Me: I am focusing. I WILL finish all of these fics I have started and have been working on. I WILL NOT get side tracked and create or start anything new. I will get these WIPs out and that is that!!! NO DISTRACTIONS!
A random beautiful soul on the internet: *Drops the most fire idea/suggestion into my ask box that I want to answer immediately*
Me:
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I have a character analysis ask! :) (Although, it's not from the list you shared.) What would it take for Albedo to get really angry? Like a huge outburst? I have some ideas but I'm curious about your insights. - @mimi-cee-genshin
[Character Analysis Ask Meme]
This is a really interesting ask and I’ve been thinking about it ever since you sent it. There are three answers I have for you, but two are copouts and the last doesn’t satisfy the requirements.
The first two scenarios deal with the same thing: you scare him in some way. This can be achieved two different ways: Klee facing imminent danger that he can’t immediately mitigate and, if he cares about you, doing the same to yourself. Nothing scares a calculated person more than a sudden situation they have no control over. What this accomplishes is putting him into a state of panic. And, should everything be alright in the end, you can rightfully expect him to snap in fury before pulling you in for a hug.
However, the reason why I consider this a copout is that I think this kind of scenario would get most people to react in this way. And while he would be angry and have an outburst, I don’t really consider this scenario “anger.” It’s more panic, you know?
So that being said, I don’t really think it’s exactly possible to get Albedo angry to the point of having an outburst, at least in the typical sense. Albedo is not a burning fury kind of person. He is cold fury. When he gets truly mad, his emotions shut down and he turns into a heartless machine. Think of Scar killing Mufasa, except without the smile and glee. He’d look down at you with ice-cold eyes as he ever so casually pushes you back to lose your grip.
To get him into this state, though, I think it would take work. One possible scenario would be betraying him and then having everything go wrong. Not a cold calculated betrayal (he’d sense your untrustworthiness), but maybe one from fear? For example, he treated you as a friend, but upon getting threatened by the Abyss, you betray Mondstadt in fear of your life, and then whoops, people get hurt and/or killed. In that case, you both betrayed his kindness and ultimately disappointed him. He was wrong about you. You are no better than the dirt beneath his feet.
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The very last chapter decoration in Northern Lights was this one. It took ages—I must have done hundreds till I got Lyra's face looking more or less right. She's looking up at the universe opening out above her, and wondering at the extraordinary spectacle while being daunted by the thought of what she now has to do, while simultaneously being absolutely determined to do it... But as far as we're concerned here, the most significant thing is what's not there. Every one of the other pictures is in a box—it has a frame, a border around it. This one doesn't. All the barriers have been smashed, all the frontiers have been blown away, the whole universe is wide open; so there's nothing shutting her in.
And now the last picture of all. How could I represent the subject of the last chapter of The Amber Spyglass, in which Lyra and Will have to part? Their farewell takes place in the Botanic Garden in Oxford, and I went there and drew this bit and that bit but none of my attempts worked. Finally I decided to abandon the idea of simple representation—the heart of that chapter isn't about a place or a space, really, it's about love and loss—so I thought it best to be kind of abstract about it and go for something entirely symbolic. Will and Lyra are bound together by their love, but they have to face away from each other for ever.
— Philip Pullman, Dæmon Voices
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EPISODE TWO
KURT’S BRAIN - INTERIOR
Kurt’s obsession with fashion went back a long way. It was part of a more general appreciation of beautiful and material things, which he’d had since he was a child.
Kurt suspected that this early aesthetic education was responsible for the direction of his own tastes. Things were beautiful to him in inverse proportion to their accessibility: a logic which struck him as childish for its fetishisation of impotence. But the 90s were about not growing up. The pages of the music and celebrity magazines that didn’t have Kurt’s face on them were filled with images of manufactured adolescence: teeny bopper twinks dressed in virginal white, A-listers doused with slime in studios resembling kindergartens, and an ageing parade of actors fresh out of high school drag.
He might seem like a kid to an industry obsessed with youth and its prophecies, but he was a grown up with a kid of his own. Even in earlier relationships he’d wanted the house with the picket fence. Tobi Vail used to say it was because of his parents’ divorce; they’d get into screaming arguments about his attachment to what she called the ‘bourgeois and patriarchal trap of success’. Kurt was hurt, but he did agree that he wanted these things as signs that he had made it. Not to the American dream that Vail despised him for, but to some indefinable sense of a future, and this was the only one he could imagine.
Such feelings were deeply unfashionable, and got in the way of the punk recklessness that had first attracted Vail, and which she held at arms’ length, an accessory to complete her image. Not that he minded them not interrogating these desires together. Kurt couldn’t put it more eloquently than this, but it felt both good and bad to dangle from her arm. To be used the way a man might use a beautiful woman. No one had read any Judith Butler yet, so Kurt could only say: Tobi’s riot grrl feminism made him feel like a woman, but it also made him know he wasn’t one. He was part of a group of people who obstructed people like Tobi, who’s desires stood in the way of her liberation. These wants stood for his involvement in patriarchy; women only wanted these things because men wanted them for them.
But Kurt didn’t care, he dreamed of being turned into an image, into an adornment for the grrls, the gyrls, the gworls of the future. He dreamt that his name would become a secret call passed between women in chokers at parties in lofts and warehouses in metropolitan areas of the United States. He dreamt of a teenage starlet gaining fame in a tv show where she wore his dirty bob for an audience too young to remember his music. He dreamt of the expansion of the internet and forums on which users would share photos of him and argue about what he wore and what he said.
He didn’t tell anyone these dreams. Unlike the house and family, these were just for him.
—Francis Whorrall-Campbell, from "[Digital Poetics 4.7] A Fragment on Kurt Cobain’s Transgender Ideas from ‘In Utero’" (The Hythe)
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