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mumms-the-word · 4 months

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Illithid Souls - Part 2

The Case Studies: Tav/Durge and Orpheus

In Part 1, I went over some of the basics of what a soul normally is, where souls go after death, and whether mind flayers have souls. I ultimately ended up saying that most humanoids have apostolic souls (souls that deities recognize as being capable of divine worship), while mind flayers have some other kind of soul, one that isn't recognizable by deities or devils. This is why Jergal and Mystra and so on think that illithid don’t have souls. When a humanoid with an apostolic soul turns into a mind flayer, their soul is either ejected and moves on to the Fugue Plane, or their soul is transformed into a non-apostolic soul (depending on what you want to believe).

But the problem is, that's normal lore, and BG3 has made things a little strange by imbuing all the tadpoles that infect our characters with Netherese magic. And that, friends, makes the BG3 mind flayers different.

This post is going to look at some interesting context from the game for the Emperor, Tav/Durge and Orpheus. (It got pretty long so I'm moving Karlach and Gale to a third post.) We're going to figure out whether the rules about mind flayers and souls change now that there's Netherese magic involved. The ultimate answer is yes, but how? And is it consistent?

(Spoiler: it isn't, but you can use this lore to come up with your own theories and ideas)

Let's take another deep dive! Buckle up, and don't worry, I have a short summary at the bottom.

The Case of the Emperor

I'm actually not going to linger too long on the Emperor because for many reasons he breaks the lore. If he's Balduran and a mind flayer, he shouldn't have lived as long as he says he's lived. Not only that, his memory is allegedly flawless when the lore states he shouldn't remember any of his previous life (there are other inconsistencies too, but that's a different post). However, I do want to touch on a couple of things.

The Emperor both is and isn't our baseline for how a mind flayer normally exists. He should be a normal lore-accurate mind flayer (though a rogue one), because he wasn't infected with a Netherese-touched tadpole. But he's a Special Mind Flayer instead, for reasons we don't entirely understand (again, he generally breaks the lore). Perhaps this is because of his brush with Gortash and the other Chosen of the Dead Three, or perhaps he just somehow has a strong enough personality that when he broke free of an elder brain's compulsion a lot of his memories came back to him. Who knows?

But regardless, a few conversations with him reinforce the idea that mind flayers typically aren't completely soulless. At the very least, they still contain memories (he has his memories of his time as Balduran), intelligence (he's a schemer, that's for sure), and personality/emotions:

Emperor: You think that mind flayers are soulless husks who feel nothing. Belynne thought the same at first. You are wrong. Feeling is vital to the pursuit of anyone's goals. Even a mind flayer's. Like you, mind flayers know fear. Like you, we crave recognition. But unlike you, unlike the others of my kind, I am no slave to either. My end is and has always been freedom.

We can quibble about whether or not he's manipulating the player here, but his words are generally true. As discussed in part 1, mind flayers are not soulless husks. When they're enthralled, they might be more devoid of independent thinking, but they have emotions/feelings and can create memories. They just might have a smaller range of emotion than humanoids do (thus his reference to "not being a slave" to fear or desire) and their memories might not be entirely their own (more on that with Karlach in part 3).

Regardless, the Emperor is our leading authority for what it's like to be a mind flayer, so we're sort of forced to trust him when we ask him to explain what full ceremorphosis is about to do to us, especially because its his Supreme Tadpole that is about to change us.

Player: What would happen to me? Emperor: You would be altered in mind, body, and soul beyond all recognition.

So this is interesting. Altered in mind and body, that's a given. Altered in soul, though...what does that mean?

Remember in Part 1 where I offered two theories about what happens to the original soul of someone undergoing ceremorphosis? Theory 1: they just die and the soul moves on to the Fugue Plane, and the mind flayer gets a new illithid soul from...somewhere. Theory 2: The soul transforms and remains tethered to the mind flayer body, different than it was before (potentially unrecognizable as the original soul, but some elements of the original may remain).

The Emperor's words suggest more of theory 2 here. But is that, in fact, what happens when we become illithid? Well...let's find out.

The Case of Tav and Durge (or most Origin runs)

When you do turn into a mind flayer, the narrative typically focuses on how powerful you feel. Your mind and body feel as though they are one and you are also desperately hungry. There isn't much in the Narrator's dialogue or your dialogue with your friends to suggest that your soul has been completely obliterated, though.

In fact, there's an interesting moment that happens if you turn into a mind flayer without the Emperor there and go up to Orpheus still in his cage. The way I accomplished this was to ask to change into a mind flayer so the Emperor would give me the Supreme Tadpole, then I said I would change later, then stopped the Emperor from consuming Orpheus so he would leave. Then I used the Supreme Tadpole to turn into a mind flayer and went to examine Orpheus.

Narrator: *His eyes are unseeing, his voice silenced. But even with his mind caged, you can feel his power. You can almost taste the fluid beneath his scalp, cushioning that sweet, dense brain, and the power within it. You are hungry.* Lae'zel: I see that look, I know that look. Don't you dare. Player: [Wisdom Check] Cling to your former nature. Quash your hunger. This is not who you are. Narrator: *Your mind and body whine with disappointment. But your soul lets out a gentle thrum of relief.*

I find this fascinating for a couple of reasons. One, the check I chose (there are two, the second is a strength check) meant reaching out to a "former" nature and reminding myself (or my Tav's self) that this is not who she is. When I succeeded, my Tav's mind and body protested, but her soul was filled with relief.

So she has a soul! And it seems to be her own soul, but perhaps transformed. So this sort of supports theory 2, that perhaps when humanoids turn into mind flayers, their soul is altered. This could also just be a quirk specific to those infected with a Netherese tadpole, or even further, someone who transformed using the Emperor's Supreme Tadpole.

Because here's the thing. When Tav/Durge, Orpheus, Companion!Karlach, or any Origin character transforms into a mind flayer using the Supreme Tadpole, they become a special mind flayer. This is mostly due to the Netherese magic, which adds some weird and undefined changes to the whole mind flayer thing. I'm going to use "I guess it's the Netherese magic/Supreme Tadpole" as a scapegoat this entire post because I don't know what else to point to to explain how these guys are just Different Than Your Average Mind Flayer, so be prepared for that. But at the very least, we know something's different.

In fact the Narrator literally says you're probably different than the average mind flayer after you defeat the Netherbrain!

Narrator: *You are a mind flayer, the very thing you sought to eradicate. Whatever self you still possess is quickly ebbing away. Your friends and enemies alike are ripe for manipulation, and if not manipulation, then consumption. Soon you will be able to trust yourself at all. You will be a monstrosity beyond redemption. Or not. Perhaps you are unique among illithid-kind. Perhaps you will retain enough of who you are to resist your nature. A rogue mind flayer. Like the Emperor. The risk is certainly yours to take - will you?*

Unlike normal mind flayers who lose most of their memories (and allegedly most of their personality/former selves) almost immediately after transforming, it takes Tav/Durge/most Origins longer to lose that sense of self, if indeed they lose it at all. The Narrator suggests we might be losing parts of ourselves, but there's a chance we're unique and might retain our sense of selves.

We do see glimpses of us retaining our personalities in the epilogue of course, but what is more interesting is if you decide to imprison yourself post-ceremorphosis. Withers will visit you in prison for a final conversation. (This conversation shifts a little if you're a Durge, but here is the Tav conversation.)

Withers: Thou remainest in thy chains. A hero, sacrificed. I told thee once that an illithid hath no soul, and yet...something glimmerest about thee. Something is not lost. Dost thou feel it? The spark of the divine within thee? Or does thy hunger consume thee? Player: [Option 1] I'm still myself. I don't know if I belong here. Player: [Option 2] I feel the hunger. But I feel myself, too. I'm not sure which to trust. Player: [Option 3] Have you come to torment me with hypotheticals, old friend? Player: [Option 4] Does it matter? This is my life now.

If you go with option 4, you hear Withers ponderingly say, "Thy life...yes..." before moving on to say that fate isn't done with you yet, which is his response to all the other options as well.

But the more important thing is that even Jergal recognizes a "spark of the divine" within you. Your soul should either be cast off and already wandering the Fugue Plane (if going with theory 1) or so completely transformed that it's no longer an apostolic soul that Jergal would be able to recognize as a god. Yet Jergal recognizes the soul within your mind flayer body as being...well, partly apostolic.

Interesting!

We get a similar dialogue if you sacrifice yourself as a mind flayer, too, though this is fascinating because now it's Withers literally finding your soul (still shaped like a mind flayer, which is interesting) somewhere that is...very gray. There's a suggestion that this might be in the Fugue Plane, or in some limbo state where souls sometimes end up, but regardless, Withers, the soul-finder himself, was able to track down your lingering soul.

Withers: Thou flickerest in the dark - but with mine keen eye, I hath scryed thee. I told thee once that an illithid hath no soul, and yet thou seemest to have something of the spirit about thee. I cannot account for it. How delightful. Tell me, how doth it feel to roam about as thou art now, transformed? Player: [Option 1] Where am I? [mumm's note: he basically doesn't answer this question lol] Player: [Option 2] I still feel like myself. My memories, my feelings - all intact. Withers: No matter how many aeons I have roamed this world and beyond, I am ever-surprised by mysteries new and old.

Even Withers is surprised that the soul you have is something he not only recognizes as a soul, but as your soul. I love how amused and intrigued he sounds when he says "I cannot account for it. How delightful." He even smiles when he says it. He thinks you're super neat! And also a new phenomenon.

(As an aside, I wonder if you being mind-flayer-shaped but still recognizable as you is a hint that your soul did indeed transform to be illithid, but didn't fully transform into a non-apostolic soul like normal illithids would. Like, I wonder if your soul is now half-apostolic and just permanently mind-flayer-shaped. RIP. But this would explain why bringing you back via True Resurrection is kind of a nonviable option since you'd just come back as a mind flayer, and this is the ending where you took your own life to avoid being a mind flayer for forever, so I doubt you'd even want to come back if you couldn't come back to your original body. Things to ponder!)

Anyway, you having something that has glimpses, sparks, or hints of the divine/the spirit about you does tell us that as a mind flayer, your soul wasn't destroyed. It may have been transformed, but you're not as soulless as you thought you were going to be, and you're actually still pretty close to being who you were before the transformation.

Close, but not perfectly or exactly like you were before. You did transform, after all. But these changes become more obvious in other examples, such as with Karlach.

You having a partly-apostolic soul that retains all its memories and most of its original personality is obviously VERY unique and different to what most mind flayers experience. For example, if you turn yourself illithid and then free Orpheus (again, see the same steps above, but go a step farther and actually free him this time), then Orpheus will be utterly shocked that you're capable of independent thought.

Orpheus: What is this... A mind flayer in possession of its mental faculties? This is the stuff of fables. It is as if I am reliving the legend of Oryndoll. You are the illithid Urengol, rebelling against your own hivemind. And I am the noble githyanki Valraag who must now reconsider his position. An illithid capable of rebelling against the Netherbrain's instruction... Not only capable but willing... If your intentions are as righteous as they seem, this is an advantage I cannot overlook. An advantage that must be grasped, for our enemy is formidable indeed. Very well. I propose an alliance.

A couple of notes here: Oryndoll is/was a real mind flayer colony far, far below the surface in the southern regions of Faerûn (beneath the Shining Plains). Not only is it ancient, but the wealth of knowledge stored inside via illithid technology rivals and probably even surpasses that of Candlekeep's library. There's at least one book in the game that talks about a foolish drow adventurer searching for Oryndoll, only to end up a mind flayer, while another hints at Oryndoll's role in the history of the Duergar race. But these are the only mentions of Oryndoll in the game.

Oryndoll has a history in D&D lore, but there's no mention of Urengol and Valraag (that I could find). If this is a fable Orpheus knows, it's apparently so ancient that only he remembers it. But that itself is interesting, because it makes Urengol his closest reference to you having become a rogue, independently-thinking, and emotionally driven mind flayer. He can't think of any other examples, that's how unique you are.

The most important thing here is that Orpheus literally considers your independently thinking self as so baffling, so impossible, it should only exist in fables. That, I think, says a lot.

The next question is, does he think he would become just as unique?

The Case of Orpheus

We all know Orpheus can be convinced to turn into a mind flayer and sacrifice his soul for his people. I'm sure he genuinely does think he is sacrificing his soul, as there is no real precedent that he or anyone else seems to know of for a person who turns into a mind flayer and keeps their soul (or at least keeps their same memories, personality, and intelligence). But if he's surprised that he's kept all his memories after turning illithid, he doesn't really show it.

You can ask him about it, of course, after he's turned into a mind flayer and after you've defeated the Netherbrain. His response is kind of interesting.

Player: You're a mind flayer, but you're still you, aren't you? Orpheus: Yes. But for how long? My mind screams. It will never stop until it has slipped away from me entirely.

No one else seems to define their illithid experience this way. I'm curious if his mind screaming is referring to the hunger he feels, the same hunger he is actively trying to resist, but he doesn't elaborate on this. Regardless, he's certain that while he has retained his personality (and probably his soul) for now, it's not going to last.

This is why he asks for an honorable death after the defeat of the Netherbrain.

Player: You don't deserve to die. Orpheus: I will not be ghaik! I did what I did to save my people. [...] The rest is up to them. Someone else must rise within the ranks to lead the revolution against Vlaakith. Give me my freedom from this form, release my soul to the Astral Seas while I still have one to call my own.

Orpheus believes that he only has a temporary grasp on his soul or consciousness, which may or may not have transformed into a different kind of soul. Then again, if he thinks his soul is going to the Astral Seas, maybe it doesn't matter whether his soul was transformed from apostolic to non-apostolic. I'm not even sure if githyanki have apostolic souls at all, since they wouldn't really be interested in the deities that govern matters on the Material Plane. I mean, for a long time Lae'zel wants her soul to be eaten by Vlaakith (a literal lich queen who eats souls) via "ascension" so...

I also have no idea if his soul, once released to the Astral Seas, would be mind-flayer-shaped. I guess that's the great mystery. I would assume yes, but I also don’t know how souls manifest in the Astral Seas and finding sources on this has been difficult (it all boils down to “ask your DM”).

Orpheus can be convinced to stay alive and just hang out in a far-off "corner of these realms" to watch his people fight against Vlaakith from afar, and there's kind of a hint that him agreeing to do this means he isn't actually afraid he'll lose his entire soul. But at this point, we're getting too far into "maybes" and "what ifs" to suggest anything concrete.

Quick picture break of Orpheus contemplating the Supreme Tadpole to break up the text (I just thought it was a good shot)

Now I do have to acknowledge two things about Orpheus: one, he could be a special mind flayer precisely because of his unique abilities to shield his mind from elder brain compulsion, which means his unique abilities could also be the reason why he retains so much of his personality and therefore his soul. Since most of the time you end up eating his brain and absorbing his abilities, this could also explain why you retain so much of your own soul if you become a mind flayer instead.

In this scenario, you’re a special mind flayer because (1) you have a Netherese tadpole, (2) you transformed using the Supreme Tadpole, and (3) then you ate Orpheus’s brain. All three elements could be at play.

But not everyone eats Orpheus’s brain, so that theory has holes. I genuinely think you just end up being a special mind flayer because of the Netherese magic that messes with your tadpole. The Supreme Tadpole plus Orpheus’s abilities would only be the icing on the cake, so to speak.

The second thing I want to acknowledge is that there’s a glaring plothole for Orpheus even turning into a mind flayer at all, if you play the game a certain way. If you send the Emperor away to free Orpheus before the Emperor gives you the Supreme Tadpole (for example if you send Lae’zel over to smash the chains holding Orpheus captive without talking to the Emperor, which is what I did one time, and the Emperor was literally like “don’t talk to me again bye” and left), then how does he turn into a mind flayer? He doesn’t have a tadpole and you don’t have the Supreme Tadpole to give to him.

He gets around this with you or Karlach by saying he’ll lower his mental shields so that your tadpole hears the Netherbrain’s orders to transform and then replace the shields again.

Orpheus: My defences keep the voice of the Absolute out, but just as I can raise them, so I can lower them. I will allow the voice of the Absolute in. Once it reaches you, it will order you to transform. It will only take a moment. And once you are a mind flayer, I will fold you under my protection once more. You will be the saviour of empires, not least my own. Narrator: *With the withdrawal of Orpheus' power, your mind is rushed with the full force of the Netherbrain. You feel a compulsion unlike anything you've ever known - excruciating and exhilarating in equal measure. You wish nothing in the world but to evolve. Then - complete silence, as you are once again closed off from the Netherbrain's mind.*

So that makes sense, and it means you being a special mind flayer could boil down to your personality being hella strong + you being infected with a special Netherese tadpole. In this scenario, the Supreme Tadpole can’t be used to explain your unique soul-keeping abilities, and neither can you attribute your soul-keeping abilities to consuming Orpheus's brain (since he's still alive). So maybe the Supreme Tadpole and/or Orpheus's brain doesn’t have any effect on why you keep your mostly-unaltered soul.

In the end I guess it’s just the weird Netherese tadpole that does the trick? Honestly, I wonder if it all boils down to the fact that the Netherese tadpole doesn't eat your brain, it just lies dormant and incubating in your head, so you're not losing brain matter. (But this ignores or forgets that when you eat other tadpoles you literally watch them burrow into your brain matter so I'm sure the magic has something to do with it too.)

But anyway this still doesn’t explain why Orpheus, who shouldn’t have a tadpole, somehow turns into a mind flayer by, I don’t know, manifesting it??? Or why he is also a unique mind flayer once he does this without the Supreme Tadpole. I mean in his case I’m sure it is because he has special mind shield abilities but still. How did he turn into a mind flayer without a tadpole? Make it make sense, Larian.

He literally just touches his head with a psionic magic effect, which is the same gesture he uses to lower his mental shield to allow the Netherbrain to force you to transform. It's also interesting that if you have him transform using the Supreme Tadpole, then he doesn't say anything as he accepts the tadpole from you and absorbs it. But if you have him change without the tadpole, then he says, "The Netherbrain will be only too pleased to claim me."

Which...kind of implies that he's somehow able to communicate with the Netherbrain or hear its voice, so...maybe he secretly does have a tadpole? I mean, a popular theory is the Emperor probably did tadpole Orpheus off-screen since he seems to have a level of compulsion over Orpheus, but this is never explained or mentioned in the game so do whatever you want with that theory.

But I digress.

Let's do a quick summary, shall we?

TLDR: You're probably a super special mind flayer who gets to keep their soul mostly intact (or mostly unaltered) because your tadpole was imbued with Netherese magic and generally doesn't eat your brain. You might also be super special because you transformed using the Supreme Tadpole (optional) and/or consumed Orpheus's brain (also optional). Orpheus might be a super special mind flayer simply because he's Orpheus, and that is why he can still retain most of his soul/personality, even though he keeps thinking he's going to lose it. His status as special mind flayer seems unchanged whether he transformed using the Supreme Tadpole or not, so it really must be an Orpheus Thing.

Phew. That was a lot. And honestly, Karlach and Gale only complicate things, so they're going in a separate post. Keep an eye out for Part 3!

~*~*~

You made it to the end!!! Amazing, you deserve an achievement or something, but all I have are more gold stars.

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

Tags for those who wanted the update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 meta #bg3 lore #bg3 deep dive #deep dive #long post #super long post #the emperor #orpheus #mind flayer #i had to make this a three part thing because it was getting super long

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mariacallous · 7 months

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When Russia first invaded Ukraine in 2014, annexing the Crimean Peninsula and bringing turmoil and destruction to Ukraine’s eastern regions, many people—both outside Ukraine and inside it—found it easier to ignore the violence unfolding in the country’s east than admit that war had returned to Europe. This included creative artists, who rarely mentioned the war in their works, not least because they feared scaring off the Russian fans who constituted much of their audience.

As Ukrainians all over the country woke up to explosions on Feb. 24, 2022, the truth could no longer be ignored: The “big war” had truly begun. Today, the country’s art is catching up to the truth of war.

Before 2022, few Ukrainian artists and entertainers openly mentioned the ongoing war in their works. In fact, many pop stars like Ivan Dorn or Luna continued to perform in Russia and created works aimed, first and foremost, at the Russian market and in the Russian language. When criticized for this by their Ukrainian fans, many dodged the subject, claimed to be “apolitical,” or explained their actions as “trying to build a bridge” between Russia and Ukraine.

“My music isn’t about politics, it’s about healing souls,” Luna said in a lengthy interview with Russian opposition journalist Xenia Sobchak in 2021. “That’s why I don’t pay attention to the critics back home trying to make me feel guilty for giving concerts in Russia.” Similarly, Dorn claimed that by interacting with Russian listeners he was “trying to capture as many people as possible with my music so that they would never attack my own country.”

But the main reasons were pragmatic ones: The large and relatively rich Russian market has long been attractive to Ukrainian performers, much like the American market for the English-speaking world. Making films or music built around a Ukrainian context could scare off Russian fans, so the overwhelming majority of content made in the 2000s and 2010s was tailored to sound and look as neutral as possible, devoid of any references to local events or personalities. There were, of course, notable exceptions.

Musicians, such as singer and veteran military paramedic Anastasiia Shevchenko, better known by her pseudonym СТАСІK, wrote songs openly referencing the war in their lyrics and music videos. Indie rapper Stas Koroliov released an entire album in 2021 of tracks inspired by the war and society’s apathy toward it. It contained lyrics like “I now understand that to become a messiah you just need to state the obvious: My homeland is at war with Russia.”

While mainstream comedies that wanted both Ukrainian and Russian box office sales steered clear of any references to recent domestic events, independent movies were more willing to process the violence taking place in Ukraine’s eastern regions and the loss of Crimea. Wartime dramas such as Tymur Yashchenko’s U311 Cherkasy (named after the naval mine sweeper blocked by Russian forces during the capture of Crimea) and Maryna Er Gorbach’s Klondike addressed specific events of the Russo-Ukrainian war, while Nariman Aliev’s 2019 drama Homeward was a meditation on what the loss of Crimea meant for its indigenous Tatar population. Other films, such as Volodymyr Tykhyi’s dramedy Our Kitties, tried to find humor amid the heartbreak and horrors faced by the Ukrainian soldiers stationed on the frontlines.

Everything changed in early 2022, when war—previously treated as a niche subject that was likely to scare off people looking for light entertainment—quickly became the only topic most Ukrainians were interested in. As missiles rained down, entertainers suddenly realized that they could not remain apolitical bystanders any longer.

Almost every popular musician spoke out against the invasion, with several (such as Dasha Astafieva and Vitaly Kozlovskiy) apologizing for performing in Russia and platforming their Russian colleagues in recent years. “I felt like a zombie while performing in Russia. I’d arrive, smile mechanically at everyone, do the set and return home. Russia has a lot of money but it’s a soulless place,” Astafieva wrote in a social media post shortly after the start of the full-scale invasion. Many artists—such as Antytila leader Taras Tolopya, singer Yarmak, and most of the lineup of cult Kharkiv-based hip-hop group TNMK—took up arms and joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine, while others took to volunteering by raising funds and sourcing equipment for Ukrainian soldiers, performing on the frontlines, or training as medics.

Some of their personal stories exemplified Ukraine’s modern civic identity, which has little to do with ethnicity or where you were born. Instead, for many, it’s a choice. Take Yulia Yurina: The Russian-born musician first came to Ukraine as a 18-year-old student in 2012 and soon joined forces with Ukrainian-born Stas Koroliov to form critically acclaimed pop-folk duo Yuko. Today, Yurina—still formally a Russian citizen despite publicly renouncing her citizenship and applying for a Ukrainian passport—is not only a beloved performer, whose recent album encapsulates much of the anger and grief felt by the average Ukrainian, but also a volunteer working tirelessly to provide the Ukrainian Armed Forces with weapons and equipment. “I dance through the bullets as air raid sirens sing to me,” Yurina sings on one of the album’s tracks. “I am disgusted by what you’ve done here, you’re killing souls but you won’t be able to kill our dreams. We are not your friends, your family, or your lovers.”

During the first months of the war, a new subgenre of locally produced music arose. “Bayraktar-core” (the semi-ironic name came from how often these songs mentioned the Turkish drones used to great effect by Ukrainian forces in the early stages of the war) songs were simple, composed over a mere few weeks, catchy, and characterized by their aggressive optimism, constant references to recent events, local politicians, wartime memes, and foreign allies (Boris Johnson, then British prime minister, was mentioned often).

What these songs lacked in lyrical nuance and musical innovation they more than made up for by giving millions of Ukrainians a sense of unity and community amid the chaos and horror. “Occupiers came to Ukraine, wearing new uniforms and driving military vehicles,” go the lyrics of one of the most popular “Bayraktar-core” songs. “But their equipment was soon ruined by the Bayraktar!” Some, such as a viral mashup sampling a folk tune and a phrase spoken by Johnson, made the leap over to English-language social media.

While simple war-themed entertainment (or even anything vaguely patriotic and uplifting) might have been enough for listeners and viewers in the early months of the war, the artistic questions got sharper as the fight went on.

Did performers who left the country soon after the full-scale invasion have a right to make money off of songs mentioning the horrors others faced while staying in Ukraine? Could writers who hadn’t personally experienced life under Russian occupation use the devastation in say, Bucha or Mariupol, in their stories? And what if they conducted interviews with the people who had? Many of these questions lack definite answers, but the public response to various works inspired by the war have been noticeably different.

When writer Daria Gnatko announced in late 2022 that she would be publishing a novel set in Russian-occupied Bucha, many pointed out that not enough time had passed to properly process the events that had transpired in the town, and wondered whether writing a story like this without conducting in-depth interviews with the survivors of the occupation was a form of exploitation. The book, along with another upcoming work by Gnatko, a novel inspired by the destruction and occupation of Mariupol, was postponed indefinitely by the publisher after a wave of public criticism.

Likewise, popular writer Kateryna Babkina’s latest novel Mom, Do You Remember? was met with controversy after the author, who had spent much of the war abroad, announced that the plot would be inspired by the occupation of Bucha. Some reviewers were concerned that not enough time had passed since the liberation of Kyiv Oblast and that the subject was still too triggering for most readers, while others darkly suspected Babkina had only mentioned the tragically famous town when announcing the book to draw more attention to her work.

However, most of this criticism was limited to social media, while the reviews in local publications were much more enthusiastic about the novel—which is told from the perspective of a teenage girl narrowly escaping from Russian occupation with her infant half-sister and trying to build a life for them both abroad—and described it as a touching and delicate work full of compassion.

“If for some Ukrainians the book is therapeutic, for foreigners, in particular for Poles, who can already read Babkina’s story, it gives a more internal context about what war victims experience—who walk the same streets and visit the same shops as they do—actually go through. What challenges and problems they face, what they feel, why some do not learn the language and choose to return home despite the missile attacks, and what is happening in the hearts of millions of children who were forced to grow up one day when their world was destroyed by Russia,” wrote a reviewer for the Polish-Ukrainian outlet Sestry.

The truth is that when it comes to describing experiences as traumatic as an ongoing war, there isn’t going to be a one-size-fits-all perspective or approach. Some readers find works written about or vaguely inspired by something they or their loved ones went through therapeutic, while others find them triggering or even offensive.

When it comes to film, meanwhile, the pre-2022 offerings were earnest but often unwatched. Reviewers treated these movies as important pieces of cinema, but ones that described horrors most Ukrainians preferred not to dwell on for too long. After the full-scale invasion, however, a dark realization dawned: The wartime dramas were now reflections of our own collective experience, and no romantic comedy or workplace drama was going to stop you from thinking about shrapnel and blood.

That was supplemented by the belief that Ukrainians had to bear witness. At a time when many civilians felt abandoned by human rights organizations’ failure to document Russian war crimes (Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy personally called out the International Red Cross over its inaction after the destruction of the Nova Kakhovka dam, while Amnesty International found itself in hot water after publishing a much-criticized report accusing Ukraine of endangering its own civilians), filmmakers took this challenge upon themselves. Documentaries shot during the siege of Mariupol, after the liberation of Bucha, and during the near-constant shelling of Kharkiv became a powerful tool for cultural diplomacy, encouraging non-Ukrainians to support Ukraine, and an instrument to counter Russian propaganda and war fatigue in the West. Perhaps the best-known example is the Oscar-nominated documentary film 20 Days in Mariupol, which garnered universally positive reviews at home and abroad and offered viewers a unique glimpse into the horrors faced by the residents and defenders of the besieged city.

One unexpected wartime challenge is creating entertainment aimed at children. How do you keep kids of vastly different ages entertained while sitting in cold, poorly-lit bomb shelters for hours on end? How do you teach them the rules of wartime safety in an accessible and easy-to-remember format? How do you help them process the heartbreak of losing loved ones, having parents on the frontlines, or living in constant fear of missiles and drones? And perhaps most importantly, how do you begin to broach the topic that there are people who want these kids and their entire families dead? This is when Patron—a real-life sapper dog who became an unexpected celebrity among both kids and adults alike—came in handy.

The wildly popular Jack Russell Terrier, who works as a detection dog and mascot for the State Emergency Service of Ukraine first caught the public’s eye in early 2022, when the dog was awarded a medal for locating and helping defuse unexploded mines left behind by Russian forces after they were driven out of Chernihiv. A video of the bulletproof vest-wearing puppy went viral, and the newly famous dog was soon making charity appearances, visiting kids harmed by the war in hospitals across the country, and even got his own animated web show and book series. Content starring Patron is produced in partnership with UNICEF and aims to teach Ukrainian kids the importance of staying away from abandoned landmines, avoiding suspicious objects left behind by the invading army, and staying brave under difficult circumstances.

Undoubtedly, the full-scale invasion of Ukraine has led to a heightened interest toward local art both among Ukrainians and foreigners, as well as provided an entire generation of artists with stories of sacrifice, courage, and defiance—stories that, despite their complexity, simply must be told, and that may well become modern classics at an international scale. When Penguin Press bought the rights to Ukrainian writer and soldier Oleksandr Mykhed’s autobiographical novel The Language of War, publishing director Casiana Ionita described the book as “a war book that will be read 10, 20, 50 years from now.” But it’s unclear if enough foreign publishers are ready to break their long-standing tradition of viewing events in Ukraine solely through the eyes of their Moscow-educated authors and allow Ukrainians on the frontlines to speak for themselves, like Mykhed, before the war claims them too.

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eelfuneral · 1 year

Text

Some of the discussion that happens within the Star Wars fandom, particularly discussion of the Jedi, can be really upsetting to observe if you have certain disabilities. In fact, I’m having a hard time even liking the Jedi right now because I can’t help but associate them with some really ableist takes that I’ve seen in their defense.

Let me explain: a lot of people with certain disabilities (such as autism, ADHD, bipolar disorder, and C-PTSD) deal with something called emotion dysregulation, which means that you feel emotions more intensely than the average person and that this strong emotional state sticks around for far longer than it should. When you have emotional regulation issues, an event that might make somebody else a bit sad or mildly frustrated has the ability to put you out of commission for hours or even an entire day. Emotion dysregulation is very stigmatized, even in people who go out of their way to avoid harming people or lashing out while dealing with an episode. People with this specific issue are often told that they are “dramatic”, “attention seeking”, or “future abusers” for what amounts to an automatic emotional response that a person cannot control. This constant pushback forms a metaphorical blister that can easily be popped back open when you see anything that reminds you of what caused it in the first place.

Now, let’s move on to the Jedi. While it can be argued that their teachings were intended to instruct people to reign in their BEHAVIOR as a result of their emotions, several lines in the fist six movies sound an awful lot like they are condemning having negative emotions at all. Yoda literally tells both Luke and Anakin that emotions like fear and anger BY THEMSELVES are of the Dark Side, and these lines were very difficult for a lot of people who have dealt with trauma, neurodivergence, or other issues that cause “big emotions”. These lines, intentionally or not, mirror a lot of the things that real people have said to those of us dealing with emotion dysregulation, and people have every right to talk about this in their own spaces unmolested.

Some of the defenses of the Jedi in the context of how they are instructed to deal with their emotions come off as dismissive at best and ableist at worst. Yes, if you dig through Star Wars canon enough, you can find portrayals of the Jedi and emotions that point to a more nuanced view where choices and actions are the source of evil rather than the emotions, but this does not change the fact that the Yoda lines and other emotionally repressive applications of the Jedi Code very much exist in parts of canon. A person who found the emotionally repressive variant of Jedi teachings to be upsetting due to a disability will likely feel as though you are trying to dismiss their feelings and belittle them if you “correct” them for “misinterpretation of the Jedi”. I get that it sucks to see people bash your blorbos, but if someone is doing it because they are dealing with something IRL like trauma or ableism, then it’s best not to engage and just let that person work through it.

I have also seen people who are defending the Jedi make statements that outright attack people for having intense emotions. I remember a take that basically said that you were a baby or a psychopath if you found the Jedi code regarding emotions to be “too hard”. I’ve seen people dismiss the trauma that Anakin went through and its possible effect on how he reacted to some aspects of the Jedi order in a way that mirrors the invalidation that those of us with emotional regulation issues have experienced for being “too much” for all of our lives. Yes, it is important to avoid harming others when you are in a bad place, and no Anakin was not a great person, but so many of these takes are devoid enough of nuance that they read as if they are just trashing people who have “too many”emotions.

Feel free to defend your favorite characters all that you would like, but please spare a thought for those of us who might not dig everything about them for reasons connected to disability and trauma. The Jedi aren’t real, but we very much are.

#jedi critical #fandom ableism

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enkvyu · 2 years

Text

heizou's table is a mess.

paper is scattered atop a wooden desk, its context written in unintelligible lettering, the words running off the page and onto another sheet all stained black. wax lumps litter the surface, evidence of sleepless nights hunched over a single dying flame. pens, pencils, crumpled scrolls and wrinkled books, nothing on his desk made sense for anyone other than himself.

and perhaps, the most incoherent thing about the desk was heizou himself.

"heizou," a voice breaks the still of his office and when the boy looked up, he finds himself in the presence of his colleague, kujou sara. "you've ignored another official request for your own personal schemes again."

her words are blunt, unsusceptible to protesting not that it mattered because heizou neither argued nor made light of the situation. instead, he met her gaze unflinchingly.

"so i have. and?"

"how long are you going to act like this?"

heizou's hand tightens around his pen, his jaw clenched. "how long are you going to come in here and lecture me?"

sara sighs, her head finding purchase in her hands. "you know i only mean well."

"enough. perhaps if you didn't find spare time to come here everyday, i would have already solved my personal scheme by now."

"heizou," sara starts again, only her voice is devoid of all emotion except pity. "the case has already been solved."

"not by me."

"there is no other evidence that could change the conclusion of the case. they're gone, heizou. it's time you accepted that."

the pen snaps in his hand and heizou finds himself breaking in two just like it, the entire world shattering into a million pieces. his chair falls with a loud crash, guards stationed outside shouting in alert at the noise, as his hands slam onto his desk.

papers fall to the ground, your smiling illustration beaming up at him as if in taunt.

"enough!" heizou yells again, but he can't hear his own voice. "that's enough, kujou sara. you've done enough. please leave."

but the general stands still, eyeing her friend in concern. and it is that exact expression that heizou distastes, the empty words and looking eyes, the "he's changed" and "i miss them too".

"i miss them too." she says and heizou's vision swarms and sways. "but they wouldn't have wanted you to suffer like this."

"you don't have the right to mourn them!" heizou explodes.

sara sets her jaw. "is this still because i closed the case?"

"you knew i was away. if you kept it open for longer, until i got back, i would have been able to find whoever did this to name. but you didn't."

"then what is the evidence you've gotten since then?" the general's words are spat out as if accompanied by a bad taste. "what are your new conclusions since then, the product of all your time away from the agency? face it, heizou. they're gone and their killer has escaped. it's been months since then, even if you did find the perpetrator, do you think anything would change? the case is dead, cold. and there's nothing you can do about it anymore."

"get out!" curling his fist in, heizou punches his desk, sending it flying past kujou sara into the wall next to the door.

papers fly everywhere, scribbles and leaking ink and torn pictures and highlighted news articles, hundreds and thousands of pictures of inazuma citizens, and even more images of you, you posing next to him on your first date, you running away from an angry oni, you against the backdrop of a settling sun, you and him, you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you

his fist breaks the ground beneath his feet, crumbling just like the world around him, this filthy unpure world that outcasted you so easily, so easily erasing every trace of your existence.

"heizou, cut it out!"

sara angles away from him, her bow clenched in her hand. around her, the guards stand with their own weapons in hand.

"are you going to shoot me, sara?" heizou asks without humour.

"you need to calm down."

"no, what i need to do is find name."

"name is dead!" sara snaps. "and if you keep acting like this, you'll end up that way too."

"i'll find evidence, i know i will. i always do."

"not this time, heizou. let name's death be not in vain."

"in vain?" heizou laughs, bitterly. "your fake report says they were caught in the crossfire of a robbery."

"yes," she says. 'live a good life, they would have wanted that, not this obsession over their death."

"you know something."

"heizou, i need you to calm down."

"what are you hiding?"

the guards look at each other in unease, weapons faltering. that was the opening heizou needed.

in the split moment that his attackers hesitated, heizou charged at them with a fist infused with anemo. they flew backwards, hitting the ground unforgivingly, all except for sara who leapt backwards.

narrowly avoiding the electro object in her wake, heizou grabs the leg of his desk and swings it upwards and at her.

sara's eyes fly open. she draws back her bow and aims at the table, splitting it in half, the parts falling to either side of her. when the dust settles, she finds herself staring at an empty room.

cursing under her breath, sara rushes to the open window.

but heizou was already gone.

noise behind her makes her turn, and her next words are directed into a command. "find heizou and arrest him." she orders, and the guards trickle out of the room with a salute, dedicated in their hunt.

when they leave, the general faces back to the window, peering out into the rolling landscape. somewhere, on this island, heizou was hiding. and unlike his lover, his ambition was not dead.

"don't make me kill you too."

#heizou #heizou x you #heizou x reader #kujou sara #heizou imagines #heizou angst #heizou hcs #genshin ff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #heizou drabbles #genshin drabbles

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the-queen-and-the-king · 5 months

Text

Euphoria

Summary: well, do you remember this?

Then, here is the text I wrote about this. :D

Characters: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss

Contents: angst, mention of Aaron's scars, smut, oral sex (f receiving), handjob (m receiving), alcohol consumption (but they aren't drunk) NSFW/MINORS DNI

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Emily was concerned. She'd never seen Aaron behave like this, so... thoughtlessly. He'd acted alone, without waiting for reinforcements and, what's worse, didn't seem the least bit sorry he'd done it. When Derek had tried to set the record straight – as acting director, he was in his rightful place – his former superior had retorted that he surely wouldn't have done any better than he had. Faced with this sudden indiscipline from a man whose middle name was severity, Morgan had backed off, shaking his head in annoyance. An abdication that seemed to please his opponent, who boasted a blissful smile, out of place given the context. The one he addressed to the young woman immediately afterwards – as she stared at him, unsettled – awakened a curious sensation in her.

Hotch only smiled once a year, it was said in the corridors of Quantico, when he got his fingers caught in a door. None of the BAU agents would say such a thing, since they'd been around him long enough to know it wasn't true. From time to time, their boss expressed an emotion approaching joy. A discreet, fading joy, quick to disappear. A rare joy that only a privileged few had been able to witness. A joy that had deserted his heart for several weeks now, devoured by the anguish that assailed him more than usual. His ex-wife and son were in danger, and he had no other way of helping them than to wait. To wait for the predator to emerge from the darkness and take a step towards its prey. To betray his presence so the profilers can get to him. But that moment had not arrived, and fear pulsed through his veins.

At least, that's what Elizabeth Prentiss's daughter thought.

Except that the smile he'd presented her with earlier was entirely devoid of anxiety or dread. He only looked... satisfied? Relieved? A little mocking, she was sure. As they often said during their investigations: it didn't fit the profile. Temporarily stripped of his position, his loved ones under witness protection because of an unfortunate gesture and word, he should have looked the worse for wear. Instead, he beamed and even allowed himself reflections and an attitude – towards her in particular – that he would certainly never have had before. As if the loss of his stripes had freed him from a straitjacket that imprisoned his true personality.

However, Emily had another hypothesis in mind that strongly displeased her. According to her, he had really hit the bottom and, seeing no way out, his survival instinct had abandoned him, leading him to adopt this suicidal technique which – fortunately – had failed. The surge of adrenalin in his damaged body then guided his words and movements. But every peak was accompanied by a vertiginous descent which, in his case, was not at all recommended. That's why she stood in front of his hotel room door and, after making sure none of her peers were around, knocked on the door. Her heart pounding against her ribs, she expected him to be ready to drop.

“Prentiss?” he asked, obviously pleasantly surprised.

She widened her eyes, bewildered to realize that she'd been wrong about everything. He looked at his best. And he was just as alert as a few hours earlier, in that alleyway occupied by scaffolding.

“Prentiss?” he repeated, eyebrows furrowed.

Her brain shook her. She had been mute for too long, she had to speak. She had to justify this late presence on the doorstep of his transitional home.

“I… I wanted to be sure that… that you were all right,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks flush in spite of herself.

His brown irises scrutinized her with unusual intensity. The ex-prosecutor was one of those people who stared at others when conversing with third party. She'd grown accustomed to it, but the glow in his pupils that evening was a first. She even wondered if he'd ingested some psychotropic drugs or was having a bad reaction to the painkillers he'd been taking since Foyet's impromptu visit to his home.

“Why wouldn't I be?” he bounced, almost mockingly.

“Do I have to answer that question?”

No. Definitely, there was something wrong. He wasn’t his normal self. You couldn't go from exacerbated stoicism to the rebellious self-assurance of a teenager under influence, without having taken a more or less licit substance. Aaron rolled his eyes, dropped the door jamb, and returned inside the room dragging his feet. Emily only noted that he was in socks. Which wasn't unusual when you remembered that it was way past bedtime, but it was something new for her.

“So, I'm sulking, I'm a pain in the ass; I'm smiling, I must have a problem, he complained as he spun around to face her. Explain to me what I have to do to make things right?”

She hesitated to enter, uncomfortable. She was bewildered by the situation, not quite sure which way to turn. She had nothing to fear from the Hotch she'd known all her life; but this one seemed far more unstable than the other, and his actions were bound to be unpredictable. However, it was ridiculous to continue this discussion with her in the corridor. She moved forward and dared to close behind her. He stayed where he was, waiting for her answer.

“You… you have every right to smile, she began, weighing her words, but you must admit that what you did was...”

“Irresponsible? Yes, I know,” he conceded, looking at her unblinkingly, as usual.

“Why did you do that so?”

“I heard this woman screaming, and I jumped in to help her. If I'd waited for reinforcements, she'd surely be dead. Or seriously injured and thus traumatized for life, he imagined aloud. What would you have done in my position?”

The same thing, she thought at once. It was true that the protocols were designed to be respected – they had normally been established to ensure the safety of law enforcement officers – but the reality on the ground sometimes led officers to exceed them. She wouldn't have acted any differently from Morgan or him if she'd been there, that was obvious. She sighed and lowered her nose.

“Thank you.”

She raised her head immediately, confused.

“For what?”

“For worrying about me,” he replied with a shy smile that sent an armada of butterflies soaring in her stomach.

This very discreet lifting of his lips moved her every time, without her being able to determine why. When she caught sight of it, she felt the urge to take him in her arms and protect him from everything. When he let it show, he exposed a part of himself that possessed an almost childlike fragility. He'd seen all the horrors humans were capable of, and – as she thought – hadn't had the happiest of childhoods; and yet he retained a kind of candor that systematically touched her heart. Worst of all, he wasn't even doing it on purpose. However, at this hour, she had to ignore her emotions and distance herself from what that little voice was whispering in her ear.

“Everyone's worried about you,” she objected, her tone not quite as assured as she'd have liked.

“But you're the only one who's come knocking on my door.”

A bolt of lightning shot through her chest. He was right. After his dazzling coup, they had all more or less looked at each other quizzically, sharing the same opinion on what had just happened; but it was only she who had taken the step of checking that he was really all right. How should it be interpreted? How did he interpret it? From the smile on his face, he appreciated the gesture.

“I… You're tired, she remarked, reddening her cheeks. I should go.”

She hurried towards the exit, her heart pounding under her skull. But then he spoke again.

“Prentiss.”

She froze, her hand on the handle.

“Stay a little. I… I look okay because I'm still on adrenaline but... when it comes down, I... I don't know how I'll be able to... react.”

She bit her lip, sensitive to the quiver in his voice. He was being completely honest with her. Just as he had been on other occasions before, when it was just the two of them. She knew things about him – about his private life – that only she knew on the team. He'd never explicitly asked her to keep it a secret, but it was a given and she had no desire to betray his trust. His ex-wife had done it and it had broken him instantly. And since then, even though he's been able to put on a brave face, the cracks are still there. And there, he was afraid. He was afraid that this fall from his little cloud would be too brutal for his current wavering psychological state.

“Please.”

She turned around, retraced her steps, and sat down on the bench, with the door in view. Just in case.

“You have the right to say no,” he emphasized, remaining in the same spot.

“What?”

“I'm no longer your superior, so you don't have to follow my orders,” the giant reminded her, clearly embarrassed.

Emily realized that she must have adopted an attitude that made him think she was bending grudgingly, simply because of their difference in status. It was absolutely not the case. Unless it was his lack of personal esteem that was telling him that no one on the team was consciously standing by him to support him. Which, once again, was wrong.

“But you haven't given me any orders,” she contradicted him, smiling.

“I wouldn't want you to feel obliged to be here either.”

“You're not obliging me to do anything.”

“You wanted to go to sleep.”

“Hotch…”

The first time they'd had this kind of sterile stand-off was when they'd stumbled into the same hotel room and, at the sight of the single bed, he'd deliberately considered sleeping on the carpet. Back then, she'd won the negotiations, and that seemed to be the case tonight too, as he looked away from her steady gaze.

“So. What do you want us to do until you get back to Earth?”

Having been through this kind of situation hundreds of times, she knew that it could take several hours to get back to normal. It took the body a fraction of a second to bombard the muscles and brain with a shot of adrenalin, but an eternity for it to dilute and no longer take effect. If his body didn't receive any other stimulation, he could eventually fall asleep at around 3am. Otherwise, he could watch the sun rise without feeling tired.

“Toast.”

“What?” she croaked again, caught off guard by this suggestion.

She'd expected a lot of things, but certainly not this.

“To the success of our mission. The suspect has been apprehended and everyone is fine. This calls for a little celebration, doesn't it?”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. It was true that, notwithstanding this heroic but risky action, they had succeeded. And there was nothing unusual about celebrating the end of a case over a drink. But normally, they were all together, with Penelope; not two.

“We can toast with spring water if you like,” he said, taking out a bottle of still water from the minifridge he was crouching in front of.

“It's okay, she tranquilized him, with an amused smile. Bring out the booze.”

After all, what were they risking by swallowing the few centiliters these receptacles contained? Perhaps a slight easing of the weight on their shoulders, a brief muscular relaxation, an substitute of euphoria. Nothing that would cause them to completely lose their mind, or that would derail this impromptu tête-à-tête.

Aaron came and sat next to her on the bench with five bottles in hand. He let her choose first, and she settled on gin. He took the whisky and tossed the last three onto the nearby bed. In silence, they unscrewed their corks, sent them to the side of the disqualified spirits and knocked their respective bottles together, barely daring to look each other in the eye. She felt like a teenager drinking in secret from her parents, and this delicious sensation moved her curiously.

“Don't tell Morgan I made you drink; he'll arrest me on the spot.”

Emily burst out laughing, almost spitting out the sip she'd just taken. Undoubtedly, he too felt they shouldn't have done it.

“Don't worry, I won't say anything, she reassured him. It’ll be our little secret.”

For some reason, she winked at him to reinforce what her words. A strange gleam immediately lit up in the eyes of her neighbor, who was now observing her with redoubled intensity.

“What?” she asked, unsettled.

He didn't answer, frozen on his portion of the bench, then, without warning, leaned towards her and placed his lips on hers. Her heart leapt in her chest.

“Are you... drunk?” she questioned him after he had returned to his seat.

She had never seen him with such an expression. It was a mixture of... joy, apprehension, amazement, and satisfaction. Anyone who didn't know him and came across him at that moment would have taken him for an unbalanced person. She glimpsed something else.

“No,” he affirmed, shaking his head, still wearing the same silly grin.

That’s what she thought. He'd taken a gamble, venturing onto a slippery slope without even knowing if she'd be receptive. He'd potentially just shot himself in the foot, but in his own way, he'd just expressed what was in his heart. Maybe for a long time. And now, he was waiting for her answer. Emily could have dithered for hours on the question, for the problem posed was a complex one: both their careers were at stake, but not only that. Their lives, their relationships with the other members of the group, with their respective loved ones, also piled up on the scales. And yet, she doesn't think that long. She leaned in and kissed him back. Then she returned to her seat, tasting the peaty flavors of the whisky he'd been sipping.

Silence fell between them, and they stared into each other's eyes for a long minute. They no longer smiled, breathed, or thought. They both stood on the same crest of destiny, aware that a single step could tip everything one way or the other. Either they stepped back, and she walked out of that room without anything more damaging happening – and the harmony they'd had up to that point would probably be shattered forever by what they now knew of each other's feelings – or they moved forward, and their daily lives would be shrouded in secrecy – but they would live out the love they had for each other to the full.

Aaron put the miniature bottle on the floor, near one of the bench legs so as not to inadvertently shoot into it; straightened up, took Emily's face in his hands, and kissed her again. She shut her eyes, their tongues met, brushed against each other, wrapped around each other; while their bodies drew irresistibly closer. Soon, as they continued their oral exchange after a short pause to take a gulp of air, their hands set off on an adventure, traveling along their partner's forms through the various fabrics that still clothed them. She flinched when Aaron's fingers emphasized the curve of her breasts. He withdrew them on the spot. She caught his wrists and brought his palms to where they had been just before. She had been surprised, but had appreciated the contact, even if it had been indirect. Her lower belly wanted more, but she could understand why the former director was a little reluctant to take the plunge.

A reluctance that vanished all at once when he left her lips for the nape of her neck. He changed position altogether, rising to rest his arms on either side of the profiler's legs, before gradually sinking to his knees. In the meantime, he kissed all the exposed skin of her cleavage, slipping his hands under her red top to caress her burning bust. Her heart stirred vigorously beneath her ribs, and a delicious sensation swelled inside her. As if he'd felt it, the giant descended even lower, his mouth landing on her chest, between her breasts, above her navel and between her thighs. She was dressed in her pants, but this step had its effect. He didn't stop, however, continuing to place kisses all along her leg – grazing the other with the tip of his phalanges – until he reached her shoes.

He gently removed them under Emily's watchful gaze, very intrigued by this unusual protocol. He placed her booties next to the open bottle and, brushing the seam lines with his fingers, worked his way up to the buttons on her garment. She immediately understood his intentions, and a wave of panic suddenly swept through her.

“Hotch…”

“Aaron.”

She met his gaze, surprisingly calm and assured given the context, and her flush of stress disappeared in an instant.

“Call me Aaron… tonight.”

As if on cue, she nodded, and he unbuttoned her pants. And without any haste, he pulled it down, sliding it towards her ankles before removing it completely. For a second, she thought he'd take the time to fold it, but he left it in a heap on the carpet. On the other hand, he took advantage of the return journey to kiss her feet – he'd stolen her socks in the meantime – her ankles, calves, knees, and inner thighs, not forgetting to brush all her exposed skin. Emily had kept her eyes closed the whole time, won over by subtle waves of pleasure pulsing through her abdomen. A groan escaped her as his mouth made contact with her panties. Then she felt his tongue push through the lingerie and titillate her erogenous zones. She moaned a second time. It was already good, but still not enough.

“Aaron…”

He grabbed the edges of the lace and made it follow the same path as the pants. Her intimacy revealed, she felt a brief moment of discomfort annihilated by the arrival of Aaron's lips around her clitoris. He kissed her erectile bud with the same skill as her mouth before it. He sucked, suckled, kissed her excrescence delicately and thoroughly, while his tongue flicked back and forth between and along her intimate lips. He outlined the irregularity of her ridges, zigzagged around the edge of her cavity, licked the elixir that oozed from it and, from time to time, allowed himself an incursion into this still unknown territory.

Emily didn't know where to hold on to stem the flow of her sensations. Every micro-movement of the titan bombarded her with sparks that spread throughout her entire being. Every attention lavished on her button provoked ecstatic bursts that took her breath away as much as they made her whimper. She soon found herself on the verge of ecstasy. She then altered her position slightly, moving her pelvis forward and pushing against the expert mouth. He resumed his exactions in earnest, devouring her crotch with renewed ardor. She vocally encouraged him along this path, her fingers coming to grip that dark hair as pleasure rose, rose, rose inside her. She said one “yes” after the other and the last one died in her throat as the orgasm ravaged her chest, arching her back, tensing her muscles and blurring her thoughts.

She trembled once or twice more, and then released him. He moved away from her without getting up. Despite the happiness she felt at that moment, she immediately knew something was wrong. He didn't have the victorious expression a man in his position should have. On a contrary. She wanted to lean over and kiss him, but he pulled back.

“Aaron?”

“Prentiss, don’t stay here. Please,” he said with unexpected firmness.

“But… you?”

“I will manage.”

Without adding anything else, he got to his feet, turned his back on her and headed straight for the bathroom. He shut the door behind him. Emily was completely bewildered by this change of attitude. It was incomprehensible. He'd done exactly what it took to make her come and now seemed to regret it. Unless… That he suddenly realized that their relationship would never be the same again was a possibility that could explain this evasive behavior. But given his past, she imagined the problem came from somewhere else. So, she left the bench and undressed completely, determined to show him that he was mistaken.

Luckily for her, he hadn't locked the door after him, so she was able to slip into washroom without having to negotiate through the door. Especially since he was already in the shower and therefore unlikely to hear her. She almost fell against his belongings piled up on the floor and only stepped over them with an incredible reflex. She took the two steps to the cabin and entered. His back was to her, but he heard her and turned his attention to her without facing her.

“Prentiss?”

She had expected to find him masturbating, but this was not the case. She hoped he hadn't finished already.

“Call me Emily for... what's next.”

“But…”

“Hush,” she whispered as she pressed herself against him, her hands quickly skirting his sides and running down his torso.

One of them closed around his still-hard member. She let out a sigh despite the sound of the water falling on them. She began to move back and forth, and he instinctively undulated to the same rhythm. That was what she thought. He hadn't been retroactively afraid of what he'd done or put off by the idea of her reciprocating; he simply didn't want her to see him naked. Because of Foyet. Because of the souvenirs this madman had left him. Except he'd forgotten that they didn't have to be face to face for her to give him pleasure in turn. And to prove it to him, she repeated her gesture once, twice, with more amplitude and then, faster. He quickly began to pant, looking for a place to hold on to in order to postpone the generalized tension that was invading his body.

“Emily…”

She smiled and went on. Placing her free hand on his belly, she noticed that his abdominal muscles were contracted to such an extent that she wondered how he still managed to breathe. He was resisting. Even though he didn't have to, he gritted his teeth to keep from letting it all go. It was perfectly pointless, since she'd already gotten it off and that wasn't the point of the maneuver, but you couldn't erase years of training to be an enduring lover with a few caresses. She had to make him understand that he had the right to give in.

“Everything is fine, Aaron. Come.”

As she spoke to him, she continued her frenetic back-and-forth movements, which were now drawing gasps of pleasure from the giant. His hips moved to accompany her gestures and probably amplify his sensations.

“Come on. Come.”

Mouth open, eyes closed, all his muscles tensed, his left hand suddenly moved off the glass on which he was vainly trying to lean and went to grab her wrist. Not the one that stimulated him, the other one. He clung to it with all his strength that would surely leave her with a bruise the next day. But she didn't care at the moment, because she knew she was well on the way to achieving her goal. She pumped again with energy and breathed out:

“Come.”

A vibration shook his entire torso and he exhaled loudly before she saw his shoulders relax all at once. She didn't let go of him yet, supporting his sex as it gradually fell back, and brushed against the stitched skin of his chest. She only had time to feel the relief of his first scar before the hand that imprisoned her intercepted her and pulled her away from the battlefield. Not to reject her. On a contrary. Without facing her, he intertwined his fingers with hers and brought them up to his mouth to place a kiss on it.

“Thank you,” he whispered, in a hesitant voice.

“No, thank you,” she countered, kissing his shoulder.

She closed her arms around him and, with her ear pressed against his dripping skin, listened to his slowing heartbeat. They remained embraced until the shower water began to cool. Emily then decided it was time to slip away. If one day they wished for more, they'd find each other again and, she was sure, merge in a passionate embrace. Her lips pressed against his shoulder blade one last time, then she declared:

“Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night, Prentiss,” he replied without looking at her.

A few minutes later, she was in the hallway walking towards her room, smiling a little foolishly. She was convinced that what had happened was only the beginning of something much stronger and much bigger.

___

When I wrote this text, my brain ran wild imagining a full series of smut pieces of work with those two having fun without Aaron diving into her (only handjob, oral sex, and humping). Until he left for his retirement. But I dropped the idea thinking that it'll be boring in the end.

And I already have too many (more interesting) ideas for them.

So enjoy this one-shot. :D

#hotchniss #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss fanfiction #smut #dirty mondays

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blue-thief · 2 years

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cw: mentions of sa and csa

people who claim that no longer human is misogynistic kinda just. completely missed the entire point of women's role in the novel. like, it's far from a groundbreaking piece of feminist literature or anything, but to claim that yozo and his relationship with women is inherently disgusting is just... not 100% correct.

yozo felt as though tsuneko was the only other person in the world who felt as sad as him. yozo abandoned shizuko and shigeko because he felt like his presence in their lives was disrupting their happiness because shigeko said she wished her real dad would come back. though most of the criticism probably comes from yozo's marriage to yoshiko* because of how he referred to her as having some purity and innocence due to her virginity.

like yeah, that actually does sound genuinely gross and makes it seem as though he's infantilizing her, and if i ever saw something along those lines in literally any other context, i would be deeply concerned. but the thing is, there is a point to yozo's fascination with her innocence, as well as his "disinterest" in her after it was taken away.

yozo is fascinated with yoshiko's innocence and overly trusting nature because he is the exact opposite. he lost his innocence and his ability to trust in people, at least partially, due to the fact that he was a victim of CSA.

so, when yoshiko was SA'd, he did nothing to stop it. many people criticize him for this point exactly, but the passages following show how much emotional distress the event causes him. the last paragraph of the book is,

this year, i am twenty-seven. my hair has become much greyer. most people would take me for over forty.

and on the same page as yozo witnessing the crime against yoshiko,

my hair turned prematurely grey from that night.

the rest of the book is all about the guilt and despair yozo feels for not being able to defend yoshiko from that situation. but why did he do nothing? because after being confronted with a situation that made him feel powerless as a child made him feel powerless as an adult.

idk where i'm going with this honestly. this was just supposed to be a rant so that's why it feels so incoherent and the first paragraph isn't structured at all, but somewhere along the way, this started to take on elements of an actual well-thought analysis.

though i suppose i can say that the way no longer human was written can be summed up by the paragraph about yozo's perception of prostitution. "i could never think of prostitutes as human beings or even women" sounds HORRIBLE in literally any other context, but in the context of no longer human, it actually makes sense.

i could never think of prostitutes as human beings or even as women. they seemed more like imbeciles or lunatics. but in their arms i felt absolute security. i could sleep soundly. it was pathetic how utterly devoid of greed they really were. and perhaps they felt for me something like an affinity for their kind, these prostitutes always showed me a natural friendliness stripped of high-pressure salesmanship, for someone who might never come again. some nights i these imbecile, lunatic prostitutes with the halo of mary.

(also partially off-topic, but yozo's relationship with prostitutes early on in the book was his own way of reclaiming his sexuality)

i suppose that the point is that context matters, especially in the case of no longer human. people's criticisms of this novel just seem to simply out of poor reading comprehension (this is why i was mad that no longer human is now a "booktok" book. people on booktok just seem to have very poor reading comprehension skills overall, and i'll probably rant about that on its own some other time).

*an actual valid criticism of yozo and yoshiko's relationship would be the fact that yoshiko was only seventeen and yozo was in his twenties. then again, i don't know what the age of consent laws in japan were like at the time

#yeah this is a really unorganized rant i'm just mad about how many times i've seen this stupid criticism #no longer human #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #oba yozo #classical literature #classic literature #classic lit #classical lit #japanese literature #bookblr #booktok #tw sa mention #tw csa mention #ask to tag

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gaykarstaagforever · 4 months

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The Xenomorphs aren't scary the 47th time we defeat them with guns and explosions.

Alien was a horror movie about a cartoonishly evil space company and its buffoonish security detail, blundering into a civilization-ending threat that uses our own sociableness and bodies against us. And Weyland-Yutani's and the Marines' total inability to properly assess that threat, due to typical human failings, led to it killing nearly everyone. Ripley only barely survived and destroyed it because of the two fundamental human virtues, tenacity and ingenuity.

The whole reason the Xenomorphs are scary is because in that movie, they use EVERYTHING we are against us. We are their perfect prey. At least until everything but our basic survival skills are the only things in play, and then one person JUST BARELY makes it. We even have advanced androids and space ships. And it doesn't matter. The penis bug monsters with acid blood are very nearly too much. And they've destroyed bigger species than us. The fight is elemental and almost hopeless. Until hope is basically all Ripley has left, a terrified, desperate, enraged hope to kill this damn thing and survive. She is a lonely naked hominid up against a hungry cheetah, and all she has left is hiding and a rock.

You can't do a franchise with that. It robs it of any meaning. The Xenomorphs stop being horrifying if the buffoons are capable of shooting them to death. And what's the point of that? What are you getting out of it? Why bother?

All this later franchise focus on the Colonial Marines and the company. They are idiots! They fail! All the time! Their whole point is to show that our coporate and military might, with its rules and bravado and weapons, literally melts the second we run into an enemy that "fights" by consuming us, in its way. The Colonial Marines aren't badass heroes, fighting for a just cause. They're a pear-shaped joke used by selfish dipshits for bad reasons, that just makes everything worse. That's their entire point.

"The new Alien movies are bad."

Aliens was fine, but it was basically just an action remake of the first one, so it wasn't as good. And all of them have been unnecessary.

You like the Xenomorphs because they're genuinely horrifying, in the original context. Outside of that, they're just stupid space monsters with weird heads. Why ruin them? What thrill is there in seeing tons of them, all these different types, aside from just looking at someone's cool fanart and going, "yeah, neat"?

Why make movies out of that? It's devoid of everything that makes them WHAT THEY ARE.

I just don't get it. You like a thing so much you pay people to immediately ruin it...?

We do this with everything, including vampires and werewolves and elves, so it makes sense we'd do it with Xenomorphs, especially now that fucking Disney owns them. But there's no "mystery" why so much of the Aliens franchise is mid or shit. It directly contradicts the entire point of the thing.

It's like the Silent Hill 2 thing. You aren't going to "recapture" a vibe that was only a vibe because it was a one-time, unique new idea that knew what it was and was done well.

Make another scary space movie with a well-thought-out alien antagonist. THAT'S what you liked. Do that. Don't turn it into an army man playset.

Starship Troopers is the army man playset. And even that is just Paul Verhoeven making fun of how you still like army man playsets, idiot. Nice fascism you have there, stupid. Hope beating the bugs was worth the loss of basic human rights.

Also, in both the case of the Xenomorphs and the Bugs, WE STARTED IT. We ALWAYS start it. Because we're big selfish buffoons. Like the Ready Player Ones who keep paying for more bad Aliens movies.

Get the whole action playset today! By Kenner! Maybe you can use one as a sex toy! Will that fill the void?!

#rant #aliens #alien #xenomorph #only i get movies #because i'm not a woke sheeple like all you marxists

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yiippeeekaley · 10 months

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Surge's gimmick of confronting Sonic on his ideals barely works even within context of the comic but if you put her in a mainline game, she'd have no ground to stand on conceptually The whole thing about "your inaction is what brought me into a life of suffering" bullcrap only occurred because IDW sonic is a total dumbass. (If someone tried kidnapping and modifying two innocent people in the games, Sonic would have put a stop to it.)

Everything in this comic only "works" because the game originating characters are turned into idiotic parodies of themselves, but that's another topic

Surge didn't need to be this ultra complex philosophical tragedy(which was done very badly). She didn't even need to be a parallel of sonic (another trait of hers with terrible execution that only existed for cheap hype)

she could have just been a deranged weirdo that blows stuff up, and that would have been enough. But the team really wanted to have their "epic clash of ideals and beliefs" only for it to be shallow and devoid of any actual meaning. There's nothing wrong with wanting your characters to have depth, but if that's what you're going for, you need to actually know what you're doing. Otherwise, it comes off as hollow and needlessly preachy.

Honestly, Surge's conflict isn't special even if you go purely off the comic and nothing else. EVERYONE has been put through the ringer due to IDWSonic's inaction. EVERYONE has confronted IDWSonic on the consequences of his inaction. IDWSonic HIMSELF has had to face the consequences of his inaction, and he still carries on exactly the same.

The MV arc's main selling point is the entire world suffering due to IDWSonic's inaction. Literally, everyone on the planet has gone through pain, fear, torment, and forced bodily alterations because of this Sonic's laziness. The comic goes out of its way to constantly ask if he'll ever change his attitude or methods, just to give the exact same answer (frequently asking and answering the same question. How riveting)

So now I'm just asking, what is so special about this loudmouth pushover, who didn't even go through the worst of it? (I'm not counting the person surge would have been before starline corrupted her since she wouldn't have memories of that experience) Is it because she cried? Sorry, but practically everyone in this comic can't stop bawling their eyes out, so that doesn't mean much either. She didn't do ANYTHING of note.

Even the worst Sonic villains have a decent level of competence or considerable threat level attached to them. Surge simply hating Sonic and wanting everyone dead isn't enough to make her a scary monster. She needs to actually succeed at something

They expect us to go "HOLY FUCK" everytime mrs electric pineapple shows up or gets mentioned but why should we? she got humiliated every time she was on screen and had no long-lasting effect on anyone's lives. The only reason she's considered anything more than a nuisance is because the authors keep labeling her as something special. In the story itself, she hasn't done anything to earn fear, admiration, respect, or acknowledgment from anyone

It's weird. They WANT an extremely dangerous villain, but they DON'T want to make them a remotely capable threat. Does that make any sense to you?

People say, "That's the point! She's learning that constant fighting isn't what she wants and will start seeking a life of peace."

Hhhmm

Something tells me that's not what the crew intended.

Short version - Surge is completely meaningless, and the execution of her concept/character is riddled with self contradictory baggage

#rant

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ankhisms · 1 year

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thought a lot about art today as i mentioned earlier.. this will be very jumbled rambling but i shall now expand

after my mom and i got groceries today we stopped at this building that was hosting an art showing of a local art group, my mom wanted to go because she recently sort of reconnected with a lady she went to college with and this womans paintings were in the art showing so she wanted to see. we both ended up not being very impressed with the majority of the work at the showing, the lady who my mom knew probably had the paintings that i liked the most even without knowing beforehand that it was her. i always try to be very fair when it comes to art and im of the mind that even if i dont like a certain style or a certain piece of art that doesnt make it bad or devoid of meaning and doesnt mean its not meaningful and good to someone else, and i think art is something that every person is capable of doing in some fashion no matter your skill levels or capabilities theres so many ways to create art and thats what makes art so beautiful and amazing and deeply human. i really am aware that in the past ive been surrounded by very unhealthy and toxic mindsets when its come to art and its ended up hurting me and my growth as an artist and im still unlearning and working through allowing myself to be messy and make "bad" art.

so with that being said at the same time ive had this weird feeling that im not entirely comfortable with where like.. i looked at a lot of the paintings that were supposed to be realistic landscapes or still life and thought "i could paint this better". and i dont like having that thought. it feels petty and mean spirited. i dont want to be someone who thinks theyre better than others, and honestly my thoughts about myself and my creative work are usually the complete opposite. but for some context all of the women artists in this show were 60-70 years old and almost all of them had some kind of art degree, ranging from bachelors to masters degrees in art and several of them are art professors or teachers. one of them specifically whos paintings did not impress me is a painting teacher at my old college. all of them are clearly coming from wealthier backgrounds than me and my family and i should note that all of them are white, there were no women of color having their work showcased in this.

and it just feels very strange because its like i dont like having the thought "i could do a better painting than this" but at the same time... these ladies all have had so many more opportunities than me and my mom as artists and its like. from looking at the paintings of the one painting professors i felt almost relieved that i didnt take art classes at college when before i had felt kind of sad that i didnt have time in my schedule to take any art classes, because like it was very clear looking at these paintings that this lady doesnt have very basic art theory stuff in mind that i have taught myself with no real art schooling.

but then again i circle back into thinking about how i dont think people should have to have any real technical training in order to do art and people certainly dont have to go to school in art to be an artist yknow as i said before i think every person is capable of creating things and that art is a deeply human thing that is within each of us

i think its just weird because i know how privledged these women are, moreso than my mother and i, and they all are so much older than me and are supposed to be professional artists and yet its like you havent even done really basic stuff where your still life and your landscape look worse than the paintings i was doing in highschool. part of me feels like im just being bitter and maybe i am. i genuinely think my mother is an amazing artist thats not just me being biased because im her child ive talked before about my complex relationship with my mother but she genuinely is skilled and dedicated to her craft she works her ass off to have our family just scrape by and she works on her art whenever she has a little bit of time and the pieces she does are so beautiful and breath taking. but she was talking about how we dont have the money to properly frame any of her work and real frames like the ones in that showing cost a lot of money and part of me just has this anger inside me like. why do these rich ladies with their mediocre paintings get to be in galleries and be art teachers when my mom and her beautiful artwork doesnt stand a chance of ever getting in a gallery. and then i start thinking of all the amazing artists i know or follow online and how many of them are just struggling to stay alive and get their basic needs met and i get even angrier.

so yeah i dont really know if im contridicting myself by feeling that art should be accessible to everyone and that everyone is capable of doing art and wanting to encourage artists at all levels and not be an asshole needlessly to artists but at the same time. i was not impressed and felt bitter i guess. because of the rich ladies paintings. then again these ladies are calling themselves professionals and putting their work in galleries so i guess its not the same as just like seeing art online like i guess you have to expect people to critique you if youre calling yourself an art professional and having your work be displayed. anyway thanks if you read this love you

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burning-sol · 2 years

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Alright, I'm in the right state of mind to talk about Rumi and Exandroth's dynamic now. This is gonna be a lot of rambling. There is so much I'm putting it under the cut.

Okay so, if you're wondering why I think Rumi would ever consider even hanging out with Exandroth I think it primarily comes down to this: Rumi doesn't know Exandroth. And the difference between the Apotheosis canon and my Eldritchstrings content is that Rumi talks to Exandroth way more than they do canonically. And that alters Rumi's perception of Exandroth and makes their relationship a lot messier.

I think the biggest thing to understand, that would alter Rumi's perception of Exandroth, is just realising that Exandroth is not human. It's already clear that Exandroth is not human and weird and fucked up - but I mean realising Exandroth is COMPLETELY divorced from human experiences and emotions. Because while Exandroth IS an asshole and abusive as shit, I find it hard to imagine that Exandroth is acting with the same level of context as everyone else.

It's hard for me to explain so I'm just gonna steal this line from @/frostycola "He doesn't know how to feel anything other than the burning light of Retribution." Charlie describes that Exandroth's whole thing, is just that he is an angel of Retribution and Justice. And not even an angel of Retribution and Justice that is self aware, because he doesn't process the hypocrisy of his treatment of others. He only knows Retribution and Justice and is a force of nature devoid from its own actions. I think the most we ever see develop of Exandroth's identity and of its emotions is more towards the later end of the series - and it ONLY developed because it was inhabiting Peter and inheriting certain traits.

Again the long and short of it is that Exandroth is NOT human. And it was already a big enough point for Rumi to realise that Exandroth was earnestly just trying to do her thing as an angel - it would probably be a hell of a lot of something to realise that. That's literally EVERYTHING to Exandroth. A completely foreign set of values and feelings. And while Rumi may still despise Exandroth for everything its done (this doesn't escape me) I think Rumi is capable of being simultaneously confused and curious about Exandroth. And not even entirely curious of Exandroth itself, but also curious of what this means for their own identity.

I think Rumi wanting to understand and being curious is what would lead into a lot of interactions.

And you can see what sort of interaction I mean with this post (which actually sort of hit off, I wasn't expecting the response it got) where Rumi is basically trying to tell off Exandroth for not looking after his fucking vessel as usual, but also trying to understand Exandroth's weird behaviour. And I should point out that this is in that inbetween point of Rumi not processing that Exandroth isn't human. Because while Rumi thinks that Exandroth is trying to shield itself from a shame of being lonely, Exandroth is LITERALLY trying to communicate that angels don't experience loneliness. And Rumi is also projects a bit of their own insecurity which I put in the tags.

There's a lot of misunderstanding between these two because they're being informed by lives that are so different. Just pointing out this is not entirely on Rumi's end. For instance, I think Exandroth can see through Rumi's mask but doesn't think too deeply about if there's a reason behind it because Rumi doesn't address it. So Exandroth is under the precedent that it doesn't matter. But that's a bit of a side tangent.

I know it's a funny meme of "I can fix him" but I do think that Rumi might actually start to consider and try to reform Exandroth - either because they're curious or because they genuinely think (being Rumi) they are capable of such a task. Which is a VERY morally ambiguous thing to do for the obvious reason of. Rumi is being selfish here by sacrificing Peter's control under the promise of reforming Exandroth (which is NOT a guaranteed outcome). Something that would hurt Peter but that also Rumi would know (consciously or subconsciously) Peter probably wouldn't say no to. Afterall, Peter was the one who initially suggested reforming Exandroth. So Peter would feel pressured to agreed with Rumi. This is not a fair situation. Er I can't tell if this is off topic, I'm sorry I'm rambling a lot here because I have a lot of thoughts.

In general, it's a slippery slope because any time Exandroth is out it's at the expense of Peter. And while at first is may be "well a little curiosity never hurt anyone", the longer it goes on the more that time adds up. What turns these initial interactions into the Eldritchstrings dynamic is whether Rumi thinks it's worth having Exandroth out in order to satiate their own desires. And the more Rumi leans towards Exandroth, the deeper Rumi gets and the harder it is to climb back out of: because it then becomes increasingly harder for Rumi to justify their actions and the more difficult it is to look Peter in the eyes. At that point, there would be a layer of guilt keep Rumi pulled in.

Which, by the by, I think leads into my point that Peter is a moral compass for Rumi. Rumi admits that Peter is the one who must lead the group because Peter has the most heart. But as we know, Peter cannot talk to Rumi when Exandroth is out and Peter gets only a few glimpses of what Exandroth does when he's in posession of the body. This is not just Rumi chosing to spend more time with Exandroth, it's chosing to spend less time with Peter. Peter who would usually be there to lead Rumi in the right direction. A slippery, slippery slope.

But anyways on a completely different train of thought, Rumi might want to use Exandroth as a utility! Because while Peter is definitely full of potential and magic, he's not a SAFE option. It takes a while for Peter to develop his magic and it's not exactly the strongest. But you know what is reliable? EXANDROTH'S magic. And if Rumi weighed up the options and chose Exandroth for that reason, that could be a thing that happens. And it would suck. But it's a safe option.

Also if we went down a darker route, there's no way in hell that Peter would turn in a fight against Thanatos. But you know who would? More probably Exandroth! And Peter wouldn't have to see a thing. :)

Also I'm getting pretty winded because I've been typing for I don't know how long now. But just wanna bring up that Exandroth is an enabler. Exandroth has no reason to tell Rumi to stop insisting that Exandroth possess Peter. Exandroth being in love with Rumi but having no model of a healthy relationship could mean that Exandroth unabashedly would go along with whatever Rumi wants, not realising that this is not a good thing. Also Exandroth is like. A bad person. Rumi could probably find a way to reason with themselves that Exandroth is taking the blood on its hands instead of them. You know, Exandroth is just an easy out for if they want to morally compromise themselves.

But anyways Rumi can make bad decisions okay.

I have no idea if any of this makes sense and I'm not going to proofread this because I'm tired. I feel like I haven't even talked that much about everything. Eldritchstrings is very messy in general. I feel like it's hard to communicate which is why i sometimes just go ahead and draw or write because showing what I mean might be easier. I just checked the wordcount this is like a thousand words I'm going to just vibe for a while my head fuzzy.

#📚 my posts #📝 essays #jrwi eldritchstrings #eldritchstrings jrwi #jrwi miraclevessel #miraclevessel jrwi #edit: i checked i spent like an hour or maybe over typing this #no wonder im bonked out

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stillness-in-green · 2 years

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AFO Ask Roundup

Like the title says! Comments, quips, and asks about old Potato Head. Hit the jump.

Re: this post.

The thing to keep in mind with this, anon—and I can see where I could have been clearer before—is that things that I think would be funny are not necessarily what I think should be canon. Grandpa AFO would absolutely be bad canon, for all the same reasons and then some that Dad For One would be, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see some fun things to do with it in fanfic. It’s like shipping, you know? Just because it can be fun or interesting to explore in a fic doesn’t mean I want to see it happen “for real” in the story, either because I want the story to do other things or because I don’t think the author would do the things I would want them to.

Canonically speaking, I think what Shigaraki is and represents is best served by being as far removed as possible from “he only matters to anyone because he’s related to important people," but that’s looking at BNHA as an overarching narrative with big things to say about society, who it accepts, who it rejects, and what the responsibility is of the former to the latter. Also, as I said in the prior post, Grandpa AFO doesn’t click with what we already know, in ways that would reflect extremely poorly on at least Nana and possibly Gran Torino as well were it to turn out to be true.

Fanfic doesn’t have to concern itself with what would be good for the whole canon, though, nor is it beholden to what the canon has already established. So in a fanfic context, I’m a lot more willing to grant that it could be a fun thing to explore (and would be a nice change of pace from the literal thousands of Dad For One fics on AO3).

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I certainly do, anon! And yeah, AFO circa Kamino and its immediate fallout is a huge foundation for laying out what the problems are with the current writing of AFO and especially the AFO vestige. It's not like the work is entirely devoid of foreshadowing about the possession thing even that far back—I'd say there are two major instances—but man alive, does what AFO seemed to want Tomura to do back then not track with what he wants Tomura to do now.

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Something I remain grateful for in the way Eri’s quirk and its derivatives have been treated thus far is that they don't seem to have any effect on peoples’ memories, only their physical body, making it at best a stopgap for dealing with villains, reducing their capacity for harm but not removing their motivations to cause that harm. So AFO, even as he Babalities himself down to nothing, still retains his villainous mindset.

That said, for myself, I have strong feelings about who in this show has earned the right to hug rewound amnesiac villain children, but turning the situation around and handing AFO off to Shigaraki to, in some fashion, look after, would be extremely funny. Yoichi Hugs are probably only on the table when Baka Onii-san is on his way to the afterlife, though.

One thing I would get a lot of enjoyment out of is Baby For One being handed to All Might, but I fully admit that that’s entirely based on aforementioned strong opinions about who has the right to hug which villains. To wit, the fandom can’t get enough of stories where All Might is entrusted with Tenko’s second chance, to which my persistent gut reaction is, “NUTS TO THAT SHIT.”

All Might—who adhered to Nana’s wishes to not check on her family when she was alive, who spent forty years after she died never once even looking into the matter on the sly, who found out about her grandson and then let Gran Torino talk him out of doing jack shit about it—has not earned the guardianship of Tenko’s second chance.

Hell, so far as we know, he never even took the time (at least not on-panel) to explain Shigaraki’s connection to One For All to his own protégé. Deku might well have been hearing about it for the first time in the mindscape during the war, despite having had misgivings about the implicit accusation in Shigaraki’s hatred of All Might all the way back to their mall encounter.

If Shigaraki were to wind up (wind back?) as Tenko again, he would deserve to be taken care of by someone who didn’t consistently put him second, behind the wishes of a dead woman, the dour jadedness of an old friend, and concerns about making things too morally complicated for a teenager. My god, just imagine what kind of disasters All Might's penchant for secrecy might lead to in Tenko 2.0's life.

(We can call that another, "I'd read the fic, but keep it the hell out of the canon," scenario.)

ANYWAY, that’s all super off-topic, for which I apologize, but it is the reason I’d laugh my ass off if All Might did end the series with a villain baby to look after, but it isn’t Sweet Innocent Tenko like everyone wants; it’s Awful Abuser AFO.

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In that I have very little tolerance for late-series AFO at all, I like his Roman general look well enough, though I think his enormously ripped physique and incredible height are kinda…not…consistent with his earlier presentation.

I’d call that art style drift, but honestly, I think Horikoshi just doesn’t know how to draw a consistent musculature in anything other than the superhero spandex look. Re-Destro has the same wild inconsistency between how he looks in a dress suit and how he looks out of it. On the other hand, Endeavor’s always looked pretty consistent regardless of what he's wearing at any given time, so maybe it’s more a matter of getting comfortable and familiar with drawing a character’s physique in a consistent way that expresses Hori’s image of them properly.

I like being able to see his eyes, in any case—I’ve always liked the little hints we see of his bright eyes—and he’s got a great nose, a rarified commodity in the modern anime landscape.

But, that’s more about his handsomeness than it is his likeability. His looks are fairly immaterial to me on that front—I liked him best back when he had, or at least was pretending to have, moral nuance, and his appearance is neither here nor there where that's concerned. But his potato head look was definitely more distinct and striking, especially combined with how much of a physical threat he was even in a fairly decrepit state. I feel like that category of, “OoooOOOOooOOoo, scars and disfigurements, how scary!!” villains are usually more manipulators, evil wizard types, ineffable horror monsters, but AFO, when one can finally drag him into a fight, is really a shockingly straightforward brawler for a dude with his sensory impairments (and his alleged Intelligence stat).

In that sense, I can definitely see liking him better as a potato face rather than his somewhat generic good looks pre-injury/post-recovery. I feel much the same way about Shigaraki healing all of his scars and injuries, especially the one Re-Destro gave him.

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Thanks for the asks, anons!

#bnha #bnha afo #stillness answers #bnha rewind theories

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ogradyfilm · 3 months

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Recently Viewed - Dragon Ball: The Magic Begins (Ultimate Edition)

[NOTE: For the sake of clarity, this review will refer to relevant characters by the names established in Akira Toriyama’s original manga—because let’s be serious, nobody would willingly choose to call Son Goku “Monkey Boy.”]

I’ve spoken before about my fondness for bootlegs and “mockbusters.” From the various non-Disney straight-to-video Hercules cartoons to Zatoichi vs. Flying Guillotine, I simply cannot resist the allure of a rip-off of dubious artistic quality. One relatively obscure example of this phenomenon that’s been on my radar for quite some time is Dragon Ball: The Magic Begins, an unauthorized (and extremely low-budget) live-action adaptation of Akira Toriyama’s legendary manga series produced in Taiwan years before Hollywood’s Dragonball Evolution outraged anime fans across the globe. I never imagined that I’d actually encounter it in the wild, of course; in the past, it was rarely circulated outside of very niche conventions. In the era of streaming and digital distribution, however, it seems that no film stays unavailable for long…

So, what’s the verdict now that I’ve had the opportunity to see this notorious stinker for myself? Honestly… it’s not nearly as terrible as its dismal reputation would suggest. Make no mistake: it’s pretty bad… but its creative ambitions almost redeem its (admittedly significant) flaws. Indeed, its amateurish blemishes merely contribute to its inherent charm.

The movie earns points for being fairly faithful to the source material; with few exceptions, it adheres closely to the plot of the original comic—a variation on the traditional Hero’s Journey formula. This familiar structure—the call to adventure, gathering allies, receiving magical gifts, et cetera—serves the narrative well, evoking the audience’s fond memories of such classics as The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars. The infrequent deviations from the established canon are, in general, sensible and pragmatic. Grandpa Gohan, for example, is alive and well as our story begins; his (apparent) death, in fact, is precisely what motivates Goku to embark upon his quest to gather the Dragon Balls—a perfectly reasonable revision that raises the stakes of the central conflict considerably.

The film’s most glaring weakness is its abysmal pacing, which is paradoxically both relentlessly breakneck and slow as molasses. The entire first act is a rapidly edited sequence of action set pieces utterly devoid of any semblance of context. An interminable fifteen minutes of screen time somehow takes an eternity to pass in the blink of an eye—a thoroughly disorienting experience that literally gave me an anxiety attack. The climax arrives with equal abruptness: as our protagonists lament their inability to locate the seventh and final Dragon Ball, a minor supporting character suddenly reveals that he’s had it in his possession all along; then, with absolutely no buildup or fanfare, we immediately smash cut to the gang merrily assaulting the villain’s stronghold—an incomprehensible gap in continuity reminiscent of Grindhouse’s infamous “missing reel” gag.

Still, the movie’s small pleasures ultimately outweigh its superficial shortcomings. Featuring decent pyrotechnics, solid stunts, and genuinely impressive fight choreography (particularly during the duels between Goku and Yamcha), Dragon Ball: The Magic Begins is, if nothing else, an endearingly campy kung fu flick. While it’s far from a forgotten masterpiece, it nevertheless remains an entertaining enough diversion.

#Dragon Ball: The Magic Begins #Dragon Ball #Akira Toriyama #martial arts cinema #film #writing #movie review #so bad it's good

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emetheuhtitle · 1 year

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There are a few books I genuinly want to Gush now that I finished them: Dune, Dying for an Idea: Philosohy as a dangerous calling, The Wintersmith.

Dune

It's what I've been told it is. You hear things like 'The greatest' or 'the most influential' Sci-fi novel, and it shows. I wanted to read it for a few years; I always wanted a physical copy just for myself, and it took me a while, but here I am. The thing that shocks me is its directness throughout the entire book, from the start of every chapter, there's a retrospective work of the main character's* wife. You know almost everything that will happen, but you are devoid of context. In a sense, it puts you into Paul's flawed future vision.

Normally, when there's a Leto-type character, you need to go out of your way to criticize him. There's a handful of works that do not justify their main characters. Leto from early on, while loving and trusting, is always followed by a comment: propaganda factories, showmanship, and poison. "Arrakis keeps us honest" - it's a line followed by an explanation as to why Leto can at once rule out mass poisoning and why he can't use it himself. He'd have done terrible things if the need for it came to him; he just happened to die before that happened.

*More so than Paul: Jessica and the ecology of the planet are the main charachter of Dune. Although the Dune prophet eventually has Paul taking over for Jessica, she remains the focus of most of the book. She even gets the last lines in the book, explaining a remarkably progressive critique of marriage, which is wild for a book from the 1960s (The big 3-book novel came out in 1965; technically, it came out before that in the form of the Dune World magazine series, but I cannot be bothered to check the exact dates).

Now, Dune's focus on the environment is not a secret. The saying 'God made Arrakis to test the weak' can easily be understood as a 'Hard times create strong men' kind of thing. However, I oppose this interpretation. 'Hard times create strong men' is a saying that argues for suffering as a method of creating better people. It may be an easy jump to make, but the fact is that every Fremen fights to make their planet better, to have greenery and ponds. It's not about suffering; it's about necessity.

Interestingly, there's a parallel here that is not explicitly made in the book. At multiple points, the desert planet of Arrakis is compared to the Emperor's prison world. The Emperor, by making a hellish world like Arrakis, inadvertently created a breeding ground for the deprived and those with ingrained tendencies towards violence and murder. The Fremen of Arrakis, due to the nature of their planet, are inherently soldiers, and this is consistently mentioned throughout the story.

So, how does this tie into my point? The Sardaukar (Emperor's prison world soldiers) get defeated by the Fremen. While the conditions on Arrakis are comparatively harsh, the Fremen aren't inherently miserable. They're hopeful and have a deep culture and religion, which puts them in a slightly better position. It's not the harshness of the environment that defines people, at least not in comparison to how they respond to the demands of that environment

Dying for an Idea

Philosophy, my beloved! This book explores the topic of death and the deaths of philosophers. From Sokrat to Montaigne, Simone Weil to Pierre Hadot, Giovanni Pico della Mirandola to Patočka and Hypatia—this is an impressive list, and I've only mentioned a few. The book examines them with both respect and skeptical doubt. Its first half focuses on defining Philosophy as the gentle art of dying. Pico's perspective defines human beings as holy precisely because of their lack of meaning or completeness. We are special because we are incomplete, and his story is fascinatingly unhinged.

Hadot, on the other hand, explores the way we understand classical schools of philosophy, where the ultimate goal is not to construct a grand book of metaphysical theories, but rather to develop a method of living. And so, the book delves into various perspectives and interpretations of death. It may spend a bit too much time discussing a Nazi and a pissy baby li'l gremlin in a castle, but they too had their ideas. According to the book's argument, dying for an idea is a way of completing a philosophy and embodying its essence—the point at which a philosopher can no longer be pushed further.

Lastly, the book delves into the concept of philosophical martyrdom, which may seem unhinged. However, it then draws a comparison between philosophers and prostitutes, both of whom are often killed under the assumption that no one will care. Philosophers, in a sense, feed off this notion. It's neat. I like it.

The Wintersmith

Reading a Terry Prachett book feels like a gibli film. Espescially this one. It's very funny, it has alot of heart and enough steel to make a silly li'l guy.

#book talk #book recommendations #books #philosphy

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indigenousandnativewaysofbeing · 2 years

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Network Sovereignty Among Native and Indigenous Information Technology and Ways of Being

There’s a quote in chapter three of Marisa Elena Duarte's "Network Sovereignty" that sticks with me. It goes like this “Operating within a frame of biological determinism, they [colonists] asserted that the blood showed that the Havasupai people were not entirely Havasupai. Treating the blood as pure information—removed from its context, devoid of significance beyond that of the university lab—the researchers objectified the samples and invested them with values far removed from the desert canyon philosophy of the Havasupai people” (Duarte 36). The researchers were found to have an alternative agenda of “[manipulating] the DNA samples” (Duarte 36).

I want to make a few distinctions here because phrases like “biological determinism” and “pure information” are hard to grasp when you’re not overly familiar with them. Colonial researchers who inherently apply a different understanding of the world, of science, and of ideas of what they believe is true, what they believe the whole world should regard as true, neglected the historical events that led to the regional and global blending of genes for the Havasupai people. What’s more, these scientists have applied their own meanings and have stated them as a universal truth. What they then do with this “truth” is weaponize it against Native and Indigenous peoples. This led to new ways of thinking for Indigenous tribes. Now, they were also tasked with protecting their data and information “as a matter of the integrity of tribal ways of knowing and modes of self-governance” (Duarte 37).

Duarte defines tribal sovereignty in several ways, outlining a “dynamic relationship” between the tenacity of Native and Indigenous peoples and “over [a] millennia” of knowledge and lived experience regarding the homeland in which they protect (37). Eight rights define “Cultural sovereignty and legal-political sovereignty” for “federally recognized tribes,” such as self-governance, determination of citizenship, the right to “administer justice,” regulation of domestic relations, “property inheritance,” “taxation,” “conduct of federal employees,” and “sovereign immunity” (Duarte 37). There is a need to discern differences between the “integrity of a people [and] the integrity of their government,” as Native and Indigenous peoples nourish a long history of information, “tribal histories, languages, philosophies, spiritualities,” and “Indigenous modes of self-governance,” while also adjusting to ongoing colonial conflict (Duarte 37).

The motives of colonial America, then, have made it extremely difficult for Indigenous tribes to receive adequate broadband and internet services. “Inevitably, the decisions that tribal leaders make interface with the decisions and practices of neighboring governments,” writes Duarte when discussing the “Honoring Nations” program from the “Harvard Institute of American Indian Economic Development,” noting that information sharing in this way was designed explicitly with “intertribal and intergovernmental” connections and the accessibility of the Internet to the many tribal homes that lacked “basic phone, cellular, and Internet service” (49). Duarte also expresses the importance of “cultural sovereignty” among elders and younger members of reservation communities, writing that “tribal geopolitics—political boundaries, physical geography, seasonal cycles, [and] self-governance procedures” all determine the usage of ICTs (49).

The image in this blog post describes the broadband services found within the To'Hajiilee Indian Reservation. The sign is posted outside the "To'Hajiilee Senior Citizen Center," marking the beginnings of Covid-19. https://morningconsult.com/2021/11/22/tribal-lands-broadband-deployment-data-feature/#:~:text=The%20efforts%20of%20Indigenous%20leaders,percent%20of%20the%20overall%20population.

Edited: 5/2/2023

#network sovereignty

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your-regina · 2 years

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About fairness

Doesn't it feel unfair? I find it so hard to not seethe in the face of such blatant injustice. I believe fairness is much rarer than it seems, since even at birth the great majority of beings will be put into different levels of hell. In darker moments I tend to believe existence in itself is a curse, an atonement of sorts, because I can't accept that - even in the best iteration of life - every form of existence leads to struggle, pain and decay. The knowledge of death should be enough torment, but as conscious beings we can't help but go beyond. And thus we find ourselves in all sorts of fabricated predicaments.

Growing up, as I gained some understanding of the world I began to despise my conscience and the many forms of torture it posed for my existence, which naturally should have been way easier. I used to believe I'd be so much more at ease if I was some sort of plant, devoid of any knowledge of both life or death, or even uncaring of my own survival and all of its implications.

I jokingly said I wished I had been born as a microorganism destined to die in mere seconds with not an ounce of consciousness.

I think there are many things that make someone's life easier, such as money, beauty, status, social context and even some inner strengths or personality traits. As a kid, I was way too naive, enough to ignore the vast amount of differences between humans. I wholeheartedly believed in equality and stuck to the idea that everyone had primarily good intentions, despite having seen pretty awful people in action from a very young age. I kept this childish outlook on life for almost the entirety of my teenage years, even if at a first glance I seemed so negative and, according to some people who met me back then, unapproachable.

Even as the sheltered girl I still am, I've come to realize that not everyone lives in the same world. This is no longer about whether I'd be better off as a rabbit or a succulent, but rather about how much different my experience would have been if I had been born into a happy, wealthy or just barely better family. It sounds vane and shallow because it is, but am I not allowed to have petty complaints whenever I want? It's not like being in any other way has gotten me somewhere better. It's been a while since I've gathered enough decency to admit to being an insanely envious person, someone who not only fancies someone's money or position, but something as simple as their good mothers, their qualities and dreams. I doubt many people have ever resented someone for simply having an idea of what they want to do with their life.

Saying I can get jealous over someone's family can almost make me seem a bit better than I actually am, because this poison goes way beyond that. I hate thinking of how some people have never had to work hard to get anything in their entire life. I recall how I cautiously saved my mom's money when I was just a kid, simply because I wanted her to not worry so much about it, while out there many kids would throw tantrums whenever their parents didn't buy them something expensive. Even now, I can't avoid getting anxious whenever I have to spend money, even if it's absolutely necessary, like when I got extremely sick for many months and didn't go to the doctor until I collapsed that fateful night of January.

I've also seen where beauty can get someone, and sometimes, even if it's perhaps the most frivolous wish in the world, I keep thinking my life could be so much easier if I had some of that grace at least. I think a lot of human struggles revolve around beauty, of what is pleasant to the eyes. It is an everchanging concept, and one in which we can't seem to agree on. If humans collectively have made such a big deal out of beauty, why is it so wrong for a person to wish they had it?

I grew up hearing tales about otherworldly beauty and it always seemed to be so closely related to kindness and good fortune. No astoundingly beautiful lady ever went home poor and unfortate at the end of any fairy tale, just as every ugly woman faced the darkest destiny for the happy ending to come.

Although I wish I could defy the many standards set over the centuries, I've been trained to perceive certain things as beautiful and I can't seem to change my own ideals despite knowing they're likely not mine at all. I suppose this happens to most people, even though many may not be so aware of it. And just like that, I feel like we've laid a curse upon us all, setting us up for disappointment since birth.

As someone who was sadly not too blessed in that regard, I've been fighting my own selfish wishes in order to keep myself more at ease with this body I'll carry around for quite some time. But can you really blame me if I say I don't like myself and I wish I was vastly different? Even if you did, I'm way past caring about opinions, not when I've thought about this for such a long time, and when it's caused so much harm to myself.

I still think, through some amount of monstrous will power, someone could possibly rid themselves of such imposed wishes, but I don't think it would be neither quick nor easy. But because of that, I've worked on accepting myself as an ugly person and live as that without giving it much thought. But you see, if I ever mention this idea to anyone, they're so quick to tell me I'm not ugly and swear I do have some good features. This only reaffirms the fact that beauty is still important to everyone, important enough that they try to console me over the lack of it. Clearly, that's not what I want at all, or rather what I wish I didn't want.

Money and beauty are only some among the myriad of concepts that complicate life. Maybe I'm partially to blame for even stopping to complain for these little things, but are they really little at all?

I can't help but be bugged by the idea that some have been granted so much by existence while other will always have to crawl looking for scraps until they face the same gruesome fate as any other living thing. I can't stop hating the idea that I have to feel grateful for the little crumbs I've got even though I was cursed with the knowledge of the better things the world could have given me.

The tale of the forbidden fruit in the heart of Eden has always felt like utter hell to me. Why put something in plain sight for eternity and still warn not to ever get near it? Isn't that some sort of torture by itself? I wouldn't be the one to save us from banishment.

If I put it this way, does it sound overly negative? Does it make me sound like a bitter old lady? I do feel like that sometimes, to be honest. In any case, it's not like this is all that goes through my mind everyday. I think of much more mundane things, vane enough to make me look and sound rather shallow, and I'm the happiest in those occasions. But struggles inevitably lead to dissatisfaction, and I'm the sort of person who just can't keep her complaints to herself. Still, I've told you so many times how much I wish I could bring some warmth to the world, I wish I could be brighter. Because of this, I'd rather write a thousand unsent letters than to ever utter a word about these things to anyone, not anymore.

#regina's heart

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