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millersfinest · 7 months ago

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the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #mini series #ellie the last of us

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invinciblerodent · 11 months ago

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This is going to be very ranty and disjointed, probably borderline incomprehensible post, but with the "return" of Dragon Age Discourse (and really, did it ever go anywhere?) and me repeatedly seeing the complaints and dismissals of DA:I as a "chosen one"-type of a narrative, I just.... I keep finding myself thinking about the relationship of truth and lies within the game.

Throughout the course of DA:I, the idea of a malleable, flexible personal identity, and a painful confrontation with an uncomfortable truth replacing a soothing falsehood, follows pretty much every character throughout their respective arcs.

There are some more obvious ones, Solas, Blackwall, The Iron Bull, their identities and deceptions (of both those around them and themselves) are clearly front and center in the stories told about them, but this theme of deception (both of the self- and the outside world) is clearly present in the stories of the others as well.

Like, for example, ones that come immediately to mind are stories like that of Cullen, who presents an image of a composed and disciplined military man, a commander- all to hide the desperate and traumatized addict that he sees himself as.

Dorian grappled with the expectations of presenting the image of the perfect heir to his father's legacy, the prideful scion of his house, his entire life (he even introduces himself as the result of "careful breeding", like one might speak about a prized horse)- all while knowing that his family would rather see him lobotomized and obedient, than anything even just resembling his vibrant and passionate self.

Cassandra calls herself a Seeker of Truth, and takes pride in that identity- only to learn that in reality, she has been made a liar, a keeper of secrets, without her knowledge or consent, and it is up to her to either uproot the entire organization and painfully cut out the abscess it is to build it back from the ground up into something respectable, or let the information she had revealed sit, and continue to fester.

And this theme continues and reframes itself in, among others, things like Sera's own inner conflict between her elven heritage and her human upbringing, or in Cole being caught in this unconscionable space in-between human and spirit, between person and concept, etc.

The Inquisitor isn't exempt from this either.

I feel like this is where the core of the many misunderstandings of this plot come from, why so many people continue to believe that Inquisition is a "chosen one" or "divinely appointed" type of story, because I think many might just... not realize, that the protagonist's identity is also malleable, and what they are told in the setup/first act of the game is not necessarily the truth.

The tale of the Inquisitor is the exact opposite of that of a "chosen one" story: it's an examination and reflection of the trope, in that it is the story of an assumption that all wrongly believe to be the truth, and thrust upon you, even if you protest. The very point is that no matter who you choose to say that you are, you will be known as the Herald of a prophet you don't even necessarily believe in, and then that belief will be proven wrong, leaving you to cope with either a devastating disappointment if you believed it, or a bitter kind of vindication if you didn't.

There's a moment just after Here Lies the Abyss (when you learn of the lie you've been fed your entire journey in the game) that I don't often see mentioned, but I think it's one of the most emotionally impactful character moments, if you are playing an Andrastian Inquisitor who had actually believed themselves chosen (which I realize is a rather unpopular pick, lol): it's when Ser Ruth, a Grey Warden, realizes what she had done and is horrified by her own deeds, and turns herself in asking to be tried for the murder of another of her order. As far as she is concerned, she had spilled blood for power, and regardless of whether she was acting of her own volition at the time, whether she had agency in the moment, is irrelevant to her: she seeks no absolution, but willingly submits to any punishment you see fit.

And only if you play as an Inquisitor who, through prior dialogue choices, had established themselves as a devout Andrastian, can you offer her forgiveness, for a deed that was objectively not her fault- not really.

You can, in Andraste's name, forgive her- even though you, at that point, know that you have no real right to do so. That you're not Andraste's Herald, that Andraste may or may not even exist, and that you can't grant anyone "divine forgiveness", because you, yourself, don't have a drop of divinity within you. You know that you were no more than an unlucky idiot who stumbled their way into meddling with forces beyond their ken.

You know you're a fraud. You know. The game forces you to realize, as it slowly drip-drip-drips the memories knocked loose by the blast back into your head, that what all have been telling you that you are up to this point, is false. And yet, you can still choose to keep up the lie, and tell this woman who stands in front of you with blood on her hands and tears in her eyes, that you, with authority you don't have, grant her forgiveness for a crime that wasn't hers to commit.

Because it's the right thing to do. Because to lie to Ser Ruth is far kinder than anything else you could possibly do to her, short of refusing to make a decision altogether.

There are any number of criticisms of this game that I can accept (I may or may not agree depending on what it is, but I'm from the school of thought that any interpretation can be equally valid as long as there's text that supports it, and no text that contradicts it), but I will always continue to uphold that the Inquisitor is absolutely not- and never was a "chosen one".

They're just as small, and sad, and lost, as all the other protagonists- the only difference is that they didn't need to fight for their mantle, because instead of a symbol of honor, it acted as a straitjacket.

#squirrel plays dragon age #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #idk i'm just musing #talking basically to myself here i know #ignore me lol i'm just in my feelings about this game #i might tack onto this the like. 3k word jumble of circular arguments i have written down somewhere #about the moral responsibility and culpability of the vampire spawn in bg3 #because i have a lot of thoughts about that too #or the couple hundred words i have in my back pocket about dragon age's unique treatment of godhood and divinity in general

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jelonelum · 2 months ago

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:/ i dont get how u can read tbhk and come away thinking . Yeah the core message here is that supernaturals must be perished . this is a romance manga, and many of the relationships serve to bridge the gap between humans and supernaturals.

i get that people view characters like teru and hanako as reliable sources of information, but this is a manga and since all the information is gleaned through dialogue, you cant just take things at face value... when hanako says " destruction is the only salvation for supernaturals", this is less indicative of some greater universal truth and, more of a window into hanakos own system of values. (and we know hanako is somewhat self devaluating) (plus kou literally challenges that notion just seconds later like wauhjsahusdfiq)

like post no6 arc, im shocked that this is still what people take away from the story; the no6 arc shows us how both sumire and hakubo were exploited and taken advantage by not supernaturals but,, OTHER HUMANS. even going back to the beginning of the series, we see the vital role the rumors propagated by (Shocking. HUMANS) has over the action of supernaturals; they act under the discretion of their rumors. as long as humans circulate negative rumors, they are going to be dangerous. for a family like the minamoto clan, who has built their legacy off of slaying supernaturals. Isnt that..... pretty convenient ?

i know people inform their understanding of tbhk through aidairos other works, namely dmld, and even though that ending is somewhat tragic, its not an ENTIRELY nihilistic message. karuto and lily live within the confinement of the rules of their society, and these rules are never directly challenged ; instead, karuto finds a way to work within the system to create a solution. his deception of lily is definitely portrayed as somewhat gritty, but dmld is a oneshot, so it makes sense for it to end on a somewhat unexpected , perhaps nihilistic note. but tbhk creates a world with much more depth ; and unlike dmld, a big theme in tbhk is , Hope ! ACT ON YOUR DESIRES! bend the rules , CHANGE THE WORLD!

this isn't like...oyasumi pun pun, this is a romance manga with both dark and lighthearted elements. after 120+ chapters exploring the characters and the world they live in, wouldn't 'exterminate all supernaturals' be a pretty empty message? ?

#this ismy account and i can write long posts if i want #sometimes i really wonder did u guys actually read the no6 arc #i just dont get it what is this...collective cognitive dissonance #tbhk #btw i didnt proofread this

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carrotstache · 1 month ago

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[ This is a mere theory, and may be wrong post chapter 195 ]

Quite a few nuggets of information hint at Baek Saheon having been raised, or is associated with a cult in GSGW. So I want to list some things in dot point format, as nothing’s concrete so far thus everything is short.

Spoilers for the novel, I will mostly talk about things already tled, but warnings for the latest chapter spoiler will be clearly marked.

1. Church oppa vibes

In chapter 2 Saheon is introduced to look “fairly innocent”, and purposely acted in a disarming manner when he began talking to Soleum. Ignoring the official illustration (which isn’t text accurate), his curly hair and kind demeanor mimics religious cult recruiters at Korean universities. Which is a real thing btw. People have noted them to look like good looking and kind young men, who look kind but are actually cult recruiters with an agenda. In the Tamra Express arc too, we see him try to act unassuming and gentle.

2. Tries to take advantage of someone vulnerable

Cults have been known to prey on the most susceptible, and do it well and often. Saheon has tried over and over again to get rid of Soleum once he is perceived as vulnerable, and not as threatening. A more blatant example would be in chapter 76 where he said, “he’d always used fools around him as bait during critical moments.”

3. Trained response to danger

Saheon’s immediate switch from hostile to docile upon Soleum’s intimidation, seemed reminiscent of a trauma response to avoid getting hurt. Saheon recognised something with more authority than him, and backed down quickly. He has a heightened sense of danger, to an abnormal degree with how avoidant he is to Soleum, and thinks the other is practically capable of anything. Eg. Thought Soleum brainwashed the crowd with the fountain pen, despite knowing that it's single target only.

4. Goat snake symbolism

Goats in the bible are associated with the devil, experience eternal damnation and are said to have desecrated a temple in the Book of Revelation. Snakes are associated with deception and evil in the bible. Also, he called Youngeun a lamb despite being a goral (which is closer to goats) and thus Saheon is like a sacrifice too. Refer to my religious allusions gsgw post, for a slightly more detailed explanation.

5. Angel devil iconography

With his purple eye, Saheon can see halos behind those whom he deems dangerous. I do not think it’s a coincidence that Saheon, and Soleum have a lot of connected religious symbolism associated with them.

6. Brainwashing equipment

While Saheon no longer has it, the staple item Viper used was the Fountain Pen which could make someone follow a suggestion. Pushing someone who is unaware into doing something, is a classic cult tactic.

7. Trusts his family enough even though they know he will be in harm's way

Saheon received a cassette tape by one of his relatives, who presented it as something that can “reverse a dire situation". This family member, a wanted criminal, was aware of Saheon possibly being in life threatening situations. Yet, he’s constantly going back to visit his family (who have been mentioned several times), and didn’t want Soleum to take the cassette tape.

CHAPTER 195 SPOILERS

8. Able to recognise cult tactics

Chapter 114 during the Tamra Express arc, Saheon said “In a small, high-stress emergency environment, humans tended to do whacko things.” How “ridiculous suggestions… suddenly seemed worth clinging to”, because it “was human nature.” Saheon gathered all of this from a few shouts, which shows his familiarity with the subject. Despite recognising it, he also began twisting the narrative in his head and ended up believing Soleum to know the truth to get out safely, and in the end give a worthwhile item. Again, he also believed Soleum to be capable of brainwashing multiple people with the fountain, which he is very much aware isn’t possible.

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

9. A village boy

In chapter 195, Soleum arrives in a village in Cheonan, which is where the Jiksan Baek clan is based. There’s also a festival going on, which when you add village + festival in a horror story it usually = cults. It’s a typical trope to have a celebration or festival of some kind to include a sacrifice (perhaps… a lamb?), and villages sometimes become a concentrated place riddled with ghosts. Saheon has shown how strangely unfazed, and more familiar he is with ghost stories compared to other rookies. And his obsession with items aiding his survival could possibly be hinting at his upbringing, and why he’s not scared of ghosts themselves but other people.

I would also like to mention that the Church of the Luminous Unknown has three branches, and the village might be under it. A village that worships, and sacrifices for Ireum-nim… In this tweet, OP says that Saheon’s name in Hanja might mean: To serve, snake, offering/sacrificial rite. Which makes me go crazy!!

Thank you for reading my very loose theory. I've had it since January, but haven’t collated it properly until now. It may not become canon, however it’s fun to think about. I also have another post, which is basically a long love letter to Baek Saheon's character.

#Carrot babbles #괴담출근 #gsgw #Also– big thank you to Kit and Rin for reading my theory way back and not scoffing at it

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picaroroboto · 1 year ago

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For the past couple days, I've been unfortunately cursed with thinking about Zenos yae Galvus. I don't even particularly like him - not that I dislike him either, Zenosfuckers you can put your scythes down - but it seems to me like a lot of the fandom either greatly misunderstands him, or doesn't even care to try to understand him, which from an objective standpoint as someone who cares deeply about writing in video games kind of pisses me off. But I'm more pissed about the fact that I'm apparently going to keep thinking about this issue until I actually write a character analysis of him.

Q: "But, what even is there to analyze with him? Isn't he all about wanting to fight the WoL and nothing else?"

Well, you wouldn't be wrong with saying that. That motivation is at the forefront of his character, and even if you look closer, everything about him comes back to either "violence" or "lack of understanding of others". But there are more meaningful sides to his deceptively simple character. That question of meaning is what I really want to look into - what does his character mean, what symbolic or thematic role does he play in this story?

Q: "Better question: why are you posting this on your art blog/Fate meta sideblog?"

Good question, with a stupid answer: I have all of 6 followers on my FF14 sideblog, and around 150 here. Let's go under the cut so they don't have to read a wall of text, unless they want to.

When you look at and compare FF14's villains, you can see a very clear change, no doubts thanks to the change in main writers. ARR Gaius and Thordan are more or less two-bit villains - Gaius's memeable iconic Praetorium speech gives us insight into how fascists try to justify themselves but little into Gaius's actual personality, while all Thordan gets as far as depth of character is an NPC in a sidequest remarking that he wasn't always a bad person and was probably doing what he thought best for his nation. Nidhogg is a little more understandable, since revenge is a relatable motivation to anyone who's been hurt by others. In Stormblood, Zenos and Yotsuyu are both presented as deserving of pity even as they do terrible things. Come Shadowbringers and Endwalker though, the story takes a greater interest on why villains like Emet-Selch and Elidibus do the things they do, and the player is allowed more options to try to understand them and see how similar they are to the WoL. Hell, Hermes and the Endsinger are barely "villains" at all, with the level of sympathy the story shows them.

What I'm getting to here is that Zenos, with half his arc in Stormblood and the rest in Endwalker, is sort of caught in the middle of this shift. He played the role of the rival character in Stormblood really well, but come Endwalker, he's standing on a stage full of heroes and villains with grand causes and deep motivations, as the guy whose sole motivation is fighting for pleasure.

It seems he's not unaware of this contrast himself - when Jullus confronts him for ruining Garlemald for no good reason, he retorts with "Would you be happier had I a good reason?" Zenos makes no attempt to justify his own actions and doesn't care that his reason seems incomprehensible and unforgivable to others. Yet in that same cutscene Alisaie hits him with the fact that if he keeps living solely for pleasure, he'll die alone. When next we see Zenos, he's alone at the Royal Menagerie waxing philosophical about what he really sought in the battle with the WoL.

See, what really motivates Zenos isn't just the thrill of battle - this guy has gotten Battle High and the joy of human connection confused. Really.

Even before he gets so perturbed by the idea of dying alone, there's other suggestions, like his proposal of friendship to the WoL when they fought in Stormblood, and then later his dying words in which he explains that he never understood others - at his core, he's just lonely. I know there's an official side story that tells it, but you don't need to know the exact details to glean that he had some sort of tragic backstory. Sad, but not a surprise, considering he's the prince of the Garlean Empire, raised to take the throne and continue the Empire's legacy of violence.

At his core, he's a very lonely person, but also a thing of violence, raised using violent methods for the purpose of causing more violence. Violence is how he lives and breathes - the only way he gets any sort of connection with others in a world of hurting and being hurt is the brief connection warriors dueling as equals can sometimes find. Don't deny that this sort of connection exists - FF14 is great at making fights that are both fun and tell a story. Hence, why he goes crazy for the WoL, but also refers to them as "friend". In their fights, he senses (or thinks he senses) similarity between him and them. Beneath all the madness is a pure, genuine joy in seeing the self reflected in the other...but he also instantly gets on the train to projection-town, population Zenos, and assumes the WoL is exactly like him, ignoring or failing to notice that they also fight for deeper meanings. The worst part is, he doesn't even notice that what he's actually seeking in fighting them is connection until Alisaie's aforementioned callout.

So he goes and angsts for a while, then turns into a dragon again and flies across the universe to help us kick the Endsinger's tail feathers, then issues his challenge for that duel he'd been longing for. But what's changed is that he starts with a question - "Such pleasures you sought for their own sake, and for no other reason, is that not so?". Dying after the duel, he's full of questions too: "Was your life a gift or a burden? Did you find fulfillment?" Alisaie's suggestion that he'd die alone actually spurred him to realize what he actually sought in the WoL, and now he's asking all these questions in an attempt to, for the first time in his life, genuinely connect with another human being.

The questions aren't important just because they're a sign of how Zenos has changed in Endwalker - they're actually the thematic heart of Endwalker! ARR may have had "Answers" as it's theme, but EW is the expac of questions. Namely the biggest question of all: What is the meaning of life? Different characters have different answers to that, leading to the grand-scale symbolic conflict being the Endsinger's despair - her belief that there is no meaning in life - versus whatever reasons the WoL chooses to live for, left, as always, up to player interpretation.

When you look deeper, Zenos isn't actually as out-of-place in the symbolic conflict as he first seems. His depressed worldview - that metaphor about drowning in a swamp again - seems to align with the Endsinger's view about life being meaningless. But he aids the WoL in defeating her. In that way he serves as part of the answer to her question about the meaning of life. He may have resented life at times, but he still found meaning in chasing pleasure. Not the strongest or most beautiful reason to deny oblivion, perhaps, but it did enable him to help the WoL triumph. I think of Zenos's philosophy as being connected to the concept of "Amor Fati"...largely because this quote explaining it sounds like something he'd say, or at least agree with on some level:

"and if our soul has trembled with happiness and sounded like a harp string just once, all eternity was needed to produce this one event—and in this single moment of affirmation all eternity was called good, redeemed, justified, and affirmed."

So he does have a meaningful role in Endwalker, as the "Amor Fati" against the Endsinger's "Memento Mori". I think that in this the story shows that his reason for living, while somewhat shallow, is not necessarily a morally wrong thing in and of itself (setting aside for a second all the people he hurt in his pursuit of that). It's just that, since it is a lonely pursuit that denies everything except for his target, it still feels empty. The core of the counterargument against the Endsinger's despair is that both pleasure and fulfillment are necessary to live a meaningful life in a meaningless universe, and that's why Zenos is here in Endwalker. Why he even exists in the story in the first place.

Even if you're one of the people who deeply hates Zenos...well, you probably wouldn't have read this whole thing if you did, but I still think it's important to read into characters you dislike, because every character in a story is written for a reason. Plus, trying to understand even their worst enemies is one of the WoL's key traits as of ShB and EW. With his last breaths, Zenos was trying to understand the WoL too - carrying this understanding of him with you as we move into our next adventures is the least you can do for your "friend".

#ff14 #ffxiv #zenos yae galvus #zenos viator galvus #endwalker #ffxiv meta #endwalker spoilers #meta posting on my art blog #god why did i spend my afternoon on this all this proves is that I need to be put in an English class again purely for enrichment purposes

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 7 months ago

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Galadriel wanted to join Sauron, freely

For the sake of not repeating myself, please read this post first, because that’s where I made the case for Galadriel wanting to join Sauron of her own free will in 2x08, and where doubts arose.

First things first: Galadriel appears to be in a “trance-like state” when she looks at Sauron post-binding via Morgoth’s crown. And it’s pretty obvious why that is: she looks “enchanted” and “bewitched” because she’s in love with that evil motherf*cker, and just had a revelation;

This is what Galadriel truly wants. This is her heart’s true desire. She wants to take his offer and to join him: she desires for Sauron’s power to become hers, and to have him, as well. I made this point perfectly clear on that post (as did the show itself).

And Sauron can't believe it, himself: look at his face. And then, he’s so happy it’s uncanny for him. This demon has tears on his eyes because he knows Galadriel will join him, at last. And he’s already planning the wedding ceremony and the honeymoon in Mordor.

And Galadriel would, indeed, have joined him, if Nenya didn’t step in and stopped her (by compelling her to jump off the cliff). This is the moment when Nenya takes over with the cringeworthy dialogue about “healing”:

This is what Season 2 has been building to: Galadriel succumbing to Sauron. This is where the all the foreshadowing is, for Galadriel's character arc in this season.

"You cannot face him alone"

In Season 2, we had three different characters warning Galadriel that she might succumb to Sauron if she faces him alone: Gil-galad, Elrond and Adar.

Similar to Gi-galad, Elrond shares the same concern, twice: in 2x01:

And in 2x02:

And why would he think that?

In 2x06, it’s Adar who warns Galadriel she might succumb to Sauron as well, because she’s acting quite smug at being able to resist him once before (1x08).

I resisted.

For a while, perhaps.

His eye bores a hole and the rest of him slithers in.

"I cannot let him in, again"

Galadriel is consumed with finding and destroy Sauron in Season 2; and now it’s not about the death of her brother, but because she believes Sauron deceived her, and everything she experienced with Halbrand (the connection, and the situationship) was a lie and part of Sauron’s schemes of deception.

However, in her scene with Elrond, in 2x02, she’s feeling particularly vulnerable, and agrees with him and Gil-galad: she cannot face Sauron alone because if she allows him “in” again, she will succumb to him.

However, from 2x02 until 2x08, Galadriel grows bolder and more confident, mostly aided by Nenya and the visions and the guidance the ring of power provides her with. Although, I would agree it was never her intention to face Sauron alongside Elrond & co., because she goes rogue when she gets the chance and allows herself to get captured by Adar.

"I resisted"

I swear to you, High King. I will not stop until he is destroyed and I have put this right.

Morfydd Clark herself has said that Galadriel knows she messed up really bad, and is on a desperate mission for redemption. And this is why Galadriel wants to seek out Sauron all by herself.

Galadriel and Adar parallel each other on their pursuit for Sauron, and they were both consumed and obsessed by it. While Adar sacrificed his “children” to destroy Sauron, Galadriel threw Elrond under the bus (by telling Adar he’s the one who carries Nenya) just to get a chance of finding Sauron and face him herself.

Galadriel’s pride is her main flaw of character, and usually what gets her into trouble. And pride was her downfall, here, too. She believed she would always resist Sauron, not due to what he offered her last time not being enough to tempt her (it was), but because she believed him to be a deceiver (= everything he says is a lie).

"I felt it, too"

How does Galadriel feel about Sauron? Well, she hates him, and wants to kill him, and destroy him, right? Right?

Okay, I’ll just let Morfydd Clark explain how Galadriel is feeling these days:

It would be like if you had the most intense type of synesthesia, and then you met someone else that had the same type of it, but then you find out they’re the worst person in the world. But you can’t undo that feeling of what it was to be understood and connected in that way.

Galadriel is heartbroken, and understandably so. She’s not grieving the loss of Halbrand, the man she loves: she thinks she has been played for a fool, and the connection they shared was a lie, and another one of Sauron’s deceptions, the cruel and cunning sorcerer. She’s haunted by this moment, as we’ve seen on 2x02:

Everyone who has been deceived by someone they cared about can relate to this. Yes, Galadriel is sad and depressed, but she’s also angry and probably feeling a little bit humiliated and ashamed of herself for falling for Sauron’s lies. She’s going through all seven stages of grief. And so, she wants to destroy him, and make him pay for deceiving her, and manipulating her into caring this much about him. And she’s so obsessed with finding and defeat him, it blinds her.

The realization of having been played for a fool, pains her so much, here she is, in 2x06, emphasizing with Adar and oversharing.

"Not all of it"

When she seeks Sauron in the finale, she wants to kill him. She wants to prove to herself that she is able to do it, as well. She’s both angry at him for deceiving her, and at herself, not only for falling for his “lies” but mostly for harboring these feelings for him. And she’s confident in herself, she’s prepared. She knows Sauron will bombard her with lies and visions to manipulate her. There is nothing he can tempt her with, because she’s fully aware of his manipulations.

Everything changes once Sauron forces them to bind together via Morgoth’s crown: and not only “he’s in” (literally), but Galadriel can finally see it, through their bond: their connection is real, and not a part of his schemes.

And this explains why Sauron says this, next: this is him confirming that his offer in 1x08 was honest, and he really meant it. This is him declaring his love for Galadriel. This is how Sauron proved how he “really loves her”.

And she can't say no to that. She succumbs, and she is about to join him. Of her own free will, and like Season 2 foreshadowed she would. Sauron just gave her the ultimate temptation without even trying. Her believing their connection was a lie was the only thing that was preventing her from actually joining him. And Sauron just proved to her it wasn’t. He “felt it, too”.

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand

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contessaxchaos · 3 months ago

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There’s a section of the fandom that fervently believes that Solas doesn’t lie. They say “only by ommision” and point out how technically he tells the truth, just not all of it. He chooses not to expound because saying more will only entrap himself.

Then there’s a section of fandom that says he clearly lies. Why else is he called the god of lies? The trickster god? They point out instances in DAI where he clearly lied. People from the other camp would say “the god of lies”, “the trickster god” are all Evanurian propaganda—and they are right!

But here’s the thing. There’s a difference between someone lying and someone being labeled a liar. Lying is part of being human. Liar is an adjective that describes someone who lies. But the word also carries more weight than that simple dictionary definition. Being labelled a Liar implies that one’s lying is habitual and possibly indiscriminate. Lying makes you human; being a Liar makes you a bad human.

So here’s what I think: the people who say Solas doesn’t really lie are actually saying he’s not a Liar. The people who say he lies are acknowledging that he is technically lying but he’s not a Liar; he is being compelled by the situation to lie for his own survival and safety. It's not his first instinct to lie; in fact he's not good at it. His lies are necessary for his cause, but it doesn’t make him morally corrupt.

I think Trick Weekes made the effort to make Solas not lie so blatantly to tip the scales from “villainous antagonist” to “morally-grey antagonist” (ie a sympathetic character). If Solas had been shown comfortably lying and deceiving us (ie a Liar), it would be very difficult for our Inquisitors to sympathize and not be suspicious of everything he says post-Trespasser (where all his lies are finally unraveled). The one time he clearly lied (the “court intrigue” comment that Inky caught) is even hinted to us by the “Solas slightly disapproves” that pops out of nowhere as he lies awkwardly to recover from his slip-up. We don’t know why he disapproves of that but we find out much later it’s because we caught him in a position where he needed to blatantly lie. He didn’t like being forced to lie but in that moment, he had to. Hence he disapproves.

He lies but he’s not a Liar.

There’s no use defending him by saying he doesn’t lie and say "only by omission" or "technically he tells the truth”, because omission and technically telling the truth are both acts of lying.

He lies, babe. Let’s not be toxic and normalize getting lied to just because we love our bbg (bald baby girl). He lies, but like most of us, he’s not happy to do it; like most of us he was relieved when he could finally tell the truth. We need to be able to confront him about this, to require him to explain why lying to us was necessary. Otherwise we're just dismissing his entire Inquisition Arc because surely he was incapable of lying and deception???

But he lies, and we need to be okay with that, because saying otherwise just makes us lie to ourselves.

#may feel like solas critical but it's the farthest thing from that #solas #dragon age #solavellan #contessaxchaos on ao3

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babybells123 · 1 year ago

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I recently posted about Sansa Stark on TikTok particularly concerning themes of beauty, love and romanticism (Jonsa if you SQUINT)!! It’s gotten over 2000 likes so far, and the comments have all been positive, but I just received a comment saying “Aegon VI will save her” and had to resist the urge to scratch my eyes out …

Look, I for one want nothing more than for Sansa to be with a man who loves her undoubtedly (and chooses her over her claim, countering all the previous men who have been betrothed to/married to/attempted to abuse Sansa). But I find it incredibly ironic that this is likely an individual who is aware of the Ashford Tourney (hell, maybe they’re even aware of the really subtle Targaryen imagery in Sansa’a chapters - but only if they’re in conjunction with Aegon VI, certainly not the secret cousin who just so happens to also be a Targaryen)… but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they are an alt shift x fan who has watched his brief Ashford Tourney video which barely scratches the surface of the theory (and I too, enjoy Alt’s videos so don’t get me wrong here) but here’s what bothers me - why is the fandom so incredibly intent on ‘proving’ that it is Aegon?

He could be the loveliest, kindest man alive and I still wouldn’t budge on my stance of this marriage doing absolutely nothing to progress Sansa’s narrative arc organically.

How does it challenge her belief of conventionality? Particularly concerning southern ideals of beauty? What is the whole point of Sansa retracting from her current journey, travelling South yet again to marry a man whom she’s never met before? We’ve already been made privy to how wary Sansa is of Harry the Heir, for he could be a “comely monster,” she knows that beauty is deceptive - so already she’d be experiencing those similar feelings of despair … What purpose would it serve to send Sansa back to King’s Landing? A place where she was abused and married against her will? The place where her father was murdered in front of her eyes? The place where she was hostage with no true friends and no family to trust or rely on? Walking on eggshells every day of her life? These are all negative associations. Anyone with eyes and a brain can see that Sansa’a arc is pointing North.

This is the same girl who spends hours building a scale model of her home, Winterfell - in the snow. This is the same girl who refers to herself as the blood of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn - who derives strength from that in the face of her abuser. This is the same girl who at the age of 11, manages to dissociate when faced with the head of her father on a spike, looking North and North until she can see Winterfell in her mind’s eye, whose direwolf - part of her soul, is buried in the North ; who to quote Ned “belongs in the North.” This is the same girl who has been passed around like a vessel of politics since her very first betrothal. Who has been viewed as nothing more than a claim to a vast Kingdom, who is not allowed to exercise that claim in her own right. Who has been denied her inheritance on the basis of her marriage to Tyrion - not just by Stannis , but also by the brother she has loved and idolised (and isn’t that just heartbreaking for Sansa?) - need I remind you of the one single person in this entire series who has not overhauled Sansa’s claim ? Despite it being the one thing he’s ever truly wanted? His hearts most intrinsic desire??

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." (Jon I ADWD)

“Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." (Jon IV ADWD).

I mean, those two phrases in conjunction with;

“It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.” (Sansa VI ASOS) - which as we know, is followed by a Jon chapter just a page later.

Jon has already unknowingly refuted half of Sansa’s despairing words, as well as silently fulfilling those knightly ideals she believes no longer exist.

So yeah, it annoys me beyond belief when people “theorise” that Sansa will marry Aegon VI/Young Griff. Because it removes her agency yet again, it pushes her further away from her identity and her home that she has slowly but surely been reclaiming - she goes five steps backwards, and regardless of whether you like her character or not, from a writing perspective and how character arcs are meant to unfold - it really doesn’t make sense for her to go back to the place where she has been tormented for most of the series - but then, who am I kidding - these are the same people who don’t believe sansa is an important character and that her arc will either remain stagnant or she’ll just be pushed out of the way whilst other characters are allowed narratively conclusive endings.

But even with all this, even with Valarr Targaryen being a non-Targaryen looking prince with brown hair described as a black prince with a white guardian (gee, I wonder whose image THAT invokes), even with GRRM sitting down and writing a family tree where a Jonnel ‘One Eye’ Stark marries a half niece called Sansa Stark to solve a succession crisis. Quite literally spelling it out on paper for people this fandom just cannot come to any logical conclusions that would make sense narratively, thematically, politically and on a character level. It truly blows my mind.

*sigh.* I’m very tired.

Anyway, to quote GRRM; resolve to be Sansa Stark and take the North. ✌️

#sansa stark #meta #my patience wearing thin #someone sedate me #Jonsa #Jon x Sansa #the black prince with the white guardian

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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Hello~ I don't know if someone has already ask this but I'll just ask anyway. What made you so interested in Jade? I'm not saying it's a bad thing or anything of the sort. I'm just very intrigued.

Also to feed into your J-word brain rot I present to you this, but picture Jade. Lol I saved this photo as hot damn Sebastain.

Hello, hello!! ^^ I’ve made a post before that explains my interest in Jade, but if I’m being entirely honest 💦 it’s all over the place and difficult to read because of how often I go all caps and keyboard smashing. I’ll try to summarize my thoughts here in a way that’s more digestible and calm.

I love many of the little details about his face: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, how his brows are arched, etc. I also have a visceral, near animalistic urge to tug on that black bit of hair he has sprouting out...

His manner of dress also resonates with me! Jade is usually well covered and in formal attire, and I think that makes it more exciting on the instances when he dresses down (whether that be going without his gloves or choosing something more casual to wear).

His intelligence. I've always preferred characters who rely on their smarts over their strength to achieve their goals, and Jade fits the bill. One particular example is how his UM is limited in scope and usage, so he has to carefully plan and strategize about how and when he casts it. It's nice that Jade can also loosen up and use his cunning not necessarily for nefarious deeds, but just to tease others.

He plays support and he plays it well. I also have a tendency to like "helper" characters (butlers, bodyguards, knights, etc.), which is another archetype that Jade slots into. He is highly competent as a vice dorm leader, personal assistant, and right-hand man (eel?) to Azul. Plus, Jade knows when and how to play to his strengths (especially when it comes to deception and disarming others) and adapt to any situation he is placed in. Jade has even earned the approval of the notoriously hard to please Vil!

He keeps you guessing, and you'll still never even see it coming. I think it's interesting that he appears more docile than Floyd, yet Azul warns his peers that Jade is the more dangerous twin since Jade won't telegraph his schemes or bad moods (unlike Floyd). I 100% agree with Azul; not knowing what Jade has in store or when it will hit you is much scarier--but also much more thrilling in a way, haha...

Similar to the last point but much more specific; I love Love LOVE those moments when he's smiling while saying the most horrendous things (the infamous "what I'd do to anyone that betrays me" line lives rent free in my head). I also adore it when Jade is lying to your face and overacting (like when he pretends he got dust in his eye in book 4). He's so dramatic while lying his heart out, it makes me giggle.

Jade works with many of the tropes I like to go for when I want comfort. Househusband/domestic life stuff, butler looking after you, etc. I have a habit of overworking and forgetting to take care of my needs, so it's easier for me to remember if I pretend like Jade's the one doing the self-care for me.

I appreciate that he appreciates nature. I don't get to touch much grass (not that I don't go outside, it's that there isn't much grass in the area I live in)... so I get very excited whenever I get to just enjoy nature in its purest form, taking in that fresh air. It makes me feel like we're kindred spirits.

The duality of eel. Overall, I'd say that the reason I like Jade so much is because he can be many things which typically run contradictory to one another. I think that makes for a fun character that keeps me on my toes ^^

NOT YOU USING “J WORD” TOO… 💀 It’s spreading… just like a bunch of spores…

Aaaah, it’s Sebastian!! It’s been years and years since I read Black Butler (I think I stopped around the Blue Cult arc?). He’s still just as effortlessly elegant as I remember him being… I guess that’s par for the course for one hell of a butler, huh?

Here, lemme just… *crudely draws on him* THERE WE GO, THE J WORD SSR FOR AN EVENT WHERE WE VISIT THE LAND OF CRIMSON LONG :>

Thank you for your question and the rot fuel 🥰

#twst #twisted wonderland #Jade Leech #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #Vil Schoenheit #Floyd Leech #Azul Ashengrotto #Tweels #Octavinelle #Black Butler #Sebastian Michaelis #Jade Leech thirst

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ckret2 · 4 months ago

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Basically a scene where Ford's emotional atrophy is shown by not recognizing that Bill is showing his vulnerable side or dismissing it as Bill manipulating him, but also a scene where he realizes how broken Bill is regarding the massacre, his self-deception saying that his dimension is fine as himself, but more so Bill's self-perception as a monster for having destroyed Euclydia

I got nine asks one after another just a few minutes apart, so I'm assuming they're from the same person and answering them accordingly.

I don't think Ford has "emotional atrophy."

And I already have significant plans in place for exploring Ford & Bill's trust/trustworthiness issues, and Ford finding out about Bill's emotional relationship to his dimension.

Ford will tell Mabel at some point, when Bill showed him the last particle of Euclydia (I know that's not the case in this masterpiece), and it ends with Mabel going to hug Bill and telling him why.

This is a canon-compatible fic, including TBOB. Anything that doesn't currently appear to be canon-compatible was written & posted before TBOB came out and is still in the process of being updated.

But even at that, I think the only thing that implies Bill might not have shown Ford the particle is simply that it hasn't been mentioned. That can be fixed with one sentence during revisions.

Yes, Bill did show Ford the last particle of Euclydia in this fic. That's still canon.

At any rate—Ford may not like Bill, but he's not the kind of person to be an asshole just to be an asshole, and telling someone else about the particle would be an asshole move. That moment was deeply private.

Ford says in J3 he spent part of his portal era trying to find out where Bill is from; this means he must have decided "a monster ate it" is either a lie or an incomplete story. Whether or not he saw Euclydia's particle, he believes he doesn't really know what happened to Bill's dimension—which is what he's currently told Mabel—and which is all he's going to tell Mabel.

Bill's perfectly capable of telling Mabel about his home dimension of his own volition, just like he did in ch 52-56.

And that's as it should be. Bill telling Mabel about his secret particle is an act of trust. Ford telling Mabel about Bill's secret particle is a violation of trust.

This is a redemption fic, after all, and forcing Bill to be vulnerable by ripping his secrets out of him and smearing them around town against his will won't help him.

You know what will help him? Getting him to a point where he feels safe sharing his secrets.

In the case of Euclid's design, you have not considered that it is a triangle with a hexagon inside its body, as if the tips of its body were in sections with smaller equilateral triangles, and that the bases that give to the rest of the body adding to the sides form a hexagon.

You say that like it's a fact? It's not a fact.

His design doesn't involve hexagons and I'm not going to incorporate hexagons.

I gave him bricks because his son has bricks and I want them to look like they're related. The bricks are at an angle because I headcanon he has a twin brother and the pattern continues across both their bodies if their sides are pressed together.

Now, I don't particularly like how it looks, which is why I might change it, but "looks like he's related to Bill" and "looks like he's 1/2 of a pair with his brother" remain my objectives in figuring out his design. I'm not just gonna make something up that doesn't line up with those goals.

I will admit that I miss the axolotl since his arc ended, so you can have something about him in the future, like him visiting Mabel through the dream plane just to give her pictures of baby Bill, and tell her that Bill didn't know how to tie his shoes until his teenage years or other embarrassing details that Bill wouldn't want anyone to know.

I have plans for the Axolotl.

Unless plans significantly change, I don't intend for him to swing by Earth again just to hang out and gossip. It robs him of his mystique. Whenever he shows up, it's because he has a purpose.

He's still Bill's lawyer. Bill broke out of Theraprism. That's the sort of thing Bill's lawyer might need to deal with. That's the focus of the Axolotl's engagement in the plot: representing/protecting Bill on a cosmic level, and delving into related themes of justice & punishment & second chances.

The Axolotl barely knew Bill until after the Euclidean massacre; he doesn't have Bill's baby pictures or know when he learned to tie his shoelaces.

Since Dipper's the one who met the Axolotl earlier in the fic and Dipper's the one who's become preoccupied with the Axolotl's poem, Dipper's the one the Ax will speak with again. It's one of his character arcs.

One way to excuse the USB, would be that they have had many incidents of not only losing the USB, but the animals always end up eating it, enough so that making USBs resistant to stomach acid especially for goats is actually a route to the destination of taxpayers' money.

As I've said, I'm deliberately not seeking an explanation for the flash drive because there's no explanation that would be as true to the show's spirit as simply not explaining it would be.

I think I'm stupid, exactly what information did Bill not want to tell Ford about the portal, was it that Bill was the same, was it the nightmare realm or something else?

Bill didn't tell Ford the thing he didn't want to tell him about the portal, and Bill hasn't thought about it while we've been in his POV since then. This is what we in the writing biz call "a mystery."

Now that the Axolotl arc is over, it's possible some people might be able to figure out what Bill didn't want to tell Ford, although I don't expect it from more than one or two readers. But if you haven't figured it out based on the Ax arc? Then the reason you don't know the info is because you haven't been told the info. You'll find out when the story tells you.

If you could have decided what Bill's phobias would be, what would they be? Of the canonical ones, only TV static is good because that's how his blood looks, and that this fear comes from the massacre or naturally from Bill's discomfort at always seeing the inside of everyone in Euclidean (possibly including himself).

tbh I wouldn't have given him phobias? Not everyone reacts to trauma by specifically developing phobias.

Bill's psychological self-care might be shit, but if he got messed up by something during the massacre so badly that it turned into a phobia, then a trillion years later he either would've encountered the trigger so many times he's become numb to it, or else the trigger would be something so obscure that there's no way he'd just randomly stumble on it where we the audience can see.

Like, in fic I give him an extreme revulsion to having hair; but within a few weeks he's made major progress in training himself out of it.

I don't think the sight of something he's seen on every single person around him everywhere he goes ever since he was born would make him feel disgust. He probably struggles to picture his people without seeing their insides. He may well have a reaction to the sight of gored Euclidean bodies—but from his POV, normal healthy bodies with every organ where it should be are simply what normal Euclideans look like to him.

In the B&N deluxe version of TBOB, he says he hears voices in TV static and a hidden code on the page says "he never sleeps he never dreams but somehow still he hears their screams." I assume that's the reason he has a phobia of TV static.

#anonymous #ask #bill goldilocks cipher

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