#just playing with a concept that struck me yesterday

[martellspear]

[randomactsofpigeon]

So I did end up going to see the D&D movie yesterday. And folks, it was charming.

I could go on about how it was clearly a love letter to tabletop gaming, and to Faerun specifically. I could talk about how unexpectedly funny it was. I could do paragraphs on how much I loved the gelatinous cube. Or the sheer nuttiness of the fish scene (if you've seen this movie, you know exactly what I mean).

But what struck me the most? How PG it was.

Now, I don't know the actual rating of the movie. I don't really have a reason to pay attention to that information. But I can tell you this was an action movie that had exactly zero gore. People got beat up inside suits of armor. There was no blood--at one point someone's throat is slit, and almost comically there's no blood on the knife, much less pouring out of a throat. There's no escalating series of how creatively we can kill people. There's a scene inside a blacksmith where one of the combatants ends up in the molten metal. But he just lies there--we are not subjected to a close-up scene of his burned flesh, there's no screaming and flailing. And even those handful of scenes of more creative deaths are very few and far between. Mainly, people just bash at each other and fall down. There's no axes sticking out of heads or that kind of thing. It's just... clean.

And oh my gosh, it was so refreshing?

I don't think I'd ever really realized how mentally taxing it is to watch that kind of stuff. Gore largely doesn't bother me. But I came out of this film almost buoyed, and there was no exhaustion from processing horror after horror. It was sort of amazing what a difference that made.

There's also no sex whatsoever. I can't even remember the last time I watched anything with zero sex.

The themes are relatively simple and heartwarming, without being Hallmarky. There's no anti-heroes really, just ordinary human bumbling and confusion. There's genuine affection between all of the teammates. And it felt incredibly true to the tabletop experience for having all these elements, and for not having the other elements. I can't speak for your table, but at the tables I've played at, there may be romance, but there's nothing x-rated. There's combat, but no gratuitous descriptions of violence. The language at my table tends to be fouler, but that's more a consequence of how my friends and I tend to speak than any statement about its necessity.

It was proof of concept that you don't need grim and gritty to make an excellent fantasy movie for adults (though I think older children could enjoy it equally well, and a true family movie has become an extreme rarity in this day and age).

I thoroughly enjoyed it.

[eliasdrid]

oh speaking of warframe

duviri spoilers ahead (consider I only played yesterday and may be so so wrong)

I was double checking the transcript of the quest on wiki since it'll likely be a while til its out for replay and all.

Anyway. There's this bit, right.

Teshin: You saw that ship in the sky... The Zariman. Our child king must be one of those who was abandoned there. A Tenno. Drifter: You said the Tenno are trying to help me... this paradox stuff. Now you're saying Thrax is one of them? He doesn't seem too helpful. Teshin: The history I know... that Zariman ship returned from the Void, bringing with it the extraordinary power the Tenno command. But here is a different path, I suppose. A difference in parallel. A paradox in itself.

And Dominus Thrax design shows some human skin in his left hand specifically but his legs may be partially uncovered too (or at least that is the case in the concept art). When I saw the weird metal belly thing my first thought was that it was a Fortuna sort of deal and his head/brain rests in there but it might just as well be in its rightful place and he's just trying to look like an Orokin ruler in his complicated fairy tale land (so he has that mask/helmet).

Moving on. I was checking other stuff on wiki and it said somewhere that the Drifter made everything up themself - including Dominus Thrax. This idea is supported by this dialogue but I want to explain what I interpreted which is not exactly this. Bear with me.

Teshin: You did it. You took control. Drifter: I always had it. Thrax didn't make this place- Teshin: -you did. But... you reset it. You gave it all back to him. Why?

Now, the Drifter being the original king is interesting because the first thing we hear when trying to leave is this (below) and while the first citizen does say they are not sure... the Drifter is quite different from Dominus Thrax and it struck me as odd while I was playing. Besides, it seemed to me that Dominus Thrax didn't leave the palace much.

Citizen 1: The king! The king! There goes our honored king! Citizen 2: Where? Where?! He gave me no eyes to see him!

So, like, I am absolutely wondering how long it's been since the Drifter lost control of Duviri... because clearly they are an Adult Now and clearly they were a child or teenager before Duviri, aboard the Zariman.

If Duviri happened with the "crash" and that's the point of divergence... well, our operators are teenagers to young adults (at most). And before the War Within update, on Second Dream, they were more child-like (and I personally adhere to the idea that there was a time for the operator to "grow up" at whatever slow rate void-immortality has given them out of cryo/suspension between these two events). So, the Drifter was a teen (or preteen) and they were with others of their age (or about). Of the adults of the Zariman we know little but I do not remember any of them surviving so we have a bunch of children whose parents are all dead. Of course the Tenno managed somehow and were later retrieved by the Orokin who experimented on them and made them weapons on the Sol timeline. Not the case on Duviri...

During the quest Teshin says we are not experiencing our own memories but Dominus Thrax's. This is the one thing that leads me to believe that Dominus Thrax is not a Conceptual Embodiment but a Tenno - like Teshin guesses at first. The Drifter could have also poured their memories into Dominus Thrax to rid of them too but... let me follow my line of thought to the end.

SO.

Consider: The Drifter and Thrax were taking care of each other during the events of the Zariman. The Drifter decided to read Thrax, perhaps much younger than them, this book he carried around constantly to help him calm down - he even had a doll of one of the characters, it was clear that he liked it very much.

Sidenote, the book we get has doodles on the pages, which reinforces my idea that it belonged to a child. Moving on.

It's all going terribly aboard the Zariman and it's gonna get worse. Reading the book to Thrax is almost a ritual. Escapism. The Drifter being older and capable of understanding what's going on wishes that Thrax would never have to see the horrors of this and could live in this fantastic book... Something happens (perhaps many of the others die) and this all develops into The Drifter creating Duviri and making Thrax king. The Child King. To Cope.

The Drifter plays along at first, they are no longer in danger and they have an entire amazing world to explore. The Drifter is the Drifter because they explore ever-changing Duviri and won't stop visiting places, coming back and telling tales. Years go by. Thrax being much younger and having all his needs met never grows up from his child self, it's not like they have anyone around to teach them either. Additionally the Drifter may be too trusting of the fact that he can do all the growing up on his own too, having grown up quickly themself due to the Zariman incident, or believes he understand that this is all made up and one day they'll have to leave. In any case, they eventually reach the conclusion that Duviri is nice, fairy tale land, but they should call for help or find a way out already. They can't be children forever. When they express this, it sparks a conflict between them.

[...] You keep calling this a prison, but you know what it really is? It's the only place in the entire universe that is... Actually. Safe.

Thrax doesn't want to leave this world of fantasy and doesn't want the Drifter too either, this is the only other real person he knows of. And it is safe here. Nowhere else. Maybe they play cat and mouse for a while, maybe Duviri was bigger but got reduced so the Drifter couldn't go too far. Whatever happens, Thrax ends up getting the Drifter and executes them for treason ad nauseum until The Duviri Paradox quest and here we are now.

Anyway these were my thoughts, cutting it here because I feel I might get sidetracked. Also this interpretation kinda makes it all a bit sadder that The Drifter decided to reset the day and give Thrax the throne back even though they likely had the power to change that.

[77angelnumbers77]

LIZ IM GRABBING YOU BY YOUR SHOULDERS AND SHAKING YOU I NEED YOU TO WRITE A CONTINUATION OF THE VRISKA N FEM!ERIDAN FIC EXCEPT ITS THE AFTERMATH AND FEM!SOLLUX PETTY AND JEALOUS ABOUT ERIDAN SPARRING WITH HER EX-KISMESIS. I NEED IT NOW!!!!!!! they must suffer. or maybe kiss and make up. i am entrusting you to do the concept justice.

Sorry this took so long! You get jealous Sol, but only a little bit since that's mostly Eridan's domain 😭

Sollux closes the thermal hull with a force that shakes the rest of the mealblock. 

"Could you keep it down?" You ask politely, burying your face deeper into your first edition volume of Interplanetary Alternain Battle Tactics. It’s a typical near-dawn date, which means that you get this coveted domesticality that you’ve been craving since before you learned how to crave. Not from Sollux, mind you, but it’s fine. You take what you can get, even if it is a bit unconventional.

You return your attention to your book. If she wants to make a mess of her hive, that’s her prerogative. You’ve long since learned to accept what quirks you can’t change and antagonize her about the ones you can change. Sleep hygiene, for example, is a work in progress. 

You’re wrapped up in a particularly interesting segment about a zigzagging trench used to win the battle of 673MI when she speaks again.

"Were you going to tell me that you visited your ex kismesis?" She slams a nutrition plateau down on the counter with unnecessary force.

Ooh. This could be good.

"Why? Are you jealous?" You needle, making a point to hide your smirk behind your book. 

"Why would I be jealous? I get more than enough of you," she bites back, beginning to shovel yesterday’s leftovers into her squawk gash. If you were looking, you’d probably see her talking with her seed flap open again. Thankfully, you’re not looking. Pointedly not looking. You have no idea why she’s had so many suitors. It’s frankly disgusting, proof that natural selection isn’t working correctly. More than anything, it makes your blood boil the way a good kismesissitude should. 

Bad manners aside, this is an occasion to savor. it’s not often you start out with the upper hand, granted to you without any measure of foul play. "Well then why are you mad?" you ask coyly, turning the page to give the impression that you’re still focused on the book.

You’re somehow still surprised when she tears it away from you with her psionics, even though she’s been tearing shit out of your hands since before you were even together. Her fork is down on the counter and, as far as you can tell, she’s looking straight at you with those freaky eyes of hers. You look back. You firmly, vehemently ignore the curling warmth in your gut. 

It is jealousy that she’s feeling. She cares enough to be jealous of your last kismesis. Your thump tortoise is fluttering – what a wonderful sweep to be a bleeding-pump romantic. 

"You sparred with your ex kismesis," Sol says, gritting her teeth. She’s so cute you could explode. 

"Sad that we haven’t been sparrin’?" You ask, doing nothing to disguise your smugness anymore. "Worried that you’re just not stimulatin’ me anymore? Thinkin’ I’d seek other outlets?"

"No. I know VK never hated you," Sol says, smiling when she realizes she’s struck a nerve. Still, you know she’s lying. 

"So why are you still jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," she insists. "It’s just pretty damn crude if you ask me. I mean, really? You couldn’t even win? You had a gun. She had a handful of dice. You’re an embarrassment to me."

Well played. You’re actually a little bit humiliated now, despite knowing, logically, that she’s still jealous. You’re so frustrated by the accusation that you let her change the subject, just like that. "You know she’s lucky."

"You still did a piss-poor job. I mean, really? Where’s your aim?" Sollux begins to eat again, which shows that she’s comfortable enough to go back to her routine, which means that the smug asshole is winning. Fuck that.

"Bet you’d know about piss poor," you snip before you can stop yourself. Annoyance is loosening your tongue and she knows it. You hate her.

"Why? Because I’m a mustardblood? Very original of you." Sollux is completely unphased. 

Time to try a different tactic. "Fine. You caught me. I thought you’d be happy that I didn’t want to cause grievous bodily harm to someone who wasn’t my kismesis, but I guess not. Contrarian asshat."

"You don’t enter a spar without intending to cause grievous bodily harm."

She’s not even looking at you anymore, choosing instead to devote her attention to her palmhusk. She’s typing, which means she’s texting, which means she’s texting someone who isn’t you – since you don’t have fancy psionics, you have to do this the old fashioned way. You stand, crossing the block in just a few strides – these communal hive stem cells are really lacking in space – to snatch her palmhusk away. The fact that you’re able to only goes to show that she let you snatch her husk away, which only serves to incense you more. 

It’s clear what she wanted you to see. Teal text. Her informant, rubbing in how good her kismesis is compared to Sol’s pathetic seadwelling pet. 

The universe conspires once again to push you back onto your ass. Sollux lets you read, smiling like a little shit.

"You’re not defendin’ my honor?" You snap, feeling like you should at least do . . . something in this situation to claim back your dignity. "You’re just lettin’ Terezi, second in line to the hyperbole throne, embellish the lies of the hyperbole queen?"

Sollux shrugs. "If you had any honor to defend, maybe I would."

You glare at her.

"So. Again. Just to be clear on the situation. You’re trustin’ Vriska, filtered through Terezi, to tell you that I lost at a spar?"

Sollux snorts, monosyllabic and derisive. "Hate to break it to you, but you confirmed it. The details honestly don’t matter to me."

It’s too late to bring up her jealousy again. She’s already gained control of the exchange by having enough dirt on you to dispute whatever allegations you throw her way. She’s proven that, by her measure, you are beneath her. Again. Well fuckin’ played.

"Where did you put my book?" You snap, feeling thoroughly done with this conversation. Sollux only smiles.

"Fetch," she quotes her forebearer, gesturing through the stupidly small block that anyone in their right pan could find anything in. It couldn’t have gone far, she’s saying. You’ve never hated her more in your entire miserable life. 

[venusvxen]

okay so i got like moderately high yesterday n literally felt like i lost my mind n was questioning the validity and f the law bc i felt like everything that i was thinking about was fake…

i felt like my mind was alive n what i mean by that is that it kept going on and on and on and on and onnnnn and i felt like none of those thoughts were mine but instead a being talking through me and wanting to talk to me… and i kept doubting if this was even the case or a hallucination n my mind making it up but then i clocked that for me to doubt that that’s even possible is to turn my back on all the hard work i’ve done to reach this point w the law

anyway i rlly have a new way at looking at god playing as human now.. one of the main things that struck me and kept going through my mind was neville’s saying of “god dreamt to become man so that man could dream to become god”… i felt like i was waking up? hence why my mind felt alive bc i felt like it was the being itself talking to me and i was listening as opposed to in the past where i would try to get in the state of beinf that being… does that make sense

while in that state i was hyper aware that the body i was in was not mine…. it was sooo weird… because i wasn’t myself.. or at least the self that’s typing this.. i was the being within.. which is why i felt so uncomfortable in my body for a bit because it was like me clocking that… that’s just A Form i’ve taken?? whatever i’ll elaborate on that more later.. but i’ve had so many diff epiphanies while in this state of being pure consciousness.. it wasn’t the void at all even tho at times all i saw was darkness but i wouldn’t say it was the void it was just me hyper aware of my true self and my material body n the material world not getting in the way of that.

a part of me want to chalk this experience up to delusion so bad but i’m literally on this side of the internet and the strides i’ve taken with reading neville and falling and getting back up is quite literally so i could get to this point and have these weird awakenings.

one of the main things that struck me during that state is how if we are awareness and nothing but awareness then everything and i mean everything that we’re aware of is real and comes to fruition. this means that even your most invasive intrusive thoughts r real in a way but you write them off as not real which is why they materialize. furthermore as pure consciousness we are wandering to multiple diff realities multiple times a day by imagining diff things. we are god in imagination…. it struck me while in that state that human values mean nothing to this being within.. which is why we attach human states and human ideals to our i am.. i’m not explaining this the best i’ll probably do a wholeeee other post about this… but if we were constantly in the state of just being god and experiencing whatever and never came down from that we would prob hurt other ppl because god isn’t bound to human morals… the concept of god and bad only exists when you re enter the state of being.. human and even then the state of being _____ because that’s why some people are “good” while others are “bad”… that DOESNT MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL GODOSODKS ILL MAKE A WHOLE POST ON ITJEKSKD

but it basically made me think that that’s why it’s so important to not essentially shoo off our human self when we’re in these communities and not think of it as trivial.. it’s there to ground us and make sure we’re not like a untamed wildfire….

but another thing that kept striking me was why am i even in this form in the first place? and the answer i kept getting was that god dreamt to become man so that man could dream to be god ..

essentially meaning that in our human forms we each have different goals and aspirations in this form and goals and aspirations is the part of the human experience i mean think about it.. god doesn’t have any real.. goals.. he can just snap his fingers and be whoever he wants to be.. so in order to get the true Human Experience we have goals we work towards.. which is why some of you may want different things from me… we all have things we desire at our core and higher and higher versions of ourselves we should a strive to be which is why none of us may want the same things at our CORE… it makes our experiences unique.

but at the end of the day.. when we actualize all of this we’ll ask ourselves.. what next? WHICH I THINK EDWARD ART REFWRFED TO… after you achieve all your goals and make all that money you’ll ask yourself.. what next… and that’s when you start looking up.. not to more material possessions because you’ve attained them all but towards your real self.. bc it’s almost like you as god have achieved everything in your human form and you’ve cleared this level almost.. you came down here to experience this and put yourself in this state and felt what man feels and you had a good time but now it’s time to come back home and that’s when man awakes and realizes he’s god and goes forward from that..

i feel like my mind is a bit broken.. i hope some of this made some sense and i hope y’all gain some wisdom from this.. i have to clock in for work now i’m 4 mins late cus i typed this but i rlly feel like I Get It now… idk

[geroya]

[twirling my hair kicking my feet] hiiiii zoe's doppelganger <3 i was wondering if you had any thoughts on her that you wanted to share and, like, how it would play out or any concepts/ or anything like that? i am so intrigued!!!! LOVE U HEATH *KEESES*

oh DO I HAVE THOUGHTS. DO I !!!!!!  

HERE are some thoughts i drafted yesterday when it first struck me !!

‘WHAT if zoe’s doppelganger became someone separate from her. what if she went & lived her own life. what happens when ur doppelganger doesn’t want to squeeze the life out of you (anymore), but instead wishes to LIVE and FLOURISH the way you do. what if it just wants to find it’s own place in the world, as a living thing.’

LIKE ‘you try to kill it. you TRY but you see it just wants to live like you do, like YOU’VE been fighting for ur entire life. (trying to find a purpose) & it thinks YOU’RE in the way. you’ve become it’s boogeyman AND it’s mother. and oh gosh. you’ve turned into her by wrapping ur fingers around its throat and pressing down, saying “i never wanted you no one did” repeating this resounding hurt that has just bounced off the walls of ur own head as the light in its eyes dim, as it stares up at you with that same hopeful sparkle you had in ur eyes when u were a child. only they ARE your eyes. and they’re hoping now to LIVE and YOU are in the WAY. and you could do something good, you could make that impact that you’ve always wanted, give yourself (and someone else) a purpose, so you let go. you stop trying to kill it. this hopeful thing inside of you. and you let it live, you let it breathe and find its place in the world.’

don’t know where she came from. this doppelganger. where she came from or how she got there but i do know, originally, it IS a situation of… u know that one post. that one that’s like ‘if u see urself on the side of the road, kill it.’ that really IS zoe and not!zoe. not!zoe being a culmination of all that zoe is, in the flesh, in the mind, in the overall sense, but she really ISNT her. that isn’t zoe. 

like. remembering that partly zoe is afraid of the doppelganger bc she’s afraid of hurting the people she loves and the doppelganger, being her, but only having. replicated connections with those same people, and seeing zoe as an obstacle to her own ability to LIVE separate from her, would not care with the same intensity about hurting them as zoe does ESPECIALLY if it was to get what she wanted. so zoe is afraid of the doppelganger hurting those that she loves bc she’s afraid of hurting them herself, and Not!zoe is not afraid of that power that they have. she is so unafraid of it.  

and i think, even AFTER zoe doesn’t kill her, she is still greatly unnerved by her. not!zoe is quite literally a mirror she must cover or turn away in order to pass. it’s impossible not to feel that way. how do you look YOURSELF in the face.

also sort of feel like for ZOE, whatever tie they have to each other, it goes one way and it’s STILL there. even when she lets not!zoe go. like she’s still in zoe’s mind but zoe cant get into hers. cant find out her motivations what she's thinking, but not!zoe, she knows EVERYTHING. can figure zoe out from a simple twitch to zoe's brow. that simple. (i would like to think it goes both ways. the potential of that. that not!zoe IS still in zoe’s mind but zoe, ultimately, by that logic, is in hers, and she’s plagued by her. her original motivation had been to get RID of zoe so she could go live as free person, and she isn’t even able to achieve it properly.) 

i have thoughts about not!zoe giving herself a name. naming being a recurring theme with keme and zoe, so of COURSE im going to take that and THROW it as hard as i can at not!zoe. thinking too, that when zoe visits her, (bc i think she does, i mean, how hard is it, to not look in a mirror when u pass one, not even a glance? a little peak? so. that’s where she stands on that.) zoe has to constantly remind herself WHO this is. like bc REALLY thinking about it. REALLY really thinking about it. would a doppelganger feel like another person who just has ur name? or would they feel like a weird out of body experience? TO YOU,  i mean? so would it be like, hi our name is zoe OR would it be like. idk i’m zoe and this is ALSO zoe but you feel weird about saying ur name twice so the letters feel clunky in ur mouth OR would the second instance of ‘zoe’ feel right at home in ur mouth. MUCH to think about

also much to think about the idea of them going out TOGETHER?? and not!zoe is content with being perceived as eerily identical twins but zoe is just. frozen solid. bc how can NO ONE tell. that that is her? but not her and she is HER but separate and that THING is a copy?? STILL!! (i also think. zoe gets weird anxiety about it bc her brothers were twins. and she and not!zoe. they’re NOT twins. how is not!zoe so content with it. how is her stomach not churning standing next to zoe???) 

i do not know what not!zoe gets up to on her free time but it could be something dangerous ! who knows! she's threatened to kill people before !! i'll get back to u on this <3

ALSO the thought of TWO zoe's just. existing. WOOF.

[nostalgebraist]

Yesterday, I followed a link to the Metaculus page about forecasting "when the first AGI (artificial general intelligence) will be publicly known."

And their criteria for what counts as an "AGI" struck me as really . . . weird and off?

----

After mentioning that "AGI is rather difficult to precisely define," they lay out an operational definition with 4 parts:

Able to reliably pass a Turing test of the type that would win the Loebner Silver Prize.

Able to score 90% or more on a robust version of the Winograd Schema Challenge, e.g. the "Winogrande" challenge or comparable data set for which human performance is at 90+%

Be able to score 75th percentile (as compared to the corresponding year's human students; this was a score of 600 in 2016) on all the full mathematics section of a circa-2015-2020 standard SAT exam, using just images of the exam pages and having less than ten SAT exams as part of the training data. (Training on other corpuses of math problems is fair game as long as they are arguably distinct from SAT exams.)

Be able to learn the classic Atari game "Montezuma's revenge" (based on just visual inputs and standard controls) and explore all 24 rooms based on the equivalent of less than 100 hours of real-time play (see closely-related question.)

----

This is a really weird list!

Like, what is the Turing Test -- like the actual, famous Turing Test -- doing next to a specific Atari game?

Am I supposed to imagine that, if Alan Turing had lived long enough to witness the advent of Atari, he would have recognized "capacity to git gud at Montezuma's Revenge" as a key aspect of intelligence left out by his original test? That he would have gone back and revised Computing Machinery and Intelligence to remedy the defect?

If you're familiar with deep reinforcement learning research, you probably know that Atari is a standard benchmark task in that field, and that "Montezuma's Revenge" is a uniquely hard game for RL systems to learn. So it's not a mystery that they picked this specific game, conditional on them including some specific Atari game.

But why? Why Atari at all? It doesn't feel grounded in any discernible idea about what AGI actually is.

It feels more like

- They came up with the first 2 bullet points, then got worried they were too "text-heavy" and didn't test enough modalities

- So they tried to shoehorn image recognition into the 3rd bullet point (but only in a very shallow way -- existing OCR systems are already good enough to extract the text from the images, and from there it's another pure-text problem)

- And then they thought "this still feels too supervised-learning-heavy, we need to add some RL flavor to the mix," and they asked themselves "what's an RL benchmark that's still out of reach, but not that far out of reach, kind of like Winogrande but for RL?", and thought "ah, Montezuma's Revenge!"

The second bullet point is totally superfluous, already covered by a Turing Test performed with sufficient seriousness. The judge in the Turing Test can just ask the contestant to do Winograd schemas! They can ask whatever they want!

----

The core thing that feels missing is, uh, general intelligence.

The concept of "AGI," at least as I've always understood it, is not about being good at some finite list of tasks. It's about unboundedness and flexibility.

Being able to "learn anything," not "learn Montezuma's Revenge."

And being able to retain things, once learned. Being able to grow, intellectually, without external help.

The Turing Test is the only one of these criteria that has the right spirit. If the Turing Test alone is insufficient (which is an interesting claim), then the supplements should be tasks of the same magnitude, not a few narrow domain cases, cherry-picked to be on the near-term trajectory of ML research.

Another example of a test with the right spirit is "the system enrolls in a class on a subject it does not know, passes the class, and learns the material."

I came up with that on the spot, while planning this post earlier, but then I went to the Wikipedia page for AGI and discovered I wasn't the only one with the idea:

The Robot College Student Test (Goertzel)

A machine enrolls in a university, taking and passing the same classes that humans would, and obtaining a degree.

Ben Goertzel is a big-name transhumanist who was talking about AGI before it was cool. He was a vocal member of SL4, the mailing list Yudkowsky moderated, back in the early era of SIAI (later renamed MIRI). So if Ben Goertzel and I are on the same page, that increases my confidence that I'm not just misunderstanding what everyone else means by "AGI."

Metaculus does include a nod to generality, after the 4 criteria:

By "unified" we mean that the system is integrated enough that it can, for example, explain its reasoning on an SAT problem or Winograd schema question, or verbally report its progress and identify objects during videogame play. (This is not really meant to be an additional capability of "introspection" so much as a provision that the system not simply be cobbled together as a set of sub-systems specialized to tasks like the above, but rather a single system applicable to many problems.)

But this seems like an admission that their criteria don't actually test for AGI!

We care about AGI because of the things it can do. The question is one of capabilities, not structure. You shouldn't have to peer inside the head of the creature and check that it's doing tasks "in the right way"; simply doing the tasks at all should be evidence enough. If it isn't, your tasks are too easy.

This is the spirit behind the Turing Test. You don't have to include a stipulation that the machine is applicable to other problems too, to guard against narrow machines specialized to only do this one test. A "machine specialized to only do the Turing Test" is (the argument goes) equivalent to an un-specialized machine; even if all you care about is passing this one Test, you end up doing everything else, too, as a prerequisite somewhere along the way. That's the whole point!

----

The really frustrating thing is that I can imagine an ML system passing these criteria in the near future. It will be possible to meet these criteria long before it will be possible to meet them in an interesting, AGI-relevant way.

Like, scaling up LMs will get you a lot of the way . . . Metaculus doesn't explicitly rule out using few-shot prompts specialized to each task by humans, as long as the system is "integrated enough," whatever that means . . . the Turing Test with a serious, savvy judge would be hard for ML, but the Loebner Prize is not exactly known for its seriousness as a Turing Test implementation . . . I dunno much about the RL field but I'm sure they'll figure out Montezuma's Revenge sooner or later, if they haven't already . . . you'll need some more research on using LMs in RL, that's already happening . . . and maybe reframe language modeling as an RL task so you can claim you're doing one "unified" thing, RL . . .

But the system I'm imagining is not an AGI. It's not even "an AI," in the sense of being an intelligent individual being.

It would interact in discrete "episodes," and would not retain memories of past episodes. If it did Montezuma's Revenge after the Turing Test, it wouldn't remember doing the Turing Test while it was playing the game; indeed, there would be no "it" in existence that had experienced those two things, one after the other.

When the system does the Turing Test, the persona seen by the judge would not be "the AI"; it would be an ephemeral character, invented from whole cloth on the spot, and would cease to exist at the test's conclusion.

(You never really "talk to GPT-3," only to collections of attributes that swim up out of GPT-3's notions about linguistic plausibility. You can ask GPT-3 for a conversation with Einstein, and find yourself talking to something that does in fact sound kind of like Einstein; but successive interactions of this kind are not conversations with a single being, "GPT-3's Einstein." There is no such being.)

It would not be able to pass the Robot College Student Test. Even asking the question "could it pass the Robot College Student Test?" would almost be a category mistake. It wouldn't have general intelligence. It wouldn't automate away any single human job, much less all of them. I could, of course, go on.

----

Metaculus does have a second version of the question, with a "stronger operationalization for artificial general intelligence."

But it isn't any more general, just harder, mostly by demanding more embodied capabilities. So while the "weaker" point 2 is Winograd schemas, the "stronger" point 2 is

Has general robotic capabilities, of the type able to autonomously, when equipped with appropriate actuators, satisfactorily assemble a (or the equivalent of a) circa-2020 de Agostini 1:8 scale automobile model.

But again, it's much easier to achieve this in an uninteresting way, without really building AGI. I know lots of people work on RL for robotics, though I don't know much about that subfield . . . I remember reading some Facebook/Meta papers about the problem of policies learned in simulation not transferring well to the physical robot . . . I'm sure you could take the RL/LM thing that does the easy version and add a robot body somehow.

And yet, taking a college class would still be an unthinkable dream -- something to be solved much, much later on, if ever.

[kinetic-elaboration]

July 25: Nope (Thoughts)

Wrote up some notes on Nope earlier today. I was just trying to get down any scattered thought I could find, and then as I got more into it, the notes became more coherent. This definitely isn’t everything; I saw a lot of stuff from other people that was interesting, but I only added it in if it connected to some original thought of mine. Anyway, there may or may not be more to this as I think more on the film.

Lots of spoilers below.

Themes:

Viewing/Seeing/Being Seen & Its Relation to Consumption

The two ‘sides’ seem to be in a race, to see who can see the other without first being seen. The Haywoods want to capture the alien on screen, to prove that they have seen it. If they succeed, the alien will be available for ‘public consumption.’ The alien needs to see its victims to eat them. If it succeeds…it gets to eat.

The need to see as in understand is dangerous in and of itself. The auteur in search of the perfect shot is swallowed up by the alien. The TMZ reporter is more concerned about ‘the shot’ than his own physical safety. Jupe’s reckless viewing kills everyone at his theme park.

To avoid being eaten, one cannot look at the alien. Calls back to the Medusa, or to Orpheus and Eurydice: tales where breaking down and looking, perceiving, lead to ruin and death.

Animals, Animal Training, and Exploitation

OJ explains this one pretty straightforwardly: people who treat animals without respect will face violent consequences. Animals are wild, and they can never be fully trained. To ‘train’ an animal is to ‘learn its rules’ and then to respect those rules. The people on the commercial set startle the horse, in a way that was completely predictable and about which they were warned, and the horse got scared and reared. The actors in Gordy’s House antagonized the chimp with the balloons, and he went wild. Yet people can co exist with and even work with animals by respecting them and their needs. 

What to make of the concept of ‘breaking’ an animal? The auteur wants to break the alien and compares it to breaking a horse, and there was something in that flashback with OJ and Otis Sr. about a horse that would not be broken (I don’t remember this well). 

Ultimately, they survive by playing by the alien’s rules, but they never ‘tame’ it in any way. They capture it (on film) and they destroy it.

I feel like there’s a lot about exploitation in this film but that I’m not seeing it clearly. Obviously getting an alien on film and making money off of showing this proof to the world is ‘exploiting’ a being/animal. The Haywoods’ ancestor was exploited: he never got proper credit for his contribution to early film, and in a sense they ‘exploit’ his memory to this day; it’s a big part of their pitch and advertising.

Gazing on Trauma

(I’m proud of this one because I came up with it all on my own!)

Obviously trauma is a big part of Jupe’s story: the horrible experience of watching Gordy kill and maim his co-stars seems to be with him as strongly 15+ years later as if it had happened yesterday. He has two separate flashbacks of the event in the movie, and at the second, his wife uses what appears to be a well-worn calming technique to bring him back down. He’s also integrated this famous incident into his public persona–it’s something he exploits for profit, as much as his Western film experience.

Strikingly, he rarely (except for the flashbacks, which appear to be involuntary) ‘looks’ the traumatic experience in the eye. He’s always mediating it through art, parody, preservation. His hidden museum, close to his office but unseen, all the relics in glass. The Mad magazine cover. The SNL sketch–that one really struck me even in the theater, because Em is specifically asking him about his experience; she’s going right to the source for information, but he only goes on at length about the parody version of the events. It’s awkward and it made me feel like, well what’s the point? When are you going to get to the REAL thing? He simply can’t. The real thing makes him go blank, and he has to turn away from it.

The massacre scene is the very first one in the movie, and it’s followed by the death of Otis Sr. They don’t take place at the same time, and Otis Sr.’s death is much closer chronologically to the main story than the massacre in the TV studio. Yet the two are placed closely together and separated from all that comes after by the title card. Together, the scenes are a prologue. 

They are the original traumatic events that the characters are dealing with–confronting, turning away from, reeling from, glancing at, reliving. It’s less obvious with the Haywoods, but perhaps this is because they are primarily turning away. OJ remembers his father specifically only once: another vivid flashback, that provides him with information he uses to defeat the alien. He and Em have only one conversation about their father and their past. OJ keeps the nickel that killed his father pinned to his wall: a metonymic representation of him only. Are they looking away from their own mourning? To what extent does their father haunt the narrative? They are very close to losing the ranch: Jupe wants to buy it; Em sees it as her side gig; OJ can’t run the business by himself and has already resorted to selling horses to Jupe. There is a sense of a family, and a family legacy, crumbling, precipitated by the father’s death. Unpreserved. 

If the alien represents these traumatic events, and gazing directly at it leads to one’s own death, is the lesson not to directly confront one’s painful past? Maybe. But the characters DO want to perceive. They want to perceive so badly that they will risk death. They also want to capture, control, tame. The trick is to find a way to perceive and understand without getting sucked into an abyss from which you can never retreat. OJ makes the point that Jupe tried to control the wild animal without understanding it, and that they have to approach it in a different way. Jupe’s manner of confronting his pain isn’t working. But he is ultimately trying to do the same thing the Haywoods are. 

One thing that makes the Haywoods’ attempts to perceive/capture the beast successful is that they have each other. In their worst moments, they see each other; they look each other in the eye. The last shot of the film is OJ appearing to Em out of the mist; her attention isn’t on the reporters (fame) she’s been chasing or on the Oprah shot she’s finally captured. It’s their relationship that saves them literally and figuratively. 

[kekoma]

— goshiki as your boyfriend.

goshiki simps... come collect your bowl-cut boy. hope you enjoy.

goshiki goes 🥥

rarely see any simps for this man or anything sooo...

there is nothing i can say about him.

just uhhh PACK IT UP sweetie.

joking~

so you want to know what it’s like dating coconut head, eh?

i’ll just say right now.

vv soft.

vv pure too.

may i even add... a simp? yes yes yes. adding it in.

why? because i firmly believe tomu is the type to own that title proudly and may even admit to it as well.

anyways, i’ll also add in that tomu is also has the hardworking trait so don’t be surprised when you see that energy make an appearance in your relationship with him.

he wants to earn the title of ‘best boyfriend’ for sure so he’s completely prepared to do everything in his power for it.

although you’ll have to make it known that he’s already the best boyfriend to exist.

because if it isn’t known, then he slowly becomes too much to bear with since his main focus is again— being the best to you and generally making you happy since he cares for you deeply.

definitely loves to be praised by you.

something about your words give him a powerful boost of energy.

especially when you show up during some of his practices and notice an improvement with a certain move he’s been practicing at for ages.

goshiki goes ultra mega soft, looking your direction with the biggest smile ever and all the stars shining, finding home in his doe like eyes.

tomu also praises you too.

doesn’t matter if it’s major or not, he’ll praise you instantly.

it’s his way of repaying you for always being there for him, uplifting his spirits.

he also LOVES to compliment you almost everyday out of the blue.

“you know babe~ i feel like you’ve gotten prettier than the last time i saw you!”

“i- you saw me yesterday and said the same thing.”

“did i~? well just wanted you to know again that you’re pretty! also i love you~.”

“i love you too coconut.”

AUTOMATIC— “hey y/n, you’ll come to my game today, right?”

this boy constantly ask if you’ll come to his games since he likes the concept of his lover watch him and cheering for him.

and guess what? you do attend all his games. 

if he knows you’re coming because you verbally told him ‘yeah i’ll come babe.’ then his eyes are looking for you in the crowd. when he spots you, he’ll mouth ‘thank you’ with the goofiest love struck smile you’ve ever seen.

or sometimes he can’t find you so he uses his ears to listen out for your voice, which he surprisingly tunes in to your voice quicker than anything else (he once explained that your voice was like music to him so it’s easy to tell if his eyes were closed and someone else mimicked you perfectly— tomu could pick you out without any problem)

now let’s step away from that and get into pda.

in the beginning of the relationship, he was too nervous to do it because he didn’t want to cause discomfort or know if you wanted to even go that far yet in the relationship.

tomu would sometimes attempt to be bold and go for it but his hands would begin to shake and he’ll call it a day— mumbling to himself to that he should try again in a few more weeks.

most likely you’ll catch on so you end up being the first to start pda with him and oh boy, did he blush and start freaking out about it? yeah he did.

after a while, he get used to it and starts holding your hand on his own. flashing a smile while saying something cheesy for why he wanted to hold your hand suddenly.

isn’t afraid to show affection either after a few years of dating since he loves you with every fiber of his being and wants to show it constantly.

he’s the same in private but just more cuddles/holding. tomu enjoys feeling your warmth against him.

although when you two are alone cuddling, he finds himself at ease when you play with his hair (even though there may not be much to do with it)

nicknames? nicknames.

top nicknames he calls you are; his other half, babe, baby, beautiful, bubbles and occasionally cinnamon.

DATES. let’s get into it.

goshiki makes a lot of time for you to be completely honest and each date he takes you on are always filled with fun.

so anywhere and everywhere. he wants to experience all types of dates couples can go with you and only you.

bonus fact: picture taking is involved in the relationship regardless if it’s from the countless dates he takes you on to random screenshots when facetiming— tomu admires your beautiful every second he gets and he’ll never forget to tell you about how much he loves every flaw about on your body/face.

also you’re definitely his lock and home screen. sometimes when he isn’t able to see you then he looks at those pictures for hours with a cute grin.

firmly believe he even has a polaroid pic of you in phone case or wallet <3

but to conclude this~

coconut goshiki is a pure hearted boyfriend who’s a major simp for you. the relationship may cause some cavities from how sweet it is.

© all content belongs to kekoma 2020. do not repost, modify or translate.

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 8/?

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name, A/N - Any Name (Your Best Friend’s Name)

This one is shorter because of the last one’s length.

Hi everyone! By the time you see this, I will probably be out and therefore cannot update the other parts with this one’s link, so don’t worry about that if you notice it.

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Jason’s Trauma and his Death, Lightning, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)  (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Going on day 5 of knowing each other, Jason and Y/N would spend the day apart. Why? Because they gave each other the chance to have family time, Jason got it by playing around with his baby siblings, playing Assassin.

Fluff Head canon came from frownyalfred on Tumblr, who wrote about Jason playing Assassin with his brothers 

He would go running through the halls playing the game that he and Dick knew all too well, it had been the only ‘no contact’ game they were allowed to play at a summer camp Bruce had sent them to all those years ago when they weren’t adults with a bunch of other siblings, and girlfriends. But here they were, explaining the game to their younger siblings while Alfred and Bruce hung out with Barbara, who wished she could play, but was paralyzed.

Everyone missed playing games with her like they used to, but with the video game consoles in the house they did transfer a lot of their gaming to online so they could relive memories with Barbs. It was bittersweet, and everyone remembered when she became paralyzed like it was yesterday, but she always wanted them to play games like they used to, with or without her. 

Jason admired his, hopefully, one day older sister for how she treated her disability, like it was a gift, not something that impacted her everyday life and made her have to hang up the cloak of Batgirl.

But running around chasing after Dick, because of course, he got Dick, the universe wanted them to play again, was something he missed so much. They hadn’t had so much of this time, family time, ever since they all became vigilantes, and they never realized how much they missed the thrill of running around with each other.

Jason ended up getting Dick and throwing him out of the game, calling it a ‘selfless act of brotherhood so you can hang out with your girl’ and they both laughed at it. Titus, Damien’s dog, ended up barking up a storm at Jason when he killed Dick, like the big dog was rooting for Dick to win the tournament.

“Down boy! It’s a game!” Jason would whisper-yell at his dog.

“Yeah! Good boy, Titus! Get him!”

“No!” Jason would yell while running throughout the house, Titus on his heels. Passing by Alfred, Bruce and Barbara, where Titus would stop and go lay at Bruce’s feet, but Jason didn’t know that.

Jason would end up coming in just 10 minutes later, with a green slash on his neck. Tim, who had pulled Cass but killed her, Cass, who had pulled Jason. Tim now had two kills in the game and both were to people who could have easily overpowered him. 

“Jase! Welcome to the land of the dead,” Dick greeted him.

“God dammnit I’ve already been here,” Jason whined in a joke.

“You and your ‘I died pity me’  jokes,” Barbara said.

“It’s called a coping mechanism, Barbs. And hi dad, Alfred,” Jason said as he waved slightly at both of them, Alfred waved back and Bruce nodded at him.

“You could just to go therapy, Jase,” Barbara said, seeming concerned for someone who she considered her baby brother. She remember when he came into the Manor, she was older than him, sure . But he had nightmares and she and Dick would switch between who would sleep at his door at night, they both had terrible backs until the nightmares calmed down. Jason never knew they did this.

It also happened when he was resurrected, but the nightmares were worse and he’d wake all sweaty and upset. There were too many nights where batkids would be in Jason’s bed with him from 12am to when Alfred would greet them in the morning. The nightmares had slowed down a lot in the past few years with the introduction of his Goddaughter into his life, but they still came by to remind him of what happened.

He didn’t talk about it much. They would always try to edge him on about about really happened, but he was stubborn. It made sense, sure, trauma is trauma. But they all wanted to help him get better. It hurt them all that he was hurting and they didn’t know how to help him get through it.

--------------------------------------------------

Y/N would sit on her bed that morning and finally finished organizing her criminal psychology and regular psychology notes when she came across her printed copy of Dr. Barry Allen’s dissertation she had studied so hard. She found it so weird that she was so close to someone who she looked up to in the field while also being so far in the same breath.

She didn't dote on it for long, she stocked it away with her forensics notes in their place. This, the relationship she had with Jason that intertwined her with so many people, was something she was getting used to by the minute, but it was never something she’d get fully used to as time goes on.

She would put on a JCS - Criminal Psychology video in the background as she worked and tried to make her journal look nicer when Jason texted her,

Good morning. He said.

Good morning :)  She said back.

I just lost a game against a 16 year old.

Huh?

My brothers and 2 of my sisters were playing Assassins with me right? Well my 16 year old brother, Tim, he ended up getting the better of me and beat me. 

Oh! So you suck!

What!? No, I’m literally so cool what do you mean? He said, it clearly had sarcasm undertones to it, so Y/N wasn’t worried if she offended him with saying he sucked.

Oh yeah? Then why’d you lose?

Well, I killed Dick.

Okay so you didn’t lose, Dick lost.

It started raining a little bit, the sounds of it hitting lightly against her window, and she felt at peace. It was never hard for her to feel peace when she was by herself. She only had one roommate because she liked the silence, to be alone to collect her own thoughts in her head.

Her parents said it was because she probably had underlying mental illness that they never had the money to diagnose. She agreed. But she still didn’t have the chance to do it.

Jason and her deserved so much more than what the world have given them up to this point, so when they found each other it was, in a way, the universe saying ‘I’m sorry, you deserve this’ and with each passing day it made the pain they had both felt in their lives just a little bit more tolerable.

No, I guess Dick sucks at the game more than me.

Where’d you even get the concept for that game?

Dick and I used to play it at a Summer Camp before we got kicked out.

For playing the game?

No, for being unruly children.

You seem like you were a handful back in the day.

I was, I was the worst kid to raise, my dad has a shirt that says ‘Proud parent of a kid who is sometimes an asshole but that’s OK’ and he wears it all the time.

What a dad moment. Don’t tell my father that shirt exists, he’ll get one for my mum and himself to represent my sister and I.

Were you an unruly child as well?

I was a troublemaker. Getting into arguments with my authoritative figures about dress codes, rules, why girls couldn’t carry chairs, literally anything that was unequal, I was at their throats about it.

I mean, as you should. My older sister, Barbara, and my younger sisters, Stephanie and Cassie, they would like that about you.

I feel like in someway I’ve won over every part of your family.

The rain would get more violent as time went on. Strikes and hits of lightning would strike all around the city, hitting those gargoyles on every building, she always figured they were decorative, but A/N explained that their horns were made out of copper so people wouldn’t get struck by lightning. Bruce Wayne actually made that a thing, A/N said.

Y/N got a message from the dance competition that she signed up to, turns out, California was hit with a hurricane and most people evacuated. No one was allowed in or out. She guessed weather was being funky everywhere. It sucked, but she already was wishing she could spend time at home instead of out in the world.

A feeling she hated.

She would spend the rest of the day on and off the phone with Jason while it stormed. She would go to bed early that night.

-------------------------------------------------

Jason slipped on his vigilante uniform, the Red Hood was going to be on patrol over this night, stormy or not, it was his duty and he knew that. Did he want to go? Yes. He was killing for some action and he was going with Dick. They would probably have some ‘Bro Time’ which Jason wanted. 

Even if it was silence, having Dick nearby him meant enough and gave him peace of mind.

He grabbed his guns and loaded them while packing a few extra magazines in his belt, when Dick placed a hand on his shoulder, “You have to be careful tonight, Jase,” Dick said as he gulped down tears, “Just come back to me alive if you break off from me, okay?”

“Alive but bruised,” Jason joked.

“I’m serious. I can’t lose you again and tonight is going to be massively dangerous.”

“You won’t.”

[llogllady99]

We’ll meet again

CHARACTERS | Levi, Erwin, Gabi, Falco

RELATIONSHIPS | Levi x Erwin

GENRE | Angst, Characters death

IV | Characters death, talks of reincarnation, mourning, angst, heavy angst i think, Erwin’s grave

SUMMARY | It was the 14th of October and Levi had just come to visit his late lover’s grave: Commander Erwin Smith, dragging Falco and Gabi with him.

WORD COUNT | 2k

Droplets sharp like knives rained down relentlessly against the jagged and worn out headstones in Paradis’ graveyard, further eating away at the already damaged and weathered rock. Puddles have formed in the depressions of the little allies that snaked in between the graves, gravel and dirt mixing with the glacial downpour of mid October. Trees, specifically three or four oak trees and five pine trees that were placed in acute measured intervals, were dripping with water, their leaves ruffled violently by the gale that accompanied the rain. The clouds and sky were a dark grey, occasionally splitting when lightning broke through, immediately followed by the roar of thunder, silencing and drowning out every sound present in that moment in the valley and everything in its vicinity. When such events did not occur, the high pitched squeaking of a wheelchair and its occasional bumping into small, misplaced bits of gravel could be heard, accompanied by short and light footsteps following it closely could be heard.

In the terrible weather, that had decreased the visibility exponentially, three figures could be distinguished making their way through the alleys of the graveyard: the owner of the wheelchair, a man in his forties with onyx black haired and with an enormous scar deforming his once perfect face, and two children: a girl with chestnut brown hair the same colour as her eyes and a boy with blonde hair and hazel golden eyes. Their destination was still unknown as the boy had trouble following the instruction the man in the wheelchair voiced, his tone growing more aggressive by the minute, his excitement and eagerness starting to show. But as time progressed, their destination seemed to be at the far back of the cemetery, where a massive white marble head stone laid, seemingly unaffected by the furious torrent around it. It was the 14th of October and Levi had just come to visit his late lover’s grave: Commander Erwin Smith, dragging Falco and Gabi with him.

Seven years had passed since Erwin’s death but it still felt like it was yesterday. The pain, regret, and love were still as intense as they were when the man took his last breath, abruptly raising his hand up asking that damned question again before inhaling and exhaling shallowly. It was a cruel world they had lived in back then and certainly letting Erwin rest had been the best decision and one of the greatest gestures of love Levi had done for him. They all suffered so much, him most out of them all. There was no point in bringing him back and let those regrets and guilt pile up even more. Sometimes, selfishly Levi would allow his mind wonder and wish his lover would be there again with him, if only for a little bit, enough to witness the world they were in now. A world with no more wars and hardships. He would also imagine their life together: buying an apartment together in the centre of Mitras, raising a few pets together, getting married for real, adopting, and taking him to the ocean, a wonder which Erwin never had the chance to experience. Levi would have shown him all the weirdly shaped shells that Armin was so passionate about, the colourful fishes that swam where the water was deeper, and the way the sun rose from the water, painting it in vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds.

Levi had also told Gabi and Falco about Erwin, telling them about the greatness of his Commander, their relationship, and about his last moments. The children had been surprisingly understanding, Gabi’s prejudice’s long forgotten, and had offered him great comfort telling him they wanted to know more and actually meet the man, well what remained of him. Levi reckoned that there would only be his bones, if they had not turned to ashes those seven years, and maybe a phew strands of his infuriatingly beautiful golden hair, a feature of his which the raven adored. Therefore, here he was, looking down at the white marble headstones, emotions and memories flooding back in again. He briefly showed the children the headstone and then asked for a little privacy. With sympathy, they obliged and walked off in a random direction through the cemetery, each equipped with a black umbrella, shielding them from the torrential rain.

Now alone, Levi readjusted his umbrella so it sat upright without his support, then reached for the bag that rested against one of the armrests. It was a brown leathered sling bag which he took from Erwin a while ago. He had found the bag while gathering his things from his office when they came back from the expedition. Back then it had brought back memories of secret picnics in flowery meadows on their days off. Erwin always had to drag him by force because Levi didn’t know how to let go, comfortable in his routine. Looking back now they should have done that more often. He missed the whispered I love yous, make outs with flowers in their hair and dirt on their clothes, half-assed sandwiches stollen from the barrack’s kitchen. Now, besides Erwin’s cloak that was neatly folded and handled with the utmost care in his apartment back in Marley, the bag was a reminder that Erwin had indeed lived among them, that he was not some figment of his imagination. Inside it he had stored a mini wooden and golden gramophone. It had been a gift from Onyankopon, because the man had noticed his enjoyment and fascination with music. After carefully placing it in his lap, next he took out a small record that he gently placed on the gramophone. Looking back at the headstone he tried to imagine that Erwin was there, in his Survey Corps uniform with a warm smile on his face staring back at him. Levi lifted his chin, looking into his lover’s eyes, but to an outsider into pure nothingness. Now in a wheelchair, he was even shorter than him, albeit at his one meter and some hope, he didn’t have much to compare to Erwin in the first place. But now it seemed as if their faces were miles away.

“Listen carefully now big guy, I’m about to play you my new favourite song.” Levi smiled then proceeded to gently place the tonearm over the disc record. The disc started rotating, then the sound of trumpets sounded through the horn and into their surroundings. After a short intro, it sang:

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know We'll Meet Again

Some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello

To the folks that I know

Tell them I won't be long

They'll be happy to know

That as you saw me go

I was singing this song

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know we'll meet again

Some sunny day

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know we'll meet again

Some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say hello

To the folks that I know

Tell them I won't be long

They'll be happy to know

That as you saw me go

I was singing this song

We'll Meet Again

Don't know where, don't know when

But I know We'll Meet Again

Some sunny day

As the song came to a stop, the disc record spinning slower and slower, a stray tear found its way on Levi’s cheek, streaming down fast at first but as it reached his jawline, it faltered for a little then fell on his shoulder, colouring almost imperceptibly the grey suit a darker grey. The gramophone, now ceasing to emit any kind of sound, was tucked right back to its fateful place in Levi’s bag. Rearranging it so that it rested again comfortably against the armrest, the raven turned his attention to the imaginary Erwin that stood motionless on his own headstone, staring back with the same vibrant cerulean eyes and soft smile. Usually, Levi would have felt unnerved by his stare, always reprimanding him with a “What you looking at, creep?”, but now he missed it dearly, the longing clawing at his chest and making it hard for him to go through with what he had to say next. So, ignoring the lump forming in his chest and the tears that threatened to fall, Levi opened his mouth and began to talk:

“Do you know why I like this song, Erwin? Because it reminds me of all of you. You, Hange, Mike, Petra, my squad, the brats.” Stopping to regain his composure, he inhaled and counted to three as Gabi had once told him, then continued his speech. “Do you wanna know what I did in the three years I wasn’t allowed to come to Paradis? I travelled. Like a lot. All over the world. I finally got to live for real. Getting to see all those place, the people, and cultures had been fascinating. However, one thing had struck me deeply: Buddhism. Such a strange name for a religion. And guess what, it has nothing to do with the walls or bad or wrong. It just is. One central belief of this religion is reincarnation. The concept had comforted me greatly. Life after death. Death is a natural part of the never ending cycle of life. Death leads to rebirth. It also claims that a person’s spirit remains close by and seeks out a new body and a new life.” Levi gulped then wiped away a few tears that had fallen. “But I don’t want you to find a new body. I don’t want any of you to find a body yet, I want all of you to wait for me. Wait for me, Erwin! Wait so we can start fresh together. Tell the others to wait for me too. Wait for me!” Levi had started to shout, desperation making its presence known.

He wanted to meet Erwin again, to fall in love with him all over again, to hold him, to be together again. If Erwin had reincarnated again, there was no way for Levi to meet him now, to fulfil all of his heart’s desire, and when he died, there would be no after life with Erwin. The only way was for them to wait for him so they can start fresh again.

“But who am I kidding? I only believe in this shit because it’s the only way to cope.” Levi brought a hand to his temples and massaged them, as another headache began to throb through his head. It had started to darken outside, they needed to get going, otherwise they would miss the ferry back to Marley. Hesitantly he called for Gabi and Falco to come get him. While he waited for them he told his lover one last thing:

“I have followed every order of yours, completing it. I chased Zeke for four years, all because I promised you. So, I also want you to promise me one last thing. Promise me we’ll meet again.”

The figure of Erwin standing on the grave vanished, leaving Levi alone. The raven rubbed away one last tear and greeted Falco and Gabi that were patiently waiting next to him. The three of them made their way out of the cemetery, Levi not sparing a look back. If he knew Erwin as well as he thought he did, he was confident they we’ll see each other again

They will meet again, one sunny day.

Notes :

The song for this fic is Vera Lynn - We'll meet again. I also posted it on Tumblr. Thank you for taking the time to read it! As always, I do not own Attack on titan or any of the characters that are in it. This is just a fanfiction inspired from the show! Thanks again and notes and comments are always welcomed. The gif was originally posted by @vialesana​ and Tumblr showed it to me.

[novantinuum]

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

[swampgallows]

In your opinion, what race(s) do you think have the least interesting lore behind them? Or resonate with you the least

 imma be 100% honest that i dont know a ton of alliance lore. i think the underdogs in having kickass lore are actually the dwarves and gnomes; people think mechagnomes were just a temporary tie-in for bfa but they were actually alluded to all the way back in wrath of the lich king (in borean tundra... gee how do i know that haha) and make their grand debut in Ulduar with mimiron (though some are in borean and storm peaks quests). in comparison i think the lightforged draenei were kinda one-note to make argus relevant, though i think we’ll be seeing more lightbound stuff in shadowlands or the predictive ‘void lords xpac’. lightbound undead were also mentioned in the Before the Storm novel, so they may be setting a precedent.

and it sucks that magni and brann are obnoxious as fuck (or at least we’re sick to death of them) because brann’s motives are genuinely quite interesting. it also adds a unique dimension to the trope that dwarves are miners or dig just because theyre innately attuned to the earth by literally being of the earth, a race called ‘earthen’ that was, like gnomes, given the curse of flesh. that, and they dig in hopes of unearthing (literally) more about their pasts and their connection to the titans. that’s why magni turned to diamond, why brann is always showing up at titan constructs, and so on. 

tauren are a given for least interesting lore because they have none. blizz keeps piling on AU tauren to avoid addressing the elephant (minotaur?) in the room (maze???) which is that tauren are racist as fuck. taunka were a start, being closer to bison and having culture shaped by their environment, but theyre about as developed as their fellow anthropomorphic animal natives the tuskarr. yaungol branched out a little more, having scant mongolian influence and actually some impact on pandaria. the highmountain tauren were approached with specific tribal concepts in mind (if not at least a specific area, like the pacific northwest) and seem the closest to being a fantasy spin on real life culture. but the kalimdor tauren themselves, having both tipis and totem poles, are a botched racist mess. 

i really thought that during the crossroads cinematic when baine was warned that sylvanas would “come for thunder bluff” that it would be blizz’s quiet excuse to 1. level the playing field figuratively by trading teldrassil for thunder bluff and 2. level the playing field literally by scrapping all of the racist tauren shit and rebuilding it from the ground up, making executive decisions about which first nations people they want to draw inspiration from or respectfully represent. out of all the tauren tribes we used to hear about in classic barrens and mulgore, sadly i think the one with the most development is the fucking grimtotem, and how evil and shitty they are (but you still get magatha as a follower in the shaman class hall. cool)

and while i dont think poorly of the lore, i’ve gotta say that the majority of elf races resonate with me the least. ive said before about how all the elements are there for me to like blood elves, but they just don’t click for me. between the kind of characters belves were slated to be pre-BC and how they developed afterward, they really fell into the trappings of being The Pretty Horde Race and have been typecast since. blood elves were originally expected to be as ruthless as the undead, using their cunning and abuse of magic to gain power by any means possible. silvermoon originally struck me as being like the Vegas strip, that kind of gaudy veneer of over-the-top opulence to conceal its seedy or even criminal inner workings. shit like walking through the sparkling royal blue sheer curtains through a hookah den and down a marbled staircase into the basement where a bunch of warlocks are sapping the shit out of a naaru. THOSE are blood elves to me, but that’s not how people play them, and post-kael’thas that’s no longer where their lore is. after BC everything of the blood elves was founded on Lament of the Highborne and ex-jock Lor’themar stepping up to lead When No One Else Would and Liadrin begging the light to pwease forgive them. 

blood elf roleplay is its own animal entirely, and someday i might write an entire sociological dissertation on how blood elves IC and OOC are utterly symbiotic. ultimately though i think blood elves became the noble posh high elves/bourgeoisie orange county country club white people that everybody wants to pretend to be when playing them (and the very small percentage that wants to be Wood Elf Ranger), but it’s at the cost of what originally gave them their trademark Tragic Backstory. a bulk of that innate darkness, melancholy, and deceit has been expunged from their storyline.

now, blood elves are powerful without subjugation, luxurious and wealthy without avarice, slender and beautiful without vanity, intelligent without elitism, clever without cunning, and garner pity from their tragic pasts without being victims. they have become watered down and toothless, and this new diluted template was cloned, dyed purple, and stamped directly onto nightborne. the only further insult is that the nightborne, having deposed elisande and avoiding kaldorei on principle, are now mostly spending their time in the Horde living out the Born Sexy Yesterday trope. 

tl;dr elves are too pretty for me to relate to, and tauren are racist. please check out dwarves and gnomes instead if you want cool original warcraft lore.

[goose-books]

Hii i have like the start of an idea for a fantasy Hamlet retelling and thinking about it automatically made me think of you and darkling (which I absolutely love), so i was wondering if you had any tips?

first of all. 😳thank you 🥺

second of all!! i am not an expert by any means, but i do read a lot of retellings (particularly shakespeare) and i also write them like you’ve said! so! i do have some thoughts!

[obligatory disclaimer: your mileage may vary. i am not a professional; i am just a bitch with adhd who thinks about writing and shakespeare an awful lot. the opinions expressed in this post are mine and i don’t intend to shove them down anyone’s throat and please don’t call me out for cyberbullying any authors because i’m vaguely about to do just that.]

i think, boiled down to its core, my advice would be: the heart of the story is what matters. and you can do whatever you want with everything else.

just yesterday, i finished watching “twelfth grade (or whatever),” which is a youtube webseries retelling of twelfth night, set in the modern day. there are multiple plot/character elements that were changed (everything from “x character is now nonbinary” to changing some endgame romantic relationships). yet, in my opinion, it was still a wonderful adaptation, because it struck at the character dynamics that make twelfth night work! plus it was just... so much fun. as a comedy should be. (of course i have my gripes, but i have my gripes about everything.)

what i’m saying is it’s all right to shift things around. it’s all right to change characters and settings and plotlines and endings. in fact, i personally find retellings more fun when they don’t stick to the original story on a one-to-one level. my favorite king lear retelling is set on a midwestern farm in the 1970s; my favorite macbeth retelling is set at a modern private school. my favorite hamlet retelling is... well, i guess it’s rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead, but if we’re talking out-of-the-box adaptations that more than fits the bill.

the thing is that you can change whatever you want. that’s the point of a retelling. in my experience, what makes the retelling work will have far less to do with the plot (and even the end!) and far more to do with the core of the story. let me get on my shouting-about-books soapbox for a moment and take a (relevant i promise) detour to tell you why dunbar by edward st. aubyn, aka half the reason i think cishet men shouldn’t write about the lear sisters*, fucking sucks.

[*the other half is fool by christopher moore, but you didn’t hear it from me.]

the thing is that dunbar should work. it’s a king lear retelling that adapts lear’s kingdom into a multi-billion-dollar media company, and that MAKES SENSE. beyond a political position of some kind, lear-as-CEO is the obvious route to take. the plot also follows the original story: the old man starts losing his grip; he disowns the daughter who truly loves him and is mistreated by the daughters who kowtowed to him; he fucks off out into a storm and has a character arc and gets reunited with his daughter and then she dies before they can take the company back. and i literally could not possibly have cared less.

because this book, despite hitting all the clear notes of a lear retelling (old powerful man? check! three daughters? check! madness? check! tragedy? check, check, check!) has no core. it is a book about which millionaire is going to inherit a megacorporation. and maybe i’m just a gay communist, but i don’t care. and yet i do care about king lear, the play. i care very, very deeply about king lear.

and that’s because king lear isn’t just about who will inherit lear’s kingdom. king lear, at its heart, is a story about people who are power-hungry because they are desperate for love - because they just want to be loved, and in a world where love is quantifiable and limited and there’s never enough to go around, grabbing for power seems like either the best way to get love or the best alternative. in dunbar everyone’s squabbling over money (except dunbar’s Angelic Good Pure Virgin Daughter, i guess; don’t get me started about the women in this book); in lear, what everyone wants is love. and that’s why i care about one and not the other.

of course, anyone reading this post can go off and read king lear and come back and go “max, what the fuck, that’s not what king lear is about. king lear is about X and Y and Z.” and they’d be just as right as i am. arguably this is all up to interpretation. That’s Literature. but for me, king lear is about love. and so, despite being set in the modern day and centering on a bunch of mentally ill gay and trans people and also having magic and whatever, my king lear retelling is about people who are power-hungry because they are desperate for love. even with characters’ names changed, even with the setting shifted, even with major elements of the plot changed (because major elements of the plot are definitely changed), it’s a king lear retelling not ONLY because it shares the original story’s setup/concept, but ALSO because it shares (my perception of) the original story’s heart.

so my advice would be to figure out what, to you, is the heart of hamlet. why do you like hamlet? why are you invested in it? what is your personal connection to this story?

anyone can retell hamlet; i mean, i’m going to do it one of these days, allegedly. but your hamlet retelling is not going to be the same as mine or anyone else’s; it’s going to be yours, because to write a retelling is to climb inside a story and make it your own! so whatever makes your hamlet retelling Yours is something you should lean all-into!!! what’s a retelling except saying, “all right, this story is my city now, and i’m going to explore it my way?”

so what is your way?

how can you make this story yours?

how can you tell this story like no one else can?

what, to you, is this story really about?

the answer to that last question? keep that. and do whatever the hell you want with everything else.

[closing notes: you should 1) put gay people in it (joke; do what you want) and 2) definitely tag me / hit me up if you ever post about it (not a joke; i fucking love hamlet and i would love to hear more about your retelling 👀👀👀)]

[beingatoaster]

Me this morning: I’m gonna take today off from any Real Work, mostly play videogames, and maybe do the writing prompt only if it really strikes me.

Over three thousand words later....

Anyway! Today’s prompt was “drowned” and yesterday’s was “haunted,” and both made me think of those ballads/folk tales about, first, the dastardly man who drowns his pregnant girlfriend when she expects him to propose to her, and, second, the whole thing about making a harp from a murder victim’s bones that, when in the presence of the murderer, tells the tale of their murder so that justice can be done. (Incidentally, for a really great treatment of that concept, I refer y’all to T. Kingfisher/Ursula Vernon’s Minor Mage, which is not about that, but which has a secondary character for whom it’s very deeply and interestingly relevant.) I was still mulling it over, though, when I glanced at my DnD character list and saw Dismay, whose backstory is still underdeveloped, and suddenly everything fell together.

The soundtrack for writing this was Delta Rae’s Bottom of the River, which is definitely the song and mood I was imagining while writing the singing bit.

---

Desamee didn't like going down to the river anymore. But laundry had to get done, and it would be cruel to ask Mistress Whether to do her own, so she went ahead down with their grieving neighbor's clothes in her basket along with her mother's and her own.

She was halfway through pounding the dirt out of a particularly soiled shift when she realized that Amancia was standing over her, watching. Desamee looked up at her. She could see right through Amancia, in her familiar red dress, the one she'd worn for festivals, the one she'd drowned in. The rounded curve of her belly was more pronounced than it had been in life.

Was the baby its own ghost? Or hadn't it been enough of a person for that yet? Desamee didn't know enough about souls and ghosts and babies to be sure.

Amancia didn't speak, and Desamee didn't know what to say. She stared up at her friend, and her friend stared back. Amania's hair was long and soft-looking, even with the translucence, but it didn't shine the way it had in life. It hung loose around her face and shoulders like it never would have in life.

Unless it had hung that way for the lordship's son, Desamee thought. Had she let her hair down for him, that festival night? Had he seen her like this, beautiful in her red dress? A tired anger boiled in her stomach and scratched upward in her throat.

She was struck, suddenly, with the memory of the days when Amancia had worn her hair so loose, when they'd both been girls together, too young to pin up their braids and so rambunctious they fell regularly out of their ties. Amancia had always been the pretty one, and not just because of Desamee's horns and tail and strange purple-pale skin. Even as a child she'd had the promise of beauty in her face, in her pert nose and her dimpled cheeks and her huge dark eyes and the flowers she was always tucking behind her ears, the ones that somehow even stayed when her hair was loose and in tangles. Even now, she was pretty. She'd still been pretty when they'd pulled her out of the river.

Desamee had known something was wrong. She'd gone to her mother when Amancia didn't meet her that evening, and her mother had gone to the headman, and the whole town had gone out searching. The wisewoman thought Amancia had only been drowned a half hour or so, at most. A half hour too late to save her.

Tears welled in Desamee's eyes, and she blinked them stubbornly away. But Amancia saw them, of course she did, and she knelt down in her red dress, with her hair falling around her face when she bent her head, and finally spoke.

“Sister,” she whispered, reaching out as if she was going to take Desamee's hands in her own. “Heart-sister, lovely, I'm so sorry. But I have a task for you.”

Desamee hung the wet shift over the side of the basket, with the rock on top, and reached out to grasp Amancia's fingers. Her hands went through them without feeling anything, not even the chill she'd half expected.

“What do you need?” she asked, and her voice was hoarse with grief and disuse. She hadn't spoken much, these past few days. She'd never spoken much in the first place, but it was even less, now, without Amancia to talk to.

“My bones are still in the pyre,” Amancia said. “What remains of them, underneath the ash. Brush that away and you'll find my ribs. Make a harp from them, for me. You'll know how.”

“A harp,” Desamee repeated dully, not bothering to protest the impossibility of the instructions. If Amancia wanted her to make a harp from her ribs, then that's what Desamee would do. “That's all?”

“Make the harp, sister mine,” Amancia whispered. “Make it from my ribs, and from the strands of my hair you wove around your wrist. And then I'll tell you what to do next.”

She didn't fade, like Desamee had always thought that ghosts would fade. She was just gone, from one moment to the next.

Make a harp. Desamee had no idea how to do that. But she would, she swore that to herself.

Before that, though, there were clothes to wash. Desamee turned back to her basket, and, with no one watching, let her tears fall.

***

Amancia was right. She did know how to put the harp together.

She waited until night to go to the temple, kneeling down in the ash to sift through it by lantern-light. Their village's priestess was old, and blind, and thought Desamee a lovely child, though shy of being touched; she wouldn't notice the light, and this late in autumn the nearest houses would have their windows shut up tight.

There were three ribs left whole in the ash, still, and as Desamee's fingers closed upon them, the knowledge came to her, the way the tongue of devils had when she was a child. She loosened the woven bracelet around her wrist, made from the memory-lock she'd clipped from Amacia's body before it was burnt, and she took the ribs and the hair and some strips of leather she'd kept for braiding a new belt from, and she went to the great willow tree at whose feet she and Amancia had played as children and set quietly to work.

The lantern had run out of oil and the first glow of sunrise was shining at the horizon by the time that she was finished. It barely looked like a harp, but when Desamee plucked the strings that she'd twisted together from Amancia's hair, it hummed.

She came back to the house as the sun was rising, and put the harp under her bed before her mother could see it, and put her dirtied skirts in the laundry. And then she deliberately put it out of her mind.

For a week, Desamee refused to think of the harp under her bed. She did chores for her mother, and a few for Mistress Whether, and she ran errands through the village and avoided everyone's eyes. Which she always had, so no one paid any mind. Of course Desamee looked down, ashamed of her strange skin and her strange eyes and her strange devil's horns, and of course she would be even more quiet, now that her only friend had drowned.

All week through, she didn't speak, and she didn't think anyone noticed. Her mother might have, but her mother was patient, and gentle, and kind, and understood that sometimes Desamee just went silent.

Then it was laundry day, again. Desamee wrapped the harp in her sheets while she was stripping her bed, and buried it under hers and her mother's and Mistress Whether's laundry. And then she went down to the creek.

Amancia arrived, again, in the middle of the laundry. Desamee thought she might be a little more solid this time. But she also might be just imagining it. She spoke sooner, though, kneeling down as soon as Desamee looked up.

“Have you played the harp yet, sister mine?”

“No,” Desamee said, her voice even hoarser than last time. “You said you'd tell me what to do next. I didn't want to do any damage to it before then.”

A sad smile dimpled Amancia's ghostly cheeks. “You can't damage it, heart-sister, no more than you could do me harm. Take it out and play it for me.”

Desamee couldn't blink the tears back this time, but she did as she was told. The harp fitted perfectly into her hands, and she began to stroke the strings. It hummed under her hand, and without Amancia saying anything, or Desamee asking, she suddenly knew how her fingers should go to make it sing.

Its song was soft, and eerie, and full of sorrow, and Desamee could feel a descant for it itching in her throat. But she didn't know how to sing, and Amancia had only asked her to play the harp.

“It's beautiful,” Amancia said. “You did beautiful work, sister. But this isn't all I want from you. I want you to take it to the great estate where his lordship lives, and present yourself, and play it in his presence, and his son's. And when you do that, don't hesitate to sing. I know the song is in you.”

When she said that, Desamee knew what words the descant in her throat should have.

“We already know it was the lordship's son,” she said, the same tired anger bubbling in her again. “If I could catch him alone at the river, I'd shove him in too. But his father won't do anything.”

“He won't have to, not if you play the harp for him,” Amancia said. Her voice became urgent. “Please, heart-sister, do this for me. Go to him and sing his own misdeeds to him. Play the harp, and sing the tune, and avenge me on him. Avenge me as my sister.”

“I will,” Desamee said, because how could she argue? She would sing the man's evil to the whole world, if it was what Amancia wanted.

Amancia reached out to her, as if to pull her into an embrace. But again she felt like nothing at all, slipping right through Desamee's flesh, and again, between one breath and the other, she vanished.

***

Desamee left home the next morning, early, before the sun had risen. Her mother would worry, but she didn't dare tell her what she was doing. For then, if anyone from the village knew, it would be their fault for not stopping her if his lordship was offended.

He knew nothing of her, their lordship. They were only one of several small villages in his domain, and probably the least important. He probably never knew that one of his scullion-maids had lived here, once, and come back here when she fled the castle. And it had been no trouble for the mayor to keep the scullion-maid's name on the tax rolls, just in case, and that of her devil-horned daughter.

No one would have been so cruel as to expect her mother to pay taxes to his lordship. Not after what he had allowed her to suffer. So their house was still Mistress Whether's shed on the village rolls, and Desamee had grown up almost alone behind her fields, with only Amancia Whether as a playmate. The priest didn't know, nor his lordship, and the mayor and the village tolerated her, because it wasn't her mother's fault, or hers, what had happened.

But they wouldn't tolerate what she was going to do coming back upon them. So Desamee gave no one a chance to stop her, or worse yet, accompany her. She walked alone in the dark up the long road from the village the manor. By dawn she was at the town that lay between them. A few people shied away from her as she walked up the main road, the harp under her arm, her eyes on the ground in front of her.

They were, it seemed, too taken aback to touch her, and she continued on towards the manor. It was nearly evening by the time she reached the grounds, and her feet ached as they never had. But when she raised her eyes at last, she was at the gate, and there were guards in front of her.

“I'm here to see his lordship,” she told them, her voice cracking.

One shied back, like the townsfolk had. The other stepped forward, raising his halberd. “His lordship sees no demons!”

“He might not see demons,” Desamee said. Her voice sounded thick and raspy to her, its disuse showing, but the rusty timbre seemed to only alarm the guard further. “But he deals with devils, and I'm sure you know it. Let me through to see him.”

There was more than just rust in her voice as she said it. She could feel the words vibrating through her, with a hum under them, a vibration almost like the quiet hum that came from stroking the harp-strings. The guard heard it too, and he stepped back, the whites of his eyes showing, to let Desamee through the gate.

She walked towards the great doors to his lordship's hall, her head up for once, eyes fixed upon her goal. There were more guards at the doors, but they needed no convincing. Reaching out with her free hand, the one that wasn't wrapped around the harp in a death-grip, she made to push one door open. Before she could even touch it, they both flew open. The impact of their opening sent a loud boom through the great hall before her.

Desamee strode in, knowing that she had to seize the moment for her entrance. This worked only so long as someone didn't stop her. And the longer she seemed otherworldly, like the devil she'd claimed to be, the longer it would keep his lordship's men from trying.

A long table filled most of the hall, with chairs all along, and one great chair at the far end of it. Desamee walked up to the foot of the table and looked along it.

“Who are you?” his lordship demanded, rising from the great chair with a half-eaten haunch of meat in his hand. He was red around the eyes, like her mother had told her, and the haunch was half-raw. Even from here she could see blood on his teeth from it.

It was only his good luck, and her mother's ill, that Desamee had been the one born with a devil's horns, and his lordship's son hadn't.

“I am one you should have expected,” Desamee said, and raised up the harp, settling it into the crook of her elbow as if she had long practice. “Is it not true, my lord, that you sold your firstborn child to a devil?”

His eyes went wide, first, and then narrow. “You aren't the one I dealt with.”

“Men like you have children, my lord, who inherit their rights and their duties,” Desamee said. She didn't know where the words were coming from, but she let them flow out of her, ringing through the high-vaulted hall with perfect clarity. “Do you think that it's different for devils?”

And then she began to play. The tune flowed from beneath her fingers, each note perfect, soft, and eerie, and full of sorrow. She let a few measures ring out, filling the hall like her voice had, before she began to sing with it.

The descant she sang was just as eerie, and just as sorrowful, but there was so much more anger in it. A grieving anger, at the death of a woman and a child; a raging anger, at the man responsible. Desamee sang of Amancia, sweet and soft and beautiful, and of the man who had decided to trifle with her at a festival, and seduced her with baseless promises. She sang of Amancia's honest heart and simple sincerity, how sure she had been that the man would make himself husband and father, when she send to him that she was with child. And she sang of the deep evil with which that man, sending back that she meet him at the river, had plotted and then committed.

Throughout, his lordship and his son and his men had sat or stood motionless, as if trapped by some spell of the music. Then, at the accusation, his lordship dropped the haunch of meat and started to move around the table. As soon as he did, the tune changed, going higher, shriller, even the song of the harp angry more than grieving.

Before he could rush on her, his son convulsed beside him. The younger man doubled over, clenching at his throat, choking and gagging. His father caught him around the shoulders as he began to vomit water. More and more came out of him, but he couldn't stop choking, though his father pounded his back and hooked arms around his stomach. Desamee, still playing, still singing, watched in satisfaction.

It didn't take very long for him to drown. Desamee's fingers stilled on the strings, and her voice in her throat, at the very moment he stopped convulsing. She could see his lordship look up at her, red-rimmed eyes wet with grief and fury, holding his son's limp body. His men no longer seemed stunned; their chairs scraped amid the rushes as they started to stand.

Desamee tucked her harp under her arm, turned around, and walked out the door. Somehow, without her moving a finger, it closed shut with another boom behind her.

That wouldn't stop them for more than a minute. For that matter, there were the guards still outside the doors, who had seen the whole thing and now were both closing upon her. She would die here, for this. But she could only feel a deep, burning satisfaction, in the same place within her where that tired anger she'd felt had boiled.

Amancia was standing before her again, more solid than translucent in the bright sunlight, though the guards didn't seem to have noticed. She held out her hand to Desamee, and Desamee reached back to take it. This time, Amancia's fingers were solid, if cold, in her own.

And suddenly, it was the world, not Amancia, that was translucent. The guards' hands passed right through her when they reached to catch her shoulders, and they looked at each other in confusion. As the door opened again, and more men rushed out, they began to shout at each other about how she had vanished.

“Thank you, heart-sister,” Amancia said, her eyes full of tears. “Thank you so much.”

Desamee teared up in answer. Her throat was aching, rubbed raw by the fury of her singing, and she hesitated to speak. But she knew without speaking that this was the last she would see of the friend she'd called sister.

“Come with me,” Amancia said, and turned to lead her away. Desamee followed.

Together, hand-in-hand, they walked through the translucent walls of the manor, and the transparent trees of the wood behind it. At last, in a small clearing, Amancia turned back around, and took Desamee's other hand as well.

“You've done me the greatest kindness,” she said, her voice soft and aching. “You've allowed me to rest. This is goodbye, sister. I will not see you again in this life, and I pray it is a long time before I see you again in another, for you have so much living left to do.”

Desamee swallowed, feeling her throat burn, and nodded.

“The harp is yours. It will answer to you, and you alone, forever. No other hands can make it sing, and your hands cannot fail upon it. You have music in your soul, sister mine. Now that there's no flesh in the way, I can hear it. Don't spend your life hidden in one little village. Go out into the world, like I always wanted to, and take that music with you.”

Desamee nodded again.

Amancia smiled tearfully at her. “Goodbye, sister. I love you.”

“I love you,” Desamee whispered, finally dragging words from her ruined throat. Around her, the forest was becoming solid again, and Amancia transparent. “Sister.”

And then Amancia was gone, and the finality of that absence settled like a heavy weight in Desamee's chest.

She took the harp out from under her arm and touched the strings, but they only hummed in a quiet, sweet discordance. The knowledge of how to play it had left her.

That would be her first step, then. Clutching the harp close, Desamee started off through the forest, away from his lordship's manor. If she was going to do as Amancia had asked, she had to find a teacher.

[teaveetamer]

Looking at Edelgards wiki page, and aside from all the spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes and horrible sentence structure, dear LORD is it filled with such vague, unspecific language to make her look better. Saying in "some endings" she passes on the role of Emperor to someone else while in others she "rules for an unspecified time" to support she steps down after the war, completely ignoring Lysitheas ending where she rules for the rest of her life and not clarifying the specific (1/3)

numbers of endings where she retires (I counted, its two, and even then only in her later years). Crimson Flower apparently ends "much faster" than the other routes instead of directly stating its three months faster. Saying she only spoke so harshly to Dimitri before executing him to allow him to "hate her" until the end (how compassionate of her /s, also I cannot find any proof of this in the script so either I'm missing something or the editor is just posting headcanons). (2/3)

All in all, Edelgards entire personality wiki section is a complete joke. The person that wrote it should have their editing priviledges removed. (3/3)

I mean we know who is making all of those edits. It’s our resident contrarian that people were sending a dozen asks about yesterday. It just comes off as another of many poorly thought out arguments, since they keep pointing to specific supports or text in the game when that’s... Not really necessary. We all played the game, you only do that shit when you’re trying to win an argument.

Honestly if I were in control of the page it’d look more like this:

Edelgard holds herself with a dignified air, but full of melancholy and solemn wistfulness. which can make her appear outwardly cold. As heir of the Adrestian Empire, she is an exemplary student and a natural leader. She keeps a modest stoic front. rarely cutting loose and maintains formality. She rarely cuts loose and maintains formality at all times. Her colleagues classmates (who the fuck calls the people they went to school with “colleagues”?) express great surprise whenever she does relax. While She is generally a private person, she does recognize the importance of her duties and expresses confidence and faith in the abilities of her allies. and she is rarely shown opening up to other people.(the previous line did not make sense, her recognizing the importance of duty has no relationship to being a private person).

She is a capable dancer, having taught Dimitri at a young age and has a talent for drawing portraits, though she is embarrassed to show them to others. (These really belong in a separate “skills” section but whatever the wiki doesn’t appear to have that category for this game). She has a personal nickname, El, of whom which she only allows very close individuals, namely her family, to call her.

Though she tries to keep it a secret, Edelgard is deathly afraid of rats, as they remind her of a past she is uncomfortable with. Edelgard is deathly afraid of rats since they remind her of a past she is uncomfortable with, though she tries to keep this fact a secret. She is also fears afraid of the ocean since because she cannot swim.

Edelgard is far more complex than she initially appears, as she had been scheming to dismantle the corrupt systems of Fódlan, namely the influence of the Church of Seiros, the oppression of the Crest systems, and the hidden machinations of the Agarthans. Driven by her desire to remove these influences, she is willing to sacrifice both her life and reputation as she believes that the only means of achieving her goals is through war and sometimes underhanded tactics. (Such unnecessary fluff). Edelgard will use whatever it takes to achieve her goals, using all three of the aforementioned systems begrudgingly as they are the current means for her to amass any sort of power and influence in order to instigate meaningful change in them. Edelgard is extremely driven, and she is willing to use whatever it takes to achieve her goals. This is evidenced by her willingness to work with Those Who Slither in the Dark, as she believes they are the only ones who can help her amass enough power to achieve her ends.

Edelgard strongly believes that the ends will justify the means if she were to win the war, as she despises the structure of Fódlan society and believes it has to be replaced by a more just system under which humanity can flourish. In the Azure Moon route she states she went to war after weighing all options and determined that it would be much faster with far fewer casualties than to continue on in the continent's current state. This is reflected through the Crimson Flower route that ends much sooner than the other two, albeit a later war is impending against the remaining Agarthians, where she manages to wipe them all out, compared to the other routes where the Agarthans survive to return at a later time. As a result, she does realize the gravity of her orders but chooses to remain steadfast in her belief in improving society for everyone. She also does not desire to remain Emperor for too long as according to a tea time conversation with her, Edelgard states she has no intention of handing the throne to any children she might have, instead planning to pass it on to someone brilliant and kind, which a few endings do, while others she rules for an unspecified time. (Literally this entire paragraph is unnecessary fluff.)

Dimitri has had a significant impact on her life as the two are step-siblings when her mother Anselma married King Lambert under the name "Patricia." In their childhood, neither were aware of their relationship to each other, but they were close nonetheless, with Dimitri affectionately calling her "El" which only those particularly close to her are allowed to call her. Dimitri gifted her a dagger which she held well into the present, which was symbolically meant to tell her to carve out her own ideals and face the numerous hardships she had to endure up until the present. If met at the Goddess Tower during the Academy Phase, she admits that her first love was a Faerghus noble who she cannot recall, implied to be Dimitri. Despite her past feelings towards him, it is heavily implied for most of the game that Edelgard no longer remembers Dimitri nor that he gifted her the dagger, possibly as a result of her trauma from the experiments. In the Azure Moon route, she accepts Dimitri's invitation to parley on a whim. Despite failing to come to an understanding with one another to end the war peacefully, she is nonetheless able to express her gratitude to him for the dagger and the strength it provided her when he reminds her that it was a parting gift from him. (Everything in this paragraph would really be more at home in a separate “relationships” subcategory, which this wiki also does not feature.)

Edelgard's personality and ambitions are a result of tragedies that painted her view of the world. The traumatic imprisonment of her siblings and herself due to the experiments of Those Who Slither in the Dark created her hatred of Crests.  Edelgard’s personality and ambitions are a direct result of the suffering she faced at the hands of TWSITD. Her imprisonment and the subsequent experimentation on herself and her family were a key factor in her disillusionment with Fódlan and the Church of Seiros. (Don’t ask me how she got to that conclusion. Also take a shot for every time this dude uses the word “tragic”.) She also despises most nobility, especially the Adrestian Nobles, as they are partially responsible for the circumstances leading to said experiments, but also due to the fact that Crests are used as societal leverage by most nobles as a sign of their prestige. She even shows sympathy and pity to Miklan, whom she praises for becoming a leader despite being disowned and leading a group of bandits, calling his death "a waste". One of her main goals is to dismantle the current nobility system and having the people earn their position by merit rather than birthright, which she achieves in her ending in the Crimson Flower path. (More fluff.)

Edelgard has a complex view of the current Church of Seiros as her tragic history with the Insurrection of the Seven along with the knowledge given by her father regarding the truth of the War of Heroes paints her radical opinion. She bears a large distrust of Rhea due to her withholding of knowledge and context behind the history of the church, even pointing out some of the Church's hypocrisy of remaining neutral across Fódlan, yet allowing the Crest system to flourish that Edelgard despises. She does not fully dismiss the concept of faith however, even allowing it to continue to exist in her rule, though heavily monitored by the Empire. (Oh hey Edelstan is acknowledging her state run religion at least) She even tries to learn more about it from Manuela but does not plan on ever becoming a devout follower by any means. When as an enemy, however, she will cause those who are faithful to be afraid for their lives and flee the Empire. However, during Crimson Flower, several Knights of Seiros that have become unnerved by Rhea flee to the Empire, while those involved with the Church in the Empire flee for the Eastern, but then flee to Faerghus due to lack of a military. (Fluff.)

Despite this, Edelgard expresses fear and anxiety over the consequences of her actions her chosen path should Byleth side with her in Crimson Flower, as she understands that she would be her actions make her responsible for the deaths loss of countless lives. (lmao “the deaths of countless lives”) This is proven further when Randolph and Ladislava die defending Garreg Mach from the Church, and how she laments that another life is lost in the war because of her choices. She mourned Dimitri's death, letting herself be hated by Dimitri to the end by speaking harshly to him to let his perception of her remain, lamenting how she could not save him from Thales's manipulation. (wut) Dimitri's death struck her to the point that Byleth questioned if Edelgard was crying, which she denied, claiming that the Edelgard who cried had perished years ago.

Edelgard's relationship with Byleth greatly affects her personality and fate in the war. Edelgard admits in her support that she feared expresses fear that she would have become "a harsh ruler with a heart of ice" if she had to walk her path alone. In the other routes where she is not taught by them or where Byleth sides with the church against her, this becomes a reality and ultimately leads to her early demise. This is likely expressed in the conversation with Dimitri, where, in the Japanese version, she retorts Dimitri's statement over the lessons he learned with his friends and Byleth with her stating that he can understand that because he has what she lacks, referencing how Edelgard felt Byleth was the only one she could consider an equal that is not bound by status but simply as Edelgard. As her enemy, Edelgard will express regret that the two did not walk the same path and even find some semblance of closure falling to Byleth's sword in the Silver Snow and Verdant Wind paths. Should they choose to support her, she has a far easier time expressing kindness and regret over her actions over the course of the game herself. She will opt to force her enemies to surrender instead of wiping them out, where she even offered to spare Rhea and the Church followers if they surrendered, while the former was willing to sacrifice the city the final battle takes place in. (This doesn’t even make sense, she never forced Rhea to surrender she just half heartedly gave her the option of surrender). She also has several fleeting moments of peace and happiness, such as when she takes to drawing portraits of Byleth, which she is self conscious about due to their lack of quality in her eyes.

That attachment towards Byleth is even perhaps stronger than that of the other house leaders. When they teach the Black Eagles, she makes several attempts to get Byleth to understand her world view, even though Hubert advised her it would not be wise and personally invited Byleth to her coronation. In the Crimson Flower route, Dorothea notes that among the Black Eagles, Edelgard was the most emotionally affected by Byleth's disappearance. Edelgard's fondness for Byleth goes so far as to encourage Byleth to call her El and even let Byleth give her orders on the battlefield despite her dislike of not being in control. Despite her earlier statement that she does not cry, she openly cries at the end of the Crimson Flower route when Byleth supposedly dies after slaying Rhea, but is overjoyed when they are revived. Edelgard's bond with Byleth can ultimately result in the marriage of the two, regardless of their gender. It is in her proposal to them at this level where she asks that they stay close to her and that she will need them for the rest of her life. Regardless of her relationship status with Byleth, in the Crimson Flower route, it is through their influence that she ultimately achieves her goals and is remembered far more kindly than in the other routes where she perishes. (Again, would be more at home in a separate relationships section since it says almost nothing about Edelgard as an individual. You could maybe keep the bit about her disliking not being in control, but I’d combine it with an earlier paragraph since it doesn’t make much sense as its own thing.)