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utterlyazriel · 6 months

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: WE MADE IT TO CHAPTER FIVE!! EVERYBODY CLAP!! labour of love fr <3 but we're almost to the scene that sparked the whole freakin series and i. oh man im just yearning for that hurt/comfort

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

CHAPTER FIVE :: CONFIDANTS

You look younger in your sleep, Azriel thinks.

He doesn't think he's ever seen you like this before. The hard lines of your face are all smoothed out as you rest, so unlike your usual expression. There's something softer about you.

The constant furrow between your brows is whisked away for once. He can still see the familiar line between your brows though, if he looks close enough.

If he can look past the bruises that mottle your face, that is.

The damage you've sustained from training within the camp is severe enough to curdle something sour in his stomach.

Azriel had held his reservations about his trip back to Velaris— a suspicion that proved to be well founded. His own memories of training at Windhaven provide plentiful ways for you to have ended up in this state.

You’re curled up instinctively in your sleep, wings tucked around yourself. It sews of thread of worry through Azriel's chest, a slight concern at the state of your wounds and how the position will agitate them. While you don't move much in your sleep, he knows from experience that it'll be hell when you finally do stretch back out.

But... he can’t bring himself to wake you. You need the sleep desperately.

Azriel is fairly certain that the huddled form you take is some subconscious way to protect yourself, even in your sleep. Your wings drape across yourself, keeping yourself covered, hidden.

And while that makes some part of Azriel's heart ache, he can't deny that you—it looks… sort of cute.

Azriel forces himself to avert his eyes, ducking his chin for extra measure. Those pesky thoughts were becoming more and more frequent — something that he's pointedly ignoring at this point.

Protect, his shadows whirl around his ears like tiny gusts of wind, whispering their suggestions. Protect, they whisper.

Protect. Both a thought and a feeling. A guiding intuition that seems to reverberate from his very bones.

The suggestion from his shadows isn't entirely left field either, as they always take inspiration from what he can see. From his wandering thoughts, from his prolonged gentle gaze that lays upon you whenever he can.

Azriel scowls lightly at himself. He had no claim to protect you and further more, most Illyrian males like yourself would take great amounts of offence to the mere insinuation. He knows that you are more than capable.

He steals another glance at your peaceful, sleeping figure and his shadows seem to quieten in response— at least about you. The whispers don't ever truly quieten.

Azriel's fairy certain where they're getting their ideas. It's what he wonders too as he takes in your battered face once more—whether it’s the truth or just his familiar brand of desperate hope.

Something that would explain the urge to protect beyond reason.

Something like... a bond forged in starlight.

The Mother's Kiss whistles quietly outside and Azriel shifts his gaze again and this time, it lays upon the Heartstriker.

Sitting atop the one table-top in your shelter, the blade stays sheathed away in the very same bejeweled case that Azriel had found it in. Same as on that very first day he laid his hands on it.

It had been a wretched mission. One of his very first. It was not performed with the eloquence he would come to learn in future years.

Heartstriker had not been the objective of the mission. Far from it, in truth. The objective was a simple stealth reconnaissance into the Court of Nightmares.

He was to delve beneath the rock of the mountain in a mission very similar to his current. Swirlings of rumours and whispers of rebellion, against the new Highlord. Azriel was there to learn who had the guts to pick up the knife and try.

Heartstriker was a ploy. A shiny trick that Azriel had not yet learned how to evade.

He was still a novice by his own standards, only a few hundred years old. Spying in this sense was still fresh, still new. The work he had done under Rhysand's father during the war had been far more reliant on his brute strength. He had strict instructions not to hesitate to draw his blade.

It had taken time to relearn the importance in a message sent with words.

To remember the power of mercy.

This mission had been the first and only time Azriel had underestimated the measures in place in the Court of Nightmares, meant to keep out the likes of him.

His hesitance to kill had given another Fae time to trip an alarm, to flood the room with warriors. So when he had been backed into a corner by the snarling miscreants that lived in the belly of the mountain, taken by surprise, he hadn't hesitated to snatch up any weapon he could reach.

And it had branded him, singeing him right to his core.

But when he tried to force his fingers apart, they wouldn't obey, even as they screamed with the pain of the invisible flames. It was as though his hand had become fused with the blade, each atom of his being completely joined with the bronze of the sword through a terrible, unstoppable and invisible force.

Every part of him shrieked in agony. An age-old fear reared up within him, his hands burning like they were set alight and he could feel the flames licking at his skin, at his hands, could smell the scent of burning flesh—

He had fought on and won, all the same, taking on two battles at once. Fighting foes by real and faux, all whilst burning up from within all the while. The sword was immeasurably heavy and yet too light, all at once.

And only once almost all his enemies were slain, their blood staining the marble floors, did the burning cease. The blade seem to hum in response to the battle— drawn to the final foe who was clawing for his breath through his blood-soaked throat.

The tip of the sword had urged Azriel forward, like pulled by an invisible string, and he let it lead him, plunging the blade through the chest and into the heart of the last enemy left.

Only after, had the humming stopped. The sword finally clattered from Azriel's strong grip, the fusion broken.

His hands were same as ever, mottled with their scars, but with no indication of the burning he knew he had felt.

On his return, Rhys had told him the history of the sword and it's duly fitting name: Heartstriker.

It hadn't been claimed in centuries and as such, naturally it had come to live amongst other cursed objects within the Court of Nightmares. Unable to be used, unless someone bested the pain it took to raise it.

But Azriel had, entirely by accident.

It is said that once mastered, it will always strike true. Rhys had said, violet eyes gleaming as he looked over the bronze sword with piqued interest. That it's more than a regular sword but a living thing you must work in tandem with.

If anyone tries to take it from you, they must suffer the same fate. It can be gifted freely but, He had paused, that smirk that held no warmth in it pulling at his lips. I'm sure you can guess how often that happens down there.

It hadn't been used within the Night Court either, condemned to another hundred years or so without sight of battle. Azriel had more than enough blades of his own. The Illyrian broadsword that he had earned all that time ago in the Blood Rite for a proper battle and his Truth-Teller for the finer details.

Heartstriker wasn't right for his stature. Too short, strange weighted.

He'd kept it all the same. Perhaps, he told himself, to keep some other Fae from suffering the same fate if they laid hands on it.

His hazel eyes drift back across to you, bundled within yourself. You make a noise in your sleep, a gentle snuffle, and Azriel finds himself smiling.

Or perhaps, he thinks, he knew to keep it for entirely other reasons.

—

The quick healing of Illyrian's is more often a blessing than it is a curse.

On today's quiet winter morning, it is somehow both.

When you wake, dragged from your slumber in the early hours, it's before the sun has begun to make an appearance on the horizon. The shelter is coated in a soft darkness of dawn. The trees sway outside, a thousand creatures still roaming amongst their branches, reliant on the dark before daylight breaks.

It's the pain that wakes you, ebbing in through your sleep til it shakes off your sleep. You wake with your teeth already gritted.

The only pleasant surprise is that fact you're not shuddering yourself awake out of a nightmare, especially considering yesterday's training session.

You have a feeling that it has something to do with the sleeping Illyrian, propped up beside the fireplace, keeping watch.

His shadows still move about, even in his sleep. His neck is tucked down, his forehead pressed against his knee. It hides away part his face but as your eyes adjust to the shadowy light, you can make out his closed eyes. His hair looks messier than you've ever seen it.

It can't be comfortable, sleeping the way he is— but you have a feeling that Azriel has slept in places far worse before.

Shifting about in the darkness, your hand comes down to press tenderly at your sides, assessing as quietly as you can. There's no immediate sting of sliced skin as your fingers tips poke and prod at the skin, which makes you sigh in relief. You press down again, at bit harder this time, and it forces a wince out your gritted teeth.

Extremely bruised. But at the very least, the skin has knitted itself together in the nighttime.

Your face still aches, too. It's not quite the same ringing that made both eyes throb painfully yesterday and with a slow wrinkle of your nose, you can assess that the worst of your broken nose has healed up too.

Your ears, however, poses a different problem. One of them, the right side, still rings lightly. It would be more concerning, you think, if the left one itself wasn't so muffled altogether.

Huffing out a breath, you drag yourself up to a sitting position, moving at a tentative pace. Pain ricochets around your body. You're doing the best you can to be quiet but it's futile it seems — there's one creak of the bed as your weight shifts and Azriel's wings twitch, giving him away. He’s awake.

He lifts his head slowly, letting it roll from one side to the next, stretching out his neck. It's the only indication he gives you of feeling sore from his cramped sleep all night, his attentive eyes already watching you closely. His shadows, you notice, seem to gain speed at his rousing— circling his shoulders and neck closely.

You clear your throat and focus your gaze forward, resuming the task at hand. Raising one hand, you snap your fingers beside your left ear, then your right.

Frustration bubbles up inside you as you repeat the motion, as if it’ll change the outcome.

It doesn’t.

At least beyond the ringing, your right ear can hear the snap clearly— a keen Fae sense that like any warrior, you rely heavily on. The left one…

All you can think is that they must have hit you pretty damn hard to leave it as dulled as it feels. It can still hear, thankfully, but the noise that filters through is muffled around the edges. Buzzy. It makes you feel off kilter and unbalanced.

You let your hand drop and try to remain stoic, so used to hiding your emotions away from your face. You don't realise your drooping, limp wings give you away anyways.

Azriel gets to his feet swiftly, the movement so smooth you would have never guessed he spent the night tucked up uncomfortably against the bricks of your fireplace. He regards you with those burning amber eyes and your heart seems to lurch forward in response. You avert your gaze.

"It would seem we have an opportunity to test out our efforts." He says. His voice is still coated in sleep, low and rumbley, and it sends a bright zing down your spine. You lift your gaze from your lap and raise your brows in question.

He waves a hand to the table, in gesture.

Your various ingredients for brewing the tonics stay tucked in one corner, some wrapped up and set beneath the table. There are several different bottles too, stoppered with corks and containing yours and Azriel's attempts at the healing tonics.

It takes another moment to understand what he means.

"No," You say sharply, climbing to your feet. A thousand parts of your ache and groan in protest and you channel your focus into not letting a single ounce of it show.

Rolling your tense shoulders back, you wander towards your armor in slow steady steps. "Those aren't for me. I've healed enough in the night."

"I see." Azriel replies. "Is that why your left ear isn't working right?"

Gaze snapping back to him, you curse his ever-so observant nature. Maybe that's on you for trying to keep a secret from a Shadowsinger.

You are keeping a secret from a shadowsinger, something whispers in you.

A cold flush fills your body, numbing out every nerve for a single moment. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your wings hike up, tuck in. It feels wrong.

For the first time in your life, it feels so so utterly wrong to be keeping this secret from someone. To be hiding who you truly are.

But Azriel... he was a stranger not too long ago, wasn't he? You're not sure if you can even call each other friends, even if you had begun to in your mind, without even realising.

You think back to last night, to when he could have easily lifted your shirt a few inches higher when trying to save your life and known.

Then you wonder if he did — and he hasn't said anything.

If he's waiting for you to trip up, to fess up, to explain to him why you've been lying to him from the moment you first met him.

Azriel seems to sense your internal battle, the same way he seems senses a thousand things from you as though he's known you his whole life. He clears his throat to get your attention. When you focus your vision back on him, you notice one of the bottles is in his scarred fingers.

"I will train you today," He says. "On the condition that you take it."

Your nose twitches. It's an ultimatum. He knows you want to train, to brush off yesterday and let the pain in your body fuel the determination of today but he won't let you do it so carelessly. Bastard.

Before you can blink, he tosses the bottle across to you. You react instinctively, cradling your hands to catch it quickly before you realise what you're doing. Your nose twitches again, a tiny flare of annoyance at his smugness.

No, not smugness. Surety. His expression, bordering on bored, tells you that he knows you don't have any other options— unless you want to climb back into bed and rot for the day.

You yank the cork off the bottle harshly. Then, just to show him how unpleased you are with this, you lob the cork at him with all your might. Your bruised side screams in response. Azriel snatches from the air easily, without so much as a blink.

He looks like he wants to smile but thinks the better of it, placing the cork gently onto the table. "I'll meet you outside." He eyes the uncorked bottle in your hand then back at you. "Drink it. Please."

—

The tonic, as you find out, is only mildly effective.

It's a gutting discovery. The mixture is nowhere near potent enough to fix the level of nerve damage that gets inflicted during clippings if it barely lightens the bruises on your side.

The mottled blue painted on your skin gives way to a light purple, the edges of them retracting to a tinged yellow. The skin glows hot as the tonic works as best as it can.

The taste of it is nearly as rancid as the failure feels.

You deal with it the only way you know how; chewing it up and spitting it back out as determination to do better. The drive to push yourself harder in training rears up, fiery and stubborn— harder than you logically know is any help to yourself.

What was already tedious and heinous training is made that much worse by your injuries.

You're moving sloppily today, offbeat. The dullness in your left ear helps to keep you off balance. Still, you manage to keep up with Azriel— not quite the one step ahead you're usually aiming for but, at the very least, you're still holding your own.

Your ribs ache and your heads throbs. The ringing in your right ear has disappeared with the help of the tonic, only to have started up in the left. A relief in one sense— it's good to be hearing more of anything. A fucking pain in another.

The only major upside, really, is the sword.

The Heartstriker, Azriel had called it

You had been half convinced it was a hallucination, the gift. Sure that it some desperate illusion born out of the delirium of the blood loss because, really, when was the last time you had ever gotten a gift?

When you'd limped your way out into the snow and saw it in his hands, you had blinked in disbelief.

But it's almost like Azriel had expected it, his scarred hands reaching out to gently curl around your wrist, murmuring its name as he had pressed it into your hand. It's yours, he had said.

He had let go of your wrist go immediately, stepping back but not far, still hovering close by. He let you have a moment to marvel at it before he urged you to follow to the usual neck of the woods you trained in. The sound of clashing steel had soon followed.

It's a perfect addition, you find.

The blade is like a mere extension of your own arm. It's light enough to carve through the air with ease but when you strike, it's buries deep. Compared the Illyrian broadsword used in training at camp, it suits your stature far better. You move more agilely, hit more frequently and harder when you do.

It's probably the best thing you've ever owned— ever held.

You're gazing at it where it rests on your lap, glinting in the light of the day, as you try to catch your breath. Azriel had given you a moment to recover, far earlier than normal, due to your injuries, no doubt. Normally, you'd grumble and snarl and push him to continue but today, you're quite happy to have another moment to stare at the first gift you've gotten.

Azriel breaks the silence with a question.

"Why haven't you competed in the Blood Rite?"

Something icy spikes in your blood and your back straightens instinctively, the hair on the nape of your neck standing on end. Whether he knows it or not, he is treading close to dangerous territory.

"Why do you ask?" You answer his question with another question.

Azriel regards you with a certain look, his dark eyes dragging down your body intensely and back up to your face. It's enough to make you fluster momentarily, to feel a faint stirring in your heart that doesn't entirely feel like your own. No one has ever looked at you like that before.

"You're strong. You hold your own. You're of age." He states carefully. "You remain attached to this camp with no rank until you pass it. Why not?"

You scowl at his frame of thinking, as if you haven't passed over those reasons a thousand times. Beyond the fact you can't ever ensure you wouldn't be burdened with your cycle during the Blood Rite, there's more than enough reason for you to remain a nobody.

You feel oddly disappointed that he would think only in that manner; glory and rank.

"What makes you think I want any rank in my camp?" You spit bitingly, watching as his wings sink down an inch at your tone. His misunderstanding of why you've chosen this way of life bothers you more than you expect.

"Because you did?" You ask. "Because three bastards fought their way through it and won and left their shitty pasts behind? I am not you, Azriel."

Azriel doesn't react, not even the raising of his brows. Only his shadows give himself away, whirling around slower than usual. He speaks in that same careful tone as before.

"I know you are not."

He makes you feel foolish for giving in to any lick of your anger, for so quickly snapping at your only friend. You turn your head away and stare down into the snow, taking a breath. Cauldron, you're tired. Lifting you arm, you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, clearing the sweat that beads there.

"I could leave but for what reason? Ever since I—" You suck a sharp inhale, swallowing back words that dance too close to giving you away. You pray he doesn't notice your hesitation. "Ever since I was young, this has been my goal. This change must come from within, you know that."

You inhale again, feeling the breath rattle past every ache and pain in your chest.

"I can only do the things I do... the things I must achieve, by being unnoticeable."

You cast a glance up to him. "To them, I am some bastard who won't give up and die. I am not a proper threat. You, of all people, should understand that it's easiest to work when people are not paying proper attention."

And that's all you have known — how to become unnoticeable when needed and how to be noticed when wanted. Attention, you've learned, only means a target on your back.

Beyond that... you can't imagine someone who would want to notice you for anything more. You've had many, many years to make peace with that bitter fact.

I am.

Without warning, there's a sudden thrum from deep within you, like a echo of a drum, of a call. It's golden and threaded with softness. I am paying attention.

It startles you, one hand flying to your armored chest in surprise. As quick as it had appeared, the hum flees and leaves your bound chest twingeing only in its usual discomfort. One moment of brief serenity. You long for it, despite the unfamiliar nature.

You realise abruptly that you've trailed off and force yourself to move, body aching in the process. Heartstriker sinks into the snow and you use it to clamber to your feet, not nearly as graceful as you would like. Azriel doesn't say anything.

In fact, when you lift your gaze to meet his, he's staring at you more intensely than usual. His shadows seem more agitated. They flit about, circling his hands more than his shoulders, and you can barely see the scarred skin through their inky darkness.

There's a long moment. Around you both, the trees creek as they bend in the wind, a thousand leaves rustling around you in a chorus.

Azriel breaks the silence, casting his eyes to the ground and lifting his blade. "No more questions."

He says it like a promise, his lips pulling at the edges like he might be offering a smile.

"Just fighting."

—

By the time the moon rises, the ache in your body has dimmed to a more bearable pain.

While you'd be miffed at the idea of Azriel pulling his punches, you can't deny the sliver of gratitude you have for it now. As you reach over the cauldron of simmering stew, only a few of your ribs twinge enough to make your motions falter momentarily. The stew bubbles and brews, filling your shelter with a hearty smell.

It's been too long since you last cooked something to share.

You try to shelve the guilt away—you and Azriel have been running a very tight schedule, switching between training, tonics and rest. Taking time to cook, for yourself or others, hasn't even had time to cross your mind.

Your brief brush back with the reality during yesterday's training, however, had provided you with ample reminders. Your home camp and all its violent glory.

So, you cook. The logs crackle on the fire and above them, the stew simmers gently as you stir absentmindedly at it. Giving yourself this quiet moment, you let your thoughts drift as the tiredness of the day trickles into your body. Your thoughts turn to the quiet Shadowsinger.

He had taken his leave as soon as he had declared the end of your days training, needing another trip to Velaris.

I'll be back by morning, he had said, each of his seven cerulean siphons flaring brightly before he stepped between the fabric of the world and disappeared. Another hidden trick up his sleeve.

You'd allowed yourself only one moment of surprise before you closed your mouth— you really needed to stop underestimating him. As the stew before you begins to hiss and spit, you pull yourself from your thoughts and prepare yourself for the discomfort of meal times.

They never are as friendly as you might hope.

Despite your generosity, the different outcasts of Exordor remain cagey. Regard you with pensive and guarded looks, hands hovering on the butts of their swords. You can't blame them in the slightest.

But those that can brave the walk to your cabin, risking both themselves and your own safety against the other Illyrian brutes in the camp, are rewarded with a hot meal. Tonight, you feed 12 hungry mouths before your doorstep grows quiet.

You pack it all away in silence, with a quite yearning for company you've only just become used to having.

It's only as you're tucking in for the night, your wings wrapped around yourself tightly, does the first pain strike. Right to your core, the very insides of your gut feels as though it's being shredded. You gasp, your entire body curling up tighter to fight against the pain.

For only a moment, confusion clouds your mind at the attack that seems to come from nowhere, from an invisible enemy. Only one answer comes forward—the only thing that can threaten to reveal your secret without your permission, through mere scent alone.

A certain agony that only tortures you twice a year.

[NEXT PART: BETRAYERS]

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar #i have nothing to say but sorry it took more than a month!!!!!!!! ahhhh!!!!!!!!!#mwahmwah please forgive me #we're GETTING there #i just keep being dedicated to the backstory lmao #TOO dedicated

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centrally-unplanned · 16 days

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I watched two documentaries recently that were very "2000's nerd culture" which I thought were very fun! In like a meta way as cultural commentary, of course, it is me after all. The first was Indie Game: The Movie, a 2012 documentary on the making Braid, Super Meat Boy, and Fez. It is a "creator-focused" documentary and in particular for the latter two games the film crew actually filmed them mid-production & release, which does make for some authentically heartfelt scenes.

So in a certain sense all eras of documentary will contain this, but the 2000's going into the 2010's was absolutely rife with a new wave of films, often supported by crowdsourcing funds like Indie Game was, primarily concerned with the self-legitimization of niche subcultures. By creating something cohesive, academic, and prestigious like a documentary, the film can codify the subculture as "real" and "worthy", and additionally lend credence to narratives about the subculture that have grown prevalent. And to be clear, this is not a criticism, even if there are parts that are - all meaning and identity is forged in similar ways. But for nerd culture in the 2000's, there was a particularly intense need for this process, because this was the era of nerdom going mainstream. That level of culture shift generated demand for all the above, which films like this aim to supply. There were lot of films of this type - we made a brony "documentary" propaganda film guys, nothing was exempt.

Indie Game is overwhelmingly the story of outsider artists bleeding and dying for their art, which will triumph above all odds. And it leans, heavily, into the bleed; at one point Phil Fish (creator of Fez), openly states he might commit suicide if his game fails. Much screen time is spent on personal sacrifice, financial poverty, the "doubters", etc. This is of course a classic tale for artists, but if I may be so bold that is something of an easy sell - emotionally, narratively - for someone writing the Great American Novel. It is maybe harder to sell if you are making this?

(Cover art by Bryan Lee O'Malley btw - very era appropriate!) How do we make "dude in hat solves puzzles" worth the Starving Artist life?

We do that by positioning these games not as games, but as paradigms. These games, by dint of being the independent vision of unitary creators, are making games that Big Gaming never could. New digital means of distribution are allowing artists to cut out the middleman of publishers, groups that corrupt the real vision of creators. And with no barriers to development, now anyone (maybe...even you?) can make games that can compete in the big leagues. Indie games through this lens are a different product than mainstream titles, and these creators are opening doors. And their suffering is going to be financially rewarded with success and money to boot! That is the narrative Indie Game is selling to its audience of gamers, to understand why the indie games they bought and loved are meaningful.

And to be clear, as much as I am about to deconstruct this, it isn't like totally false or anything. Starting in the late 2000's digital platforms like Steam, more accessible development tools like Unity (released in 2005), and so on did in fact make smaller games appealing to more niche markets more viable, and by virtue of their nicheness yeah they can do things big budget games maybe can't. These creators absolutely had passionate visions for their games, sacrifice for your passions is fine (not bashing that part here), hats off to them. Indie games in this era would absolutely "change gaming".

But not really in the ways this narrative wants them to, nor with the "meaning" people of the time expected it to have. For one, there is a conflict in this documentary of them wanting to highlight "bold new visions" and also wanting to highlight...popular indie games. This is Super Meat Boy, for example:

Yeah, never had a 2D platformer blob guy dodging traps before in gaming! "No see its retro" yeah retro to what, old games? Like those Nintendo made back in the 90's, which you explicitly mention in your documentary? You know, niche indie studio Nintendo? This isn't a bash, at all, at the game itself, but instead the idea that "AAA Studios would never"; they totally would, and always did. There has never been an era where the large gaming studios weren't also making creative games, but for this narrative they need to be propped up as static for it to make sense. And the actual niche indie stuff that big studios wouldn't touch don't sell well enough to justify being in this film!

And the idea of the "solo developer" is also, hm, let us say a bit sus. Not that these developers weren't solo or small teams, they were (though ofc a solo core creator will often have dozens of helpers on supporting roles that get sidelined in this "unitary vision" narrative); but that such a model is all that new? How big do you think development teams were in the 90's for so many classic games? The original Pokemon Red/Blue game had less than a dozen core developers (the total staff list, including American localizers, is ~30 people - Super Meat Boy meanwhile seems to have 16 for comparison). You wanna bring up the dev teams for PC-98 visual novels? They were made in an Akihabara cave with a box of pixel art scraps by like 6 people! You think those games didn't have "unitary creative visions"? Small gaming companies have always been a part of the ecosystem, getting niche titles funded & published using insane magic and pure luck. The "indie boom" is better seen as a change in the numerator.

Though what did change is that, by being self-published, development was approachable by outsiders in new ways. Though even then, this is a bit of a lie - Jonathan Blow of Braid was an industry veteran, and everyone here plays the "convention circuit" and networks with people like the PAX crew and Xbox representatives. But with the games being published by an individual over a studio, even a studio of a half dozen people, it is far easier for the audience to see the creators as "one of them". No office, no suits, just a man in his gamer den banging out his dream. That aesthetic is core to why this narrative was potent at the time, and why making a documentary to codify it was seen as compelling. It takes an already ascendant idea, polishes it, packages it as nonfiction, and then sells the idea back to the people who invented it. LIke so much media, to be clear! I always enjoy seeing it, it is the dialectic of culture in action.

I also find it very funny to see a documentary made in 2012 playing tropes that will become far more ~problematic~ just around the corner. Burnout and work-life balance - in a documentary where a developer, crying, discusses suicide if his game fails, to remind you - is pretty much never mentioned, and a successful game launch is absolutely presented as justifying endless crunch. You would never see that today. The only women in this documentary are wives and parents - which is very amusing, because the co-creator of the film is a woman! No one thinks gender is relevant to mention. Boy would that change in a few years.

Indie games today, of course, are just a segment of the gaming market. They are incredibly common now, so much so that most people lose money making them, people discuss oversaturation, big studio companies have "indie wings" to cover consumer preference ranges, etc. There is no magic in it anymore, it is just dev strategy. So yeah, very enjoyable as a representative time capsule in a strain of culture that is pretty much gone now! The Capital-R Romantic Era of indie gaming; what a time.

In the next post, we are going much more niche, so stay tuned for that. Or don't, I don't know you, and like this was a loooot of writing. Maybe i'll, idk work on that for the next one? ...I probably won't -_-

#Ash culture chronicles #history of western otaku I guess?

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theseeingfawn · 2 months

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Hi Everyone, I have been working on a small town Elriel fic for awhile now and finally decided to post. This is my first time writing fan fiction so please be gentle with me.

Summary:

Elain Archeron, beloved sweetheart of the quaint town of Hewn Hills, yearns for a life beyond the constraints and expectations placed upon her by her family and community. Azriel Rosehall, a captivating yet misunderstood outsider, struggles with the prejudices of the town as he endeavors to forge his own destiny. Drawn to each other by an undeniable connection, Elain and Azriel are determined to be together, even if it means bringing trouble to the charming small-town. “Everything that's worth having is some trouble. - L.M. Montgomery

Chapter 1: Matchmaker Mayhem | Read on A03

Elain

It's official, this is the worst date I have ever been on. It doesn't make sense. The man is gorgeous, almost devilishly so. I've heard nothing but praise about his charm and wit. I've even seen it myself when he didn't think I was looking. But, the man is a nervous wreck and awkward . Or is it me? Maybe we are just feeding off each other's horrible vibes creating a vortex of our own personal hell. I had been reluctant when my sister all but demanded I go on a date with her friend Lucien. For the last couple of years, all Feyre could talk about is how great Lucien is and how funny and on and on and on . It was almost nauseating. I felt like Feyre was close to hiring a skywriter to let the world know that I was destined for her best friend. Ever since she married Rhysand she has taken up the mantle of matchmaker. So, to spare myself from further harassment I relented. Sure, I knew Lucien, but we have never had a meaningful conversation. Nothing other than pleasantries. I also work hard to keep him at arm's length, despite how often we are forced to interact. I see I was right to keep my distance. He seems as reluctant to be here as I am. I almost feel sorry for him… almost .

I'm glad I had the foresight to pick Velaris as our meeting spot and not Hewn Hills, the small town in the suburbs, where we live. I adore Hewn Hills but it is full of nosy nellies and busybodies. My baby sister is the biggest busybody of them all. So, when I suggested my favorite upscale restaurant in the heart of the city, Lucien readily agreed. It would seem he isn’t a big fan of all the meddling either. Though, I assume for different reasons. Thankfully, no one we know is here to witness our nightmare of a date. It didn't make sense. Despite knowing Feyre for years, and serving on our town council together, Lucien doesn't seem to know a thing about me. Well, other than surface level stuff. I sighed internally, of course he doesn't know much about me. My sisters do not truly know me. They only see the version of me that they wish to see, not the real me. No one really did .

I sit here staring off into the distance like I'm lost in a vision, imagining the bubbly young waitress will come back to end my misery. Really, how many awkward silences must I suffer through? As if reading my mind, Lucien broke the quiet tension with a question. “So, you like to garden? What vegetables do you grow,” Lucien asked with the enthusiasm of a root canal patient.“I actually don't grow vegetables, just flowers and herbs for my shop. Vegetables are much more difficult to grow than people realize.” He nodded. Please, where is the waitress.Then it occurred to me, I could use the bathroom and get away. Maybe I could slip out the window and run. What would he do? Tell my sister I gave him the slip? I'd pay good money to see that. No one would believe him. Yes, sneaking out is the answer. I feel like I've won the lottery for coming up with this brilliant idea. “Excuse me, I am just going to freshen up,” I say with syrupy sweetness. I hope I look graceful and not like I am barreling toward the back of the restaurant like I am fleeing the scene of a crime, but I doubt it. Once behind the closed door of the single occupant bathroom I take my first deep breath of the evening. I look around but there is no window, just a floor to ceiling mirror. Son of a bitch. I sigh and gaze at my reflection searching for an answer. Maybe it was my appearance that rendered him stupid. I’ve heard all my life that I’m beautiful. Not the polite kind of beautiful that every mother dotes onto their daughters. But, the type of beauty that could be used. Before she died, my mother dressed me up like her own personal Barbie doll. Taking personal credit for my appearance and awkwardly telling anyone who would listen that I got it from my mama. I cringe just thinking about it. Even my father had dragged me along to client dinners to dangle me in front of prospective clients like a juicy carrot. My sister Nesta is always watching my back, weary of everyone's intentions. Feyre, the bane of my existence at the moment, all but pimped me out to the dullest man in Hewn Hills because she thought her friend's happiness was more important than mine. Just a pawn to be used to make her life more exciting.

That's not entirely fair.

I know I’m seen as a goodie goodie, a pushover. Maybe I am, I caved to Feyre's demands after all. My sisters love to remind me how I am too sweet for my own good. A chaste virginal angel that they must protect at all costs. My reflection taunts me. Not a hair out of place, a flawless exterior that was pleasing to the eye. But, what had that gotten me? A failed engagement. A cage of my own making. Putting everyone else first and myself second. I shake away the bitterness, burying it deep down. It could be worse. At least Lucien is polite and respectful. I could do this, I could muster some enthusiasm and carry on with this date. No matter how much I wanted to shrink into myself. He is just a man and once it was over I could tell Feyre I had given it my best effort but we weren't a love match. Though I knew I didn't give Lucien my best, in many ways I blame him for what happened with Graysen. I just wanted tonight to be over with so I could go home and binge watch tv without a bra on.

With a new sense of purpose, I step back into the bustling restaurant and head toward the table. Lucien has his back to me as he chats on the phone, “you don't understand Jurian. She's so… so… meek, boring even. I don’t know why Feyre keeps insisting we’re soul mates. I know, she is beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen but she is dull , a snoozefest. Just call me in five minutes with a fake emergency so I can bow out.” Stunned, I dropped my head in defeat. Well, I couldn't blame him for wanting out of the world's most awkward first date. But, to call me meek and boring is just mean. I fought the urge to cry. No need to spill tears over Lucien Vanserra. Besides, it's not like he is the sly and charming man I've heard everyone drone on about. He is the snoozefest. He has barely said a word to me all evening. He is the headliner of the snoozefestival. How dare he!!!

I slide back into my chair and slap on the biggest fake smile I can muster. “Has our waiter stopped by?” I asked, pretending that I don't want to kick him in the shin. “No, not yet. This place is getting packed. It's hard to even hear what you're saying, we can just listen to the music and Ow!” Lucien hunches over and grabs his leg. “Oh my, I'm so sorry! I went to cross my legs but didn't realize you were so close,” I feigned innocence as I bat my eyes at him. I turn my head from his scowl before I start laughing. My eyes peruse the growing crowd of people streaming through the door and there he is.

His dark hair swept back off of his face, dressed in an immaculate black suit that hugs his sculpted form. I don't let myself admit this often but I have a tiny, itty bitty crush on Rhysand's mysterious brother, Azriel . Even his name is beautiful. I have only interacted with him at family functions but the sight of him alone is enough to make me swoon. He is always busy working some sort of mysterious job. I never get a straight answer on what it is that he does because it is all very hush hush. I caught bits and pieces from eavesdropping on conversations when no one was paying attention to me. They rarely pay attention to me. I know it involves surveillance work and traveling, which only adds to his allure. I like to pretend he is a spy like James Bond or even a kingpin in the mob. A dangerous job for a dangerous man. At least I like to pretend he has a dangerous side, he certainly looks like he does. He has dark features and is always draped in black and cobalt blue clothing. He is stoic with a piercing hazel gaze that could slice right through you. He is hard to read but I feel like his eyes give him away. It's the way the corners wrinkle slightly or glow brighter when he is happy. It's how directly he stares when he is mad and fighting the urge to speak out. Despite his appearance, he is always kind and thoughtful toward me. He holds the door for me or pulls out my chair at the dinner table. One time, after I spent all of Thanksgiving day cooking, he took the serving dish from my hands so I could sit down and enjoy the meal I worked so hard on. He even made everyone wait until I sat to eat. Men are rarely that chivalrous these days. The memory sends my heart racing. Azriel is quiet, but not awkward the way Lucien is currently behaving. He is confident and reserved in a way that adds to his enigmatic persona.

I watch him as he walks through the door and turns to the stunning blonde behind him, Mor. He was on a date with her . I recall the time I overheard Feyre telling Nesta that Azriel was in love with Mor. It made sense I suppose, she is gorgeous and has a way about her that makes it seem like she was lit from within. But a part of me doesn’t believe it. Feyre is often wrong about these kinds of things. Look at me and Lucien, she thinks we are fated. But, this date feels like pulling teeth. “Elain, did you hear me?” I shook myself out of my daze, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lucien let out a sigh, “I asked if you like bread,'' Confused, I looked at the basket that was placed in front of me. I want to roll my eyes. Does he not remember that I own a bakery? “Who doesn't like bread, Lucien?” He scoffed, “you would be surprised, there are people out there who can't tolerate it.” I blink once, and then again. “That was a joke,” he states as if he were teaching humor to a martian. “Oh,” is all I can muster as I look at the bread, pleading with it to save me from this man. A dad joke, really?

Suddenly there is a long dark shadow cast over the table. My eyes shoot up to meet hazel ones. “I hope I'm not interrupting,” Azriel says, appearing like an answered prayer. “Azriel! It’s so good to see you,” I beamed, hoping the relief in my tone isn’t as obvious as it seems. The corner of his mouth ticks upward, “it's good to see you too Elain. I hope you have been well.” Gods he is beautiful and tall. Why is he so tall? He smells divine. I wonder if he is just visiting for a few days? Lucien clears his throat. I look at him, realizing I am still on a date. “Azriel, this is Lucien, you know, Feyre's friend.” Azriel slowly turns to Lucien and dips his head in greeting, turning back to me. “I didn't expect to see you out in the city,” he says with a curious look in his eyes. I smile shyly, “I'm… here on a date.” He looks back to Lucien slowly raking his gaze up and down, a hint of displeasure in his assessment. “I see. I'm just grabbing a bite with Mor.” He turns towards his companion who is sitting at a table across the restaurant. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I’ve taken a new assignment and will be in this area for the next few months. Hopefully we will see more of each other.” My smile widens, I would certainly love to see more of him. Azriel's lip quirks up ever so slightly on one side. BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Lucien apologizes and grabs his phone, a puzzled look on his face. “Hold on. It's my roommate. It's odd he is calling since he knowsIi'm on a date.” He answers it quickly, while holding up a finger to shush Azriel and me. “Wait, what's wrong? Calm down.” Wow, he is really committing to the bit. “Are you sure? Okay… I am on my way,” he ends the call and looks up. “I'm sorry to have to do this but there's an emergency and I'm going to have to end our date early.” I fight back a chortle. “Oh no! What kind of an emergency, a flat tire or dead grandma?” Azriel coughs and turns away. Lucien looking stunned mutters out, “uhhh a flat tire.” I wave over the waitress who miraculously appears from nowhere, “Can we get our check?” I turn back to Lucien, “Sorry to hear about your roommates flat tire. I hate when that happens.” Before Lucien can reply, the waitress comes back with the bill. It's for two drinks and a bread basket. I start to pull out my wallet when Azriel clears his throat. Lucien looks from me to Azriel. Azriel asks with an unamused expression, “Aren't you going to pay, since it's a date?” My jaw nearly hits the floor. Lucien sputters and fumbles for his wallet. Hastily slinging a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Well it's been… a date. I will catch you around Elain.” Lucien shuffles around the crowd making a hasty exit. I keel over in a fit of quiet laughter the second Lucien bolts for the door. You know the kind of silent laughter where your shoulders shake and you can hardly breathe? That kind. I feel a warm rough hand stroke my upper arm sending a shiver down my spine. “Hey, it's okay, don't be upset,” came the soothing timbre of Azriel's voice. I look up to see his worried expression and start laughing even harder. His hand stills on my arm and grips me lightly. “Why are you laughing?” he asks, bemused by my giggling fit. I wipe away a few wayward tears as I fight back a bout of hiccups. “ it's just… it's just…” I snort. An honest to gods snort so loud that it draws the attention of at least three neighboring tables. Azriel is smiling fully now. A toothy smile that I just know he rarely gives to anyone. It over takes his whole face making him somehow even more handsome. Seeing him this way suddenly calms my laughing fit and I clear my throat. “It's just, we were having the worst date in the history of dates and he was so desperate to get away he made up an excuse to bail. But, I have to say his acting was pretty solid.” Azriel looks at me a little stunned, “you're not upset, not mad?” I smile again, “I can’t blame him, I wanted to escape through the bathroom window but they didn't have one.” His smile lingers as he stares at me. “You making him pay for the bill was just icing on the cake.” Azriel hums before saying, “it was the least I could do.” I stand and grab my small handbag off the table. “Well, Azriel, I’m happy I got the chance to see you. It’s been too long, I'm glad to hear you’ll be sticking around for a while.” He looks down towards his shoes and back up, the faintest blush on his cheeks. “Have a good evening,” I bid him farewell and walk out onto the street.

I stop to take a deep breath, cleansing myself of the bad date energy. It was terrible but at least I went out and could tell Feyre to back off. It had been several years since I had mustered the courage to date. Not since Graysen. I’m about to take a step when I felt a hand grab the back of my elbow. “Wait, I wanted to make sure you were truly okay.” I whirl around to see Azriel staring down at me. My heart flutters once again, the way it always does in his presence. His face was elegant with high cheekbones, a fine nose and a sharp jawline. In the halo of the street lamp he looked like a fallen angel. His scarred hand was still on my arm, a rose tattoo covered the back of it. “That's very thoughtful of you, but truly I’m okay. My pride is a little wounded but I'll get over it.” He studies me for a long moment before he leans in, “You're too nice Elain.” I stiffen but can't exactly argue. “He's a fool you know? Any man would be lucky to date you.” My stomach fills with butterflies. It was my turn to blush under the weight of his sincere gaze. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You should get back to your date, Azriel. I would hate to take up any more of your time.” He looks over his shoulder and back to me, as if confused. Maybe he was remembering where he was and what he was doing. “Are you sure you're okay? Do you need me to take you home? You could join us…” his thumb tenderly rubbing up and down my arm. He was probably just being kind because I'm Feyre's sister. The thought saddens me. “I'm sure Azriel, no need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” He looks unsure or perhaps he is just reluctant to let me go. His hand is still stroking my arm. “It was lovely to see you, maybe we can catch up another time?” A smile tugs at my lips, “I'd like that.”

Azriel

I can't believe my luck. I get back into the city and happen to bump into the girl I have been obsessing over for months. Truth be told, I have a thing for Elain Archeron. How could I not? She is gorgeous and so incredibly kind. She radiates joy and has a way of making everyone around her feel special. I am normally so good with the opposite sex. Hell I have quite the reputation as a ladies man but something about her leaves me feeling like a lovesick teenager. I wish I had a reason to make her stick around and spend the evening with me but I know I probably shouldn't.

I watch Elain walk away down the crowded street. Utterly lost in the way the wind catches her long golden hair. The way her dress skims over her gentle curves. What I wouldn't do to get the chance to touch her. I exhale slowly, burying my thoughts on her deep down, as I always do. I walk back into the restaurant and sit across from Mor. Once, many years ago I thought I loved Mor. But I mistook her kindness for love. I had never been around a girl my own age until I met her. She is so gregarious and radiates confidence. So when she doted on me, I read the signals all wrong. I built up something that was never really there. It took too long to discover that Mor preferred women. Even after, I held out hope that she would change her mind. Truth be told, it allowed me to keep other women at a distance. If I hid all of my feelings in the safety of Mor's friendship I never had to address my own issues with intimacy. But, I was done hiding behind Mor and living in denial. I started to realize I could never be happy if I didn’t face reality, no matter how scary it was for me to open up to her. It was awkward and she was hesitant to even hear me out. It was worth it though, because now she was my friend and one of my closest confidants.

“So, how was sweet Elain?” she asks. Elain didn't know Mor well, but Mor knew all about Elain. Mor being a family friend of Rhys’ was well informed on the Archeron sisters. “She seems okay, though it looks like she was having a bad date. He actually ditched her.” Mor gapes, “that piece of shit! Who was it?” I sneer, “Lucien Vanserra.” Mor rolls her eyes, “seems as though Feyre finally wore her down.” l hum in agreement. I’ll never understand why Feyre thinks Lucien and Elain would make a good pair. I suspect she wants Lucien to stick around and worries he wouldn’t without some other incentive. Feyre dated Tamlin, Lucien’s former college roommate and friend. After the nasty break up Lucien had taken Feyre’s side. But, he had grown distant and their friendship never fully recovered. So, she clings to the hope that if Elain marries Lucien he will become a permanent fixture in her life. Feyre also loves to meddle in other people's lives. She likes to think she has a gift for connecting people but in reality she is terrible at it. No, truly terrible. Her own love life until Rhys had been a shitshow so it puzzles me why Feyre thought so highly of her skills in the love department. I know Elain is too good for Lucien. I don't hate the man but he doesn’t seem like the type of man she needs. Especially after his pathetic stunt this evening.

I think back to Elain, how utterly beautiful she looked. The way her skin seemed to glow, how her face lit up when she laughed. The utterly intoxicating smell of her jasmine perfume. I hate the thought of her dating Lucian. I hate the way they look together, the way she seems to shrink around him. She is a bright shining light in a world of darkness. She deserves someone who appreciates how special she truly is.

“Hello, Earth to Azriel,” Mor says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “I'm sorry Mor, what were you saying?” She sighs. “I should have known the second you saw her that I'd lost your focus for the evening.” My eyes snap up, face utterly unreadable. “What's that supposed to mean?” Mor pats my hand and I pull it away. I hate it when people touch my hands . “Don't play dumb with me Azriel. I know you too well.” I narrow my eyes, weighing my next words carefully. “I'm not playing dumb. I'm just concerned after Lucien ditched her.” Mor gives me an unimpressed look. “For what it's worth, I think you should ask her out. You two would make the hottest couple.” She pumps her eyebrows at me suggestively. “I'm not going to ask her out… that's absurd… Why would you even suggest that?” Mor tilts her head back and laughs, “oh you have it bad.” I give her an incredulous look, “I can't date anyone, I travel too much for work, not to mention it could be dangerous. Besides, I'm not interested in falling in love.” She gives me her no nonsense face. I want to protest but there is that old saying about protesting too much and I don't want to egg her on. “Let's just drop it and enjoy our evening,” I say, refusing to take the bait. Mor sighs, “here's the deal Azzy, I will enjoy a lovely meal, which you are paying for, by the way. But, I'm not forgetting you are pining after you know who.”

“Fine,” I bite out.

“Have you decided where you are going to stay?” She asks in a tone that feels suspiciously like prying into more than just my place of residence. I shrug, “My assignment is in Windhaven.” Mor scrunches her nose in distaste. Not that I blame her, Windhaven is a shithole. “I don't have to live there full time, but I do have to stay a few days a week.” She nods, “why not stay in Hewn Hills?” There it is, her not so innocent suggestion. It's like she knows what I have planned. She knows me too well. I eye her suspiciously. “Don't give me that look, Az. Velaris is too far from Windhaven, and Hewn Hills is adorable.” It is a nice town, I wouldn't call it adorable. Though there is something there worth adoring . “They have great hiking trails, the parks are beautiful, and the downtown is just like Stars Hollow.” I sigh, “you don't have to convince me Mor, I've already booked a bed and breakfast.” She squeals, and I feel a headache forming. I rub my temple, “don't get too excited. It's the most logical choice.” She claps excitedly, “oh i just love it there, and now I have another reason to visit. You know I love Rita's and don't get me started on Petals.” I give her a perturbed look and pray to the gods that she doesn't read into anything more than she already has. There is only one reason I’m staying in Hewn Hills, Elain . Seeing her with Lucien tonight only reinforces the notion that I need to be close to her. Is it the smart thing to do? No, but I can’t seem to keep away. I’m just glad Mor’s job will keep her distracted from joining Feyre in competing for the biggest pain in the ass award.

#elriel #azriel x elain #elain x azriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic

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astronicht · 5 months

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Heya, long time tolkien fan with almost no knowledge about old english writings whatsoever here.

Could you explain what the Iron House Motif is? Saw you mentioning it in one of your posts, tried to google it, found pretty much nothing?

I mean i can kinda see what you mean about that but if you have an explanation or any examples that would be great!

Also, i love reading your lotr posts, they add so much stuff and background knowledge :)

A few people asked this regarding this silly post, and yeah it appears "iron house motif" is not a super googleable concept (i ran into it in an academic publication from 1993). Fortunately @pethaucwiar has described what it is, better than I could!

To this I'd add two things, which is that it's also pretty common in Old Norse sagas, and that iirc it sometimes also includes a house literally made of iron, so instead of burning down around your enemies, you also have the option of sticking them in a giant forge and then closing the door. This will be important later. Though honestly, you can stop here, the rest is extras.

Regarding Eowyn, there are famous variants where a woman burns her husband/enemies in a hall for revenge, in an act of self-destruction. (So-- I know she doesn't! But you see a hall, you see a woman, you get told to leave your weapons--)

The problem is, the scene I was joking about in LOTR is very much set in Rohan, and any scene in Rohan is hitting you over the head repeatedly, yelling EVERYONE HERE IS SPEAKING OLD ENGLISH. WE ARE IN AN OLD ENGLISH STORY. And the iron house motif doesn't come up much in Old English. In fact, the general fan assumption seems to be that the hall of Rohan is supposed to mimic Heorot, the hall in Beowulf (Beowulf being, famously, a story in Old English involving a big pretty hall with a king who needs an outside hero's aid; pretty clear-cut) -- over here someone argued persuasively on the same post that it's supposed to be a 1:1 comparison, and thus doesn't suggest any burning halls or iron halls etc.

A little on that! First off, Tolkien braids together his storyworlds constantly, so I'm never going to be sure that he's not going to turn a Beowulf-y hall into a burning revenge hall. But even if you read Rohan's hall as strictly 1:1 Beowulf's hall, approaching it is still kinda a stressful moment. Especially bc Beowulf is actually a really really weird example of Old English stories, where revenge hall burning feels closer than in any other OE text. For lots of reasons! None of its stories are set where people spoke Old English -- they’re set on the Continent and In The Past, purposefully referring to Germanic and Scandinavian storyworlds (where people like Eowyn, lacking any other agency, might burn down everyone). Heorot is not a normal hall, either, bc most importantly for the defense of my earlier shitpost, Beowulf's hall is literally an iron house:

"but it was fastened within and without with iron bands, smithed with crafty thoughts."

(Rutgers transl. I was not joking about it being annoying to translate; unless forced I do not translate Beowulf)

Ac he þæs fæste wæs innan ond utan iren-bendum searo-þoncum besmiþod" (lines 773-4)

So that was the joke! And those iron-bands in the walls are actually being used to keep the monster in the hall so Beowulf could fight it. (Picture wattle-and-daub, but woven with iron rods instead of reeds. This was NOT a real thing archeologically)

Basically: even if Rohan's hall is Beowulf's Heorot, it can still be a medievalist horror film moment where you scream DON'T GO IN THERE if you try hard and love the game. But truly, it was just a silly little post at the expense of CS Lewis.

#astro lotr #yet another five paragraph explanation of my own shitposts sorry for being like this!!!!#ask replies #much more than five paragraphs….

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yakkety-yak-art · 3 months

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Saw the ghost movie that I was really excited about. Was disappointing. Ultimately it was just really…okay or downright bad in the parts that weren’t concert footage. More specific comments below the cut because spoilers, I guess, but there’s really nothing that happens in this movie that matters enough to count as a spoiler.

First, if this had just been concert footage, it would have been much more enjoyable. The movie parts were not at all interesting and each cutaway made it drag on and on. I hadn’t slept well the night before the showing, so the movie itself wasn’t the reason I was dozing off at some parts…but it also wasn’t helping keep me AWAKE outside of the concert footage. No complaints about that footage (mostly, but I’ll get back to it later).

Story: whoops, Tobias Forge can’t write! Sorry, that’s a bit mean, but…I paid money to watch this, so I’ll be a little bit mean. Seriously, this thing needed at least a couple more passes with the script. Every. single. conversation. as repeating what was already brought up in the OPENING voiceover: Cardi doesn’t wanna die, doesn’t wanna stop fronting for Ghost, but everything ends eventually. Yes, we GET IT. We do not need several scenes of Cardi with his parents saying it over and over again with no additional information added to understand that. After the opening VO, we could’ve just had one scene of Cardi looking a bit forlornly at himself in the mirror, and then Sister Imperator happily telling him that “things are going to be changing in the clergy soon!” or something like that and he looks unhappy.

That’s what I thought we were getting at first, but then it just. Kept happening??? Like oh my god Tobias, I get it, Cardi doesn’t want this to end, I KNOW. The quality of the writing suggests that Tobias is one of three things: incompetent at writing anything longer than a short (maybe, but the other two are a bit more likely), had no real story to tell and this could’ve been one of the shorts so he had to pad it out to an insufferable length (definitely), or so full of himself that he thought “eh, I don’t actually have anything to say, but this way I’ll get to be on screen the whole time and the only writer credited,” (probable). It’s just so offensive considering I know there were so many resources available to make this GOOD: more time, writing assistance or hiring a real writer, etc. and yet they were not taken advantage of. If this was something just put up on YouTube I really couldn't care less about the quality, but if you're charging money for this AND are as big as Ghost is, you can't expect to slide by with mediocrity. Except he will, because apparently everyone else loved this thing. Okay. Also, the humor overall just fell super flat. There were several moments where I was like, "wait, was that a joke? was I meant to laugh there?" because they were just nothing. Also, there was a fart joke. Okay.

Acting: sorry, I’m going to be mean again. The acting in the movie parts was very. Hit or miss is what I’m gonna call it. The voice acting in the voiceovers at the beginning and the end were oddly rushed in several places? They weren’t placing words in very natural ways and it just felt like they needed to do another take for some of the lines. It’s especially noticeable in the beginning voiceover because in most of it he’s speaking at a slower pace and it’s perfect and sounds great, but then he just…speeds up sometimes? And it doesn’t feel intentional and isn’t in places that make it feel like it makes sense to speed up for dramatic effect. In Sister Imp’s voiceover at the end, she is also just speeding through it and it’s incredibly awkward, because in a lot of places it’s noticeably faster than she’s speaking in her other scenes. Like, guys, you know you can shoot more footage right??? You can put some b roll in??? You don’t have to squeeze the whole speech into the shorter shot you have if it’s going to compromise the actor’s delivery.

Tobias' acting was passable for the whole thing, though that might be partially because he's not acting with his face as much as the others, so it's less noticeable when something isn't quite working. Sister Imp did a fine job for the most part, excluding her VO and some awkwardness (and no, not intentional awkwardness) in a couple scenes with Papa Nihil. Papa was also fine; nothing to write home about but nothing terrible stood out to me. Most of the issues probably came from the special effects on him to make him ghostly, which I'm presuming involved him being on a green screen or something (I have no clue. Idk anything about making effects lmao.) I'm NOT going to really review the acting of the stagehands because that's not their main job and they already had a lot of work to do, but it wasn't so bad as to take anything away from the scenes they're in. Basically, the acting overall was okay, but not great, and it adds to how much the scenes drag on for sure.

Tiny section about the animated Mary On A Cross segment: I'm not gonna comment on the bad animation, because it's on purpose and emulating old Hanna-Barbera cartoons. My issue is that it makes zero sense and goes nowhere. Nihil chases Sister Imp around for a while looking forlorn and sad and desperate, and she runs away/beats him up while looking pissed off until they come across a graveyard and she pulls him into a kiss. Then it cuts to Nihil naked in a hotel room in the morning while she storms off angrily....okay? And? What changed her mind? Why is she still angry in the morning? Why does this matter at all? Knowing that Papa IV was the product of a one night stand is a footnote if this is all we get from it. Just weird, and didn't fit the song IMO.

Editing: super frantic and distracting in places, particularly the fast cuts in the concert footage. It's just a lot and can be disorienting. Nothing is really allowed to sit on screen for very long (which is related to another point...) but at the same time, some of the movie shots just linger for no reason. They're just awkward and clunky and repetitive. Some people disliked the crowd shots, but I thought they were fun and cute and used sparingly enough. Shout out to the dude in the nun costume!

Weird lack of concert footage: what they chose to keep and what to cut was just confusing. Most of the footage was just Tobias singing, short shots of the Ghouls rocking out, and crowd footage. Almost none of the Ghoul antics that they're known for, unless Tobias was also in shot and involved. Whenever he went backstage and a Ghoul took the spotlight (I'm sorry, I can never remember who is who, but it was usually White Guitar Ghoul if I recall correctly), it cut to a story moment which, again, were boring, repetitive, and told us nothing. It just felt disrespectful to cut out so much of the Ghouls and their performances, especially because the crowd and the fans love them a lot. They add so much to Ghost's live shows and, in my opinion, are more important to Ghost than Tobias. I don't care if that's a "controversial" Ghost opinion to have, but it really is true. I think anyone could be any of the Papas. But the Ghouls, even when they get changed out, are always so talented, so energetic, so passionate, and make Ghost what it is in a live setting. They were also missing from all but one movie scene, where one of them asks if they're doing an encore, and for a second I thought the line had been spoken by one of the stagehands. That's it.

(Okay, there's also there in the scene where Sister Imp dies, but they're just standing there.)

I can't speak for if the Ghouls themselves felt a bit sidelined or disrespected by this. I can't say for certain if they even wanted a bigger presence outside of the concert footage. But I can definitely say that, from a fan perspective, the lack of the Ghouls compared to how OFTEN Tobias is on screen, backstage, doing NOTHING when we could be watching the Ghouls was GLARINGLY obvious. It felt weird and it felt uneven. I started getting really irritated by about the third time it cut backstage when I could be watching the Ghouls! It just led to the whole thing feeling super vain and self-important considering Tobias wrote the film to be this way. Some people have defended this by saying, "well, they're the Nameless Ghouls!" but that's bullshit. They're part of Ghost canon too, so why don't we get anything from them? We can't even see a little bit about how they might be feeling regarding a Clergy mix up? Whether they care about the current Papa, or anything like that? Involving them would feel so much more interesting than just another Papa, but this one wants to KEEP singing!! Again, maybe the Ghouls didn't want to be more involved...but it felt off.

I've never seen Ghost live, so I had no frame of reference for how much was cut from the concert footage aside from the lack of Ghoul antics, which is what they're known for, but apparently several people who were at the concerts filmed for this noticed a ton of footage that was cut (again, mostly Ghouls) that they thought would have been more fun to see compared to so many backstage shots. And yet we got the sequence of him in a boxing outfit, walking through the crowd, which ended with...nothing? He just...does that? Waste of time. (AND YES, I KNOW that it is a reference. That doesn't make it good. It didn't need to be there. Replace it with something relevant.) It just exemplifies how much time is wasted in this movie.

Special effects: oh my god did anyone even look at this movie before sending it out Jesus Christ. The special effects are so bad I was genuinely shocked. When Papa IV and Papa Nihil are talking while IV is in a box (for some reason?? I actually don't know why) Nihil is weirdly sized and not lined up properly. It was odd. The greenscreen was so godawful I was honestly amazed. It's YouTuber comedy sketch levels of greenscreen quality. What the fuck? Especially compared to the amazing performance and how much work is put into their live shows, the horrid effects stood out starkly. Another comment on Nihil: his face is hard to see in some scenes. His ghostly effects make his features kind of blur together sometimes, and sometimes it doesn't, so it clearly wasn't intentional. Just another odd thing. The effect of him getting sucked into his body for his sax performance was very, very bad. I know you had the option to put more time and/or money into the effects, Tobias. Why did you not. What is your problem. Why the fuck would you put out a product of this quality for money and act like it's okay, especially considering the fact that this was marketed as a lore-heavy MOVIE and not just a concert film? If this was a smaller production I would not rag on the effects, but I know for a fact that Tobias has the resources for this to be better, and he chose to not use them. Honestly, it feels disrespectful.

That's the crux of my issues with this movie, really. It was teased as a real movie with real lore and serious effects on the canon of Ghost, and it was none of those things. The lore amounted to Sister Imp dying, which means nothing, because ghosts, and Cardi becoming Frater Imperator at the very end and then the movie ending. It's NOTHING. There's also an end credit scene apparently, which I did not stay to view, because I didn't care and I had been sitting for long enough. Basically, there are ghosts (including Sister Imp, obvi) and then another cliffhanger about meeting the new Papa, and an implication that Cardi has a twin who might be the new Papa. People are freaking out about this possibility. I have no idea why. It really doesn't seem like a big deal at this point when all the Papas have a crazy family situation. A secret twin doesn't even feel like a twist, and it's certainly not enough to count as an addition to the lore when it hasn't even been confirmed. At the risk of sounding rude, fellow Ghost fans, raise your standards. You deserve better.

And that's the crux of my issues with this whole thing. It's mediocre, it's boring, it's absolutely nothing outside of some fun concert footage, and yet it was billed as a must-see film and cost real, actual money to view. If they had been honest about it being a concert movie, I'd have been fine with that! I think they're fun, especially for those of us who can't go to live shows. But we were told it would be more than that, and it wasn't. It feels disrespectful, like Tobias knew he could just put out some slop and people would be okay with it, and it feels even worse because in a way, he was right. Tons of Ghost fans loved this movie, but the more positive reviews I see, the clearer it becomes that they just loved the chance to see the concerts, and love Ghost. Loving Ghost didn't make me love this movie. It just made me disappointed and sad. We could have gotten a great film, but we got something that was low effort because it's obvious that you can take advantage of the fans of something by throwing them crumbs and dressing it up to seem nicer than it is.

I appreciate that individual people on this production put tons of effort into this; the crew, the actors (excluding Tobias) who were clearly doing their best with what they had, and yes, I'm sure even the effects people did what they could with what they had. But all of the parts that were clearly Tobias' call were not high enough quality to be in a movie.

#yakketyyak #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #papa emeritus iv #papa nihil #sister imperator #nameless ghouls #rite here rite now #movie review #sorry this is an essay this just pissed me off #we deserve better guys! if you give someone money for something #and they're already rich #or at least have a pretty large amount of money which TF or at least the company definitely has #then they're a piece of shit #don't try and tell me TF lives humble and needs monetary help i dont give a fuck the man isnt even close to broke #idgaf if u sided w TF on the lawsuit issue either lmao #whomp whomp the front man taking all the credit was expected to share the money with the ppl helping him oh nooo #u dont get to do the whole “im just a small little indie band” song and dance anymore when ur as big as ghost

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chaenniz · 1 year

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Hi! It's actually my first time to request but can you make a Danielle angst? Im craving for it for days already:) thank you and please have a nice day:)

(Forgive me for my bad english)

-🍀

drew barrymore - marsh danielle

A/N ;; first time writing angst,, hope it’s to your liking anon! was listening to this while writing

genre ;; angst

wc ;; 1.6k

it was a cozy café on a rainy afternoon when destiny intervened, casting its enchanting spell upon your lives.

seeking solace from the downpour outside, you found refuge in the warm embrace of the café, its aromatic scents of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods dancing in the air.

little did you know that the tantalizing aroma of dark chocolate would lead you to a serendipitous encounter with marsh danielle, the best and worst thing that could’ve happened to your life.

as you approached the counter to order your favorite hot beverage, drenched from the rain outside, your eyes were drawn to a mesmerizing sight.

there stood danielle, her radiant smile reflecting the golden hues of the café lights. she delicately held a piece of dark chocolate, admiring it with a childlike wonder, as if it held the secrets of the universe within its velvety embrace.

curiosity piqued, you found yourself unable to resist the pull of this captivating scene. with a touch of courage, you approached danielle, catching her attention as you both reached for the same piece of dark chocolate. your fingertips brushed against each other, igniting a subtle spark that lingered in the air.

"seems like we have the same taste in chocolate," you remarked, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

danielle's eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and intrigue dancing in their depths. a warm blush painted her cheeks as she returned your playful banter, "well, i guess great minds think alike."

an effortless conversation ensued, flowing as smoothly as the warm streams of coffee. you found out that danielle was a trainee for hybe, set to debut in an upcoming group named “newjeans.”

hours melted away like chocolate in the sun as you conversed with each other as if you’ve known the other your entire life.

in the gentle lull of conversation, danielle reached for the remaining piece of dark chocolate, a silent invitation extended between you.

as she broke off a small portion, her hand extended toward you, offering a taste of the bittersweet delight.

with a mix of anticipation and reverence, you accepted the piece of chocolate, allowing its rich flavors to envelop your senses.

in that moment, it was as if time stood still, capturing the essence of this delicate connection forged over a simple piece of chocolate.

as the rain continued to drizzle outside, you thanked the universe for allowing you to cross paths with marsh danielle.

oh, just how wrong you were then.

about 8 months after the cafe encounter, danielle had been your world, the love of your life. but lately, something felt off.

the warmth in her touch had turned cold, and her once vibrant smile seemed forced. you couldn't shake the feeling that she was slipping away, and it ate at you day by day.

one evening, as you sat alone in your room, you decided to watch your girlfriend’s videos.

you don’t know when it happened, but insecurities flooded your mind, and the comparisons to haerin, danielle’s fellow group member, and one she was particularly touchy with, became inescapable.

haerin possessed a captivating presence, with her charismatic smile and mesmerizing talent. the more you watched her perform, the more you found yourself questioning your own worth.

after all, you were a nobody. you weren’t a member of the monster rookie girl group, newjeans. you were just somebody who got lucky by having the chance to meet and befriend them before their stardom.

as you kept watching newjeans fans’ videos, you realized that danielle and haerin had been shipped and edited together a lot.

you wondered if danielle had found solace in haerin's arms, if she had been captivated by her effortless charm, like she once was with you.

the doubt and self-criticism began to poison your mind, overshadowing your once-confident spirit. you questioned your every move, dissecting your every flaw, and wondering if you could ever measure up to haerin.

it felt as if you were in a constant competition, and you were losing.

the weight of your insecurities became unbearable, and the truth finally came crashing down on you. a close friend, hanni, unable to bear witness to your suffering any longer, revealed the painful secret to you over a facetime call:

“y/n, danielle’s been seeing haerin behind your back.”

it was as if the world crumbled beneath your feet. the pain of betrayal mixed with the feelings of inadequacy, creating an explosive cocktail of heartbreak and anger.

no, that couldn’t be right. your danielle was walking ray of sunshine, there’s no way she would have done something as vile as that to you.

before you could defend your girlfriend, hanni sends you a picture of danielle and haerin kissing.

you felt your heart break into several pieces, speechless at what hanni had just sent you.

you begin to feel the airway in your throat constricting, with a choked voice, you quickly end your call with hanni.

you listen to the the opening of the door to yours and danielle’s shared apartment. the same apartment that danielle begged her manager for because she couldn’t stand the thought of being away from you. you’re taken out of your thoughts as jingling keys progressively getting louder.

“hi baby,” danielle weakly smiled at you, “i’m going to wash up and rest. today’s schedule was tough.”

normally, you would have been more understanding, but hanni’s call from earlier today lingered on your mind.

“dani, we need to talk.” you affirm, your eyes locking onto hers.

danielle looks confused for a bit before writing you off, “i’m really tired, can’t we talk tomorrow?”

you decided to rip the band aid right off, “are you cheating on me, marsh danielle?”

danielle’s eyes pop out of her head, “w-what do you mean?”

you begin to feel the tears in your eyes well up. you show danielle the picture hanni sent you. “please don’t tell it’s what i think it is.”

silence is all you recieve from danielle.

"how could you do this to me? to us?" you cried out, your voice laced with pain and trembling with emotion.

danielle's face paled, her eyes filled with remorse as she struggled to find the right words. "i... i'm sorry," she stammered, tears welling up now too. "i never meant to hurt you. it was a mistake, a moment of weakness."

her words fell on deaf ears as your heart shattered further. the confrontation turned messy as your anger consumed you, your emotions boiling over.

"a moment of weakness? that's not an excuse!" you yelled, your voice filled with righteous fury. "you betrayed me, danielle. you threw away everything we had for a fleeting desire!"

the room fell silent again as tension hung thick in the air. danielle’s eyes shifting guiltily away from you. the pain etched on your face was palpable, a rawness that couldn't be concealed.

the truth hung heavy in the air as the confrontation reached its boiling point. the room felt suffocating, tension crackling like electricity between you and danielle.

"you think you can just cheat on me and then apologize? is that what this is?" you spat, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “do you have nothing else to say?”

danielle's eyes glanced towards yours before it quickly darted away again, unable to meet your gaze. "i... i didn't mean for it to happen," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

"didn't mean for it to happen? how can you say that?" you exclaimed, frustration and pain fueling your words. "you knew exactly what you were doing when you got involved with haerin."

her shoulders slumped as guilt washed over her features. "i know i messed up. i never wanted to hurt you," she admitted, tears now streaming down her face without stop.

"you had a choice, danielle.” you steady your shake breath before speaking again, “you had a choice, and you chose to betray me." you stated, your voice filled with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief.

silence engulfed the room for a third time as the weight of the truth settled in. the echoes of the argument reverberated through your mind, each word etching itself into your memory. the pain and anger surged within you, threatening to consume you entirely.

“how long has it been going on for?” you try your best to question calmly.

“four months.”

four months. danielle’s words had left you estranged. four months where danielle had been unfaithful to you without you even realizing, you thought.

“why?” you ask, tears dropping as you try to wipe them off.

“i just got so lonely and-“ danielle tries to explain her side of things, but you cut her off.

“no. you don’t get to say that you’ve been lonely, danielle.” your voice raises in volume, “how did you think i felt when you had to travel around the world for months at a time to shoot for your music videos?!?”

in that moment, you realized that forgiveness was not something you were ready to offer.

the betrayal ran deep, tearing at the very fabric of your trust and love. it was a wound that could not be easily mended.

so, you made a decision. you couldn't continue living in the shadow of danielle's betrayal. the comparisons to haerin, the self-doubt, and the pain—they were no longer your burden to bear.

with a heavy heart, you turned away from danielle, unable to bear the sight of her.

the relationship you had cherished was now tarnished, irreparably broken. the confrontation had become the turning point, the moment when you knew you could no longer hold onto what was shattered.

as you walked away from danielle’s cries for you to stop, that you two could figure this out, you gathered your belongings, the echoes of your argument and her cries slowly fading into the distance. the messy confrontation had revealed the true colors of your relationship, forcing you to confront the painful reality.

love had always been bitter, much like the dark chocolate danielle had given you the very first day you met.

A/N ;; i love dark chocolate actually

#danielle x reader #danielle marsh #danielle marsh x reader #mo jihye #newjeans x reader #newjeans #chaenniz

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writerthatcannotwrite · 51 minutes

Text

RINGS OF POWER S2 EP7 SPOILERS (And rant)

OH MY GOSH. NEW RINGS OF POWER EPISODE. I AM DYING. I HAVE PERISHED.

So it starts with this lovely scene of Celebrimbor hanging out in his forge, vibin, making some tea and making some rings. Hew put a spoon in the mithril powder and I thought it was cereal for a second, but that thought has been banished now.

But then, he starts to see things. His face in the mirror is covered in blood; the mouse keeps appearing in the same place and has the same movements; the candles never burn. He knows that something is wrong, but he can't place it.

And meanwhile, the city, Ost-in-Edhil, is under siege. Celebrimbor's people are dying, and he has no knowledge of it. The people of Eregion think that their lord has gone mad, just like his grandfather. They think that their lord is so consumed by his creation, that he doesn't care for their safety, and actively makes decisions that will get them killed.

But we, the viewers, know that this isn't true. We know that Celebrimbor has no knowledge of what's going on outside; he thinks that people are singing songs for their lovers and children are playing with kites outside. He doesn't know.

And then, we go to Adar, who is not living up to his name. "Adar" means father in Sindarin; he repeatedly calls the orcs---or the Uruk---his children, what he always wanted, even before the First Age. But then, we see him toss them into battle like he cares nothing for them. He is a hypocrite, and the worst kind; one delusioned by revenge. He wants so badly to kill Sauron for hurting him, and his "children", that he is blind to the Uruks' pleas. The orcs know that they will die in battle. Hell, one of them (I didn't catch his name) basically said, "But... you said that you loved us. Why are we going to battle?"

And Adar basically said, "I do. I love you will that my heart has left."

Which begs the question, how much of a heart does this person have? It looks like he faced the same torment as Maedhros---hung from a cliff, tortured. But Adar was shown mercy by Sauron, likely the same person who orchestrated his torment and pain.

After all of his pain and grief, being taken from Cuivienen, tortured, and likely forced to do horrible things under Morgoth's order, how much of a heart does Adar have left? Is he so blinded by his hatred and lust for revenge that he has grown apathetic to the deaths of his children? He claims that he cares for them, but does he? We see from Sauron that emotional manipulation can work on even the strongest of minds; I'm not saying that orcs were strong of mind, or weak, but if you had been mutilated beyond recognition, tortured and burned and scarred for too many years to count, wouldn't you want somebody to say, "My child, I am here for you. I will care for you."? You would be so desperate for a kind word, that you would believe whatever this person said. You would call him Father, because you couldn't remember yours. You call him father, because in this cruel world that Morgoth and Sauron have wrought, you are made to fight and to die. You call him Father because he says he cares.

But does he? Adar knows that if people like you, or if they care for you, they are more inclined do to as you say. Do children who love their parents not obey their wishes? Adar knows this. He could be manipulating these orcs into doing horrible deeds that will get them killed---just like his forebears.

And meanwhile, Sauron continues to spread hatred of Celebrimbor in Eregion; he says that their lord has gone mad, he cares not for the people, only for the rings. Mirdania believes him.

It's terrible to watch as Mirdania, someone who worked closely with Celebrimbor, was manipulated into believing Sauron. To be one of Celebrimbor's apprentices must have been a great accomplishment; to work with the grandson of Feanor had to be a marvel. To see such a prominent figure in history sweat and tire over the same anvil and the same fire as you. It must have been amazing.

But then Sauron, this conniving little cunt, wasn't done. He was not content with Celebrimbor's mind being his, he wanted another. Sauron wanted a fucking rebound. "Oh, you look so much like Galadriel", "You're such a good smith", "We just need to keep this secret from Lord Celebrimbor". MOTHERFUCKER. GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER.

But by the time the city is under siege, Mirdania has fallen for it. She makes a move, grabs him with kindness and hope.

But then, Celebrimbor finally escapes the forge and his people restrain him. He tells Mirdania about the mouse and the candle, and he sounds mad. He sounds crazy, even to us, who know what has happened.

Mirdania tried to get him back to the forge, pretty much, "Alright, grandpa its time to get you to bed", and Celebrimbor shoves her. Not a lot, not all that aggressive. But Sauron, the slimy cunt that he is, lets Mirdania fall to the battlefield over the wall of the city. She falls in the bloody mud, shocked, and she is killed. Mirdania, who had given Sauron a kind word, was killed by his hand, and didn't even know it. The soldiers around Celebrimbor thought that their lord had killed one of their people in a fit of rage.

Only after does Celebrimbor agree to make Sauron's nine rings., Because he now knows that if he doesn't, he will condemn all of his people to death. He will doom the city that he built for the people of the First Age.

Next, we go to the dwarves. Disa and Durin are still at the mines, preventing the miners and Narvi from getting through. In the end, Narvi agrees with them. He is tired of the king's taxes and insanity. He knew from the beginning that the king had gone cuckoo for coco-puffs. He stands with the prince and princess.

Elrond appears then, asking for Durin's ax. Durin will not abandon his friend. He will march with him to war, come hell or high water; not because of any promise, but because he cares (And because that means his kingdom is next, but still. The power of besties prevails!!!)

And Durin's speech of loyalty to the elves rallied the forces of Khazad-dum and the dwarves, who had been feuding with the elves since Doriath fell, wanted to help their fellows. They wanted to honor their promises with the elves and stand with them against the forces of Sauron.

But then. There's always a but in the Second Age. The King goes mad. He starts killing his own people who oppose him and follow his son. Narvi himself tell Durin.

This is obviously a red flag.

The dwarves obviously value their families and people; they are loyal and hold great love for their kin. And the king just mucked EVERYTHING UP! First, he did the whole taxing thing, and if you know the American school system, you'll know the phrase, "No taxation without representation". I don't think the king had any citizen representatives to tell him that taxing the people was stupid. He only had his son, whom he ignored.

Then, he told the miners to keep digging, even though he knew that there was a monster---the water creature that Disa saw, but not yet the balrog---in the caves. He placed his greed over his people. It seems that the Line of Durin is fraught with Gold Sickness.

So now, Durin has two choices: obey his father, who will kill his people if he doesn't get his way, or go and help his best friend win a battle that he is needed in. But he doesn't go. He can't Durin cannot abandon his people when their king has descended into madness. He cannot let his people be slaughtered.

Then, the elves. They charge through the forest, and Elrond is thrown from his horse. He kills two orcs while still on the ground (Such a slay of him), get right back up, only in time for an orc to kill his horse and lick the freaking sword after.

First off, gross. Second off, DID YOU SEE HIS FACE??? ELROND'S FACE???? He was raised by Maglor Feanorion, Lord of Maglor's Gap; the Gap was an open plain just east of Himring, and was essentially an open plain. Maglor had to have had horses and been close with them. Elrond and Elros had to have been close with Maglor's horses, amazing creatures who still lived in the desolate east of Beleriand. Maglor had likely taught Elrond and Elros that you respect the creatures that help you, that carry you to battle.

(We can also make parallels to Elros's line with this. Isildur and Berek, Aragorn and Brego, so forth and so on. Elros definitely was a horse girl, and gave this trait to his descendants.)

But wait. He kills that orc, but another appears. Elrond is thrown to the ground, and the orc says he's gonna kill him.

And what does Elrond do?

Does he... lick his sword?? What did I just see???? Is the Feanorian batshit insane trait coming through? Because I am all for Elrond going a little crazy. With all the bull-crap he's had to deal with in his life (Sirion, Feanorions, his brother's death, and other assorted things), I think he deserves to go a little crazy. As a treat. One who has gone through so much and is "kind as summer" gets to go a bit batshit on occasion.

But then, he spares a moment to stay with his horse as it dies, in the middle of battle. If that isn't elven, then I don't know what is.

The orcs have laid siege to Eregion and are hounding its walls. We see an amazing, empowering scene of the elven forces riding to aid the people of Eregion, but you know that something is wrong. The orcs aren't charging, and Adar is at the front of the legion. There is a covered cart in front, and something is in there. The elves keep charging, we see Gil-Galad (MY BOY MY BOY MOY BOY MY LITTLE GUY) and Elrond (AAAAAAHHHHHHHH LET THAT BABY GO TO WARRRRR) charging at the front.

But the curtain falls. There is Galadriel caged in the enemy's ranks, a sword to her throat, already leaking blood. Elrond sees this. He keeps charging until the last minute (Rude), and Adar calls forth a meeting.

The first thing I noticed: Adar did not have a lovely feast prepared for Elrond, which was very rude of him. He had one for Galadriel, but not Elrond. I'm guessing his chef had been in the first wave heading for Eregion, so he couldn't get any feast.

And during the entire scene, Elrond is seething. He looks very dashing in his armor, ready for war, prepared for everything, but seething with rage. He is angry. One of his best friends is right behind him, imprisoned, and can only be let free if he does an impossible task: give Adar Nenya, the ring. But he can't. Not only can he betray Galadriel like that, he has to keep the ring safe. He can't let it fall into the Enemy's hands.

He refuses to deal. And Adar gives a NAME DROPPP!!!!!!

He mentions Melian (MY QUEEN, ICON, AMAZING) and her wisdom, Elrond's ancestor. Now, it's likely that Elrond is pretty sensitive about his family; as a person who values the kidnap fam idea, I think that just means that his family is even more complicated. All of these people, mentioning family members that he never knew---or didn't know well---must be painful for him. After so many years of hearing, "Oh, I bet your father is so proud", "You honor your mother", "You look so much like Luthien!", and other ways to compare him to these noble figures of history, don't you think he's tired of it? Don't you think he's tired of being the Herald, the Scion of Kings, the last of Luthien's line? If all anybody said about me was that, "Oh, that's ______ daughter", and I was a pretty important person with my own titles, then I would be angry about it too! He was Gil-Galad's herald, his right hand, and his cousin, no matter who you think Gil's father is (Just about everybody is related here, I tend to ignore it; it only makes things messier). While I am happy for the name drop, I think Elrond is getting tired of being the "scion of kings". In the Second Age, he is related, by blood, to the first three elven kings---Elwe (Thingol) by Luthien, Finwe by Turgon, and then Ingwe through Turgon as well (Indis).

And I bet this mention of Melian only makes him angrier. In the scene, you see that his jaw is clenched, he is on guard. And while he sounds relatively calm, you know that his words hold a bite to them.

After his final refusal of Adar's deal and cementing Galadriel's death, he asks for a moment with her.

Alright, legit, bestie saying a final farewell to a bestie (And probably doing something to help her escape).

Elrond does the hand-to-face-in-a-loving-way many times in the series to many people; he's done it to Galadriel, too. But this time.

THIS TIME HE KISSES HER.

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST.

WHAT THE FUCK.

THAT IS YOUR FUTURE MOTHER-IN-LAW.

However.

This is a distraction.

If you get so distraught about Elrond kissing his best friend and future mother-in-law, you won't notice that he took off the pin from his cloak and slipped it to Galadriel during the unfortunate circumstance that he had to put them through.

As he and his fellow soldier? Friend? Some Dude? I dunno, but as he's leaving, he explains to the guy that the dwarves are coming, and the orcs don't know. This sets the scene for for something ominous; with so much pressure put on the dwarves to fight with the elves, so many people saying they will, it's like they jinxed it.

Back my baby Brimby.

Celebrimbor knows something's up. Never let it be said that the House of Feanor were not wise. They were stupid, but not wise. Celebrimbor sees what has happened to his city, and he weeps.

How many ruined cities has he fled in the First Age? How many people has he had to leave behind in the rubble, still calling for help that he couldn't give? How often did he fight for peace, only to be met with overwhelming violence and darkness?

And this is no difference. The futility of Celebrimbor is heartbreaking. He knows that he cannot do anything to help. He cannot free his city from Sauron's grasp. His people think he is mad. He is lost. Celebrimbor weeps.

And then, he knows that he has been deceived. He knows that his mind has been twisted with a fork like angel hair pasta at Olive Garden for Sauron's Saturday Night Out. He is angry. He is so angry, he throws Feanor's hammer out of the window---probably his last physical connection to his family.

But Sauron has him make the rings, because Celebrimbor has no choice.

Celebrimbor is chained to his desk in his smithy, watched over by Sauron. And Sauron still seeks to manipulate him.

He says that Celebrimbor's tortured is his own fault; Sauron's hand was forced by Celebrimbor. Celebrimbor brought this upon himself. He brought this upon his people. And Celebrimbor. Poor Telperinquar. His mind is already destroyed by guilt and self-loathing, that he looks close to believing Sauron.

But then, he tries to destroy the rings, in one final act of defiance. But he can't. Sauron's blood has been forged into them, and they cannot be destroyed. So he needs to escape.

He is only chained with one hand, and he tries his hardest to get his hand freed, but he can't.

Now let's list the family connections, shall we?

Connection to Feanor: he made three items of power, the items of power related to an evil being, he burned bridges while he made the items of power, those items of power led to his doom, shunned the people who wanted to help him in his madness.

Connection Maedhros: OH MY GOSH THE HAND HOLY FUCK THE HAND!!!!!!

Celebrimbor is chained to the desk by one hand. One thing tying him down. There is a close-up on Celebrimbor's struggles as he tries to free himself, but the shackles are too tight. But this time, instead of a loving cousin coming to free him like his uncle, Celebrimbor has no loving hand to help. He is alone. He has to do this himself.

But what prevented his hand from going through the shackles? He needed to drop something.

Celebrimbor, who had been told by Sauron that he had no power, he had no might, his fight was futile, had taken things into his own hands. He will make his own decisions. He will not be controlled. He cuts off his thumb to escape.

Sauron doesn't think that Celebrimbor would try to escape his clutches; he is so arrogant in his victory that he can't even conceive of the idea. But Celebrimbor knows sacrifice. He left his family in Aman, he left his father in Nargothrond. He might has well leave his craft. Cutting off his thumb is basically dooming him to no longer being able to work in the forge.

But this is his choice.

He decides that he will risk this. He will be a pawn no longer. He will help his people. In these last moments in Eregion, he will do good.

"Whose will is the mightier?"

Who will do good? Who will take power over their abuser? Who will fight to do the right thing?

Sauron had just been ranting about how Morgoth had forced him to do all those things, had tortured him. But still, Sauron chose to follow his master's footsteps. He knew the agony of torture, and the pain of mental abuse. But he still did it. He still inflicted that pain on others.

And I had to wonder why. Celebrimbor wonders why.

But Celebrimbor's will is mightier. It might seem insane, but this scene makes me so happy. Because Celebrimbor is rising from the ashes; he is winning against someone who wants him not to. He is winning with this small thing that seems so insignificant. He is cutting all connection from him and Sauron away from himself.

Galadriel finds him, and Celebrimbor gives her the rings after a very moving speech about darkness and light. Strength will help to win the fight, but you need light to keep the win.

Adar has strength, but he is not motivated by goodness. He is motivated by revenge.

Sauron has strength, but he is motivated by greed.

The elves have strength (Somewhat), and they are motivated by light. They want to help their own. They want to save Middle Earth. That is why, two Ages later, they have won.

But then, Back to Celebrimbor, and Sauron has killed his guards. Celebrimbor is alone.

We go to Elrond, on the battlefield, and he is SLAYYINGGGGGGG!!!!! Iconic!!!!! But that troll arrives, and he and Gil-Galad kill it. Gil-Galad is slaying in his armor, with the lance---"his lance was keen", love the reference.

And then, the light of dawn spills over the bloodied battlefield, and the orcs have retreated. There are only a handful of elves to be seen; Gil-Galad, Elrond, and a few soldiers, probably not even fifty.

On a hill, Elrond sees a rider. The dwarves have come. The soldiers are filled with hope, Elrond knows that his friend has come to his aid.

But the rider is alone. There is no army behind him, no battle-axes, and no fierce loyalty. Durin has not come.

The messenger, shot with an arrow, finds them and tells them that the west gate has been closed. The dwarves will not come to their aid. Elrond holds the elf while he dies, staring into the distance. More orcs are charging; Adar has rallied his forces once more.

"Durin will come," Elrond says. He cannot believe that his friend has abandoned him.

Gil-Galad looks down at him; he knows that no other force will come. He knows that they go to their doom. The Noldor elven kings have all died in gruesome ways, and I bet he has accepted his time has come. He orders his remaining men into ranks, and they charge the orcs.

Arondir falls by the hands of Adar; Arondir, whose beloved had died by orc hands, who wanted a family so badly, who wanted to have peace. Who is going to tell Theo that his semi-father figure has died in battle? Will he think that Arondir simply never thought to go back?

And Elrond. "Durin will come."

How many times had he said this?

"Father will come." Earendil never came back.

"Mother will come." Elwing never went back for her sons; she couldn't, by the will of the Valar.

"They'll come back." Maedhros and Maglor both went their own ways; Maedhros committed suicide and Maglor wandered the shores of Middle Earth forever.

How many times had Elrond said this? How many people had never come back?

Adar found him, in the end, and took the ring. It was for nothing. All of the lives lost, the cities taken, were for nothing.

They had failed.

If you know anything about the Second Age, you know that most of it is for naught. Sauron still comes back, Celebrimbor still dies, Lindon, Eregion, and Khazad-dum still fall. I know that this series will be nothing but heartbreak and sorrow, but boy, do I enjoy seeing it.

#silmarillion #elrond #the silmarillion #trop #the rings of power #trop season 2 #trop spoilers #trop s2ep7 #galadriel #celebrimbor #i love celebrimbor #this episode was so good #this episode was a DOOZY

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boku-no-anime-phase · 10 months

Text

It takes me a few watch throughs and some time to simmer in order to "get" surreal movies. I've only seen this one once.

That said, here are some of my initial thoughts about The Boy and the Heron. Spoilers below the gif!

Stacking blocks

The moment that's stuck with me the most was when great grand-uncle had gathered all those pure stones and asked Mahito to stack them, and Mahito refuses. Given the opportunity to build a better world, Mahito recognizes himself as unworthy.

In and of itself, that's a pretty significant moment. But then that's immediately followed by the evil parakeet coming in and trying to do it himself, failing immediately, and destroying everything in his frustration.

Which, to me, seems like it's saying that yeah you may not be worthy or feel capable of building a better world, but if you don't take action, someone worse will.

In the end, Mahito rejected the opportunity to be in charge of this constructed world. He let it die. But I don't think he rejected the responsibility to make his world a better place; and he brought a block with him, to remember.

Delivery room

The delivery room scene was one of the most puzzling to me. But the one thing I think I'm picking up (maybe I'm way off base? But I think I'm picking this up?) Is that the delivery room is where Natsuko becomes Mahito's mother. He calls her "mother" there for the first time as she "pushes him out" (of the room, with magic(?)). She doesn't deliver her baby there but she does become a mother. And maybe it's significant that Himi brought him there: a sort of symbolic hand-off.

Noble pelican

Several people have pointed out that Mahito starts the movie with some violent tendencies. Between fighting with his classmates, harming himself, trying to kill the heron etc, even though his face is super stoic I think his trauma comes out that way. When he sees the pelican outside, he takes a shovel with him, apparently to kill it. But it explains to him that it didn't have a choice in what it did, and it had tried everything, and at this point was only trying to survive, not liking what it had to do to stay alive.

Besides being a compelling commentary on living in the modern age (who among us can feel completely morally justified in everything we do to stay alive?), I thought that was such an interesting turning point for Mahito. By the end of the story, he's learned to be gentle. I wonder (I really need to watch it again) if that conversation affected the way he thought about his father (who makes war planes), and the people who bombed the hospital where his mother worked, and the parakeets, and Natsuko: everyone around him just doing whatever they had to to survive, even if they didn't like it, and even if they harmed others despite their best efforts.

Overall

I don't think I really "get" it yet, and I'm not sure when I will, but I feel like one of the themes has got to be, forge ahead even when things aren't perfect. Do your best rather than doing nothing, even if doing your best means risking making a mistake. You don't have to stack the blocks, but you've got to do something, or someone bad will inevitably come along and ruin everything. You may miss the past, but you must forge ahead into the future. You may not always like the situations you find yourself in, but you must make the best choices you can even when none of your options leave you with pure hands.

How do you live? There's only one right way: by doing the best you can.

#the boy and the heron #the boy and the heron spoilers #how do you live #tbath #tbath spoilers #miyazaki #hayao miyazaki

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beautifulhigh · 10 months

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“And that is why Alex says he loves Henry on purpose. Because he is making the active choice to be with Henry, to forge a forever with him…”

All of it is beautifully persuasive and on point. But this section in particular convinced. You reminded me of Alex and Bea’s conversation and it all makes sense now. I should reread the book 😌Thank you for answering my ask so eloquently. Sincere apology to Alex, that sweet, romantic little shithead.

I'm glad my ramblings made sense! But yeah, Alex is actively choosing Henry - especially in that moment - and it's the first time that someone outside of Bea and Pez (and Shaan but the dynamics there are different) is putting him first.

I think it matters that Alex goes to Henry in that moment. Because outing is shitty enough to begin with but it's a whole other storm for Henry. It would have therefore been easy for Henry to have wanted to escape that, to run away to the 'Land of the free' and hole up in the White House as he threatened to do once.

I should have just packed a bag like I said. I could be in your bed, languishing away until I perish, fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth.

Instead he's trapped in Kensington, trapped in the palace and the institution, and Alex doesn't come to save him or rescue him, despite the quip about being "Bit short for a stormtrooper". (hashtag #imtaller)

The moment that stands out for me in that scene is this:

but they meet in the middle of the room

They meet in the middle. Alex has come to Henry, he has stepped beyond the wall that separates them, but here they meet in the middle.

“And I said, ‘That’s great, Mum, but as long as you’re letting Gran keep me trapped, it doesn’t mean a fucking thing,’” Henry says. Alex stares down at him, shocked and a little impressed.

Henry is trapped in his circumstances, the palace, the family he's been born into, but when he's with Alex he's freer than he could ever be. Alex gives him that space, carves it out. (it's like the fireside scene from the movie where Henry has the line about the prince's heart "did beat freely once more" and I cried over that because Alex gives Henry freedom.)

Alex loves Henry, deeply and fiercely and forever, and so the next step is logical to him:

“Can you explain?” he attempts lamely. “What [Henry's grief over Arthur is] like? What I can do?”

He wants to know because he wants to know what he can do. He wants to understand so he can act, even if it means doing nothing. If that's what Henry needs then that is what he will do. I've read some beautiful fics that show Alex actively caring for Henry during a depressive or grief-filled episode, and I've read fics where all Alex does is be there with him. And both of those choices are valid and perfect because Bea tells Alex what he needs to do.

“Do you understand?” she asks him, looking right into his eyes. “You need to understand this to be with Henry. He is the most loving, nurturing, selfless person you could hope to meet, but there is a sadness and a hurt in him that is tremendous, and you may very well never truly understand it, but you need to love it as much as you love the rest of him, because that’s him. That is him, part and parcel. And he is prepared to give it all to you, which is far more than I ever, in a thousand years, thought I would see him do.”

My brother will love you to the ends of the earth but there will be days when he will struggle to love himself. And you need to know that you are getting both Henrys.

There is a reason why "for better or for worse" is a traditional wedding vow. It's because you are promising to be with that person, to love that person, to support them through the shittiest times just as much as you will celebrate the best of times with them.

Sonnet 116 Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

To use the Bard's words, love is not love if it fucks off the second things get too hard. Love is not love if it decides that "nah, I liked the person you were yesterday more, please stop growing and changing even if it is just happening because I understand and know more about you". Every single one of us is altering with every single day. We get a little older, a little wiser. Things happen and we have to change and adapt. We reveal a little bit more about ourselves.

Love is not love if it decides that something is too ugly or depressing.

The more Alex comes to know and understand Henry, the more he loves him. And even when he finds out about Henry's depression he's not noping out of there. He's turning up - literally and metaphorically - and we had the foreshadowing that he would do this long before this awful moment:

Listen: I’ll fly to London right now and pull you out of whatever pointless meeting you’re in and make you admit how much you love it when I call you “baby.” I’ll take you apart with my teeth, sweetheart.

If you want out of the meeting then I will do that. If you want to be taken apart then I will do that. If you want to be held then I will do that. Tell me what to do, let me do the things that I know you love because I know you and I want to show you that I know you.

Henry subjected himself to the mortifying experience of being known and it results in them getting married. Because Alex fell in love and he made the choice to see it through. He could have bailed at any time - hell, Henry himself even gave him an out. And what was Alex's response to that?

He wrote him a list and ended with this:

20. The fact that you loved me all along I keep thinking about that last one ever since you told me, and what an idiot I was. It’s so hard for me to get out of my own head sometimes, but now I’m coming back to what I said to you the night in my room when it all started, and how I brushed you off when you offered to let me go after the DNC, how I used to try to act like it was nothing sometimes. I didn’t even know what you were offering to do to yourself. God, I want to fight everyone who’s ever hurt you, but it was me too, wasn’t it? All that time. I’m so sorry. Please stay gorgeous and strong and unbelievable. I miss you I miss you I miss you I love you. I’m calling you as soon as I send this, but I know you like to have these things written down.

(Emphasis is mine. Obvs.)

Alex knows that he has been loved since the Olympics, and the way that Henry has loved him has changed (which is different to altering) because to begin with Henry denied himself Alex to protect himself, and then after the DNC he offered to deny himself Alex to protect Alex. To give Alex a shot at his dream and life plans, all the things that Henry didn't think he could be a part of.

That moment, that offer Henry made, is before the storming of Kensington when everything is laid bare for Alex - how Henry thought he could have something, a small piece of Alex until Alex got bored or frustrated and then left him. (The infererence that other people have done that to Henry in the past will never leave me or not break my heart.) But now Henry knows that Alex is all in, will wait for however long it takes for them to work this out, and so that email is Alex's promise and reminder of that. The stream of "I miss you" without pause going straight into "I love you" makes it clear - Alex isn't even pausing for breath to let Henry know this and he will speak to Henry before he reads this but Alex knows him. Knows he likes to "have these things written down".

Here is my promise to you. Here is that reminder. Here is my choice.

So when Bea tells Alex that he needs to love and accept all the parts of Henry because Henry is willing to give Alex all of those pieces of him, Alex's response is instant. He's already made that choice, even if he didn't consciously realise it. So much of his relationship with Henry has been unconscious and he's caught up with his brain weeks, months, years later down the line.

“But I’ve always felt it, in him. There’s this side of him that’s … unknowable.” He takes a breath. “But the thing is, jumping off cliffs is kinda my thing. That’s the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.”

Alex knows that he will never fully understand what it was like for Henry to lose his father in the way that he did. He can be told the story and he can see the effect of it but he cannot understand it. Not fully. His love-as-a-noun is looking on the tempest of Henry's emotions and he's not moving.

He is choosing to stand on the cliff and he is choosing to jump off it. He loves Henry. He loves the Henry who has depression and grief so visceral it incapacitates him. He loves the Henry who crafts words so carefully to express more than the words themselves ever could. He loves the Henry who is funny and smart and cutting with his wit. He loves the Henry who gives himself up so completely and loves so deeply.

Alex loves Henry all the more because he sees just how strong and brilliant he is behind the polished veneer of the Prince of Wales. (For this I could copy in the entire maps email, or the scene after the LA hotel night when Alex watches Henry transform himself into the Prince.) Alex loves Henry all the more because he is let in on those dark moments, that Henry trusts him and wants him there when he is at his most vulnerable.

Alex loves Henry for who he is, and Henry is who he is because he's been through all the things he's been through. The perfect version of the prince that Alex sneered at at the beginning of the book, the one that he was enamoured with but didn't have the words or the emotional intelligence to understand why, has been altered with each new revelation. Alex has discovered more and more about who Henry is behind that front he puts on to the world and he's still here, standing in Kensington, telling Bea he's not going anywhere. Even if he never fully understands it, even if this part of Henry remains slightly shrouded to him because he can understand the concept but not the reality.

Alex's love did not alter when it alteration found.

#jen answers stuff #anonymous #overthinking jen is overthinking #sorry - didn't plan on another meta when you sent this but here we are #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #prince henry of wales #henry fox mountchristen windsor #red white and royal blue #rwrb #otp: history huh

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cherrylng · 3 months

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Muse Archive [CROSSBEAT (November 2009)]

The definitive edition! The Muse Archive

Everything about Muse in keywords, columns and a timeline. Text by Sumi Imai

01 - Muse's musical background Muse was formed in Teignmouth, Devon, South West England. All three moved to the area when they were around ten years old and attended the same secondary school. Matthew first joined Dom's band around 1992, when he was in his mid-teens. Following its break-up, the two approached Chris and the prototype of Muse was born.

Teignmouth, on the south coast, is a holiday resort town, crowded with tourists in the summer months, but usually "a boring town with nothing going on" (Matthew). Physically separated from the big city scene, the three were baptised in grunge, but the Britpop wave never reached their hometown, and this environment worked to their advantage as they forged ahead on their independent rock path.

Their first show was in 1994. The sound at the time was Nirvana with a little bit of Rush-style progressive metal, and the melodies and harmonies were UK pop-punk (both Dom and Chris had done cover songs by Mega City Four and Senseless Things in their previous bands). Matthew's diverse tastes played a big part in the unique evolution that followed.

His roots are very varied: Jimi Hendrix and alternative metal (Primus, Rage) for guitar, folk (Jeff Buckley, Simon & Garfunkel) for melodies and singing, and experimental Anglo-American and European alternative (Deus, Sonic Youth) for a hunger for innovation. His roots in electronic music are diverse, including Aphex Twin.

The biggest factor that makes their musicality unique is the classical influence. Matthew returned to the piano at the end of his teenage years and gravitated towards Rachmaninoff, Chopin, and Liszt. He also studied Spanish guitar for a while, and his flexible attitude and rich background in folk music and folk songs form the basis of Muse's diverse and brilliant sound.

Pic: 'Rachmaninoff: Piano Concerto No. 3/Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Op. 43' Vladimir Ashkenazy, Universal UCCD-3493. "The piano solo in the introduction to Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No 3 was a great influence on Butterflies and Hurricanes" (Matthew).

02 - The backgrounds and characters of the three members Matthew Bellamy was born in Cambridge, UK, in 1978. His father was the rhythm guitarist for The Tornados, who had an international hit (in 1962) with their mysterious space sounding single "Telstar", and became the first UK band to reach number one in the US and UK. Although he grew up in a musically privileged environment, his main instrument as a child was the piano. As well as classical music, he mainly preferred to play boogie-woogie/R&B, and only started playing guitar seriously when he was 14, when his parents divorced.

His mother, on the other hand, is a medium by blood and used to hold family séances when he was a child. Such experiences are the source of his interest in spirituality and science. He is also a thinker and reader, but he is not a liberal arts student and likes to exercise and fish. He is also surprisingly physical, having worked part-time as a painter, interior decorator, demolition worker and campsite cleaner.

He is usually a gentleman, a bit shy and quite mischievous. On stage, he gives it his all without fear, with the question of "what would I want to see if I were the audience?" in mind, and gives a performance so extreme that it is almost theatrical: "I want people to forget everything and just have fun".

Dom was born in Stockport, just outside Manchester. He is the same age as Matthew. He originally came to drumming from jazz. He likes to be organised and is somewhat stubborn when it comes to music. Loves Queen. During interviews, he follows up on Matthew's stories, who talks too fast, and they are on good terms with each other.

Chris is from Rotherham, near Sheffield. He is a year younger than the other two. He used to be a drummer, but took up bass when he was invited to join the band. He has a mild-mannered personality and is somewhat of a tosser. He is the only married man in the band or has four children and still lives in Devon.

Pic : These are the Tornados!! Matthew's dad, George Bellamy, far left.

03 - Sources of inspiration for lyrics A look at Matthew's lyrics from his early days to the present day reveals themes of body (matter) and spirit, death, religious beliefs, apocalypticism, conspiracy theories and the universe …… These themes appear repeatedly alongside pure love songs.

First, conspiracy theories. This was influenced by the shooting death of his uncle, a British Army officer, when he was four years old. The authorities told the family that it was an IRA terrorist attack, but the truth is still in the dark, and Matthew has since come to believe that some force or organisation (political, economic, religious, etc.) may be working in the dark to brainwash people and influence society through the media, etc. for their own benefit.

Space and science fiction are his romantic interests, but they are also linked to his religious views (Matthew is an atheist or agnostic). Scientific (or science fiction) explanations of the origins of mankind and the nature of all things seem to arouse his interest more than the "fantasy" of the Bible. For example, NASA's cover-up of the connection between pyramid-like debris in the "Cydonia" region of Mars and Egyptian ruins? Or the curiosity of the hypothesis that humans were created by alien genetic manipulation of apes? Matthew's favourite book by Zecharia Sitchin (The Mysterious Twelfth Planet and others) is a good source of information on this subject.

For Matthew, who has been aware of death and the soul since he was a child, death means returning to nothingness. But the feelings of the creator expressed in music remain forever. He sees music as a spiritual act in that it brings people together in a way that transcends the material.

He is also interested in survival techniques and recently bought a week's worth of emergency food and an axe in case the Earth is threatened with extinction.

Pic: 'The Mysterious Twelfth Planet' by Zecharia Sitchin, edited and translated by Ken Kashiwabara, published by Goma Books (out of print).

04 - A taste or two! Muse gossip Muse is hardly ever in the tabloids for their celebrity antics or scandals in the social world. However, they often surprise the public with their outlandish behaviour and fearless actions, which are extreme, exaggerated, and sometimes even laughable.

A famous incident occurred in 2006, when Matthew cancelled a whole day of interviews in the US because he had to evacuate out of the country due to the threat of an asteroid hitting New York. The truth is that he was mentally and physically unwell that day, but this incident added fuel to Matthew's 'eccentric and weird' legend.

The band also had a reputation for giving an all-out stage performance, but when Matthew threw his guitar in excitement, it hit Dom between the eyes, sending him to hospital. Conversely, Matthew hit himself in the face with the guitar in the heat of the moment, bleeding profusely and causing the show to be abruptly cancelled.

While they like to do big things, they are also willing to make enemies of big names and big business, which is typical of them. In 2002, when they found out that Celine Dion was going to use the name 'Muse' for her show, they demanded an injunction, saying they didn't want their music to be confused with that kind of music. They successfully won, as the band's name was already registered and trademarked. In the same year, when Nestlé used a Muse song in a coffee commercial without permission, the band, distrustful of the company's policies, were outraged and filed a lawsuit. They won this too, and the settlement was donated to charity.

Their eccentric fashion is also an "incident" in a sense? Matthew has dyed his hair crimson, blue, and bright yellow before. His "blue hair and red shirt" is legendary. Dom likes to wear loud coloured bottoms such as pink, yellow-green and yellow, as well as cosplay.

Pic by Teppei: Intense stage performances can sometimes lead to injury…….

1970s 7th December 1977 - Birth of Dominic James Howard. 9th June 1978 - Birth of Matthew James Bellamy. 2nd December 1978 - Birth of Christopher Tony Wolstenholme.

1980s Mid-1980s - The Bellamy family moves to Devon. All three of the members of Muse meet there.

1994 The band that would later become Muse is formed by the three of them

1998 24th December - Gigs in NY and LA lead to signing to Madonna's Maverick label.

1999 4th October - Debut album "Showbiz" released.

2000 1st March - First Japan tour (Shibuya On Air West) 5th-6th August - Performs at the first Summer Sonic Festival 10th-15th October - First Japan tour in Tokyo, Nagoya and Osaka (Shibuya Quattro, etc.).

2001 17th June - Second ablum "Origin of Symmetry" released. 11th-15th July - Unusual invitation-only gigs in Tokyo and Osaka (Zepp Tokyo, etc.) 28th November - 2nd December - Second Japan tour in Tokyo, Nagoya and Osaka (Zepp Tokyo, etc.).

2002 26th June - Pre-release of "Hullabaloo Soundtrack" in Japan (1st July in the UK) 26th July - Appearance at Fuji Rock Festival

2003 22nd September - Third album "Absolution" released.

2004 7th-14th February - Third Japan tour (Tokyo Bay NK Hall and others) June - Grand finale at Glastonbury Festival. The show is a huge success, but shortly afterwards Dom's father dies suddenly of a heart attack.

2005 2nd July - Live 8 charity event in Paris. 12th December - DVD 'Live From Absolution Tour' released.

2006 28th June - "Black Holes and Revelations" released in Japan first (3rd July in UK). 12th-13th August - Appearance at Summer Sonic. August Headliners at Reading/Leeds Festivals

2007 10th-19th March - Fourth Japan tour (Tokyo International Forum Hall A etc.) 16th-17th June - Sold-out shows at the newly refurbished Wembley Stadium for two consecutive days. Attracted around 160,000 people. The performance is recorded on 'HAARP'. 27th July - Live performance at Fuji Rock Festival. 28th October - Popular game series Guitar Hero III, with the song "Knights of Cydonia" included, was released.

2008 17th March - Live DVD release of "HAARP". 12th April - Appearance at the Teenage Cancer Trust charity event at the Royal Albert Hall. 17th August - Headliner at the V Festival.

2009 14th September - Release of fifth album "The Resistance".

Translator's Note: I've basically nearly covered all the known Muse articles in this magazine. The only one left is... the Top 100 Guitarists article. [shudders] God, that has so many parts to sift through...

#Matt Bellamy #Dom Howard #Chris Wolstenholme #Muse #The Resistance era #Muse band #my scan #translation #CROSSBEAT #CROSSBEAT November 2009

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flipping-the-coin · 6 months

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[Inquisitorial Report: Subject - Megatron of Kaon]

[Authorization Level: Alpha (Elite Guard Selective)]

[Listed Authorizations: Head Elite Guardsmech Smokescreen]

[Assigned Inquisitor: Hush]

[15 Vorns after Cybertron’s Restoration - Ten Stellar-cycles into assignment]

═════════════════

It has been a quiet three stellar cycles, at least by Megatron and Orion standards. Megatron and Orion did some traveling around lower Iacon and spent time at the shops to celebrate their conjunxing anniversary. They were disgustingly romantic as always and got some iced energon which they shared with comically small spoons. They also danced under the light of Luna 1 on the roof and shared a few kisses. I got a few pictures of their whole date because it was, admittedly, rather cute. I left them on the table for Megatron to review. He actually smiled when he saw the pictures I took. I went to great lengths to get excellent images of Orion. Megatron isn’t the greatest photographer and the last one that was hired to take some anniversary pictures for my targets fled the scene a moment after arriving.

Orion was so fragging sad after he failed to get anyone willing to take pictures. So honestly I am just happy I could help. Orion is a good mech deep down. I didn’t think so when I first got here, but then again, I didn’t think Megatron was capable of love either. I don’t believe that anymore. I’ve been here almost a full vorn and I have seen more than I would have liked to. But through those experiences, I can safely say that their affection is genuine. Orion’s name has been slandered for no real reason and Megatron, while formerly a mech worthy of being jailed, is no longer who he once was. I can’t look at wartime pictures of Megatron and see the same mech who sits hunched over at his desk in the afternoon to write poetry.

Don’t worry, I left a note with the pictures. I forged a document that stated I was a photographer from a company I made up which I have named ‘Melody Photographics & Landscaping’. Megatron grinned and smiled up at my vent when he saw it. I think he appreciates my efforts. I know Orion certainly did. When he got the pictures he was ecstatic and gushed at Megatron for a half groon about how lovely the photos came out. Of course then he praised Megatron for a long while for being able to find a photographer and for surprising him with pictures after their anniversary. But I am just happy to see them happy. It’s kind of strange, but after being here so long, their joy has begun to infect me.

I know that protocol dictates that I am meant to get my memory files uploaded and then wiped, but I would like to keep these ones, at least until my mission is complete. Sure I’ve seen some things, but I’m happy with that. There are enough good memories to drown out the scary ones.

On another note, ‘Melody Photographics & Landscaping’ has now been ‘hired’ by Megatron to work around the outside of the hab. I forged all the documentation so don’t stress about it, Head Guardsmech. I’ve got some new paint lined up and I plan to begin working in the garden and fixing up the exterior of the hab going forward. Orion is affiliated with the Prime after all. His reputation is tied to our Lord Prime’s. It’s only right that I help fix everything up. I already have a bunch of building material purchased and ready to go. I will begin work once I introduce myself under my alias and get information about what Orion would like the exterior of the hab to look like.

I know it is risky, but I plan to use this alias business of mine to assist Megatron and Orion going forward. I know I am not supposed to be too involved, but I am tired of sitting around. Besides, the sheer level of disrespect thrown at my targets is ridiculous. Few mecha are willing to serve them in public establishments! So if no one else will do it, I will. And before you tell me it's foolish, I have logical reasons behind the choice as well, at least aside from saving our Prime’s reputation. If I am the one supplying them with services, then I will know exactly what they are doing and I will be able to give better reports. With that said, I could use some additional funding going forward. Not much mind you, just enough to buy some tools and more paint.

Oh, and before I forget, Carnage has begun staying with me more often! He comes back far more frequently now and he loves to recharge directly on my chassis. I am not sure why exactly, but I assume it's because a cyber-feline’s hearing is better than my own and he enjoys the sound of my spark. I don’t actually know if he’s a he, but it felt weird to not have some sort of designator for him. I didn’t want to keep calling him an it after he spent so many long nights curled up at my side when I was lonely.

Actually, Carnage has shown me a few interesting things about the hab and the surrounding area. Firstly, there are a few exotic crystals nearby that the records list as being extinct. I have already excavated them and am cultivating them quietly so that they can be put in Orion’s garden once I get permission to get working. Carnage also showed me a store that had a new visor that I may or may not have bought. Sorry, but the one issued by the guard really just didn’t meet my needs. My optics are… incredibly sensitive to anything and everything. Boredom wasn’t the only thing that led me to clean Megatron’s hab obsessively.

Dust hurts. At least now with my new visor, it doesn’t burn as much. I can see without as much suffering on my end.

Lastly, there are tunnel systems, not the ones for the Primes mind you, running beneath a good chunk of Iacon. I think they were sewers connected to the old factory districts from before the war. Most have collapsed, but a few are still in decent enough repair to traverse. One of these tunnels leads directly to that engraver’s house. I’ve found a whole stash of illegal drugs down there. I fully plan to examine that engraver further once I have a free moment. This is getting ridiculous and I refuse to put Orion and Megatron at risk of catching something from fumes.

I read in one of the archive’s files that creating drugs like circuit breakers makes nasty fumes that can make mecha seriously ill. I don’t know if that’s what the engraver is doing or if he’s just a distributor, but I would like a warrant to begin looking into him as well. For all we know, he could be affiliated with some underground network. I think it was Megatron who said it, but in his words, “The black market is always open for business.”

Oh, and before I forget, I think you will be happy to know that Orion Pax has stopped freezing up terribly at depictions of the Prime. He doesn’t need to shield his optics from the billboards anymore. This is huge progress! Although I must admit I agree with Megatron when it comes to those things. They are gross . Our Prime just looks wrong on them. Who allowed the senate to purchase rights to our Prime’s image? I don’t want to point digits at the Primal Steward or the Council, but I think you should look into that because it’s not only disrespectful, but really fragging uncomfortable to look at considering Optimus Prime is a holy figure.

I saw one billboard just the other cycle with our Prime’s image smiling alongside one of his quotes while holding up a cube of energon. It was an energon advertisement. For Primus’s sake, our Prime hasn’t even been dead twenty vorns and he’s already being used to prop up businesses. Can we at least remove the ones around lower Iacon? It’s not like anything will get sold down here anyway. Megatron agrees with me on this front.

No I don’t talk to him directly, but I have made a few noises while he was discussing the billboards by himself. He took that to be a sign of my agreement and honestly, he wasn’t wrong to make that assumption. Megatron wrote a whole article on how disrespectful and wasteful it is to have Optimus Prime literally everywhere across Iacon. How many memorials does he need? He’s holy, yes. I will fully and gladly acknowledge that. But he isn’t some prop to be piloted. Please, look into the situation. I implore you, Head Guardsmech.

That’s all I have to report on for now. Megatron left some more pre war documents out for me, so if you don’t mind, I’ve got some reading to do. I am halfway through a selection of Ascenticon legislation proposals.

═════════════════

[Report Received: Visibility Status - Seen]

[Note from Head Elite Guardsmech Smokescreen: Hush, are you serious? You are far beyond mere spying now. If you were anyone else, I would have pulled you back and had you sent to a Chaplain. However, considering Megatron has tolerated you so far and even seems to appreciate you, I will leave you be. Just, be careful. He’s unpredictable.]

#maccadam #transformers prime au #transformers #two sides to a coin au #transformers prime #orion pax #megaop #megatron #two sides supplemental writing #hush reports #post war cybertron #cybertronian culture

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eriexplosion · 8 months

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Cut and Run time

Early intro to Hunter and Echo's co-leading style where Hunter makes the calls but Echo tends to be the one he uses as a soundboard. No wonder he absolutely cannot function even more than before when Echo leaves.

I swear the Omega Discovers Dirt scene was just to flex with the dirt cloud animations.

I REALLY want to know how the batch met Cut. But also, Tech's SMILE and very very slight laughter undertone when saying "Why not? We're all deserters now." is giving me life. As is Echo's FACE OF REALIZATION here.

"Ma'am" Echo is the most polite and CUTEST PERSON ALIVE.

Okay I can never get over Cut's face falling into worried and then asking about Crosshair and he is SO sincere about it. The quiet subtle way that this informs Aftermath, even if you didn't see him in TCW it DOES tell you that Crosshair wasn't Always like that, and that Cut at least has a positive enough relationship with him to be concerned about him.

Also he absolutely is worried at first that Crosshair has been killed, you know he is, like, that is always going to be a risk with clones. Hearing that it's complicated and getting into mind control discussions isn't like GREAT but at least it's better than him having been killed during the war right

Omega though, just. Casually. OH HE MUST MEAN THE INHIBITOR CHIP :D She's so chipper about it. Like it was just a thing surely everyone knew. And then Tech backing her up with HOW ELSE DID YOU THINK IT WORKED? Ridiculous squad.

Honestly the expressions in this episode are fucking gold because the knowing smiles when Hunter nods for Omega to go ahead outside and Hunter's bewildered double take. He is not a parent. He swears.

He JUST MET THAT KID he's NOT a parent.

Anyway Cut's onto his bullshit.

OMEGA NOT KNOWING WHAT FUN IS THOUGH. BABY GIRL. Learning about dirt AND fun in one day.

Cut's single grey streak in his hair is gorgeous too, what a handsome man. He also looks like he's got a bit of dad bod going too.

Rampart is doing his very best customer service voice about chain codes. But even a glimpse at his face has me going BOO HISS BOO.

Now Omega gets to learn about mortal danger, it's a very busy day for this child. Cut's soft dadding has me Emotional. He's SO GENTLE.

"Tech do you think you can forge some chain codes?" "I only learned of them moments ago, but yes!" The way I adore him your honor.

The moment with Omega taking off her headpiece is so underrated, like despite how much she wants to be with the batch, Kamino was her home and this was a piece of her life that she already knows doesn't fit anymore. But even if it doesn't fit, it's still a lot to take it off and officially leave that behind her.

It's SENDING ME that Tech doesn't even actually say they should impound the ship he just sideways implies it and Echo picks it up IMMEDIATELY and then goes 'yeah okay' like we say that Echo carries the brain cell but when put into range of Tech that brain cell goes pinging off into the fucking distance like it was set next to an opposite charged magnet.

"YOU DID WHAT? T E E E E C H."

Hunter is just. YELLING INTO THAT COMM. HE IS SO MAD.

Full Of Rage

I love the Tech & Echo dynamic so fucking much, honestly, Tech being so chill and then Echo just. WE CAN'T GET CAUGHT AT ALL WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT??????

Like Echo, bby, you knew exactly what you were doing when you went along with this plan.

"Found her." The pointing really sells it.

"Well... We didn't let her go!" Followed up by Tech and Echo squabbling over removing the boot is so funny, this episode is SO fucking funny and I feel like we don't talk about how hilarious it is enough.

I admit part of why I want season 3 to have a portion where Echo and Tech are on their own together is because I adore the squabbling they're so fucking funny. When Echo asks if he wants to give it a try apparently he did because he was already outside to stun the guy that catches them.

Wrecker is so sweet and gentle with Omega I'm <3 The Boy.

Okay though the fact that Hunter literally did not tell Omega anything at all, just straight up said Nothing because it was going to be a hard conversation and Hunter will physically leap off a building before willingly having a hard conversation. And they do this to her REPEATEDLY because they didn't tell her about Echo leaving either in season two. No need to have hard discussions when you can just spring something on the child with no warning, right? Anyway, his avoidance is established so early and there's no way he gets through the whole of season 3 without being forced to confront it and willingly undertake a Difficult Thing without being forced into it.

THE FACT THAT HE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THIS CONVERSATION WITH WRECKER presumably because Wrecker would have tried to talk him out of it because he's the first one that engages with Omega as an Individual and not like, the vague concept of a child.

Hoist your local Gonky for enrichment purposes

This is just such a sweet and sincere episode that also happens to be hilarious, I just really adore it.

#the bad batch rewatch

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coldshrugs · 8 months

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longing's favorite season 🔹 part one

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau rating: general word count: 3.8k additional entries: prologue 🔹 part 2 🔹 stable scene 🔹

"Saulette, could I trouble you to draw the curtain?"

Io looks up from her book to the cold, clear ray of midday sun streaming through the glass window and directly onto her left hand. An unwelcome distraction, the way it catches the faceted stone there, sending tiny colorful, refractions across the page. She twists the band until the gem is inside her fist.

She squeezes until the metal begins to dig.

When the girl doesn't answer, she asks again. "Saulette?"

New to the staff at Fortemps Manor, Saulette became Edmont's solution to Io's frequent lack of company: a handmaid and potential friend in one convenient package, of course, but Io is not Emmanellain.

Saulette is nice enough, eager and amiable. As a blessing, she is much less intimidated by Io after her extended residence at the Alicorn. But she's very young and, at times, overly familiar. Io has had to ask her to refrain from hanging over the back of her chair as she reads, or not to cling to her arm during their afternoon walks. Luckily she has learned to knock and wait to be let in, instead of barging.

Now she is nowhere to be found.

Just as well. All the good reading materials were exhausted three moons ago anyway, so she closes the book with a mind to pillage the kitchens.

The east wing—a relatively small two-story annex comprised of a few private apartments—is empty. Once, it was a refuge for Io and her friends when they needed it most; now, the Lady Greystone de Fortemps quietly wiles away her days here until called upon for a social gathering. The warmth offered by these halls has all but seeped away, like the letters from her former Scion associates, save Y'shtola. Even Haurchefant's flame for her has burned inconsistently since she denounced life as an adventurer, just as Edmont predicted.

Her footfalls echo softly in the carpeted corridor until she reaches the parlor.

Murmurs creep through the door before she can open it, including Saulette's excited trill. Io doesn't bother trying to listen; she suspects they're on about the next high house luncheon or some other event she will be politely forced to endure as an envoy of Lord Edmont's great vision for opening Ishgard's borders. She hadn't planned for her exoticism to be his first import, but it seems her marriage to Haurchefant required it.

The voices hush as she enters, but the staff cannot hide their interest as they huddle around the long wooden credenza by the main hall's entrance. Io blinks curiously as they rustle a missive between them.

"Mistress Io!" Saulette rushes to her side, taking her hand and bowing awkwardly at the same time. "Have you heard the news? Ser Es—forgive me—the Azure Dragoon has returned to Ishgard. Just days ago!"

"Estinien is here?" Io musters her composure. She pulls her hand out of Saulette's and spins the ring once more.

Saulette nods vigorously, beaming at Io while the rest of the staff return to their chatter.

"I have some errands to run in the crozier, and may wander down to Foundation." Io places a hand on Saulette's shoulder when she tries to follow her toward the cloak rack. "I'm fine, really. I expect to be back in a bell or two. Take the afternoon to yourself."

Outside, the air is filled with wispy white flurries floating lazily toward the ground, one of the more pleasant types of snowfall in this place of endless winter. Not even the ever-present chill can temper the excitement flooding Io's chest at the thought of reuniting with someone so dear to her.

The friendship forged during their travels was shaky in the beginning, but she and Estinien grew into the sort of silent understanding she can't recall sharing with another since... maybe since she arrived on this continent. Their pasts, their journeys, and the titles they donned as armor were all congruencies that smoothed the initial frustrations of their forced proximity and made them walk in lockstep. When it was time for him to leave and make his amends, there was nothing painful in the departure—he needed time and space to grieve, and she would want the same for herself—so there could be nothing but happiness in his return.

And Io could use a touch of happiness. No one's been in her corner. Not like she needs.

Aymeric fusses over her wellbeing during this banquet and that gala, or calls on her when he has a moment to spare, but his new responsibilities leave little time for depth to accompany his fondness.

She rounds the corner of the manor to avoid too many eyes, then twists her aether in on itself, small enough to fling toward the pinprick of energy closest to her destination.

In an instant, Saint Valeroyant's Forum takes shape around her. Imposing charcoal stone and metal spires meet the snow-bright sky above, but on the ground, folks pick their way around crumbling rock and rickety boardwalks. Half of Valeroyant still reclines against the edge of the fountain. Io assumes this courtyard was once elegant to behold, but in its current state, she sees only a fitting metaphor in the fallen statue: how much the nation demands of her soldiers, and the kind of rest they might find in their futures.

The air is thicker in Foundation. Smoky, colder, and colored by the scents and sounds of the Forgotten Knight: brewing ale, smoked meats, and rowdy laughter. It is only midday and the tavern is already in full swing. She remembers staying in a dingy Cloud Nine room that was never quiet enough to rest soundly, but Gibrillont made sure she, Tataru, and Alphinaud were warm and fed. That was plenty, after what they'd fled.

Nostalgia's inviting whisper almost pulls Io into the tavern... but a soldier clinks past, reminding her why she's here. She bears straight ahead, into the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly.

"Greetings, Laithe." Firmalbert's eyes crinkle beneath his helm in a smile. He does not correct his address.

She returns his smile and continues inside, where more than a dozen knights pour over various duties. More still wander up and down the stairs, going to the barracks and offices above, or leaving the premises toward their latest assignment. In the center is Ser Handeloup, third in command of the Temple Knights, bent over a table laden with documents, sorted linkpearls, and maps with scattered pins indicating troop positions.

Io's approach does not break his concentration. She waits across from his, her smile stretching with each passing second she goes unnoticed. Aymeric's choice of leadership may as well be his reflection. "Do you ever stop, Handeloup?"

"Io? You're a welcome sight." There is little surprise in his expression, a sign of his constant preparedness. He brightens easily, happy to shed a pressing responsibility or two in exchange for a chance to chat. "Apologies, I haven't had the opportunity to congratulate you personally. I hope you and Lord Haurchefant still bask in wedded bliss." He smiles, pausing graciously to let her answer.

Io's lips curve into the barest smile, but she offers only a nod.

Handeloup clears his throat. "My wife was delighted by the invitation. You see, families as middling as ours rarely have the pleasure of attending such events, and your wedding was an experience neither of us will soon forget. You have my gratitude."

There is a thick, faraway drumbeat in her ears. Her vision shifts focus, clear then blurry, seeing him but not. The false smile sticks in place. She sinks.

This dread was there in the beginning, but has only grown heavier over the last few months. Handeloup is happy for her. He wishes her well and only means to share in what should be a joyous time. Shouldn't she be happy too?

Why is it so difficult?

It's only half a second before she resurfaces.

"Careful, or I'll have to see you invited to the next soiree. You think you know exhaustion now..." With luck, she downplays her unease. Handeloup even offers her a polite chuckle. "But I'm afraid I didn't come with an invitation at the ready. The true reason for my visit is rather removed from the joys of high society. I've just heard Estinien has recently returned to the city. Is he here?"

At this, Handeloup's smile falters. His posture straightens. Io readies herself for some grave news of her friend's demise; was his return not a safe one? Or perhaps he's left again and she missed him by days, or merely hours.

"I am sorry, Lady Greystone, but Ser Varlineau is disposed. He and the Lord Commander are in a meeting just now and cannot be interrupted."

'Lady' Greystone, is it? Was she not simply 'Io' a moment ago?

At least her question has a direct answer.

Io straightens her own back, clasps her hands firmly. "Come now, Handeloup, you know the three of us are close friends. I am no stranger to their meetings. I'm sure Aymeric is currently making a generous proposal and Estinien is pretending to shoot it down with an in–"

"I am afraid the Lord Commander has asked for no disturbances." Handeloup looks to the stairs he has seen her climb time and time again to access Aymeric's office. "Glad as I am for the ways Ishgard is changing because of your deeds, there are some things that will ever be the same. As you are now the lady of a High House, I must ask you to stay here, until the Lord Commander has given his approval."

The disappointment is difficult to swallow, but she has already struggled too openly in this conversation. If it is a matter of approval, surely Aymeric will give his. She needs only to play the game as it is laid out before her.

Io inhales, then smiles. "May I leave a message with you?"

"Aye."

He passes her ink, quill, and paper. just She quickly scrawls her note and folds it in half once the ink has dried.

"For Ser Varlineau, with a post-script for the Lord Commander. I will not expect haste, but... it would be most appreciated." She places the scrap of paper into Handeloup's waiting hand.

"I will see it delivered," he says with a formal nod. There is a finality about it.

She could wait. But waiting might be considered an overreach, which could be perilous to the image Edmont has painstakingly crafted. Besides, they could be up there for half the day, and she told Saulette this would be back soon. Easier to leave without a fuss.

Midday gives way to early evening, and with it comes a heavier snowfall. The Jeweled Crozier doesn't flinch.

Ishgard's upper echelons (and those vying to join them) trawl the street in search of their next beloved frock, necklace, or hairpin. Treasures they will count as priceless for a single evening, deemed untouchable the following morning, for who could bear the shame of being seen in the same thing twice?

There is another form of commerce in the market, featuring treasures far more valuable, and intangible, than the goods on display in the shop windows. They are all watching, eager to glimpse who stops to chat with whom, who gets snubbed, which debutante praises the broaches at this artisan stall, what tailor the High House sons swear by this week. They trade stories of betrayal and betrothal, laugh at falls from grace in the same breath they lament the fallen. This is foreplay for them, the first sparkling sip of champagne lingering like lace on their tongues before venturing into heavier spirits, as vital as attendance at any charity gala or dinner party.

Io has no interest in being part of their performance, but her refusal to engage must come with a veneer of politeness. She keeps her smile soft, she keeps her head angled just so, away from the oncoming shoppers as she picks her way through the street. Few in this crowd want to speak to her, the anomaly, anyway—at least not here, where her past cannot be recounted as a series of amusing anecdotes over hors d'oeuvres.

She is only here to purchase an unremarkable trinket, some small proof this outing wasn't in vain before continuing back to Fortemps Manor.

An unpopular stall carrying wooden hairpins is her solution. The fashionable Ishgardian favors polished metal and gleaming jewels, neither of which appear on this display. Each pin is ornately carved and richly lacquered to accent the natural pattern of the wood. Io inspects a long, curved pin in the shape of a feather. The barbs are so delicately ridged... her muscles twitch, remembering days spent fletching arrows until her fingertips grew numb, the feel of smooth ash wood and sinew, cut feathers and twine. The work, its memory, moves under her skin.

"You will do," she says, passing her payment to the vendor.

With her task accomplished, she ascends the stairs that lead to the Pillars' residential areas.

"Warrior of Light," a gruff voice calls from behind.

She freezes, breath catching in her throat.

When was the last time she heard (his voice) that title? In hearing it, part of her feels restored. Hope, or something like it, flowers in the hollow of her chest. The shadows move.

With one hand on the balustrade, Io turns.

Estinien stands at the bottom of the stairs. At a glance, he is as gray and severe as the city that surrounds him, but Io has always considered him out of place here. This is no different. The icy breeze jerks at his untucked cotton shirt and loose silver hair, and he cares not what the onlookers at his back make of his appearance. One boot-clad foot is on the bottom step, the other hangs frozen in the air.

He looks... a bit stricken. Soft... His eyes widen, his mouth is open as his breath mists around him. A kind of surprise she's never seen him wear, as if he expected to find himself face-to-face with someone else entirely—he doesn't seem disappointed that he's found her instead.

His guard returns in the moment it takes him to bound up the steps. "Though I've just heard you've earned yet another title... I endure days of Aymeric's fondness for idle chatter, yet he failed to mention your developments." He looks her over in quick inspection, from head to toe, and shrugs. "Do not expect me to call you 'lady.'"

Io grins at him and nods toward the pillars, beckoning him to join her. In place of the hug she longs to give him, it is the best she can do. With Estinien at her side, the walk goes slower.

"If holding back the eighth calamity hinged on that alone, I believe you might let the world fall to ruin."

"Aye." He does not elaborate. "Should I congratulate you?"

His eyes are sharp and searching, the same shade as the darkening sky above, and they bore into her. She feels a question in them, one he doesn't ask. In truth, he doesn't need to.

It is simply: why?

"Gods, no. In six moons, I have had all the congratulations I can bear. You are too late, I'm afraid." Io clears her throat and steers their conversation toward a more interesting subject. "How were your travels?"

Estinien tears his attention from her face to the mountains that surround them. "Educational, as the last year has been," He pauses. Io waits.

They feel out this familiar rhythm, the rests and surges so common in their conversations. Generous spaces where thoughts collect in their own time, the places where meaning hides, waiting to be found. Always followed by something plain and true. It was the same on the road, once they found common ground enough to talk.

"I am not certain they've concluded, but if Ishgard has need of me, I will avail myself a final time."

"Ishgard?" she asks, ignoring the implication he may leave again. "Or Aymeric?"

He dips his head and smiles, a small thing she knows well by now. For a long time, it was the only part of his expression he would allow her—or anyone—to see. "Funny. I suppose I should try my hand at this 'commanding' business, what with being the Commander of the Knights Dragoon."

"Ah, I see that going smoothly." She does a poor job of hiding her amusement. Snow crunches softly underfoot, each step heavier than the last as the Alicorn's peak comes into view.

Estinien snorts as they enter the Last Vigil, "More smoothly than you as a housewife, surely."

She stops. Her pulse rises to her ears for the second time in so many hours. No. She finds the banister with an uncertain hand, propping her elbows on the snow-covered railing. Stay here, Io wills herself, don't go down there. She pushes back against the deafening rush of blood, slowing her inhales until each cold breath is comfortable. It helps to focus on the distant mountaintops haloed in gold from the setting sun, or the calm and cloudy sky above them, touched by the first traces of night.

Her pulse recedes, leaving the world strangely silent. The street lanterns flicker to life on either side of her. She cannot say how long it took to recover this time.

Long enough to leave her wondering if Estinien has left in the wake of her awkward retreat. If she turns around and finds herself alone–

"Io."

His hand falls on her shoulder, heavy. Steady. The last of the dread falls away.

He pries her away from the stone railing, and the unspoken question from earlier remains. But he smiles again, playfully jostling her shoulder until he coaxes one from her too. Io looks around the square; now that the crowd has thinned, she throws her arms around him and squeezes until he shakes with low, rumbling laughter.

"Oh, shut up." She rests her head on his shoulder, arms held tight around his neck. Warmth bleeds through his cold clothes, and he doesn't sway when she leans against him. His arms wrap around her, obscured by her cloak. He squeezes back.

The world threatens to fall away again. Her head buzzes with a new rush—a pleasant one. Instinctively, Io pulls out of it. She steadies herself with a deep breath and releases him.

Estinien drops his arms. There is a crease between his brows. "All right?"

They walk on. "I'm sorry. If you must know, I am a bit jealous of you. Your continued adventures. I haven't adjusted to standing still."

"Easily remedied, no?" Estinien shrugs casually. "We will make our own adventure. Unless you've been chained at the ankle, what keeps you from going where you please, at least for a day? If you want for decent company, well, I cannot claim decency. But we are friends, are we not?"

"Of course we are." Io bumps her shoulder against his. "Alas, the chain is metaphorical, and therefore heavier than you've imagined, and it has everything to do with the title you'd rather ignore."

He crosses his arms, steps slowing as they near Fortemps Manor. "You don't even mean to try?"

"I did not say that. I only meant–"

"Io, dearest! And is that Ser Estinien?" Haurchefant's high, clear voice cuts through her retort. She did not hear the door open, but she certainly hears it shut as he takes the opportunity to join them. "The steward said you were out on errands, but I never expected you to procure such a treasure as the nation's final Azure Dragoon. How are you, my friend?"

Haurchefant extends his hand to Estinien, who clasps his arm with practiced neutrality. Io doesn't miss the tight line of his lips signaling his annoyance at this interruption. For a blessing, this escapes Haurchefant, but there is comfort in knowing she is not the only one hanging to her charades by a thread.

"Fine," Estinien says. His gaze follows the arm he's just released settling around Io's waist. "And if we must go on about rank, 'Knight Commander' is the less abrasive option."

Haurchefant's expression brightens beyond possibility. "You are returning for good then?" In his excitement, his clutch on Io tightens. She breathes deeply.

It isn't always like this. His touch is one of the easier things to bear.

"For now."

"Then I pray we might catch up, though my post occupies the majority of my time. But Io is in residence, and I daresay the two of you would enjoy revisiting your treacherous expedition, or those most glorious of battles at journey's end. Would that my joining you were a certainty, but you need not delay on my account."

Estinien turns away from them, facing Haillenarte Manor and the path he would use to depart. A shoddy attempt to hide his growing grin. "A shame."

Haurchefant's face whips toward Io, and there is a look in his eyes she hasn't seen in moons: interest. Some reminder of her valorous past washes to shore and he desires her.

"Shall we go inside, my dear? I fear my visit here is not an extended one." He speaks only to Io now, in a voice he has barely lowered. Io has no doubt Estinien overhears. Perhaps the boasting is the point.

"Is it ever?" She swallows her sigh, feeling two things equally: grateful for a night of attention, and already eager for his return to Camp Dragonhead. Before he can answer, she sways out of his grasp and towards the manor door. "Goodnight, Estinien," she calls behind her without looking.

"Goodnight Io. Ser Haurchefant." She catches his reply as Haurchefant follows her inside, just before the door closes.

"Ser Varlineau (as I am expected to address you, apparently), Your arrival comes as the most delightful surprise. I expected you to stay away for far longer. Though you neglected to seek me out, I forgive you. And I think you will enjoy the fact I've made a fool of myself in looking for you. Please do come see me. It's been too long. Your friend, Io P.S. Aymeric, must your knights refuse to let me up the stairs?"

—A note found while cleaning the desk of Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.

"–saw him just days ago, in the Crozier of all places. He still cuts quite a brutish figure, but I make no pardons for saying it is a figure I would not mind viewing more thoroughly. A blessing directly from Halone, Herself... Oh, before I forget, are you planning to attend the Manseauguel affair? I simply cannot decide what to wear—"

—Lady Aileve, overheard at a formal Dzemael luncheon

#azia writes #longing's favorite season #misery au #io/estinien #ffxiv #i think i just could not continue to be THIS MEAN to haurche a;kjfdsl but THE JUICE

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