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#character analysis but it’s actually just me projecting

captainmera · 2 days

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Anything you've been researching recently for any of your projects?

Right now, I'm watching a lot of videos on YouTube about storytelling and analysises of cartoon movies!

I think I'm in one of those developing phases again where I'm elevating my knowledge and style, meaning that the projects themselves are slowed down or halted.

So yes, I'm doing a lot of research atm.

Aside from art and writing techniques, I take breaks from that to read and listen to history stuff. Esoteric history in particular.

I'm fond of the average Joe & Jane & Jam's contemporary thoughts of their time. Yknow the little things that make a culture really come to life.

Sometimes people ask what/where/how I actually collect my research and information. And if, in case, you who read this is one of those people: all I can say is that - every documentary you watch, watch it with story and people in mind.

I think that's why I like to draw backgrounds.

Because it's in the little things. We can get to know a character in a mili-second just by getting a sweeping look of their bedroom. It can be full of trinkets that make them who they are.

Stories that are inspired by historical eras (fantasy world, fictional history or realism) can be tricky if you dont know what people surrounded themselves with.

What's around them out of necessity (radio, stove, broom, drying herbs) and whats around them because they like it (decoration, photos, choice of curtains, art, bowl of stale caramels etc)

A good start is to look around your own home. Kitchens are a great start for that. What's there out of necessity, and what makes it YOUR kitchen?

Now, apply those same eyes when you watch documentaries, or read about people, or look at old illustrations. And you'll start picking up the little bits that make people into people of their time.

Now....

Lately....

After seeing disney's catastrophe of a movie WISH, I thought it'd be a good exercise to try work within the limits of story telling to make my own movie - AS A PRACTICE. Not a serious thing to send in anywhere. Just.. for the love of storytelling.

So I've specifically looked into disney analysis and what people like/don't like in movies. What people think is what makes them work and not.

The good thing about writing a story that has to be told in a limited time frame of ca 1h and 45min is that it forces you to be creative.

You have to get to the point. You have to figure out how to tell some things by visuals alone to save time.

My achiles heel in writing os exposition. I have a tendency to infodump. The way i do exposition is boring, bland, and a bit timeous to read thru.

No wonder my fanfics are so damn long. I repeat and explain too much.

Comics are so much easier for me because I can explain things with expressions instead, or with backgrounds, or colour the mood (literally).

Writing a script is basically just summary and expositions. But I don't know how to write scripts. So atm, it's just conceptual ideas mixed with a lot of this happens then this then this. Etc.

So I guess my side dismey-prince-project is nice to pride at. With that I can do what I did in my fanfics (exercise and explore writing) without the pressure from an already existing fandom.

I call it "the tails project" and it very clearly draws inspiration from what I've built for Evelyn and Caleb. But instead of Philip as a brother, I've taken in Gus as inspo instead. Because for one, I just love Gus. And two, I like his dynamic as a little brother more. And three, in this story the lio bro isn't evil. So yay.

Anyway.

All to say that all of these things I just do to use in ibwr eventually anyway. Ibwr is my baby, and I really like storytelling. So all that I do and gather, I gather essentially to dump into ibwr.

Get better at art? For ibwr.

Research history? For ibwr.

Practice writing? For ibwr.

Make a side project in a different medium to learn new things? For ibwr.

*SHRUG*

So yeah.

While I'm anyway burnt out and can't concentrate much. And my arm hurts a bit again. I watch and read things to sponge up knowledge.

No knowledge is useless. Knowing about hatpins is just as important as knowing about bat echolocation, or that lobsters were poverty food once upon a time, and that haircare in the 1790s was different depending on hair type just like it is today, or that starvation & generational lasting community illness stunted the growth and that's pm why ppl were so collectively short back in the days.

......

Td;lr

Yeah, I'm reading about.... stuff.

#liveblogging #ask

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shitgoblindingleberry · 2 months

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OKAY CAUSE LISTEN. (till character analysis let’s go) (apologies in advance this is LONGG)

if till is actually in love with mizi then there is literally no outcome in which him and ivan are happy.

because 1) he’ll never love ivan as long as mizi is alive, and 2) even if he thinks mizi is dead, ivan will only ever be a rebound, the second choice he turned to when mizi wasn’t an option.

however, i would like for you to consider that maybe, instead, the problem is that till doesn’t know how to properly process or identify his feelings. i would like to propose that maybe he misinterpreted his feelings for mizi as love when in actuality he views her as some unattainable idol to covet but not actually connect with (like parasocial relationships).

meanwhile, ivan was always there for him and slowly became a support system till didn’t even know he had. because even if he didnt feel LOVE for ivan, they definitely had a REAL relationship—arguably more real than anything he ever had with mizi. all of their interactions are just like. much more RAW than anything till ever had with mizi if that makes sense. because all we’ve ever seen him doing with her is admiring from afar and sacrificing things for her in secret that she never asked for, nor wanted from him. while with ivan they actually hung out with absolutely no expectations of anything between them (on till’s side at least. it wasn’t a performative relationship to be this self sacrificing person for ivan like it would’ve been if he were talking to mizi. which is ironically a much more healthy basis for a relationship. to fully see the person as being equal to you without putting them on a pedestal)

i think till’s way of coping with everything was finding someone else outside himself to live for and idolize. his entire life was built around mizi, every choice he made committed with her in mind (like when he chose to stay in the garden rather than escaping for her sake). and once she’s ripped away, he’s left feeling empty and aimless—the center of his very world is no longer there.

HOWEVER.

this is shaken by ivan’s death. even though mizi was always his center, he can’t exactly not be affected by someone who’s been at his side for YEARS. and, unlike with mizi, their bond was definitely real and very much tangible for BOTH sides (despite meaning different things for each of them). but when ivan died FOR him, till felt something that was very real and very confusing which was very much a mixture of raw emotions he wasn't prepared to face feeling from anyone apart from mizi. because while mizi is his ideal, i think his feelings about her were always accompanied by a sense of disconnect because they didnt have any actual basis for this bond beyond till simply yearning for her. but with ivan. they were friends. they trusted each other by this point, and ivan has shown that he cares for till REPEATEDLY throughout them knowing each other. and.

i think till subconsciously acknowledged that ivan was important to him, even if just as a background support in his life. someone he hung out with without thinking about it too much. and i think that sense of care came very gradually too. because ivan is a weird mf but he still managed to worm his way into till’s world, and now he’s a staple there, even if till himself isn’t aware of that.

mainly just my vibe here is that his feelings surrounding ivan are very messy and complicated (as real life emotions tend to be) and that wasn’t what till was looking for when he was younger. he needed something stable, something he could look at and idolize from afar. something he could dedicate his messed up life to without having to worry about other complicated feelings. and that was what mizi was to him. a purpose to live that was unchanging because no matter what till himself did or what happened to him, it didn’t affect HER. and that was comforting. but ivan existed outside of his little ideal. and he was a real person who (unfortunately :/ ) made till feel real things that were outside of his control. which wasnt what he needed when he was younger—he needed stability. but i think in the end he had the most chance of an actual developed, healthy, and consistent relationship with ivan.

that is, if bro wasnt dead 🙏🙏🕊🕊

#rip ivan you would have (you always have) loved till #character analysis but it’s actually just me projecting #alien stage #alien stage till #till alien stage #alnst till #alnst #i have a chronic case of not being able to stfu once i like a character #if you managed to make it this far thank you ily #alnst spoilers

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areacode516 · 2 months

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thinking about deh again… like i think one of the things that makes deh age weirdly is that the latter portion of it is incredibly uncomfortable to sit through. and it doesn’t quite give you the full catharsis you expect (i.e full closure with all characters). so it gives you an exceptionally like. emotionally tense feeling. it’s so heavy. when i finished watching it the first time it took me like all night to process it and finally relax and sleep. i liked the discomfort a lot though, it’s rare that a story makes you sit through it and sit with it and doesn’t feed you the perfect happy ending.

the entire Moment of evan revealing everything to the murphys is like. not quite second hand embarrassment, it’s like. second hand “totally fucked” (spring awakening style) and second hand “i want to kms” (how can you not empathize with/have compassion for evan during words fail) and second hand pure desperation of wanting to be anyone else but yourself but also wishing you could want to be yourself.

but in the end the murphys DON’T totally fuck evan à la melchior gabor…like….because they got attached to him and still feel that attachment, because he helped them get closure, because they realize he was very troubled and the truth coming out could make him go out the same way as connor and they wouldn’t be able to stand the guilt and knowing they could have prevented it…again…that is SO compelling. it’s not even about redemption or forgiveness. his lies helped them, and if you’re really extraordinarily cynical, the lie (platitude) that you will be found (the original lie that evan was found by connor), that there’s always going to be someone who’ll come running also helps people…and it’s not really a lie if the musical itself found people, right….the layers of #ywbf in universe and out of it are insane and I honestly think a lot of them are unintentional considering. but i would argue those layers were originally intentional (since the original idea pasek/paul/levenson came up with was a cynical satire on parasocial grief) but layers later pushed away in favor of fully celebrating joyfully and optimistically their song and story and theme and audience at the time, removing the nuance, leading to the direction of the movie.

could deh the musical have said what it wanted to say with more sensitivity and grace? sure. but what it *does* say is worth accepting its messy conclusions for, because expecting things to be neat and tidy and perfectly moral is just another lie we force ourselves to present to the world that prevents us from ever finding each other.

#dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen analysis #dear evan hansen meta #evan hansen #i find it admirable that while making deh they originally wanted to make fun of these characters but the more they got to know them #the more compassion and empathy they felt for them.#every single character in the story deserves compassion. bc if they do not...there is no hope for the rest of us #i also think that the protrayal of mental illness as something complicated that does hurt people is actually valuable #its more damaging to pretend that the only people who deserve help are the ones who have never been mentally ill in the wrong way #the more walls we put up projecting false selves; the more it becomes impossible to tear them down and feel safe being *flawed*#if i had found deh earlier as a teenager at my most su/c/dal ywbf would have pissed me OFF lmaoo i would have gone #'ITS NOT THAT EASY!' but that undercurrent is there within the text when you *know* for evan its all a lie.#he wants to pretend what really happened didnt and move on with the rewrite like that but its not. that. easy. and he finds out the hard wa #the anguish will never end until we let ourselves be seen in all our monstrous glory and come out the other side caked in gore but Alive #i should make it its own post but like. every single chara in deh projects a false version of themselves to the world because they think #they have to. because they think theyre not allowed to show people their flaws and anguish and mistakes #'the scary truth is i'm flying blind' - heidi thought she couldnt let evan know this.#the truth is scary and uncomfortable #she tried to pretend she wasnt coming up short all the time - until she admits it in sb/ss -#and once heidi has allowed evan to acknowledge her flaws evan can finally believe she loves him #that he is loved despite everything he thinks is wrong with him. that she wont hate him for what he did. that the pain will pass #thats just an example #theres also more heidi analysis you can do in this vein with regards to her interaction with the murphys but ive already talked too much #meta #my.post #it takes vulnerability to begin to accept ourselves and others #i want like. to talk about the themes of the story with people #maybe thats too much to ask for in 2024 #if theres anything you disagree with here or would like clarification on please feel free to interact!!!!

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catsconflictscopicsandchamomile · 1 year

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Thinking abt things...

Say you have characters from a mythological or ancient source. like Grendel and his mother. ...specifically, Grendel and his mother. These are figures that are monstrous, eat human flesh etc etc. Across recent-ish history (1400s-present), they've been racialized by white authors along various lines, usually being heavily black-coded and fitting very well into that DEEPLY RACIST narrative. They also exist in a field (anglo-saxon studies) that is VERY White Supremacist, even/especially in academia.

now here's me. a white author. I've been writing these characters (in terms of analyses, original stories, putting them in fanfics/fanwork, etc) for a few years. I'd originally made the conscious choice to have them both be white, primarily as a conscious denial of the existing (negative)racialization of these characters, but also because I do not feel that I, as a white author, could or should attempt to portray characters like this through a racialized lens. I've seen other white authors that I otherwise respect try to do Grendel & his mother this way- and hooooo boy did it make me uncomfortable. great critical acclaim from the community but i felt like i wanted to squirm out of my skin. y i p e s. good message, pLEASE DONT WRITE THAT YOU'RE A WHITE WOMAN WHO HAS NEVER EXPERIENCED ANY OF THIS

however... the more I look at these characters and this field as a whole, the less comfortable I am discounting/ignoring the presence of race here. like its ridiculous, and harmful, and racist not to. there's plenty of writing abt it.

however, I also worry about the implications of me, a white creator, making the decision (even just re: my own work) that these characters/narratives "aren't meant for white people anymore". far from being reparative/restorative justice, I feel like I'm veering very far into assigning these monstrous figures to black/BIPOC authors "because they have more of a right to use/understand that narrative than we (white ppl) do"... and that's. also probably very racist. I think.

the closest thing I've gotten to a conclusion here is that racialized AND nonracialized/non-BIPOC-centric depictions of Grendel and His Mother are both okay, good and maybe even (assuming the non-racialized ones still have SOME kind of message or story to tell) necessary. It's harmful to deny race around these characters or try to write them "color-blindly". It's also (though this I'm less sure about) harmful as a white author to "give up" these characters due to some percieved (read: stereotyped) idea that they're more "needed" in nonwhite communities.

...however.... where does that balance leave me, a white author who wants to write about, cosplay, make fic about, and generally love these characters?

I'm not sure I can like them anymore-

but again that feels like overthinking in the most problematic way possible.

I would genuinely love feedback/critique here bc I'm just going around in circles on this....

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renthony · 10 months

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We've been rewatching BoJack Horseman, because sometimes you just need to watch the sad horse man grapple with some generational trauma and its associated baggage.

The rewatch has me thinking about how I really need to actually finish that script for a queer analysis of BoJack's character. I have twenty pages of notes with episode-by-episode breakdowns and sources to back up my interpretations. Working on my "here's why I think BoJack Horseman is a queer man in denial" script is what led to my entire censorship project, because I wound up with like three pages of notes just about the Hays Code and realized I wanted to explain that as part of its own project.

That horse is Queer™, I have infinite things to say about why I think so, and I'm just so obsessed with this damn show.

#bojack horseman #ren's censorship project #original post

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actuallyjustabiscuit · 1 month

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I’ve been dissecting Ragatha’s character with surgical tools because I am not the least bit normal about this damn doll, and something that I’ve gathered upon rewatch is how much responsibility Ragatha has been taking for Pomni’s first day. Prepare for another character analysis about everyone’s favorite confirmed girl failure

Useless Lesbian jokes aside, it’s so interesting to me how much Ragatha cares about Pomni liking her. To the point where she believes Pomni’s terrible awful no good very bad first day has some relevance to how she thinks Pomni thinks of her.

At first I thought this was just the result of her people pleasing tendencies that needs everyone to like her for her to have any degree of self worth (no I’m not projecting, shut up), but she doesn’t seem to be this pushy about getting along with anyone else.

Another possible reason for this behavior was that she just wants to make the newcomer feel as comfortable and welcomed as possible to lessen the blow of being trapped, and she’s doing such a bad job of it that it’s making her think less of herself for failing. But here she’s specifically talking about the “horrible experience” of having to deal with Kaufmo’s abstraction.

Here Ragatha is literally writhing in pain from glitching after getting her ass handed to her by Kaufmo and she briefly stops Pomni from leaving to get the help she needs to apologize to her about having a bad first day.

Honestly, Pomni’s awkward response to this was hella fitting.

Like, Jesus Christ, Ragatha. Priorities girl.

When I first watched this, I thought her little apology fell under the same category as someone apologizing for hearing bad news, (y’know like a “I’m sorry your dog died” kinda thing) said in a way to express sympathy over a bad situation. But in episode 2, it really feels like she actually blames herself for what happened.

and I think I know why.

It was Ragatha’s idea to go see Kaufmo in the first place and introduce Pomni to him. We know that she honestly believes that participating in the adventures are essential to persevering a person’s sanity. And yet she didn’t suggest to play along with the game Caine left for them. Instead, she thought it would be nice to check up on a friend who was suspiciously absent. And was, according to what Kinger told them before they left, slipping off the deep end.

I know hindsight is 20/20, but these should have been major red flags for her that Kaufmo may not have been alright and they should’ve all probably stayed away. And I think she realized that too late, which is what might’ve led to that awkward apology to Pomni in the hallway.

Kinger is right to reassure Ragatha that Pomni doesn’t blame her for what happened (which is why she thought Ragatha was being weird for apologizing in the first place), but I imagine Ragatha is the type of person who can’t help but dwell on the “should’ve, would’ve, could’ve”s of life. So it makes sense that she would continue to take things personally. And I bet it got even worse after

…yeah. That.

Of course, I don’t think Ragatha could’ve known that was gonna be the outcome. But she was very wary when Pomni suggested it, loudly wondering if that was even “allowed”. But she went along with it cuz it made Pomni happy.

Whelp.

Yeah this woman’s self esteem so about to go into the negatives. Which is why I’m really hoping for a good heart-to-heart between these two. Cuz they both really need it. Ragatha especially.

I think it would really help her to know Pomni wouldn’t want her to feel like less than nothing.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc ragatha #ragatha #character analysis #Wet dog coded Ragatha has all my love #She tries so hard and fails so miserably #Literally had this in the back of my mind all day at work and now I’m finally released until the demons drag me back

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notquitecanon · 6 months

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Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader

Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while. OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it

Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other

TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)

this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)

"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.

Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until-

"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond? an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."

"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.

"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.

"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket.

"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already."

"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold."

Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us."

—

An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack.

"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."

Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could.

The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!"

Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you. Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you.

"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed. Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared.

You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing."

"No promises."

Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt.

"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more."

Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern.

____

Ambushed in the night.

A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept.

And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow.

Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest.

And Astarion? Their target?

He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger. With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion.

This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart.

Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over. Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.

You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying.

Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion. With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body.

Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.

The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt.

"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief.

Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name.

"SHADOWHEART!"

None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared. All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night.

The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.

"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled.

"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort. You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you.

___

Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart. Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.

And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first.

The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.

"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake.

"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them."

Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out."

You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed.

"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you.

"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.

Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste."

"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier."

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something.

For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.

Blood. He needed blood.

The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.

You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered?

Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.

You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-"

The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed.

In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood.

The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape.

He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying.

"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).

Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you."

Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse?

Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.

Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him.

Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy.

Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck.

Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)

But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with.

You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile?

Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being?

The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.

“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand.

"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."

Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it.

Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"

Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl."

If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.

This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?"

Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you.

Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.

The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation.

Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.

___

Part Two Here!

Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.

#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.#astarion x reader #astarion x you #Astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 fanfic #Astarion self insert

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keymintt · 1 year

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i’m sure this has been at least mentioned before but one of the things that’s so fucking funny to me abt kim is that, for all the shit he gives you (harry) when you try to get him to dance or wear the piss jacket, he actually wants to do those things to some extent

over the course of the game you can’t get him (or other characters for that matter) to do things he doesn’t want to do. disco elysium isn’t a power fantasy game like that. don’t get me wrong some things he needs to be convinced/challenged for, but he can and does outright Refuse things at times like when you suggest getting on the kineema and cutting the body down from there, not going into the tent with the ravers, or not climbing up the shitty feld building ladder, etc. and there are also definitely moments when he reluctantly puts up with harry/the player’s antics bc harry’s persistent and it’ll just put a quicker end to things to be like, “yeah sure fine i’ll eat the sandwich“ or, “i'll spare you another *20 hour mind-project*— yes, i am”

when you really badger him into dancing in the church and pass the authority check, he of course puts up some resistance but then goes, “now check *this* shit out!“ and starts busting it down! if he was reluctant to dance, he’d totally just do some stupid lil shimmy to appease harry with the same enthusiasm of, “oh god more cryptids” but no! he starts “heel kick[ing] the church floor with such intensity, it’s reasonable to fear he’ll kick a hole right through it“ he had those moves Locked And Loaded, but it’s not like he was gonna bust them out oh god no, then harry pulls his rank on him and he thinks “well everyone else here can see that the guy making a bigger fool of himself is ordering me to do it so i guess it’s okay for me to“

(thinking abt that, there’s prolly something to also say there abt music being a sort of outlet for kim. in my brain the anodic dance music and the shit speedfreaks fm plays have more in common than not, but kim also strikes me as somewhat of a music snob about that sort of stuff so. i dunno)

and then the pissfaggot jacket! when you’re trying to convince him to put it on he essentially says “you’re gonna keep bothering me about this no matter what“ but at the end of the interaction he still puts the jacket on and keeps it on! “the first chance i get, this thing’s coming off“ yeah right, the first chance he had was immediately after putting it on, harry clearly doesn’t give a shit if kim leaves him hanging fashion-wise, he’s the one who puts on the fuck the world jacket first! and once harry takes off the fuck jacket, the piss jacket is gone too, so it basically boils down to “as long as i’m following around this guy who’s making a bigger fool of himself, i can do this thing that i wanted to do got coerced into going along with“

kim’s also like “it really *does* look cool to have both of these jackets on right now“ once he puts it on like who are you kidding bro. your lame ass wanted this. sure he wanted to be a jackass and take the jackets but he also confiscated those hubcaps because they were cool and he was gonna eventually install them, was he not gonna steal the jacket to wear it?

he has his pristine little Image to uphold so he’ll only do things he wants to do if it looks like he’s being forced to and/or he won’t be the biggest fool in the room because god forbid he expresses himself. there’s plenty of deeper analysis here in conjunction with how he relishes in having control over his desires and how harry’s someone who can get him to break his rigid self-control and let loose a bit, but for me it just boils down to:

he’s so fucking lame and it’s so fucking funny

#he has things wrong with him <3 #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #kim disco elysium #i hope this like. makes sense. i'm more of a fanart guy i don't ever really write out the analytical thoughts i have hkfghls #IF this even counts as analysis either #but nevertheless i had an Impulse #feel free to add to this too or like. debate it idc i'm interested #also hi. i'm talking on here actually #no i won't shut up #<talking tag #greatest hits

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quinton-reviews · 5 months

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Hi Quinton!! I have been a HUGE fan of your stuff since a friend sent me the Tobuscus Fallen Titans (I used to watch him back in high school and was like "huh, wonder what happened to him after those allegations") and I gotta say, it is REALLY FUNNY every time my fiancé and I watch the iCarly videos again, because when you cover Gibby's stunt double breaking his ribs, you cut to a clip of The Official Podcast. I used to play D&D with one of the main dudes from the podcast, so when he talks during that clip I do a goddamn double take literally every time.

Anyways, I remember an original Patreon stretch goal being a Fallen Titans on Homestuck! I was really big into Homestuck in my early 20s, and was wondering if that's still on the table at some point? If not that's fine, I understand plans change! I just love Fallen Titans lol, the Fred episode and the Neil Cicierega unFallen Titans are some of my favorite videos of yours!

That's a real funny story!

So here's the rundown on the Homestuck video. When I first started making long videos, they were actually inspired by the relationship I had with other YouTubers at the time. I used to watch, like, H3H3 and Filthy Frank, etc; and I'd always see people obsessed with the versions of creators from the past. Like, "Oh 2015 H3 was the best" and "Oh 2012 Frank was peak." So I had this idea that it would be crazy if H3 posted, like, a video he spent a decade on and you got a new video with 2015 H3 10 years on. (I don't watch H3 anymore ironically)

So the original idea for the "long video" format was that it would be cool if, throughout a long, analysis/review/recap video, you kept noticing someone get older. Maybe my months, maybe by years. That's why I always like to get a haircut when I start one of these videos. If you scrub through and you see my hair get longer and messier as it goes on I think that adds something magical you can't fake.

So... My pitch to the Homestuck video was that it would be funny to work on it just once per year. To record one segment, say "That's it for 12 months", and then come back around to it. And when I was making the iCarly and Victorious videos I actually recorded a few minutes of the video! I think it was two segments in total. But then I had a bunch of personal stuff happen and my work drive has been much lower, so any "back burner" video hasn't gotten much attention since then.

Now that the iCarly mini-series is done with, I want to focus on some short one-off videos I can make before April. But once that's done with, I would REALLY love to start work on a few more long-term projects which will take months or years to finish. I think returning to work on the Homestuck video, to at least get the first 20-30 minutes done, would be a great idea this summer.

Now, if you want to know my pitch for that video, here it is. The video is not a recap of the creative history of the franchise. I do not get into drama, community hell, lawsuits, or other YouTubers. My idea is this: you always hear about Homestuck as an outsider but you never hear about the actual content. Most franchises on Earth I know something about, even and especially if I've never been interested in them. I can tell you a bunch of facts about wrestling and MLP and the Fast and the Furious simply through cultural osmosis and having friends who are into those things.

I can't tell you the plot of Homestuck, who the characters are, what the themes are, nothing. I've known a lot of people who were into Homestuck but nothing about the series!

So I thought it would thus be funny to make a video about a bunch of people who know nothing about the series starting from the beginning and giving their reactions, even if it's been years since it all started. I call this part of the video the "Homestuck Book Club." So the next step is me picking out the members (who all have to have no history with it) and making sort of a podcast setup. We'd then read and record every six months or so, IDK.

This is why the video has been stuck in production hell! Everyone who wants to work on it and messages me about it already knows the franchise. I don't want spoilers, I don't want people writing for the video who get it already. I want to capture the "what the fuck is this" energy of three dudes just getting in the middle of it.

Also, I think that I really like the theme of the video capturing our lives as they go by, capturing us aging and changing. If you came back from the future and told me this video comes out in five years, I'd say great. If you told me it comes out in ten years, I'd say awesome. Until then, the latest edit will always be on Patreon, even if you have to dig a little.

#homestuck #quinton reviews #long videos

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autistic-robin · 1 month

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Why “Hiding in the Light” Didn’t Work: Stranger Things’ Psychospiritual Implications

Supplementary Sources: Jungian Theory & A Wrinkle In Time

Alright, buckle in. I’m running on a year’s worth of spiritual awakening, deep dives into Jungian theory and non-dualism, and my own ego’s primary coping mechanism: immersing myself in media as escapism. The purpose of this analysis is to break down the themes of non-dualism and light/darkness in ST (and maybe predict some character arcs), and also to position the narrative of ST as a psychospiritual wake-up call.

For some context: last year, I discovered the work of psychoanalyst (or philosopher, depending on who you’re talking to) Carl Jung. He had a pretty extensive theory about the human psyche that I immediately connected to the themes throughout Stranger Things, specifically Vecna’s mind control and curse. I’m going to break Jung’s theory down as succinctly as I can, and then delve into how it plays out in our favorite gay monster show.

But before I delve into Jung’s ideas, I also think it’s important to define selfhood (you’ll understand why in a minute). For the purposes of this analysis, the experience of the “self” is an illusion created by our senses, perceptions, memories, and consciousness, all of which are impermanent. Therefore, the self is what we call “conditioned.” There is no you or me, just the ideas we have of ourselves.

Now, we can get into Jung’s theory. He posited the following:

1. Every individual has a “persona” they show the world (a constructed self) to feel like they belong. Underneath this persona, everyone has a personal “shadow,” or the part of themselves they don’t want to acknowledge. This shadow is always projected onto others— every negative thought we have about someone else is a product of our own unintegrated shadow. Note: The shadow is NOT bad, it just “is.” It’s actually there to HELP us grow and integrate all the unhealed parts of us.

2. Individuals’ shadows are usually part of their unconscious, meaning most people are not aware of their shadow side or cannot bear to delve into their trauma/darkness and begin to heal it.

3. All of human consciousness is CONNECTED. This means two things. 1: There is a “collective unconsciousness” that contains the sum of all of our unintegrated trauma, and 2: We can heal our collective unconsciousness by healing our own unconsciousness.

How do we heal our own unconsciousness? By becoming AWARE of our shadow side, accepting and forgiving the conditioning that created it, and working to encourage others to do the same.

What— or rather, who— does that remind you of?

Also— great use of lighting here.

We know Vecna has direct access to his victims’ consciousness; not just their memories, cognition, and emotions, but also their awareness itself. This is how he’s able to target and trance people. But it’s not just their consciousness Vecna has access to; it’s their unconsciousness. Their shadow. Their trauma. Yes, he has psionic abilities akin to El’s, but as far as we know, El can’t access the collective unconsciousness like Vecna can. She is only capable of “remote viewing” via the void or piggybacking into people’s minds. So why is Vecna capable of this?

If you want my take on it: the only way to access a collective shadow would be through accessing your own shadow. So is Vecna really Henry, or his unintegrated shadow? And is either really condemnable, considering the larger themes of the show?

We see this theme of non-dualism echoed in Brenner’s NINA pep talk with El:

It’s fascinating to me that they’re communicating these bigger thematic ideas through the show’s “villians”— while the above conversation could be taken at surface-level as Brenner being manipulative, it’s important to acknowledge the truth of what he’s saying. NINA is only successful because El faces “the good and the bad.” This is why “hiding in the light” is a no-go for Max.

Focusing only on happy memories is a form of emotional bypassing. Throughout the show, we’ve been told time and again that hiding doesn’t work. Neither does running away. The only way out for our characters is through their own shadows.

Now, the fun part: predictions. Looking at all of this with a Jungian lens, it doesn’t make much sense to villianize a character or to end the story by “defeating evil.” In non-dual theory, there are no evil people, only unhealed ones.

We know what worked for our characters temporarily (Will in the UD, Max in her first trance, El using her powers against Vecna) was the memory and vibration of love.

This reminded me of A Wrinkle In Time, which is a science fiction novel that’s been noted more than a few times as one of Stranger Things’ primary influences. In the book, a girl and her brother travel through time to rescue their father from an alternate dimension where all beings are controlled in a hyper-individualist suburbia by a giant, all-knowing brain. The climactic “defeat” of the brain is shockingly simple, but incredible impactful— Meg, the heroine, tells it over and over that she loves it. This love ultimately brings her father and brother out of trances they are in, and they’re able to remember her and travel back home.

(Tangent: And God. The implications of that, outside of analyzing ST, are powerful. How do we live in a capitalist hellscape that is so caught up in the mind— in acheiving, obtaining, securing, protecting the ego— that many of us have forgotten our hearts? The answer is love. Loving ourselves more deeply to love all beings more deeply, “the good and the bad.” But love does not negate accountability, and it does not excuse harm.)

Our characters are all struggling with self-acceptance and self-love in some form or another. Each is wrestling with secrets and lies, and the desire to hide parts of themselves they think others can’t accept.

Mike is clearly struggling with self-loathing, guilt surrounding what happened to El in s1, and a crippling hero complex.

Will is also on the self-loathing train, continually self-sacrifices to his own detriment, and is hiding his identity out of fear (not at all villifying that, just for the record.)

El struggled to reconcile her abilities and forced weaponization with her identity outside of the lab pre-s4.

Max was suicidal and had a lot of self-hatred after B*lly’s death.

Nancy parallels Mike in her survivor’s guilt post-s1 and exhibits the same lack of self-preservation and self-sacrificing tendencies.

You get my point. So how will these characters overcome their trauma? Not through hiding, or running, or bypassing. Not through the light alone. Through love— acknowledgement of their own darkness, compassion for the unhealed nature of others, and commitment to being honest with themselves and their loved ones. We know Will is El and Henry’s mirror/foil and will play a central role in S5, and with all of this in mind I think it’s safe to say he will break the cycle of bypassing and hiding from trauma and pain once and for all. He won’t fight it like El, hide from it like Max, or run from it like he did as a kid.

Only by integrating their shadows can our characters become truly “themselves,” or as Brenner puts it, “whole.”

I will probably have much more to say about this after my re-read of A Wrinkle in Time, but for now, that’s all I’ve got. :) Hope everyone is doing well!

#i dont normally do posts like this but my brain has been whirring lately #stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #vecna #henry creel #st5 speculation #st analysis #stranger things analysis

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