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thinking about how Silksong subverts the typical lack of consequences in videogames for player actions by creating cause-and-effect for almost every choice, even small ones with good intent. Hornet telling Sherma to stop waiting for religion and psalms to save them and dress the wounds of the pilgrims in Songclave directly catalyzes Sherma's near-death in Whiteward for medical supplies...asserting that all of your actions have continuous consequences with which you must contend...hmm

#silksong #hollow knight hornet #silksong spoilers #sherma #hornet #hollow knight

c-rowlesdraws

I've been playing Silksong and my love for Hornet burns brighter day by day. She'll meet a stranger on the road, politely introduce herself, and tell them gravely and sincerely that she's concerned for their safety in this dangerous land, and that she hopes they keep well. And then she'll take out a fantasy 4Loko from under her cloak, chug the whole thing, crush the can against her forehead, and fling herself off of a cliff into the subterranean lair of Mother Fucker Unlimited, a monster six times her size, slaughter him and a dozen of his most annoying friends, black out, wake up an hour later on the cold ground, drag herself back up onto her feet, and do it all again.

velvetvortexxx

follow his onlydans

orallech

doraingrid

why are you so desperate for love? it's an empty existence without it.

chriskotiesen

Hollow Knight

humming-fly

The Sister of the Void ending is inadvertently deeply funny when considering the siblings’ pov

Sorry We're Closed

Chapter 14: "Matilda"

Eventually, we see a series of doors marked with different exhibits, one leading to our destination. We pass a small control room with some supply closets and a series of security camera feeds. The computers they broadcast to are black and silent, mirroring our frazzled reflections at us as we pass. The next door leads into a massive area with ceilings that must reach the building’s roof stories up. A few crates of rotting fish sit on the far end of a thin, long walkway to the side of what must be the tank. It’s all metal from our perspective, and a long, rusting ladder leads up to the platform above. I can hear the faint ripple of water lapping against metal. Robyn takes the opportunity to reload their gun, petting the metal above the dog’s eyes and prompting it to purr. I roll my shoulders. There’s nowhere to go but up.

eliseliedl

Sorry We're Closed 3 / ?

lunathrix

i.e. what i imagine hornet's internal dialogue to look like

sorry we're closed isn't given its due credit for centering a queer female protagonist who is an absolute loser. not over her ex three entire years later, masturbation material on her nightstand, in love with her sleep paralysis demon, box-dyed hair and broke. the representation i deserve.

#sorry we're closed #playing it for the fifth time rn #michelle swc #indie games #a la mode games #michelle x the duchess

Sorry We're Closed: Chapter 13 - Enter Lazarus

There’s bugs. Giant, fuck-off cockroach things. When they reel back to click their pincers at me, they reach just above my knees. The first we encountered dropped from the ceiling, startling me so badly I struck out wildly with my axe. I whacked hard enough through its exoskeleton that I heard the metal head strike off the floor—and nearly skinned a bit of Robyn off with the strike. Which put them in an ill humour. I had to prop my shoe off the bug to get enough purchase to tug my axe back out of its still-twitching body. Unpleasant noises and sensations. Nonetheless, we pressed on, keeping a wary eye on the ceiling. Everything reeks of dead fish, like a walk by the docks on a hot, sour day. The tanks are in a shocking state of disrepair, considering how briefly the aquarium’s been closed. Festering algae, creeping black mould, thin pools of still water.

ideavian

DLC already??????

splashyf

that one songclave wish

Sorry We're Closed: Chapter 11

Outside are more glimmers of light, hazy images I only now realise aren’t tricks of the eye: they’re remnants of the other world. I watch them ripple across the street, unnoticed by anyone else. I open my third eye as I walk and discover another reality, one that’s always been here, unseen. It’s jarring—more than that. Totally upending. I watch as a flayed demon in black trousers, a white tee, and cap walks by the postman collecting his last delivery. The man shivers and rolls his shoulders with the postbox hanging open, and the demon hastily reaches in to remove a few letters and tuck them in its own little bag before heading off. It has a bounce in its step, snapping its fingers and humming a tune as it wanders past me. The postman catches me looking and smiles halfheartedly. “I swear, I always feel cold by this postbox, like I got a chill down my spine. Dunno what it is.” “Must be haunted,” I reply instinctively. He laughs, because that’s a normal joke a normal human would make, and I walk on.

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