#driveby meta attack

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I would love to hear more mike wheeler - Steve Harrington masculinity thoughts (also whatever happened to Hopper to make him action guy my beloathed)! Also will we get a mike chapter for and they were married?

Okay yes! I am fascinated by Mike and Steve as narrative contrasts, and I always find myself looking for fic where the two of them meaningfully interact, and I keep meaning to write about them.

(Also: Mike deserves his own chapter of that fic, but he's getting folded into Dustin's. What Mike really deserves is his own fic that takes place in that universe, because I know what his deal is there and it's a doozy, but that is a very different post.)

Anyway! For starters, I don't think that Steve and Mike are intentionally meant to be foils. There's an element of it in the first season, where Steve exists to support Nancy's character, and Nancy and Mike are meant to be foils -- Steve is the Popular Kid, the antithesis of Mike and his friends' little group of nerds, he and Tommy and Carol are written into the same category as Troy but older and less actively murderous, and the fact that Nancy's dating him says things about her -- but they end up occupying oddly similar spaces and cool parallels come out of that anyway.

A core thing about it is that Steve and Mike are both the guy in their respective age group casts on the show. The Guy. The central one, the normal one, the presumed-to-be-straight one -- and yes, this is fandom and we have Opinions about that, but the Duffer brothers think they're both straight, and that matters here. They're white, they're able-bodied, they have money. They are, in a sense, normal.

Narratively, they very often act as central/POV character for scenes they're in, at least once Steve gets past the fistfight in S1 and awakens to the fact that he's a person who can make decisions. And that makes sense, because being The Guy also means they're the closest to the classic TV protagonist archetype, the guy who does the hero shit and gets the girl in the end. Hopper is also The Guy, and always has been: in S1 it's just him and Joyce, but even as we add more adults, the only real challenge to his The Guy status is Bob (which is of course why Bob had to die). Murray is a bizarre conspiracy nut, and queer-coded besides that. Owens is an affable bad guy. Alexei and Dmitri and Yuri are all Russian.

Being The Guy comes with a certain amount of baggage. All three of them have to be romantic leads, and have to be crossed in love about it. All three of them are protectors in one way or another. And all three of them are on occasion assholes who have one hell of a time with sincerity and affection.

And this is where we get into Toxic Masculinity, because again, while I don't think the Duffers intended a pile of parallels between these three guys, well. Firstly, The Guy as an archetype is built on a pile of toxic masculine stereotypes, so that's often there to begin with. Secondly, it's the same writers, so certain themes rhyme whether they're intended to or not.

In particular, one of the core tenets of toxic masculinity, not just in ST but as a thing in the world, is when and where it's acceptable to experience soft emotions of affection, care, and vulnerability. The first rule of toxic masculinity is don't. The second rule, the caveat rule, is a little asterisk saying 'except, occasionally, with a female romantic partner, if you absolutely must.'

And so we actually see a lot of unfolding of this in Steve! One thing we know about Steve, without precisely being told, is that he's deeply lonely -- for a popular kid he sure seems to only have two Actual Friends when the show starts and they hardly seem to even like each other. He has a new Favorite Person every season, and he clings to them with the joy of a devoted golden retriever. His mental image of happily-ever-after is a house full of kids with enough siblings to never get lonely, family vacations about close quarters and spending time together. We never see his parents. For all a lot of the 'horrible abuse' fanon is very much fanon, Steve is inarguably a lonely kid. And where do we see him reaching out for affection?

It's not Tommy and Carol, although until they break up he's constantly in their company unless he's alone with Nancy. They hardly even seem to like each other very much, and yet they've stayed at his empty house enough for Tommy to know about his mother's fireplace and Steve to insist he do laundry while he's here. No, the person who Steve is allowed to feel things with and for is Nancy, because she's the caveat, she's the exception. This is why Steve is consistently focused on getting Nancy back, getting a new girlfriend, getting a date. That's the rule!!!

The really fabulous thing about Steve's arc across the first three seasons, and even into S4, is that this quest for romantic affection and vulnerability is both thwarted and rewarded again and again. He tries to apologize to Nancy, to win her back: by the time he sees her again, Nancy's got a new boyfriend, but Steve has a new brother. Dustin is Steve's favorite person by the start of S3; he gets Steve's haircare secrets, he gets Steve's loyalty, he gets Steve's joy. In S3, Steve tries to pour his whole heart into a different girlfriend, and Robin turns him down flat while also simultaneously opening herself up with such vulnerability that they instantly become best friends. Robin is S4's Favorite Person, but the great thing about these relationships being platonic is that Steve gets to have more than one! He gets to have both Dustin and Robin in his life! He gets the other kids as part of the package! Bit by bit, instead of a girlfriend who Steve is "allowed" to be soft with, Steve gains actual friends who he gets to be real with whether it's allowed or not.

And the really tragic thing about Mike Wheeler is that he's doing the opposite. Mike starts out with three friends, three best friends, absolutely devoted to one another. As kids, they're young enough to be free of most of the stranglehold of toxic masculinity yet, although of course it's starting. And then there's El.

Mike charts a really interesting course over four seasons, and the shape of it is not a straight trajectory from 'Mike adores and is BFF with Will' to 'Mike thinks only about El.' Hell, from what we see of S1, the Party are all best friends pretty equally before Will goes missing -- Lucas is the one ready to break into a government lab for him, not Mike. Mike's trajectory is far more 'I derive the bulk of my personal self-worth from protecting other people, and as soon as somebody needs to be saved I go fully into Paladin Mode, making me feel worthwhile and important." It just so happens that the two people in Mike's field of vision who most generally need protection and saving are Will and El. Which leads to Mike's intense Will-focused devotion in S2 (El is gone but Will is also in really significant need, and Mike just straight-up activates, jumping immediately into solicitously taking care of his friend because Something Needs Doing And I Can Do It). And Mike's intense El-focused devotion in S4, where El needs a literal quest to come and rescue her. And just a lot of Mike in general.

The problem with all of that is the part where, unlike Steve who keeps forging new platonic relationships, Mike keeps neglecting his more and more. The S3 Will fight is so good at illustrating that, because look -- we all know Will has a crush on Mike, but at no point during that fight does Will ask, even subtextually, for romantic attention. He's asking for platonic attention, which Mike is absolutely failing to give. "Where's Dustin right now? You don't know, and you don't even care." But as Mike says, they're not kids any more -- and this is how growing up is supposed to work!

(Note: I don't want to say that it's toxic for Mike to be in love with El, or really caught up in that relationship -- he's fourteen! she's his first girlfriend! he thought she was dead! But Mike's an asshole in S3 because he's caught up enough to not notice his friend's feelings until they explode at him, and yeah, I do think part of that is because he knows he's Not Supposed To.)

S4 is a lot, because here's where we're really seeing the culmination of a lot of what Mike's been unfortunately moving towards. We've hit a point where those vulnerable feelings that Mike's allowed to share, at most, with his girlfriend, feel like too much to even share with his girlfriend. He can't say 'I love you'. He can't even talk to Will. The conversation he does have with Will is honestly mostly about Mike and his feelings of inadequacy, of not measuring up, not being special, but it has to be couched in the context of El. If there's a reverse-Bechdel test to be done on S4, past the very first episode I'm pretty sure Mike fails it -- I don't think he has a single conversation that isn't about his girlfriend in one capacity or another.

In contrast, S4 Steve is, yes, pretty focused on girls-in-general and Nancy-in-specific, and yeah, there's a little bit of backsliding going on there. But he's also having conversations with Robin about her fears and longings, having weird little interludes where Eddie's the one bringing up Nancy rather than Steve himself. He's hurt at the end when Nancy is clearly still with Jonathan, but he's able to move on, to go fold clothes and care about Robin's love life instead of his own -- his optimistic happy ending in S4 is that his best friend is going to get the girl, not him.

I think there's a lot more to say, which I only brushed on briefly here, about other aspects of Mike and Steve that work in parallel or contrast -- their protector thing, which feels very intrinsic but shows up very differently in both of them, the way Steve says 'I love you' so easily and Mike has trouble saying it at all, the way they are both very much extremely normal guys, at least on paper. There's so much to say. I think that has to be a different post.

I will say, in terms of Hopper: Jim Hopper is what it looks like when those pent-up feelings that you aren't allowed to express to anybody other than a romantic partner sit and fester for decades. Fuck, there were things about Vietnam he didn't even tell his wife, that sat like poison both emotional and biological between them. When we meet him in S1, he's processing grief with drugs and drinking and processing fear with rage. He has spent so much of the past four seasons processing fear as rage.

Of course Joyce is the one person he's allowed to, sometimes, on occasion, be soft with. Of course nearly his every interaction with Mike is macho dominance posturing. Of course the entire trajectory of his relationship with El is a push-pull of Hopper retreating into authoritarianism and anger instead of the terror of honesty, and then getting to see the consequences of that when his daughter pulls away. Every season has broken him down a little more that way, but then the yo-yo pulls back (Season 3 whyyyyyyyyy). By Season 4, he's been beaten and starved and frozen and shattered enough that we get maybe the most honest monologue of his life, to a Russian prison guard, because they're about to die so what do the rules matter any more. It's a clear window into an endless pit of self-loathing, because for twenty or thirty years Hopper's been letting those feelings eat in instead of out, and bit by bit they've been devouring him.

El is hope, for him, and Joyce is hope, and the cracks that broke open in Kamchatka to maybe let in a little more air that might not seal right back up again are hope. But it's hard. It's hard! It makes him an absolute asshole, including and especially towards the people he wants most to protect. (And there's that protector thing again.)

Anyway, I am on the record as liking Steve a lot and having very little patience for Mike and Hopper, but like. They're not that different, at their core. They just put the pieces together in a different order.

#stranger things #driveby meta attack #asked and answered #shit this is really making me want to write those D&D class breakdowns I keep promising #maybe I'll get to one or two of those this weekend #mike wheeler #steve harrington #jim hopper #at least a bit

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Background AD&D info for Stranger Things Fans

I'm doing it, I'm writing an overly-long post A WHOLE SERIES of overly-long posts about how the Stranger Things kids play D&D, and what exactly first edition and AD&D were for.

Source: I've been playing since 3rd ed/3.5 era, NOT AD&D, but I've had a lot of friends who've been in the game for much longer and I'm kind of a nerd for rulesets so I watch D&D bros go off on youtube sometimes for fun. Also, I've actually read the AD&D player's handbook, which is an experience let me tell you. If anyone who's played older editions wants to chip in, go for it!

I think I'm going to have to write a separate post (or posts...god hopefully not posts) about the kids' individual classes. So stay tuned for that. I'll link it from this one when it's done.

First, some history: The earliest editions of D&D are a little confused, numbering-wise, because they didn't know there were going to be numbered editions yet. Dungeons and Dragons debuted in 1974 as an offshoot of mini-based tabletop wargames that already existed at the time. These were mostly big games, where players controlled whole armies rather than creating individual characters, and set their forces against one another. (Not unlike very complicated games of chess, if you really think about it.) D&D was not, to my knowledge, the first individual-character-based ttrpg, but it became the biggest pretty readily.

Advanced Dungeons and dragons, or AD&D, came out in '77 or '78 (Wiki says '77, the publication date on the copy I've been using says '78), although they were still publishing Basic D&D as an alternate option, more or less until the mid-nineties. AD&D was a lot more rules-heavy and had a lot more intricacy going on (relatively speaking), and it's the game the ST kids play.

Compared to modern D&D, AD&D's basic rules feel both more and less. The mechanics themselves are often way more complex, and navigating your way through all of those percentage tables as a DM implies a pretty high level of math skill, worth noting for both an 11-year-old or a guy who failed senior year twice. The character options, on the other hand, feel slim. On first glance.

AD&D only has five classes -- ten if you count subclasses, which you probably should for AD&D. There's fighters, with special fighter subclasses ranger (Lucas's class) or paladin (Mike's class); clerics (Will's class, supposedly), with special cleric subclass druid; magic-users (or mages, theoretically El's class), with special mage subclass illusionist; thieves (NOT rogues! but this is definitely Lady Applejack's actual class, with some caveats), with special thief subclass assassin; and monks. You will note I did not mention bards. We will get to bards. (Probably in the character post, when I talk about Dustin. Bards are...special.)

AD&D had no barbarians, no warlocks, no sorcerers. No special, prescribed forked paths for a character to venture down. Subclasses functioned mostly like classes do nowadays -- you'd roll up a character and be a paladin from day one, simply lumped under fighter because many of the core mechanics were the same. And a significant percentage of text given to describing these classes seems full of really restrictive orders and conditions. Clerics are never allowed to use a bladed weapon? Druids refuse to touch metal? Assassins must engage the local guildmaster in a duel to the death in order to progress to level 14? Where's the creativity, asks the modern 5e D&D player? Where's the freedom?

And this highlights a really core, central thing about how AD&D works and what it was for, that I think modern audiences can very easily miss:

1st edition AD&D is a game about archetypes.

Modern D&D is a game played in a sandbox that's been dug up and worked over for the past fifty years, in a cultural landscape that values individuality and originality and sometimes pretends that daring to share a trope with anything that came before is somewhere between boring and a straight-up crime. Original D&D came with very different baggage, and while it was still very much a game about storytelling, the KINDS of stories being told were a little different.

Characters weren't intended to be highly specialized, granular creations with intricate backstories and complex individualized skill sets. This wasn't even because those kinds of character-driven games or narratives were seen as bad, necessarily -- it's simply not what the game was written for!

First edition D&D was designed for big, epic adventures, where players could embody their own personal instance of a specific stock character trope. It was written for "I want to be a knight!" and "I want to be the magician!". It was about getting to be YOUR VERSION of a very particular, already-existing idea that would have been familiar from fantasy fiction at the time.

So, when the AD&D rules say that druids hold oak and ash trees sacred, that they will never destroy woodland or crops under any circumstances, that they cannot and will not use metal weapons or armor, that there only exist nine Level 12 druids in the world and they form a council with students below them -- this isn't an attempt to micromanage players, to be arbitrarily pedantic or controlling. This is Gary Gygax attempting to present the archetype that 'druid' is meant to encompass. This is what a druid is, according to this ruleset: a priest of nature, part of an order with rules and loyalties, with these priorities and these ideals. Mechanics and personality are not divorced in AD&D as they are in 5e; they are written together, to outline a specific character concept, and that is what's presented for the players to get to play.

If this sounds like it leads to boring, formulaic stories -- well, it could. But archetype-based stories, particularly adventure stories, are by no means necessarily bad. A story about a mysterious and knowledgeable old wizard; a naive-but-determined farmboy full of destiny and potential; a reckless rogue, slick but sometimes bumbling, selfish but secretly loyal; a beautiful princess, charming and clever and sharp-tongued when she wishes to be -- it's a pulp novel full of stock characters and tropes. It's Star Wars. What makes Star Wars special is NOT that its characters are specific, convoluted, or entirely original. What makes it special is that the specific instantiation of these characters, the little things that make Luke Skywalker be Luke Skywalker and not any other callow farmboy. Star Wars uses these archetypes well, and that makes them deeply satisfying. THAT'S the kind of story ethic behind AD&D.

First edition D&D has a reputation of being all about combat, and not about story at all. And on the surface, it's somewhat true: AD&D's rules are also highly combat-based. This isn't because players were expected to only do combat and dungeon crawls, and never roleplay -- but it WAS expected that, by signing on to play D&D, players were most interested in a campaign of exploration and fighting towards some fanciful goal. There was an element of buy-in from the start. The game was (and still very much is), at its core, about going on a quest.

The thing to remember, though, is that a quest IS a story. It's not the psychological trauma-unburdening character-driven narrative that pop culture might tell you to expect in modern D&D, but AD&D was every inch as story-based as the game's ever been. The stories being told were a little different, but with a very similar root.

The 1979 Dungeon Master's Guide is actually full of information about how to set up a world and stock it with people, political factions, and socioeconomic logistics. There are extensive rules about how high-level adventurers become part of the political fabric of the realm, building forts and amassing followers and making names for themselves. (Here, again, we see echoes of AD&D's forebearers in war games, and certain elements of the game that are all but gone from modern D&D.)

What there AREN'T a lot of rules about, on the other hand, are things like skill checks. There's no "persuasion" or "investigation" in AD&D, no list of specific things players can do and how good they are at them. Aside from combat and a small handful of specific non-combat activities, discretion over the success or failure of just about anything was left up to the DM. A DM was always free to call for a dice roll, and could set an arbitrary target number for success at any activity, but the rules also don't say they have to. To see if the characters persuade the barmaid to give them a hand, the players would have to be persuasive. To find the hidden clue in the cluttered chamber, the players might have to describe themselves looking in the right place.

In other words, there are relatively few rules for activities outside of combat, not because those activities were expected to be absent, but because they were expected to be unpredictable. How much exploration, and what players had to explore; what NPCs to interact with, and how they might react to being spoken to; what factions might exist, what moral quandaries could unfold, even the goal and big bad guy of the whole campaign -- the original sourcebooks for AD&D offer at best some very general advice, and NO hard and fast rules. That was for players and DMs to decide.

Many players and DMs, I know, fell on the side of engaging in relatively little worldbuilding complexity outside of the very mechanically-crunchy dungeon crawl. What little we see from the campaigns in ST is certainly mostly combat-oriented. And yet there are also hints of storylines happening off camera. Season 1's one-day eight-hour adventure was probably mostly dungeon crawl. Season 4's campaign takes most of a school year, until the players recognize the members of the cult they've been chasing for months, and know Vecna lore that would only have been published in one or two places anywhere by then, which means they probably learned it in-game. We don't see a lot of evidence of specific character plotlines -- in fact, repeatedly we're shown that the Party's characters share names with their players, making the whole thing even more clearly a big kids' game of let's-pretend. But that doesn't mean there's not a story.

So in short, the original game of D&D is built for epic quests, founded in very specific archetypes, but with the space for just about infinite in variation within that framework. That's what the Stranger Things kids are playing.

(And with this posted, I can start writing about the individual classes these kids are playing and what that says about each of them.)

#stranger things #D&D #driveby meta attack #seriously if an old-school AD&D player wants to tell me I'm way off here #I'd LOVE to learn more #I have more history and knowledge than many (certainly many on tumblr) #but far less than some #mostly it just felt like I needed to write THIS part down before I went off about rangers and bards #and y'all fanfic writers DEFINITELY need a lesson in what “paladin” meant Back In The Day #it's ok we'll get there don't worry #I just think this stuff is NEAT #LONG POST

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For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

#I don't actually know how to tag this #representation #maybe? #C needs help feeding the dinosaurs #because this is very much about being a fandom old #probably also #driveby meta attack #because that's where I keep my impromptu rambles #CR spoilers #technically I guess? #there's one line that references the finale #fandom history

[c-is-for-circinate]

So somebody reblogged the last 'yes I need to talk about Jrusar's Secret Government' post with thoughts/questions about the Tal'dorei council, and it made me want to get in here and actually write the damn holy shit Matthew Mercer your city is run entirely by a SECRET SHADOW GOVERNMENT WHAT THE FUCK post, so here we go.

(I wrote a whole essay, and somehow I didn't even get into the rampant corruption, because there's so much to say even outside of that, but: minor spoilers for general worldbuilding throughout C1, C2, and C3, extremely minor plot spoilers I think for C1 and maybe C3 before episode 3.09? Mostly this is about worldbuilding.)

The thing is that, right, "who's on the Tal'dorei council?" was a long-running joke during Campaign 2, but, aside from some suggestion during EXU that there may be secret council members (and EXU is canon, but that doesn't mean it's explored canon), the Tal'dorei council isn't actually a secret. The Mighty Nein don't know who they are, and have absolutely zero in-universe reason to know who they are, because it's like knowing the entire slate of cabinet members of a foreign country where you've never been and also TV and airplanes don't exist, and like, I don't know about you but I can't even remember the new Chancellor of Germany who literally just got elected a few months ago. This is why Matt keeps giving the players shit for asking. Not because nobody knows.

The Tal'dorei Republic is the sort of confused confederacy you get when you start building a fictional government in bits and pieces without a big overarching plan, because this is a D&D game you play with your friends over brunch. It's also the sort of confused confederacy you get when there was an empire, except its borders had sort of stopped expanding a while back more or less, and then the king stepped down and then five minutes later there were dragons, and everyone's still sort of trying to figure out exactly how politics work again. Politics, on that level, were never really the point of Campaign 1, and they didn't get a ton of focus. There are probably really interesting things to explore there, but thematically, politics really started being a thing in Campaign 2, and oh boy howdy did they.

Campaign 2 is about fascist nationalism. Like, it is! It just is! That's it, that's -- well, not the whole thing, but a pretty central piece of the thing. The Somnovem are the Somnovem (and actually, hmm, I want to think about how Cognouza's backstory relates to C2's political themes), and they were important at the end, but the entire campaign held the running thread of Dwendalian Empire and Cerberus Assembly, and their manufactured war against the Krynn.

And we see a lot of what fascist nationalism looks like, in C2. We see intense propaganda machines full of fear of the Other, particularly aimed at riling people up against this very convenient scary enemy of ~dark elves~ and their ~strange dark magic~ and ~oooh, monsters~. We see tight governmental control over even personal aspects of everyday life. Certain religions are banned. Magic is highly regulated. Government is present everywhere -- even small towns have magistrates and Starostas and Crownsguard, generally according to the same system throughout the empire.

There's a strong central government that's generally not split between factions. No, really! The Cobalt Soul is a respected institution, but they're not so much a faction of government as they are an independent body with a lot of weight and respect. King Dwendal is relatively ineffective, but he's managed by the Cerberus Assembly, not in opposition to them. The Assembly itself is full of politics and backbiting and infighting, but by and large, to the country itself the Assembly presents a united front, and that front is united behind the crown. The horrifying back-alley secret spy work, torture, and assassinations are all run by the same people who run the government at large, who everyone knows run the government at large, in service to furthering the power of the government at large (and therefore their own power, of course, because one thing feeds the other.)

It's a power struggle, but it's not a class struggle, not really. The average citizens of the Dwendalian empire generally do pretty well, when they're not being targeted or scapegoated by some machination of the government itself. It's easy to be middle-class in the Empire, or to convince yourself that you're middle-class, to be a farmer who never has trouble putting food on the table, to be a merchant or a blacksmith or a winemaker or an artisan. It's easy to enjoy a fine standard of living even if you're not one of the people with power. So long as none of the people in power decide you're more useful in misery.

Jrusar is different.

The government of Jrusar is secret. Nobody knows who runs the city. People take it on faith, generally, that somebody runs the city -- infrastructure is maintained, cops get paid, there's no open warfare in the streets most days -- but this city is fucked up in ways that sometimes mirror the Dwendalian Empire, and sometimes are entirely new.

When I call C3 a class warfare campaign, what I mean is that it's been showing us economic stratification everywhere we look since day one. We have seen, thus far, no middle class in this city. We've seen astonishingly rich people, but mostly we've seen working-class people just about scraping by. We see aging artisans, those people who would have been comfortably middle class in Emon or Zadash, trying to make ends meet by letting out their spare room or breaking a werewolf out of jail for a job recommendation. We see bartenders and performers who never appear to be making enough to support a family (unless that family is part of the trade and performing too). We see warehouse and factory workers who go to those bars and performances and bars and bars and bars at the end of their workdays, and drink their dinner and eat their Meals. (People drink a lot, in Jrusar. People drink a lot in CR in general, but then, our parties have always been on the move and staying in inns and taverns to begin with, and when they had a place to sit and settle they'd inevitably find neighbors who did all sorts of things with their evenings that weren't 'go down to the local and get blitzed'.)

Nobody seems to have a spouse, a family, children. There really don't seem to be a lot of children in Jrusar.

Which isn't to say that all of Jrusar is like this! There are several spires we've never even visited, and plenty of places throughout this very big city that could be a world of experience away. There are plenty of places in Tal'dorei and the Empire, likewise, that might function like this. But that's why it's a campaign theme, not just a locational one -- because the places we're looking in C3, the things we've actually seen, all fall into this same pattern. And some of that is absolutely down to the way the government here functions.

The thing we keep hearing, over and over again, from all sorts of different corners in Jrusar, is 'the city's going to shit'. Nobody ever follows it up with a 'since'. It's never 'since that guy took power', or 'since the Natural Disaster', or 'since that new policy went into place' -- it's just going, going, gone towards some unspecified "shit". A gradual worsening of general affairs. A diffused, maybe even imaginary, decline.

This isn't an accident, either on Matt's part or on the part of the people in charge of the city. The interesting thing about 'the city's gone to shit' as a muttered refrain is that nobody necessarily agrees on what that means. (Who here has heard 'this country's gone to hell in a handbasket' before? Which hell? Which handbasket?) What was it like before that was so good, that we've lost now? Do people even know, do they have concrete things to point to, or is it just a sort of pervasive discontentment? Fear and insecurity because of violence, because of poverty, because of working too hard? And the violence has always been there (but maybe not in your neighborhood), and the poverty's always been a problem (but everything just keeps getting more crowded), and work is work (but there are more jobs in mining than in making things, and look I'm not saying Marxist concept of alienation of labor, but I'm also not NOT saying that ok).

People are unhappy, and they don't really have anything concrete they can point to as the source of their unhappiness. Not on any unified, structured basis, not as a movement rather than a couple of dozen people hidden in an attic.

And this? This is great for the people in power in Jrusar. Sure, everybody's unhappy -- what of it? Unhappiness is always rampant. The important thing is that nobody's directly unhappy with them.

Nobody can strike up a petition to demand that Bobby Treshi step down from the Chandai Quorum if nobody knows Bobby Treshi is on the Chandai Quorum. Nobody can show up at Suzie Lumas's office and make her pay attention to anything if she doesn't have an office. Nobody can influence, petition, persuade, bother, or cancel anybody in the Quorum if nobody knows who they even are.

What's more, this seems to be related to a general lack of transparency in governance in Jrusar in general. There's another essay I want to write about Rule of Law in C3 (which I was going to include here but holy shit this post is already REAL LONG), but basically what it sums up to is, I have no idea exactly what's legal or illegal here, and my guess is that much of the people who actually live in this city agree. Is murder legal? Okay, but what if a bounty hunter does it? How do bounty hunters work, exactly? Who pays the cops' salaries?

One important aspect of the Tal'dorei council is the simple fact that, not only are the names of the council public, so are their respective positions. We know that there's a Master of Development whose job is civil infrastructure, and a Master of Commerce whose job is the budget, and a Master of Law who runs the courts. We know what the jobs even are. We know their duties and responsibilities. We know how the republic is run.

We know none of that, here in Jrusar. Not only do we not know who's in charge of civil infrastructure relating to public transit, we don't know if anybody is. Do the sewage maintenance projects just get sort of shoved off onto the desk of whoever in the Secret Cabinet Meetings doesn't nose-goes fast enough? Is there some young mid-level civil servant somewhere who's running the entire cable car system single-handedly because his boss can't get an audience with her boss outside of a thirty-minute appointment slot booked two weeks in advance, and even then she's only talking to the Official Mouthpiece of the Council rather than the councilor themself? How the fuck does anybody get anything done???

And like, many of these are basic logistical questions that can get kind of smoothed over in a fictional universe and a D&D game, because mid-level government bureaucracy isn't nearly as sexy as secret conspiracies and elaborate heists. But we also see the results of these things manifest in the campaign itself. We see the wild, rampant stratification between people who definitely go to dinner parties with whoever's in charge of the government (even if you're not sure who at this dinner party it is), and the people who don't even have a name to call out. We see the no-oversight corruption endemic in the police system, which definitely appears to be the only way most people in the city interface with their government at all. We see citizens who want specific, targeted change trying to do it via flyers and petitions that maybe nobody will even see.

We see the way basic infrastructure amenities like the cable cars could be improved -- and this was sort of a joke, last Thursday, except that it's not. It came up because the players themselves are feeling the nickle-and-dime ding of having to pay the same toll that working-class citizens in Jrusar have to pay every day, unless they can afford to live in the same nice spire where they work, unless they can't afford to move out of the same shitty one. And there's nobody to tell, nobody in charge who would even know it was an issue.

Jrusar is a mess. And it's a mess in the way that a city-state with a government this utterly un-transparent should and would be a mess.

#cr spoilers #critical role #campaign 3 #cr3 #driveby meta attack #oh god and there's so many things I didn't even get into #seriously RULE OF LAW and the ROLE OF POLICE and #I'll get there #there's so much to say

[c-is-for-circinate]

Episode! One! Reaction!

Oh wow I am not used to the 1 AM thing any more, I got so used to actually sleeping, wow.

Okay just rattling some thoughts off, here we go:

I love all four of our new characters so much? Like, so much that I almost regret the returning characters we also have, not because I don't also love them but because what if we had more of this. (But soon they'll all be this together, whatever this turns out to be.)

I am so serious about class as a major theme of this campaign. Like, obviously it's only episode one! who knows! But I'm feeling something-something-solidarity-something out of our new characters, and Bertrand Bell intersects with that in some really interesting ways, and I think I really want it?

Because right, you could tell from episode one of the last campaign that this was an outsider narrative! This overarching, constant theme that we carried through for a hundred and twenty-odd episodes was that this was a motley group of people who don't fit anywhere. The goblin in the mask, the cleric of a forbidden god, the traveling carnival that nobody trusts which can only stay so long and not longer -- it was about social isolation, about being alone, and having the chance to find a handful of other people to be weird outsiders with. (And yes, of course the final big bad at the end of the campaign was assimilation. Of course it was.)

And the thing is: that's not what we have, here.

(oh no, episode one meta got long, Read More after the cut)

Our characters starting out here -- and I'm leaving the EXU trio to the side for a moment, I'll get to them later -- are poor. And they're poor in a different way than newbie adventurers often are. They're not just temporarily strapped for cash until they take the next easy-to-come-by job that will set them up for life. They are poor in lifestyle, in resources, in connections, in socioeconomic power, and in a way that suggests this is and has been and, were it not for today's events, would continue to be a long-term thing.

And also: They are not wealthy, they are not important, they are not respected. But they are also, even outside their own party, not alone.

I love Imogen and Laudna so fucking much, already. Everything about their vibe speaks to long comfortable companionship, not of the 'we rely on each other for codependent survival' way (which, face it, is as much pre-game Vax and Vex as it is pre-game Nott and Caleb), but in a 'we know and share each other's problems' sort of way, a comfortable sort of way. They're not busy trying to caretake one another or step in front of each other's bullets, they're just on the same page about goals and steps to reach them.

They're not set up in opposition to the world. They're very much part of the world. They buy groceries for their landlady, they do her dishes, she knits them socks! They try so hard to go through official channels for these university resources. And yes, they're different, they're not from around here, they're a little weird, Imogen hears thoughts and Laudna looks like death, but. "We've done well for ourselves here," they say, and they mean it. And what that means to them is, we have a warm and comfortable place to call home, and a person who welcomes us there and doesn't charge more for rent than we can afford. We have enough to live on and we haven't been chased out of town on a rail.

And like, just that, just with that, we're already making class statements. We're already setting up a situation where these two ladies, who don't have money, who don't have influence or relations, who aren't important, can't get access to a resource they need (for whatever reason). (Which--it sure seems like the resource they're looking for is knowledge about their own magical powers, which, y'know, fun magic bonuses aside, sure seem to work a lot like disabilities for them in at least a couple of ways. Socioeconomic gatekeeping access to disability resources? In my fantasy fiction? It's more likely than you think.)

And then we get Ashton and FCG, and the fucking queer punk group house that is inhabited by too many people with not quite enough money to pay the cheap-ass rent that doesn't quite cover repair work for the holes in the walls, not really enough of anything to go around, but also someone found a half-broken robot in a pile of dead bodies and brought it home and now we have one more roommate because sure, why not, right? Ashton's all surface cynicism and sour bite, but they know people. They network! They live gig-economy style, one payday to the next, and they know who to talk to for the possibility of work, dozens of people know Ashton by name and general skill set. Ashton knows them all by name right back. And for all their cynicism and pretense of not caring, they've adopted FCG entirely: here, this is my new robot friend, this is the new guy, this is what they can do, this is what they're looking for. Here, let me show you around town, let me tell you what to expect, you're cool, I like you. (And right, part of this is Taliesin, who is literally incapable of creating a character that doesn't have a place and a community, family or otherwise, broken or otherwise, to belong to. But Percy's family was dead and Caduceus's family was gone, and Molly's circus broke and shattered and left him. Ashton's community is an entire neighborhood, is businesses and individuals and fundamental socioeconomics. He may have to leave it for a while, but it's going to still be there, unless the entire neighborhood burns. In which case we really are looking at total class warfare.)

And ok, let's talk about class warfare for a minute. Let's talk Bertrand Bell.

I am so fucking fascinated by the choice to revive Bertrand Bell, of all characters, for this campaign. And I love the role he's playing here.

Bertrand Bell is a con man. He's a charlatan. He once got dragged through literal Pandemonium and back because he bragged too much and got called out on it. He has always pretended to know more than he really knows, to be able to do more than he really can, getting by on bluff and swagger and a very impressive sword. But now? Well, he's older, now. He's not level 18 any more. He's a level 5 fighter. He's got to work to stay up with the lifestyle to which he's accustomed, let alone grind towards the lifestyle to which he's always aspired to become accustomed.

So he drops names, he makes deals, he tries so damn hard to ingratiate himself to the upper class, the people he wants to be with. And they don't respect him at all, because of course they don't, because they're elderly in secure luxury and he's elderly but still on that hustle, because he doesn't have the resources to put it down. And his solution to his dilemma, very pertinently, is to prey on people with even fewer resources than himself.

I absolutely believe the aspersions cast on 'did Bertrand Bell set up the whole animated-objects debacle to try and lure some promising adventurers'. One hundred percent, I believe it. He jumped on them the instant the fight was over. He was obviously desperate, given his reception at Lord E's manor. It is painfully transparent how much he thinks he needs this, and it doesn't even seem to be a case of blackmail or gambling debts or threats hanging over him or any of that. Lord E would've been happy enough to never see him again. The only bad thing that happens to Bertrand Bell if he doesn't summon up this group of baby adventurers to sacrifice on the altar of upward mobility is that...he doesn't get what he wants. Doesn't get the resources he thinks he needs, the money, the clout, the status, the attention.

And that's an interesting story! That's a really interesting force to be putting up alongside a team of people who, for the most part, largely just seem to be trying to get by. I can't wait to see where they go with it.

I did promise to come back around to our EXU trio, too, so let's get into that. They've got a lot of interesting potential here, maybe especially Dorian, though we'll see how long he's sticking around for. (He's a born-and-raised very rich kid, from this general region of the globe, who left his family for Complicated Reasons and clearly has unresolved feelings about the wealth he came from. Interesting.) Mostly, though, what we see from Fearne and Orym is an outsider perspective on the entire system. Fearne and Orym aren't part of the class structure of this city. They're tourists. Foreigners. Adventurers, and if we've seen anything over on Tal'dorei, it's that "adventurer" is its own socioeconomic class entirely. (The details of which I think are due when it's not two in the morning.)

Adventurers don't worry about the day-to-day basic economics of survival -- there's always another monster to kill if you need cash, or a wealthy patron to spot you an airship or an inn, or a vault to loot, or something. Fearne steals a man's earring for fun and shinies, not money. An adventurer doesn't have to rely on the goodwill of one city's community just to live in, because they can travel anywhere. They bring their own community in the form of their party, and never leave home without it.

Orym and Fearne especially don't come from socioeconomic backgrounds that look anything like this city even before they became adventurers. Druid communes or feywild villages don't have a lot in common with urban class stratification! Which means that they're going to be learning a lot of this stuff for the very first time, seeing some of it reflecting on their fellow party members, and building their relationships with it anew. How do tourists fit in with a local socioeconomic system? Either they fund it from the outside with their presence, or they assimilate.

.

.

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Anyway. Maybe I'm wrong! Maybe none of these themes or ideas will ever come back again. But I'm feeling very 2021 right now, with all that entails, and it's making me think that maybe-just-maybe this story's feeling it too. Why not tell a story about eating the rich before the rich can devour the poor? I'd be up for that. I'd be up for watching CR do that.

(Of course, given that it's a quarter after two in the morning and I still care enough to finish this post, I'd be up for watching CR do a lot of things. Still. The point stands.)

#C watches critical role #cr spoilers #driveby meta attack #critrole #fuck how the hell did I tag these

[c-is-for-circinate]

As promised: let's talk Hades, and how acts of abuse can create toxic environments for everyone around them, and also how people react to those environments--and to them being disrupted.

(For reference, I have just kicked Theseus's ass for the first time, it was exactly as satisfying as it was intended to be, and then I got predictably slaughtered a couple of chambers into Styx. Spoilers for everything through that point, but please no spoilers in reblogs/comments for anything after that!) Also, TW for a whole lot of discussion of abuse, particularly verbal and emotional abuse, and abusive familyworkplace dynamics.

Okay, so. To start out with, Hades is an abusive parent. He engages in innumerable acts of verbal and emotional abuse towards his son, because yep, that's what you call it when a parent constantly berates and belittles their kid for every perceived failure, including the ones the parent themselves could have prevented. Sometimes especially the ones the parent could have prevented. Zagreus failed at his office clerk job because Hades refused to teach him how to do it and then blamed him for not already knowing how. Cerberus tore up the lounge because Hades, who was actually there, chose not to stop him. Hades created, possibly deliberately, and then took full advantage of every opportunity he saw to insult and demean his kid, and the clerk job flashback shows us that he was doing so even before the escape attempts started. I'm pretty sure we're all on the same page here, but: yep, that all constitutes abuse, even if they're gods. Even if Hades has reasons for Being Like That. Even if you think Zagreus seems okay and unharmed by it (which: repeatedly throwing yourself into a gauntlet of violence that inevitably ends in your own pain and death because you're so desperate to escape home, not actually an indicator of someone who's okay). We all good on that?

Cool. Because I'm not really here to talk about how Hades' abuse directly impacts Zagreus right now (although there's for sure an essay in that too). I'm thinking about how it impacts everybody else.

Hades isn't as obviously unreasonable with anybody else in his kingdom the way he is with his kid. When we see him lecture somebody else, it's usually for an actual failure to do their job: Hypnos for literally falling asleep on the job and not doing anything that was assigned to him, Megaera for letting us past her so many time, Orpheus for being a court bard who refuses to sing. His attitude is super confrontational and unpleasant, but on the surface it doesn't necessarily look as fucked-up. Thing is, though, whether any individual act of aggression towards an employee/family member is justified or not (I would generally argue 'not', because aggression towards employees/family members is, y'know, not justifiable)--it's not about the individual acts. It's about the entire cultivated atmosphere of toxicity and abuse.

One of the very first things Meg ever says to us is, "I'd rather be on your bad side than his." Up until that point, we've got no reason to believe Meg has any history whatsoever of fucking up at her job. In fact, we've got plenty of reason to believe she's good at it. She's fiercely proud of it, she's frequently Employee Of The [Time Period], and we've apparently never even met her sisters because she handles her shit herself. But she's still scared of Hades. Dusa, who is an anxious wreck at all times because oh god what if she gets fired what if she gets fired what if she gets fired, in spite of apparently being absolutely exemplary at her job, is scared of Hades. Every single shade in the Hall is clearly terrified of Hades, and it's not because of what he's done to each of them. It's what they've seen him do to other people.

Which is how toxic environments work, whether they're work environments or families. The Court of Hades is of course both, always, with the bonus hell layer of you can't quit even if you DIE. An abuser in authority doesn't have to target you in order to make you feel scared, cowed, and desperate to please them. Humans (and gods who are basically extra-powerful humans) are good at learning by example. The residents of the Court get the picture.

So this Court is a minefield--and everyone except Zagreus is very good at tiptoeing around mines. We see it in Meg, so desperate to do her job well. We see that Hypnos very clearly does not give a shit about anything, but he still makes sure to have a list of excuses ready if/when Hades ever confronts him about failure to do his job, just in case. We see it when Achilles tells us that my ability to help you is constrained by the authority your father gives me, or whatever the line was sixty runs ago when he couldn't let me into locked chambers. The system, such as it is, works, and if Nyx talks to Hades as little as possible, if Thanatos avoids the Court entirely, if Achilles treads very carefully and knows how to keep his head down--well that's just the system, right? That's just how things are.

Even Zagreus seems to have had a role in that system as the court fuckup. He's the kid who didn't have a real job or purpose. He could take the focus of Hades' generalized, day-to-day ire off of everyone else, without triggering some of the more direct and violent ire because the work he was doing didn't really matter (a LOT of Hades' rage-triggers seem to be related to job performance, which means that the people with real jobs are of course the most at risk). And he could do so "safely" (big emphasis on the quotation marks there) because he alone of the court is Hades' actual kid, who's Prince of the Underworld no matter how much he fucks up. If one of Nyx's other kids gets something really really wrong, she might be able to protect them from some consequences, but Hades doesn't have any layer of supposed parental affection holding him back from getting violently furious about it. Zagreus gets a nice bedroom and the abuse is limited to words rather than divine power, and Hades is a dick to everyone but he only occasionally condemns people to eternities of torture, and only for good reasons like refusing to sing when your job is to be court bard, so it's fine, everybody's fine, everything's totally fine, right?

Except it's not fine when everybody is so clearly worried about anything going wrong. And it's especially not fine for Zagreus, who's the person to finally say no. He's leaving, for his own sake, because he deserves better and he's finally convinced he can have it. And that turns the whole system into disarray.

I am endlessly fascinated by the ways this game portrays different characters reacting to this upheaval in their carefully-mapped minefield. It's different for authority figures and peers and servants, different based on how people are positioned in the house under Hades' rule, and it's so spot-on and I love it.

Nyx, for instance, is absolutely calm about the whole thing, because Nyx has power. Hades can't hurt her. Hades can't even really do much against her children, not when Hypnos and Thanatos are gods in their own right. Yes, Hades rules the kingdom, but Nyx owns the land, and she gives no shits about his rages. And it's interesting, too, to see the lines she doesn't draw. The deal seems to be that Hades doesn't fuck with her, and doesn't outright threaten her kids (because Hypnos is bad at his job, demonstrably so, and Hades hasn't ruined him yet), and she doesn't interfere with the way he treats the people around him. She gives Zagreus advice and support and the mirror, but she also doesn't take a direct stand against Hades. He can't hurt her, but he could make life...difficult. She's protected, her position in the minefield is more of a safe viewing platform than slogging through the middle of it, but the mines are still there.

And then we have Achilles, who is one of my favorite characters in the whole game because of how he reacts to this whole situation. Achilles, like Nyx, is so supportive. Every single time you see him he has something encouraging to say. He gives us his Codex, secretly finds us weapons, trained us for years, clearly wants us to succeed. And still he's limited, not necessarily out of fear for himself (though he has to be scared for himself, he knows what Hades does to people who anger him), but out of concern that if he gives Zagreus too much help in one way, he won't be able to provide help at all later. He's still so careful.

Achilles and Nyx are so fucking important to this story because they're the only authority figures Zagreus really has in his life except for his father, and they are so supportive. They're what keep this story from being a nightmare of psychological horror and depression. They can't stop the pressure from Hades and this life in his house being miserable for Zag, but they can give us hope, remind us that Zagreus is still loved. And they have such an incredibly important role when it comes to guilt, which is one of the biggest ways toxic systems maintain themselves.

If Zagreus leaves, what happens to everybody else? Who takes Hades' wrath then? Who becomes court scapegoat if he's not there, and also, who gets punished for his escape? These questions matter, and we see him worry about it! He asks Nyx and Achilles both, is it going to be okay that you're helping me, are you going to be alright, will my father hurt you for this? And they are both so firm about telling him no. No, I will be fine. See, here's the list of reasons about why I'm going to be fine, why my position in this minefield is secure. They make a point of telling us that it's fine, that we do not need to hold ourself back from getting out of this abusive situation for their sake. That is instrumental in Zagreus's ability to keep making these escape attempts without feeling too guilty and worried and selfish to go on. (Another thing that's actually really important in setting up that dynamic--we see that Hades cares about Cerberus, even if he's using him as a pawn against us, and Cerberus seems to be the one figure in court who Hades doesn't get mad at. The dog isn't at risk, and that is really essential in keeping the story from getting too grim.) These people who we care about refuse to let themselves be held hostage to secure our good behavior.

It's also really useful for raising the stakes later in the story--we see Hades arguing with Nyx once or twice, and we see Zagreus feeling guilty about it, but it's also a sign that we're making enough progress to piss him off. After I finally made it out of Elysium on my last run, I came home to find him furious with Achilles in a way that actually makes me nervous, because Achilles does not have nearly as much security in his position as he says he does. (Achilles is such a good teacher/authority figure, because he knows goddamn well what Hades could do to him, and still refuses to let fear for his own situation stop him from helping the abused kid under his care escape his. And no, not everybody has the capacity to do that, but it matters so much coming from the guy who helped raise us. It matters so much. I do not even have the words for how much.)

It's also no mistake that many of the people we find supporting us along our journey are either the people with the most power in their immediate environment, or the least. Sisyphus helps us because what more could they do to me than this? Orpheus is a little wild around the eyes and somewhat disconnected from reality, and he wishes us the best because someone should get what they want and also he no longer gives a single fuck what happens to him. Eurydice has her own cozy little corner of Asphodel, as safe from Hades' rage as anybody anywhere in his realm because she's tucked in such an out-of-the-way middle place she's outside his notice. Dusa is so scared of everything anyway that, crush aside, she isn't any more threatened by us escaping than she is just by her everyday life here. Charon is unfathomable and unstoppable; Skelly literally exists to be a punching bag, and yet he also seems basically immune to pain, no matter what we do to him. There's no threat from Hades there.

So the people most at risk when I flip the world on its ear are the ones who have so much standing that they have something to lose, but not enough to protect them from losing it. Which of course brings us to Than and Meg--who are, of course, the two people who also seem by far the most upset by my attempts to leave.

As authority figures, Nyx and Achilles are constantly reinforcing the message that it's Hades' fault, not ours, if they or anybody else get caught in the crossfire of his wrath. I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, and it's not my guilt to bear. From Megaera and Thanatos, we get the opposite message--I am fucking with things, I am hurting people, and I need to stop. Zagreus isn't just abandoning them, as a friend or brother or lover or all of the above they're Greek gods who even knows. He's betraying them. They were in this together, as friends or lovers or whatever, but now Zagreus is sending earthquakes through the minefield they both still have to stand in. He is about to capsize this boat in the middle of a thunderstorm, he is fucking with the system, and they're the ones who are going to get most hurt.

I'm so curious how this is going to work for Than, who out of everyone we meet holds the closest role to Nyx's in terms of being sheltered from Hades' wrath. He's the guy who gets to leave, after all, even though he always has to come back. I've seen the least of him out of anybody so far because it took forever for me to get to Elysium, but two things really stand out and I'm so interested to see where they go. One, he really genuinely does care about Zagreus. He wants us safe, he wants us unhurt, the accessory he gives us only grants its bonus if we clear a room without taking injury, he keeps showing up to help. And two, he wants us to give up and go back and recognize how good we had it. Which is SO fucking interesting, considering how miserable Zagreus so clearly was, and how legitimate his reasons for being miserable were.

It makes me wonder so much about Than's standards for comparison. Does he know something we don't about what's waiting for us on the surface, something that might theoretically hurt Zagreus even more than staying down below? Has his life, which apparently allows him more freedom than anybody else in the Court, sucked horribly in ways we haven't seen, and that's why he spends so little time there in the first place? Either of those things is plausible, both of those things are plausible, and yet either one leads to this sense of patronizing, because he refuses to simply tell us. If something terrible is awaiting us, don't give us vague warnings, tell us what it is and let us decide for ourself! If you're fucking jealous because we might get out entirely and you're still stuck coming back here, say so. If you're worried about your mom--and he does bring her up, how could Zagreus turn his back on her like that, does seem to worry for her--then let's have an actual conversation about how many times she has insisted I do this and also how much I love her.

And, right, it's clear that a lot of Thanatos being upset is simply, you were going to leave me without even saying goodbye, you want to leave ME, which is understandable! But, like, he is demonstrably the one god who gets to visit the surface. He's the one person we actually COULD expect to see again. And he is absolutely also upset because there's an Order To Things, and we're fucking it up. We used to be his careless callow reckless friend who could talk back to Hades and get away with it, and now we're not, and everything is changing and we might leave him altogether, and we might leave him alone in that court without us, and he hates it.

Is it a short-sighted, selfish fear on his part? Yes, absolutely. Even if he's not scared of Hades on his own behalf, he is still frightened by what happens if we upset this system--and maybe it's the sanctity of a much bigger system than the Underworld that he's worried about! Maybe it's the whole divine and cosmic order. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect is enabling the abuse Zagreus has been dealing with for however-long he's been alive. Whatever system he wants so badly to protect OUGHT to be overturned, or at least shaken up. But this is what toxic systems DO. They convince the people within them that they have to be maintained, that a broken system that hurts the people within it is far better than no system at all, that changing the world is too scary and too dangerous. And Thanatos wants his whatever-Zagreus-is-to-him to be there, because he loves him and also because that's how the world works, and those things are all tangled up in one another, and that is how relationships are in a messed-up family like this so therefore I love it.

And Meg. Meg, the best for last, my dear, beautiful, furious, bitter, scared angry tired girl. I adore her. I am absolutely never going to date her, because the thing Zagreus needs most in his life hurts her, more directly than anybody else in the story, and that sucks, and it's not Zag's fault but they still shouldn't be together. Meg has taken more injury from this situation than anyone, quite literally as well as metaphorically, and it's not her fault any more than it's ours, but oh boy it has made her lash out and it's awful and it's perfect.

Meg's place in the Court of Hades is unique because she's not dead, not a mortal, not anything other than a god--but she's also not family. Nyx is not her mother. She's very much part of this system, she and her two sisters belong to Hades-the-realm and therefore also Hades-the-king, she can't leave, but she also doesn't have that protection of Nyx watching out for her in the same way. She's not royalty. She and her sisters (if you ask Hesiod instead of Virgil, which seems to be the interpretation the game's going with here) sprang from the blood of maimed Uranus at the same time as Aphrodite, but fuck knows Aphrodite isn't claiming them as siblings. And she can't be fired, exactly, but she sure can be demoted, and she sure can be made miserable in her job. Meg is vulnerable in a way very few people in Hades' employ are. She's a lot harder to do away with than any one random shade, but she's also a lot harder to miss blending in with a crowd.

What's more, she's the one person in this whole mess who is specifically tasked with stopping us from leaving. Hypnos isn't ordered to put us to sleep and keep us in our room. Thanatos can't be compelled or punished if he doesn't hunt us down. Achilles isn't told to lock us up and keep the keys. Meg is the one stationed at the doorway to Tartarus to keep us in. Meg is the one who gets in trouble when we leave. Meg (who Hades knows goddamn well Zagreus cares for, or cared for, who he absolutely knows we used to date) is the one who has to fight us again and again and again. And she's the one who keeps dying.

Again, it's this incredibly fucked-up guilt/hostage situation deliberately designed to keep people from fleeing abusive situations. Meg's insistence on fighting us now puts Zagreus in the position of having to hurt her himself again and again. Now suddenly we're the ones sticking a sword in our ex-girlfriend. Now suddenly someone can point to our desire to leave, to flee, to escape, and say, how selfish. How cruel. How terrible of us to want to go, when we're even willing to hurt the people we love to do it.

Except, right: Hades is the one who demands Meg stand there and stop us. Hades is the one who puts both of us in that position. Meg is also in an abusive situation, and she's willing to hurt us to protect herself. "I'd rather be on your bad side than your father's." It's easy to blame her at the start for being complicit, for being a tool of our father's abuse, for being on his side. It gets harder as the game goes on. I've killed her so many times. There's no way for her to beat me. She knows at this point that she can't beat me. She still fights, every single time, still throws herself upon that spike, not because she thinks she has any chance of stopping me but because she is so damn scared of what will happen if she doesn't try.

In fact, Meg's the one person we have actually seen face consequences for our actions so far, instead of just facing the threat of them. Her sisters are here. Her sisters, who she clearly does not want here, who are wild and violent and who she does not want in her life or anywhere near her, let alone near the job she takes so much pride in. She gets to deal with them now. (Hades doesn't have to deal with them. They're still not allowed in his court. But Meg does.) She gets stabbed, and bludgeoned, and shot, and lightning-struck, and poisoned, and every other thing we do to her. Thanatos doesn't. Nyx and Achilles and Hypnos don't. Bug Meg? Oh yes. Meg pays.

And yes, ok, she is complicit in this system. Everybody is complicit in this system. Zagreus who's trying to escape on his own behalf instead of overthrowing his father for the sake of everyone he'd otherwise be leaving behind is complicit in this system. Pointing fingers and pulling strings of who's more at fault? and who do we blame for this? is exactly how this sort of system perpetuates itself. Your sister always talked back at the dinner table and put everyone in an even worse and more violent mood. Your coworker refuses to work more than forty hours a week so now you have to take overtime to pick up their slack. You're enabling your dad by asking your sister to shut up, you're enabling your employer by working as hard as you do so you don't get fired, everyone's at fault, everyone's to blame, everyone is--

It's not everyone. It's Hades. It's Hades at the root of everything, and probably something big and institutional and fucked-up even beyond him. But even if everyone down in this Underworld does have to be trapped here forever, even if he's trapped here forever, Hades is neither challenging the system that put them here nor trying to make that fate better for anyone else stuck with him. He's just created an entire kingdom of backbiting and misery and people who can either go along with his whims or suffer the consequences.

At this point in the game, Meg is so fucking tired. Every time we run into her in the lounge, hunched over a table, the venom in her voice when she tells us "Do I look like I have anything to say to you?" is so bitter and so exhausted. There was a system, and she knew her place in the system, and it was a system divinely ordered by the gods themselves, and sure it was cruel but that's the literal will of the universe as far as she knows it. She had a role, and her role was vengeance and punishment and violence against those who'd committed the most egregious of sins in life, and there was a point to it, she was the divine deterrent to convince people not to do those things, and that was just, and that was right. The GODS THEMSELVES said so. How do you argue with that? You can't possibly argue with that!

And Zagreus is arguing with that. In trying to leave, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that nothing in the Underworld ever gets to leave it. In disobeying his father to do so, he's questioning the unbreakable rule that what the gods say is LAW. He's breaking everything.

And of course he's not trying to do any of that. He's not trying to destabilize the system at all. He's just trying to get himself out of it, to a place where he feels like he belongs and maybe a parent who's slightly nicer to him than this one. But toxic systems like this one break when the people within them have access to another option. When the kids find a way to actually leave, and not answer the phone, and not come home for holidays, and not deal with it any more. When the employees have the economic freedom to quit. When opportunities granted by education, money, social support, etc etc etc, show up and give people a choice. Even if the option is only ever for Zagreus--he's demonstrating that an option exists. Which is, of course, the one thing the system cannot ever allow.

I really like this game.

#hades game #hades spoilers #C plays stuff #driveby meta attack

[c-is-for-circinate]

The Mighty Nein have exactly three ways of dealing with enemies, and that is so fascinating to me.

Befriend.  Between Essek and Isharnai, this has been pretty front-and-center lately, but it’s not actually a recent development.  The M9 have been cozying up to potential threats and making nice as far back as Zadash, when they first discovered the Gentleman’s operations and then promptly decided to go to work for him.  It happens in Hupperdook, when they spend all day swearing bloody murder and hunting down the pickpockets who robbed them, and then promptly adopt four more children and nearly die getting their parents out of prison.  It happens in the Bright Queen’s throne room, when they walk into the innermost heart of the nation they’ve been told for fifty sessions is their enemy, and become heroes of the Dynasty.  There’s a tribe of giants who owe them their home and their gratitude and a band of no-longer-bandits who owe them their lives and their pants-wetting terror, because sometimes that is just how the M9 roll. There are so few people this party actually has a stake in killing.  Monsters, whatever, needs must, but like--who the hell are they to judge?  (The first monsters and enemies they ever made friends with, after all, were each other.)

All-out slaughter.  When the Nein do decide they really want to kill someone, they fucking go for the jugular.  True, murder is pretty standard in D&D, but the Nein often throw both caution and reason out the window when something hits their kill button.  This is almost everything about the pirate arc, starting that day in Nicodranas where they tried to talk threateningly to two guys and ended up committing domestic terrorism and then also murdering their way into ownership of a ship, ending that time they got kicked off Pirate Island in less than 24 hours because they decided to rend Avantika asunder the first instant they had the chance.  It’s their entire brief enmity with Lorenzo--they would not wait, they would not plan, they would not stop, and they would not under any circumstances, no matter what Matt wanted of planned, let him go. Hell, this is how ‘prank call Essek in the middle of a dinner party’ turned into ‘paralyze, kidnap, and interrogate’ in the first place.  This group does not do long games if they can possibly help it.

Absolute avoidance.  There are, sometimes, enemies the Nein dislike too much to befriend and aren’t strong enough to kill.  U’kotoa.  Trent Ikithon.  These opponents are relatively rare, because the Nein do absolutely everything player-ly possible to distance themselves from them at every opportunity.  Don’t want to unleash an immense immortal sea serpent?  Fuck just saying ‘no’, we’re headed to the opposite side of the continent from the ocean, and then we’re going to yeet that magic sword directly into a volcano for good measure.  You can’t threaten or blackmail me. This party is very, very good at avoidance on both a personal and collective level.  So much of the early game was built around getting the fuck away from the entire concept of war and law in general, once upon a time.  They have all of them stayed away from their own families, steering clear around Felderwin and Kamordah until they couldn’t any more, putting off visiting the Menagerie, sleeping on the boat instead of going back to Marion’s for one more night.  They run away from their own pasts and selves and inner demons.  They are not all entirely fond of mirrors.

The thing is, I’m always so fascinated by the moments when the party seems to surprise or vex Matt by derailing his plans, and while he’s generally so proud of them for it, what I’m thinking about tonight is his endless, futile attempts to give them a fucking nemesis already. I’m thinking about why it just keeps not working.  And I think it’s this!

This three-pronged approach to dealing with enemies, avoid-befriend-destroy, is basically a three-step guide to making sure you don’t have enemies any more.  In fact, I would say not-having-enemies-anymore is one of the highest priorities the M9 hold, and it has been, almost accidentally, since before the game even started.  The M9 have since the very beginning played what I can only describe as an extraordinarily defensive game.  They don’t go looking for trouble unless it’s specifically connected to some immediate threat to themselves or someone else.  The handful of mercenary contracts they’ve taken have almost universally been about, “hey, let’s do this thing for the Gentleman so he doesn’t decide to mistrust and kill us,” or, “let’s do this thing for the Gentleman so we can get the fuck out of town before they start conscripting to fight the Krynn Dynasty,” or, “hey, let’s do this thing for the Krynn Dynasty so they don’t decide to mistrust and kill us.”

And it’s not about trying to thwart Matt!  It’s about a party of characters who are all extremely defensive and avoidant in their own ways.  Some of it’s about the sheer trauma of everything to do with Molly, and some of it’s probably about the sheer trauma of everything to do with Vax and Raishan and Anna Ripley and every C1 mistake or villain that ever came back to haunt them, and some of it’s just baked into these new characters.  Everyone in this party is so fucking hurt and defensive before they even start.  The only thing that’s changed so far is the bit-by-bit careful broadening of their circle of ‘who to protect’ to include each other, and their friends, and maybe more or less half the world.

The one exception here is, of course, Obann, who has them on the ropes for almost 20 episodes--who they could not kill, and tried, and he had Yasha and they could not possibly join or befriend him, and he had Yasha and they could never forgive or ignore him, and he had Yasha and they could not kill him.  And the thing is, all I can remember right now is how painful so much of that arc was.  Everybody was so desperate.  Everybody was so miserable.  And still, and still, they could not think how to go around this problem any back way, could not recruit allies or head it off.  They could only just distract themselves with brief side quests in hopes that it might help them next time they hurled themselves head-first into trying all-out slaughter again, and again, and again.  It wasn’t like the Chroma Conclave.  They didn’t back out of the first desperate battle and decide to take the long way around on purpose, to measure and trick and evaluate and gather specific resources and plan.  They were so utterly lost.  They were so desperate.

I think that probably, Matt’s hope for Essek was indeed that he’d become the party’s long-term nemesis that Lorenzo and Avantika didn’t have the chance to be.  I think he was hoping the other night for Essek to get away and leave them all feeling suspicious and betrayed.  I think he was hoping a month or two ago that the M9 would head off away from the peace talks and never even find out about Essek until he tried to call in some of those favors for increasingly suspicious things or it all came back around to bite them in the ass.  I think he hoped for a very long time, maybe even a year ago when they met Essek in the first place, that this traitorous mole would become their Anna Ripley--the cold dark super-intelligent mirror to their own broken super-intelligent knifeblade of a friend, someone they could loathe and fear and despise and eventually, eventually destroy.

But the M9 don’t do nemeses if they have any way whatsoever to help it.  Good luck, Matt.  Pretty sure for this crew it is Trent Ikithon and U’kotoa and Tharizdun himself, and absolutely nobody else is big or bad enough for them to actually run up against for more than a single rematch, unless you get real fucking creative.

#CR spoilers #driveby meta attack #critical role

[c-is-for-circinate]

Ok, Hades gameplay reaction time!

(Because I have been terrible this quarantine year about posting thoughts about stories I've been invested in, and I'm really enjoying this game, and I'm playing basically blind and I have theories, and what is tumblr for if not recording those things to look back on later.)

I love this specific kind of fantasy/speculative fiction, that straddles the line between 'allegory clearly designed to explore a real-world issue' and 'the themes of this reflect real-world issues but also everything is times one million for drama and setting's sake'. I love it so much. Because, look, this is a story about a teenager/young adult trying to gather up the skills and resources and help he needs to escape his controlling, possessive, emotionally abusive father's house. That's it. Strip away all of the trappings, and that's what the story is about. By comparison, I think about Star Wars. (I love Star Wars too.) That's also a story about a dysfunctional fucked-up family dynamic. But that family is fucked up because dad went on a magic-corruption-induced killing spree, and his twin children were separated at birth to be raised in seclusion with the intention of someday taking him down, and look, that's cool, but it's definitely not how people actually are. All of the dysfunction in that family is an outgrowth of the fantastical setting, which means it is fantastical dysfunction. It can occasionally mirror or remind us of real-life interactions, but it's a fantasy. Which is great and fun to watch and very comforting and so on, but I don't necessarily want that in every story, and I love Hades because it is not that, at all. When you extend out the basic 'kid trying to escape his toxic home environment', Hades is the story of Zagreus trying to get out with the help of his dad's estranged, complicated, wealthy and powerful family, who are absolutely part of the reason why dad is Like That in the first place, and may not be any more reliable in the long run but who he needs right now. And his stepmom and teacher, who love him enough to help him leave, unconditionally and supportively (ask me how many feelings I have about 'look, Hades can't hurt me for helping you, don't worry about me, I am going to take care of you and that means helping you get out of this house' coming from an adult authority figure, ask me). And his dad's employees, who like him but also have to fear the old man's wrath, and walk that line in different places the best they can. And stepmom's long-estranged parent, because this is a story about families and how they split apart and come back together. And all of that is so real, so grounded in actual, concrete, this-is-how-humans-work family dynamics. But it's also individual. The story works so well because Hades isn't just a silhouette of the controlling asshole father; he is clearly The Way He Is for reasons, complicated ones, good and bad alike. The Way He Is has details, particularities, paperwork, a dog he pretends not to love and rely on. He is specific. Nyx and Achilles are specific, not just generic kind stepmom here to be a trope inversion and cardboard cutout teacher. Nyx has backstory and personality of her own, Achilles has a complex history, opinions, a missing lover, and they BOTH have very particular relationships with Hades that aren't just boilerplate script. Yes, there's abstraction there, you meet these characters in brief visual novel-esque three-line conversations over the course of dozens of escape runs, of course there's abstraction--but there's the very real sense that all of these people have nuance, have good and bad days, that they've made choices to be who they are, even if we don't know what those choices are yet. And, like Star Wars, some of the ways in which this story is so specific rely entirely on the fact of the otherworldly setting! I've seen stories that go the other way, that try to use their setting entirely as window dressing, and they end up feeling so flat I can't even remember them right now because they don't let the environment lend complexity and nuance to their characters at all. The environment these characters live in matters. The absolute control Hades exerts over his surroundings is a divine power. The fact that everyone Zag runs into, for or against him, is either immortal or immortally dead, changes how the react to

one another and to the situation at hand. The shape of his attempted escapes (gauntlet combat with a variety of legendary weapons) might be an allegorical construct of the genre, true, but it doesn't work in any sort of real-world setting where there exists the possibility of authority figures above or aside from Hades and his extended fucked-up family. That's part of why the family is so fucked-up in the first place. But these changes still fit well within the realm of, 'yeah, if you took this extremely real-life dynamic and added these factors to it, I can envision people doing this thing'. I can envision these specific people doing this thing. They add to the specificity of these characters. Letting them be influenced by their unreal surroundings makes them more real. So hell yes for good storytelling!!!!

I'm still relatively early in the game (by which I mean I'm like thirty runs in but only just got past Meg for the third time, because I am not good at this game, although in my defense it's only the seventh video game and second button-mashing game I have ever played in my life so there's that), but I'm starting to develop suspicions about Persephone. Because, look, outside of Persephone's absence from the underworld, this story knows its Greek mythology, uses it, revels in it. And there is some kind of mystery still shrouding Persephone leaving in the first place. She left a goodbye to Cerberus in her letter but not to her own son. Nyx has warned Zagreus multiple times not to let the Olympians know she's his mother. He literally never even knew she existed. That's complicated! Add to that, Persephone left--the exact thing we are trying and failing to do again and again and again. She left with one note, which means either she managed a one-shot speedrun out of the entire realm or she had some other way to leave, because if she'd washed up in the Styx pool to plod back to her room and try again, she wouldn't've needed to leave the note in the first place. And, you know, she's Persephone. Really quite famous for leaving the Underworld! Also quite famous for being forced back. So. I'm wondering if Zagreus, so conspicuously absent from her goodbye, has something to do with it after all. Six pomegranate seeds condemned Persephone to six months, half a year, half her life. I wonder if a child that's half of her her constitutes a fitting trade instead. Which, of course Hades would be even more resentful and dismissive and cruel to the kid he got in place of the wife he loved (who he chased away by being cold in the first place). Of course Persephone would have difficulty saying goodbye to her son in those circumstances. It would make sense. The tricky thing here is how the Olympians fit into it, because I also suspect the rift between Hades and Zeus sprang from Persephone's departure. And yet, if the Olympians never knew Zagreus existed, let alone that he's Persephone's son--how can he count as payment into the deal in their eyes? So in that case, what does Zeus think is the justification for Persephone leaving, after the pomegranate thing? Or are we just not doing the pomegranate thing at all? It would be a shame to lose it entirely, out of a story that really seems to enjoy the myths it's playing with. And there should be something complex here, something more than simply 'mom fucked off and left because dad sucked and now I'm following her because same'. It feels more complex than that. 'Mom and dad had a baby to try and save their marriage, it didn't work, but when mom left she had to leave me behind because otherwise dad would have gotten the cops and her extended family involved' feels more right, while still just as grounded in reality as the story has been so far.

I sort of want to write some meta about how each of the six legendary weapons corresponds to their original divine wielder, but I haven't unlocked all of their codex entries yet (look I am very bad with ranged weapons in this game ok, I am working on it), and I still need to think about the details. Aside from, of course, fuck yes of course Hestia's the one with the railgun. Leave drama and elegance and traditional weaponry to her brothers and sister (Demeter, who knows how to get her hands dirty, gets a pass). Hestia is out here to get shit done. With a grenade launcher.

#hades #hades game #zagreus #hades spoilers #I do not know this fandom are there tags I should be using? #C plays stuff #long post #driveby meta attack

[c-is-for-circinate]

Thinking today about viruses, allergies, oppression, and anti culture.

(under a cut because WHOOOPS this got long)

Racism is a virus. Homophobia, transphobia, sexism, antisemitism, ableism, etc etc etc, they are all viruses--a topic that many of us have learned a great deal about in the past year. They are ideas, yes, not literal physical diseases, but the analogy holds up. They are infectious, and often spread from person to person without anyone involved realizing they have it. They can sit latent for years, never showing up because the carrier never finds themselves in a situation where the issue comes up, only to flare up and take over when you least expect it. And they mutate, just like the flu, just like the common cold; they put on a new jacket every year and slide in undetected yet again, slip past our internal sensors and bury themselves in our brains until we go in and deal with them as best as we can.

One more thing we've learned about viruses this year is how we can fight them. The viruses of oppression are a little different because they tend to hurt the people around their carriers even more than the people they've infected (although let's talk about internalized anything-ism sometime), but in a lot of ways the attack is the same. You treat the symptoms even when you don't know how to cure the disease: we invest in respirators, antiviral treatments, hospitals; we create and sponsor programs to help those who've been hurt by various oppressions, we uplift our neighbors, we try to keep people safe from violences both big and small. You work to stop the spread: we wear our goddamn masks, we stay home when we can; we train ourselves not to say racist shit that might foster a culture of hate, we stop that guy in our office from making rape jokes, we make slurs unacceptable. You pay attention to your immune system: we seek medical attention when we experience symptoms, we get COVID tests, we talk to our doctors before the symptoms get deadly; we protest and we pay attention to the people who do, we take them seriously when they tell us that something is wrong.

You vaccinate. We train ourselves and our immune systems to recognize the thing that infects us, the thing that we fear. We try to teach our children about history, bit by little bit, on fragments of dead violence the same way we train our bodies on dead virus shells, so that someday they'll recognize the live disease when they see it. We learn about slavery and Jim Crow and the Holocaust. We tell kids bedtime stories about why hitting and bullying is bad, before we ever start teaching them the specific shapes that violence so often takes. As we get older, as we get stronger, we learn about the living stuff, all the new forms that same old virus has mutated into; we educate ourselves, we listen, we read. Just like vaccines, of course, there are anti-vaxxers and denialists shouting about how racism and sexism are already dead and they don't need any propoganda besides Fox News. Hell, just like anti-maskers, there are plenty of people screaming about how political correctness is ruining the world and they demand their right to spread their virus to anyone they can. Often these are the same people.

But we try. And make no mistake, we all of us are already infected, and just like a real virus, once you've caught it once it probably won't ever go away again--but we can prepare, and we can try to lessen the severity of our cases, and we can support our immune systems of activists and protesters and our own internal sense of this is wrong, and we can work, bit by bit, if not towards eradication (not yet, not in this world, but maybe someday in another), then at least towards control.

And then there's allergies.

An allergy is what happens when a human body's own immune system freaks out over an enemy that wasn't particularly harmful in the first place. All our immune defenses--those precious immune defenses, which work so hard to protect us against all those viral, deadly ideas--go screaming into high gear. All of that fear and fury and attack power gets brought to bear all at once, against a bit of pollen or bee venom or cat dander or peanuts, and your body is left itchy and runny-nosed and gasping--sometimes literally--as it tries to keep up. Allergies are miserable. Sometimes they're life-threatening. And the biggest danger isn't the foreign agent that triggers the allergic reaction; it's the immune system trying to fight it in the first place.

Which, yes, brings us to anti culture--but not JUST anti culture. It's a good example, a little internet-centric microcosm of the same force that drives progressives to tear bloody shreds out of moderate liberal politicians. Hell, it's the same force that enables both TERFs and the Capitol rioters. It's a combination of an immune system that points in the wrong direction, flagging the wrong thing as bad, terrifying, danger, NO, and a freaked-out response that can manifest as anything from mildly irritating to absolutely deadly.

To be clear, I am not by any means equating the scale or even the source of these things, any more than hayfever is the same as anaphylactic shock. Likewise, the sources are different. Sometimes, a disease can infect an immune system and point it in the wrong direction. (Terror of the other is the absolute cornerstone of white nationalism, and when that terror gets triggered by a harmless environmental condition like, god forbid, other people asking for rights, the allergy response can be deadly.) Other times, it's the other way around. Our internal immune systems, so well trained to protect ourselves and those around us from the insidious viral ravages of prejudice and oppression, start seeing traces of it everywhere.

And they freak out. And we suffer for it.

We talk a lot of well-deserved shit about TERFs, but it's useful to remember how much their nastiness feels to them like activism. Their immune system, trained and primed and sensitized over years of exposure to misogyny and sexism, catches the tiniest whiff of something that might seem at some point to have possibly been taken for male, and freaks out, because why is that trying to get into our system. Never mind that they're wrong. An immune system that flips out over penicillin is wrong, too. It's still trying to help, and it's still doing more harm than good trying it.

So bringing this back around to anti culture, which was absolutely where I started thinking about all of this this morning: anti culture, the terror of porn and the attempt by antis to protect themselves an other people from sexual content, is an immune response. It is a trained immune response, in people who have been taught and re-taught again and again that rape culture is a dangerous insidious virus that should be fought at all costs. And, right, there's more than a bit of 'the sexism virus infected this immune system and reprogrammed it to fight itself' involved here, but look, we are all of us infected with all of the viruses at least a little bit everywhere. If we tried to direct our immune systems to rip every last shred of -ism out of every last bit of us, we'd rip ourselves apart. Which is exactly the problem.

Porn, in and of itself, is natural. As natural as environmental pollen, and living near dogs and cats, and eating wheat or nuts or citrus fruit. It's even healthy, for a whole host of reasons that belong in another essay. And citric acid and nut-based proteins and whole grains are nutritious, and pets are physically and psychologically helpful, and being exposed to lots of different environmental substances as a child can actually help train your immune system in the first place. Porn can help us figure out what we like. It can help us figure out what we don't like. And while the processes that create it are sometimes unethical and awful, we don't condemn all dogs because puppy mills and dogfighting rings exist, even if we do have dog allergies.

What we see in anti culture is often a good-faith attempt on the part of antis to attack and subdue an environmental trigger that they read as dangerous. It's a panic attack over something that is by nature harmless or mildly harmful, blown out of proportion by the very instincts that are supposed to keep us safe. It's the response of an immune system that's been taught over years and years, by everyone from parents to school systems to the activists they look up to, that negative stimulus is to be feared, avoided, and fought. Of COURSE they're going to freak out.

And of course, early exposure to controlled amounts of allergens can help prevent later allergies from developing. Of course when kids are raised with abstinence-only education, sheltered from the very concept of sex, they're going to grow up allergic to it. (Of course they're going to try to protect other kids from the same, like worried mothers who refuse to let peanuts or wheat products or dirt near their precious babies, whose kids grow up with a whole suite of allergic triggers because their bodies never learned what was okay in the first place.) And no, that doesn't mean we hand pornography to ten-year-olds any more than we should give raw honey to an infant--but of course if our culture refuses to introduce kids to the fact that sex and desire and the inside of their own brain can be messy and silly and kinky and downright weird, we're going to have a higher rate of allergic reaction to the entire concept in adults.

I wish I had a better answer for what to do with understanding that this is what's going through so many people's brains. The best I have is a prescription for allergy-sufferers, who probably haven't read this far through this wordspew of an essay in the first place--but we all get a little hayfever once in a while, and we all sometimes run into content that makes us angry. So some thoughts on how to deal with metaphorical allergic reactions, inspired by the ways we deal with literal ones?

First: we recognize that what is happening is an allergy. The thing we're reacting to might be gross, or irritating, or even unpleasant, but the danger is not and never has been the thing itself. Whether it's triggering a response because of its similarity to an actively dangerous pathogen, or our immune system just doesn't like it, our aversion to one kind of story or another universally says more about us than about it. Luckily, we have a lot more control over our social responses than our biological ones!!! If vocal activism is our sociocultural immune system firing itself up to fight an infection that may or may not exist, then we get to tell our metaphorical white blood cells to stand down. We get to decide.

Second: we get some space. The funny thing about allergies is, while early exposure to allergens can help prevent them, re-exposing yourself to dangerous allergens after you've already developed a reaction to them can make them worse. Anaphylaxis is always more likely after someone's experienced it the first time. Repeated exposure to triggers, whether biological or psychological, can make the effects worse. So stop exposing yourself.

If something makes your throat itch every time you eat it, stop eating it. If something makes you mad every time you read it, stop reading it. Obviously this can be easier said than done in a world that's a lot worse about warning labels on stories than ingredients labels on foods, but that's why fic tags exist. And: sometimes, the croissant is delicious enough that we decide we're willing to suffer through the way the almonds make us feel, just this once. Sometimes the ship or the characterization or, hell, those other kinks that we really like are tasty enough that we'll put up with the trope we hate. We're allowed to do that. But we do it knowing there will be consequences, and we don't blame the baker when they hit.

We also don't have to blame ourselves. It sucks to be allergic to shellfish when all your friends are raving about the new seafood place. But that's not our fault any more than it's theirs.

Third: sometimes, if we need one, we go to the doctor. Or a therapist. Yes, really.

Not because there's anything really wrong with an aversion or even mild breakouts of hives, annoyance, and bitching in your friends' DMs--but it sure isn't pleasant, and sometimes your doctor might have a better solution than 'avoid it and take a Benadryl' that makes you feel a little better in the long run. And sometimes, it's not a mild breakout. Sometimes it's the kind of story that lingers with you for days, makes your skin crawl; sometimes your throat swells up and it gets hard to breathe. Sometimes we get angry enough about something we've read that we can't stand down our immune system, don't want to stop ourselves from writing that angry comment, that tumblr post, that abuse report to the mods for something that didn't actually break any rules. And that's dangerous, because when our immune response can flare out of control like that, we don't always know where and when it will happen next, and the risk of what we'll do if it happens gets way, way higher.

Sometimes it really is worth getting a second opinion. Sometimes you need somebody to tell you, "actually, it is not normal to get tingly and sweaty every time you eat potatoes." There are ways to train your brain and leash your white blood cells that I sure as heck am not expert enough to address. There are, it turns out, ways to feel better. There are ways to mitigate the damage your own well-meaning defense mechanisms might do to yourself or other people along the way.

And: we can take a deep breath when someone with an allergy to something we've baked, something we've written, something we like, is lashing out trying to protect themselves and everyone around them from something they've registered as a threat. Of course they're wrong. Yes, we told them there were tree nuts in the brownies ahead of time; yes, they chose to eat them anyway. But it can be worth reminding them and ourselves that there's a difference between "this thing is toxic" and "this harmless thing has driven my own system into a defensive response that sure makes it feel like I've been poisoned." And it can be worth reminding ourselves as well as them that sometimes, that difference can be really hard to spot.

#driveby meta attack #I guess #whoops I essay'ed #this was not meant to get this long #welp #anti discourse day

[c-is-for-circinate]

So as close as I am to fully escaping Hades for the first time, I figure I might take this opportunity to write down a couple of things I'm scared of from this ending. The story is so good so far! But I have seen good stories before! And there are patterns, right, patterns it's so easy for even good stories to fall into, so yeah, I have fears, and they mostly come down to Hades himself.

(Yep, this one got long again! People seem to be enjoying my game-reaction rambles, so, for your enjoyment under the cut: themes of separation and reunion, predictions for what Zagreus is the god of, and a whole lot of discussion of familial abuse dynamics, how they're depicted in fiction, and the work it takes to change them in real life. Stay warned! Stay safe!)

(ALSO, I still haven't made it past the first couple of chambers in the Temple of Styx, so no spoilers in the reblogs/comments please! Yes, even though the whole post is me going on about predictions and hopes and concerns about the path the story might take. I WILL GET THERE SOON.)

It has been really interesting watching some of the stuff the game is doing with themes of parting and reunion, and how that corresponds to life and death. So many of our social links are about reuniting estranged loved ones: Chaos and Nyx, Eurydice and Orpheus, Patroclus and Achilles. Hades is estranged from Olympus, Persephone left. And every time we leave, or try to leave, it is both an attempt at a parting (and Meg and Than are so hurt by that goodbye, or lack thereof) and an attempt at a reunion with our mother. Every time we die it's a reunion, every time we die it's fun, it's great, we get to go back home and check in with all of our friends and be impressed by whoever made Employee Of The [Timeperiod] and sell fish to the cook and put down yet more rugs. (My Zagreus has something of a rug addiction. What can you do.)

It's at the point where I feel pretty secure in stating that Zagreus is going to discover eventually that he is both life/death/rebirth god, and god of partings and reunions. Both halves of both of those things. People leave each other when they die and re-find their loved ones in death; you go away from one group of people to come back to another; you have to depart to return, and I really think that's where we're going to end up with Zagreus. He's going to reunite his various friends with their loved ones, he's probably going to restore communications between Hades and Olympus and even Persephone, he's going to reunite with his mom, and he's going to come back to the Underworld before he leaves to see everyone up top all over again. And of course the vehicle for all of this coming and going is death, because death is the ultimate departure and reuniter. (This is absolutely a religious concept containing a whole bunch of "oh hey our culture has a lot of Christian influence, doesn't it", Greek trappings aside, but that's fine, it's a game made in 2018 not 300 BC, these things happen. They keep calling the Underworld 'hell' and 'infernal'. It's all good.) Of course he's a cthonic god. Of course he bleeds, because you have to bleed in order to die, and Zagreus has to die again and again and again. That's his whole thing.

Thing is, though, looking at those themes, I am also continually aware of the fact that some partings are for a really good reason. Some partings should not end in reunion.

Yes, of course this is about Hades the abusive dad. I have been talking about Hades the abusive dad basically non-stop since I started playing this game, where did you think this post was going.

There are a few things I'm nervous about, separate but related, and at the core it all comes down to, I'm not okay with it if we learn why Hades got to be this way, and Zagreus forgives him as we-the-audience are meant to do, and Hades promises to do better, and nothing concrete about the situation is forced to change. Actual, meaningful, practical, logistical, non-hypothetical non-metaphorical change, not just for Zagreus but for Hades himself.

Because I know how this story tends to go, in fiction. Fictional abusive parents (especially in fantasy/sci-fi stories) tend to come in two types: 'coerced their offspring into actual murder with a side of physical abuse and optional unethical lab experimentation', or 'this was here to create character conflict, we didn't mean for it to read as actually abusive, this parent just has flaws to make them a good character, we swear!' Hades isn't the first type--we have never once seen Hades strike his son, or anybody, or even come out from behind his desk--which means that the fear is, always, always, in every piece of fiction, that he's the second. That the writers are going to decide that the right response to his abuses is remorse, forgiveness, and one really good conversation. That they don't realize it's abuse in the first place.

And, like. They have to know, right? They have to. They can't have done this by accident. (Sometimes, writers get so close by accident.) They can't have done so well at drawing out this situation simply by going, 'well, people are meant to fear this god, so they'd probably react like this, and I guess based on what I've seen in other stories or vague acquaintances they'd then do this,' and never put the name on the situation. Every single time we leave to the tune of a Hades word-flash, he's being dismissive, insulting, and sometimes downright cruel. He is cruel. They have to know!!!

But oh boy have I been consuming media for a lot of years, and oh boy have I run into a lot of writers who don't know.

Reconciliation is such a loaded word, but stories about dysfunctional families really do love it. Stories based around themes of reunion are primed for it. And of course, it's nice, it ties a happy ending off with a sweet little bow, everyone gets to be with the people they love and the family is safe and nobody gets hurt, but so rarely have I seen stories that show the actual work required to rebuild those relationships in a realistic or meaningful way. So rarely do stories trying to build that happy ending actually let the victim of abuse set and maintain boundaries. The character never gets to actually just cut the damn ties to the thing that hurt them. The character so rarely even gets to be safe.

And it's so hard in this game specifically, because "THERE IS NO ESCAPE", because every single thing about this game says that the story's not over when Zagreus gets to the surface, that no matter what he's going to have to come back. It's so hard, because this is a game about reunions. I am not going to get an ending where the abused kid trying to flee his toxic home and abusive dad actually gets to leave and stay gone, not in this one. And that hurts (I have watched and supported and done my best to help multiple real-life friends get the fuck out of homes like that, and stay gone, I have seen how hard it is, how complicated, how awful, and there are never stories for that), but I can live with it, if I get an ending where Zagreus is at least safe. Where things change. Where they really change.

Which is why I need actual, concrete, material changes in the logistics and power structure of the Underworld for this ending to be okay. Understanding why Hades is Like That doesn't cut it. Remorse doesn't cut it! Because look, even if Hades wants to do better, even if he admits he's at fault and tries to be better, he is still set up in a position as an all-powerful tyrant, and trying to become a better person is hard. There is nobody around who can keep him in check when he starts backsliding, which he will. Even if he doesn't want to, he will.

Because people are people, and it's really difficult to break patterns! Especially if everything around them stays the same. Hades is going to slip at some point, be cruel, be callous, be tyrannical, no matter how much of an effort he's making. Not to mention, it is STRESSFUL to face your own crimes and improve, it sucks, it feels bad. And what do habitual abusers do when they feel bad? What's the only coping mechanism Hades appears to have established for dealing with his own shit? That's right, it's inflicting suffering on everyone else around him. (This is why it doesn't really matter what circumstances drove Hades to act this way, why it can't matter--I believe that he is suffering, but he copes with that suffering by inflicting additional suffering on everyone around him, everyone who relies on him, and that's still true no matter what made him feel bad to begin with.) So then we just get a great old guilt-->lashing out-->more guilt-->more lashing out merry-go-round of abuse even as Hades is trying to change. That's how these things work. And yes, change is possible, improvement is absolutely possible, but the environment needs to change first. The system that enables and rewards Hades for acting this way can't stay in place. Things need to actually change, with people who are around to support Hades in his growth and also check his power, people who have power of their own to stop him. And however it happens, for this story with this protagonist with these goals to feel like a happy ending, Zagreus needs to be safe.

It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if those changes were mostly based in magic and fate and, idk, divine mind-control. (This story has been so grounded in actual human dynamics that a fantastical solution to a realistic problem would feel like a letdown, but if it actually solved the problem I'd be okay with it, more or less.) It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if the responsibility for bringing Hades to heel fell upon Zagreus and Persephone, if the two family members who he hurt badly enough that they felt the need to run away from him entirely now had to shoulder the burden of helping him fix himself. (There are definitely ways to write that dynamic better and ways to write it worse, and I think I trust these writers to land on the 'better' side of the scale, but I still don't love the implications.) I think I'd be pretty into it if Hades took a vacation off to Olympus to Work Out His Shit with his own family, while a coalition of Meg, Nyx, Thanatos, Zagreus, and Queen Persephone took over running the Underworld in his absence. I think we might end up getting some combination of those things. I'm hopeful. I think these writers might know what they've written. I think they might have a sense for what it'll take to fix.

But yeah, I'm nervous. (Nervous enough that I might switch to God Mode just to get through, combat has started getting really tedious instead of fun, I want to know what happens next, and this is a game and there is no shame in making it more fun for myself by making the boring parts a little quicker and easier.) I've seen so many stories go wrong. This one has done so much to earn my trust. We'll see if it breaks.

#Hades game #Hades spoilers #driveby meta attack #C plays stuff #I have so much hope!!!!~! #I have so much fear!!!!! #DO NOT TELL ME WHAT THE ANSWER IS GOING TO BE!!!!!

[c-is-for-circinate]

Something that’s been very interesting to me, in this new wave of post-miniseries Good Omens fandom, is the apparent fannish consensus that Crowley is, in fact, bad at his job.  That he’s actually quite nice.  That he’s been skating by hiding his general goodness from hell by taking credit for human evil and doling out a smattering of tiny benign inconveniences that he calls bad.

I get the urge towards that headcanon, and I do think the Crowley in the miniseries comes off as nicer than the one in the book.  (I think miniseries Crowley and Aziraphale are both a little nicer, a little more toothless, than the versions of themselves in the book.)  But maybe it’s because I was a book fan first, or maybe it’s because I just find him infinitely more interesting this way--I think Crowley, even show!Crowley, has the capacity to be very good at his job of sowing evil.  And I think that matters to the story as a whole.

A demon’s job on Earth, and specifically Crowley’s job on Earth, isn’t to make people suffer.  It’s to make people sin.  And the handful of ‘evil’ things we see Crowley do over the course of the series are effective at that, even if the show itself doesn’t explore them a lot.

Take the cell phone network thing, for instance.  This gets a paragraph in the book that’s largely brushed off in the conversation with Hastur and Ligur, and I think it’s really telling: 

What could he tell them?  That twenty thousand people got bloody furious?  That you could hear the arteries clanging shut all across the city?  And that then they went back and took it out on their secretaries or traffic wardens or whatever, and they took it out on other people?  In all kinds of vindictive little ways which, and here was the good bit, they thought up themselves.  For the rest of the day.  The pass-along effects were incalculable.  Thousands and thousands of souls all got a faint patina of tarnish, and you hardly had to lift a finger.

In essence, without any great expenditure of effort (look, I’d never say Crowley isn’t slothful, but that just makes him efficient), he’s managed to put half of London in a mental and emotional state that Crowley knows will make them more inclined to sin.  He’s given twenty thousand or a hundred thousand or half a million people a Bad Day.  Which, okay, it’s just a bad day--but bad days are exhausting.  Bad days make you snap, make you fail at things, make you feel guiltier and more stressed out in the aftermath when you wake up the next day, makes everything a little worse.  Bad days matter.

Maybe it’s because I’m a believer in the ripple effect of small kindnesses, and that means I have to believe in its opposite.  Maybe it’s just that I, personally, have had enough days that were bad enough that a downed cell network (or an angry coworker because of a downed cell network) would honestly have mattered.  But somebody who deliberately moves through the world doing their best to make everyone’s lives harder, with the aim of encouraging everybody around them to be just a little crueler, just a little angrier, just a little less empathetic--you know what, yes.  I do call that successful evil.

It’s subtle, is the thing.  That’s why Hastur and Ligur don’t get it, don’t approve of it.  Not because Crowley isn’t good at his job, but because we’ve seen from the beginning that Hastur and Ligur are extremely out of touch with humanity and the modern world and just plain aren’t smart enough to get it.  It’s a strategy that relies on understanding how humans work, what our buttons are and how to press them.  It’s also a strategy that’s remarkably advanced in terms of free will.  Hastur and Ligur deliberately tempt and coerce and entrap individuals into sinning, but Crowley never even gets close.  We never see him say to a single person, ‘hey, I’ve got an idea for you, why don’t you go do this bad thing?’  He sets up conditions to encourage humans to actually do the bad things they’re already thinking of themselves.  He creates a situation and opens it up to the results of free choice.  Every single thing a person does after Crowley’s messed with them is their own decision, without any demonic coercion to blame for any of it.

You see it again in the paintball match.  "They wanted real guns, I gave them what they wanted.”  In this case, Crowley didn’t need to irritate anybody into wanting to do evil--the desire to shoot and hurt and maybe even kill their own coworkers was already present in every combatant on that paintball field.  Crowley just so happened to be there at exactly the right time to give them the opportunity to turn that fleeting, kind-of-bad-but-never-acted-upon desire into real, concrete, attempted murder.  Sure, nobody died--where would be the fun in a pile of corpses?  But now forty-odd people who may never have committed a real act of violence in their entire lives, caught in a moment of weakness with real live weapons in their hands, will get to spend the rest of their lives knowing that given the opportunity and the tiniest smidgen of plausible deniability, they are absolutely the sort of people who could and would kill another human being they see every single day over a string of petty annoyances.

Crowley understands the path between bad thought and evil action.  He knows it gets shorter when somebody is upset or irritated, and that it gets shorter when people practice turning one into the other.  He understands that sometimes, removing a couple of practical obstacles is the only nudge a person needs--no demonic pressure or circumvention of free will required.

I love this interpretation, because I love the idea that Crowley, who’s been living on Earth for six thousand years, actually gets people in a way no other demon can.  I love the idea that Crowley, the very first tempter, who was there when free will was invented, understands how it works and how to use it better than maybe anyone else.  And I really love the idea that Crowley our hero, who loves Aziraphale and saves the world, isn’t necessarily a good guy.

There’s a narrative fandom’s been telling that, at its core, is centered around the idea that Crowley is good, and loves and cares and is nice, and always has been.  Heaven and its rigid ideas of Right and Wrong is itself the bad thing.  Crowley is too good for Heaven, and was punished for it, but under all the angst and pain and feelings of hurt and betrayal, he’s the best of all of them after all.

That’s a compelling story.  There’s a reason we keep telling it.  The conflict between kindness and Moral Authority, the idea that maybe the people in charge are the ones who’re wrong and the people they’ve rejected are both victim and hero all at once--yeah.  There’s a lot there to connect with, and I wouldn’t want to take it away from anyone.  But the compelling story I want, for me, is different.

I look at Crowley and I want a story about someone who absolutely has the capacity for cruelty and disseminating evil into the world.  Somebody who’s actually really skilled at it, even if all he does is create opportunities, and humans themselves just keep living down to and even surpassing his expectations.  Somebody who enjoys it, even.  Maybe he was unfairly labeled and tossed out of heaven to begin with, but he’s embraced what he was given.  He’s thrived.  He is, legitimately, a bad person.

And he tries to save the world anyway.

He loves Aziraphale.  He helps save the entire world.  Scared and desperate and determined and devoted, he drives through a wall of fire for the sake of something other than himself.  He likes humans, their cleverness, their complexities, the talent they have for doing the same sort of evil he does himself, the talent they have for doing the exact opposite.  He cares.

It’s not a story about someone who was always secretly good even though they tried to convince the whole world and themself that they weren’t.  It’s a story about someone who, despite being legitimately bad in so many ways, still has the capacity to be good anyway.  It’s not about redemption, or about what Heaven thinks or judges or wants.  It’s about free will.  However terrible you are or were or have the ability to be, you can still choose to do a good thing.  You can still love.  You can still be loved in return.

And I think that matters.

#good omens #driveby meta attack #I have been writing in circles around and around Crowley since I watched the show a month ago #but I think this might be the thing at the middle #or close to it anyway #free will doesn't just mean that 'good people' can choose to do bad things #it means that 'bad people' can choose to do good ones #and it's complicated #but it's a lot

[c-is-for-circinate]

So, one of my favorite things in The Old Guard is how absolutely fluid the fight scenes are, even when mixing swords and guns.

Like, aside from damn they had some very good fight choreographers and also cinematographers, there is always something a little forced and anachronistic when films set in modern times bring swords to a gun fight.  I have always had that little edge of suspension of disbelief, of “this cannot possibly be the most efficient way to do this but it’s cool to watch so fuck it.”  Light sabers are so cool and so absolutely dumb as a primary weapon.

And The Old Guard shocked me, way back in that first fight, because for maybe the first time in my cinema experience, the swords made sense.  The way Andy and Nicky and Joe moved so gracefully between firearm and blade made the situation perfectly clear, without a single word said.  These people were exceptionally skilled with all kinds of guns, and also their medieval weapons of choice.  The blades weren’t there to be a primary weapon because of Tradition or Honor or some pretense that they were somehow more useful than guns--they were there as a familiar and well-loved tool that still has some use in it.

Why NOT bring a sword or a labrys along in addition to your vast array of modern weapons if you’ve got that many centuries of practice with it?  It’s an efficient tool for killing.  Most modern opponents aren’t particularly well-trained for dealing with it.  It’s silent.  It’s good for melee.  It can only take out one or two opponents at once, and you have to get very close to do so, there’s definitely a reason warfare has moved on from labrys-based combat over the centuries, but as a supplement to modern weapons, they work very well.

And somehow, that first realization brought so much weight to the age of these characters for me.  They’ve fought with these particular weapons for centuries.  They’re so familiar.  You do something like carry a sword for hundreds and hundreds of years, carry a war-axe for thousands, you’re going to keep bringing them along even if all they’re good for is some extra weight on your back when you’re trying to sneak in somewhere.

Which is also, I think, a really good insight into the immortals’ entire lives.

Much like, okay, I buy that there are these ancient people walking around in modern-day for the sake of this story, but is it REALLY in their best interests to still be using broadswords?, one of the most basic questions of the whole immortal-warrior-action-drama genre (which is, oh yes, a genre) boils down to: with all the time in the world at their hands, why are these people still fighting?

You’ve got thousands of years at your disposal.  Why choose to spend it killing, getting hurt?  Yes, you’ve got some advantages on normal humans here, you take less of a risk wading into a fight, you’ve got more of a chance to learn from your mistakes and hone your skills, but--so what?  That doesn’t make terrible injuries and horror-filled battlefields fun.  Why use your thousands of years to practice getting so very, unbearably good at slaughter, rather than con artistry, or plague doctoring, or slam poetry?

Some properties give us...debatably bizarre plot reasons (cough Highlander cough).  Oftentimes, our immortal heroes come part and parcel with similarly super-powered bad guys, who it’s their duty or even their fate to stop.  The Old Guard gives us none of that, no higher power, no external indicators at all to help soothe Andy’s existential crisis of why am I even doing this, just the world exactly as it is.

Instead?  The Old Guard gives us Andy, who’s forgotten more ways to kill than whole armies could ever learn.

Violence itself is a well-worn familiar tool, for all of them by now.  Andy and Quynh were warriors for centuries before they even met each other, so they chose to be warriors together.  Joe and Nicky, Yusuf and Nicolo, had already lived and died through a war by the time they ran into the ladies, were used to combat and death, were ready to accept (or through the years became ready to accept) that violence was already their new way of life.  It was a thing they were all good at, and well-equipped to get better at.  It was a realm where they had an advantage.  They didn’t have to become history’s deadliest strike team--but they could, and that matters a fuck of a lot when you’re not sure what else you could be.

When you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail.  When you’ve spent thousands of years forging yourself into the most perfect hammer in history, and you have all the time in the world to find nails suited to you--well, then you never have to be anything else.

Why the hell are these immortals with all the time in the world on their hands spending it running into danger and violence all throughout history?  Because, says the movie, they don’t know what else to do with themselves. 

The Old Guard is a two-hour-long essay on existentialism, and trust me, I have PLENTY more to say about that and how each of the individual immortals interact with this idea of violence-as-purpose.  But it’s really easy to look at the whole movie and see how Andy leads her team to keep fighting and killing because she has no idea what else she could do to actually help the world.

No mysterious rules to a mysterious game.  No supernatural enemy.  No divine purpose.  This is an action movie about immortal warriors who’ve chosen to be here because they’re so very old and tired and used to doing this one thing that they don’t necessarily realize any more that it’s a choice.  And that is some interesting cinema.

#the old guard #driveby meta attack

[c-is-for-circinate]

I'd love to hear more of your thoughts about why P5R didn't quite land for you. I had the same reaction to it, but I've never quite been able to properly articulate why the last section fell so flat.

God okay so I've tried several times to answer this, and it seems like the answer is 'I still have way too many feelings, personally, to say this in anything less than thirty pages and fifteen hours of work', because Persona 5 the original is a game I loved a lot and care about a great deal. And most of the reasons I disliked Royal feel, in my head, like a list of ways it broke some of the things I liked best about P5--which means explaining them feels like I need to explain everything I loved about the original game, which is a book in itself, complete with referents to P3, P4, Jungian psychology, the Joseph Campbell mytharc, and fuck all even knows what. And that is too much.

But today I realized that I could instead describe it from an angle of, Persona 5 Strikers succeeds really well at doing the thing I think Royal was trying to do but failed at. And that I think I can talk about in a reasonable amount of wordspace, hopefully, behind this cut because I have at least one friend who hasn't played Royal yet.

Note for reblogs/comments: I HAVE NOT FINISHED STRIKERS YET. I got through the jail that pretended to be the final jail and have not yet gone into the obviously inevitable 'ohshit wait, you mean there's something more than simple human machinations behind all of this?' dungeon. (I got stuck on a really frustrating side quest, put the game down, and then dived into Hades to avoid throwing the Switch across the room for a while--and anyone around this blog lately knows how THAT'S been going.) Please no spoilers past Okinawa!

So, one of the many, many things I really appreciated about Persona 5 was its straightforward and unashamed attitude towards abusers and their acts of violence. Because, while yes P5 is a story about the use of power and control to make others suffer, it fundamentally isn't about those abusers themselves. It's about their victims, those that survive their crimes. And this shows up repeatedly over the course of the game.

We do not give a shit why Kamoshida wanted to beat and rape his students. We really don't. Kamoshida does not deserve our attention one moment longer than it takes to make him stop. Because, ultimately, that's the goal of P5, start to end. We don't know for sure if what we're doing is fair, if it's justice, if it's questionable. What we know is that people are being hurt, badly, actively, right now this second. What we know is that victims are suffering. What we know is that we, personally, us-the-protag and us the Phantom Thieves at large, are in danger. And in those circumstances, we don't care about the abuser's side any more. We don't. We don't have the space or time or capacity to care, because that is not the point.

The point is to help the weak. To save the people who need saving, right here and now. To give others the courage to stand up on their own behalf. We're not even out to change society, not really--that's a byproduct. We are reactions. We are triage. We are important.

There's something so empowering and validating about that as a theme, y'know? In a media landscape so full of "sympathetic villains", the idea that, you know, maybe sometimes you don't have to break yourself to show compassion that might possibly heal the bad guy--that sometimes you can just make the bad guy stop hurting people--feels both refreshing and satisfying. I really appreciate it as a message! I liked it a lot!

And yes, there's nuance to that theme, and the game is not without compassion. We save Futaba, because 'make the bad guy stop hurting people', in that case, means 'make this person stop hurting herself'. We give Sae a path forwards, help her fix her own heart. Yet it's worth pointing out that in both of those cases, while we were very glad to do those things, to save those people, we also went into both of those palaces for extremely practical reasons to begin with. We needed Futaba's help. We needed Sae's help. The fact that we chose to talk Sae into a change of heart rather than simply stealing her treasure, while ultimately a very good thing for her, was absolutely a practical choice predicated on the need for her palace to still exist to save our life. And yes, we wanted to save her, for Makoto's sake--yes, we wanted desperately to save Futaba. But Sae and Futaba let themselves be helped, too, and that doesn't change the overarching themes of the story itself.

Akechi (and to some extent Okumura) would not let himself be helped. Akechi's another interesting nuance to this theme, because of all our villains, we do learn the most about what drove him to the cruelties and crimes he's committed. He's at that intersection of victim and villain, and we want to help him, as a victim--but we also know that stopping him as a villain is more important. We'd like to save him from himself if we could, because we save people from their sources of trauma, it's what we do. We regret being unable to do so. But in the end, what matters to the story is not that Akechi refused to be saved--it's that Shido and Yaldabaoth need to be stopped, for the sakes of everyone else they're hurting now and may continue to hurt in the future.

The thing is, there's space and maybe even a need for a corollary discussion of those places where victim and villain intersect. It's an interesting, pertinent, and related topic. Strikers made an entire video game about it, a really good video game. It's centered in the idea that, yes, these people need to be stopped, and we will make stopping them our priority--but they're not going after us, and that gives us some space to sympathize. Even for Konoe, who specifically targets the Phantom Thieves--compare him to Shido, who actively destroyed the lives of both Joker and Futaba, who ordered Haru's father's death, who's the entire reason the team is still dealing with the trauma of Akechi's everything. Of course the game can be sympathetic to Konoe where it can't with Shido. There's enough distance to do that.

But right--Strikers is a separate game. It's a separate conversation. It's, "last time, we talked about that, so now let's take it one step further." And that's good writing. (It's something Persona has done before, too, also really well! Persona 3 is about terrible, occasionally-suicidal depression and grief. P4 is about how you can still be hurting and need some help and therapy even if things seem ok. Related ideas, but separate conversations that need to be separate in order to be respectful and do justice to either one. P5, as a follow-up to P4, is a conversation about how, ok, changing yourself is great and all, but sometimes the problem is other people so how do you deal with that? Again, still related! Still pertinent! Still alluded to in P4, with Adachi's whole thing--but it wasn't the time or place to base a quarter of the game around it.)

So one of Royal's biggest issues, to me, is that it tries to tack on this whole new angle for discussion onto a game that was originally about something else.

Adding Maruki's palace--adding it at the end, which by narrative laws suggests that it's the true point that everything else should be building up to--suddenly adds in about a hundred new dimensions at once. It wants us to engage with "what in this abuser/manipulator's life led him to act this way?" for basically the first time all game (we'll get to Akechi later). It wants us to engage with, "if the manipulator has a really good reason or good intentions, does that mean we should forgive them?" It requires us to reflect on, "what is the difference between control and cruelty?" It asks, "okay, but if people could be controlled into being happy, would that be okay?" (Which, based on the game so far, is actually a wild out-there hypothetical! Literally not a single thing we've seen in the game suggests that could ever happen. Even the people who think being controlled is safer and easier are miserable under it. Control that's able to lead to actual happiness is completely out of left field in the context of everything we've encountered all game so far.)

That's too much! We don't have time to unpack all that! We only have an eighth of the game left! Not to mention we are also being asked to bring back questions we put to bed much earlier in the game about the morality of our own actions, in a wholely unsatisfying way. Maruki attempts to justify his mass brainwashing because "it's the same as what you're doing", and we know it isn't, but the game didn't need Maruki calling it out in order for us to get that. We already faced that question when we started changing hearts, and again several times throughout the game, and again when we found our targets in Yaldabaoth's cells. The fact that we change hearts does not mean we think "changing hearts is fine and kind and should be done to everyone, actually." Changing hearts has been firmly established in this game as an act of violence, acceptable only because it prevents further systemic violence against innocents that we must prevent. The moral question has never once been about whether it's ok to change the hearts of the innocent, only about how far it's ethical to go against individuals who are actively hurting other people. Saying "you punched that guy to keep him from shooting a child, so punching people is good and I will save the world by punching everyone!" is confusing! and weird! and not actually at all helpful to the question of, how much violence is it acceptable to use to protect others! So presenting the question that way just falls really flat.

(And right, I love Strikers, because Strikers has time to unpack all that. Strikers can give us a main bad guy who wants to control the whole world for everybody's own good, because Strikers has earned that thematic climax. It has given us sympathetic bad guys who started out wanting to control the world to protect themselves and ended up going too far. It's given us Mariko Hyodo, who wanted to control the world to protect other people and went too far. It's given us a long-running thread about police, the desire to serve, and the abuse of power that can lead to. And since we are actively trying to care for the people whose hearts we're changing in Strikers, we can open the door to questions about using changes-of-heart and that level of control to make other people happy. We can even get a satisfying conclusion out of that discussion, because we have space to characterize the difference--Konoe thinks that changing peoples' hearts means confining them, but the Phantom Thieves think it means setting them free. We have seen enough sympathetic villains that we as an audience have had the space to figure out how we feel about that, and to understand the game's perspective of "stop them AND save them, if we can possibly do both." And that message STILL rests firmly on Persona 5's message of "it is Good to do what you have to do to stop an abuser so long as you don't catch innocent people in your crossfire.")

It's worth noting that the general problem of 'asking way too many new questions and then not answering them' also applies to how Royal treats its characters, too. P5 did have unanswered questions left at the end! The biggest one, and we all knew this, was Akechi, and what actually happened to him, and how we should feel about him, and how he felt about us. That was ripe for exploring in our bonus semester, and to Royal's credit they did in fact try to bring it up, but by god did they fuck up doing it.

Akechi's probable death in the boiler room was absolutely the biggest dangling mystery of the game. It was an off-screen apparent death of a key antagonist, so all of the narrative rules we know suggested that he might still be alive and would probably come back if the story went on for long enough. So when Royal brings him back on Christmas Eve, hey, great! Question answered. Except that the situation is immediately too good to be true, and immediately leads to another mystery, which leads to a flat suspicion that something must be wrong. We spend several hours of gameplay getting sly hints that, oooh, maybe he's not really alive after all, before it's finally confirmed by Maruki: yup, he really died, if we end the illusion we'll kill him too. Okay, at least we know now. Akechi is alive right now and he's going to be dead if we do this, and that doesn't make a ton of sense because every other undead person disappeared when the person who wished for them realized they were fake but at this point we'll take it. So we take down Maruki, and okay, Akechi really is dead! Probably! We're fairly sure! Aside from our lingering doubts!

And then we catch a glimpse of maybe-probably-could be him through the train window, and I just want to throw something, because come on.

Look, it is just a fact of storytelling: the more times you make an audience ask 'wait, is this character dead or aren't they?', the less they will care, until three or four reversals later you will be hard pressed to find anybody who gives a shit. Royal does this like four different times, and every iteration comes with even less certainty than the last. By the end, we somehow know even less than we did when we started! Did Akechi survive the boiler room to begin with and Maruki just didn't know? Or was Maruki lying to try and manipulate us further? Or was he actually dead and then his strength of will when Maruki's reality dissolved was enough to let him survive after all? Is that even actually him out the train window?

Where is he going! What is he doing! How did any of this happen! What is going on! We all had these questions about Akechi at the end of the original P5, and the kicker is that Royal pretends like it's going to answer them only to go LOL JK NO. It's frustrating and it's dissatisfying and it annoys me.

The one Akechi question that Royal doesn't even bother to ask, though, let alone leave ambiguous, is how does the protagonist feel about him? The entire emotional weight of the third semester rests on the protagonist caring about Akechi, Sumire, and Maruki. Maruki's the person we're supposed to sympathize with even as we try to stop him. Sumire's the person we're trying to save from herself. And Akechi is our bait--is, we are told, the one thing our protagonist wished for enough to actualize it in this world himself. Akechi's the final lure to accept Maruki's deal. Akechi's survival is meant to be tempting.

For firm Akechi fans, this probably worked out fine--the game wanted to insist that the protagonist cared for Akechi the same way the player did. For those of us who're a little more ambivalent, though (or for the many and valid people who hated him), this is a super sour note. Look, one of the Persona series' strengths is the way it lets players choose to put their time and emotional investment into an array of different characters, so the main story still has weight even if there's a couple you don't care about that much. It has always done this. The one exception, from P3 all the way through P4 to here and now, is Nanako Dojima, and by god she earned that distinction. I have never met a person who played Persona 4 who didn't love Nanako. Nanako is a neglected six-year-old child who is brave and strong enough to take care of herself and all of the housework but who still tries not to cry when her dad abandons her again and lights up like the sun when we spare her even the tiniest bit of time and attention. It is impossible not to care for Nanako. Goro Akechi is not Nanako.

And yet third semester Royal doesn't make sense if your protagonist doesn't feel linked to Akechi. The one question, out of all the brand new questions Royal throws out there, that it decides to answer all by itself--and it's how you as a player and your protagonist ought to feel about an extremely complex and controversial character. What the fuck, Royal. What the fuck.

In conclusion, I'll leave you with this. I played the original Persona 5 in March and April of 2017, as an American, a few months after the 2016 election and into the term of our then president. It felt painfully timely. A quick calendar google early on indicated that the game's 20XX was almost certainly 2016, and the closer our plot got to the in-game November leadup to an election destined to be dominated by a foul and charming man full of corruption and buoyed up by his own cult of personality, the more I wanted to laugh/cry. It felt timely. It felt important. It felt right.

I went through Royal (in LP form on youtube, not having a platform to play it on) in summer of 2020, with a hook full of face masks by my front door and protests about racial tension and local policing that occasionally turned into not-quite-riots close enough to hear at night if I opened the windows of my apartment. The parts of the game that I remembered felt as prescient and meaningful as ever, if not even more so. The new parts felt baffling. Every single evil in the game felt utterly, painfully real, from the opening moments of police brutality to the idea of a country led by a guy who probably would use his secret illegitimate teenage son as a magical assassin if the opportunity presented itself and he thought he could get away with it. Yaldabaoth as the cumulative despair of an entire population who just wanted somebody to take over and make things be okay--yes, yes, god, in summer of 2020? With streets full of people refusing to wear masks and streets full of people desperate for change? Of course. Of course that holy grail of safety should be enticing. Of course it should be terrifying.

And then Maruki. Maruki, who was just so far outside the scope of anything I could relate to the rest of the game or my own life. Because every single other villain in the rest of Persona is real. From the petty pandering principal to the human-trafficking mob boss. The corrupt politicians and the manmade god of cultural desire for stability. And this game was trying to tell me that the very biggest threat of all of them, the thing that was worse than the collective force of all society agreeing to let this happen because succumbing was easier than fighting back--that the very biggest threat of all was that the world could be taken over by some random nobody's misguided attempts to help?

No. Fuck no. I don't buy it. Because god, yes, I have seen the pain and damage done on a tiny and personal and very real level by the tight-fisted control of someone trying to help, it never looked like this. Not some ascended god of a bad therapist. All the threats to the world, and that's the one I'm supposed to take seriously? This one man is more of a threat than the fundamental human willingness to be controlled?

Sorry, but no. Not for me. Not in this game. Not in this real-life cyberpunk dystopian apocalypse.

#c plays persona #driveby meta attack #p5 royal spoilers #p5 strikers spoilers #holy crap I did it #I actually wrote a semicoherent essay of a length I'm willing to put on Tumblr #about my problems with this game #I have been trying on and off for MONTHS #I wanted to like Royal SO BADLY #it makes me SO UPSET #anyway #now back to your regularly scheduled Hades blogging #asked and answered #Anonymous

[c-is-for-circinate]

One of the major issues with the M9 refusing to ever take or maintain a nemesis for any amount of time is that defining arcs the way we did in Campaign 1--based on the enemy Vox Machina was fighting--doesn’t quite work the same way.  Y’all know how I love me some arcs, though, and I think I’ve got a pretty strong sense for how I’d split them up given the chance, at least from where we’re standing now, so hey, why not write it down so I can reference back to it in thirty episodes when I’ve been proven wrong about where the story’s going all over again?

Arc 1: Getting to know you (OR: Okay, I’m with these assholes.  Why am I with these assholes?)  Episodes 1-25. 

Once upon a time when I was young and very cocky, I wrote an enormous overview of this particular arc, and I think most or all of what I said still stands.  ‘Nuff said.

Arc 2:  Things fall apart (OR: Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.  What am I willing to lose?)  Episodes 26-30.

It is barely four episodes, it is barely an arc, and if I were trying to divide up the series to talk about it in an end-of-campaign episode I’d include these in the previous set, but narratively, this is its own story.

Arc 3:  The cure for everything is salt water (OR: I love them and we’re not talking about it or anything else that matters.  What is required of me?)  Episodes 31-48, give or take.

I very much consider the pirates arc to be the emotional avoidance and recovery arc.  After just barely surviving Shady Creek Run, the team flees the empire entirely and puts to sea.  Plot-wise the story is about U’kotoa and snake cults and piracy, but emotionally it’s all about the characters figuring out, individually and collectively, how to try to be okay and how to begin to step away from the people they thought they were in order to take care of each other.  I do want to rewatch and write an analysis for this one day, about Jester learning the difference between romance novels and real life and Nott spending two months at sea and Beau learning to wait, and Fjord for maybe the first time in his life learning to say no.

(Interestingly, the arc is where the group really starts to resolve the questions from Arc 1.  They’re together because of friendship, and loyalty, and love.  Friendship and loyalty and love are worth a lot.)

Arc 4:  Xhorhas (OR: Now that the shit has hit the fan it’s time to step up and deal.  What do I actually want?)  I call this episodes 49-69, again give or take, because there is such a sharp break when they lose Yasha.

These are the episodes when they stop avoiding the world that was going to shit behind them, and discover they have to actually make decisions about it.  They confront the idea that Xhorhas might be okay and war is complicated.  For the very first time the Mighty Nein has to consider taking sides.  This arc starts with the group alone and helpless in Felderwin, moves through their ascendancy as heroes of the Dynasty, and ends with the Nein using their strength and power just carelessly enough to free something horrific.  Episode 56 in the Bright Queen’s throne room neither begins nor ends this arc, but it does define it: the entire story here is about the M9 coming face to face with the fact that they actually do have power in the world, and they can do something with it--and maybe they have to.

(Again--they haven’t quite settled anything lingering from Arc 3, but they’re starting to make a pretty good dent on answering the questions of Arc 2.  They always knew they weren’t willing to lose each other, but now they’re finding out, for sure, what they are and are not willing to sacrifice on behalf of the rest of the world.  They don’t know for sure what their yeses are, but they’re figuring out their nos)

Arc 5: The aasimar in irons (OR: We are desperate and we cannot stop but we have to be stronger now.  What can we actually do?)  Episodes 70-86. 

Just like the Iron Shepherds, this is a desperation arc, but these episodes specifically weren’t about the M9 coming to terms with just how desperate they could get.  They already know just how desperate they can get.  This arc, following on the discovery in Arc 4 that they have power, is now all about dealing with the consequences and limits of it.  They cannot defeat Obann in open battle but they can complete a step in Caduceus’s personal quest, they can face dragons, they can rescue an archmage.  Beau is an Expositor and Fjord is a paladin, and they are not always strong but they are not slaves, and at the very very end, Yasha isn’t either.

(I’m the weakest on this one because, following the pattern of the story finally resolving major questions about two arcs after they’re first really essential, we haven’t answered this one yet.  It is very, very good at bringing back the question ‘what is required of me?’, though, and presenting us with a team that knows how to take care of each other, that will bury Fjord in magical items and hunt Yasha to the ends of Exandria, that no longer needs to ask what their responsibilities are before they set forth to stop the Angel of Irons.  They already know.)

Arc 6:  How we live now (OR: So this is who we are, after all that.  How do we move forward with ourselves?)  Episodes 87-present.  (My guess: this arc ends between episode 105 and 110.  They’re averaging just under 20 episodes each, so we’ll see.  I suspect episode 97 may have been the climax of a lot of things.)

We’re still in the middle of this arc, but here’s what I’m seeing: an entire party confronting the fact that they have changed so very much in the past 90-odd episodes, and now somehow have to figure out who these new selves are and how to keep going.  Nott is Veth and desperate to leave, to stay, both and neither.  Beau is terrified and self-sabotaging.  Caduceus’s family is going home, but he isn’t, not yet.  Jester is a devoted acolyte and the founder of a cult and so utterly torn.  Fjord still isn’t sure what being a paladin quite means.  Yasha is throwing pit fights and eating seafood and struggling through the aftermath of the entire last arc.  Caleb has admitted to love.   The question here is, has to be, what have I become and what do I even do about it?

(They haven’t entirely resolved what do I want yet, but on the other hand--yes, they have, haven’t they?  They want peace, and they’re going to fucking get it.  They want each other so badly.  They want Essek alive and redeemed and they want Trent Ikithon dead.  They want so many, sometimes-contradictory things, but--they know what those things are, now.  They’re admitting to them out loud.  They just don’t know how to get them yet.)

I don’t think there’s any predicting what major arc might come next, or what big questions it will ask of the characters, but I do think we can start to guess at what questions it might answer.  I expect the next five or ten episodes to be full of characters wanting things and not sure what to do about them.  I expect the twenty or so episodes after that to be a marathon of outward competence as the party struggles in some brand new direction I can’t even imagine just yet.  I expect arc 8 to have real plans for whatever the future actually looks like when all the adventuring is done.  I expect to be dead wrong about all of it.

#critical role #driveby meta attack #cr spoilers

[c-is-for-circinate]

I’ve got like 2000+ words of wordspew in a draft trying to explain what the fuck is going on in Veth’s head, because she makes sense, I swear she does, but the real problem is that I’m pretty sure I’m trying to explain my mother and that’s just never a good place to be when doing character meta.

Some key points:

It is so important that good people get good things and bad people get bad things.  Veth desperately needs the world to work that way, because that’s how the world is supposed to work when it makes sense.  Obviously the world hasn’t actually made sense in years, but--isn’t that the entire point of everything the M9 have been doing this whole time?  Putting the world back in order the way it’s supposed to sit?  Isn’t that what ending the war was all about?

“Good” or “Bad” get assigned based on some mysterious essence at the heart of a person, rather than their actions.  The fact that Veth thinks about the world this way makes a ton of sense when you think about her childhood, where she spent hears getting bullied and harassed for who she couldn’t help being, rather than what she chose to do, at least from her point of view.  Even the people who really loved her (her parents, Yeza, Luc) probably came at it more from the point of view of “of course we love you, you’re our daughter/my mom/yourself” than because of anything in particular she did.

Veth’s spent a long fucking time not entirely sure where she fell on the Good vs Bad spectrum, which has never actually been about guilt for her, because it’s not about actions, after all.  It’s always, always been about shame.  She’s spent a long time so very ashamed of everything about who she was.  She thought she’d done wrong just by existing.

Between meeting the goblins of Xhorhas, reuniting with a Yeza that still loves her, and the companionship and support of the M9, plus getting her own body back, Veth’s come down on the “I can be good” side of the line.  She really likes it there.  She wants to stay there very badly.  (And being good has never just been about virtue--it’s about being smart enough, pretty enough, special enough.  Who you are, not what you do.)

Being the person who actually gets to make the world function properly, who gets to make good things happen to good people and, particularly, bad things happen to bad people?  Well that definitely makes you special.  Which Veth is, now.  For the first time ever.

She is and has ever been a tiny ball of impulse and emotion and reaction and terror and fear, and that sends every other thing on this list into overload.

It’s quite possible that she wants to be Essek’s friend, that she doesn’t want to put him on the list to punish.  But bad things have to happen to bad people.  They have to.  That’s the only way the world makes sense.  A world without that basic karmic law is just a whirling cataclysm of disorder, without anything to grab onto or trust, a place where nobody can trust in anything good at all.  So Essek has to be punished.  He has to be on the list.  He can be last.

(“We’ll be last,” says Caduceus, who fundamentally doesn’t believe in good people or bad people in the first place.  If everybody who does anything bad is punished then that means everybody who draws breath.  And Veth doesn’t say anything, because the M9 have to be the good guys.  They saved the world.  They have reasons for the bad things they do.  That has to make them good people.  Saving the world is absolutely a Good Person thing to do. And if that’s not enough to make them Good People, then--what would be?  If they aren’t Good People, who on Exandria is?  They have to be Good, or the whole system falls apart. And what would Veth have to cling to then?)

#critical role #cr spoilers #driveby meta attack #so maybe this is just the version of this post I'm actually going to post #somehow this is the MORE coherent version? #idek man

[c-is-for-circinate]

So I was just chatting with @yfere​ about the sociological implications of a whole society based around consecution, and I mentioned that I had a ton of thoughts about how it messes with child-rearing, and I wanted to gather them in their own post.

Like, to start with, just imagine the regular citizens of Rosohna, or Asarius, or Bazzoxan, or any other city in Xhorhas, having children.  All the un-consecuted regular citizens, living nearer or farther from the center of the town where the Important People live and die and are born and reborn.  What must that be like?

(And--are the Beacons only in Rosohna?  I had it in the back of my head that they were spread out in important cities, to catch anybody who dies, just in case.  How does it change things if they are?  If they aren’t?)  

You live your life, and you know, you’re not ancient and undying like the members of the Dens, you’re not powerful enough to earn consecution--you’ll get this one life, and that will have to be enough for you, but you’ll have a family and maybe a little bit of a legacy and that’ll help, too.  What the hell is it like to have a child, knowing that maybe they’ll grow up to be like you, and maybe they’ll grow up and turn out to be somebody else entirely?

Do some families deliberately try to get pregnant or give birth nearer to where the beacons are kept?  If your child grows up to be a consecuted soul, part of one of the dens--maybe they’ll remember you fondly, maybe they’ll take care of you, maybe they’ll love you enough that they’ll sponsor you for consecution as well.  Do some families deliberately try to get as far away from the beacons as possible?  If your child grows up to be a consecuted soul, maybe they’ll abandon you in the dirt, maybe they won’t care at all any more, maybe they won’t ever really be your child, maybe they just won’t.  I’m so sure that in some corners of non-consecuted society it’s a fairytale, like marrying rich, something that parents want for their kids and something that 14-year-olds giggle and daydream about at slumber parties, I hope that’ll be me.  I’m so sure that in some corners it’s a horror story, one day you turn around and your child is Different, and then they’re not your child any more.  (And yes--that is a horror story that people use in our world, and it’s bullshit and nasty and damaging in every way.  It’s still bullshit in Exandria.  It’s always bullshit, but it’s so easy for that story to go so, so bad.)

There has to be so much hope and fear involved in having kids, in Rosohna.  And that’s for the average citizens.

And then, more and beyond: imagine you’re a member of one of the Dens.  You’re hundreds of years old, or a thousand years old, or this is your first life but you’ve found your consecution and you know you’re set for as long as you need to be.  You have a baby.  And you look at this brand new infant, here in your arms, and you know for sure that there are two possibilities:

This child is already somebody else.  They’ve lived at least one life before, maybe many, maybe dozens.  In a short handful of years, they’re going to remember who they really are.  Until then, they’ll be a child, and they’ll need you and tug at your hems and love you, and then one day they’ll remember who else they are and they’ll stop. Maybe, possibly, they’ll be a member of your den, and you’ll discover that you were always family all along.  You’ll stay close as adults, bound in friendship by your experience of raising them when they were helpless and small, and remember it fondly centuries from now when you both look different yet again. Maybe, and probably more likely by the numbers, they’ll be a member of another den.  They’ll reach an age when they realize they already have a family, and leave you cordially to go find the place they already belong.  That could be useful, if you do it right: if you raise them with the appropriate amounts of tenderness, and they care for you even as an adult, that could be useful leverage with a political rival when they reclaim their place.  Still, that puts you in the same vulnerable position, if you get too close.  Best to be careful. Maybe this child you’re raising will turn out to be an enemy you’ve had for centuries.  Maybe they’re an old friend, maybe they’ve been your parent before long ago.  Maybe this child turns out to have the soul that used to belong to your one-time lover--you can’t tell me, in a thousand years of reincarnation, that’s never come up at least once.  There are probably horror stories.  No matter what, though, this kid isn’t really yours, if they’re already a consecuted soul.  Not really.

Or: this child has never lived before, ever.  They are a new soul fresh to this world.  They have no den.  They are full of possibility. It is possible that someday, they will prove themselves and be consecuted into your den, to really be your family forevermore.  It could take centuries, of course, if they’re not an impossibly talented prodigy, and how many kids are lucky enough to be that?  By the time your child is consecuted you may well be on your next life anyway.  You might not even know them when you see them again, both of you two or three bodies down the line.  And you’ll be members of the same den, and you’ll remember this childhood, and you’ll be family, but--not quite the same way. It’s possible that someday they’ll prove themselves and be consecuted into another den.  After all, if consecution sometimes takes centuries to earn, who knows what could happen?  Maybe that’s unlikely, in the social system; maybe new souls tend to stick around the dens they’re born near, but it has to be a possibility.  Nobody is really part of a den until they’re officially consecuted into it, that’s been established.  You can’t be born into a family unless you were there before. Or maybe your child won’t ever be consecuted at all.  We-the-viewers don’t really know the rates at which children born to the members of dens become consecuted themselves, but it doesn’t seem to be a sure thing.  Consecution has to be earned.  How many kids are born and raised by members of dens, and live out their lives, and that’s it?  What’s it like to be a parent looking at your newborn child and knowing, they may very well just be a short blip in your very very long existence?  They could die while you’re off being a teenager of another sex or species on the other side of the city, and you’ll never even know.

Neither of these situations is really conducive towards building a strong bond between parent and child.  Hell, there’s every possibility that at least one of your parents (from this life, or last life, or the life before) is wandering around younger than you right now, maybe in your den or maybe in another one entirely.  The entire den system is set up to say: your Den is your true family, the family of your immortal soul.  Your current physical body and its family doesn’t matter.  It can’t matter.  Not really.

And that has to be such a fucked-up way to grow up for a kid.  Your parents love you (maybe), but they have a whole life and family that’s just theirs.  They promise that when you grow up, you’ll remember your own true family and go off to be with them instead.  They say that if you don’t have a true family yet, maybe in time you can find one and prove yourself.  They say this is how life is supposed to be.  And always, always, they’re being careful, because what if you’re not who they think you are?  What if you’re an enemy?  What if, what if, what if?

I started this train of thought when I was pondering Essek, of course, because he starts to make a lot of sense when you consider, well, all of this in terms of his childhood.  (Is it less damaging, growing up with parents in a Den who always keep you at arms’ length, if you reach a certain age and actually do regain those memories of being truly loved by somebody else somewhere else who’ll take you back now in their stead?)  The thing is the whole system has so many implications across the board.

It seems like, in the Dynasty, you have to be nice to kids, because you never know who they’ll grow up to have been.  And yet also, in the Dynasty, you can’t ever actually get really close to kids, either, because not even they know who they actually are.

Man, what a screwed up way to live.

#critical role #driveby meta attack #the Krynn Dynasty #xhorhas #consecution #child abuse cw