#i would rather be incredibly. HORRIFICALLY. wrong which for me is WORSE THAN DEATH

[maddiefriendlovesbilly]

Writing Challenge: how long can you go without looking at the ugly ass wiki for vital lore info to avoid burning your eyes out? my record is currently years long

[jayz4dayz]

Kakegayuri Headcanons Pt.3

Kirasaya edition~

Kirari has known about Sayaka’s undying love for her practically since she hired her as her Secretary. So Kirari being Kirari, she waited for just the right and most dramatic moment possible to confess that she felt the same. By jumping off a five fucking story tower with Sayaka as we all know. That part doesn’t change in my eyes.

Their first kiss was on the last day of the presidential election before the results were announced. Sayaka was a panic ridden mess and kept jabbering on and on about “what if” Kirari lost or “what will happen” to Kirari if she loses. Kirari eventually gets fed up with it and kisses Sayaka to shut her up. She says: “Sayaka, no matter what happens, I’ll still always have you by my side. That much won’t change.” Sayaka certainly does shut up after that and Kirari could finally get a moment of piece before the results were announced.

For the first couple weeks or so of being together, Sayaka is terrified of overstepping boundaries. She’s never quite sure if it’s okay to touch Kirari anywhere regardless if Kirari had made it clear that she wants Sayaka touching her. So for a while, Kirari initiated all of the touching, assuring Sayaka that it was okay.

Kirari had already been very touchy with Sayaka even before they were together, so that pretty much increases tenfold. And Sayaka can’t get enough of it.

The dates Kirari takes Sayaka on are either astonishingly romantic or just downright chaotic. It could be a candle lit dinner overlooking all of Japan while the sun sets or it could be getting drunk at an IKEA. 

Kirari really loves hearing Sayaka sing. Sayaka, of course, is always shy and self conscious about it so usually when Kirari hears her singing, she has no idea her girlfriend’s even there.

Sayaka loves leaving notes for Kirari when she’s busy during the day and can’t see her. Usually it’s through text and it’s something incredibly sappy. Kirari doesn’t mind though and quite enjoys receiving them every day. 

Kirari in return will often do small romantic gestures, like leaving a white lily in Sayaka’s locker or buying her something sweet for the afternoon.

Kirari’s love language is definitely through physical touch and buying things. Sayaka’s I’d say are through words of affirmation or quality time.

Sayaka is the first to say “I love you” to Kirari. She surprisingly isn’t upset or heartbroken when Kirari doesn’t say it back for the first time. Kirari at this point knows she’s madly in love with Sayaka, but saying those words out loud were... difficult for her. Sayaka completely understood, but didn’t cease from informing Kirari everyday that she loved her. And gosh, Sayaka nearly has a heart attack when Kirari finally says it back. 

It’s obviously very easy to fluster Sayaka. All Kirari would have to do is make a suggestive comment or touch her thigh and Sayaka’s face would turn bright red.

Flustering Kirari on the other hand is much more difficult to do. One way is for Sayaka to actually flirt back and come up with something even better than she did. Another is for Sayaka to initiate things like kisses or hugs or radiate top energy, something Kirari usually does. Once Sayaka figures out this flusters Kirari, you best believe she does it a whole lot more often. 

If you think that Sayaka is the more protective and jealous one in the relationship, you are wrong! Well, half wrong. Sayaka is more likely to be protective of Kirari and keep creeps away with her taser. Meanwhile, Kirari gives girls and guys death stares and even on occasion death threats if they are rumored to have a crush on Sayaka or try to confess their feelings for her. Sayaka is all hers and she doesn’t want anyone to forget it~

Fights between the two are very rare. The only arguments they ever have are student council matters or Kirari’s borderline psychotic ways of relieving her boredom. Other than that, both find fighting to be a waste of time and energy.

Kirari is a little spoon. You cannot convince me otherwise. Well, she would much rather be a little spoon, but would never decline being the big spoon if Sayaka had a horrible day.

Sayaka is an early riser whereas Kirari is a night owl. Kirari dreads having Sayaka wake her up on the weekends when she’d much rather sleep in and cuddle.

And then Sayaka complains whenever Kirari doesn’t come to bed whenever she wants to. Even if Kirari does, she’s just staring at the ceiling for a couple hours before she can finally fall asleep. During that time, she’d just watch Sayaka sleep and listen to her breathe. It’s calming to her. (This is assuming they now share a dorm room at Hyakkaou or something idk.)

Kirari often has nightmares to which Sayaka usually has to break her free from and assure her that everything’s alright and she’s safe. Kirari’s nightmares used to be horrific past memories about her family, but then they turned into something far more terrifying: Her family torturing Sayaka for information or worse, killing her before her very eyes. 

Sayaka can play several instruments very well, but her favorite to play is the piano. Kirari often requests for her to play classical music or on occasion to mess with her, meme music.

Kirari herself can play the cello and whenever Sayaka visits her estate, she will play it for her. 

After a while, the twin-swap trick doesn’t work on Sayaka anymore. She can just tell which one is her beloved without even batting an eye. Only one other person is known to be able to do this, and that person is Ririka’s significant other.

I personally believe Kirari would be the one to propose to Sayaka and she’d do it in the most extravagant way with the most expensive ring on the market.

Okay, so I plan on doing a part 4 for Yuriko x Midari, so be on the lookout for that one too!

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

A Small Price to Pay

doing this thing | day 1 - makeshift gag

"I cannot and will not." Jaskier puts his foot down - literally and metaphorically - and crosses his arms in Geralt's direction. Geralt just rolls his eyes and sighs at him.

"Then how do you propose we get past half the Nilfgaardian army?"

He's being ridiculous, of course; a few dozen men hardly constitute half their army, but he does have a point - Jaskier is disappointingly low on ideas. But the idea of being bound and gagged is just... well, it's not detestable but he'd prefer it under very, very different circumstances.

"We'll just go back. Or wait for them to move on." Geralt glances over to where three men are setting up a tent and quirks an eyebrow at Jaskier. "Oh, I don't know! There has to be something else we can do? Surely we can go around, through-"

"We've been delayed enough already. If we don't make it to Vengerberg in the next three days Yen and Ciri will leave without us."

Jaskier frowns. He does so enjoy travelling with Ciri, but the entire trip to Kaer Morhen without Yen sounds like a dream come true if he's honest. He wants to say as much, but he suspects it won't be taken well. Instead, he just continues to frown at the grass beneath his feet.

Truthfully, Geralt has a very good reason for not wanting to upset Yen - or to confront the army, to be fair - but has failed to take into account that Jaskier also has a very good reason for not wanting to be tied up. Nor does he seem to care as he rifles through his pack and produces a length of rope short enough to bind Jaskier's hands behind his back.

"But why does it have to be me? They're looking for you! I could just say I'm bringing you to them!" He takes a step back as Geralt moves into his space and the look he gets is incredulous.

"And risk both of us getting killed because I can't use my swords? I don't think so." Geralt reaches out to him and Jaskier takes another step back, promptly hitting the trunk of a badly placed tree.

Realizing he's trapped and Geralt is smiling about it, Jaskier sighs and relents. He turns around reluctantly and Geralt takes his hands, placing one wrist over the other. Under other circumstances, he would revel in this much contact, but right now he just feels defeated and apprehensive.

It takes all his concentration not to think while Geralt binds his hands. It's bad enough that Geralt is practically holding his hand, rough, calloused fingers curled around his own to steady him, but the rope. He doesn't know where it came from, but it's surprisingly smooth against his skin without even the reliably scratchy bits to distract him from the feeling of, well, being entirely at Geralt's mercy. And that- that is something he really can't focus on right now.

"Is it too tight?" Geralt asks and Jaskier doesn't trust himself to speak so he just shakes his head. "Your heart is beating too quickly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he mutters, staring too hard at his boots. "Nervous," he adds as an afterthought; Geralt won't shut up about it until he gets an answer that satisfies him and sometimes it's better just to lie.

"Do you trust me?"

Fuck, what kind of question is that? Trust is not at all the problem here. "Of course," Jaskier whispers and his voice comes out light and wispy, not at all what he was hoping for. But Geralt seems unfazed.

He finishes his task and returns to their packs. When he returns, he's got a scrap of fabric in his hand and if Jaskier's heart was beating quickly before, it's outright pounding now. Because Jaskier would recognize that fabric anywhere. He's the one who washes and mends their clothes and that right there is a piece of Geralt's unsalvagable shirt and it's not going anywhere near his face - not in a million years.

He opens his mouth to tell Geralt as much, but he just splutters indignantly as Geralt slips the material between his lips. With his hands bound behind him, Jaskier is helpless to resist.

"Surely, you've had worse," Geralt mutters and Jaskier doesn't know if he's referring to traumatizing experiences, embarrassment, or bondage but the answer is no almost straight across the board.

Because this smells like Geralt. And Jaskier doesn't know what he tastes like, but this is probably as close as he'll get, tasting the soap he uses to wash it and something he can't place but feels remarkably like Geralt. A sharp stab of want breaks through his composure and for a horrifying moment, Jaskier wishes the gag was covered in dirt or blood or monster innards.

"Ready?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just groans. He most certainly is not ready and if he thought pushing down his arousal was hard with his hands bound, it's ten times worse with Geralt's scent flooding his senses.

Geralt steps away to collect Roach and Jaskier takes a moment to try to breathe and compose. It works for the briefest of moments before Geralt appears out of nowhere, wrapping a firm hand around his bicep and hauling him forward. Heat spreads through Jaskier's entire body and he stumbles to catch up.

Either he's going to blow it for them because the guard will take one look at him and realize he is in no way a prisoner against his will, or they'll make it through and he'll be horrifically embarrassed for the rest of his life. It's not that he's ashamed of his sexual preferences, he'd just rather not share them quite so blatantly with Geralt.

As expected, a soldier stops them just as soon as they step out of the trees. Geralt's hand tightens a little around his arm and Jaskier tries to keep as close as he can to him without seeming suspicious. Geralt speaks before the Nilfgaardian even has a chance.

"I need to speak to your commander," he growls, low and commanding, "this man claims to have knowledge of princess Cirilla's whereabouts."

He isn't even questioned, the guard just mutters something and Geralt grunts a response and hauls Jaskier forward a little more roughly than necessary. Jaskier's cock twitches and he pretends not to notice as Geralt makes a self-satisfied noise at him. So he was right then. There'll be no living with him after this.

They make it to the opposite side of the Nilfgaardian camp, a safe distance away and Geralt finally released him, but it's too late for that now. Jaskier's cock has taken a distinct interest, what with the growling and manhandling and bondage that fucking smells like Geralt and is now pressed firmly against the front of his trousers, unmistakable in his current position.

Jaskier angles himself away from Geralt, and Geralt naturally reads him wrong and slips up behind him to untie the gag. Which is little relief at this point and then, as Geralt presses up against his back, actually so much worse than just keeping it on. Because Jaskier can feel the heat radiating off his body, can imagine what it would feel like if Geralt just took one more step forward and slotted their bodies together. Jaskier bites back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else, but then Geralt's hands are on him.

And who touches someone this much just to untie a gag? Someone who seeks Jaskier's imminent death via spontaneous combustion - or, apparently, Geralt. His fingers slip up the back of his neck, press lightly against his head. And if it's not bad enough that he spends an eternity untying the damn thing, he pushes his fingers through Jaskier's hair after before finally stepping away.

Which, Jaskier quickly discovers, is only because they've been followed. He drops to his knees to further hide his... situation and peers over his shoulder as Geralt strides toward the soldier, apparently unconcerned.

"What are you doing here?" the Nilfgaardian asks. Geralt cocks his head to one side.

"Nothing. And you're going to go back to your camp and forget you ever saw us here. In fact, you're going to tell your commanding officer the surrounding area is clear, no reason to send out scouts."

Jaskier just sits and gawks, horrified and betrayed, as the man nods and echoes Geralt's words back to him before turning away.

"Are you-" he splutters when the soldier is a safe distance away, "are you telling me you could have just done that the whole time!?" The faintest smile tugs at the corner of Geralt's lips and Jaskier could kill him. Might, even, if he wasn't still bound.

Geralt casts a final look to make sure the soldier is gone and crosses over to him. Jaskier shifts, but his mobility is limited without his arms to balance and Geralt crouches down in front of him, clearly pleased with himself.

"Maybe," he shrugs, reaching up to tip Jaskier's chin up. Jaskier's heart is in his throat and he can't fucking believe this is happening to him. Either Geralt has some very surprising feelings about humiliation or he's a grade-A dick. "But then I wouldn't get to see you like this." His voice goes very soft at the end and Jaskier shuts his eyes, biting down on a groan.

Either Geralt is a very cruel man or somewhere along the way Jaskier passed out from the lack of blood to his brain and he's dreaming. But Geralt's fingers feel solid and real where they slide against his jaw and he's close enough now that Jaskier can feel his breath on his face and oh-

Geralt's hand settles on his thigh and Jakier's eyes flash open, searching Geralt's for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing. If he doesn't do something soon, Jaskier's going to do something incredibly stupid that he'll probably regret. He sits back on his heels, pulling out of Geralt's touch and looks up at him.

"You knew?" he asks.

"No. I was joking when I said I could tie you up and take you through the camp, but the way you reacted-" he hums and Jaskier's resistance fails him.

Geralt shifts toward him, dropping to one knee as he reaches out, running his fingers down Jaskier's chest. And Jaskier is weak to resist him. He presses up into the touch, only barely conscious of how needy he must look and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I wanted to see how far you'd let me go," he breathes, "I didn't think you'd actually let me do it."

"You're an arse," Jaskier huffs and Geralt grins at him.

Jaskier doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. This is a side of Geralt he's never seen before and he's not sure how far he'd actually take it. Geralt moves closer, kneeling between Jaskier's thighs and it's all Jaskier can do not to lose control right there. Geralt's breath dusts over his jaw and Jaskier lets a soft moan slip out as he shuts his eyes.

"You didn't think I'd just leave you like this, did you?"

Everything in Jaskier's head comes to a screeching halt and before he can even consider whether or not that means what it sounds like it means, Geralt's hands are on his trousers, working them open and slipping inside. Steady fingers curl slowly around him and Jaskier loses control of his body in an instant. A sharp whine slips, unbidden, from his throat and his hips snap forward against Geralt's hand.

Fuck, he doesn't even remember the last time he was this turned on.

"What was it," Geralt asks, sliding his hand maddeningly slowly against Jaskier's cock, "that got you so worked up - the rope or the gag?"

"Both," he whimpers, "and the uh- manhandling."

"Hmm. I was just trying to make it seem realistic."

"Mission- ah!accomplished."

Geralt shifts to sit on the grass and with one quick motion gets both arms around Jaskier's waist and tugs him into his lap. Jaskier shuffles forward, encouraged by the way Geralt's hands slip to his ass, squeezing almost playfully. Jaskier tips his head up and Geralt catches his mouth in a rough kiss, nearly dislodging him in his enthusiasm.

Jaskier's head swims. He's never known Geralt to be so forward with anyone, much less with him, and the thought of it makes him impossibly harder. He aches for Geralt's touch again, rolls his hips forward encouragingly but Geralt's hands remain firmly in place, pulling him in closer. Here, Jaskier is pressed right against him, can feel the firm lines of his chest and the surprising press of Geralt's cock, thick and hard where it fits up against his own.

"And what about you?" Jaskier tries, feeling much more suave than he sounds, "what's got you so hot and bothered."

One of Geralt's hands slips up his back, right up his neck and into his hair, pulling his face right up against his own. Their noses bump together and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath against hi, and then they're falling, dropping back into the grass beneath them.

"Just you," he breathes and Jaskier feels like he could combust. Geralt keeps a hand on him, rocking up against him and gods, he feels incredible. Geralt mumbles something against his lips that Jaskier doesn't quite catch and then Geralt is reaching between them, tugging his trousers open and pushing them down.

Jaskier rises up as his cock slips free and he finds himself staring, unable to look away. His lip is trapped between his teeth and Geralt reaches up, gently freeing it and running his thumb along the sensitive flesh. Geralt tugs him forward, grinding up against him and Jaskier drops his head against his shoulder, hips shifting quickly.

"Should I untie you?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically, pressing his forehead into Geralt's skin.

"Please," he groans, "I want to touch you."

Geralt doesn't move, but reaches around, fumbling with the rope as Jaskier kisses him again. As soon as he's free, he gets one hand on Geralt's face, sliding the other up through his hair, groaning as Geralt rolls him onto his back.

He should probably be more concerned about the Nilfgaardian camp only a few hundred meters away, but all he can think about is Geralt's cock against his own, his hands, his mouth.

Jaskier comes with his legs wrapped around Geralt's hips, completely entangled and the sky darkens above them. He doesn't move for a long time afterward and Geralt kisses his neck, slides a hand up under his shirt to brush his fingers over Jaskier's skin.

When he finally settles, he rolls onto his back, tugging Jaskier up against his side.

"Yen's gonna be pissed," he mumbles, tipping his head to press a kiss to Jaskier's temple.

"A small price to pay."

[that-house]

Viego Rant (villainy and character design and tragedy and all that jazz)

Introduction The more I think about Viego, League of Legends’ newest character, the more enamored I am with him as a villain (unrelated to his general sexiness, though that does tie in with what makes him such a good villain).

I’ve seen a lot of complaints about his design. The Ruined King, one of the greatest threats in Runeterra, the progenitor of the Shadow Isles, the lord of the undead, is finally released as a playable champion and he looks like this:

People were expecting another Mordekaiser (who is similarly an undead king with a ghost army), a lich-tyrant clad in iron, decayed flesh peeling from an aged face. What we got was an angsty anime prettyboy, and it was infinitely better than the alternatives. 

Lore Viego isn’t a conquering king. While his combat abilities are indeed badass, his personality is far from it. He’s a whiny brat and that’s incredible. He isn’t bent on world domination. His character arc revolves around just how human, how fallible he really is. For those unfamiliar with his lore, I’ll paraphrase it here:

Viego was the second son of a great king. Overshadowed by his brother and with no expectations upon him and near-limitless wealth, he wandered around being an idiot fuckboy for the vast majority of his formative years. Disaster struck when his brother died in an accident, and Viego took the throne with no training, no experience, and no desire to be king. He was a shitty king. The worst king. Just all-around apathetic. Gave zero shits. Can you blame him? It’s a lot of responsibility to be thrust upon someone who isn’t much more than a child, and with no preparation. He didn’t care about anything, that is, until he met Isolde. She was a poor seamstress, but he fell in love with her upon their first meeting. Together they ruled the country but it was really just them staring longingly into each others’ eyes. His allies were kinda fucking pissed about that, and one day an assassin came from Viego. The assassin fucked up and stabbed Isolde instead, and the poison on the blade made her fall gravely ill. As she lay in her bed, slowly dying, Viego went mad seeking a cure. He ravaged the land seeking any knowledge that might help, pouring all of his money into finding an antidote. He failed. As a last resort, he brought Isolde’s body to the Blessed Isles, a place rumored to be able to resurrect the dead. It worked, to an extent. Isolde’s wraith, confused, afraid, and angry at being ripped from the peace of death, unthinkingly stabbed Viego in the chest with his own magic sword, creating basically a magic nuke that turned the Blessed Isles into the domain of the undead. Viego resurrected as the king of the Shadow Isles some time later, having totally forgotten that Isolde killed him. He controls a big-ass ghost army, could probably beat up any living thing in a fight, and has evil ghost magic. Now this stupid simp wants his wife back and if he has to kill every living thing on Runeterra, well, anything for his queen. He’s even a tier 3 sub to her Twitch.

Music His musical theme isn’t some heavy metal anthem or intense cinematic piece (unlike the Pentakill song named after his sword, Blade of the Ruined King). It’s mostly sad and slow, almost sinister, with a piano and a music box. It has its loud moments featuring violins and choral bits like any villainous music, but the song is mostly subtle. It is a banger though.

In the comments section of this video, someone pointed out that the music reflects his story from beginning to end:

Everything about this champion is so well done. Riot Games really outdid themselves on this one. Bravo, encore please.

Motivation While the Mordekaiser circlejerkers on r/LeagueofLegends won’t shut the fuck up about how powerful Mordekaiser is, Viego is the better villain. Mordekaiser may be a bigger threat to all life on Runeterra, but Viego is a better character. (There’s a guy on my League discord server who won’t shut up about Mordekaiser so forgive me for being pissed at Morde stans).

Mordekaiser is motivated by a desire for control, to rule the world. Viego is motivated by obsession and misplaced love. There aren’t a lot of Mordekaisers on Earth. Supervillains are rare in real life. But Viego’s motivations are a lot closer to home. People in positions of power that they don’t deserve can do a lot of harm (for example: Trump).

He’s a grieving husband who was never prepared to deal with anything more difficult than choosing what wine to drink with dinner, who is trying to get his wife back because the world had always complied to his every whim. He’s a funky mix between a truly hopeless romantic and a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum.

Obsession is scary. It’s a real-world emotional state that’s been the cause of a lot of murders over mankind’s history. In contrast, Mordekaiser’s cartoonish Genghis Khan XXL schtick isn’t something that we encounter often. Of course a superpowered ultradictator would be worse for the world, but if you give ultimate power to a random person, you’re more likely to get someone like Tighten from Megamind. Or, more relevantly, Viego.

Design His design is sexy and stupid, just like him. He wears an open shirt into battle and wields his sword like an idiot (I’ve seen all the rants about how that’s not how that sword is meant to be used) because he was never really a warrior. Even at his most violent, right before the end of his mortal life, he didn’t do much combat himself, leaving his military endeavors to his underlings. Even now that he’s essentially a god, he still has a colossal wraith army that causes far more devastation than he ever could personally.

Despite his slim build (by League of Legends standards), he easily wields his colossal sword because of the strength of his state of undeath. Like his political power when he was alive, his posthumous magical and physical powers were never something he sought out, they were just given to him by circumstance.

The big cool-ass triangle hole in his chest where Isolde stabbed him is the source of the Black Mist, which is evil ghost mist that ebbs and flows from the Shadow Isles, bringing with it hordes of the undead. The sadder Viego is, the more Mist he creates. Poetically, his invasion of the world is inspired by his sorrow at his wife’s death and enabled by his wife’s reluctance to return to him. His story is perfectly reflected by his design.

Isolde Isolde’s spirit took up residence inside a young Senna (who’s another League champion, not particularly important here). This led to some Black Mist-related shenanigans and at least for the time being, Senna uses Isolde’s power to fight off the servants of Viego which threaten all life on Runeterra.

It seems pretty clear that whatever love Isolde felt for Viego is gone by now. Whether or not she ever loved him or was just unable to say no to the king is up for debate, but I’d like to believe there was something there. In my opinion, Viego’s story hits harder if they really were a great couple at first, torn apart by circumstance and obsession.

Much like the Maiden of the Woods in that one comic that circulates around here, to whom the knight gave his heart and she was like “yo what the fuck i literally never asked you to do this,” Viego went a little too far in trying to save her. They may have once been happy, but the Ruined King ruined his own life, too.

Unless Isolde is a lot less morally decent than we’ve been led to believe, I doubt she can forgive all the massacring that her husband’s been doing lately. In the recent cinematic, she was shown to be pretty anti-Viego. Maybe she’ll get a bastardization arc, but it certainly seems unlikely.

All of Season 2021 is based around Viego, Isolde, and the Shadow Isles, so we’ll just have to see what comes next. It’s possible that we’ll get Isolde as a playable champion, which should clear a lot of things up.

Final Thoughts Unlike so many villains, he’s not fueled by rage or hatred, but rather by sorrow. He’s stuck in his past, unable to move on. He regrets the actions of his life but is set on his course now. The sunk-cost fallacy comes into play here; he’s put so much time and effort and blood into bringing back Isolde, that turning away from it would feel to him like an insult, not only to her but to the innocent lives he’s taken in her name.

His tale is a tragedy, a love story gone horrifically wrong. Viego has suffered throughout his thousand-year life. Despite this, he’s undoubtedly the villain. His permanent death would be a net positive for the world. In has rage and grief he’s destroyed multiple civilizations, and will burn down the world to get Isolde back.

His heart may be in the wrong place, but it’s in a very human place. I don’t think he’ll get the ending he’s looking for, but I hope he finds some closure in the end.

[iturbide]

the fact that edelgard is the villain in 3/4 routes and yet intsys STILL glorifies her to no end enrages and annoys me. no other villain has been given that perspective of “well actually maybe they arent so bad” except for the hypocritical tyrant. even when she has *literally become an inhuman monster* intsys is still like “oh no dont worry she was right actually!” and it upsets me deeply

It upsets me, too, friend.  IntSys seems to really like glorifying people who don’t deserve it, especially in recent games (Walhart in Awakening, Rudolf in Echoes -- I can’t say if his whole ‘orchestrating a plan to have his son murder him’ thing is carry-over from Gaiden or not, but it definitely exists in the recent remake so I’m including it), but Edelgard actually ends up as a bit of a weird case. 

(I have a lot of thoughts about this, so I’m just going to cut preemptively.)

Now, I’m actually not opposed to Edelgard being the protagonist of the fourth route in Three Houses.  Anyone who’s been here a while knows that I generally see Grima, a figure that IntSys generally tries to paint as a rote villain, as at least a sympathetic villain (and possibly even a secret hero in the events of Awakening itself); it’s entirely possible for someone that’s a villain in most of their appearances to have legitimate reasons for what they’re doing and why, and revealing that in their personal route could be incredibly powerful if done well. 

And here’s the thing: Edelgard really is a compelling character, in large part because of her moral ambiguity.  I actually agree with her when she says that the Church of Seiros is corrupt at its core and the system needs to change.  She’s right about that!  While Seiros might have had decent reasons for establishing things this way, over the past thousand years human societies have changed while the church itself remained stagnant -- something potentially exacerbated by her selfish ambition to restore her mother -- and this has led to a structure that once served an important purpose becoming a toxic and destructive mess for humanity at large.  Edelgard has a completely valid point there, and it’s something that I could absolutely get on board with if she had gone about achieving change in some other way, because she does have other methods available to her that she writes off without real reason -- and even that can relate back in part to her deep trauma and difficulty trusting people after the betrayals she faced at the hands of her “uncle” and her own father’s powerlessness to stop the nightmare she and her siblings suffered through. 

IntSys probably could have crafted a narrative that showed from her perspective why she believed war against the Church was the only valid option available to her.  The issue is that she undercuts her own argument by targeting all of Fodlan, rather than specifically going after the Church: she doesn’t give the Kingdom and Alliance a “stay out of my way or else” warning, she literally turns her sights on the Kingdom as soon as the monastery falls and attempts to fully annex it once Cornelia sets up Dimitri’s fall, leaving the Alliance only because she has her hands full with Faerghus.  She didn’t have to take Cornelia up on her offer of making the Kingdom into the Dukedom of Faerghus and sending troops to finish the job: she could have just left the woman to her own devices, forcing the Twisted to utilize their own people to maintain and secure full control of the region while she worked on addressing the systemic issues, which would have had multiple benefits:

The Imperial Army doesn’t get overwhelmed and exhausted fighting in conditions they’re not equipped to deal with, leaving them stronger overall while the Twisted forces are potentially weakened by the same

Hubert is able to better assess the threat they’re dealing with, including learning their capabilities and possibly even where they’re coming from before Merceus

Edelgard actually puts her money where her mouth is and ends up helping the people she claims to be doing this for, rather than just using them as fodder for the war to grind up

Unfortunately, the way she’s written ends up just making her an imperialist.  She’s not just going after the corrupt core of the Church, she’s trying to forcibly unite the continent and return Fodlan to some long gone ideal where it was all united under the Imperial banner because she refuses to believe that Adrestia could have split by natural causes.

Crimson Flower ultimately ends up being a particularly egregious example of this glorification phenomenon in action because they give her a personal route that makes no effort to critically examine her actions and make her face consequences for them.  This, I think, does her a massive disservice as a character, because that aforementioned moral ambiguity that makes her so interesting could have been utilized to great effect -- and the proof is actually there already, because they do it in Dimitri’s route.

Dimitri is himself another interesting character, and outwardly presents as Edelgard’s polar opposite: he recognizes that he doesn’t have all the answers, struggles to figure out the correct course of action when presented with difficult subjects that have  no clear-cut answer -- like the fact that reliance on the Crest system is toxic for noble families, but it’s those very Crest-bearers and their Relics that help keep Faerghus safe from invasion by Sreng -- possesses incredible strength but specifically refrains using it in most cases to avoid harming others, and generally takes everyone’s problems onto himself to his own detriment.  He’s also deeply traumatized and was never given a chance to deal with it in a healthy manner, which contributes to how he snaps -- and Azure Moon starts with Dimitri being so far out of reach that you can’t unlock any of his supports and can’t even engage with him in the weekly discussions.  He’s lost himself to his survivor’s guilt and need for vengeance, considers himself to be nothing more than a monster, and has no qualms about killing if it helps advance his quest; as the story progresses, he faces a direct consequence for this murderous inclination in the form of Fleche who attempts to exact vengeance for her brother’s sake in the same way that he’s attempting to claim it for his family and friends -- only to lose Rodrigue, and have his dying words be a plea for Dimitri to live for himself rather than those who died before him, at which point Dimitri sets his sights on opposing Edelgard rather than killing her and seeing to atone for the crimes he committed.  While I think the game made the change a little too abrupt, it’s handled well overall, and shows a real development arc complete with both actions and their associated consequences that directly relate to Dimitri’s growth as a person.

Contrast this to Edelgard in general and Crimson Flower as a route.  Edelgard believes that she has all the answers despite not trying to engage with anyone outside her own House, decisively chooses what she believes to be the right and proper course of action regardless of how difficult the subject matter, possesses great strength (both physically and of sheer will) that she uses to dominate others, and forces others to join her in addressing what she sees as problems -- such as her line about making her own people into “worthy sacrifices” for her “higher cause.”  Crimson Flower is the only route where her attack on the monastery fails to capture Rhea, but once Byleth returns she sets her sights on attacking and subjugating a territory that has remained entirely neutral through the past five years, turns on the Twisted while she’s still in a vulnerable position which ultimately causes the deaths of at least a third of the forces she left at Arianrhod once they fire their warning shot, lies to her friends and allies about what happened there, murders her step-brother, and allows a city full of trapped civilians to burn unchecked while she deals with what she considers to be the “real” threat on the opposite side of the Faerghus capital -- and all of this is capped off with her never dealing with the Twisted, and cute little endcards that talk about how everything worked out fine and there were no problems ever, The End.  Edelgard doesn’t get a development arc in her route: she’s never challenged, she never faces real consequences (and the one she does face she literally lies about to her friends and then leaves as a problem to deal with later), and she pretty much ends the game exactly where she started it: completely assured that she made the right choices.  The moral ambiguity inherent in her character is instead cast as “of course she’s in the right, she’s so great and there’s nothing at all wrong with what she’s doing or how she’s going about it, isn’t she wonderful?”

At least in the main game, Hegemon Husk Edelgard is treated with real gravity, shown as the pinnacle of her drive to see her ambition come to fruition and the tragic consequence of her inability to change course and find another path.  The Forging Bonds event just takes the CF brush and paints her actions as the right ones, even though what made her so compelling is that her reasons were right while her methods were horrific.  Edelgard really could have been wonderful.  The potential is right there in her character.  But IntSys completely botched the execution of it, so that her route feels rushed, incomplete, and at best unsatisfying (or, if you’re me, utterly disgusting for how it glorifies imperialistic conquest), and her Heroes appearances only make it worse.

[hotchley]

the first christmas

please don’t judge the title or quaity of this, it’s 00:50 and i’ve not proofread it. we’re just going to go with it.

summary: it’s baby hotchner’s first christmas that he’s actually going to remember. it’s mostly pure fluff with like the smallest amount of angst, but the ending is happy and nobody dies or gets hurt so we’re classing it as a win. and fluffy.

trigger warnings: implied/referenced child abuse

read on ao3!

Christmas was fast-approaching, and they still weren’t ready. Initially, Dave had wanted everything to be perfect. Now… he just wanted everything to be ready before Aaron woke up. SSA Hotchner had taken a tumble into a river and emerged from it as an eight-year-old. Well, a sort of eight-year-old. He had memories of being an adult, but they were fuzzy at best. And his speech, the way he did things, and his size were that of an eight-year-old.

Jack seemed to be having the time of his life. Dave was just worried they were going to do something horrifically wrong. Like Christmas. Hotch never really opened up about his plans for the holiday season, and now, every time someone tried to get him to open up about what he wanted to do, he clammed up. Or he’d change the subject.

One time, Spencer had asked, and he’d run out the room before he could even finish the question.

They stopped trying to ask him after that. Jessica had no idea what his Christmas traditions had been growing up as her family had only moved when he was going into his senior year, and after him and Haley got married, she still never really knew what the two of them got up to. Jack had seemed uncomfortable when they asked him. After much prodding and gentle confirmation that there would be no judgement, no matter what he said, Emily managed to pry the information from him.

In the years between the divorce and Haley’s death, Christmas was spent with Haley and Jessica, with Aaron there but not really there because you could cut the tension with a knife. After she died, Hotch had always sent Jack to his grandparents for Christmas because then he could see his cousins and spend time with the family he rarely saw. Which meant Hotch usually spent Christmas as an adult alone and sad.

He couldn’t believe none of them had ever realised, but then JJ and Will would always go and see her mom. Spencer would go down to Las Vegas. Derek and Penelope would go to Chicago and then to visit her parents grave. Dave’s plans varied on who was in the area and Emily usually went as far from her family as was possible. But they had all at least had someone. Hotch had nobody.

Rossi suspected that was how he spent a lot of his childhood too. There was no other reason that he would be so small. Because Rossi remembered Jack and Henry when they were the age Hotch now was. They were both healthy and lively. Hotch seemed far too small and far too nervous for a child that was supposedly safe.

He shook his head and stared at the sight before him. The tree that he had gotten at the last minute was still bare because every time he tried to decorate it, something just wouldn’t look right. Garcia was going to come round with cookies and the rest of the team would also be arriving at various different times with assorted items. He knew that meant presents.

Garcia arrived thirty minutes early. When he opened the door to her, he was greeted by bags. Lots and lots of bags.

“Penelope, what have you done?”

She walked in with the two smallest and lightest bags. He sighed and picked up the rest, following her into the hallway as she toed off her shoes and hung up her coat.

“Well Hotch won’t open up about Christmas so we don’t know what traditions he remembers or did. Which means we need to do all of them. I have decorations, cookie ingredients, stockings, films, books and of course, everything you need for the perfect hot chocolate. And he may still believe in Santa so there are some carrots and mince pies.”

“Wait. Cookie ingredients? I thought you were going to bring them?”

Garcia didn’t respond. She’d walked into the living room whilst she had explained what was in the bags and Rossi suspected it was because she hadn’t heard him. He sighed and followed her in. She was staring at the tree.

“What is that?” she whispered, seemingly horrified.

“Look don’t judge me. I tried to decorate it. Multiple times. But every time, something just didn’t look right and I had to start over. I’m a perfectionist. Sue me.”

She turned and stared at him. “Rossi, I don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, but a Christmas tree isn’t supposed to look perfect. It’s supposed to be fun. And I know you want to surprise bossboy, but I think he should be involved. After all, he probably doesn’t remember a single Christmas fondly.”

Rossi realised she, as always, was right. “I guess I got so caught up in trying to get everything to be perfect for him that I forgot it was meant to be fun.”

“Would you look at that? He’s willing to admit when he’s wrong. Where is baby Hotchner at the moment?”

“Upstairs, napping. I don’t think he slept well last night. I also don’t think he likes being called baby Hotchner given that he’s not actually a baby.”

“Well what am I meant to call him? If I say Hotch, then it sounds like I’m referring to the big, mean to unsubs but sweet to the rest of us, federal agent. And Aaron just feels wrong.”

Rossi smiled at her antics. “Maybe. We’ll come up with a better nickname at some point. Do you want me to get him or will you be okay?”

“Oh I’ll get him! Kids that have just woken up are the cutest thing ever!”

Twenty minutes later, Garcia came down the stairs, her hand being held by Aaron.

He looked tiny, even for a child. His pyjamas, which consisted of a green dinosaur top and matching bottoms (only the bottoms had different dinosaurs all over it whilst the top was a single red one) seemed to swallow him up. His hair was falling in his face and incredibly floppy, only made worse by his recent waking up.

It was an adorable sight, watching him rub one eye to get the sleep out.

Dave crouched down, even as his knees winced. Aaron stared at him with wide eyes.

“How are you feeling little one?” he asked.

Aaron shrugged. “Miss Penny said that we were going to do something fun because of Christmas, so I guess I’m okay.”

It took Rossi a moment to understand what he was saying. He doubted any of them- aside from Will- would actually be able to understand his accent immediately for a long time.

“Yeah. We are going to decorate the Christmas tree that’s over there, and then we’re going to bake some cookies. Then, we can all sit on the couch, drinking hot chocolate and watch a film that you’ll get to pick. And after that, when it’s time to go to sleep, we’ll read a special Christmas story!” Garcia said, more excited than the actual kid.

Aaron turned to stare at her, a little disbelieving. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah baby Hotchner. Really.”

He still seemed suspicious. “No catch?”

Garcia’s smile faded and she sat beside him too. “No baby. No catches.”

Hotch regarded her for another moment then turned to Rossi. “Promise Mr David?”

Dave’s heart cracked a little. “I promise.”

“Okay. How do we decorate the tree?” he walked over on little legs to stare at it in awe, before moving onto the bags. He looked at Garcia for permission to look through and when she nodded, he smiled so brightly that Dave wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.

Garcia turned to Dave. “Rossi, I-”

“Don’t. Not now. He’s very perceptive. Aaron, we can decorate it however you want. You’re too small to put some of the stuff on, but if you tell us, we’ll do it for you. You can do the branches that are lower down.”

Aaron dropped the tinsel. “However I want?”

Garcia nodded. “It’s your tree.”

Aaron grinned and immediately started dragging all the decorations that he wanted to use towards the tree. Both adults got the hint and stood up, walked over to him and started talking about where the best place to put the various items was.

JJ and Derek came in halfway through the decorating process. Aaron froze momentarily, but when they both smiled and complimented the very hectic tree he relaxed and carried on like nothing had happened.

Morgan lifted him up so he could put the star on and Hotch let out a childish squeal that none of them were ever going to let him forget, and just like that, the tree was done. There was tinsel in all the colours of the rainbow draped over random branches, and baubles hanging off every available surface. The lights were wrapped around each section, going the opposite way to the tinsel and the star at the top was crooked. In Dave’s honest opinion, it looked horrific. But Aaron’s smile and pride in his creation made it beautiful.

When Spencer joined them, right before they started making the cookies, Aaron went into shy mode and hid behind Dave’s legs, peering out from behind him to see Spencer joking with Morgan and Penelope.

“Do you want to go and say hi to Mr Spence?” JJ asked gently.

Aaron shook his head. “Last time he was here, I ran away so I don’t think he wants to be my friend.”

JJ looked shocked. “Of course he wants to be your friend! He gets why you ran away, it’s okay darling. You don’t believe me? Okay. Hold my hand, and I’ll show you how much Spencer wants to be your friend. Come on, let’s go.”

He looked doubtful, but Hotch liked and trusted JJ so he stopped hiding and went over to where Spencer was.

“Hotch! Hi there!” Spencer greeted.

Hotch looked up at JJ who smiled encouragingly.

“Mr Spencer, are you angry at me for running away?” he asked.

Spencer frowned. “No. Of course not. I was a little bit upset, because I thought you didn’t like me, but now I get why you ran away and it’s okay. We’re still best friends forever right?”

Hotch nodded, face very serious. “Forever.”

“Well now that’s been established, lets make some cookies,” Derek said.

“You just want to eat mine,” Garcia scoffed.

“I’d rather eat something else of-”

Garcia hit him. “Not in front of baby Hotchner.”

“Miss Penny? When is Miss Emily going to be here?” he asked.

As if on cue, the door swung open to reveal her. “You really shouldn’t keep the spare key under your doormat. Anyone could just waltz in.”

Hotch threw himself into her arms and she stumbled back slightly. “Oh hello child.”

He looked up at her, cheeks slightly flushed. “Hello Miss Emmy. We’re going to make cookies.”

She smiled. “I love cookies. Do you?”

He nodded. “Miss Penny made some a week ago, but these are going to be special because they’re Christmas cookies. She decorated the tree as well, but I got to tell her what to do. Come and see it!” he said without breathing before dragging her to see it.

The others just shrugged, not willing to dampen his spirits.

“I love him as a kid,” Derek commented as they watched him explain the tree in extensive detail.

Baking cookies consisted of Garcia telling the others what to do and then doing it for them because they couldn’t do it right and Aaron giggling at all of them for being silly. His eyes lit up when Garcia gave him the bowls and a spoon before telling him to eat the cookie dough.

He watched the oven very intently. Reid sat beside him, and before anyone knew what was happening, Hotch was running over to them and asking if they wanted to hear what Dr Spencer- not Mr- had taught him.

Garcia let him decorate a whole batch. More icing ended up on his poor countertops and Aaron’s clothes than on the actual cookie, but if you didn’t look too closely, his reindeer and snowman actually looked like they were the things they were meant to be. And then Derek let him have two, which led to Spencer chasing him all over the mansion- not the house- to burn off the energy.

After several hours, they both collapsed on the couch. Aaron climbed into Garcia’s lap, eyes bright and cheeks red.

“I had so much fun Miss Penny!” he exclaimed.

“I’m so happy for you. Do you want a hot chocolate? We can put… marshmallows and cream and cinnamon in it,” she said.

He smiled. “Please Miss Penny.”

“Okay kiddo. One hot chocolate coming right up.”

He settled onto the couch, nestled in between Dave and Penelope when she came back and handed him the mug, full to the brim with cream and other assorted toppings that were definitely going to ruin his teeth.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever had,” he whispered to her, as though it was a very important secret.

“Even better than Mr David’s spaghetti?” she teased.

Aaron paled and seriously considered her question for a few moments before giving the slightest nod. Garcia squealed then went silent when Dave shot her a strange look. It was halfway through Nativity! that Aaron drifted off, the events of the day finally catching up to him.

Derek was the only one able to carry him up without waking him, so the moment they all realised he was indeed sleeping, they switched the film off. Whilst Derek took the sleeping Hotch to Dave’s guest room that they were going to redecorate as soon as possible, Emily grabbed the first book off the pile and followed. The rest stayed downstairs to wrap the presents that Garcia had left in her car, just in case.

Upstairs, Derek and Emily were watching Aaron sleep. Emily read him Stick Man, deciding it was the best story they could have picked.

“He’s so small,” she whispered.

“He shouldn’t be,” Derek said, switching Aaron’s nightlight on before stepping out the room, leaving the door slightly open.

Emily sighed. “Why are we so full of sadness on Christmas Eve?”

Derek wrapped an arm around her. “It’ll all be fine. There. Optimism.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled at him fondly. “Let’s just go help the others wrap, and by that I mean eat the mince pies meant for Santa.”

It was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes.

Dave woke Aaron up slightly later than normal, deeming the events of the previous night reason enough to let him sleep in.

“Merry Christmas little one,” Dave said.

“It’s Christmas?” Aaron said.

Dave nodded. “And I want you to come and see something. You don’t need to get dressed or anything like that. Actually, do you need to pee?”

Aaron nodded, so Dave let him go.

When he came back, Dave stood, ready to just go downstairs when he picked up on Aaron’s hesitance.

“What is it?”

Aaron stared at the carpet for a few moments.

“Little one, you can tell me.”

Aaron didn’t say anything but made grabby hands.

Dave smiled. “Of course.” He picked Aaron up, regretting it almost immediately but only setting him down when they were about to go into the living room.

“Close your eyes. I promise you it’s a good surprise.”

He only hesitated for a moment before complying and walking in, both hands covering his eyes that were almost certainly squeezed shut.

“Open your eyes,” he said, flicking the light on at the same moment that Aaron did.

“Merry Christmas baby Hotchner!” Garcia shouted.

The others chimed in with their own festive greetings.

Aaron seemed overwhelmed, so Spencer went and knelt beside him, explaining exactly what they were going to do, which calmed him down as he started smiling and seemed very excited for all the presents that were under the tree and addressed to him.

Hours later, when Aaron was resting his head on Spencer’s lap so his hair would be played with, Jessica and Jack arrived, having left her dad’s house early. They watched the scene play out from the doorway, smiling when Dave walked over. He nodded in acknowledgement, not wanting to disturb the scene they were all watching.

“He looks so relaxed,” Jack said.

“I still can’t get over how well you’re taking this,” Jessica admitted.

He shrugged. “I’m just trying to not think about it too much. If it means Dad is going to smile and have some better memories, then I’ll choose to focus on that instead.”

Dave smiled at that. They would worry about the cure later. For now, they would give Aaron some better memories.

When they were winding down for the day, Aaron went up to Dave and Penelope, Spencer holding his hand as the two of them were Best Friends Forever and had to do everything together- Aaron’s words.

“Mr David? Miss Penny?”

They paused in their washing/drying duties and turned to face him so he knew he had their full attention.

“Yes?” Penelope said.

“This was the best Christmas ever.”

Penelope scooped her into his arms, and when the others realised they were hugging a definitely touch-starved Aaron, they all came running over and in that moment, there was no evil or bad in the world because for the first time, child Aaron Hotchner felt completely and utterly safe.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Character Thoughts - Finwë and Turgon

These are two Silmarillion characters who, despite not having done anything objectively terrible, frustrate me deeply, and who I tend to feel very judgey towards.

With Finwë, I don’t have strong opinions on whether or not it was right for him to remarry - it was a complicated situation and difficult for everyone involved (which is basically what the Valar ended up saying). But I don’t like his treatment of his family with Indis. I don’t like the favoritism towards Fëanor that makes it seem like he’s apologizing for Fingolfin and Finarfin’s very existence. I don’t like his refusal to do anything about the divides within his family even when they start embroiling the whole of the Noldor in political conflict. I really don’t like him responding to Fëanor pulling a sword on Fingolfin and threatening his life by siding with Fëanor. What is Fingolfin supposed to conclude from that? How he he supposed to feel? How could that not give him the impression that his father doesn’t care about him at all? And on the political level as well, decamping to Formenos in temporary abdication is pretty much the worst possible thing he could do - as the narration notes, it makes Fingolfin king by default and so appears to validate all the Fëanorians’ conspiracy theories, something that wouldn’t have happened if Finwë had deigned to do his job. (I’ve read claims that Finwë leaving was a protest against the Valar passing judgement on a Noldor matter, but that doesn’t scan for me. The Valar are incredibly lighthanded throughout - they invite the Elves to share their home, welcome them, give them free rein, and the only two rules they enforce are “don’t threaten to kill people” and “don’t kill people”. [And leaving Finwë to rule on a case involving wrongdoing by the son he’s consistently favoured would break every concept of ‘conflict of interest’ - even assuming Finwë would do anything at all, which is not something one could clearly conclude from his previous actions.])

My opinion of Turgon has gotten worse since I processed the fact that Idril was a young child during the Return of the Noldor, something that I hadn’t realized for a long time. Who drags a child across the freaking Helcaraxë when they have other options? I am not in any way letting Fëanor off the hook for betraying and abandoning the majority of the Noldor - you led them into this, this was your idea, some of them have fought and killed their kin in a battle you led them into, so you’re damn well responsible for leading them whether they like you or not, and their needless deaths are on your head. Nonetheless, Turgon looked at two choices - one that was horrifically dangerous, and one that was humiliating but safe - and chose the former. When you’re choosing whether or not to take your young daughter into a situation that has a high probability of killing her, “the alternative would would be very embarrassing” is not a very strong argument! Yes, he would also be leaving a large part of his family, but the Eldar deeply value children - I think all of them would definitely understand wanting Idril to grow up peacefully in Tirion rather than crossing a frozen hellscape. (In retrospect, it was clearly a very good thing for Middle-earth that Idril was there, because she’s an intelligent, clearsighted and heroic person who is responsible for saving a large part of the Noldor who made it through the First Age - but no one knew that at the time.)

And I think, from Elenwë’s death onward, that Turgon is heavily driven by regret for that choice, because he turns around and tries, insofar as possible, to pretend that he hasn’t made it. He walks away, recreates a replica of Tirion in Beleriand, and has as little to do with the war as possible. (And then refuses to leave Gondolin despite Ulmo’s advice, even though Ulmo was largely responsible for Gondolin existing at all.)

And in that way, Finwë and Turgon are acting similarly: they’re trying to have things both ways. They are, at the same time, both too committed to their choices and not committed enough, and in their own ways try to walk those choices back at the precise point after they’ve become irrevocable. Finwë chooses remarriage and then spends all his time favouring Fëanor over the family that is the product of that remarriage, and leaving them for Fëanor when the split (due to Fëanor’s actions) becomes complete. Turgon chooses the crossing of the Helcaraxë, loses his wife, and once he’s in Middle-earth, spends his time wishing he was back in Valinor and trying, insofar as possible, to recreate his home there.

It’s a rather different, and contrasting, case from the characters, like the Fëanorians, who make very clearly wrong decisions and refuse to turn back from them. In the case of Finwë and Turgon, the pivotal decision each of them makes is a genuinely difficult one with strong emotional ties on both sides and understandable feelings for and against - it’s not inherently or fundamentally wrong - and they make things worse by trying to walk it back or compensate for it after it’s too late, rather than owning their choice and moving forward. They’re simultaneously too stubborn and not stubborn enough.

[imaginaryelle]

Meta: Luminaries and Power in MDZS

Apparently I’m doing meta for the Untamed Winterfest “star” prompt (day 14) because I keep thinking about “rising stars” and “falling stars” and supernovas and the sun and guiding stars, which makes me think a lot (a lot a lot) about Wei Wuxian, and the Wens, and Jin Guangyao, and Lan Wangji.

Like, we have the Wens here, right?

And the Wens are basically the cautionary tale for the whole rest of the plot. “Do Not Covet Power” the story tells us over, and over and over, “Power Will Turn Against You,” but the Wens come (chronologically) first. They wear the sun, and the phoenix. They stand triumphant, the brightest star in the sky, and they start thinking that means they are the sun, the source from which all other power flows, the unkillable generator of life. And so the sun turns scorching—there are too many suns in the sky, shoot them down or all life will burn—and the rest of the world snuffs them out, one by one (until one single sun is left, excuse me while I cry over A-Yuan; okay, we’re good).

Pretty blatant, in-your-face cautionary tale for a whole generation, right? Maybe even two generations? “Hey, look, those people over there, they tried to gather up all the power and they died horribly, maybe we should not do that.” Except none of them learn anything. Anything. They still all think it’s about who’s right, completely ignoring the fact that they’re all operating under a “might makes right” mentality, the lot of them (Especially Jin Guangshaun, of course).

Wei Wuxian starts out as a rising star—the child who came from nothing, but he has so much talent and he shines so bright that no one can ignore him. Even when they hate him, they can’t look away. (He’s also pretty much the only cultivator who regularly talks to the everyday people of the world as if they’re equals, but that’s a whole other thing.) He freely gives power away when he gives Jiang Cheng his golden core. It doesn’t define him, it’s just a tool, which has been very useful but which he can do without.

Honestly, I think if Wen Chao hadn’t found him and dropped him in the Burial Mounds he would have found something else to do. He’d likely stay with Jiang Cheng (who would have to know about him not having a core, once he found Wei Wuxian basically half-dead in that town, I don’t think Wei Wuxian was originally planning to hide that part once it was finished), and still be part of the Jiang sect and consult on tactics and do work that you don’t have to be a cultivator to do (which is a lot, really). He’d still have all the competent-gentleman-skills: archery, riding, calligraphy, etiquette and math, as well as all the general knowledge he’s collected from a truly rarefied education. He can’t use a cultivator’s sword, and he’ll never attain immortality, but there are plenty of other cultivators whose sword skills and quest for a longer lifespan are suspect. Maybe he’d still go on night hunts. Maybe he’d write excellent training manuals or mentor Jiang-sect kids. Maybe he’d make lots of talismans and just wave that in everyone’s faces, idk, it’s really hard to say how talismans work in this universe. Point is, I think he would’ve made things work in a less drastic way than what he ended up with, because at the time the power didn’t matter to him.

But instead Wen Chao does find him and does drop him into the Burial Mound, and whatever happens there (I really, really want to know what happens there), he comes out of it with TOO MUCH power. Power no one has ever seen before. It’s the only way he can survive there. He hoards power for good reasons, for his own survival and (later) to ensure the survival of others, but he is absolutely biting off more than he can actually deal with, and it immediately starts fucking up his life. He’s a supernova in the making. That bottomless source of power not based on his own physical limits + the Tiger Seal + his apparently endless well of traumatic life events means that he is absolutely going to collapse in on himself at some point. He loses reputation, and standing, and then people. He is almost universally reviled, with multiple actions both correctly and falsely attributed to his name. He knows it’s happening—Who can tell me what I’m supposed to do now?—he’s lost every reason he had for hoarding the power in the first place, he’s having uncontrolled explosions of power where thousands of people die, and so he tries to give the power back by destroying the seal so no one can have that power, but power doesn’t work that way: it has to go somewhere, and it goes through him in an event that people are still talking about over a decade later.

And yet. Does anyone learn anything? “Hey, that seal seems like a super dangerous tool there, maybe it should … not be used ever again? Be destroyed? It made that guy incredibly unstable and then he exploded over the whole cultivation world, maybe we should… not?”

No, of course not. (Aside from Lan Wangji, the Nie sect and Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji seems to have developed this knowledge early. Wei Wuxian learns the lesson; it goes hand-in-hand with his (novel) daydreams of leaving the life of a cultivator to be a farmer with Lan Wangji. I think Nie Mingjue knew it too, because the Nie sect has some themes going on with the damage power can do, but he didn’t get a chance to talk about it much. Nie Huaisang, in addition to Nie sect things, is very observant and doesn’t have strong ambition at all until he starts getting fucked with, so he has less to figure out on this front.)

Everyone else still thinks it was about the Wens, and “corruption” and that Wei Wuxian was just wrong, even though they were the ones you know… killing children and elderly people in a culture that supposedly values both quite highly. Power is just power, right? Nothing wrong with power, in fact, maybe we should expand that power even more, with a centralized system of control. Supervisor posts? No, no, these are watchtowers. They’re for your benefit too, I promise. Also blackmail, lets use lots of blackmail and some really deep dungeons, but it’s totally okay because it’s us doing it, right.

Jin Guanyao is Hou Yi, the archer who shot down the sun (that link again), and rose to become an imperial tyrant—whose cruelty led his wife to abandon him (I’ve read multiple versions of Hou Yi, but this one fits here) and cut short his quest for immortality. His whole life is about gathering power, and justifiably so given how aware he is of the precarious nature of his position for most of it. Anytime someone feels like it, they can cut him down with a single reference to his mother. It doesn’t matter what his talents are, or how clever or well-spoken he is. Everything he’s built up for himself can be taken away in an instant, because he’s the son of a prostitute and that means he doesn’t matter. This is not to say that he doesn’t deserve Nie Mingjue’s reprisal or Nie Huaisang’s revenge, of course. He absolutely does horrific, terrible things every step of the way, and for entirely selfish reasons. But he’s Wie Wuxian’s closest foil: here’s what happens when someone of merit, rather than bloodline, seeks power: they’re creative, and innovative, and oh boy are they going to shake the world. This is what happens when cruelty and manipulation take the place of love and affection in a child’s life: each perpetuates itself on a larger scale—I will kill even those closest to me vs. I will die to protect a stranger. This is how the quest for power plays out when the motivation is selfishness, rather than selflessness. In the end, both are inherently flawed, because the power itself is the root of the problem.

Unlike Wei Wuxian, Jin Guanyao holds onto his power until the very last second. Literally, any scrap, even just Lan Xichen’s affection for him. His fall is fast, and guttering—so fast that it’s over before most of the world even knows it’s started. He’s a meteorite, his origins worse than obscure, growing ever brighter in the sky until he crashes to earth, leaving devastation in his wake. And I mean that literally, the power-structure of the world is shattered by the dual events of his exposure and his death. It’s so completely broken that in their rush to consolidate power once more, the person all these leaders turn to is Lan Wangji, who just happens to be the most reputable guy still standing at the end.

So, let’s look at Hanguang-jun, the Light-Bearer.

Lan Wangji is the lodestar. He’s a constant that rarely, if ever, wavers in his convictions, and for the purpose of the plot he’s effectively the example of what an “ideal” cultivator should be (I know other people have written about LWJ and the Confucian ideal, especially @rustycol so I’m not going far into that here). He’s arguably the most successful character in the canon. He has both bloodline and merit working in his favor, and he’s pretty much the most respected cultivator in the world by the time he’s 35 (ages in this canon are a mess). He can disobey or even betray his clan and not be uprooted, which is a luxury literally no one else has (yes, he’s punished, yes, there are consequences, but he attacked 33 elders and didn’t get kicked out or killed! He’s still respected and part of the clan! Don’t tell me that’s not because he’s the clan leader’s bloodline—there are a lot of things that can be said about LWJ and his clan and morality but they’re for yet another post).

The protagonist thinks highly of him. The next generation looks up to him, pretty much universally. He is respected even by people who don’t like him, and has almost zero actual enemies (Su She isn’t even a luminary in this meta analogy, Su She is a dude with a lantern trying to blame the stars for the fact that he can’t fly). Lan Wangji is the guiding light that goes into dark places where chaos reigns and brings clarity, and calm, and (often unforgiving) justice. He doesn’t seek power, and he doesn’t hoard it. In the novel, the only prize he takes away from Jin Guanyao’s fall is the certain knowledge of Wei Wuxian’s love. He doesn’t want anything else, and that’s why he gets to walk off into the sunset with the love of his life and keep his peerless reputation, even in a culture as steeped in homophobia as the novel’s world. Obviously the drama has a different ending, but I think the point still stands: Lan Wangji is so well-respected and utterly reliable that I doubt anyone even thinks twice about offering him the position of Chief Cultivator. Who else could they choose, shocked and appalled as they are in Jun Guanyao’s wake, but the star that never moves no matter how the heavens turn?

It’s been a rough 15 years. Between Lan Wangji, Nie Huaisang and that last Wen child, maybe they’ll finally get that lesson about hoarding power to stick in a few more people’s minds. We can only hope.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “Heart in Hand, I Know Your Worth”

In the aftermath of that doozy of a two hour midseason finale back in season four, I had all kinds of ideas rolling around in my head for all the other ways that Killian’s heart being taken could have played out, along with how Emma fighting to get his heart back could have gotten more time. I still don't own these two characters, or anything related to the show, but if i did we probably would have seen a powerful True Love's Kiss all the way back here.  {Canon divergence in the midst of 4x11}

Also on AO3 or ff.net

"Heart in Hand, I Know Your Worth"

by: @snowbellewells​

This cannot be real, cannot be happening again. Another man she loves – yes, loves – falling to the cold, hard floor of the Sheriff's station, clutching his chest, mouth gaping in a struggle for breath, eyes already going half-glassy from their usually crisp, brilliant blue.

"Killian!" Emma chokes, falling to his side and reaching for him, forcing herself not to scream. His body stretches out before her limply, looking too much like Graham's had nearly three years ago, too much like the horrifying death pose seared into her mind's eye, no matter how much time has passed. She wants to ask what is wrong, but is petrified that she doesn't need to; she knows exactly what is happening to her pirate. There had been nothing she could do when she was in this position before, and this is so much worse, so much more desperately necessary.

As she reaches out to shake Killian, gripping his shoulders with frantic hands, begging him to stay with her, stay awake, her eyes fall on the shoelace wrapped around her wrist – her reminder of the gentle, kind man who had died in her arms in this same station – and tears well over her eyelids, spilling down her cheeks to fall on Killian's paling face. Those lovely, kissable lips that have always been so soft and tenderly coaxing on hers are open, panting, as he struggles to form her name, his one good hand clasping hers to pull her closer where she can hear his desperately whispered words. "Em-Emma…Love, I'm sorry…I k-know I promised…you d-didn't have to w-worry…I m-may not be as g-good at…surviving…as I p-promised. The Crocodile…has m-made sure of it…this time…"

Emma can feel her brow furrowing, leaning nearer and clutching at the material of his black vest, as if to lug him up off the floor and back into the fight for life. "Hey," she whispers hoarsely near his ear, wanting to shake him as she sees his eyes fluttering closed despite his best efforts. "Killian, hey, stay with me."

His stunning eyes labor to open again, trying to focus on her, though it is obviously an uphill battle. His breath is rattling harshly, bringing sympathetic pain to Emma's throat as he continues to fight for air. Her hand presses warmly to his chest, wishing she could hold the missing heart in place, even though she is too late.

Tears are pouring, slip-sliding down her cheeks, and Emma knows the pain clenching in her gut is only going to get worse if she cannot stop this. She knows Killian has done the best he can to be with her, to become a better man for her, but all she can think is, 'You promised! You promised you'd stay if I let you in. I can't lose you too!'

She finds herself fisting her hand and pounding it against his chest repeatedly, despite her worry for him; she has to let out the hurt and fear. Her forehead falls to rest against the warm, furred skin of his chest, his ridiculously still-open shirt, allowing the blessing of his living comfort a bit longer. It is going to be taken away, he is going to leave her, and all because some power-hungry imp wants her magic as well and to settle an old grudge. All Killian has done to change. All he has given up to protect her is illustrated in his dying form sprawled before her. He has sacrificed the very heart in his chest just to warn her, in hopes of seeing her still alive and unharmed.

"Why didn't you tell me, Killian? Let me try to help you? We could have figured this out together." She whispers the words tearfully against his neck, into his skin. She wants answers, knows she will debate and wonder and wish from now on – why he didn't feel he could come to her, why she had taken so long to trust him, why she hadn't let him know how much she truly felt for him, that she had done something, anything, different to avoid him suffering this fate. Beyond that though, she wants to hear him, savor his voice, the cozy, affectionate burr of it as it thaws her long-cold heart.

Killian manages to draw yet one more ragged, shaky breath to respond. "How…could I…Love? What would…you have…thought of me…if I had?" He clumsily manages to snag her wrist and pull that hand to lie along his cheek, turning his face into her touch. "Besides…though I do not…wish to…leave you…I will gladly go…before I see…that monster…take you from me."

His eyes drift closed again, his struggle for breath eases, and Emma feels his body relax against hers. Praying he isn't gone already, a strangled scream finally escapes her when he doesn't respond to her further touches. "Killian, no! Please!"

"I'm afraid you're wasting your breath, Dearie," a taunting voice chortles evilly behind her. A chill runs down Emma's spine before anger floods her, rushing into every space where she could feel fear. Her head whips around to glare over her shoulder at Gold, every fiber of her burning to blast the smug, victoriously gloating smile off his face.

Letting that emotion swell, Emma gathers her feet under her, shifting to stand and face Killian's Crocodile. As if he senses the risk she is about to take, the way she is letting her fury overrule her caution, her pirate tries to pull her back, though too weakened to truly hold her. "Don't, Swan! I'm not worth your crossing him!"

Emma shakes her head angrily, wanting to argue with him that he is more than worth it, but she doesn't want him expending any more of his desperately needed breath. Instead, she pulls her hand from his slackening grip and completes her stand to face Gold. Literally vibrating, rage sparks and begins to tingle under her skin and through her veins. "I am not letting you do this," she grits out between clenched teeth, eyes narrowed and tone practically a growl.

"Please do try to stop me, Miss Swan," the pawnbroker, who is more and more Dark One all the time, challenges, the thin veneer of polite civility no longer masking the hatred beneath the surface. He stands before them, hands resting atop the head of his ornate cane, feet planted, stance wide. "I do intend to put an end to this wretched pirate's life once and for all, as I should have done ages ago, and then I shall have your powers before I go."

Emma doesn't answer, but focuses instead on the advice, the incantation that Regina had given her to combat their now-common enemy. She had needed him present before she could attempt her counterattack, and now that he is, she can't afford mistakes. Closing her eyes, and quickly raising her hands up and outward towards the spinner, Emma tries to whisper the correct words, while concentrating on Killian, his love for her and how she cannot do without him, how much she needs him, and what she hopes to accomplish, all before Rumplestiltskin reacts and stops her.

The air around them whooshes with magic, as a raw burst of power seems to roll out from between she and Gold, then fades again. There is an eerie silence for mere moments, before Emma feels a separate, living pulse in her hand. She opens her eyes with almost breathless hope, and there within her careful grasp is Killian's beating heart, glowing brightly red.

Her glare flicks back to the Crocodile, even as she casts a protection spell over Killian's heart, much like the one Regina protected Henry's with after getting it back from Pan. Once she returns it to his chest, they will not suffer this again, not while she draws breath.

Gold lets out a bloodcurdling giggle, which sounds frighteningly mad rather than the least bit humored. It is as though her strike against him was an invitation to a deadly game. He throws his hands forward in what Emma is sure will be a horrific curse. Before it can reach them, she has created a shield and thrown it up in front of them. She sees a ripple in the translucent barrier before her eyes, but her spell holds, keeping whatever the Dark One has attempted to strike them with at bay.

"All to save that miserable cur's hide!" Gold howls with rage. "You will regret this!" He waves his hand wildly, and then vanishes in a puff of smoke.

Once sure that he is gone, Emma falls to her knees at Killian's side again, letting the shield fall and focusing all her energy and attention on this reckless, infuriating, incredible man, having to believe he still has a chance. She runs her hand back through the dark shock of hair that has fallen across his brow, stroking trembling fingers over his forehead and cheeks, then down to his neck, hoping for a pulse. The exertion flagging from expending so much magic, the fear and anxiety, and now the frantic need to bring Killian back around, are taking their toll, but she cannot falter now.

Holding Killian's heart gingerly in her palm, barely using any pressure with her fingers, Emma moves it to hover above the area of his chest where it belongs. Killian barely stirs, and Emma knows there isn't time to waste. There has already been too much torture – squeezing, manhandling, whatever else Gold has done to it – but uncertainty makes her hesitate. Could she finish him off if she gets this wrong?

Breathily, the barest words escape his lips, soft and low, but enough to give her the push she needs. His chest barely rises and falls, but Killian manages to force the words out, "You…can do this…Emma. I…trust you…"

She nods, setting her resolve, and then without any further lingering, plunges her hand and his beating heart into his chest cavity. Praying it will be enough, Emma releases the organ and withdraws her hand, willing things to return to the way they were before it was taken. Sitting back on her haunches, Emma watches his face tensely for some sign.

Endless, stretching minutes seem to drag on before Killian suddenly lunges forward, drawing in huge gulps of air, eyes frantically wide. She quickly reaches around him, hand supporting at his back though she can feel herself trembling with relief and emotion. She wants to ask a dozen things at once, but Emma bits them all back, trying to first let him regain his bearings.

When Killian finally blinks and looks to her with recognition once more in his haunting gaze, Emma swallows a sob and can't help leaning forward, half wrapping him up and cradling him in her arms and half falling into his. Soon, she is letting her eyes fall closed, a sigh escaping her lips as her adrenaline drains and the curve of Killian's hook rubs soothingly up and down her back, his voice warm in her ear. "There now, Love. I'm still here…thanks to you. Bloody brilliant you are, Swan."

Sniffling, Emma nods into his shoulder, burrowing closer to his warmth, craving the contact. "You can't do that to me, Killian," she chokes out. "If you think I don't need you, that I'll be fine whether you're here or not, you're wrong. You are worth it. You mean more to me than anyone outside of Henry." She leans back only slightly to look into his eyes and be sure that he sees how seriously she means her words.

Her pirate captain appears to have no ready response to her admission, but the volumes in his eyes show how overcome he is as she watches him swallow hard, mastering his own churning emotion. "You must know you mean everything to me as well, Emma. We might have to agree to disagree on my worth." He wets his lips, gaze tentative under his dark brows as he studies her face. "You retrieved my heart. You defeated the bloody Crocodile! …But you took quite the risk, Love. A risk I would not have had you take merely for my benefit. Are you alright?"

A laugh escapes her that is tear-soaked and a bit hysterical, but real, and she clasps his hand firmly. "I am now, Captain," she avows. "Let's keep that heart of yours in your chest from now on, and things should be just fine."

His roughly calloused fingers rise to delicately brush a flyaway strand of golden hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, and then he lets his hand linger to frame her face with his palm. "What a beautiful avenging angel you make, Swan. I would never have thought a princess would be fighting to save me." Leaning forward, Killian pauses only when his nose brushes hers, warm puffs of his breath heating her skin. "Truly, Lass…You are a marvel."

Emma shakes her head, flushing and embarrassed at the effusive praise. "Enough of your pretty words, Sailor," she mutters, even if good naturedly. Standing, she never breaks her connection to him at their entwined hands, but instead pulls him rather shakily to his feet. "Come on, let's not hang around here like sitting ducks. Gold isn't finished, just regrouping. And I want Regina to have a look at you; make sure things are okay with your heart now."

Killian dips his head in acquiescence, his gaze not leaving hers, as though searching to see if she has recovered, despite his being the one who was in danger. "As you wish," he murmurs, moving to the coat rack and holding her red leather jacket out for her as she slips her arms into the sleeves.

She smiles at him over her shoulder, the tears still shimmering on her lashes, but a pride and happiness beginning to sparkle in her green eyes. They cross the room before Emma turns out the lights and locks the station for the night. Moving towards her little yellow car, Emma suddenly pulls him up short, holding him with her stare. "I should have told you this much sooner," she whispers, her voice suspiciously raspy, "but I love you, Killian Jones. Whatever happens from here on, no matter what either of us do…I love you. And don't you forget it."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Emma drags Killian's face down to kiss him urgently; swallowing his 'I love you too'. She already knows. Has seen it in all he has given up for her, has felt it in every hopeful, guiding, sheltering touch, and has heard it in every endearment and 'as you wish'. His hand and hook come up around her back to hold her, and he sighs into her kiss in contentment.

When they do part, Emma sees the peace and fulfillment on his face as she pulls him along rather than relinquishing her hold of his hand; her heart swells at not letting go.

Tagging: @searchingwardrobes​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @laschatzi​ @lfh1226-linda​ @hollyethecurious​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @jennjenn615​ @therooksshiningknight​ @winterbaby89​ @stahlop​ @thislassishooked​ @winterbaby89​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @shireness-says​ @thisonesatellite​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @profdanglaisstuff​

[panlight]

Save Him

Part 3 of 3.  (Part 1 and Part 2)

Elizabeth's lucidity did not last long; the next evening she had taken a turn for the worse, and it was likely that neither she nor her son would survive the night. Carlisle's heart ached for them, but he took some comfort in the idea that perhaps Elizabeth would perish first and be spared the grief of witnessing her son's death.  Stubborn, willful, insightful woman that she was, Carlisle suspected that may have been her plan.

He underestimated her.

He prepared to say his goodbyes, to offer words of comfort, but Elizabeth was in no mood to be soothed.  Her eyes shot open with a fire in them completely unrelated to her fever; the effect was startling, and Carlisle found himself frozen in place.

"Save him!"

It was not a request, it was a command. An order.  There was incredible determination and ferocity in her words despite the hoarse frailty of her voice, and Carlisle was once again moved by the awesome power of a mother's love for her child.

"I'll do everything in my power," he assured her, taking her burning hand in his frozen ones.

"You must," she hissed, clutching his hand with such strength that she seemed almost possessed of some superhuman power herself.  "You must do everything in your power.  What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward.”

Carlisle stared back at her, rendered silent by her words and utterly terrified by her request: which version of him was she asking?  

Was she asking the doctor, suspecting he had some secret cure he was keeping from his other patients? Was she asking the haloed angel she had seen in the light of the gas lamp, praying he could save her son through some sort of divine intervention?  Or, most chillingly, was she asking the man with the mysterious, unnamed condition?  In that moment, Carlisle was certain the latter was the one she was speaking to, that she had guessed what that condition was.  Carlisle wanted to take her by the shoulders, tell her that she didn't really mean it, that she couldn't really wish the existence he had on her son.  

But mostly he was terrified because her words had moved him so profoundly, that he was seriously considering doing what she had asked.

Everything in your power. . . What others cannot do. . .

Elizabeth succumbed to her fever, collapsing back into her bed, all her remaining earthly energy expended in her request. She was not yet dead, but the end with nigh. Dr. Cullen turned to her son.

Carlisle did not know him as well as he knew Elizabeth, but from his few conversations with him, he had proven himself a clever boy who loved his parents.  A bright mind, a good heart--would that be enough for him to see that the path that Carlisle followed was the right one?  What would his mother think if Edward turned into the sort of monster that Carlisle himself had always refused to become?  Thoughts of Elizabeth steeled Carlisle's resolve.  If the boy was anything like his mother he would be strong enough, and would know right from wrong.

Carlisle had long been dreaming of a companion.  He tried to pretend that he had nothing specific in mind, but the truth was he often daydreamed of a partner, a wife. Yet here he was being presented with something entirely different--not a spouse, but a friend.  Perhaps a brother.  A son.  It was not what he had imagined, but God worked in mysterious ways. 

He had no idea how to care for seventeen-year-old boy, let alone one who would awaken as a newborn vampire.  He wasn't even certain of how to create another of his kind.  Aro had never divulged that information to him, and he had never asked. He had thought if he didn't know the exact mechanism behind it, he would be less tempted to create another creature like himself. But now he wished he were more certain of the specifics--how much venom did it take? Was there such thing as too much, not enough? The best he could do, he realized, was recreate the circumstances that led to his own transformation; he didn't relish the thought, but it was the only method he knew for certain would work.  

Elizabeth died not long after making her ambiguous request, the cessation of her heartbeat creating a conspicuous silence in Carlisle's mind despite the other sounds of the ward.  Even in death she did not look peaceful, as if she could only allow herself rest once she knew her son would be spared.

"I will do everything in my power," he whispered to her before he gently drew the sheet over her face.  "Put in a good word for me in Heaven, won't you?"

He brought her to the morgue himself, and then returned for Edward.

******************

Having smuggled the unconscious--but not yet dead--Edward Masen out of the hospital, he was now staring at the boy from across the room as he lay on a sofa in Carlisle's home.  He didn't know how to do this, he didn't want to do this. Good intentions and promises to dying mothers aside, what he was about to do was nothing short of monstrous.  

But he had given his word.

"I am so sorry, Edward," he said to the boy, ghosting across the room in an instant.  "There is no other way."

Carlisle closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, steadying breath.  Then he leaned over him and for the first time in his centuries of existence truly allowed himself to be a vampire.

For one horrible, terrifying second--or fraction of a second rather, given how quickly the vampire mind worked--the monster had the upper hand.  The moment Carlisle had feared and done everything to avoid had finally arrived and the monster was gleeful.

At last at last it's so good isn't it?  So very, very good, so--

It was, and he hated that it was.  He hated how much he wanted it.  Despite his tolerance of the smell of human blood, there had been no way to prepare for the taste. He had been so careful, so very, very, very careful to avoid it.  It was easier if he didn't know what he was missing.  Now he knew, and it was so satisfying that for one awful moment everything shifted and he considered what it would be like if he gave up, if he gave in.

He saw, clear as day in his mind, what his future would be if he killed this boy.  He saw himself sporting a dark cloak and those horrible red eyes, standing beside Aro's throne in Volterra.  And there the grim daydream diverged, showing him two equally horrific scenes: in one, his face was blank, expressionless.  He was as much a ghost as Marcus, a mere shell of his former self.  In the second macabre tableaux, he smiled with an eager glint in his eye identical to Aro's.

Carlisle wasn't sure which imagined future was worse, as both signaled the complete destruction of the man he knew himself to be.  He could not allow either of them to come to pass.

But if he won, if he didn't kill the boy, he could continue to save infinite lives rather than take them.  He could continue to like who he was, if perhaps not so much the what.  If he were able to stop himself now, here, at the point of no return, he's know he had truly won.

And so, with Herculean effort won through centuries of self-restraint, he did.

He drew back, covering his mouth and watching as Elizabeth's son sucked in a deep breath and screamed. How was Carlisle ever going to tell him that his mother asked for this? How could he ever justify being lonely enough to grant her request, knowing full well that she could have no true idea of what she was really asking? It will be different for Edward, Carlisle assured himself.  The worst part was the loneliness, the unending silence, the desperate craving for someone to talk to.  He would never know that.  No, he would just suffer the thirst, the burden of immortality. . . and that was a curse enough.

"I am so sorry, Edward.  So very, very sorry," Carlisle muttered, turning the boy gently on to his side to continue recreating the wounds he had suffered so many centuries ago.  Neck, arm, shoulder, back.  Each bite was easier than the last as he became used to the taste and how much effort it would take to pull away.  His torment now came from knowing the pain Edward would endure for the next three days. "I wish there were another way.  But your mother . . . and I've been so desperate for some company . . .  I'll teach you.  I'll show you the way.  You'll never be alone like I was.  I will never abandon you."

[mcusoulmateau]

Jane Foster, the Consultant

(If this looks a bit familiar, it’s because a version of this has been put on AO3. But I’m reworking it, taking Jane in new, more canon-divergent directions.)

It could be worse, Jane tells herself. There are whispers that one girl in her grade has a mark in hieroglyphics. Some people say that Brittany and James only broke up because James’s mark came in with a boy’s name. And everyone knows that Coach Fowler has no mark and is bitter about it.

 Still. “Thor” is pretty bad, and it’s not even in English. She spends a whole day in the library just trying to decode the not-English-alphabet language on her arm before she knows for sure what the name even is.

 Jane’s best friend suggests that she travel to Scandinavia for a better chance at finding a Thor. Jane shrugs the suggestion off and keeps dating her not-Thor boyfriend, a sweet boy called Brandon.

 But Jane Foster is not one of the brightest minds of her age because she can forget about an idea. The same obsession that drives her to excel at astrophysics also compels her to learn everything she can about her would-be soulmate. The only Thor she has even heard of is a pagan god, so that’s where she starts.

 She is by no means religious, but these stories give her a feeling of home that she has never found outside of research. Just like writing papers and entering centuries-long academic discourse, myths give her a community and a sense that some knowledge belongs uniquely to her. On Thursdays, she feels something that might be her soul. If Thor is Jane’s and Thursday is Thor’s day, then it follows that it is also Jane’s day.

 The romantic in her wins out, and Jane studies abroad in her junior year of college. She bounces across Europe, meeting a handful of Thors but never hers. One is the young son of an archeology professor, a little boy whose mother convinces her to tough out the double major and to keep studying the ancient Norse. Jane babysits little Thor and loses herself in his mother’s library after he falls asleep. Another Thor is an old man who bartends at a pub she frequents, and he tells her about the myths so precious the Nazis invaded to dig them up.

 That catches Jane’s attention, and before she knows it, she’s submitting her thesis proposal about the Nazi incursion in a tiny town in Norway.

 Uncovering the Mystery of Tønsberg:

Norse Mythology, HYDRA, and the Impossible Advancements of the Nazi Science Division

 It’s a wild thing, she knows, not like her neat lab experiments. This is photographs of Johann Schmidt’s personal belongings, taped interviews with Dr. Armin Zola before his death, centuries-old poetry and stories about Odin and his treasures, interviews and diaries from the Tønsberg survivors, photographs and reports from battlefields all over Europe, even an interview she manages to score with Strategic Scientific Reserve officer Margaret “Peggy” Carter. Peggy is not a scientist, but she is an eye witness who affirms many of Jane’s theories. She’s also frustratingly coy.

 Still. By the end of it, Jane Foster is so close to reverse-engineering HYDRA’s weapons that it hurts. There’s something, this nameless treasure that holds the secret to Schmidt’s science and Norse mythology, something that gave Schmidt incredible power and that the people of Tønsberg tried desperately to protect. And Jane knows in her bones that Thor is involved. She calls this mysterious MacGuffin “the Cosmic Cube,” even though she’s only 70% sure that it’s even cubic.

 In front of a panel of professors and TAs, she begins.

 “I did not think it would be possible to write a single thesis that unites my two majors of Physics and Germanic Mythology, the latter of which is a custom program designed for me. Yet, while studying abroad in Norway, I visited several archeological sites with mythological significance, where I discovered the ruin brought on by Nazi Germany. Though the accounts of what Johann Schmidt did to the Norwegians are horrific, it was the stories about Schmidt’s exploits after leaving Norway that caught my attention. Survivors, Allied and Axis alike, all tell of physics-defying weapons wielded by Schmidt and his men. I believe that Schmidt found something in Tønsberg, Norway, something of mythological significance, that gave him and the Nazis a technological edge on the Allies.

 “By all accounts, Johann Schmidt, the head of the Nazi Science Division, HYDRA, was obsessed with Norse paganism and mythology. . . .”

 When she is done with her speech and accompanying slide projections, most of her professors look impressed. Not convinced, but impressed. They thank her and send her on her way when she is confronted by a woman in a suit.

 “Jane Foster,” she says. “My name is Dr. Weaver, of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I’d like to offer you a job.”

 She says she can fast-track her for a PhD, get her a spot in her organization’s elite Academy of Science and Technology, maybe give her a chance to study things like the Cosmic Cube. But something about it doesn’t feel right, the fact that she’s never even heard of this organization. And if they know about the Cube, why didn’t she find anything about it when she was researching? And why does Jane get the feeling that if she accepts, she’ll be signing away her freedom?

 They compromise, and Jane Foster becomes a consultant of S.H.I.E.L.D. Years pass, and they never call her, and she starts to forget about the shadowy organization. They have better astrophysicists they can call, better experts in Norse myth—why would they bother with a PhD candidate like her? She has better things to think about, like tracking meteorological anomalies and theorizing about interstellar travel.

 And then New Mexico happens.

 Jane and her intern, who is also her only friend, are chasing an atmospheric disturbance when a man falls out of the sky. A man who looks like all the drawings and paintings from her mythology studies. A man who wields a hammer. A man whose name matches the name on her wrist.

 When Thor finally acts reasonable (though if she had traveled lightyears via an Einstein-Rosin Bridge, got hit by a van, tazed, and sedated, she doubts she’d be reasonable), Jane tells him she believes him.

 “I know who you are,” she says, “but I don’t know how you are who you are.”

 “You’ve heard the tales of me, then?” he asks with that cocky smile.

 “Tales? More like myths. Maybe humans believed them, once, but not anymore.”

 “But you do.”

 “I didn’t until a few hours ago. And it’s only because—” She stops herself, heart pounding. “I don’t want to presume anything. Do your species even have soulmarks? But…” It’s easier if she shows him.

 Jane uncovers her wrist and holds it out for Thor to see.

 “I am sorry,” he says. “Mine is not a match.”

 Her heart plummets. “Can I see? How do I know I can believe you?”

 He smiles sadly. “You may. But I would not lie to you, Jane. I do care for you.”

 “I do care for you” is hardly the passionate speech Jane has dreamed of hearing from her soulmate. Yet, it is a balm to the wound in her chest, an assurance that things may yet work out.

 Thor removes the alien covering from his wrist. On it, in the same alphabet as her own mark, is the name “Loki.”

 “Him? Isn’t he—he’s your brother!”

 “I do not know why fate gave me his name and not yours, or any other. But my destiny is entwined with his, for good or ill. It would not do to enmesh you in our affairs.”

 “But—but you care for me,” she stutters.

 “Yes.” He seems to hope she will be satisfied with that answer alone, but when she is not, he continues. “I care for you, Jane Foster, which is why I cannot bring you to Asgard. Only a true match may rule, and I cannot abdicate the throne. You would be in far more danger there—from him, from a thousand others—than you would on Midgard. ”

 He’s handsome and kind and dreamy and noble and fascinating and everything she could want in a soulmate. But he’s also an alien and decidedly not a match for her. When Thor leaves Earth, Jane Foster returns to academia. S.H.I.E.L.D. asks for her help with studying the Bifrost and the marks it leaves behind, and the agent who had tried to wipe her research on Thor’s arrival apologizes by giving her access to the Cosmic Cube.

 But it turns out that Thor was wrong about at least one thing: Jane Foster is still very much in danger of Loki while on Midgard, especially given her proximity to the Cube.

 Perhaps, in another reality, Loki would puppet a different human. Perhaps the Tesseract, the Chitauri invasion, all of it would still play out the same way. Perhaps it makes no cosmic significance that it is Jane Foster who Loki picks to be his influence on Earth.

 But it matters to Jane, cosmic significance be damned. For months, she is made and unmade by a stranger, driven by whispers and whims she doesn’t understand. It’s not entirely against her will, either. She has been champing at the bit for a chance to focus exclusively on the Cube for a decade. It just takes a push from Loki for her to seize that opportunity.

 It’s a little poetic, in a backwards way, that she should be puppetted by her soulmate’s soulmate. For a normal couple—a true match—one is always controlled by one’s soulmate’s soulmate (i.e. one’s self). But she, with her alien mark and her god inexplicably bound to his brother, she gets this twisted version of a soulmate. If she were herself, she’d be horrified. But the god of mischief in her brain finds it all very amusing.

 Besides, there is no time for horror when there is research to be done. Working with the Cube begins to consume her, and Jane—both with and without Loki’s influence—is rather willing to be consumed.

 “I understand the ancient Norwegians a lot better now,” she confesses to Dr. Selvig one night over a beer. “Putting the Cube in a church, in a place of honor, revering the ones who sent it as gods.”

 “Finding religion, are you?” he asks, only partly joking.

 “Maybe. The Cube is beautiful, Erik. Otherworldly. Perfect. It’s an actual four-dimensional shape, and sometimes I feel like I’m on the edge of finally comprehending it. Not just theoretically, but really getting it. If I were the type, I think I’d worship it.”

 She isn’t sure how much of her right now is Jane and how much is Loki. Nevertheless, her words are true.

 “Anything new to report?”

 “It’s more than an energy source, that’s for sure. Maybe the energy output is the most useful attribute, at least for human civilization right now, but I’m almost positive that the thing can warp spacetime. Maybe it makes time loops, maybe it creates tiny wormholes, maybe it can manipulate the space between subatomic particles. But the readings it creates don’t get explained away by energy alone.”

 “You think we could see interstellar travel with the Cube.”

 “Imagine creating your own Bifrost whenever and wherever you pleased.”

 “You’re getting fanciful, Jane. Lost in the Edda.”

 “I have never been less lost, Erik. Johann Schmidt died on the Valkyrie with Steve Rogers. Except Rogers isn’t dead, and there’s not a single shred of Schmidt’s remains on that ship. Forensically speaking, there ought be some trace of him, even after seventy years. But there’s not! And the Cube is involved, somehow. I just have to piece this mystery together, like all the others.”

 “Your poking at mysteries will be the death of you. And I’m only half charmed and endeared when I say that. The other half of me is quite concerned.”

 Jane smiles, though it does not reach her eyes. “It’s not such a bad way to go.”

 When she is on the cusp of sleep that night, a whisper creeps into the base of her skull, a primal thought she will only barely remember in the morning: a doorknob in the shape of an otherworldly Cube.

  Days later, with the help of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent or two, the door opens.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Marvel Cinematic Universe: Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, once.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Nine (25.71% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-six.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

For a movie which is pretty much wall-to-wall fight scenes...I love it. I always start out going ‘maybe I overrate this movie, maybe it’s not as good as I remember’, but by the end, I’m right back in there.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Wanda apologises to Natasha for lying. It’s a close call.

Female characters:

Pepper Potts.

F.R.I.D.A.Y

Gamora.

Mantis.

Wanda Maximoff.

Natasha Romanoff.

Okoye.

Nebula.

Shuri.

Male characters:

Ebony Maw.

Thanos.

Thor.

Loki.

Heimdall.

Bruce Banner.

Stephen Strange.

Wong.

Tony Stark.

Peter Parker.

Ned.

Peter Quill.

Rocket.

Drax.

Groot.

Vision.

Steve Rogers.

Sam Wilson.

The Collector.

Thaddeus Ross.

James Rhodes.

T’Challa.

Bucky Barnes.

Eitri.

Red Skull.

M’Baku.

OTHER NOTES:

Heimdall had proven himself too much of an MVP in previous films to be allowed to live in this one. Bastards.

Heimdall and Loki, both dead before the opening titles. That’s how you know this movie means business, it’s not faking at high stakes.

I also am from space and have come here to steal a necklace from a wizard.

“Mr Stark, it smells like a new car in here!”

“All words are made up.”

Not gonna lie, when I saw this at the cinema and I realised that Captain America had arrived? My heart LEAPT. It was intense.

Depressed Thor is a great touch - after all previous films with Thor had him so bland, and then Ragnarok made him funny but essentially glossed over any of the difficult emotions it was dredging up, I’m glad to finally get something real and meaty from the character. If characters go through all manner of Hell and don’t show any signs of labouring under that weight, you’re doing character development wrong.

Nice callback with Red Skull.

The sacrifice of Gamora on Vormir is a really well-balanced piece; it was asking a lot, to make the emotion of it land despite how little of Thanos we’ve seen before, and without genuine emotion at it’s core it’s just the killing off of a female character for shock value. I feel like they got the pitch just right (most thanks to the music).

As much as I enjoy Thor and Rocket’s bantering, the side-quest for Stormbreaker feels like an unnecessary and over-the-top distraction in an already stuffed-full film. Easily the weakest part of the plot.

The fact that Quill fucks everything up with defeating Thanos on Titan because he can’t keep himself under control for two seconds certainly does not endear him to me in the slightest. Like ok, you’re upset, but if you can’t stop yourself from getting violent that’s on you, that makes you a dangerous person with serious issues, that’s not normal and it’s not ok. Also, literally half of all life in the universe was at stake. So there’s that.

Listen, I’m very susceptible to heroism (and that’s why superhero movies work for me), so every time someone comes to someone else’s rescue, I have feelings. 

I had convinced myself that somehow, Thanos wouldn’t succeed with his whole plan in this movie, that he would get all the stones but that he would like, go to a special place or something before enacting his plan, so that the good guys would have a chance to regroup and race to stop him before it was too late, all that jazz. So (even though Thanos had already snapped at that point), when Bucky Barnes disintegrated before our very eyes, I was SHOCKED. That got me like a smack in the face.

Considering I’ve never really been a fan of Tom Holland’s Spider-man, it’s a credit to his work that Peter’s death scene is so effective. That’s acting.

So, what makes this movie work despite being so heavy with bombastic action? The short answer is: it’s because the good guys lose. I’ve made no secret of being a fan of the ‘hour darkest before the dawn’ in storytelling, so this is playing to the sweet spot for me there, but it’s not as simple as just making everything miserable and hopeless. In this case, specifically, the lead-up to that ultimate failure is key; it’s gotta still feel like a superhero extravaganza, even as it takes an increasingly dark turn. The action works because it’s part of what we signed up for (the best camouflage for subversions of the traditional model), and it works because it’s all carrying the story forward - the Infinity War is comprised of multiple battles, and because of the way the pieces of the narrative are separated, the characters don’t know how any of the other battles are turning out; everyone is just trying to fight what’s in front of them and defend the stone in their midst, they don’t have the option to sit around doom-and-glooming and restrategising as news of each defeat comes in. Rather than dragging us wholesale from Point A to B to C in ever-escalating stakes and complications, the writers have had the good sense to spread things out and let things fall apart for our heroes (and the universe) in multiple smaller pieces until they reach a cumulative critical mass. Consequently, instead of feeling as though we’re sitting there watching things go from bad to worse, the audience forms this false sense of security in the action; it’s a superhero movie, after all. We expect them to work it all out in the end, to build toward a moment of apparent hopelessness (a darkest hour before the dawn), and then to rally triumphantly for the big win. As such, we perceive small victories (i.e. the defeat of Thanos’ various ‘children’, the creation of Stormbreaker, the way things draw out in the battle on Titan) as if they are more significant, as if they are signs leading us to that big win; without those small, expected victories, the ultimate failure would not hit as hard, because after two and a half hours of watching the good guys get wrecked without a chance, what surprise would there be in the snap?

Of course, plenty of viewers knew about the snap already or expected an ultimate failure of some sort based on the fact that we pretty much all knew that this was the first half of our grand Avengers finale (my mother, who is not a superhero movie fan, did not know what she was getting into and was...very shocked), so it’s important that the film still works to engage us on a character level so that the good guys losing in the end can hit like a ton of bricks even if you knew it was coming (and even though you no doubt expected to get the big win eventually, once Endgame came out). After all the fighting and the bantering, all the usual stuff we expect to see our heroes go through in the course of an average adventure, having them then watch their beloved friends/allies/whatever literally disintegrate before their eyes in a quiet, drawn out scene of devastation is a magnificent piece of cinema, communicating the shock not only of the event itself, but of the complete disruption to the superhero status quo. It’s not just that good guys don’t lose like this, it’s that they don’t lose with a whimper instead of a a bang. It’s not only that the cost of failure has never been this high; it’s also that they have never been forced to watch it play out with such inevitability; they have never before been rendered so powerless. If the entire film had the tone of the last ten minutes, it wouldn’t work so well, it’d just be a drudge and the audience would be desensitised by the end. By the same token, if the rest of the film had not planted the seeds of the finale so thoroughly in all its smaller losses and smokescreen victories, the ending would not be so horrifically fitting.

Neither, of course, would the ending be so affecting, if we were not as attached to the characters as we are. We have many, many films worth of history with most of them, or at least one solid encounter in which to become attached, and even in a movie chock-full of more characters than any other before, everyone gets a chance to show their personality and remind us why we care if they live or die. I’m not going to argue for this being an incredible character piece (nor is it pretending to be one), but it plays its very large hand very well, putting emphasis where it needs to be without overloading or unbalancing the story. As I noted above, I was particularly impressed with the way Thanos was handled, considering our exposure to him previously was very minimal and it was left up the this film to build his ethos as well as his relationships with his ‘children’ almost from scratch, creating complexity and simplicity without falling into the trap of trying to make the villain sympathetic; Thanos isn’t necessarily relatable (nor does he need to be), but he is understandable in that we’ve all probably encountered at least one person who holds the same limited worldview and is somehow convinced that they could ‘fix’ everything, given the power. Thanos isn’t actually aiming for universal domination in the traditional sense, and it makes him more disturbing and more realistic as a villain, because his evil is not nebulous or purely self-serving; he is a true believer, and his delusions have an all-too-familiar ring about them, so as we watch him lumber and pontificate around the story, we get a clearly-drawn image of someone possessed of such basic and humble flaws that he is - again, without being treated as sympathetic - quite significantly humanised, despite all of the non-human elements that make up both his character, and his situation. Even as it planet-hops and draws upon cosmic magic, the narrative is grounded by a centrepiece of plain, ungodly fallibility. 

Now, I recognise that in all of this praise for the way this film was executed, there isn't really anything to be said for it regarding the purpose of this blog; on the female representation front, it's not really doing anything (the fact that it juuust manages to pass the Bechdel and juuust over a quarter of its cast is female does not win it brownie points; its better than not having either of those things, but that's not a genuine achievement). The two female characters who were more prominently positioned in this movie are Gamora and Wanda; Gamora largely in context of her relationship with Thanos, and Wanda as Vision’s significant other and the means of his destruction. Notably, both women’s arcs are accessories to the arcs of male characters, which is not what we’re aiming for in good representation, though it does not exclude the possibility of quality content; Gamora’s role may have a lot to do with Thanos (not least, after he kills her), but it is still distinctly her own story, rich with emotion and coming to a surprising and depressing end which I felt struck the right chords to be compelling rather than an enraging disposal of one of the few female characters around (more on this after Endgame). Wanda’s presence leaves less of an impression, in terms of screen time, plot complication, and audience engagement, but all things considered I don’t think that was a terrible choice; Wanda and Vision’s relationship had been a somewhat sparse subplot in previous films and the chemistry was not strong, so I don’t think it would have been to the film’s benefit to try and expand on that relationship further than they did. As it was, there was enough there to sell the emotion, and nothing extraneous, and as much as I enjoy this movie, I wish I could say better things for its female representation than that. It is stuffed-full, and definitely not perfect, and space could have been made to pump up some of the other female characters’ roles more (the Earthbound characters get the least attention in the movie, and since basically all my faves are there it is a testament to how well this movie works for me that I enjoy it so much anyway, but a little more attention there would not have gone astray, especially since that’s where most of the female cast is). That said...I still really enjoy it, man. As far as popcorn action goes, this is top shelf.

[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

{Tuesday, January 28th, 2020T}

What is the most difficult part of being a Venus Adept?

The Proxans have asked me this before, from time to time, in their own fashion. Particularly the children. Overall, it is little more than a concept to them: a symbol of the Farmers, the long forgotten Clan.

It reminds me very much of a question that a young construct tried to ask several years ago, for they are deeply connected—

For without a doubt, the most difficult burden to carry is to bear witness to suffering, particularly in connection to the loss of life.

To see someone else broken, no liveliness in their {[spirit/essence/etc.]}, shattered by pain at the cost of who they were—that is incredibly difficult.

And I have seen it.

I have seen my best friends endure such agonizing loss—such cruel pain without grand design, the Shears callous in severing connections with no gain, no triumph at all. No “meaning” to justify such suffering.

So often does Man suffer at the hands of fate.

It left me… uncertain. Uncertain what to do, what to say. I felt… I felt a need to do something, to say SOMETHING that would… be what they needed, what would bring them comfort, spark their shattered {[spirit/soul]}, bring Life back into their {[heart/being]}.

But I was at a loss for words. Even more than usual. It wasn’t even that I couldn’t speak or couldn’t bring myself to speak; rather, I had no idea what to say.

What can one say to someone who is in such a place? There is nothing that can make things right with the world.

And all the power, all the wisdom, all the {[faith/courage/confidence]} I had—

It was worthless. It wasn’t enough.

It could never be enough.

There was nothing I could do to fix it.

And to feel—

To feel such a thing as a life void of Life is… difficult to bear. To be placed helpless, unable to—to do ANYTHING, powerless to aid those who made such a difference, whom I myself have grown to trust and to value as meaning that gives ME Life—

It is a crushing fault that makes it impossible to speak and difficult to breathe.

I… tried. I tried to find strength enough, wisdom enough to speak. Courage enough to provide perspective that is apparently somewhat unique among my friends, from what I am told.

But there was nothing I could say.

Facing the reality that you can’t always fix things—can’t even make them better—don’t always have the answer, don’t always even know what to say or to do—

That all the knowledge you have, all the meaning you place in the bond you share—

The reality that—despite embodying, and intensely feeling Life and Death—you will fall short when such a thing is desperately needed…

…That is hard.

And…

…Harder still is to… to actually be there, trying—failing—

To be there at the loss of Life, powerless—

To bear witness to such suffering, where no amount of power can save it—! To call it “demoralizing” is a horrific mockery of an understatement!

The hardest part of being a Venus Adept is being so deeply attuned to Life—

Devoting your entire purpose, your reason for being, your focus, your goal to preserving it, to providing healing and comfort and luxury—

—and being confronted with the harsh shortcomings in the face of Death, especially Death that was… outside of a fading cinder in the ashes of a Life that had seen its full time.

This is, I suppose, the sort of thing that provoked even the best of intentions to try and seek immortality. To fear death is a powerful motivation for some people… but to fear loss is a far greater one, I have found.

I think on the matter, perhaps more than I should. But it is difficult not to do so, given I have been brought to the threshold far too many times.

It has given me… perspective. Perspective on Death, but also on Life.

I was… ultimately drawn back from the transition, each time. I could have died. Easily. Arguably “should” have perished, in most cases.

And yet I still live.

There was a point where the pain of loss—of the truth of my insignificance, and weakness, powerless to save others—where it shattered ME, and Death devoured my heart and broke my mind.

I still live—and Life has returned to my {[spirit/well being]}, true—but the weight of that time has scorched my very soul.

The perspective of each experience is a dark one. For Man is inclined to fear Death, for the instinct is for Life—and indeed, when that instinct is broken, it is a very nasty and alarming thing indeed.

As the decade has gone by—eight years since I was forced into exile—I have come to better understand my experiences and my perspective… even if I struggle deeply to make use of it when the situations call for it.

I do not fear Death.

I fear suffering.

There is a difference.

But… Death itself is a transition. And it is without a doubt that it brings an end to the mortal pain of the being in question.

I have witnessed it firsthand. It was… 

It was like being SCOURGED with rose vines SHREDDING my chest and my throat, to FEEL and to see the Life FADING away—RIGHT in front of me—DESPITE my efforts. 

And yet…

Tired, just so… so tired…

In the end, they were spared further suffering, and the burden was lifted.

There are times where there is nothing we can do.

Times where we realize that there is no reconciliation, no chance to repair what has been lost.

Times where there is nothing we can do to save those we love, and must come to accept a sentence of living the rest of our lives with the severed connections binding us to an un-reciprocating echo of the past.

Times where there is no solace to be given, because it is necessary to honor the dignity of grief and pain.

And those times…

…will always, ALWAYS be hard.

Watching someone else go through it—where the only thing I can offer is my words, but I am left speechless—is… not easy.

Because it is all too easy to say the WRONG thing, at the WRONG time, and end up being RESPONSIBLE for further pain. And that… would be something I would have a very, VERY hard time forgiving myself for later.

Because I know just how much it hurts when people who are trying to help…

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Jenna, you must prepare yourself for what comes next....”

[Felix shouted at him in pain.]

-=-=-

“You have completed your quest, but I see it comes with great loss... Your suffering has been almost unbearable.”

-=-=-

“Our parents would understand. …Don’t you think so, Felix?”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

…only end up making things worse. Worse in a way that still hurts, even now.

I am reminded of something which a friend said on the matter.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“The power to change history… that is a temptation that is very, very heavy. And in the depths of pain and despair, one may give in and beg to be spared, only to curse those with such power for not granting such a plea. It is the nature of man to try and negotiate with fate, if only that which he loves above all else could be spared…! But nay—nay… that is ultimately not something one should harbor resentment for, or an obsession for. No. We are left free to make our choices, and within both our choices and our suffering, life retains meaning. There comes a time for most of us when that which we love is subject to agony from which we cannot save them… a time for some where those whom they most loved are taken from them. Such a bitter pain, and indeed, one must not think less of themselves or others for falling from the weight of such a burden. But… such is life. Death and suffering are part of life. Our time together has meaning because of it. That is why we must seek to make our decisions with a sound mind and a kind heart, and treasure each other with our limited time upon the earth. 

[…]

Man is mortal[…]. That is his nature. One cannot obsess over a series of events, and try to create that which cannot exist.

The dead have their rest. The broken shall someday find it. […]

I have learned to be satisfied that there are things that cannot be regained. It is enough that the [suffering] is over now. That is enough for me.

Take heart. Your suffering is not without meaning. You have strength enough to endure this—if not on your own, then by tending to one another. It will be a sore trial… but it will not be the end.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

And I think…

That is probably better worded than I could—at this time—possibly dream of being able to pull off, myself.

I think… the most I can say…

Dear friend—

You matter to me.

—Felix

[leakinghate]

You are Wrong about Lotor

The advertisements for this season promised to blur the lines between good and evil and delivered exactly that. By the conclusion of Voltron Legendary Defender season Six our paladins have apparently killed the only true hero in this show, destroyed their only access point to unlimited clean energy, and kickstarted a civil war in the Galra Empire. Team Voltron, has become the villains.

What’s that?

Doesn’t sound like we watched the same show?

Let me explain.

The writing and framing this season were truly incredible. Meticulously calculated to provide just the right information at just the right time to draw the exact wrong conclusions. It aims to provoke a violent emotional reaction in the viewer and discourage them from thinking critically about what they’re seeing. Even better, it’s a double trick, as additionally, our protagonists in the show fall into the same trap. It’s so incredibly meta, to have your audience make the same, independent conclusion as your characters.

It’s emotional manipulation at it’s cruelest, and this is only the first of the one-two punch that’s due to land it’s second hit next season.

Because team Voltron is wrong about Lotor, and so are you.

To cut to the chase, the story the narrative wants you to conclude, is that Lotor is keeping a group of Alteans hostage to systematically drain them of quintessence for use in his experiments.

I’m going to tell you right now, that’s not what’s happening.

Romelle is either hopelessly naive or malicious: she straight up admits to only knowing parts of the truth. Suspiciously, she is the first and only person Keith and Krolia encounter, but just so happens to be the only person privy to the ‘dark secrets’ of the colony. What luck! Of course, they must avoid interacting with the other Alteans who reside in the colony, as nobody else would believe Romelle if she told them. Convenient.  As far as I am concerned, everything she tells them that was not also directly witnessed by Krolia and Keith is suspect.

Speaking of, how is it, exactly, that we know Lotor is extracting quintessence from these people? Hmm? Do we have any concrete proof? No. Keith jumps to conclusions. Keith shoots first and asks questions later.

Upon discovering the emaciated Alteans in the pods Keith immediately declares that Lotor must be harvesting their quintessence. We see no actual quintessence in the lab, and by the accumulation of dust it appears that the facility has been unused for quite some time. Logically, the quintessence that the blade intercepted, and that Keith and Krolia have been seeking the source of, had to have come from somewhere, but that place isn’t this lab. But, this is no time for logic; Keith, Krolia and Romelle race off to the Castle of Lions to confront Lotor.

Sendak was absolutely correct when he said that the paladin’s greatest weakness was that they value the lives of others. Because just the suggestion that some innocent people may have lost their lives is enough to prompt the paladins to ambush someone, guns drawn, who has thus far proved himself a powerful and valuable ally. They ask Lotor exactly zero questions and don’t allow him the time to explain themselves. And it was the idea alone that caused them to act, because at no point did they seek out any proof whatsoever!

Allura alone I will grant some leeway in her reaction.

I 100% understand why Allura reacted the way she did, after all the shit she’s been through. She’s only just managed to feel that not all Galra are as monstrous as Zarkon. She’s fallen in love with his own son, and she’s hoping with everything she has that he’s really a good person. I’m sure there was still some residual fear there, it can’t have been more than two years from her perspective since everything she’s known and loved was taken from her. It takes so long to shake a trauma like she’s been through, and many people never fully do. And when she discovers that Lotor has been hiding the existence of other Alteans from her? That he admits to having to sacrifice a few? That fear and anger flared up.

It’s conspicuous, that circumstances conspire to both render Lotor unconscious and to remove him from the castle before he can explain himself. He doesn’t even hear half of the things that he’s been accused of doing and so wouldn’t know to deny them. No one ever, at any point, asks Lotor if he’s been harvesting quintessence from living Alteans. We’re left waiting to hear his side of things, and then, the next thing he says referencing Team Voltron is this:

“Zethrid, Ezor, my deepest apologies for lying to you both. But in order to gain the princess’s trust, and make the paladins of Voltron believe we were truly at odds, it had to be done.”

This comes at an interesting place in the narrative. Seemingly confirming that Lotor has been manipulating Team Voltron the whole time, and thus invalidating the sincerity of any of his prior actions since splitting from his generals. Because it follows immediately upon the horrific accusations he was denied the chance to refute it also tricks us into thinking he’s admitting to them. After all, if he’s been faking this entire time, what couldn’t he be capable of? Except. This apology is itself a lie.

In fact, regardless of whatever understanding Lotor and Axca have between them, it is impossible for them to have been working together at any point between Axca’s betrayal at Daibazaal and The Generals allying themselves with Haggar; after the point in which Allura and Team Voltron began extending some trust to Lotor. While it’s possible - even probable - that Lotor and Axca may have had contingency plans for faking a split between the generals and Lotor, and some of those plans may have included attempting an alliance with Voltron, there are far too many moving pieces for all that transpired between them to have been planned ahead of time. Far too many opportunities for one or all of them to have died. And, consistently, Lotor puts his own survival and that of his loyal allies above all other priorities.

Simply put, if the generals hadn’t been recruited by Haggar they would have been executed. If Axca was loyal to Lotor at this point she would have had no good reason to risk her life by returning to the empire, especially when Lotor had just killed Zarkon.

He says this when he does because he needs Ezor and Zethrid to not fight him over returning to the Castle of Lions. His words towards his generals, notably using ‘power’ instead of ‘peace’, are chosen to convince them to work with him again and to give the impression that he has control of the situation and a plan - which he absolutely does not.

We know this is a facade, because the moment Lotor comes face to face - or ship to lion - with Allura again he drops it and reverts to language and mannerisms he’s been using before with her. But he’s doing this openly in front of his generals and they’re visibly perplexed.

Lotor rushes back to the Castle of Lions to attempt to reason with Allura. He loves her, and he's willing to put aside his pride and plead with her in front of both of their teams. You can hear the panic in his voice as he tries to hold it together.

And then Allura accuses Lotor of being worse than Zarkon. Everything after that, isn't really him. He has a mental breakdown. He’s had every support ripped away, and 10,000 years worth of repressed pain and anguish come crashing down on him. He's lost everything that matters to him, had the one person he though he could trust, the woman he loves, accuse him of his own greatest fear, and he's hurting.

In meta about prior seasons I’ve seen it expressed that it’s a miracle that Lotor escaped his upbringing as apparently put together as he did. He’s paranoid, and occasionally willing to go against his own moral code if it means surviving another day, but surprisingly stable.

Well, it turns out he isn’t. Lotor fairly obviously has some degree of mental illness, and it unfortunately contributes to his decline in the season finale. At the risk of getting too personal in a fandom meta post, Lotor’s breakdown is eerily familiar to me - and I would expect many other fans with experience with mental health issues as well. I too have had crisis like that, complete with screaming, ranting and threatening to kill everyone who’s ever even so much as looked at you funny.

This whole situation went to hell because team Voltron has a history of making decisions based on emotions rather than logic. So far, it’s worked out pretty alright for them, but that’s about to change. They’ve lost their home, their best chance for stability and avoiding a civil war in the Galra Empire, and a loyal friend. Because they let their emotions get the best of them and couldn’t take fifteen minutes to sort out their facts from their fears.

The only negative thing. The only negative thing Lotor admits to, is that ‘many Alteans perished in [his] quest to unlock the mysteries of quintessence.’ He does not say how they died, he does not say he killed them, he doesn’t even say that their deaths were intentional. For all we know, they died in a lab accident. Those Alteans in pods? Among the many functions pods like those are established to have in VLD are healing and cryopreservation. We don’t even know that those people are the deceased Alteans in question. We don’t even know if they’re dead!

The one and only time we see the blue quintessence used as intended in show is when Lotor uses the last of his supply of it to energize his Sincline ship and attempts to pass through the gate for the first time. In response to Zethrid’s concern that this is the last of their concentrated quintessence Lotor states that once they get into the rift they will have access to an unlimited amount of it. Therefore, it stands to reason that the white quintessence found in the rift contains the same properties as the blue of unknown origin. But that the yellow and purple the Empire uses apparently does not.  Lotor doesn't need the quintessence in the rift for the empire: he needs it for the Alteans. He's not manipulating anyone, his goals are the same as theirs: peace and free energy for the universe. While it’s likely the blue quintessence does have some relation to the colony, whatever that is, there is currenly no evidence whatsoever that it’s being extracted from sentient beings. He’s clearly looking for a replacement source as it is. He likely wanted to tell Allura about the Altean colony, but felt he needed to secure reliable access to the quintessence field before he could do so.

So what’s this second punch that’s going to land next season?

If you haven’t guessed already, think how this is actually going to turn out. Because we know Romelle is wrong, whether on purpose or by accident. She basically conspired to kill the man who did everything in his power to save her people and her culture. And she did so by turning his friends against him.

How are the paladins going to feel when they realize this? How is Allura going to feel? She left Lotor to die in the rift. After he begged her to see reason. After he confessed his feelings for her. After she fell in love with him.

Ultimately, despite what many people expected, and indeed what many people are saying, Lotor has never intentionally manipulated the paladins and he didn’t betray Team Voltron.

Allow me to repeat myself:

Lotor didn’t betray Team Voltron

They betrayed him.

Sincere thanks to all my fandom family in the Lotura 18+ discord. Nearly all of the conclusions reached in this meta were origionally hashed out during chat sessions. Love you all, and I hope for anyone disheartened by s6 this meta can give you a bit of hope for the future.

I sincerely believe, that when all things are said and done, Voltron: Legendary Defender is going to go down as one of the best shows ever created.

[bespangeled]

AR - Watsonian and Doylist

Yes, that one - the nest of hornets.

I just read a review talking about how the journey of Buffy healing after the AR should be a main Buffy theme in early season 7 rather than focusing on Spike. I interpret this as

1) it’s a fuck-awful trope that we see too much of, and I completely agree.

2) The trope of woman going through hell to further a man’s arc is a horrific message  -  it excuses, romanticizes, and glorifies abusive behavior. A victim of assault will be damaged - and will need to recover - and that recovery is what the story has to concentrate on.

3) A real victim of an assault probably won’t be comfortable with his/her attacker alone out in the dark - or in a room with others during the day. An assault is horrific -  even if you fight  off your attacker and prevent him from raping you. To have someone you trust attack you is even worse. It would take some extreme circumstances to work through that and beyond.

Basically I agree with all three of these arguments as individual assertions.It’s when Doylist and Watsonian are combined that I have a problem.

2) Doylist -  If I agree that in fiction there is only one way to handle a sexual assault, only one way a victim reacts, and only one way the story can be told then I am limiting my character’s reactions about all physical trauma - being beaten, being stabbed, being actually raped. They are also limited in deciding all interactions. Only one story can be told - and retold. As a writer, I don’t want that sort of restriction - it kills stories. That’s what tropes are - the same events  repeated without a real exploration beyond trope limits

Not every story should show the new trope - because this isn’t all of reality. Victims who don’t fit into this trope are being told they are reacting wrong. In reality there are many ways to deal. As a survivor, I have to say that showing just one version does a disservice to victims - future and past.One of the hardest things I ever had to do was to realize the fallacy of messages from those who wanted to show support; because the meta-message was this - that my life was ruined, that I would always be broken, that I was damaged beyond repair, that I needed therapy but it would never really make me normal. That was a toxic message which this trope sends to survivors.. It leaves you stuck in the problem stage forever.

3) Watsonian - Inside the universe, Buffy is a super hero. She has no reason to fear the dark - she isn’t weak physically. She could remove any threat with a flick of her hand. Physical intimidation is not an issue.

Buffy is not a normal girl - because if she were should would be dead in this universe. On the day of the AR Buffy was shot and killed (she flat lined). Her close friend was murdered. Her little sister spent hours sitting in the same room with her adoptive mother’s dead body - all alone. Her best friend went on a homicidal and incredibly deadly rampage of torture an murder.. Any one of those things would cause deep and lasting trauma to a normal girl.

I lost a friend to murder - it changed my life. I’ve never died or had a friend go homicidal. But In this universe, trauma is the norm. It is the metaphor that forces the journey So, if she is still obviously processing the AR, then she must also be processing her own death, the  murder of a friend,  her sister’s trauma, and her best friend’s murder spree. Those can’t be regarded as being of lesser import to the AR. The AR can’t be on the same level or worse than being killed by the master, or murdering the love of her life.

Let Buffy be a super hero because some of us need that. Let her not be more traumatized by the AR than everything else. Let us see what a recovered survivor looks like. Because that’s good - that serves a purpose for some survivors. Buffy handles Spike like someone who has moved on from that trauma as well as she has moved past  the other traumas. She isn’t intimidated - she sets boundaries, she chooses to hear him out - and she doesn’t rescue him!

After she learns about the soul she let’s him return to the basement of crazy - his trauma is not her problem. She lets him stay in the basement for 5 episodes, and doesn’t trust him for another 4. (more than a 3rd of the season). She reengages as she needs to. She finally decides to trust him once she is certain of him - once he takes her to the people he turned and asks her to stake him.

Buffy is a super hero because her world is not our world. Let her be a role model for recovery. People have different ways of recovering - they need different stories. Buffy’s story has purpose simply because some survivors need to see the goal line more than they need a proper victim trope however healthy it may seem.

[krokodile]

movie watched in 2018, just three n this one with two behind a cut because spoilers for movies older than all of you :P

battle of the sexes - holy fuck, so good.  SO SO SO GOOD.  look, i usually can’t stand emma stone and i rarely like sports movies.  but i loved this movie so much i couldn’t shut up about it for days.  emma stone and steve carell are fucking flawless, and watching the bonus features, seeing how emma lights up whenever billie jean is onset, it’s clear how strongly she felt about doing this right.  and it absolutely shows.  her transformation goes beyond the makeup (although holy crap they did a good job with that).  her performance is remarkable; i won’t take back all i’ve said about how annoying i’ve found her over the years, because i did, but i underestimated her (which i guess is thematically appropriate for this movie :P ).  she is immensely skilled, and her desire to do this project justice is plainly visible.  the fire in her eyes when she’s on the court is fucking magnetic.  i can’t say enough about how much i adored this performance.  and i generally feel that biopics bring out the worst in actors (academy catnip though they may be).

steve carell nailed his role as well, but that was no surprise; i knew he would be perfect.  i hope he gets his oscar for this, finally, though i’m assuming 3 billboards will sweep all the major categories.  andrea riseborough is predictably perfect, and cute as a bug’s ear - i’ve always thought she was incredibly pretty,  but this is the first time i’ve found her adorable.  she and emma stone have the most insanely believable chemistry - i don’t think i’ve believed an onscreen relationship more, in every facet.  

the movie looks amazing; it drops you right into the 70s with no detail ignored.  and, you know, having lived on planet earth, i knew how this story ended.  and yet, i was nervous.  i was on the edge of my seat wringing my hands through every set.  i wanted to stand up and cheer.  i just...i really loved this movie.  i expected to like it, because reviewers i tend to agree with raved over it, but i didn’t think i’d fall in love with it.  easily one of the best to come out of 2017, at least for me.

when the wind blows - this is the best movie i NEVER EVER WANT TO SEE AGAIN.  oh my god.  look, if you know this movie, you understand me.  if you don’t, how do i sum it up?  an elderly couple living in (i think) rural england has been following the news of a seemingly inevitable nuclear conflict approaching.  the wife is largely unconcerned - after all, they made it through world war ii, and enough time has past that the memories have become romantic - and the husband is confident that the government pamphlets instructing him to whitewash the windows and create a shelter out of doors will instruct him well.

...you know where this is going, because there’s only one way this story can go.

bombs fall, everyone dies.

but not like that.  while most of their area is flattened, their home stands.  and at first all seems well.  emergency services will be along soon enough to rescue them, after all.  the pamphlets instruct them to stay in their little shelter for fourteen days to avoid fallout, but the impracticality of that is immediately apparent, and after all - if you can’t hear it, feel it, see it, how can it be harming you?  

sure, they’ve had headaches, but stress, you know?

if you for some reason have been meaning to see this but haven’t gotten to it, and don’t want spoilers, skip this, because i really can’t figure out how to explain how quietly horrific this film is without spoiling the entire thing.  

the couple - jim and hilda - quickly grow bored indoors and stroll around their garden, chatting about how nice everything will look once it’s grown back next season.  

yeah,  you’ve correctly inferred just how much denial they’re in.  hilda notices a neighbor’s dog in the distance and worriedly comments that it must be hungry; we can see that the dog is not only dead but partially fused to the ground.  grimmer still is jim’s comment that people must have put sunday dinner on early in the week; he can smell the meat roasting.  hilda mentions her worsening nausea, which jim attributes to a woman’s inability to handle stress.  

the water runs out, there are rats in the toilets, and hilda and jim can’t quite pinpoint why they feel so off; so tired and weak.  surely nothing a cup of tea wouldn’t fix, but that’s out of the question now.  still, emergency services should be arriving any moment now.  they wonder how their son and his family are faring.  

jim wonders if hilda is wearing lipstick; she isn’t.  her gums are bleeding.  but surely it’s a result of ill-fitting dentures.  they’re old; it happens.  those strange sores on their limbs must be varicose veins.  they’re old; it happens.  bloody diarrhea?  hemorrhoids.  they’re old; it happens.

jim runs out of answers when hilda’s hair starts coming out in handfuls - or perhaps he’s simply too weak to speak much at this point.  

ultimately, they retire to their tiny shelter, both finally acknowledging - wordlessly but clearly - that no help is coming.  with no better ideas left, hilda suggests they might pray.  jim, endearingly, begins his prayer with “dear sir,” which hilda suggests is wrong.  they are, after all, an old married couple.  

mid-sentence, jim ceases to speak.  and that is all.

this movie came out in the 80s, as part of that boom of nuclear holocaust films that flooded the nation at that time.  but unlike the thrillers or the family dramas, this film is almost painfully quiet.  jim and hilda have no fear.  there’s no screaming, no crying, just wondering why on earth their son seems to have gone mad at the news.  war is survivable; they’ve done it before.  there are no horrific shots of dead bodies, of people burned and in agony.  just jim and hilda, quietly transforming from round-faced little old cherubs to hollow-eyed skeletons.  

and my god, they make you love them.  they’re fucking adorable, with their accents and their quaint little house.  they bicker, but you know neither would know what to do with themselves without the other.  (the sweetness of their relationship is, i imagine, what makes the moment where jim carelessly calls hilda a “stupid bitch” as she refuses to get into the shelter - the oven’s on, the laundry’s still on the line, she really should take care of these things first - so disproportionately upsetting.  it feels personal, somehow.)  

the movie looks absolutely gorgeous.  the characters are animated, the home is done in 3d models, manipulated with stop motion, and the blending of mediums is startlingly seamless.  the character designs are simple - jim looks rather like an elderly charlie brown, with a large round head, dots for eyes, a little squiggle mouth and little else - making it all the more effective when the effects of their sickness start to visibly affect them.  there’s no gore, nothing hyperrealistic, and yet the images are deeply disturbing in ways eli roth can only dream of being.  

as the saying goes, one death is a tragedy; a million, a statistic.  we can speculate about the number of lives lost if nuclear war breaks out, but somehow that will feel less devastating than watching just these two.  there’s nothing exaggerating, nothing made “bigger” for film.  just the quiet, horrible truth.

and fuck, it’s a sick feeling when you remember that this is exactly what we did to every single japanese individual who didn’t immediately die when we bombed them.  they died in days and weeks after with radiation poisoning, or years later of blood and bone cancers.  either they went through this themselves, dying horrible, agonizing deaths that they couldn’t even feel the hope of curing, or they helplessly watched their families.  numbers are sobering, but the reality of the suffering is nauseating.

oh and i mean trump seems determined to bring about the same fate to the us, so there’s that to think about, if you didn’t feel shitty enough.

it’s an absolutely brilliant piece of art; one of the best animated films i’ve ever seen.  but i think it’s best to go in warned about what you’re seeing.  you know it’s going to be sad, you know they’re going to die, but...you should know that it’s worse than you’re envisioning.

still.  see it.  it’s on youtube.  

ringing bell - because shit, i didn’t already want to die enough, right?  it’s bambi, but with sheep.  oh, and instead of growing up and marrying his cousin, bambi joins forces with the hunter and becomes an expert gunman.  

yeah.

honestly, i didn’t like it, and not for the reasons you might think.  yeah, it’s sad, but i didn’t think it was well put-together.  the first third is just a baby lamb called chirin prancing around being nauseating (or cute, i guess).  the second third is an irritating, dumb baby sheep deciding he wants to become an apprentice to the wolf who killed his mother, which...okay, i can accept that he’s come to reason that only the strong survive (there’s an absolutely gutting scene, one of the few done well, where the lamb attempts to rescue a bird and her eggs from a snake.  the mother is killed, and in the scuffle, the eggs are broken.  the image of chirin wailing “why do the weak have to die?” is going to be the thing that fucks me up for the rest of my life.  jesus christ.) but we see NONE of this - he goes from hunting down the wolf determined to kill it, the wolf knocks him down a fucking mountain, he climbs back up and declares his intent to become a wolf.

we get a rocky movie’s worth of training montages, and really a whole bunch of nothing for the second act.  i’ll give it credit for having the wolf’s design be badass as fuck and for the hunting scene having more realism than i’d expect from a sanrio production (yeah, this came from the people who brought you hello kitty.)  but the story elements are really ignored.  we never do find out why the wolf never just ate the damn sheep when it came looking for him.

the third act is better - chirin’s adult model is the stuff of nightmares compared to his cotton fluffball appearance in the earlier scenes, and everything looks gorgeous and is animated far better than what came before it.  i won’t spoil the story of the ending, but the final shot, of chirin alone, wailing for the wolf in what sounds creepily like a howl, is...depressing.  it’s not SAD.  it just comes with a resignation that makes it so much worse than just being sad.  of course this is how it ends.  what else could there be for this wretch, no longer a ram, but not enough a wolf?

it’s a short, about 50 minutes, and at first i was thinking it might have worked better as a feature, but really, it would’ve worked better at the same length, just with differently-applied focus.  still, i appreciate its existence.  i think the 70s and 80s realized what we’ve forgotten now - kids eat up the dark stuff, the cautionary and morality tales.  when things are scary, you get to feel proud and excited that you made it through.  when things are sad, you learn to remember that happiness returns.  when you experience loss vicariously, you begin to understand it, how to process it.  when you see death, you accept it as part of life.  kids WANT to understand these things; they WANT to know more than what they know; they WANT to take on tough things and overcome them.  WE want to keep them “safe” and “innocent” - they know that that’s the opposite of what they need.  

that said, if any kid i’m watching wants to watch it, i’m going to another room until it’s over.  JESUS.