#too many have said I would enjoy this

[sincerely-sofie]

Thinking about @gehtsis’s children and how terrifying it would be to get their team assigned to help you escape from a mystery dungeon.

If these are what my heroes look like I'm 99% certain I'd be screaming and running the other way. Menacing cryptid-looking grim reaper and cursed psychic clay doll. I love them.

[cali]

darkraiiiiii

[windcarvedlyre]

Having Komaeda brainrot is wild because you can read 10 different meta posts and fanworks about him and get 12 different characterisations.

Some are wildly wrong and rely on misunderstandings of the surface-level plot of the game, taking other characters' reactions to him as fact. Some are good-faith attempts that are still off, but understandable if the person has a life outside of thinking about the character; he's intentionally hard to understand and the official translations of some lines and his sarcastic-sounding english voice make it worse.

And then you run into people that write theses and 500-chapter masterpieces displaying just as much brainrot as you, meticulously going through his various appearances, pruning them based on quality, and combining them into a glorious, convoluted map through his many contradictions. People you deeply respect the dedication and critical thought of.

And you still have a different view of him.

[wraithsoutlaws]

you know i had a fun little vp idea i wanted to do for the cyberpunk anniversary but i haven't had the energy to even touch it recently so i'll just settle with saying that this game impacted me in ways i never thought it would when i first picked it up 3 years ago. i knew i would enjoy it, i had been looking forward to it for a long time, and despite a ~controversial~ launch, i had a fucking blast from day 1 (on ps4 no less). regardless of bugs and memes and public dunking, the story grabbed me like nothing else could at the time, and it reignited so much of my passion and motivation for art that i had lost in the clutches of mental illness and i'll always be grateful for that. it introduced me to so many wonderful people (some whom i carry very close to my heart), and maybe most personally surprising, it gave me an outlet to understand parts of myself that i had been too afraid to acknowledge for a long time, the courage to accept and embrace myself as non-binary, and allow myself to just BE without trying to convince myself i'm crazy. that's not what i expected from the get-go but it's been a really fun journey to be on ngl

[good-beanswrites]

And here's one with Weak for Fuuta and Amane, for anon! I've recently been going crazy over some ideas from posts about Fuuta and food and he and Amane's relationship, and they came together perfectly with the prompt -- thank you for the request 👀👀👀

“Can you be quiet for one minute?” 

Fuuta spun around from where he’d been complaining loudly about the food, with his mouth full of it, to find Amane glaring from beside him.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” he said through bites. He paused to swallow, though. And take a sip of his drink. And then forgot was he was talking about anyway.

Amane returned to mouthing a blessing over her food. The annoyance in her expression melted away to serenity as she brought her hands together. Fuuta watched as she drew herself up. Then she ate calmly. He could have crumbled in shame, right then, at the thought of this tiny kid holding up better than himself. 

She, too, had experienced the punishments that came with their verdict. Restraints pulled so tight it’s hard to breathe. Long nights of maddening voices and watchful eyes. The smaller meal portions leading to shaky limbs. Fuuta spent every meal inhaling as much as he could as soon as he could -- and here Amane sat as if she had a perfectly content stomach. Through everything, she maintained her strong gaze and commanding voice.

Fuuta reminded himself she did have a few advantages over him. She still had all her eyes and ribs intact, for one. It was difficult to give someone a convincing stinkeye with only one eye.

While he continued shoveling down his meal, he noticed her separating things on her plate. The meat in the corner went completely untouched. 

The aforementioned treatment had made him irritable -- more irritable than usual, that is -- and he jabbed his utensils at her. “Hey, we talked about this. Eat your fucking meat. I’ve been eating my vegetables, yeah?” Not that he wanted to. He would have eaten just about anything they put in front of him if it kept the gnawing hunger at bay.

“It’s against my beliefs,” she said simply. 

“I thought suicide was, too.”

She raised her chin. “I’ve known plenty who have fasted and become stronger for it. This is nothing drastic.”

Fuuta grit his teeth. He’d witnessed his fair share of internet-goers who acted cruel about another’s religion. He wasn’t about to join them in being some piece of shit who forced her to do something that was against her code. But there was no way he was going to sit around and watch her starve herself, either.

He couldn’t blame Amane for how harshly she’d refused help from the others -- they coddled her, encouraging her with sweet talk, or tried an insufferable stern parental tone. Fuuta wasn’t cut out for any of those methods, anyway. What he did know how to do, however, was make threats. 

Even if Amane didn’t fear death, he knew there was one situation she would do absolutely anything to avoid. 

“Oi, if you get any weaker, Shidou’s gonna step in.” Her frown twitched. “He’s already harassed me and Mahiru about our meals. He saw my hand shake one time and hasn't stopped hounding me about it since. The minute he can tell you’re not eating enough, he’ll be all over you. And let me tell you, you’re not very subtle about it.” 

The final statement came out with more bite than intended. Maybe he was bitter that she was at least more subtle than him. Maybe he thought it was fucked up the way she, too, had grown visibly weaker. Maybe he was just hungry and tired of talking. He attacked another mouthful of food. 

Amane was searching her plate as if the answer could be found there. There was a long silence as she contemplated. Fuuta had thought he’d won until she shook her head. “No. I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes and head in an over dramatic show of exasperation. “So stubborn!”  When he was done chewing, he picked up his plate. “Fine.” He gathered up all that was left, dumping it onto hers with a flick. 

A fire ignited in her gaze. She shoved the dish away. “I’m not some weak child to be pitied.”

“Wha–? It’s not pity!”

“You think I’m weak.”

“I think you’re hungry!”

“You don’t know anything!”

Mikoto passed by, chuckling as they raised their voices. “Look at you two hotheaded kids. Do I need to break it up?”

“Go away!” they chorused.

“Alright, sheesh…” He kept walking, leaving the pair to stew in silence. 

Fuuta didn’t have it in him to fight today. He was tired. He ached all over. If she wasn’t going to appreciate his help, so be it. He was starting to get used to his good intentions being taken the wrong way. It looked like he was just the weak one, after all. He grabbed his empty plate and stood to leave.

“Fuuta.” Amane took a deep breath. “I am hungry.” She gestured for him to come back. Then she moved the meat from her plate onto his.

He eyed the offering, hoping his expression didn’t betray how desperately he wanted to scoff it down. “I’m not some asshole who’s gonna take your food.”

“You’re not taking it. I’m giving it. I would have thrown it out otherwise.” Amane picked up some of the vegetables. “In return, I will eat this. We both must stay strong for the ordeals ahead.”

After a moment of hesitation, Fuuta sat back down. He took a bite. Neither said a proper thank you. Neither needed one.

He glanced to Amane with a smirk. “Good. This way, we’ll both keep that geezer Shidou away.”

It was only for a moment, but for the first time since the second trial began, Fuuta could have sworn her lips slipped into a small smile. 

[sonknuxadow]

okay To be honest i think sonic prime is longer than it needs to be . the story is fine for what it is but at times it really felt like they were dragging out certain scenes way too much just to fill the 24 episode count because they didnt know what else to do to fill up that space

[boyfridged]

Do you agree that Jason, as written by Winnick in UTRH and Lost Days, acts out of character post-resurrection if we take into account his post-crisis robin days? If yes, how would you have him act/react to stuff after he comes back from the dead?

tldr: i definitely agree. moreover, classism plays a huge role in it, and i don’t think that at this point the storyline could lose these implications, which makes trying to conceive what an “in character” (for robin jay) version of these events would be quite difficult. 

let’s just start from saying that i don't think it's a secret that i don't really like winick in general. despite his work being mad interesting on a conceptual level (and style-wise, genuinely well written!), he has no love for the characters he writes about. 

imo utrh shouldn't even ever make it into the mainstream batman timeline. i am aware that this is a radical opinion, but my take is that it would do best as an elseworld story (and in this version too it would need some tweaks here and there), because it made damage both to the mythos of batman and jason's legacy that can never be undone. the very premise of the story is so deeply disconnected from jay's original place in the narrative, and so classist at its roots, that there's not much room to truly fix it. 

(i want to say, preemptively, that i am aware that there are people who read utrh as a story of a revolutionary and a victim – and they have the right to do so, but ngl, my view has always been that it was never written as that. utrh reinforces so many stereotypes that it overshadows the revenge tragedy spirit of it all.) 

another disclaimer is that, to be honest, jay doesn't have a very consistent characterization even in his 80s run, and it also has some classist implications that ideally should be either erased or addressed in the text (that winick instead exaggerated and put at the very front of his storytelling.) starlin's writing is, at the end of the day and very much ironically, more sympathetic and gentler in evaluating jay (simply because at the time he would not get away with changes too blatant) but details such as jay saying that "all life is game" and his random nonchalant behaviour that has its origin in the very beginning of starlin’s run are already signs of it. some readers will trace jason's arrogance prevalent in his red hood era to these issues and say that his actions post-res are therefore a logical extension of his robin days, but i don't buy it. even if you want to lean into starlin-esque characterisation, if you consider the core problem of the garzonas plotline – which is power, jay shouldn’t look into the solution of anything in climbing to the top. and if he did, it would have to be written as a “becoming what you feared/hated most” kind of story, which i can see a certain appeal in (and which would at least acknowledge that it was not his initial personality), but which would go back to its classist assumption of cycles of violence and doomed fates.

so – how to make his post-res era more accurate to his post-crisis robin days (and least classist in the process)?

if we were to follow my fav iterations of his characterisation (barr’s detective comics and the ntt appearances) tbh I don’t think a lot would happen, because his personality is quite mild, and just so hopeful there that i wouldn’t expect any extreme actions from him – but then again, the circumstances that he finds himself in post-res, the trauma, and his sensitivity do warrant grief that should become a driving force in his life from now on. the question is, what to do with this grief as a plot device?

i know that plenty of jason fans hate this take but I actually think the concept of jason trying to be detached and cruel but being bad at it might be one of the least offensive to his 80s characterisation. it’s def not accurate to pre-52 canon (apart from countdown perhaps) but imo for jay to be authentic and nuanced he should be conflicted about his own actions. his overconfident behaviour should be a pose – just as his frantic acts in his origin story as robin were. (again, something that many readers don't take notice of – but reading the rest of collins' writing wherein jay quickly settles into being easy-going and even a bit shy is proof of it.)

these two points lead to the “no good deed” narrative that I often talk about - the reading that jason saw his intuitive and self-sacrificial kind tendencies as something that brought him pain and that never was quite efficient, and that post-res he intentionally tried training himself out of. there are some flashes of it here and there throughout the years of the red hood publishing history, but it never got a true spotlight. and if i were to write lost days, jason flinching at his own violence would be a focal point of the story. 

moving on to utrh; i have spoken about it at length before but I think if he were written 1. with more political sensitivity 2. to have retained the same maturity re: the social order 3. to have the same idea of morality, he should have followed more of actual revolutionary tracks and the whole “drug lord” authoritarian figure schtick along with the idiotic idea of “controlling crime” would have to be thrown out of the window. 

and, later on, forgiveness should play a big role in his story. he's so quick to forgive and justify everyone in his robin run – this is also why i reckon his team up with harvey in tfz was a wasted opportunity.

so, in conclusion – perhaps not that much would have to change re: his actions but definitely a lot should change regarding his emotional journey and his position. i would def throw out a lot of mindless violence and power posturing out of it though. and perhaps make him a bit more polite just for the sake of more consistency (this is not me taking a moral stance btw nor tone policing a fictional character. i just think it would be more faithful to his 80s writing unless you want to make him explicitly scared. and it would be funnier tbh.)

[wundrousarts]

Yesterday I watched Cartoon Saloon’s short “Screecher’s Reach”, and thought Daal’s hair was almost exactly like how I envision Mathilde Lachance’s hair, so I decided to try and draw her. Today I stopped cleaning up the sketch after about an hour because I got bored, so it’s going here.

[queerstudiesnatural]

i am in such a bad mood everything pisses me off i've been grumbling and groaning and complaining about everything since yesterday, i just want everything to stop, i want to sleep, and i want to feel better

[monstermp3]

.

[ic-napology]

Labyrinth rant because I love it and need to vent it out

So Jim Henson's Labyrinth is my new fixation.

I kinda wish it was one of my childhood movies, I'm sure I would have loved it just like I loved The Neverending Story, but I'm also happy I discovered it now that I can decode the subtext in it.

It speaks a lot to me. I still am very keen on escaping from reality through fantasy as a coping mechanism, just like Sarah. I can't help but see her adventure not as real, but as a dream become physical. For me, what we see is just a manifestation of an internal struggle. That means her own mind is giving herself the chance to understand a lesson. She's actually fighting not to let her own tendency to escapism dominate her this much anymore, at least not to the point of discarding serious responsabilities. That's why Jareth, who embodies that, is a selfish, bullying tyrant and the Labyrinth is in decay. Reminds me of Scar's reign lol

I think it makes sense that Jareth embodies both her love for fantasy since childhood and the ghost of sexuality. Both (would) inspire her the utmost pleasure, just since two different points of her life.

I love Jareth's and Sarah's dynamic, in that sense. I love her struggle against the temptations he represents. I love how perfectly tempting he is. Yet I'm so satisfied by her final decision to let him down. About her love for fantasy, she's too mature. About sexuality, she's still too young. Both things need to be limited.

I also love how the conclusion isn't about getting rid of some part of you in order to grow up, but to balance all you parts. Your seek of happiness and pleasure and what it inspires it don't need to be erased, just not weight too much. It implies that you don't have to have shame and get rid of anything, every part of you is inherently good just because it helps to build you. It's up to you to balance the components.

It's reassuring and empowering.

[koishua]

shining solo ep 8. my reaction rn 😐😐 took it a bit hard lmao

[shoechoe]

I only lurked on the Internet for a long time and still do not post on most websites I visit but it really is nice to have a place where I can talk about things like animated shows and music and other assorted interests without being judged

[mostlyonthefloor]

Autistic Edvin: here it is, folks.

He's so quiet because he doesn't know what (is appropriate) to say a lot of the time and he learned very young that it's better to say nothing than to say something that one of the bigger boys will think is "smart" and get hit for it

He's also quiet because it takes a lot of concentration for him to tell what's happening with body language and social cues. Constantly monitoring how people are standing, where they are looking, their facial expressions and what they mean, is energy-consuming.

He mimics characteristics of the people around him. This is why he is so inconspicuous and forgettable, because he will see what other people are doing/saying and copy that, so he blends into a group. Body language is a conscious choice for him, and like above, it's easiest to just not be noticed.

(He also accidentally mimics accents, he will occasionally spend time with Lydia and pick up a little Limmatan accent)

Sometimes people's characteristics stick if he spends enough time with them. For example, he says "what" with identical inflection to the twins, and it messes Hal around when he's not looking. (His repertoire of weary sighs are entirely his own)

He likes to knit because it's so rhythmic, and he deliberately chooses needles that make little clicks because he loves the sound.

When he joins the Herons he's pleasantly taken aback to see that no one will care if he says something a little strange or fails to pick up on a social cue that everyone else does. He's hardly the strangest person there anyway.

He probably couldn't say something weirder than anything the twins could come up with if he tried, and people tend to say things out loud for Ingvar's benefit as he can't see people's body language well, so Edvin also won't miss out on silent cues

He and Lydia become good friends quite quickly because they bond over their shared inability to know what to do in social situations (autistic Lydia as well?? who knows)

He is prone to assuming that things that he experiences are universal, and is astonished to find that non-verbal social cues are intuitive to most people, and that in fact most people "just know" if something is acceptable to say or not

On that note he is absolutely shook to discover that sexual/romantic attraction is inadvertent and just happens to people (aro-ace Edvin supremacy)

He takes his job as quartermaster very seriously god bless and will occasionally hijack a conversation to talk about needing rations or what town to put into

He has accidentally walked into and directly through several Stigal moments in compromising positions. It wasn't until afterwards when he was doing his Lie In Bed And Think About Today Time that he realised what happened

This isn't relevant but he's #1 stigal shipper

[dulcewrites]

i think it would be so fun to see modern fcc myrah and rhaenyra interact! esp because of the lil ficlet u posted of aegon and rhaenyra (i loved it)

You asked, and you shall received! Just for housekeeping/reminding: viserys gets sick in this universe as well.

Try a Little Tenderness

Rhaenyra always hated hospitals. The smell of sterile cleanness, and the bright halogen lights gave her a headache. She had only been to hospitals for the most terrifying, stressful moments in her life: giving birth, watching Alicent or Laena give birth… her mother dying.

The chemo wing of the hospital was a new low in terms of doom and gloom. The only thing that made it worse was the empty seat next her. Everyone had agreed to take shifts coming to the hospital for Viserys’ chemotherapy rounds. Alicent had went as far as to make an extremely detailed calendar that worked around everyone’s schedule.

One thing Rhaenyra had learned about Alicent over the years is that she’s far too softhearted for her own good. Softhearted and crafty; it makes for a dangerous combination. Rhaenyra already knew what Alicent was doing when she paired Rhaenyra and Aemond up several times on the schedule. But the seat next to her bare, and she is alone. A feeling she had grown accustomed to. Rhaenyra did not even care to text or call Aemond, she already was in a bad mood. She could not handle getting her head ripped off.

She doesn’t even want to go in and check on Viserys alone. There is a sickness that permeates through her the way it does her father - the feeling of abandonment. Her attention goes from the book she was pretending to read to the window near where she was sitting. The obnoxious brightness of the sun taunting her sadness.

Her morbid thoughts are broken by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Rhaenyra,” she looks up to see Myrah standing there with a nervous smile on her face.

“He has resorted to sending his girlfriend?”

It sounded more harsh then she intended it to be. Myrah crosses her arms, wrapped in a oversized leather jacket that Rhaenyra assumes is Aemond’s, with her lips quirked to the side in slight annoyance. “I decided to come myself, but I can go if I am not welcomed.”

“No,” Rhaenyra winces at how loud and desperate it comes out. “I’m sorry I just - I didn’t expect you is all.”

Myrah sits in the seat next to her. Silence seeps through the area before Rhaenyra pipes up.

“Is Aemond ok?”

Myrah opens her mouth, then closes it with a frown. “Ok in the sense that he’s at home…”

She trails off and Rhaenyra just nods curtly. He’s fine, he could not be bothered to come. More silence follows for the next few minutes.

“Oh,” Myrah brightens before digging into her large purse. “I crocheted something for you.”

She pulls out a crocheted red hat. “I made one for all you guys. You got red, Aegon got orange, Helaena got blue, Daeron got green, and Aemond got black.”

Rhaenyra stares at the hat, rubbing her thumbs over the soft material, then looks at the earnest look on Myrah’s face.

Tears fill her eyes immediately.

Big, fat ones rolling down her face. It had been a regular occurance lately, the crying. For someone who pride herself on trying to be rational, maybe even slightly cold, the overflow of emotions she has felt lately ratted Rhaenyra to her core. She hated feeling this powerless over elements of her life.

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” Myrah hand rubs her back softly. She uses her other hand to dig in her purse again, and pulls out a packet of tissues.

“Why did he not come,” Rhaenyra whispers. She told herself she didn’t care but she does. She cares a lot about why Aemond is like… that. “Our father is dying and he seems to not care.”

Rhaenyra remembers the dinner where Viserys broke the news. The way Aemond just huffed and left, a sheepish Myrah following after apologizing.

Myrah sighs. “Have you ever thought that maybe that is something you should ask him yourself? Why he feels that way about viserys.”

Rhaenyra sniffles, looking at Myrah. “Everyone will work through this in their own way,” she continues. “You want to be here for your father, and that’s your prerogative. It is the prerogative of whoever wants to come here too. Your experience and feelings are valid the same way Aemond’s are, even if they are different in the moment.”

Needing a girl more than 10 years her junior to tell her does make her feel a bit foolish. Her therapist does tell her that looking outside herself is hard, but a necessary tool to working through her own baggage. Being wrapped in her own world had been a knock against her since she was a teen.

Rhaenyra would like to think growing up, having kids, and getting help slowly made it easier for her to peel back and examine that selfishness. To break it, but she still had her moments. Myrah continues to rub her back, alternating between big and little circles. Rhaenyra can’t help but wonder if this is the way she comforts Aemond. Calmly but authoritative. Sweet but stern.

“Do you want to go see him,” Myrah eventually asks, motioning her head towards the private room Viserys is in. Rhaenyra blows her lips out before nodding.

All she can think about is how funny life is. A folly to trick you into a false sense of security.

“Honey, I’m home.”

Aemond had came out of the bedroom embarrassingly fast at the sound in Myrah’s voice.

He had sent the afternoon and evening pretend to be busy. Scrolling aimlessly through files, flipping through sheet he had already read over a plethora of times. He even resorted to watching Vhagar continue to shed her skin. Myrah just kissed him on the forehead and said she was going to the hospital. Simple and to the point, not asking for feedback or permission; it was always how Myrah did things.

Guilt, anger, and sadness swirled in the pit of his stomach for hours till Myrah got back.

That was until he saw Myrah taking off Rhaenyra’s coat and hanging it in the coat closet. His coat closet, in his apartment.

“Have you ate already,” she leans up to kiss, and when he doesn’t reciprocate, she frowns. “Rhaenyra, will you excuse us?”

She just nods, standing awkwardly near the door. Myrah grabs Aemond’s hand, and pulls him back towards the kitchen.

“Why did you bring her here?”

“I felt bad. She cried at the hospital,” she whispers. “I didn’t want her to be alone tonight.”

“She’s not alone. She has Harwin and the brats,” Aemond pinches the bridge of his nose.

Myrah sighs, grabbing both of his hands. “I know this has been rough on you - Aemond, let me finish,” she interrupts when he tries to rebut. “This has been hard on you, on all of your family. She was upset. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable but I would hope the same curtesy would be extended towards you. I can ask her to leave if that is what you want.”

Aemond squeezes her hands, and she squeezes back. “Dinner and then she leaves.”

“Dinner and then she leaves,” Myrah repeats. She leans up and kisses him again.

She drags him back out into the living area, and smiles. “I’m thinking Italian food.”

Rhaenyra had been looking at the table of photos near the door. A mirage of ones across the years. One of Aemond and Alicent when he graduated from university. Another of him, Aegon, Helaena, Daeron at the family cabin. A picture of Myrah and Aemond at a football match.

But there is one particular photo that makes Rhaenyra pause. One from her wedding to Harwin. By that point jace and daeron had both turned five. Luke just turned three; Joffrey had been born yet. Every single child lined up with her, Harwin, Alicent, and Viserys in the back.

It made her heart hurt a bit. Tittering between feeling like nothing had changed while everything has.

“Italian is fine with me,” best agree to everything while in someone else’s space.

“Oh, and we can get cannolis,” Myrah beams.

Myrah’s disposition is infectious in a way. It takes little time while being in the apartment for Rhaenyra to feel looser than she did before she came in. By the time the food arrives, they are sat at the table, gossiping of all things.

“I think Jace has a girlfriend,” she replies sheepishly after Myrah asked about her kids.

“Do you think we’ll get to meet her,” Myrah gasps.

Rhaenyra shrugs. “He’s away and keeps things under wraps. But I have a hunch.”

“Hmm all mothers do I think. My mom knew about Aemond and I before I even told her,” she reached over and brushes a stray hair out his eyes.

Watching Myrah and Aemond interact with each other will always be fascinating to Rhaenyra. Something almost awe worthy in seeing Aemond that relaxed and open. His gaze softens and melts while focused on her.

She can only pray whoever had her son’s attention is just an ounce good for Jace as Myrah is for Aemond.

“I’m gonna go get the ice cream,” Myrah gets up, grabbing the plates.

Aemond and her sit together at the table, quiet and still.

“I do… understand why you would not want to come.. to - to the hospital,” Rhaenyra starts. “I do hope you can go eventually. It would mean a lot to him.”

Aemond just stares blankly.

“I am sorry, Aemond. For whatever part I played in all of this. I know I wasn’t the best sister to you growing up. To you or to our brothers and sister.”

His gaze shifts to the table, swallowing hard.

“You’re just like him you know,” he whispers. “Always apologizing after the fact.”

“That’s not fair,” Rhaenyra frowns.

“No,” Aemond throws back quickly. “It’s not.”

You have to give him time, Alicent told her one day. He has spent years building up an immunity, a protective barrier.

“I always make sure to keep chocolate and caramel sauce too,” Myrah walks from the kitchen juggling the cannolis, ice cream, bowls, and the sauce containers.

Her smile falters when she senses the tense energy.

Rhaenyra can’t make up lost time or course correct what happened. Aemond’s attitude didn’t make her more upset with him, only with her father. He did a number on all of them, and now he will die and leave them with the carnage of how fucked up they are.

“Would you mind if I take my cannoli to go. I’m sure Harwin is staying up even though I told him not to.”

Healing takes time… and space. The least she can do is give Aemond that.

[j-esbian]

see the problem with all of the puzzles in bg3 is like. sometimes the player (me) is stupid. and at least in a real dnd game you might get the dm to take pity on you