his knees. Karlach cut back in, reclaiming her axe from the floor and going all in, flames shooting from the exhaust vents in her skin as she swung her axe wildly, Sentry stepping neatly out of the way, waiting for his opening to return the blow. Finally, an ill timed blow aimed at his head was Karlach's mistake, Sentry ducked out of the way and brought his halberd's blade up directly between Karlach's ribs, smirking as it bit deeply into her chest, he followed through until he heard the tell-tale CLINK of metal on metal, wrinkling his nose in disappointment as her artificial heart protected anything more vital. “Fuck you.” Karlach growled, blood drooling between her lips as she slammed her head upwards into his, their horns clattering together as she managed a headbutt, but her energy was fading, it wasn't quite enough, too little too late. “Look at it this way, buddy, now you don't have to go back to Avernus anymore.” He sneered, kicking her away from him. “Just stay down.” He took an ominous step forward, stopping a moment, eyes widening as he felt a sharp pain in his back and then his world began to spin.

“Only if you do the same, darling.” Astarion frowned, lowering his bow as he watched Sentry sink to his knees and then onto all fours, eyes darting blearily as he collapsed. “I really want to believe you're under his control....Maybe it's foolish, but I want to....and I'm going to let them too.” He murmured, watching as Halsin knelt beside Karlach, closing the wound at her chest. Wyll limped over as well, Jaina's good arm slung over his shoulder, the one Sentry had damaged nearly severed. The five of them looked at Sentry's unconscious form, no one really sure what to say, what to do. Karlach was fighting back angry tears of betrayal. “We should kill him...We can't give him the chance to get back up and protect Gortash.” She growled. “I won't.” Halsin frowned. “He can fight this....We know this isn't him.” He insisted, though he had to push down the small part of him that didn't quite believe that. Still, he found himself gently taking Sentry's unconscious body in his arms, holding him so gently. Feeling his body so close to him again, he swore he felt a flicker of something odd, He breathed deeply. “I need to take him back to camp...We'll know for sure once he's far away from here.” Jaina nodded softly. “That makes sense...” She could understand, even if Sentry was in control of his own actions, she understood. What had happened back at The House of Hope had been hard enough for her, but for Sentry, she couldn't imagine. He had spoken to her about how he had lived for the first part of his life, the pain and fear. In her years teaching, she had seen so many vulnerable children act out when they were in pain. He must have felt betrayed that his own friends had, in his mind, allowed that to happen. And then, a man like Enver Gortash wasn't above manipulating and nurturing that resentment. Nobility was like that, after all. She glared at the massive door ahead of them, determination filling her. “We'll take care of Gortash....He has a lot to answer for.”

-----

Sentry sat at the edge of the docks, his knees pulled up to his chest, watching the waves lap at the sides of the boats. His tail flicked gently behind him as the gentle sea breeze passed over him, bringing a soft smile to his face. His head turned as a small, pale figure sat down beside him, placing a simple clay cup filled with gleaming white paint brushes between them. “The brushes are clean, slaughterkin.” Orin smiled brightly up at him. “Time to collect more materials?” Sentry nodded with a grin. “Yeah, I think so, kid....Wanna try the upper city? They've sometimes got gold bits, you know, replacement parts. And it's twice as good because they're cheating father by using those. Trying to escape death and all.” “We will show them how inescapable the crypt-gasps of the grave are.” Orin grinned back, rising quickly to her feet. “Yeah, for sure! And you know what? You can have the best parts.” He added, gently placing a hand on her back and guiding her towards the road to the upper city as he stood up. The two walked slowly through the city as the sun began to set. No one looked twice even with Orin's pale marble complexion, at first blush she and Sentry were just sweet children, a handsome teenage boy and his innocent little sister, such a loving family. No one batted an eye even as they merged into the crowd leading to the Upper City. “Halt. Only Upper City residents beyond this point at this hour.” A human man in the slightly more elaborate uniform of The Watch stopped them, eyes narrowing at the sight of a tiefling and...well, whatever this creepy little girl was. “Ah sir, not to worry.” The watchman looked behind him and there, standing bent slightly on a cane was a well dressed Kozakuran gentleman, his long black hair was worn tied back in an elegant knot pinned expertly with a jeweled hair pin. He wore a beautifully embroidered jacket and vest as well as many glimmering rings. “These are mine and Lady Tomi's children. Adopted you see.” “Of course, Lord Kisaragi. I apologize, I didn't recognize them.” The watchman stammered, bowing respectfully to the older man. He did not catch the hollow emptiness in those dark eyes or the occasional spasm of Lord Kisaragi's body.

“Thanks, dad.” Sentry grinned, nodding to his sister's puppet as he and Orin slipped past into the bustling streets, eyes sharp for their next victim, her hand grasped protectively in his as they walked together. “We created so much bloodsoaked beauty together back then, slaughterkin.” She smiled, not looking up at him. “We did, Orin...fuck...I'm so sorry I didn't see what he was doing....I'm so sorry I let him force us apart...I fought for Enver, but I didn't fight for you...” Sentry squeezed her hand tighter, biting his lip a moment as tears threatened the corners of his eyes. “I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that.” “You shouldn't, slaughterkin. I won't.” Orin replied, looking up at Sentry with hollow, empty black sockets, blood oozing slowly from them. “You've only proven that you would betray everyone and everything for him.” Her neck cracked as she let go of his hand and stepped back from him, her head twisted sickeningly to one side as she danced jerkily away, each pirouette stumbling, unsteady. “Again, and again, and again, and again, and again....” Sentry's eyes flew open and shot up into a sitting position on his bedroll. A gentle hand pressed to his back, supporting him and trying to calm his hyperventilating. His pale eyes darted around the tent, seeing that it was his own. Malta lay curled near the side that singing sword still rested on. Scratch lay dutifully at Sentry's feet. Us was curled up by his pillow, and by his side, as always was Halsin. 'You should be dead' Sentry thought. 'You and the others...please let Enver be alright. I can't fail him.' He felt his stomach turn at thinking such a thing. Halsin had been nothing but good to him, all he had done was love him. This was wrong, so wrong. But he couldn't help it. Slowly he reconstructed the moments leading up to his unconscious state and he felt nothing. Jaina's sad, pretty eyes wide with shock as he nearly cleaved her arm from her body. Wyll's confusion even as the two had traded blows, Sentry's far more vicious, aiming to kill rather than subdue. Karlach's fury at his betrayal, her face bloodied and her body gravely wounded. He felt nothing. All he hoped for was that Enver would be alright. Could he fight his way out of the camp and back to him? Or could Halsin simply be convinced to let him leave? He looked at the druid and he could feel his heart break at the look in those hazel eyes. He knew Halsin loved him, and on some level, Sentry certainly returned his feelings, he knew he did. He wouldn't have fought for him against Orin if he didn't. He wouldn't have let him inside of him the way he did if he didn't. But it would never be the same as his feelings for Enver, and that didn't seem fair. Halsin deserved more than that. Sentry pitied him, he pitied the man for being so in love he would look the other way as Sentry had been prepared to tear him apart and return to Enver without a second thought. He pitied him for wanting to see the good in a broken, damaged, evil thing like him.

“It's alright, Sentry.” Halsin said softly. “I know...I understand.” He gazed at him sadly, though still so hopelessly in love. “Do you?” Sentry asked, his voice so much colder, so much more empty than he meant it to be. “More than you know.” The druid replied, reaching out to brush a pale strand of silver hair from Sentry's face. “And still I love you.” “Even knowing what I would have done?” Sentry asked, eyes meeting Halsin's never breaking contact, searching for the slightest hint of dishonesty. “Yes. I can't help it. I don't believe I could stop loving you any more than I could stop being a druid.” The elf shrugged. With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand on the side of Sentry's face. “And for what it's worth, I won't tell them.” “Thank you...But I don't deserve that. I don't deserve your protection.” Sentry smiled an empty smile and shook his head. “Even if I could make myself believe that, my children...our children...still do.” Halsin replied. Sentry's hand went to his flat stomach slowly, the tips of his nails dancing across the skin as he looked down and then back to Halsin in confusion. “How can you...?” He bit his lip. “I didn't even know...” “A druid has a certain connection with life, with new beginnings. Part and parcel with the whole 'defender of nature' role, I'm afraid.” Halsin gave a small smile. That's why he protected him. That's why he didn't let him die. Sentry felt a wave of nausea at the thought. It always came back to breeding a legacy. It always came back to Vereena the breeder. The bitter thoughts pushed at his mind, but they didn't consume him. He knew that wasn't true, not with Halsin. Halsin was not Sarevok. Halsin was not Jackal. Sentry could be bitter until the end of his days that Halsin had let him live, had rescued him from Karlach and the others' judgment, but he could never truly make himself believe it was because he was carrying the druid's child...children? Deep inside, Sentry knew Halsin would have defended him anyway, deep down he knew if he shot back that he wanted a potion to make this go away, Halsin might be hurt, but he would accept. Hells, likely he'd mix the potion himself to make sure Sentry didn't get ill from a poorly made back alley tincture.

He found himself resting his head against Halsin's broad, hairy chest, closing his eyes. He was still tired from the sleep potion that had coated the arrow, he was still reeling from being unable to protect Enver, and he still didn't know what to do. ------

Jaina's eyes widened and she quickly threw a crashing wave up, freezing it in place as a shield as the crossbow bolt sailed straight towards them as they passed through the door Sentry had been guarding. Well, at least now she could assure Sentry she hadn't had a chance to try and talk to Gortash. Karlach crashed through the shield of frost, the ice melting beneath the fire that burned across her body as she dashed forward, axe raised. The Steel Watch was destroyed, and it seemed Sentry and Gortash had been spending time alone together leading up to this, so no Banite guards or lackeys were there to help. Jaina might have felt wrong about the battle, how unevenly matched it seemed, if not for what had been done to Karlach, if not for the fact that she still held onto the belief that Sentry had merely been a charmed victim when he'd attacked her. Although healed, her arm still felt tender where the halberd had bit through even bone. Enver, for his part, felt less afraid and more angry as he watched these would be heroes storm his sanctuary, these simpering fools who couldn't simply take a good bargain when it was offered. And now, now once they were disposed of, he would need to resurrect Sentry clearly, how they bested the paladin, he had no idea. But regardless, they had gotten past him and now it was up to him to reclaim those two netherstones. 'Show them who is in charge, boy. My patience is thin.' A voice sneered in the back of his mind and he felt like his skin was on fire as the light brown flesh bristled with thick black fur and his fingers twisted into claws. His body cracked and stretched until the form of a massive creature replaced his human form. Those knife like claws gripped Karlach's ax by the blade, lifting her into the air by the weapon and crushing the blade in his hand and tossing Karlach back into the wall. “Enough of this.” He growled, the now leonine features of his face twisting into a snarl as he rounded on the remaining three. Jaina hurried over to Karlach, helping her back to her feet. Wyll put himself between the two of the and the creature, thrusting out his arm sending a barrage of glowing green tendrils to push Bane's avatar back. The party regrouped, facing the creature. Jaina tossed her cutlass to Karlach and summoned a lance of ice to her hands. Astarion notched an arrow as he stayed to the back. Wyll and Karlach gazed right up at the creature. It was easily eight feet tall, a lion-like thing with rippling muscles, obsidian leathery skin, long claws almost the length of the cutlass blade Karlach now held. He was clad in shining golden armor and his eyes were massive and luminous green.

-----

Wyll lay sprawled across the floor, breathing shallow, barely breathing, bloodied clawmarks raked across his chest. Astarion was a crumpled, bloodied heap not far from him, his pale skin and hair so soaked they'd become fully red. He did not move, did not make a sound. Jaina stood but just barely, her breathing was heavy and her robes were bloodied, her golden hair stained red as well, pale eyes wide and fearful as they focused on Karlach and the Avatar of Tyranny engaged in combat. Karlach wasn't letting up, but she was clearly wearing down. Sweat poured down her forehead and her flesh was scarred and tattered, slick with blood and perspiration. Jaina swayed on her feet as she tried to focus. Her vision was blurring but she kept her eyes on the scimitar in Karlach's hands. If she could only concentrate on a spell, but her head was swimming, he vision was blurry. “Karlach...I can....I can do this....you can do this...” She muttered, doubling over in pain as she raised a shaking hand. She sank to her knees, one hand pressed to the ground, desperately trying to keep herself upright, her eyes focused blearily on Karlach and her hand extended as she called out to Umberlee with all the strength she had left. 'Wave mother....Bitch queen...he has invaded your domain, polluted it....he would see even the sea around the city brought to heel...You wouldn't abide that...I know you wouldn't...please....make me your vessel...Help me.' She thought, blood beginning to trickle from her nose. Lightning crackled around the scimitar in Karlach's hands and the blade glimmered with frost as she went for the throat, her feet leaving the ground as she leapt to bring the icy blade across the avatar's neck. Those glowing green eyes widened in shock as the body began to shrink down again, falling to the ground, Karlach following him down and slamming into his chest, sinking the blade deep into Gortash's chest with a raw scream of rage, eyes wide and tearing with fury as she watched the light leave his eyes. She threw the scimitar aside and her fist slammed into his face again and again, over and over, screaming the entire time, although he was already gone by now. She stopped only when the scimitar returned to its ordinary dull metal sheen as Jaina collapsed to the ground, curled into a broken ball. Karlach slowly rose to her feet, wiping her tears on her forearm as she approached Jaina, gently collapsing to her knees and pulling her into her lap, gently raising her head and tilting a healing potion into her mouth carefully, supporting her body as Jaina began to cough and choke back to life. “Karlach....are you alright?” Jaina asked with a small smile.

“No....No I'm fucking not....He's dead and no sorrier for it than he ever was.” She spat bitterly. “And now he'll never be...And I'm still going to die.” She choked back a sob, biting her lip. “I'm still going to fucking die, nothing's changed.” Jaina clamored to her knees across from Karlach and gently took her hands in hers, squeezing them tight. “Karlach...I'm so sorry.” She pulled her closer, hugging her. Karlach simply rested there numbly in Jaina's arms. So often at the start of their journey she would have given anything to feel that soft, smooth, sea-slick flesh against hers, the cooling nature of her water and storm magic, the gentle ocean breeze scent of her hair. So often recently, she had felt happy and comforted in those lightly frilled arms, but now, now even being held by Jaina felt as empty as everything else in this moment. She placed her hands softly on Jaina's shoulders and pushed her back. “We need to bring Wyll and Astarion back to camp...it's going to take more than potions to help them. Besides, let Sentry see what he let happen to Fangs. If he ever even REALLY cared about him.” She murmured bitterly as she rose and crossed the room, gently taking Wyll and Astarion's battered forms in her arms, Jaina following closely behind, simply leaving Gortash where he had fallen. She had had enough of this place and so, she was certain, had Karlach. ----- Sentry refused to leave his tent, refused to even acknowledge Karlach when she returned, demanding he look at what Gortash had done to the others. He numbly absorbed her tirade, his head down, eyes lowered. Nothing felt real anymore, even as Jaina had gently pulled Karlach away and given Sentry a shockingly sympathetic look. He did not join his companions to eat or when they gathered to plan their attack on The Elder Brain. Even The Emperor's words fell on deaf ears. 'I know you can hear me, Sentry....' 'Leave me alone, I don't care anymore...do whatever you want with the brain.' 'Unfortunately, that is not how this works. Your Githyanki friends intend to use the hammer, it is very likely only you can make them see reason.'

'I really don't care. If Orpheus kills me, all the better.' 'You cannot mean that, after all you've been through, all you have accomplished.' 'I do. I mean it. Without Enver, what's the point?' 'Your freedom. You broke free of your father's control only to end your life because you've lost one person? Perhaps this can offer you a new perspective instead. Perhaps now your ties to this form are immaterial. Join me. I think you will see things more clearly then.' 'Fuck you' Sentry pulled his pillow around his ears, closing his eyes tightly. 'Fuck you fuck you fuck you. I will NEVER become a mindflayer and you're fucking sick to use Enver's death against me like that. Maybe they SHOULD use the hammer.' Outside of Sentry's tent, Wyll and Astarion were both recovering with Wither's help, sitting at the camp fire with the others. Octavia and Gale brought dinner and passed around plates and the party sat down to discuss what would be their final confrontation with the brain. “Sentry should be there with us. I know he would want to see this through.” Jaina insisted. “He doesn't care, Jaina, all he ever cared about was Gortash. Face facts.” Karlach replied coldly. “I don't believe for a gods damned second that ass hole was under any kind of mind control or charm spell. He didn't even care when Astarion nearly died.” “Well, to be fair, in the moment neither did you.” Astarion replied nonchalantly. “And with Withers around, death is cheap after all...Not the worst death I've had by far.” “Joke all you like, but you saw how he turned on us.” Karlach shot back. “Well, obviously he's going through quite a lot, his emotions are high, we all know the feeling. You can hardly blame him for a lapse in judgment.” Astarion continued. “Ugh...I can't believe I'm the one of all people who has to say this, but it's really best we put that little relapse aside and just work together. We're near the end of this now, it wouldn't do to fall apart over a momentary bad decision.”

“I agree. Sentry's been there for us this whole time. He defied his father in the end, he wants to do what's right. Love makes fools of us all.” Wyll nodded. “It being Gortash does sting quite a bit and I know it's worse for you, Karlach, I know I can't begin to understand how much, but we need to work together to survive.” Karlach's expression fell and she lowered her head, silent and dour for the rest of the meal. It hurt Jaina not to see Karlach as her usual upbeat, irrepressible self. A part of her, even believing as she did that Sentry hadn't been in his right mind, was angry at the paladin for putting Karlach through this, but of course Wyll was right and more than that, Karlach would never move on or heal if she kept all that anger in her. It occurred to Jaina as well how similar the Steel Watch was to Karlach's heart. It occurred to her that maybe, just maybe what Dammon was missing to truly repair her heart was something to go off of. Sentry must know where Gortash kept his schematics, who else would know better with The Tyrant himself gone? She swore to herself that when all this was over, she would ask him. She would find a way to save Karlach's life and bring her home for good, and perhaps if Sentry agreed to help, maybe, just maybe, Karlach could forgive him.

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formula-fun · 4 months ago

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hiii its me again,,,,

with more prose that makes me insane

"Tragedy takes and takes, for both of them. Max is trying to learn how to grow older; softer. He’s trying to dream of slower things, but it won’t stop people from poking at what he tries to forget—romanticizing all the bad bits and gilding them into their history right alongside the worst days of Charles’ life. People love a tragedy.

Not this, though. This isn’t for the history books. He won’t have people rewatch the podiums where Charles wouldn’t even look Max in the eye and know it was because something horrible happened, and Max didn’t know what to do; didn’t know how to ask for comfort or answers. And Charles—people already remember him in mourning before they remember anything else, and that’s already unfair. They like to treat his life like a play, spilling onto the stage in perfectly romanticized pain. Max won’t have this spilling across it too; won’t have Charles’ grief, his guilt, his self-flagellation, Max’s uselessness to make it right, the two of them ripping themselves apart and beating themselves bloody against each other’s ramparts, their dream of something gentle dead between their feet—he won’t have it added to the list below Max’s shitty childhood and Charles’ monthly visits to the Monaco Cemetery."

I just.

your ability to seamlessly switch between narration of events like races and sex and then just almost a poem of the characters thoughts in that moment is just insane

I think max's refusal to let charles' grief be commodified ( i hope that's the right word) or used to generate clicks like how almost anything that occurs today is used by f1 'journalists' feels rlly organic?

I won't say in character bc idk any of these men but I feel like this determination to keep what's between them, between them is very sjdnsjdb I don't have the words I hope you understand my incoherent rambling sorry

Another line that really stood out to me was when charles says that max understands that 'he enjoys podiums, not pedestals'

just. FERAL. Jsbbdnxbxj

the whole il predestinato title is beautiful and romantic and I will forever be unwell ab it but I wonder at the deification of ferrari bc like. wow. red god whom you love with every fiber of your being, who loves you back but. akdnbxjdnd BUT.

anyway sorry, I hope you don't mind that I'm doing these excerpt dissecting thingies I'm. very insane.

☀️

no no no never apologize!!!!! i love this so much <3333

this is all so on point honestly! what you said about being in character...i dont know these people at all and completely made this read up, but that's 100% what this fic is getting at?? they grew up racing and giving interviews and crashing out and they can be really rational about all of that because its just in their nature. they can sacrifice whatever they need to and behave however they need to for their teams and their success, and they don't question it because it's just who they are. in a way there's even solace in recognizing that it's a trait they share and they're not alone in it. theyre like the scorpion and the frog except they're both the scorpion which is an idea that keeps me up at night because not to be fake deep and pretentious but i feel like scorpions probably have a very different understanding of that story than frogs do. i might be insane

ANYWAY what that all means is it's really new to build something together that's just for them and that isn't about racing or expectations or even about gender roles, it's about love and honesty and trust. it's really new and scary but it's also really freeing. dont ask me how the a/b/o porny fic became about that, but the whole point of it is them finding new ways to see themselves based on the stability they've found with each other. or something. and that's why max is protective of their real actual vulnerabilities and why both of them kind of treat il predestinato/the inevitable mythos as a fun story but ultimately not a very serious one

the bit you quoted is sooo highly ranked for me <3 it relates very directly to telescope by boy & bear which became such a max song for this fic, especially "i've adjusted all my dreams for something slow // and it's a softening that age has taught me well // for the things i cannot change i must let go" like hhh its HIM

anyway thank you for thiiis i always love discussing my fic <3333

#sun anon #writing tag #if i had words

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ryin-silverfish · 10 months ago

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I was always a little confused that some students made fun of the rival sect just because they had "monster" students. I never quite understood if it was because these students had committed crimes or bad acts but were still accepted as students, or if it was because they were cultivated Yaoguais? one of the immortals was an immortal crane, so why did they make fun? or were they just making fun of the appearance? or is it like a case of discrimination against yaoguais?

Honestly, I think it is a mix of both. On one hand, the Jie Sect did have some unsavory members like Lv Yue the plague god and Ma Yuan the man-eater, and when Patriach Tongtian and Yuanshi Tianzun were facing off before the Immortal Killing Formation, that was what Yuanshi Tianzun focused on: that his Jie Sect disciples were acting unruly and strong-arming people and holding onto grudges as a result of his indiscriminate admission (Cha. 77).

On the other hand, when their opponents mocked them, the admission of cultivated beasts did seem to be brought up:

First was the shit-talk Guangcheng Zi allegedly made, where he said that "Whether horned or furred, wet-born or egg-born, [they] all mingled as one crowd"(不分披毛带角之人，湿生卵化之辈，皆可同群共处).

Second, during the Ten Thousand Immortals Formation arc, after the three yaoguai disciples of the Jie Sect was subdued and became mounts of Wenshu, Puxian and Cihang(FSYY's Daoist-ized version of Bodhisattva Manjusri, Samantabhadra and Guanyin), Lao Zi ordered Wenshu to take the azure lion right in front of Patriarch Tongtian and was like "With such creatures under your sect, how could you still act so high-and-mighty? What a joke!" (Cha. 83)

So personally, I did think the Chan Sect was at least a little prejudiced against yaoguais.

As for the White Crane Boy: he was never explicitly stated to be a cultivated crane in the novel, unlike members of the Jie Sect who were yaoguais, though he did transform into a white crane to snatch Shen Gongbao's head away(Cha. 37).

Everything else after this is context and theories, so take it with a grain of salt.

If you read Gui Zhizhong's translation of FSYY, the introduction stated that the Chan-Jie conflict was supposed to mirror the historical conflict between Quanzhen and Zhengyi Sects in the Ming dynasty, a theory that some scholars, like Liu Cunren, subscribed to.

However, I do not subscribe to that theory personally. Rather, my take is a blend of Li Yihui's hypothesis about the origin of the names "Chan" and "Jie"(《封神演义》考论), and Meulenbeld's book, "Demonic Warfare: Daoism, Territorial Networks, and the History of a Ming Novel".

Basically, the former said that Chan came from 阐扬正教("Promote the True/Righteous Religion"), and Jie, 海外有截, a line from the Book of Poems(诗经) that was taken literally as "there was a Jie Sect overseas".

The latter pointed out the similarity between FSYY's overall narrative of "deification through death" and the Daoist ritual of sublimation + the integration of local deities into organized Daoism; specifically, "sublimation" is meant to cleanse and transform orphaned and vengeful spirits, and oftentimes, the Thunder Ritualist school would subdue local spirits of folk worship——yaoguais, ghosts, etc. and make them into subordinates.

So what does all this mean? Well, through this lens, the Chan Sect is less a mirror of any particular sects, and more an idea of "orthodox/proper Daoism", while the Jie represents "unorthodox/heretical Daoism": the incredibly diverse Chinese folk religions where the strange, the demonic and the marginal were often venerated alongside popular mainstream gods.

As such, the Chan Sect's distaste for the Jie Sect's indiscriminate admission of disciples might be a reflection of how organized Daoist sects + state religion saw folk beliefs. Yet, at the same time, the solution wasn't to wipe them out(you can't), but to subdue, transform, and integrate local gods into their temple networks and pantheons.

Thus, almost everyone who died in the War of Investiture got deified regardless of sect allegiance or species(at least in the version I'm reading, the list of names in Cha.99 differ depending on editions), and Patriarch Tongtian, despite his multiple defeat, wasn't punished by his and Yuanshi Tianzun's mutual master, Hongjun.

#fengshen yanyi #investiture of the gods

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apilgrimpassingby · 1 year ago

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You asked me a question now I get to ask you one. (Though of course only answer If you want to). What drew you to Eastern Orthodoxy? Why have you chosen to be catechized? Also book recs on orthodoxy if you have any?

What drew me to Orthodoxy? Glad you asked. Here's a list of reasons I'm Orthodox (most of them are copied and pasted from a previous post I did on this).

The New Perspective on Paul, a view in New Testament Studies that says that Paul did not teach justification by faith alone, only that "works of the law" (circumcision, kosher, observing Jewish festivals, etc.) are useless for salvation. It resolves all conflicts between Paul ("For we hold that one is justified by faith apart from the works of the law") and James ("You see how a person is justified by works and not by faith alone"), resolves apparent contradictions within Paul (say, the already quoted Romans 3:28 and 2 Corinthians 5:10 - "For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil") and explains why both use Abraham as the centrepiece of their cases (Abraham lived before the Law). In other words, a theory of justification that omits the tangles of Protestantism ("James is about a different kind of faith", "Good works come from justification without contributing to it", etc.). While it's a Protestant point of view, it's pretty much what Catholicism and Orthodoxy have always taught - it's only "New" to Protestants.

For a long time, C. S. Lewis has been my favourite writer; his theology is way deeper and more coherent than the Evangelical theology I was raised on. And having read more of both, it's almost uncanny how similar Lewis' theology and Orthodoxy are. For example, Orthodoxy teaches that you can't draw up "sin lists" the way Catholics do or definitively divide them between venial and mortal. And C. S. Lewis: "You complain that my last letter does not make it clear whether I regard being in love as a desirable state for a human or not. But really, Wormwood, that is the sort of question one expects them to ask! Leave them to discuss whether "love", or patriotism, or celibacy, or candles on altars, or teetotalism, or education, are "good" or "bad". Can't you see there's no answer? Nothing matters at all except the tendency of a given state of mind, in given circumstances, to move a particular patient at a particular moment nearer to [God] or nearer to us." (The Screwtape Letters, written as a demon writing letters to another). And Orthodoxy teaches salvation-as-deification (although for us, it's taking on God's energies rather than His essence). And Lewis: "We are to be re-made. All the rabbit in us is to disappear - the worried, conscientious, ethical rabbit as well as the cowardly and sensual rabbit. We shall bleed and squeal as the handfuls of fur come out; and then, surprisingly, we shall find underneath it all a thing we have never yet imagined: a real Man, an ageless god, a son of God, strong, radiant, wise, beautiful, and drenched in joy." ("Man or Rabbit" from God in the Dock). I could go on, but this point is already too long.

The Orthodox theory of theosis, that salvation is our relationship with God and is a process of becoming like Him that befits us for eternity with Him. It's a wonderfully elegant theory that unites salvation, faith, good works, our relationship with God and Heaven into one. Again, far less tangled than Protestantism.

The exclusion of the Deuterocanonical Books (Tobit, Sirach, Judith, etc.) looks more unjustifiable with every glance I take at it. Yes, they're not in the Hebrew Bible, but neither is the entire New Testament. Yes, Jerome said they were "not to establish any doctrine" but most of the Fathers disagreed and said so at the 393 Synod of Hippo. Yes, they're never quoted in the New Testament, but I don't think non-quotation demonstrates non-canonicity because quotation does not demonstrate canonicity - Paul quoted pagan authors (Acts 17:28, 1 Corinthians 15:33) and Jewish traditions (2 Timothy 3:8) and Jude quoted extracanonical Jewish works (:9 and :14-15).

Sola scriptura requires that Scripture is perspicuous, when to me the great multitude of denominations shows that it's not. That's why we have Church Tradition, to sort out the ambiguities in Scripture.

Orthodoxy has generally been more accepting of allegorical readings of Genesis 1-11 than Catholicism and especially conservative Protestantism. The fact is that the Human Genome Project shows that the human race did not originate with a couple in the Middle East in 4004 BC, but with a population of several thousand in East Africa 300,000 years ago. And since nature was made by the same God who made Scripture, who knows all, cannot lie and never changes His mind, and science is the systemic study and analysis of nature, we cannot dismiss sound science we don't like or find inconvenient any more than sound theology we don't like or find inconvenient. And what I've described is not some atheist plot - the director of the Human Genome Project, Francis Collins, is an Evangelical who has written apologetics.

Relatedly, why do you read a Bible with, say, James, Hebrews and 2 Peter and without, say, the Didache or the Shepherd of Hermas or the Apocalypse of Peter? The judgement of the Church. So there are two options I think you can take. Either the Bible is malleable (and thus not much of an infallible authority) or the Church is also an infallible authority.

Martin Luther was the Charles Taze Russell (that's the guy who founded the Jehovah's Witnesses) of the 16th century, complete with insertions to and omissions from the Bible, with a side order of rabid antisemitism.

Which is more likely to be the closer to the original - a 1700-or-more (Nicaea was in 325)-years-old group that makes a point of tracing an unbroken line as far back as possible or a 500-or-less-(the Reformation began in the 16th century, but most extant Protestant groups are significantly younger) years-old constellation of groups that make a point of questioning Tradition?

Jesus instituted the Eucharist (Mark 14:22-25, Matthew 26:26-29, Luke 22:14-20) and Baptism (Matthew 28:19), gave rules for dealing with sin in the Church (Matthew 18:15-20), gave His Disciples spiritual authority and appointed them as ministers (John 20:21-23 especially) and explicitly established a church (Matthew 16:18). What did He never do? Establish a Biblical canon. So why are we declaring the Bible to be the judge of the Church?

I want to have a physical faith - one that reminds us of Christ's presence and power with icons and priests and beautiful worship spaces. As C. S. Lewis said, "It is no use trying to be more spiritual than God. God never meant for man to be a purely spiritual creature. That is why He uses material things like bread and wine to put the new life into us."

Most historians agree that Papal supremacy was a relatively late institution, and that the early Church was run by a confederation of local church leaders with no clear head - which is exactly what Orthodoxy teaches.

In terms of leaving Evangelicalism specifically, I learnt that a lot of what I thought Catholics believed - Scripture as not the sole authority, infant baptism, ornate churches, Liturgy, the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, Jesus' descent into Hell/Hades - was just what Christians believed until c.200 years ago and what Methodists, Anglicans and Lutherans believe now.

The Didache is a church manual written in 50-110 AD, and specialists prefer earlier dates of 50-70 AD. For perspective, Paul died in 63 AD and Revelation was written in 95 AD. This is a book describing a church service in the time (or at least the living memory) of the Apostles. And it describes a very Orthodox mode of worship: set prayers for Communion, daily prayers (the Lord's Prayer three times a day), a church run by bishops, priests and deacons, referring to Communion as a sacrifice, fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays.

As for catechesis, it's necessary to join Orthodoxy. There are a few reasons for this. First and most obviously, to ensure that new converts know what they're converting to. Secondly, to ensure that new converts are willing to persist in becoming Orthodox. Thirdly, because the cultivation of an Orthodox way of thinking about the world (a phronema, we call it) is an important part of becoming Orthodox, we think there's value in making new members take a while to become Orthodox.

My Orthodox reading has been mainly online, from the parish websites of St. John the Evangelist Orthodox Church and St. Andrew's Orthodox Cathedral. If it's books you want, I can also recommend The Orthodox Church: An Introduction to Eastern Christianity by Timothy Ware.

#answered asks #chrisitanity #orthodox

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