#fujibayashi is getting on my nerves

[jxsterr]

the craziest thing about this quote i find is, again, not only is this Not touched upon in the game in the slightest, but how totk actively goes against this. i find it genuinely odd how going back in time to see her ancestors is “what changed her mind”

because if we think about this. right. with the fall of the kingdom after the calamity and the destruction of the castle and the castle town, zelda choses to put her people first and channel all of her energy into rebuilding the World rather than rebuilding the Monarchy. she chooses to rule amongst her people rather than Above in a fancy castle, something which the npcs in totk illustrate works so much better because of how much they love and adore her. zelda has so much more influence over her people and can help and do so much more as a princess on the Ground without any royal escorts breathing down her neck telling her what is and isnt a good idea. which directly shows that hyrule as a kingdom is stronger and much more united without an official monarchy. because people come together at the disappearance of link and zelda to find them, they build lookout landing specifically for it and work together to keep each other safe through the motivation of finding their heros because they’ve actually been given the chance to know them rather than a figurehead of them. in botw nobody really knows how to protect themselves, only a few travellers brave it in the wild and the majority stay comfortable in their towns until monsters start trying to intrude, but then in totk, after zelda’s Direct influence, they band together to protect one another AS WELL AS link and zelda. the people want to protect them because of how personal zelda’s help is

she has more power as a wandering princess than stationed in a castle!!!!!

pre calamity we know that realistically most people wouldnt have even known what she looked like, nor what she wanted for the kingdom or even her character since it was constantly getting smeared by gossipers around the castle, which would inevitably spread around. she was hidden behind doors in the castle as True Royalty and thus struggled to have any real impact on the world like she so desperately did. she tore herself to shreds trying to awaken her power just so she could help her people because there was nothing more she was allowed to do to help. and you’re telling me she would willingly choose to rebuild the monarchy and the kingdom as it was beforehand knowing that she can do so much more to help without the constraints of royalty??? doesn’t that just disregard all of her character development?????????

god knows if any of this makes sense

[mahouproject-one]

"Too weird to live, too rare to die." | Farah | Trial 4-2 | [RE: Results, Joon-Young]

All things taken into the potluck of consideration, they had to admit they sort of saw this coming out on the endless stretch of the horizon.

The vote for Mitsuo-- it was a vengeance vote really, wasn't it? A vote of pragmatism more than of any real authentic confidence or balls. The flaws were all in the fixings, looking back on those seconds before in 20/20-- why would Mitsuo Ueno cut throats for this motive? Surely the composer would be doing well to be forgotten and go incognito, if anything. This was rooted in rue, all this. Joon-Young Myung made sense. Joon-Young Myung was  the answer. And now Joon-Young Myung would kill for the second time in short follow-through. (You just couldn't trust a nice boy these days, Aphrodite almighty. Them's the breaks, them's the breaks.)

Great googly moogly; once again, it had all gone to shit. Little surprises there, miniscule minutiae of 'em. But if there was one faint, rusted, buried-in-lint-and-aged-shimmer of a silver lining to any of this shitfest shebang, it was that Farah Fujibayashi-Beauregard had narrowly dodged the bloody bullet that would have been Catching One Whole Feeling. By gods above, it had been a close shave! But, thankfully, they believed they just might be able to damn well slip past it to freedom, far away from the ticking doom that was catching The Feelings. It was great! Everything Was Totally Fine! (It was not. Probably.)

Initially, they were inclined to hesitate before embarking back to where they had once been, but something-- perhaps just how irreparably, absurdly gonzo this whole thing really was, as it flung itself off the roadrails-- pushed them away from Joon-Young, the supermodel murderer, and back to the caustic cold comforts of their little black notebook. Oh, they could visibly react to this more, with a "fuck" or a "hm..." or a "goddamn it, what am I doing" or a simiple "crikes", but they needed some sense, some sensibility, some hushed observation-- and where, pray tell, could they contextualise things into such pristine shells and shapes the way they could with writing? That was their duty. They had little more left to spread; this was but another notch on their collective bedpost of surrealism and misery, surely. They were just here to record as they witnessed.

And, ah, wouldn't they have swayed down that merry way of the eagle eye, if only Joon-Young hadn't locked them in with that look and those words.

Dropping their journo's pen with a clack!, Farah immediately looks up to lock gaze with Joon-Young, and something flashes across their features-- quickly, swiftly, rapidly buried underneath that wry, witty, jovially doomsday manner of theirs, and yet...there's still a small, subtle sign of a knit to their eyebrows as they speak-- and their words cut in sharply, clean through the air. Has Joon-Young...perhaps touched a bit of a nerve? (Not that they'll let it show, of course-- they're not the angry type. Or the upset type. Or the rattled type. They are done with the feelings-catching for this particular day, thank you--)

"Ah, please don't let me be misunderstood, Myung-chi. You're off the markings on my musings entirely. Listen sharp, don't just lookit."

Their stare stayed steely, methodical yet merry, in a way that felt...off. Not in a drastic showing of such, just off. They just kept looking.

"Read my lips, Dash. I'll try an' be plain Jane about it. I cawed about death not matterin' much of a whit...here. The now-now, specifically. In this highly particular, reticular hellhole. The rhyme to my reasonings down this particular road? Hell, just look 'round the room, my friend-- at, say, Miyu Suzuki-chi, for an example! She killed, she suffered, she died. But...she hasn't left for any other plane but you and I's, has she? Sure, she's moved to a state of halfs-- semis-- almosts--" (Miyu has heard this before, and they wonder what it sounds to her ears in this modern context)-- "but she's still here, a voice among the haunted crowd, a vox most phantom! She's not alive-- but she is here. The state's the same with the girl you sent to th' spirit level. The sorry sucker you and our thorny Rose here are about to enable the unholy sacrifice of. Sure, you killed 'em. But you can apologise tomorrow, can'tcha? Now, if we talk in terms of what'll happen after the storm if we manage to break this establishment-- that's a tread into the murkier waters, I'll throw that to you. But 'tween all that jazz and a dash of the Labyrinths-- how y'can get eviscerated entirely and get away clean as they come!-- doesn't that render the mutual murderous aspect of Ouryuu and the sellout's game here...a mild range a'moot? In a world where you can greet your dearly departed 'fore their flesh and bones are even loosing their fresh, what are the consequences? It's death, but it's not Real Death, is it?"

It's 1:42 A.M. and Shiny regrets all of her life decisions, but unfortunately, Farah has opinions. They continue unflinchingly.

"Real Death, now-- that'd be something like my dear old gran! See, she's sailed down the river Styx-- been a good couple a'months since it being so, I'd say. But she doesn't get t'stick around. She didn't get the chance on her hands to come back, be here, stay. I'm never gonna get a note on the back of an embroidered napkin from some sleazy retro-riche old restaurant from her again. I'm never gonna watch her go on a passion-packed rant about a corp that's crooked down to its bones, or ride on the back of her motorcycle, or tell her about my history teach's hokey take on McCarthyism, or gag on a sip of that ghastly tonic she loved because it tasted like that on the tongue, or crawl int'her attic space t'look at all her old badges and posters, or-- or-- ooooor--" they were pausing, goddamnit, you're not talking about this, stop talking about it, they don't need to know, look sharp, Fan, for fuck's sake-- "...Y'get the snapshot, don'tcha? And I've known far younger cats-- younger than you an' I, even-- to croak the bucket, and they don't get those chances, either. That's Real Death, methinks. Maybe it's luckier t'be able to leave this level of existence! Or maybe it's as hot as hell wherever the rest of 'em are. But it's different. So are the cluster of consequences, too. That's what my mode is, Myung-chi. And, y'know..."

They didn't have to keep the chatter up, and they knew it. They could just stay vigilant. But there was something else, and they couldn't help but speak that truth loud, but God, couldn't they just...

"...If your personal path of ponderings ledja down the path that I think life's insignificant, I'll have t'throw in an objection on that measure, too. Life, insignificant? Not by any scale, my man! Life's a giantess, as gargantuan as the Reaper! Just 'cause my prerogatives don't add up to staying on this particular playing field for much time doesn't mean I don't place a price on it. It's a beautiful trauma! A euphoria apocalyptica! It's terrible, gorgeous, slimy, grimy, sleazy, seedy, twisted, absolutely fucked! And it's a riot! It's a privilege and pleasure t'be here, and t'have gotten the possibility to drift the continents and see all the wicked the rotten motherfuckers of this world have had t'offer up to me thus far! I wouldn't try spend it like I do if I didn't place as much fucking value on it as I do."

What were they doing? Why? Why couldn't they answer their own questions about it?

"Don'tcha think I have a life outside? Dreams? Plans? Don'tcha think I wanna write a few more pithy politicking exposés, have a few more rounds 'round the block, maybe wander a few more lands, maybe give my Julie the biggest hug I can and tell her I'd shoot a guy on-spot just t'see her crack a laugh, maybe find myself a beautiful wife with a mind like acid, maybe dismantle the capitalist machine, maybe throw a solid couple a'wrenches before letting the wax wings melt and going all Bolivian army and leaving the place a little more shook up when we plunge off Thelma & Louise style?" Their eyes got wider. "Don'tcha think I've seen the circus spectacle they saw and mused 'bout how to at least make it worth the gawk? Don'tcha wonder if I give it moxie just t'make sure it's seen? Don'tcha muse that I have that deep-down yearn to be as witnessed as much as I do my best to bear witness to this whole thing? Don'tcha think that motive might've got me by the balls just as much? Don'tcha think I would've cut throat for that motive they saddles us to if you hadn't gotten your lovely self to the game first? It's not that I 'spect you to-- I'm not looking for answers, I'm just trying t'give you this forsaken rat's idea on it. Think about it, brother. Just that alone."

And suddenly-- all the built up intensity that their face had gathered, their knitted eyebrows, their hunched shoulders, their blazing blue eyes gazing, gazing, gazing-- all dropped. And they were just...

"...Just a glimpse onto my side a'the shimmering pane, Joon-Young Myung. After that, it's yours t'make the deducions on. And frankly, comrade..."

They shrug-- and they return, to their inscrutable, intensive, ever-extending journals.

What else was there that was close to real?