Hi there! I just finished a relisten of the silt verses and oh my GOD the writing is just incredible. I’ve always been blown away by the world building but on this listen I realized just how enamored I am with the way you write complex character relationships. Of course the major relationships develop naturally and beautifully but I have so much appreciation for the less central relationships (Paige and Faulkner’s dads come to mind as characters only on the show for a little while but who absolutely blew me away.)
It’s been said a million times but it’s so refreshing to follow a cast of people who are all terrible (or complicit in terrible things) in different ways. It’s such a natural extension of the worldbuilding—of course it’s near impossible to be a “good person” in a world ravaged by consumerism. I admire how it’s such a fantastical world yet even the worst of the villains feel wholly human.
Anyways I haven’t had the energy to draw for over a month now but I was so inspired by this relisten that I’ve now finished a whole art piece and I have several new ideas to work on! The imagery in tsv is so rich it’s like it wants to be drawn.
Tldr; the silt verses is my fav podcast of all time. I truly hope you feel incredibly proud of your creation. Thank you for putting something so amazing out into the world
Hey! Thank you so, so much - it's comments like these that really just make your day and make all of it feel worthwhile.
On your point about relatively minor roles, I completely agree - of course Steve Shell nails his performance as Faulkner's dad, but I also think Graham Rowat deserves a ton of praise and recognition for what he does with Dennis, and maybe he tends to get forgotten a bit because of the nature of the character.
I see a lot of people raving about the start of his character arc (hating his guts) and the end (feeling moved by him) in completely opposed ways, and I think that really speaks to Graham's brilliant range.
(Also, I think I saw your art piece of Paige and it was absolutely gorgeous! Really thrilled that the show gave you a bit of extra inspiration and thank you in turn for putting something so fantastic out into the world.)
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It's been a little over six months now since you slithered into my inbox and proposed the Ineffables and Wolfstar breaking up and switching partners. How's that going for them? Six months down the line, which couple is having the worst time and why is it Azirius?
ahhh sorry imp I forgot to respond to this!
I'd say there's no way this would be sustainable for six months, but we are talking about four of the most stubborn people alive so...
I think crowley and remus have reached a point of quiet acceptance, in which they both know this is really more of a friendship than anything else, and they spend most of their time getting stoned and waxing poetic about their exes and occasionally having extremely damp noodly sex. they're both very mopey and insufferable to be around, so they're really the only people who can currently stand one another.
azirius are having the WORST time. my god. they are constantly filled with rage, and at this point, they're too disgusted with each other to even hatefuck so all that anger is being channelled into ruining each other's lives and vandalising each other's shit. truly a lovers to enemies arc for these two. occasionally one of them will break down and cry about their ex, and the other one will say something along the lines of, 'it sounds like they're better off without you.' they are also insufferable to be around, both to everyone around them and each other <3
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one of the biggest reasons why alfred is so smiley, goofy, happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care during the 19th through 21st centuries, (besides deciding since before 1776 that he was going to be completely contrarian to arthur in his outlooks) is that he’s been through the wringer for the past hundred years already. give the guy a break!
spending your formative years (or the country equivalent of a ‘childhood’, anyway) educating yourself deeply on politics, fighting for independence, then fighting again to keep your nation together, and then trying to expand throughout the rest of the continent, while dealing with crazy winters and starvation and swathes of diseases… well.
alfred grew up with the expectation of perfection under england, and even after becoming free he still had to raise himself by the bootstraps. help create a government with his people, for his people, and hope and pray to whatever deity was out there that america could survive. and those first 100 years certainly were not sunshine and rainbows — pictures of alfred’s youth show everything except smiles. he wears melancholy expressions that don’t suit his face.
battling for your place on the world stage is hard enough, but to become a self-made, global superpower on top of it? alfred grows in spades, and by the time the industrial revolution comes around, and his house is the most bustling on the entire planet, and the gold rush comes and goes— that constant work and isolationism has paid off. he loosens up a little. he can smile now. relax a little! eat in excess knowing there will always be food on the table.
that’s when he finally gets to live out the years of childlike ease he never truly got to indulge in: to laugh and be merry without a care in the world. momentary ill spell during the great depression aside, the great wars later only solidify america’s place as the strongest in the world. the other countries wouldn’t dare admit it, but alfred’s self-proclaimed epithet of ‘hero’ is not without cause and reason, and not without hard proof. (and besides, he deserves a little gloating after all this time, doesn’t he?)
ivan had threatened his status in the hierarchy for a while there, and 45 years of foolhardy, workaholic america stepped out of the shadows again. but again, alfred surpasses the literal and proverbial soviet wall. and this time it isn’t just the world he has in his palms, but outer space, too — he has the moon and the stars and a damn space station.
finally, on top— finally, he doesn’t have to battle tooth and nail just to survive. instead, maybe he’ll set a whoopie cushion on françois’ chair at the next meeting, or order everything off the mcdonald’s menu tonight just ‘cause he can, or maybe even get matt to film him doing some outrageously ridiculous parkour—
that’s the beauty of it: it’s enjoyable to let go, act as immature and carefree as you want, knowing you’re at the top of the food chain. the others have gotten used to boy scout america, to the silly superhero alfred — they’ve definitely forgotten how scary and smart and cutthroat and frankly bloodthirsty he is when he gets serious. the america that lies asleep beneath the surface, the sleeping dog that you’d better hope you don’t wake up.
and, hell— his people chose him. his people left the other nations for him. left their homelands to stay at his house. that’s a testament to the unshakeable empire he’s built up, right? the others should be following his lead.
so he’ll act as he pleases, screw all the manners and customs and old-world european way of doing things — the freedom-loving rebel bastard that he still is, deep down.
al’s earned it, after all!
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Please tell us abt the parallels :o
YEAH OKAY SO!!!!
in this au (and as i write ralsei in my canon always lol) the biggest thing that puts pressure on ralsei's life is the prophecy--it says a human, a monster, and a prince from the dark, and because it is a prophecy, and it is fate, is HAS to be true, and ralsei, as a darkner, a group of people who literally exist below the lightners, is charged with bringing this prophecy into fruition. she has spent her entire life ALONE, with nothing but this prophecy for comfort, saying that one day, ONE DAY, she'll get through this and she'll have friends. but yknow, that weighs on a person! its heavy and terrible and she has contorted herself to fit what fate tells her she must be.
and then for noelle, the big thing putting pressure on her? her dead siblings (dess and kris. kris isnt technically her sibling but yknow for ease of language thats what i use. also we know they arent dead but noelle and the rest dont). with their deaths means noelle is now the baby of the family, a family that is shaped by this great gaping grief noelle cannot comprehend, because when dess and kris died she was young enough she barely remembers them beyond like, maybe half-formed memories but she isnt sure if those are real or just what people have told her. shes expected to be grieving her dead siblings but really she just sort of. hates them a little bit. for going off and dying and now her mom and toriel are super overprotective of her, and she knows its her fault asriel never left to go to college and hasnt even left hometown, and its just. its rough.
so both noelle and ralsei have these Huge things that have defined their lives that neither of them want, but. too bad! WHICH LEADS TO EVEN MORE PARALLELS. slash foils lol.
because when it comes to the prophecy? noelle isnt supposed to be in it!!! while this au is sort of a roleswap in that noelle takes kris's place its not a roleswap in Any Other Way, which means, yeah, the prophecy is still supposed to be a human. and noelle, uh, isnt that! but she goes around and helps close dark worlds and is part of the delta warriors anyways, which is, for ralsei, this like, really scary point.
cause ralsei? adores noelle!! thats her best friend!!! ralsei doesnt know if she has a crush on noelle or wants to be noelle! noelle just does what she WANTS. she bucks against the pressures her family puts on her. she dives into the dark despite the fact that this world was never made for her. shes TRANS. shes a GIRL, and she can just DO THAT, and ralsei looks at her, and just. wants. in every sense of the word.
because noelle has all these things put on her like ralsei does--but noelle gets to slip out of them. noelle gets to be a person.
and ralsei, non-person, darkner: she doesnt.
she never will.
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❝ you will understand in time. ❞ ( patrick at...maría?? >:3 )
@clemencetaught | PHANTOM OF THE OPERA / SENTENCE STARTERS
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A tale as old as time: the young and the less so, not quite old, but drained by life just enough that hearing what digits they carry with them in actuality, when contrasted with the age reflected in their eyes, the weight of the time equivalent of the experiences they've gathered, few don't find their own eyes widening when realising, putting two and two together, recognising the implications of a person not yet grey-haired speaking of pain and war with intimate familiarity.
A tale as old as time: the young, reckless, the first year of war, or the second, their first run, their first time smelling decaying corpses and feeling flaws crawl up their nostrils, choking them from within no matter how desperately they attempt to beg them to stop.
A tale as old as time: frustration v wisdom.
She will. She doesn't assume she won't. But as she stands there, body always angled away from Patrick and that wise, old, holder of past hurt look in his eyes, as she stands there and keeps dragging her hands through her hair, fingers getting suspiciously entangled just enough for her to rip, as she stands there and doesn't stand but paces, with her mascara dragging black lines down her face, as she growls in spite of her tears, she realises one thing, what-
"- if I don't want to?!" she hiccups into a shout, whipping around to stare at Patrick. A part of her acts as the spokeswoman to her shame, making her chest feel hot with it, when she recognises what she's doing.
Hasn't he suffered enough?
Hasn't he been here enough, stuffed into a suit, shoved into his victor throne, made to face her as she burns on the stake of her ache? Yes, yes, he has, yes, he knows better, yes, yes, yes, all of that, yes, BUT-
"How can you say that?" she lowers her voice until she's pushing it through her teeth, jaws clenched, stepping closer, face contorted, incapable of sticking to a grimace that manages to hide the desperation in her eyes.
They say, rely on your 'elders'. Listen to those that came before you, let them guide you in a world you don't understand. The Capitol, lights too bright, sounds too foreign, so many of the colours she's broken her back to help put on their clothes, stuck with her neck in the noose of their world and one foot stuck back at home.
One foot stuck in the Arena.
She inhales, sharply, reels herself back in.
"I don't want to," she metaphorically puts her foot down. Then reaches up to mess her hair up further. The Capitol can doll her up all they want. She'll always find a way to ruin it. When her arms drop back at her sides, they do so almost defiantly. She lifts her chin.
"I don't want to understand. I want to do something. How can you ask me to sit here and... and- and just..." her hand tries to encompass what her voice struggles to, but she drops it, bites her tongue, lifts her gaze to meet his once more.
"You shouldn't do that to yourself, either. Understand. They're not kind enough to understand us. Why should I bother to-- isn't that what they want us to do? Sit here and ponder until we realise why we deserve all this? No. There's nothing to understand. All I need to know, I already know."
Her forefinger reaches his chest. She doesn't stab him with it, much like her features soften, mellow out in the pleas of a child hoping the adult she wants to keep safe sees how hard she tries.
"You can't do that to yourself. You have to keep fighting. Don't let them-- don't give up on yourself."
Please.
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