#I’ll argue with people who I think are just plain wrong

[sing-me-under]

I feel like at this point I’m just following the Batfam tag just to find comics readers arguing in the egregiously OOC posts.

[luveline]

(𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞) 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve hears you wrong, thinks he’s your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you can’t anymore. 3k, fem. requested here ♡ 

cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff scene 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. You’re lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steve’s hand behind your shoulder, you’re pretty sure you would’ve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago. 

A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch. 

“We can leave,” Steve says immediately. He’s weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but he’s always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you. 

“I wanna see Max.” 

“She has to be here somewhere.” 

That theory proves less and less likely. Steve’s hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. “Maybe she quit?” you suggest. 

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Max’s rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ‘rough patch’ is a kind way to describe it. She could’ve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. It’s nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isn’t actually settling in. That’s the whole reason you’re here. 

Steve frowns at you worriedly. 

“Who died?” asks a new voice.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Max!” Steve cheers. 

“That’s me,” Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips. 

“Hey, the uniform looks good on you,” he says affectionately. “You look like a valued member of society.”

“A society in need of better labour laws. I’m pretty sure this is child abuse.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Is it awful?” you ask. 

“It’s fine. Better when your stupid friends aren’t here making themselves sick on candy like they’re nine years old,” she says pointedly to Steve. “Are you going to throw up too? You look–” she grimaces in place of insult. 

“Who’s throwing up?” you ask. 

“Dustin. He’s outside.” 

Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, squaring his expression. “Goddamn kids.” 

He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyone’s alright. He’s nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes. 

“Why are you smiling at him like that?” Max asks.

You school your impression. “Like what?” 

“Like you like him.” 

You shake your head. “Tell me about work, Max. What’s it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?” 

She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isn’t hard, it’s just a job. She’d much rather be at home reading, but wouldn’t everyone? “And I get this sweet uniform,” she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. “What’s with you and Steve?” 

“Nothing,” you say, though it’s something. You’re mortified to have been caught having feelings. 

“Looks like something. Are you dating?” 

“I mean, this is a date,” you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. “But we’re not together.” 

“He was touching you a lot.” 

“Max, he’s really nice. He’s a really nice guy,” you say gently, “and we’re not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe I’ll say yes.” You realise what you’re saying and attempt to backtrack —you do like Steve, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” you say strangely. 

“Ew,” Max says with a laugh. 

“Not ew,” you correct. You hadn’t meant it in a bad way, it’s— 

“Not ew,” Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder. 

You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug. 

“What’s ew about that?” he asks you softly. 

Oh, boy, you think. 

As it turns out, being Steve’s girlfriend is kind of nice, but you aren’t ready.

From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like you’re made of gold. And it’s great, he’s so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasn’t got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. You’d get that. You have your moments with him, you’re falling for him, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re desperately in love, you’re sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, “Just a water for my girl,” and you realise you’re not getting off easy. 

Dating is sort of like being good friends; you’d planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. It’s clear he’s eager, optioning off the day’s agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet. 

“We could go to the movies,” he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. “No science fiction, I promise.” 

“I kind of like sci-fi.” Petals press fragrant to your top lip.

“Well, we don’t have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet they’re playing any movie you wanna see.” He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and practically throwing himself inside. He’s giggling like a kid. “Shit, I’ll see anything you want to.” 

“Steve.” 

“Or we can go do nothing? Until dinner.” 

“Steve,” you say again, thinking you’ll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty. 

“What?” he asks. 

His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear you’ve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smiles 

You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. “Nothing. Let’s go see a movie.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“What?” 

“What do you mean, what? You sounded weird.” 

“I sounded weird?” 

“No!” He winces. “I mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you… I don’t know. Sorry.” 

You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it. 

“I wanna go to the movies,” you say, ‘cos you really do. 

“Alright, good. It’s just, I think my last relationship, I– I didn’t pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.” 

Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? You’re gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart played with twice. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “Let’s go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, we’ll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. It’ll be fun.” 

You aren’t lying to him about what you want. It’s clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend won’t even be that different to being his something. 

After all, what’s romantic about seeing a movie? 

“You good?” he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged. 

You’re at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews. 

“Steve,” you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way. 

He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. “What?” he asks, amused. 

“You were in the way of the light.” 

“That what it was?”

“Seriously!” you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself. 

“You’re so cute,” he whispers back. “Want to take your jacket off?” 

Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. “How’s that, babe?” he asks. 

“It’s good.” 

“Okay, perfect.” He beams at you. He’s always smiling when he’s with you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. “Tell me if you need something, yeah? I know you’re kinda shy.” 

He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. “That’s us,” he says without looking at you. 

Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise! 

You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, you’re overwhelmed, too. You aren’t ready for so much sweetness all at once. You don’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve this. 

You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steve’s breathing. 

He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs. 

You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat —you can’t hold it in anymore. It’s too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek. 

Steve sits still in moderate horror. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.

The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, he’s really young. He doesn’t always know what to do. He stares at you now like you’re a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen. 

A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. “Sorry,” you say. 

“Why?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“I really like you, Steve.” 

He stares at you. “…But?”

“But I–” His frown hurts your heart. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, I never– never had someone like me like this, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. “It’s not you.” 

“I thought…” And of course he did. 

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldn’t matter but everything’s going so fast.” 

He touches your arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you wanted this. You– you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.” 

“I do like you,” you insist, meeting his eyes. 

“Can I wipe your tears away? They’re everywhere,” he says. You struggle to read his expression, but there’s no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. “I don’t understand,” he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, “but you don’t have to be upset. Please. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.” 

“Steve, when I was talking to Max, I said,” —you wince— “that it’s not like you’re my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but I’m too weird about this stuff, I’m panicking now–”

“Don’t.” His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.” 

“Of course I believe you.” He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like he’s brushing himself off. “I’m sorry. For getting the wrong idea.” 

“I like you,” you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks. 

“I like you too!” he says loudly. 

A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. “Can you guys shut up?” 

You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because he’s the one who should be upset (or maybe he’s not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again. 

“You okay?” he asks tightly. 

“I’m sorry.”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue. “So you don’t want to be together?” 

You don’t know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. “I do, I like you, but I… I want to take things slowly.” 

He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, he’s laughing, that achy awful sadness he’d worn a far off memory. “You’re this upset because you want us to take things slow?” 

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” 

“You haven’t,” he promises. “That would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that… cool?” 

You nod vehemently. 

Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. “I thought I was gonna lose you completely,” he says, smiling. “This is fine. I can work with slow. Slow’s my middle name.”

—♡—

The sun is a blistering heat today. “Can’t believe it’s only spring,” you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm. 

A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.

“I think I might melt.” 

“I’d never let that happen,” Steve says, laying down beside you. 

“You can be my parasol.” 

“Your what?” 

“It’s a sun umbrella.” 

“Like this?” he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach that’s bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up. 

You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. “Thanks,” you say.

He kisses your naked leg. “You’re welcome, honey.” 

If he’d done that at the beginning of your relationship, you’d have frozen up; not because he would’ve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and that’s okay. 

“Your face is digging into my hip,” you murmur. 

He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. “Is that better?” 

“That’s perfect.” 

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks softly. 

“No… I’m thinking.” 

“Nothing good ever comes of that.” 

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“I love talking to you,” he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth. 

You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You aren’t scared to tell him how you’re feeling. He’s proved to you over time that he’s someone you’ll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight. 

“It’s a question.” 

He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world. 

“Don’t tell me then,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, you’re terrifying.” 

“Would you wanna be my boyfriend?”

He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until he’s smiling, and you know he’s sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. “Baby,” he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, “I think we’ve passed that point.” 

“I realised I’d never asked you, is all.” 

His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. It’s pretty clear now you’re together, even after such a bumpy start. 

“Can I get it in writing this time?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem. 

“Give you anything you want if you kiss me,” you murmur. 

His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it. 

You tip your head aside to catch your breath.

“Better late than never,” you joke. 

Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. “You weren’t late, babe. I was early, and I didn’t mind waiting.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyed❤️❤️❤️

[brekwrites]

In Defense of Sun: Addressing the Bald Issue

So, we all know that Sun adamantly insists he is not bald and his rays are hair, despite contrary opinions from literally every other character. While this is technically true, I personally believe that the nuance of the situation is being overlooked, and that Sun DOES, in fact, have the right to call Moon bald.

Let me explain.

So, to start off, let’s take a look at Sun’s claims:

1. He is not bald

2. His rays are hair

I’ll be analyzing both separately, but before we get into specifics, let’s define our terms.

Who is bald?

The dictionary definition of bald, according to google, is: having a scalp wholly or partly lacking hair.

To meet this definition, a person must be lack hair on their scalp, meaning there is no hair there AT ALL. This is the official definition, which I will refer to as Bald (with a capital B), or True Baldness.

Two famous people that meet this standard are Mr. Clean (left), and Saitama (right) from One Punch Man.

These two individuals are Bald. This is the standard of True Baldness.

However, I would argue that there is, in fact, another definition of bald that is commonly accepted by society. To differentiate the two, I will refer to this secondary category as bald, with a lowercase b, or apparent baldness.

So, what is apparent baldness? I think the best example of apparent baldness is Seth Everman.

Seth is widely known for being bald (among other things, but I’m focusing on his baldness here). However, upon closer inspection, we can see that he does actually have hair in his scalp, he’s just shaved his head.

Thus, Seth does not meet the standards for True Baldness. He is, however, still widely accepted to be bald, as seen in his notorious youtube comment:

1.6 million people agreed with this, so it must have some merit, but Seth is not Truly Bald, so what is he? I would argue that Seth fits into the secondary category: he is bald, but not Bald.

What this means is that Seth appears to be bald, but is not truly Bald. THIS is apparent baldness.

I think the biggest factor in apparent baldness is the smooth silhouette, which I’ve highlighted here.

Seth shares this shape with Saitama. Both are bald, but only Saitama is Truly Bald. Do you feel me?

So now we have:

Bald: lacking hair on the scalp

and

bald: sharing the smooth silhouette commonly seen in Bald people; widely accepted and labeled as bald

By this definition, Saitama is both Bald and bald, and Seth is bald but not Bald. Finally, if someone who is Truly Bald wore a wig, they would be Bald, but NOT bald, since they lack the appearance of baldness.

Now we can examine Sun’s arguments.

Claim #1: Sun is not bald.

When you go by the traditional definition, Sun is Bald. He lacks hair, plain and simple. However, I would argue that his silhouette does not have the appearance of baldness.

Thus, he is not bald.

Moon, on the other hand…

Is very much apparently bald. And even if you argue that his hat disrupts the silhouette, let’s look at Pitbull, another famous bald individual.

Here we see Pitbull performing in a hat. Though the hat disrupts his smooth silhouette, we all know the truth: he is bald beneath it. Thus, Sun is Bald, but not bald, but MOON is Bald AND bald.

Whether or not the statement is true depends on the definition of bald you are using, and Sun could technically argue that he is not bald. Additionally, I don’t believe he is in the wrong for calling Moon bald either, because of relative baldness.

Relative baldness

Can Sun joke that Moon is bald? I say yes. Here’s why.

Let’s say I’m 5’5” tall, and I have a friend who is 5 feet even and one who is 6 feet even. The national height average is 5’4”. Thus, by technical definition, I am not short.

However, I would argue that my 6 foot tall friend could still call me “shorty” as a joke and get away with it. When standing next to them, I do appear short, even if I’m not technically Short in the official sense.

I can also turn around and call my 5 foot tall friend short, and I would be within my rights to so so as they would be both apparently short and Truly Short by definition. Finally, someone who is 5’2” (True Shortness) could probably still get away with calling my 5 foot tall friend short.

By these standards, I would argue that Sun has a right to jokingly call Moon bald, since Moon is relatively balder than him. This does, however, mean that the animatronics with synthetic hair, who are still technically Bald, are within their rights to joke that Sun is bald in comparison to them.

As an aside, you could also argue that one requires a scalp to be Truly Bald, since that is included in the definition. This would mean that technically none of the animatronics are Truly Bald, but the rights for who can call who bald would still default to relative baldness in this case, so the outcome would be the same.

So, to summarize: Sun is either Bald but not bald OR neither Bald nor bald, and either way you swing it, he’s still LESS BALD than Moon. On to the final claim.

Claim #2: Sun’s rays are hair.

Again, the technical answer is no. None of them have real hair that they grew from their head, but there are some technicalities here based on the same relativity theory.

No animatronic truly has hair, but if you want to define an animatronic equivalent to hair, it would probably be ‘something that is attached to or comes out of the top of one’s head.’

If we go by the attachment theory, animatronics like Monty and Puppet can be considered to have more hair relative to Sun and Moon. But is a wig truly hair?

Depending on how their synthetic hair is attached (is it a wig glued down to their head or threaded through the exoskeleton like a barbie?), it’s possible that what Sun has is actually the closest thing to hair, since his rays clearly originate from his head and are extending out from it, not just glued on top. Would you say that someone who is Truly Bald and wears a wig ‘has hair?’ They certainly appear to, but it’s not a part of them, so maybe you could argue that they don’t.

So, if Sun has the closest thing to hair, relatively, then I think he at least has more of a right to call his rays hair than is being let on, especially if we consider that he’s not apparently bald. And if Monty and Puppet’s hair is glued on, like a wig, then I would argue Sun has more relative hair privileges than them, since they are an actual part of him that extends from his head. Thus, the argument is not QUITE as ridiculous as it sounds, even if Sun’s rays are not truly hair by definition.

As another side note, you could maybe argue that Sun’s rays are closer to horns or even antennae? But I think that since they aren’t clearly defined as anything, it can go either way.

In Conclusion

Tldr: Sun is Truly Bald, but not apparently bald, and thus has the right to call Moon bald as a joke. He is less bald than Moon. Additionally, there is an argument that his rays could be considered at least the closest thing an animatronic has to hair, depending on your qualifications for animatronic hair and how Monty and Puppet’s wigs work.

[xshimaeraxx]

maybe-hot-take here: cc!cuphead and mugman, or at LEAST cc!mugman, both think themselves to be bad people.

think about it. mugman, in the morality debate w the devil, literally SAYS, OUT LOUD, the scenario of thinking he’s in the right when he’s not that he himself is now stuck in. now, i’m not saying with this that cc!mugman isn’t arrogant and DOESN’T have a god complex of some kind a mile long, because it’s plain by now that he DOES — but being arrogant and thinking yourself better then others doesn’t equal into actually, genuinely thinking that the things you do and the actions you commit are unequivocally, morally good.

Look at the morality debate another time;

(credit, obviously, to brightgoat, former owner of casino cups)

now, we COULD focus on mugman’s reaction & all that, but i want y’all to look at the spades card. what’s its reaction to the devil’s card popping up? defensiveness, crouching down as one would do in a fight, all hallmarks of the fight that while the debate may SEEM civil, going by the (fairly obvious, i’d say) assumption that the cards are connected to devil’s & mugman’s emotions. look at the spade (& clubs) cade when the devil says “nonono, we’re talking about you-”

the spade card is disarmed, frightened. the club’s, on the other hand, is just surprised.

but let’s move on from that small detour for a bit. what does mugman say in the second ss? “A villain does not always need bad intentions, some bad people don’t think of themselves as bad, what makes a villain is their actions.”

and the devil replies with [paraphrasing] “doesn’t that make you the villian?”

and mugman replies with the fancy-people equivalent of “yes, but”. now, we may not ever know just what EXACTLY mugman would’ve said after that “but”, but i wager we can guess at what he might’ve been about to say. “we recognised our actions as wrong but i never said our actions weren’t wrong, i said that we had a morally good REASON, therefore making us NOT the villains in that specific scenario.” now, is there a multitude of OTHER things that mugman could’ve said there ‘fore the devil cut him off? yes, yes there are. but to make my point here, i’m going to go off of the assumption that THAT is what mugman was going to say.

the devil next said, “Villains can still recognise their actions and commit them, Mug.” mugman doesn’t respond to this remark; instead deflects with the fact that the devil’s evolution of the scenario/situation isn’t fair bc it doesn’t consider the context. i’ll get back on that l’il remark later, but the devil’s response is to IMMEDIATELY say [again, paraphrasing] “But it’s your debt we’re talking about here, don’t try and deflect off of the previous conversation.” when mugman says “no, this is about the debtors,” that’s a plain lie, because YES, the convo/debate began by talking about the debtors, but it evolved into a conversation/debate on whether the BROS were being morally good during the events of the game, so it IS about mugman’s debt. mugman & cuphead’s debt, technically, but both the devil & mugman’re ignoring that during that portion of the convo, so we’re ignoring it aswell.

strawmanning. what’s the definition of strawmanning? from goofle: “Straw man occurs when someone argues that a person holds a view that is actually not what the other person believes. Instead, it is a distorted version of what the person believes. So, instead of attacking the person's actual statement or belief, it is the distorted version that is attacked.”

when the devil says that mugman is strawmanning here, he is, as far as i can tell, right. mugman is strawmanning here; he clearly doesn’t entirely believe in what he’s saying, based purely off of how SURPRISED he is when the devil calls him out. i can say, from personal experience, that that isn’t how a person who truly believes in what they’re saying reacts when someone accuses them of lying - if they DO truly believe in what they’re saying/that what they’re saying is true, then getting told you’re lying WHEN YOU’RE NOT is incredibly frustrating. you don’t get caught-off guard, caught-out; you get angry, you get frustrated, and what a person normally does at being accused like this is either double down on their side of the argument, or they just drop the topic altogether because it frustrates one too much to continue interacting with someone who won’t believe them.

mugman does neither of these. what he does do is feebly try to deflect, deny, and move the debate back to the topic the whole thing BEGAN with- the debtors, & the devil accusedly taking advantage of people with his deals- and when that fails and devil turns to dice, the (obviously biased; i’m sorry dice ily but c’mon, you can’t deny he was) judge of the debate, for support and dice gives it, what does mugman do?

he stops trying to argue his point, and while yes, giving in and letting the other person win IS as i said a sign of someone who truly believes in what they’re saying, but here it’s obvious that that’s not the case. mugman, here, is giving in purely because he KNOWS he’s been caught-out, and there’s therefore no point trying to argue for something he doesn’t believe in.

but what exactly in that argument does he not believe in? the fact the debtors were taken advantage of in their deals? he definitely and wholeheartedly believes in that, even if not exactly in the way he presented it as to the devil, purely because if he hadn’t he wouldn’t’ve started that debate IN THE FIRST PLACE. so he believes in that, at least. so is the thing mugman doesn’t believe in - himself? does he not believe in the morality of him and his brother?

does he not think that he, himself, is morally good? if so, does he believe that he is morally BAD, or does mugman simply believe that he isn’t morally good? i wager he believes the former.

let’s take a quick look at Mortal Blues, aka the “Mugsy’s Mental Breakdown” comic strip(s).

here, we see mugman act the most arrogant we have ever seen him act in the entire 'verse of casino cups. he is flaunting his accomplishments in the middle of an honest-to-god mental breakdown and is clearly saying it all more to himself then to quadratus, saying it all aloud as a way to reassure himself that he deserves more, he deserves to know, he deserves to KNOW. so, clearly, he should ALSO be assuring himself of his morality, his goodness—yet he doesn’t mention it once in his list/rant about his 'accomplishments' (or more accurately, traumas).

he lists fighting satan himself, dying and coming back over and over and over again, and he rants about the injustice of it, about how he deserves more then this. how he deserves to know. he lists these things, in my eyes, as a way to reassure himself that he DOES deserve it, he’s done more then enough in his life to be deserving enough, to be powerful enough to know, so it’s only logical that he’d list off his moral goodness alongside all those other things: he’s above LUCIFER HIMSELF in his morality even if not in knowledge, he’s steadfast, he doesn’t break in his beliefs whether by actions or words, he is GOOD where so many other people aren’t-

but he doesn’t say anything of the sort, simply because it wouldn’t be true - or at least, deep down, he doesn’t THINK it’s true.

now, i’m not here to argue about whether or not mugman truly IS morally good or not (because in my genuine opinion, cc!mugman’s morality is more neutral then either good OR bad in my pov for reasons ill prolly expand upon in some other post someday); i’m just here to argue that mugman believes himself to be morally bad. and really, when you look at it all pilled up together, well—the evidence’s kinda hard to miss.

tl;dr: CC!Mugman Has Issues & Desperately Needs Therapy, Here’s (One Of) the Reasons Why

[theetherealshade]

The reason I set in stone that I would become a doctor was fairly simple: there's nothing else you have to do—just take care of people. Of course, I would have to study and might end up having a quite comfortable life financially, but I always believed that would happen to me regardless of my career choice.

If the world ends in shambles, or the USA loses its hegemony, even if the apocalypse falls over the earth, my mission would still be to take care of people no matter what. But there is a perk to this choice—you can also become quite alienated from how people change their political views, and their reasons for existing and keeping on might not align with yours. Your reasons might never have had anything to do with all this noise. Or maybe it’s just me—a plain-minded person.

However, due to recent political events—in Brazil, the USA, Russia, and wherever else—my family’s minds have become so brain-rotted that we might not have common ground anymore. I’m chronically online, but I always save enough time for my mind to reflect upon life (because without this, I cannot function).

They are right-wing (though if you are extreme right-wing, they might look more centrist), and I am not left-wing, for sure. But they no longer seem to have their own opinions. All they know is to defend a certain politician or certain policies, or to find excuses to say the left is wrong just because it doesn’t fit the right-wing agenda.

Recently, I saw a post by a girl I admire (and, why not admit it, feel attracted to) telling people who voted for Trump and are MAGA to go f*** themselves. She’s very woke and very left-wing.

It breaks my heart to see people I love so much choosing sides, believing it will save them from whatever is coming toward us in the future. But I don’t think I actually know anyone with a real opinion anymore. All I see are people repeating themselves—the same lines, the same advertisements, the same discourse over and over again. From their lips or from the internet, in random X posts, TikTok videos, or from Ben Shapiro or ContraPoints.

What terrifies me the most is that you cannot argue back. You cannot find common ground anymore.

Don’t tell me it’s because the stakes are too high to argue about—that’s not it. People don’t seem to have their own point of view anymore. It makes me wonder why Neuralink would want to put chips in people’s brains—they’re already brain-rotted, and you can practically read their thoughts just by listening to them.

For the record, I do not support people going against each other. If anything, both the right and left have treated us like puppets, pulling strings here and there. It’s true that you can always predict the masses but not the individual.

However, we don’t have individuals anymore.

Because people don’t know how to think for themselves anymore.

Anyway, I’ll just keep living my life—taking care of people, hitting the gym, and drinking less. I’m just a small soul trying to get things done fairly and in a way that reflects our shared humanity.

It’s very clear to me that people don’t carry the truth within themselves anymore. You cannot construct your foundation solely on institutions or other people. Build yourself on principles—on things that are good, right, and true! Otherwise, the world crumbles and turns into a copy of a copy.

One of the greatest decisions I ever made was choosing to care for people. It felt like a good idea then, and it still does. It’s exhausting at times, but even if the world ends, I’d still be doing the same thing. If a nuclear war happens—if you lose your reputation, family, friends, and money—I doubt many would still be making decisions based on these fleeting, superficial issues.

I cannot tell people what the right way to live is, but I know this: this is not it.

[walker-extended-universe]

(Don't) Jump

Relationship(s): Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Cordell Walker, Cordell Walker & Sam Winchester, Adam Milligan & Cordell Walker, Lucifer & Michael

Tags/Warnings: Episode: S05E22 Swan Song, Stopping the Apocalypse, Self-Sacrifice, Desperation, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Hurt No Comfort

Summary: Gabriel senses the oncoming apocalypse and decides to quit being a coward. He brings Cordell along with him.

Part 5 of Henry Winchester 'Verse

Written for @angstober Day 21- Can't Save Everyone

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

-------

It’s happening.

Cordell’s hands paused over the keyboard of his laptop. “What’s happening?”

The prizefight. Our brothers fighting over the planet, over paradise. It’s coming soon. I can feel it.

Cordell sighed. He’d known this day would come, but he’d foolishly hoped Sam and Dean would do something about it before it became a problem. “What do we do? Start prepping for the end?”

I can’t believe I’m suggesting this but… There might be another way.

“What? Like we go there and try to talk them out of it?”

It’s worth a try. Maybe it’s time we quit running from all this family stuff.

Cordell shook his head. “Do you really think that will work? That we can just stop the apocalypse if we ask nicely? I thought everyone up in Heaven and down in Hell wanted this….” He wasn’t sure what was left of their brotherly bonds would be enough to stop the will of cosmic forces.

We have to try, don’t we?

He wasn’t wrong about that. “Okay. Just- Let me tell Emily first. Just in case.” Just in case they didn’t come back. Just in case something went wrong. Just in case Gabriel was wrong about everything. They needed to be ready.

—-------

Lucifer and Michael stood in Stull Cemetery, ready for the final showdown. Neither of them truly wanted to do this- they were brothers, after all- but they had no choice. It was the way the story was written. It was fate, plain and simple.

Fate did not involve Dean Winchester rolling up to the site of the battle blasting his rock and roll. Nor did it involve their wayward brother Gabriel appearing in the nick of time.

“It’s been some time, little brother,” Michael greeted.

“I thought I killed you,” said Lucifer.

“Gabriel?! Why the fuck are you wearing my brother?!” demanded Dean.

Gabriel sighed. “Okay, in order. One, I’ve been a lot of places, Michael. Made lots of interesting friends too. Two, Lucifer, you are not the only person who’s taught me tricks. I’ve evolved since you left. And three, I’m wearing him because I needed a place to hide and he consented to it. Now, let’s talk Apocalypse. Or, rather, why we shouldn’t be doing this whole mess.”

Michael scoffed. “Gabriel, with all due respect, you abandoned Heaven eons ago. You don’t have a right to try interfering now. You lost that ability when you ran away.”

“And if you try to argue that you’re doing this to save human lives, let me remind you that you tried to kill me not too long ago,” Lucifer hissed. “How could you value these disgusting creatures over your own brother?”

“See, this is why I left Heaven; you asshats never let me talk,” Gabriel grumbled. “Alright, I admit I haven’t exactly been the most responsible archangel. I’ll own that. I’m an asshole. I’m lazy. I’m a coward. I run away from my problems and get my kick out of punishing people that I think deserve it based on my own metrics.”

“At least he admits it,” Dean muttered.

“Shut it, Winchester, adults are talking. Now, where was I? Oh, right. Now, I know I’m not the most responsible being in the universe but you know who’s even worse about that? God. He’s the one that fucked off ages ago and left you to run Heaven on your own. And you still want to play along with his little story when He’s not even around to watch it go down? Come on, Lucy, you’ve gotta hate that plan more than I do.”

“He will come back when we bring Paradise,” Michael said, ever the practical one.

“You say that like I’d let you win,” Lucifer snarked. “And who’s to say He would? Father stopped caring about us as soon as He made the humans. And I’m not doing this to play into His plan; I just want the earth restored to what it was before these monkeys wrecked it.”

“Again with this sympathy for the Devil crap,” Dean muttered. 

“Shut up!” all three archangels commanded.

“The point remains, Gabriel,” Michael continued, “You really have no room to speak on this. All the pieces were put in motion eons ago. This is just the way it has to happen. No one can do anything to change that.”

“That doesn’t really line up with the whole ‘free will’ thing, now does it?” Dean snarked.

“That’s enough out of you!” Lucifer rounded on Dean.

It was easy to forget how strong Lucifer was. It had been so long since any other angel had seen him at his full strength, even his closest brothers had forgotten. Even now that he’d been out of the Cage and found his true vessel, he wasn’t all that intimidating to the ones who knew him best.

How easy it was to forget how brightly his grace shone when he was full of righteous anger. Even Gabriel had to shield his eyes. Even Michael had to step back. He truly was the Morningstar.

Cordell screamed at Gabriel to do something, anything to protect his brother. But, despite his insistence on coming here, Gabriel couldn’t. He couldn’t move against Lucifer. Never could.

He was, in the end, still a coward. Always would be when it came to his brothers. Some things never changed.

So Lucifer beat Dean near to a pulp. Gabriel did nothing to stop him. Michael did nothing to stop him.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Sam did something to stop him.

Gabriel noticed Lucifer’s grace dimming first as Sam fought his way to the surface. Sam stopped the beating and reached into his pocket for the key. The key to the Cage.

“Don’t worry, Dean. I’ve got him.”

The Cage opened with a roar and the wind picked up as it tried to suck Lucifer back in. Just as Sam was ready to fall in, Michael ran forward to stop him. If Gabriel didn’t know any better, he might say Michael was worried for Lucifer.

Cordell reached for his brothers; Adam was the only one he could grab. Gabriel watched in horror as both his brothers fell into the pit and Cordell cried out for Sam.

Then, just like that, the door to the Cage closed and the ground sealed up as if nothing was ever there.

Cordell stood, staring at the spot where his brother once stood. Sam- his brother, his twin, his other half- was gone. In Hell. He felt frozen in his grief, barely even registering Gabriel’s voice in his head.

He knew he had to talk to Dean. He knew he needed to figure out what to do about Adam. He knew he needed to call his family. But he also needed to grieve.

“Sam,” he whispered, tears silently falling down his face.

He felt a presence next to him; he didn’t even need to look to know his older brother was there, staring at the ground and thinking the same things he was. He wanted to reach out, comfort Dean. But he didn’t know how. Even if there wasn’t this gap between them, sowed by anger and abandonment, what does one even say in this situation.

Eventually, the silence got to be too much to bear. “Dean-”

“I’m fine,” his brother said robotically. “Why don’t you just go? Go home to your wife and that apple pie life of yours? You don’t need to be here.”

The words cut him deeper than any knife could hope to. But Cordell couldn’t argue. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say before walking away.

A small distance away, he saw his half-brother, no longer commandeered by Michael, speaking to a dark-haired figure (An angel, Castiel, Gabriel supplied) before the other disappeared in a flash. Adam looked at the ground, dejected. Alone.

Cordell sighed and made his way over. “Do you have anywhere to go? I can give you a lift.”

Adam shook his head. “I used to. But then I died.” He laughed bitterly. “I shouldn’t even be here. I only agreed to this crap because the angels promised they’d bring my mom back. But…” He threw his hands up. “Guess that’s not happening.”

Cordell nodded. “Why don’t you come home with me for now? We’ve got a spare bed for you until you figure out what you want to do. If that’s okay with you.”

“I guess I don’t have that many other options, do I?” Adam scoffed. “Where’s home anyway?”

“Austin, Texas.” Cordell clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. We’ll grab some burgers on the way.”

“Yes, please. I’m fucking starving.”

Cordell chuckled and led him away. Then, he remembered Gabriel had flown them there. “Gabe-”

Relax, Cowboy. I’m on it.

[bellamyblake]

I gotta say, I really love seeing the way Bellamy is in the beginning of season 2 because the truth is that no, he’s NOT different. 

He had those same believes and understandsing before, the difference now is that he knows which lines he can’t uncross and what he can’t come back to. 

I like the parallels they make with F/inn the supposed peacemaker who called him everything under god’s green earth in season 1 but ended up shooting that grounder they questioned in the bunker without a blink while Bellamy argued that there’s a difference between being at WAR and an execution which is not something new, but rather something I believe he understood very well  in season 1 and especially following the events with Murphy which served as a great lesson for both Bellamy AND C’larke. 

Did he hate the grounders-yes but he did so because they killed about 20 or so more kids, some right before him and they were in active war. Many people argue that he hated the grounders from the start which is why he did what he did in s3 (we’ll get to that when we rewatch) but it’s not true.  

Anyway, my point stands that I believe he knew where he stood always-did he made mistakes, yes he did but he learned from them and you could definitely see it and he also held certain believes because he was trained as a guard and ultimately a soldier on the Ark and he understood those differences between right/wrong and tried to do his best (yes that counts for s3 too but again I’ll get there when I get there). 

Grounders seem to be there for certain characters to just fall in love with and try to make them out to be good when they attacked a 100 kids, killed 1/3 of them, then attacked them with the intention to destroy them completely because they were the ones who refused to make peace, not the 100. 

Either way, I love the comparisons here in the beginning of s2 and who Bellamy is. I know many of the OG blogs and some others said they didn’t like season 2 Bellamy because he suddenly became this good guy coming from a bad boy they all thirsted to in s1 (we all did, let’s face it) but I think people read the situations wrong-Bellamy was never some as*hole who just wanted to kill gounders because he liked it. 

He came to the ground with the agenda to protect his sister, then let all of those kids IN to the point he was willing to die to protect them, all of them and he saw the grounders as an enemy because that’s what they were but saying he turned good guy from bad boy is plain dumb and undermining Bellamy’s whole character because HE is not THAT stupid. 

He knows that difference from war and execution, something Finn doesn’t and he sees stuff way more clearly than his sister or even C’larke, let’s face it, ever did in the end of s1. C’larke was willing to set them off to sea when just letting them out in the open being exposed in enemy territory is plain suicide and got back to bite them. 

Bellamy didn’t want to stay back and fight because he wanted to kill grounders or get his fight or his war, he did it because it was the smart thing-fight for the land you’re already on, for the home you’ve already made and try to take a stand, rather than run.

But anyway, I’m just rambling. 

[peach-and-bugs]

I’m catching up on Yellowjackets because of you fics! And the adult timeline is kinda hilarious! As the season progresses I’m actually liking Misty more and more. After the whole plane transmitter thing I don’t think I’ll ever get why she would be anyone’s favorite character but she’s growing on me

Aw! I'm so glad my fics have gotten you to watch again! Season 2 definitely gave us an interesting adult timeline with a lot of great comedic moments and a lot of that was given to Misty, which as a huge lover of her from the start I was very happy about. But I wanna defend my girl here because you've given me the opportunity, lol (of course, you can think whatever you want you like, I'm not arguing or judging whatsoever, I just love Misty and like talking about her)

so, number 1 Misty Defender here to do some explaining, bc if actually been dying to talk about this.

Misty destroying the black box actually did nothing for the group's rescue. after doing a lot of digging and reading threads from people who work with plains and understand the science of black boxes (I'll tag them if I can track them down again) it's apparent that Misty's actions didn't hinder or help their chances of getting rescued, which is so interesting for her character!

the way a black box works (again, to my understanding after reading stuff from other people who know what they're talking about) is that its job is to collect data. It keeps track of cabin and general plane conditions over the course of the flight, as well as audio recordings so that when a crash is found, they have data to help understand what might have gone wrong. the only transmission that it has is specifically for water/ocean crashes, so it wouldn't activate in this situation. All of this info is from this post on the Yellowjackets Reddit

So Misty didn't actually hinder their rescue whatsoever, but she's been carrying the guilt of thinking she did for the past 25 years (and yes, Misty feels guilt. She just doesn't pay attention to it and suppresses it for herself.) And I think it'll be extremely interesting to see what the writers do, if anything, with the black box. because on one hand, it's entirely possible that the writers didn't look that deep into what a black box is, but on the other, it would be so interesting to see Misty learn that she hadn't done anything. That the 19 months they waited for rescue wasn't because of her like she'd been telling herself

Misty is just such a complex character that I will forever resonate with and adore, but she still makes me so sad. All of her actions are out of her own desperation for connection and relationship, and as someone who was also labeled as the class "weird girl" due to neurodivergence, I can't help the way I uphold her.

[showfallmediamaintenance]

[Video transcript begin.]

[The recording is at upper chest height. As someone walks stealthily through the mall.]

?: Ugh. My arm is killing me…

[Voice identified: Edgar.]

[The man continues to walk through the mall. This carries on for 20 minutes before he notices someone.]

E: Oh my fucking god. 

[The person has blonde hair. And a white dress shirt on. He seems to be looking over the railing of the fourth floor of the mall.]

E: Hey! Asshole!

[The other man looks up. And his eyes widen. Before he adjusts his expression, turning it to a smile. Something about it looks off.]

?: Oh, wow! Look what the cat dragged in! You look like shit!

[Voice identified: Cassius.]

[Edgar approaches Cassius, who appears to be very smug.]

E: The fuck are you doing? Don’t you have anything better to be doing right now?

C: Honestly. No. I was just about to go to the grocery store to grab some hotdog buns, actually. Because I can leave the mall whenever the fuck I want. Unlike you.

E: What kind of hotdog buns do you buy.

C: What? Why do you need to know?

E: I bet you buy the individual ones that cost more to show off. 

C: … Shut the fuck up. No I don’t. 

E: God, you pretentious asshole! Of course you do!

C: I don’t, jackass! I buy the fucking gourmet ones! Whatever they’re fucking called!

E: Oh my fucking god dude, just buy the Wonderbread hotdog buns like the rest of us!

C: YOU BUY THE WONDERBREAD BUNS? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?

E: I did not just hear a MURDERER ask me that. I could say the same to you!

C: At least I don’t eat fucking WONDERBREAD.

E: Your standards are royally fucked, you murderous prick. 

C: Go fuck yourself.

[Edgar takes his phone out of his pocket and places it on a surface. It is angled towards the two men. Their torso and upper body are visible. A large portion of the mall can be seen behind them. They both begin to lean closer as they argue.]

E: No, you go fuck yourself! Some people can’t afford the luxury five star fucking hotdog buns like you can, we have to make do! 

C: You could have fucking afforded the better hotdog buns, I’ve broken into your apartment before, the place is huge!

E: You think I pay rent on that place? No! I was still trying to get back on my feet after THIS FUCKING COMPANY kidnapped me and all of my assets were distributed according to my WILL.

C: THAT’S NOT MY– oh. No. It is my fault. A little bit. I was the one who took you.

E: YOU WERE THE ONE WHO–

C: Well. Maybe you deserved to be kidnapped! You use the fucking WONDERBREAD HOTDOG BUNS. THOSE THINGS ARE AWFUL AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT. 

E: They’re not even that bad!

C: I bet even if you could afford the better ones, you’d still buy the Wonderbread variety. I bet you fucking eat plain sliced white bread for fun!

[Their leaning while arguing has brought them forehead to forehead, their eyes full of… oddly intense rage.]

E: That was one time! One time only! And it was out of necessity!

C: I knew it! You literally eat plain white bread! 

E: Fuck you! I hope you trip into the road and get run over by a semi-truck!

C: I’m going to bash your head into a fucking table!

E: I’m going to cut you in half with a fucking chainsaw and sew the two halves back together fucking backwards!

C: I’ll use splinters of your fucking bones as toothpicks!

[As the two shout more and more absurd and bizarre death threats at each other, someone walks into frame, they stop, and stare at the scene a dozen feet away.]

C: I hope you choke and die on a slice of fucking Wonderbread.

E: Take your stupid shitty ass hotdog buns and shove ‘em up your ass, prick! 

C: I–

?: [Sounding distant, yet still loud.] Are you two kissing?

[Voice identified: Ophelia.]

[Edgar and Cassius both turn their heads to look at Ophelia, then at the phone, they both notice the light at the same time.]

E: Uh oh.

C: Uh oh indeed.

E: Has that thing been recording this whole time?

C: Likely.

[They turn their heads back quickly to each other. As they speak, they are barely audible.]

E:  Okay… we need a distraction. 

C: Yep. We need to draw attention away from… this. 

E: I feel like we have the same idea.

C: Mhm. 

E: Let’s just get this over with.

[Edgar reaches around the back of Cassius’ head, and pulls him in. Their lips meet, and Ophelia shrieks in surprise. At the same time, Alexander skates by on his rollerskate legs, glancing to the side and falling over at the sight. Several other shrieks are heard from other PR members, as the office appears to be stationed right across from where the two men are currently kissing.]

O: OH MY GOD! CASS! I WAS JOKING!

[The two pull away, both looking a little disgusted with themselves. Cassius wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and Edgar turns away and sticks his tongue out, pretending to gag.]

C: Why the fuck did we do that. 

E: I don’t fucking know.

C: Did we even need to draw attention away? That was entirely unnecessary.

E: It was. You’re shit at kissing, by the way.

C: [Offended.] Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kissing Expert! Was the sleep deprived, hastily improvised kiss not good enough for you?

E: I’m just saying, maybe with 300 years or so of practice, I feel like you’d be a little fuckin’ better at it.

C: I’m usually better at it! God, I hate you. 

E: Feeling is mutual, jackass. Fuck you.

C: Hey, at least take me out to di–

E: DO NOT. TAKE THAT AS SOMETHING ELSE. DIE.

[Cassius turns to look at Ophelia, who is holding xer hand over their mouth.]

C: So… you should probably go.

E: Yeah. I should. Bye.

C: Bye.

[Edgar grabs his phone, and begins sprinting, he turns the transcript off as he runs.]

[Transcript end.]

[variousqueerthings]

I finished the west wing s3, and I feel like it’s in a place that’s quite hard for me to engage with on a fictional level now, moreso than before

pre-s3 (pre-real life 9/11) the show seemed to mostly be engaged with internal politics, and my biggest issue with it was related to something that I was also understanding was at its base structure, that is, because it’s set within the government, it doesn’t often actually... portray people whom their policies affect 

and I think this was something I could live with better to begin with, but as we meet more ostensible activists and people who are working directly with people I notice they’re often portrayed as... a little out of touch, a little naïve about the big churning wheels, or sometimes just plain wrong (josh lyman arguing in defence of sex workers rights vs apparent feminist mary-louise parker being like “no criminalising makes perfect sense” is a strong example)

and then in s3 it got very terrorists and those countries over there doing that, and that worsened that structural issue waaaay more, because now it’s not that the show simply doesn’t depict people affected by things as much (which, again, can live with, even though I think it oughta have slowly done so more -- one gay main wouldn’t have killedya), so much as it is a bunch of people in the white house waxing on and on about american values needed in the middle east (or that british lord talking about not wanting to be in the same room as a sinn féin terrorist, and that’s not even really a plot point, it’s just there, I really dislike that character a lot, begone!)   

I knew this would probably happen going in, so I’m just watching it with my own awareness, but it is harder to engage with the characters doing character things, when I’m also remembering that one or another rant this or that character went on about terrorism and you’re sitting there in 2023 knowing that in real life america just lied and invaded iraq (not during the filming of this or the next season though... would it align with s6?) and that the so-called “american leader of the free world” values that get touted more than once are uh... exaggerated, to be very polite

I kind of wish that since it’s a fantasy-world, they’d let it be one, but I can see how at the time it wanted to respond to the politics du jour. I just think that part of it mostly ages very poorly

I wonder what s4-onwards has to say about george bush by proxy (is he the fantasy republican candidate who’s an asshole who goes off about academic elitists? I’ll just imagine he is)

[plague-of-insomnia]

Man it reminds me of this meme

Like idk, im a younger millennial, and it was still very normal for our parents to beat us. So normal in fact, that it was expected (what do you MEAN you dont beat the shit out of your kid for misbehaving!?)

If taboo stuff was normalized... We wouldn't call it taboo.

If somebody wrote a shota x adult, it wouldn't have underage, or the tags, it would just be whatever gender pairing like m/m. there would be no acknowledgement whatsoever, or anywhere near the tags. It would just be a thing in society "so whens your boyfriend getting outta grade school" with the same dival of "so hows the weather"

But no, anti's wanna act like warnings are condonement for the material. Instead of like, warnings.

We dont put hairspray in the oven because it has "WARNING" talking about not to do that, and go obviously these people condone putting hairspray in the oven. (Or try to pass off responsibility like No The hairspray company is the reason my house exploded despite the clear warnings! I just didnt listen!)

Im ranting in here but seriously- anywy-

Hi eyeböll 🥺💕

Nope you’re absolutely right and I’ve seen others make the same point.

When someone tags their story with warning tags, that means they’re aware that the content is “bad.” In a sense it’s like how it used to be “warning, this fic has slash” bc that was considered by many to still be “wrong” or “gross” or even enough to get a fic nuked.

If someone thinks underage is 100% fine and normal and acceptable IRL, then why bother with a warning for it? Granted, sometimes I’ll add warnings when I personally don’t feel they’re necessary, but I like to err on the side of caution.

But yeah, antis like to argue that violence and murder is OK in fiction bc “everyone knows that’s wrong/bad” but underage or adult/minor (even aged up) isn’t bc not everyone knows pedophilia is wrong. (I have seen this exact argument, almost verbatim.)

But the thing is, most people agree that actual pedophilic behavior and (sexual) abuse of children is wrong. Yet you still see plenty of people commit murder or physically assault people IRL, and you still have a segment of parents and educators who believe in “spare the rod, spoil the child” to this day. (Yeah my parents hit us too, though I’m older.)

Antis arguments have more holes than Swiss cheese, and that’s partly bc they don’t know the meaning of the words they use (like “normalization” or “pedophilia”) and bc their whole movement is actually based on confounding disgust with morality rather than an actual logical argument.

They don’t like something, it makes them personally uncomfortable, and instead of avoiding that content, they just wanna remove all harm. And ofc that only applies to sexual content, because antis are hypocrites who don’t realize they’re parroting far right, extremist religious crap rather than being the “progressives” they believe to be.

It’s also ridiculous because a fan fic with a few thousand hits is not gonna normalize shit. If fiction affected reality so directly and extremely as antis claim, then half the world would be fucking their sisters after the popularity of Game of Thrones. But ofc they don’t attack HBO bc they have lawyers and such to shut anyone down, but some lone fan fic writer is an easy target.

(Not to mention if someone is sooo impressionable that reading one fan fic is gonna convince them of x being acceptable and OK, the problem is with THEM and not the fan fic. Because no matter what antis say, unless you’re like… 5 years old, you should have the maturity level to deduce that fiction is not something you should be taking life lessons from directly.)

Antis are bullies, plain and simple, who want control, and are too dense to realize the consequences of their behavior.

<3

[inventedworld]

THE LOOMING DARKNESS (Pt 2 of 3) — LEVERAGE

(This is the second in a three part series. For PART 1, start HERE.)

To millions of people, Taylor Swift’s The Eras Tour presents itself as a repudiation of all that’s unpleasant or intractable about daily life. Wrapped up in pop-propelled grooves and glitter, this is the sand in which many human ostriches seemingly want to stick their heads. And why not? I’m no Swifty, but I understand the immediate appeal. Why watch cities burn when you can dance, dance, dance?

If you think that’s glib, it isn’t meant to be. Everyone wants to believe in a dazzling day and a sparkling night at least some of the time. The unspoken promise of The Eras Tour is that if this kind of scintillating dreamscape can even exist at all in a time of intense global turmoil, maybe things really aren’t so bad. 

The title of this three-part series is not “The Coming Darkness”. I’m suggesting instead that darkness looms like a cloud, like something lurking, waiting, and potent. Real and lasting darkness is a genuine possibility— a strong one—but certitude would confer a sense of hopelessness. For the moment, at least, I’ve not yet abandoned all hope, although I’ll confess that it’s fading fast. The Eras Tour along with similar confections distracts people from the looming shadows with bright spectacle and adolescent fun. I can’t even affix blame here. Nobody wants to be glum.

But let’s not pretend. Hiding in plain sight just outside the concert venues are shockingly vocal, vibrantly active entities working hard to usher in an enveloping darkness. Daily we are suffused by many who seem to pursue bellicose self-absorption over the harder but more sustaining work of finding constructive ways to live together.  Democratic stability teeters on a knife’s edge, and the risks of collapse have never been more perilous. Hundreds of thousands flock to Swift’s shows, suggesting a similarity of tastes and mores, yet communities everywhere have simultaneously fallen into shouting matches about banning books. Fights rage about whether scientific data really points to climate change, not to mention a lack of political motivation to do something meaningful about it. People continue to argue if vaccines should be mandated, regardless of how well science can explain how vaccination makes everyone healthier. 

She may not be my jam, but I’ve got nothing wrong with Taylor Swift. As Paul Simon famously put it, “Every generation throws a hero up the pop charts.” My concern has to do with a culture that seems determined to distract itself to a point of soporific inaction.  Your social media accounts are the microscopic analogue to Swift’s macroscopic live show. Largely a distraction from daily life, your Instagram feed pretends to be your tether to a larger world, when in fact it’s often little more than the elusive glint of a shiny object, a silvery fish darting beneath the liquid surface of reality. 

Art, alternatively, presents a counter-narrative. While some art will always fetch a bunch of money—and reasonable people can debate elsewhere whether Swift’s music qualifies— most is simply about finding a way to make sense of the world. As a cultural expression, art therefore becomes a mechanism to enable people to share ideas outside the realm of material transactions or direct expressions of power. For those casually cruising on the Swift boat, the common theme appears to be escape from quotidian worries while endlessly searching for the perfect paramour. Wars rage, pandemics lurk, xenophobia rises, climate boils, but hey! We could always push the furniture back and dance in the living room, right?

Creative work literally becomes priceless because it emerges into the world without a price. It has a cost, of course. Paint doesn’t come for free. But where some people may pay a price to purchase a piece of creative work, it’s a true statement to say that no symphony nor painting nor sublime piece of poetry ever fed a hungry family after a deluge destroys their home. In a purely economic sense, art has no value at all. At the same time, I cannot imagine a world without symphonies and paintings and poetry, just as I cannot imagine a world without food, or the impetus to help those who don’t have any.

All this becomes backdrop to the massive transformation that literally remade how the world functions. We’ve all effectively achieved super powers since the start of the 21st century. Everyone has information on demand, anywhere and everywhere. Science delivered sophisticated protections against a new, deadly virus, whether you believe in those protections or not. People have the ability to be in instantaneous communications with anyone anywhere, basically all the time. 

Based on these and thousands of other examples, one might think that technology is the means to pull humanity out of whatever morass into which it may have fallen. It’s as if your ability to Google an answer promises you the world of your own making.  To millions of people, the whole idea of “art” is either a way a person may choose to spend precious free time (“Let’s see: museum or ball game?”), a luxury (“$400 for concert tickets?”), or simply a source of irrelevance (“Boring!”). 

Perhaps. But where advancements of technical capability may be the stuff of magic to anyone who lived in earlier times it’s hardly a rudder to healthier, more stable cultures. We may “do more” in our lives now than ever before, but do we “live better”? We have neither abandoned war, nor embraced a sense of mutual respect and commitment. In our persistently connected electronic webs, we are more isolated than ever, with loneliness a newly pervasive cause for physical and emotional decline in many people. We’re isolated, less well informed, and yet overwhelmed with just keeping up. As if to illustrate the point, studies suggest that people are even having sex less often than in the past.

As usual, we turn to technology for comfort, and as usual, technology distracts us from actually finding something that comforts us. 

Students are often first responders to this tension.  Filled with the energy of youth, limited material bonds, and the self-declared certitude that’s only possible before life’s complexities have fully imposed themselves, students typically assert they know how things should be. Sometimes they erect barricades; sometimes they create ideas. Sometimes both. 

Pure, righteous indignation doesn’t generally add constructively to discourse, but youthful passion cannot be ignored, and neither should the availability of moral investment. Passion germinates seeds of creative work, and it is up to us who are older and perhaps more experienced to help steer this energy away from the barricades and into more lasting expressions.

This is the fulcrum upon which the whole concept teeters. Those more lasting expressions may never get a chance to grow if the looming darkness descends. Right now the looming darkness appears to feed on self-interest and aggrieved anger, with countless messages reinforced every day that life is all about competition of one sort or another, an inward focus rather than an outward focus. If the most fundamental lessons we teach young people ultimately reduce to pursuits of self-interested “win” scenarios, it’s inevitable that local and global trends toward belligerence and hostility will continue. When everyone is a competitor, everyone becomes a risk. When everyone becomes a risk, everyone becomes an obstacle. When the goal of the day ultimately comes down to overcoming obstacles of once sort or another, society begins to dismantle support for civil liberties, privacy, and freedom of thought. Said more crudely, this process describes a descent into the most brutish aspects of survival of the fittest. In a world where survival itself becomes the dominant value, limited beauty can grow. Where beauty withers, souls wither, too. 

A culture built of people who largely measure their days by how well they’ve advanced their status relative to others suggests a general hostility, a repudiation of life in favor of something even more transient. Nonetheless it may feel oddly twee to promote the importance of art in the face of looming darkness. Basic necessities like food, water, health care, and shelter easily supersede art in the daily hierarchy of need. I’ll suggest instead that this is precisely the leverage that makes art not only relevant, but essential. A culture built of people invested in creative enterprise is a culture that cares about building connections. Creative expressions almost always reach out. By its very nature art does not insulate itself from interaction; it pursues interaction. In times like these, when identity politics and political polarization press our self-interested faces into hand-held screens, the value of shared experiences becomes not simply a luxury, but a campfire on a bitterly cold night. 

All creative work that requires more than a single person must, to some degree, contend with coercive market forces. Your four piece garage band can’t play in the local pub unless the pub owner knows who you are, likes how you sound, and agrees to promote you instead of some else. That’s true for big enterprises, too, but as creative work scales up in size, the potential for personal connections does not move commensurately.  Big events like The Eras Tour are most certainly the product of many creative, inventive people involved in a massive creative project. I like a big show once in a while, too, and I’m not at all begrudging those who liked Swift’s. (Truth in reporting: I didn’t see it.) I also think it would be absurd to suggest malevolent actors steer her show and other similarly massive events in order to stupefy the proletariat in order to keep them under control. (Although depending on who comes to power next year, that may start to change.)

But events like The Eras Tour remind me of “Feelies” in Aldus Huxley’s Brave New World.   Whether the effect was a design intention or an inevitable by-product, shows like Eras take on aspects of industrialized social engineering. They’re so large and expensive relative to other creative works that they tend to crowd out other artistic expressions from mainstream conversation. They require so much money, time, and resources, and also ingest an outsized proportion of collective attention, that they inadvertently appear to challenge the idea that most people aren’t interested in art or creative work. “That show was massive! And those screens and costumes were unbelievable!”  My concern is that despite all of the apparent skill necessary to create something like Eras, it begins to act as a group-think means for centralizing thought, for pressing art out of the public’s attention. With vast audiences swept up in an all-enveloping arena experience that begins weeks prior to the event with the frenzy of simply getting a ticket, the cultural conversation becomes more monotonic. I’m sure that Taylor Swift the person is a person just like anyone else (if, perhaps, ridiculously more famous) but Taylor Swift the commercial invention is something describing different forces. 

All of this brings us back to the beginning. Millions of people want to be distracted from the pain of daily life. More pointedly, millions of people want a less painful daily life. Events like The Eras Tour purport to be pressure valves for the masses, a brief respite from the looming darkness. What they do not do, however, is change the conversation in any way that might shine a light into that darkness as an antidote.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting an escape, wanting to fantasize and live vicariously. But when those escapes start to erode any sustained efforts to push back on forces of repression, hostility, or isolation, they become mirrored rooms. We enter and see ourselves smiling back in the reflections. We enjoy the surreal surprise of all the reflected light, and delight in how the experience feels nothing like the grind of our day to day spaces. Then we return to those day to day spaces and burrow back in to our competitive, often agitated, often angry little grooves. We look at our screens, again. And again. Then again. In the meantime, darkness looms closer. Until we collectively determine to engage it head on, rather than distract ourselves and pretend the darkness won’t be so bad, it will grow. 

If we don’t, then we’ll find out just how dark things can be.

Next month, I’ll publish the final installment of this series. Part III is called REGRESSION, and it goes live here on Monday, January 1. Mark your calendar for appointment reading! You can also As a reminder, FASTER THAN LIGHT (this blog, my friends) publishes on the first Monday of every month.

@michaelstarobin

facebook.com/1auglobalmedia

[artemisrisen]

a spoiler discussion for doumeki and a reveal in chapter 47

Please be aware I’m discussing something “revealed” in chapter 47. 

Full disclaimer: I don’t care if Doumeki is dating a woman. It’s been four years, he’s a full-grown man that’s no longer impotent, he was rejected (not just rejected but “forgotten”) by Yashiro, etc etc. He has every right to pursue a physical relationship with someone else (I don’t say romantic, because let’s not be absurd; he’s not in love with anyone else except Yashiro). However, I was a bit surprised by the shockwave reaction from the fanbase (both western and Japanese), because it seemed to me like this was…kind of a ruse by sensei, although it took me some time to parse out why. So. I will elucidate. Spoilers under the cut. 

I believe Doumeki went to the bar matron after his encounter with Yashiro, but not to fulfill any sexual needs; he went to use her as a cover.

To delve into the why, I’ll give a rundown of all the times the “idea of a girlfriend for Doumeki” has been brought up in the manga, first without any of my own commentary (forgive me because I am paraphrasing from either memory or translated text; if I get something wrong, feel free to correct).

This is initially brought up by Tsunakawa when he and Doumeki are riding back to the house. Tsunakawa asks if he has a girlfriend, and Doumeki says no. Tsunakawa calls him a liar and presses him further, asking what type of woman he likes. Doumeki says he likes “older people”, but again says he is not dating anyone. Tsunakawa then asks what he does when he gets horny, and Doumeki says he jerks off when he feels that urge.

Later, Niki asks the same thing - and she probes more specifically, asking if he has either a girlfriend OR a mistress. He says no to both. Tsunakawa teases her that she’s too young for him. Niki is confused and says Doumeki is like her dog, not a boyfriend.

Still later, Kamiya is with (one of?) his girlfriend(s), watching Doumeki and commenting on him rudely. The girlfriend says Doumeki is “cool” and points out the bar matron’s attentions on him. Doumeki having no girlfriend comes up a third time – the speech bubbles of this discussion are imposed over Doumeki and the bar matron sitting near each other. Kamiya says Doumeki doesn’t care about anything except the group affairs. The girlfriend contends that he might be “that way” (gay), and Kamiya assents this to be the case.  

I think we can all agree the topic is heavily discussed by the Sakura household.

The fourth time it comes up is chapter 46, when Yashiro feels like Doumeki’s touch is different and has a sudden vision of him making love to a woman; he comes immediately as a result. In his “joking” (not) and “off-handed” (also no) way, he says Doumeki is just oozing sexual virility and that he MUST be with a woman!  Doumeki pauses, and then says yes, and commends Yashiro for being observant.

The fifth time is in the latest chapter, in a discussion between Nanahara and Sugimoto. Nanahara brings up the fact that Doumeki has a girlfriend, and we “see” Doumeki approach a door that’s opened by the smiling bar matron. Doumeki enters silently.

So these are the plain events as presented. Now I’ll add my opinion to it.

Looking at all the evidence, I think it’s fair to say Doumeki is lying in one of these scenarios. Either to Tsunakawa, to Niki, to Kamiya, or to Yashiro. (He did not speak with Nanahara about this; Nanatan only overheard the hot gossip.)

So. Who is he lying to? Let’s explore. 

With Tsunakawa, it benefits Doumeki to have a girlfriend; Tsunakawa is implicitly asking him this because he concerned about Niki’s affections. Doumeki lying about NOT having a girlfriend, or showing interest in any women, does not benefit him at all in this situation. You could argue that it would be better for him to mention a woman and put his kumichou’s mind to rest. But strangely – before Yashiro comes back into his life –Doumeki remains firm on his status as perpetually, unconcernedly single.  

With Niki, we could say that Doumeki is trying to save her feelings. But Niki asks her questions guilelessly and does not appear relieved when he says “no”. She’s even confused by her father crowing victory over Doumeki’s interest in older women/people.

Kamiya is the big one. His character has been presented to the reader as extremely shrewd and suspicious, and the main target for this suspicious and shrewd observation is…Doumeki. (It’s hard to tell what Kamiya feels towards his superior, but it seems to be a mixture of jealousy, curiosity, frustration, and weird attachment.) One of the most consistent things is that Kamiya notices when Doumeki changes his speech pattern towards him; mostly Doumeki is polite, but sometimes, like when he’s distracted, he’s casual. Kamiya notes this every. Single. Time. To the point it’s almost silly – who cares if Doumeki has a sudden lapse in casual speech towards his subordinate?

Kamiya cares. Because he cares about details, and he cares about understanding the enigma that is Doumeki. And KAMIYA, looking RIGHT AT Doumeki and the bar matron, says, “He doesn’t like women. He’s cold. He only cares about the group affairs.”

Interesting.

So now we have Yashiro. Yashiro, who abruptly came back into Doumeki’s life and has resolutely refused to leave, despite never looking Doumeki in the face if he can help it. Yashiro, who ran away from Doumeki after they were intimate; who shot him in the leg when they spoke of deeper feelings in the warehouse; finally, who “forgot” Doumeki at the hospital after Doumeki saved his life. Yashiro, who Nanahara said is addicted to sex like cigarettes, who has pushed Doumeki away every time the other’s affections have surfaced, with whom Doumeki is very much in love.

And Doumeki, who sees Yashiro still letting himself be hurt by awful, violent men, makes a snap decision in that regard. He’ll be the one who gives Yashiro the physical attention he is unable to live without.

Now he has Yashiro, with whom he is now once again in a very intimate situation, and must somehow remain detached.

And Yashiro asked him –tells him—he has a woman. So what do you do?

Do you say, “No, of course not”?

Do you say, “I’ve been alone this whole time”?

“You’re the only one I want to be with?”

OR, to keep up the façade, do you say, “Yes, of course I have a girlfriend. As always, you hit the mark.”

I guess it just depends.

 So Doumeki leaves. But if Yashiro is the one he is lying to, that means that now there is a woman out there that Doumeki is supposedly seeing. And Yashiro knows how to uncover information; he’s very good at it. He’s the smartest person Doumeki has ever known.

So suddenly, almost the very next day, Doumeki has a girlfriend, that no one else has mentioned, that no one else has known about, and Nanahara—the most canonically unobservant character in the whole manga—is aware of it. Not Tsunakawa, or Niki, or Kamiya, who all have known Doumeki for the past four years. 

I could be wrong; again, this isn’t about desperately proving Doumeki’s staunch, unwavering fidelity to Yashiro. People don’t need to be sexually chaste to keep the love in their heart on fire.

But I think there is too much evidence that points to the bar matron being a ploy to keep Yashiro from uncovering the real truth of the matter—that Doumeki isn’t doing this out of obligation or defending the Sakura group’s affairs, but rather because he longs for him and wants to be intimate once more in any way possible.

I guess we’ll just see how this all plays out.

[whiteqnn]

PURE [3] - Corpse Husband x Fem! Reader

A/N: Over 1 thousand notes. You guys are insane. I can’t see any other explanation.

Thank you so much for all the love and support under the previous parts, all those comments just absolutely made my day! I would never expect this story to receive such a positive feedback, which I’m extremely grateful for! 

Anyway, I decided to add some additional plot to this story - mainly, the sudden criticism and hate directed on Y/N after the last Among Us stream. I thought it would make things more interesting.

That being said, I hope you enjoy the third part ^^

part 1

part 2 

part 4 

part 5

PURE [3]

Y/N stared at her phone screen, reading through the latest tweets of her friends inviting their fans to watch their streams. It was Thursday evening and just as it was planned, everyone was getting ready for another game of Among Us. Just as she would do if it wasn’t for all those comments...

The last stream caused sudden, unexpected amounts of attention on her social media. She probably shouldn’t be that surprised by it, given the fact that by appearing in Sean’s and Felix’s videos she wasn’t all that strange to their fans. But people who watched Rae, Toast, or Corpse’s streams didn’t know her. And apparently, some of them weren’t that happy to see a new face among the group of well-known gamers. 

She always tried to avoid the unnecessary spotlight as much as she could, preferring to stay hidden somewhere behind other, much more popular streamers. And it never bothered her. She was never one to enjoy too much attention anyway.

That’s why when she discovered how upset, or even angry, some people were when she played with all those famous streamers, she was quite shocked, to say the least. 

Like all those comments under Poki’s tweet, in which she mentioned who’s gonna be playing this time...

“Duh, why’s that Y/N chick supposed to play with them again? There are at least hundreds of other, much more popular streamers I can think of who would be better than her.”

“Who the fuck is she anyway? Why’s she there?”

“lmao, some random girl who got lucky enough to know jacksepticeye. Don’t get why she’s playing with them though.”

“NOT HER AGAIN. I SWEAR TO GOD SHE WAS SO FUCKING ANNOYING LAST TIME”

Sure, she wasn’t as famous as Felix, or Sean, or Rae, or anyone else for that matter. Her audience wasn’t very small, but it was nothing compared to the number of fans other YouTubers had. It was understandable that most people didn’t know who she was, and didn’t understand why she was there in the first place.

She was, in fact, just some random girl who was lucky to have Sean as her friend. But in a group of such great and well-known streamers, she definitely stood out like a sore thumb. 

Y/N almost jumped in her seat when her phone beeped with a new message, Sean’s nickname showing up at the top of her screen. 

Jackaboy: We’re starting in a few kiddo

Jackaboy: But join the call now so we can both make fun of Felix

After the last game, she was so excited and couldn’t wait for this evening. She looked forward to cooperating with Sykkuno again, to arguing with Toast, to laughing with Sean and Felix, to murdering other people with Corpse... Yet now, all this excitement seemed to vanish just like the mood to play, let alone talk with other people. They would surely see right through her and try to make her spill the beans, which would ruin the stream. And the last thing she wanted was to ruin their game.

Jackaboy: You there Y/N??

She sighed, thinking of some believable excuse that wouldn’t arouse suspicion, but her mind was flooded with all those comments and DMs she received over those past days, which expressed nothing but hatred towards her. 

Y/N: I’m really sorry Sean, but I don’t think I will be joining you today... I don’t feel very well. 

She waited for Sean’s reply impatiently, expecting him to send her some angry emoji or tell her to move her ass and join the discord call. What she didn’t expect though, was that he would facetime her. 

Her first instinct was to throw her phone across the room as if it would make Sean stop calling. He wouldn’t stop unless she’d tell him the truth. 

So she cleared her throat and plastered the widest smile on her face, before answering his call.

“Alright, what is going on?” Sean asked right away, staring at her with his brows furrowed. He wasn’t in his recording room, but in his kitchen, which meant that he left his stream to call her. “And please don’t tell me you’re sick cause I won’t believe it anyway. And neither will Pewds.”

“I’m tired, Sean... I was working late again and I really need to rest.” she lied, trying to keep her voice steady and calm. She really didn’t want Sean to interrogate her now, not when his fans were waiting for him. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else though. Please tell the guys that I’m sorry”

“Y/N, c’mon, cut this bullshit. What’s wrong?” he asked softly, moving his phone closer to his face. “You know you’re a terrible liar, just tell me what happened. If you don’t wanna play then neither do I.”

“Sean, please don’t do it” she shook her head with a sigh. “Your fans are waiting for you, I’ll be fine.”

“Well they’re waiting for you too you dummy, I already promised them you’ll be playing with us tonight” he stated matter of factly, rolling his eyes. Y/N remained silent for a moment, and Sean suddenly furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes at her in a suspicious look. “Did someone tell you something rude last time we played? Who and what?”

“What? No, Sean, oh my God. Everyone was super nice, it has nothing to do with the last stream... not with you guys, at least.” she mumbled under her breath, dropping her eyes from Sean’s confused face.

“What do you mean not with you guys? Y/N, what the hell happened?” he demanded, slowly getting more and more worried. She wouldn’t tell him though, too scared that Sean would just laugh it off, even though he also sometimes had problems with dealing with hate. And just as if he was reading her mind, Sean sighed, his face softening in a sad smile. “You’ve read the comments, didn’t you?”

She felt so stupid for being so easily offended by comments of some random people on the Internet, that she just nodded her head meekly, still looking anywhere but at the man. 

“Look kiddo... I’m not gonna tell you to get yourself together and just ignore them, cause it won’t help, and I know cause I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still there.” he chuckled to himself and continued “Anyway, you really shouldn’t be worrying yourself about people who don’t even know you. They don’t know you, Y/N, why would some complete stranger’s opinion matter to you?”

“They said I shouldn’t be playing with you guys... that I’m nothing but a burden and you should be playing with someone who’s at least recognizable.”

“Well excuse me Miss, last time I checked I could choose who the fuck I want to play with.” Sean scoffed, clearly irritated by such comments “You’re one of my best friends Y/N and I don’t give a fuck what some haters say. And neither should you.”

“Maybe you should just invite someone else... It would make everyone happy.” she muttered almost inaudibly, but Sean almost barked at her when he heard her words.

“I told you to cut that bullshit, Y/N! Everyone couldn’t wait for this game and now you wanna back out? C’mon, kid. Do you have any idea how heartbroken Sykkuno’s gonna be? When you left so quickly last time, he kept complaining that he has no one to team up with.” she couldn’t help but smile at that, letting out a tiny giggle. “And Corpse? Have you even seen his last tweet?”

“What? No, I- I don’t follow him...” she said, wondering what Sean was talking about. She quickly searched for Corpse on Twitter, still being on facetime with Sean, and her heart almost dropped when she saw the last tweet.

@.Corpse_Husband Really excited for tonight’s Among Us stream, 8PM PST.

Jacksepticeye

Valkyrae

Pewdiepie

Pokimane

Sykkuno

Disguised Toast 

Logic 

Mr Beast

and, hopefully, my partner in crime - Little Y/N 

:)

She stared at the screen with her eyes widened, and her lips corners curling up in a small, bashful smile. It was so nice of Corpse to mention her as well, especially with the nickname that he seemed to like so much since their last game. 

“God, if you could see yourself right now. How’s it that my pep talk didn’t do shit, but Corpse’s tweet magically made you smile, ugh.” Sean reminded her of his presence, and she quickly returned to the call, trying to somehow control her burning cheeks. 

“It’s not like that, Sean, I really appreciate that you’re trying to cheer me up... I just didn’t expect your friends to like me...” she admitted quietly, and if Sean could, he would probably strangle her at that moment. 

“I JUST TOLD YOU THAT SYKKUNO KEPT BUGGING ME ABOUT YOU FOR TWO FUCKING HOURS. YOU THINK HE WOULD TALK ABOUT YOU IF HE DIDN’T LIKE YOU?!”

“I just... what if they’re just being nice, but they don’t actually want me to play with them?”

“I’m done.” Sean groaned, shaking his head furiously. “Alright, here’s what you’re gonna do. You stay away from your phone, join the discord call, say hi to everyone, and we’re all gonna have fun, okay? If not, Pewds is gonna murder you, cause he was already growing impatient even before I called you.”

“I’m still not sure if that’s a good idea, Sean...”

“But I am sure, Y/N! Now come on, we’re playing in five. I’m telling everyone you’re joining as well.”

And before she could even reply, he hung up. Y/N groaned, rushing to her computer to turn it on. Now it would just be plain rude not to join the game, especially after Sean wasted his time talking with her, while he should be talking to his fans. Just as he suggested, she kept her phone far away from her desk, deciding to stay away from Twitter and all those comments for a bit. Maybe it would help her clear her mind and at least try to have some fun. 

An invite to the group call was already waiting for her, along with a message from Sean with a code to the game. Y/N put her headphones on before joining the call and quickly typing in the code. 

“... so let me repeat myself. I ALWAYS sound guilty, no matter what. Please, guys, don’t vote me out!” 

Y/N shook her head with a smile on her lips when the first thing she heard after joining the call was Felix’s pleading voice. Clearly, he was already trying to save his own ass even before the game began.

 Y/N could hear Sean’s loud voice as he commented on Felix’s plea with some snarky remark, later also catching the sounds of Rae’s laughter. Everyone was already there, they’ve been clearly waiting for her to join. 

“Hey, look who’s finally here! Hi Y/N!” Poki noticed her presence first. 

“Hello everyone” Y/N said, as shy and quiet as usual.

“Oh, Y/N! It’s so great to see you again, I was worried you weren’t joining us tonight” Sykkuno said, a pout clear in his voice. 

“WELL ABOUT DAMN TIME” Felix all but yelled, making her roll her eyes with a smile. “What did I tell you about being late?!”

“Give her a break Felix, her mic wasn’t working again... Luckily, I was there to save the damsel in distress” Sean said, and even though she couldn’t see him, Y/N was almost certain that he was smirking. 

“Yeah, I’m really sorry guys to have kept you waiting so long...” Y/N said, feeling genuinely bad. Maybe Sean was right after all? They could have just invited someone else, and yet they decided to wait for her.  

“It’s okay, you’re here now and it’s all that matters” a deep voice sounded out, and whether she liked it or not, Y/N grinned like an idiot with a blush rising up her cheeks. 

“Shit, here we go again...” Felix sighed, making everyone else laugh. Y/N bit at her lower lip, feeling her heart thump in her chest as she felt a sudden wave of courage, deciding to speak up despite her initial shyness:

“Well... I couldn’t just leave my partner in crime alone, right?” she asked, and she could swear she heard Corpse stutter as if he completely didn’t expect her to say that.  

“Ah yes, after all, killing wouldn’t be the same without her, right Corpse?” Toast teased, repeating Corpse’s words from the last stream. Everyone in the call laughed, Y/N included. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling, even though just mere minutes ago she was on the verge of crying. “It’s good to have you here, Y/N/N. Maybe I’ll actually get a chance to finally kill you this time.”

“Jesus Christ, Toast. You sound like a psychopath. Hey, I’m happy you’re here, lemme stab you in the back, please?” someone whose nickname was MrBeast spoke up with a chuckle, before directing his next words to Y/N “I believe we haven’t played together before, I’m Mr Beast, it’s really nice to meet you Y/N”

“Yeah, pleased to meet you!” another player, Logic, spoke up “I also didn’t have a chance to play with you yet, but I’ve seen Sean’s last stream... Let me just say, that Toast murder was absolutely perfect!” 

“Wow. And here I almost managed to block it out. I’m fucking traumatized Y/N, you should be ashamed of yourself” Toast scoffed over Felix’s laughter. 

“You should be proud of yourself!” Sean interfered “Just so you know lads, Y/N may seem like a little angel, but she’s a little demon. You’ve been warned.” 

“Yeah, she’ll charm you with her voice only to snap your neck next second.” Felix scoffed.

“Just like she did with Corpse!” 

“Charm?!” Y/N gasped, her cheeks burning.

“I don’t recall Y/N killing me...” Corpse said in his low voice. 

“I love how that’s the only thing he denied” Poki pointed out in a teasing voice, which only made Y/N sink further into her chair. 

“Can we please start the game now?” she asked in a pleading voice, hoping that everyone would stop making fun of Corpse and her. She could only imagine how uncomfortable he felt, for some reason being the target of their jokes... They must’ve made him feel awkward, right? 

“Jack, did you tell Y/N how we’re playing tonight?” Sykkuno asked, and she sighed in relief that they dropped the jokes. 

“Oh, right! So there’s this mod called proximity chat, where we’re able to hear each other as we pass by another person, and it seems quite fun so that’s what we decided to try out tonight.” Sean explained to Y/N, and before she could ask another question, he added “I’ve just sent you the link, it’ll take a minute to install it.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you Sean” Y/N said, before downloading the mod and quickly installing it. When everything was set and ready, she pulled up Among Us again and typed in the code, and the game finally began. 

“Woah”

“Holy shit!” 

“Guys this is so cool!” Sykkuno exclaimed, his voice so happy and excited that Y/N couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Okay, I’m scared now. I feel like encounters with Imposter are just gonna be perfectly cut screams” Felix chuckled, as they left the dropship and moved down the map. That’s when Y/N gasped in surprise, upon seeing the locations completely different than those she was used to.

“Wait- is that a different map?” she asked through her mic, hearing Toast’s distanced, devilish laugh. There was only Rae and Sykkuno beside her, as everyone else have already split up to do their tasks.

“Oh yeah, that’s Polus, it’s much more fun than the one we were playing in last time.” Rae explained happily and Y/N groaned. She didn’t know that map.

“Great. I don’t even know how am I supposed to do tasks in here...”

“Oh, it’s not that hard. They’re in most cases similar to those you already know, they only look a little bit different.” Sykkuno said in his kind voice, before asking “Do you want to team up again, Y/N?”

“I thought you would never ask Sykkuno” Rae chuckled under her breath.

“Yeah, that would be great! I need someone to show me around” she smiled. The trio finally moved from their spot beside the dropship and went to the left where, as Y/N later realized, was electrical. She quickly did her task in there, being under the watchful eyes of both Sykkuno and Rae.  

Before the latter could do his own task, the first body was reported.

“The body is in the lab” Felix said, and Y/N couldn’t help but smirk as she saw that it was Toast who was murdered first. One less person to accuse her or try to frame her, if he was the Imposter. 

“I just ran towards the lab from the left side, I only saw Poki on my way there” Corpse said right away, and the accused girl was quick to try and defend herself:

“Okay, I wasn’t in the lab, I was doing that engines task which is next to the lab.” 

“Did you see someone else there?” Jack questioned. 

“Nope, just me and the engines.” 

“Okay. Sykkuno, where are you?” the lime astronaut was next on Jack’s list of suspects, which made Sykkuno groan. 

“Why do you sound so suspicious right away?” he asked in disbelief, causing the rest to giggle “I was with Y/N and Rae all this time, we were all doing our tasks in electrical.”

“Is that true Y/N?”

“Yes Sean, that is true” she rolled her eyes with a laugh “I don’t even know this map, I have to stick with someone so I don’t end up like Toast.”

“Alright, what about rest? Logic? I think I saw you in admin but then you disappeared somewhere.” Felix said.

“Yeah I’m with Mr Beast in the office”

“That’s right” Mr Beast confirmed, which didn’t bring anything new to the investigation, so everyone decided to skip.

“Wo- Okay where are we now?” Y/N asked in surprise, when the new round began in some completely new place Sykkuno didn’t manage to show her yet. She could hear as Corpse laughed at her shocked voice, which made her smile widely.

“Yeah, I’m also not used to this new map yet” he admitted, his black astronaut walking up to her white one “Hey, wanna see something cool?”

“Sure!”

-

*Meanwhile Sykkuno*

“Okay this is bad guys, we lost Y/N” Sykkuno said to his mic, running around the map to find the girl he was earlier teamed up with. “I thought she followed us when the new round began, but she must’ve gone the other way... What if she’s dead already? Not good, not good...” 

-

"Woah! This looks amazing! Is there some task here as well?”

“Yes, there’s temperature recording right here” Corpse said, standing by the lava pit, watching as Y/N’s character ran back and forth over the pool of lava. 

“I wonder if you could jump into it. What do you think, Corpse?” she asked curiously, standing close to the edge. 

“Not that I’m aware of it...” he mumbled coming closer to the edge as well “Why would you jump into it?” he asked with a half-smile on his face. 

“So Felix can’t stab me in the back.” she whispered, even though there was no one around them. 

“You think it’s him?” Corpse mirrored her voice, and she hummed in response “Why?”

“He’s constantly suspicious of everyone, last time we played he also kept interrogating us all, without even telling his own location.” she stated as if it was very obvious. Corpse couldn’t help but let out a laugh “What? Why are you laughing at me?”

“Not at you, Y/N. I’m just impressed by your investigation skills” he admitted “In that case, we better both jump in. Felix likes to frame other people.”

“You wanna jump into the lava with me?”

“Sure I do.”

“There you are!” Sykkuno’s lime astronaut came out of nowhere, followed by Mr Beast. Two of them walked up to Y/N and Corpse, and before the latter could even say anything, Mr Beast snapped Y/N’s neck.

“WAIT, NO-”

“OH GOD, OH GOD” Sykkuno yelled in panic.

“KILL HIM CORPSE” Mr Beast screamed, frantically running around.

-

“What the heck?” Y/N stared at her screen in shock, her dead body laying over the lava pit. Mr Beast had already fled to the left, leaving her, Sykkuno and Corpse standing between two of them. None of them said anything for a moment before the black astronaut finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N” he kept repeating, regret clear in his voice. “And Sykkuno, I- I can’t even express how-”

He was cut off by Felix’s scream, who reported the bodies before Corpse could kill him as well.

“IT’S CORPSE ALRIGHT” Felix yelled right away “HE’S STANDING OVER Y/N AND SYKKUNO, HE HAS THEIR BLOOD ON HIS HANDS”

“That is- I did not kill them” Corpse replied, calm as ever, as opposed to his frantic apologies. 

“Then why were you standing there?! Without reporting the bodies?!”

“I was... mourning their death.” he replied, which caused the whole group to burst out laughing. “Seriously guys, you think I would murder Sykkuno? And Y/N? I would never even think of hurting them.”

“The simp is strong, we get it, but it doesn’t really save your situation” Rae laughed. 

“Let’s kick him out guys, he can’t even defend himself” Sean chuckled, and everyone else didn’t need to be told twice. Soon enough, Y/N watched as Corpse’s black astronaut was thrown into the lava pit... Oh, the irony...

The game continued with her wandering around the map, doing the rest of her tasks to at least support somehow her fellow crewmates. She stumbled upon Corpse’s ghost at some point and laughed wholeheartedly when he started circling her little character in something she read as an attempt to apologize. 

A little while later another body was reported, this time it was Felix who lost his life. Y/N didn’t really focus on the conversation this time, glancing at her phone instead. There was this urge to reach for it and check how people reacted to her joining the game, but she kept repeating Sean’s words in her head. There was no point in worrying about the opinion of somebody who doesn’t even know her... or at least that’s what she tried to convince herself to think. 

Her attention was brought back to the game when she heard the sound of a new message from someone who was also dead. She clicked on the chat, seeing that it was one of the Impostors.

Corpse: :(

Corpse: I’m sorry 

Y/N thought it was sweet of him to apologize for it, even though it was his main goal to murder everyone after all. She believed he was genuinely sorry for it, just like she was each time she was an Impostor and had to kill somebody.

Sykkuno: Welcome to the afterlife, Corpse!

She laughed at Sykkuno’s constant happiness, which was evident even in his messages, before typing one as well:

Y/N: We’re all corpse here

Sykkuno: Oh, so it means we’re all really cool then ^^

Y/N: Fair point

Corpse: See Y/N

Corpse: I told you I would jump into the lava for you 

Y/N: You didn’t exactly jump...

Corpse: :(

Y/N: But let’s say it counts as well :)

Corpse: :)

Before they knew, the voting ended. Mr Beast was thrown into the lava, which ultimately lead to the victory of crewmates. Y/N cheered happily, when the blue sign appeared on her screen, right above everyone else who was innocent. 

“Yaaay, the first time I wasn’t killed in the first game!” Sean announced enthusiastically, his astronaut running around the dropship.

“Yeah, and the first time it went so fast...” 

“Right? Corpse, I’m disappointed in you. What happened to the King of Impostors?” Rae asked.

“Well.. no matter how good you are, you can’t always win, right?” Corpse replied calmly.

“Hmm, you seemed kinda absent-minded during the game, though...” Poki suggested with a smirk hiding in her voice, and Rae was very quick to pick on it.

“Oh, you’ve noticed that too? Almost as if he was distracted by something” 

“I don’t know what are you talking about” he chuckled nervously, and Y/N just sat in her chair confused about what was going on. “Anyway, who’s up for another round?” 

“Yeah, I have an idea” Sean said, effectively shutting everyone up “What if we play something along the lines of hide and seek? Let’s have one impostor, and everyone else needs to get their tasks done before he finds them.”

“That is...” Felix took in a dramatic breath “THE BEST THING I’VE EVER HEARD ABOUT”

“Yeah, I think it will be fun” Sykkuno replied. 

“It sounds really cool, but let’s maybe tell who’s the impostor? I think it would be more fair” Rae suggested. 

“I think it’s a good idea” Sean concluded, before changing the settings for one impostor only. Y/N waited patiently for the game to begin, and when she saw that she was a crewmate again, she sighed in relief. Only to gasp in a panic a second later...

“It’s me.”

Everyone stumbled out of the dropship as Corpse admitted that he’s the impostor. It seemed that knowing exactly who can murder everyone made the whole game a little bit terrifying...

“I don’t know where the heck I’m going” Y/N mumbled to herself with a nervous laugh when instead of doing her tasks, she searched for the perfect place to hide. When she entered security, she spotted Mr Beast fixing the wires, so she decided to join him.

“OH SHIT- god damn it, you scared me to death!” he all but yelled when she appeared next to him, doing her tasks. 

“Sorry” she giggled, quickly finishing the wires, before speeding out of the room. On her way to weapons, she stumbled across Felix’s dead body, and could hear some screaming in the background... but didn’t recognize who was murdered next. 

Y/N managed to do most of her tasks without meeting Corpse, whom she hoped not to see probably for the first time since they played together. She was just leaving decontamination when she heard Sean’s panicked laughter:

“...tee, bitches love me?”

“Wrong.” Corpse’s voice almost made her squeak in surprise, only to really scream when he suddenly snapped Sean’s neck. 

“Retreat, retreat!” Y/N laughed as she sped past oblivious Rae and Logic, Corpse hot on her tail. She quickly returned to the decontamination room, hoping to flee from her inevitable death, when Corpse’s black astronaut walked in, and the door closed. 

“Please don’t kill me” she chuckled, even though there was no hope for her. 

“Finish my lyrics, and I’ll let you live...” he began, and Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion “ I spilt wine...”

“Wait- what lyrics? You sing?” she asked, completely dumbfounded. Corpse was silent for a moment as if he didn’t understand her, before bursting out laughing “What’s so funny again? Corpse, come on!” 

“Yes, Y/N, I do sing, I was actually hoping you’ve heard some of my songs...” he admitted, still chuckling to himself. She felt a blush rising up her cheeks.

“Oh- I- I didn’t, I-... but I will, okay? I’ll do it right away!” she promised, quickly jumping up to grab her phone and listen to Corpse’s song. She was genuinely shocked, she would never expect him to sing! 

 She unlocked her phone with a wide, somehow nervous smile on her face, which, however, dropped the moment she saw her notifications. Hundreds of notifications. 

“You there, Y/N?” Corpse’s voice reached her after a moment, when she still didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her screen. “I hope my music isn’t so bad that you passed out from listening to it...”

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, her phone gripped tightly in her shaking hands.

“Um, Y/N?” his voice became more worried now “Is everything okay?” 

Y/N cleared her throat and quickly wiped her eyes, closing them for a moment to steady her breathing.

“Yeah, all good Corpse” she forced herself to smile, so her voice wouldn’t sound weird. “Look, um, I need to leave, can you tell the others bye from me?” 

“Is something wrong?” Corpse asked confused.

“No, of course not!” she laughed through her tears “Something just came up and I really need to leave.”

“You sure you’re-”

“Bye Corpse. It was nice playing with you.” 

-

A/N: I hope you guys are not too disappointed in me... It didn’t turn out as I initially thought it would. Isn’t it too dramatic? And is this hate plot fine? Or is it not? What do guys you think? 

TAG LIST IS CLOSED!

@slytherin-chan @pillowjj @afuckingunicornn @love-and-virtues @ignooynim @crapimahuman @hannahjsworld @laugh-like-the-moon @fallengoddess772 @kingric03 @dolphinpink310 @paigeyisme @bunnychano3o @dxrtygxrl28 @z-nyx @baby-iyania @trashygeek

[volkswagonblues]

a lil guide to the Fire Nation for the ATLA fic writers out there

(aka. a no means exhaustive primer on east asia by an asian person)

This is a guide for fic writers want to write a canon-era story set in the Fire Nation, or featuring Fire Nation characters. A quick little primer on the tiny details of everyday life that you might not think about, but certainly stuff that would make me, an asian person, wince if I were to encounter it. BRUSHES, not quills. CHOPSTICKS, not forks. 

(note #1: this was partly inspired by a chat with @elilim​) 

(note: #2:  I originally intended it for zukka fic writers before realizing that other writers might find it useful. so apologies for a slight Zuko-bias for that reason)

(note #3: this is all stuff i was thinking about when writing firebender’s guide, in case anyone was wondering)

1. CLOTHING

Okay, I think the most straightforward way to describe what everyone’s wearing most of the time is “tunic”. They’re all just...tunics of different colours and varieties. Later when Zuko’s the Fire Lord he wears robes. The show provides a better visual guide than I could, here are a few notes to keep in mind:

a) Japanese people wear their collars LEFT crossed over RIGHT

I don’t think this would come up in writing as much as it would in art, but it’s considered bad luck to do it the wrong way because that’s only for dead people. Let my boy Zuko demonstrate:

b) There are no buttons

This is picky, but Wikipedia says “Functional buttons with buttonholes for fastening or closing clothes appeared first in Germany in the 13th century.[6] They soon became widespread with the rise of snug-fitting garments in 13th- and 14th-century Europe.” I kinda believe it. If you look closely, characters’ clothes are always tied together or wrapped in some way with a belt. If there are fasteners, they’re braided frog closures that go into a little loop, like the qipao-style dresses women wear in Ba Sing Se, or Zuko’s casual prince’s clothes in the topmost image. Anyways, I don’t think Zuko or Azula or the Gaang would technically button or unbutton anything when they’re changing clothes. Clothing is designed to be tied, not buttoned.

[so much more under cut]

c) This isn’t a real rule, but there’s something called koromogae, or the seasonal changing of clothing in Japan.

This is something I learned when I was writing firebender’s guide, and I just liked the fun detail about there being a strict calendar for when to wear something. I liked the idea of someone like Zuko, who actually spent most of his formative years outside of the Fire Nation, coming home and just suffering mutely through the summer heat because upper class etiquette says no changing into cooler clothes until August 15. 

From My Asakusa: 

And this website:

Generally, people change from thick, heavy, dark-coloured clothes for winter to thin, lighter, bright-coloured clothes for spring and summer. In traditional Japanese culture, particularly in formal settings such as tea ceremony, it is important to acknowledge the changes of seasons—in such circumstances, not only the patterns and colours of the kimono that are worn but also the utensils and furniture that are used are required to change. By changing their clothing, people notice and appreciate the change of seasons. [Japan Foundation]

Here are some visual guides from the official creators for clothes: (notice how it’s pretty much always left over right)

2.FOOD AND EATING

a) Traditional cuisine

It seems like the most common foods in canon are Fire Flakes and meat, to the point where poor Aang had to eat lettuce out of the garbage at some point.

HOWEVER, the Fire Nation seems to basically a big subtropical archipelago, so I would guess that seafood and rice are common. If you want to write about characters eating, a. quick google for “traditional japanese cuisine” would help you come up with a menu really quickly.

Wikipedia says:

The traditional cuisine of Japan, washoku (和食), lit. "Japanese eating" (or kappō (ja:割烹)), is based on rice with miso soup and other dishes; there is an emphasis on seasonal ingredients. Side dishes often consist of fish, pickled vegetables, and vegetables cooked in broth. Seafood is common, often grilled, but also served raw as sashimi or in sushi.

But before we get too serious, at one point the Gaang eats a “smoked sea slug” (Sokka’s Master) 

Oh ATLA, never stop being you.

b) Utensils

One thing to keep in mind is chopstick etiquette. Someone like Zuko or Toph, for instance, would have completely internalized all of these.

Another thing is that there are no glasses. Cups and bowls are made of ceramic or clay. Let the Gaang show you:

And another note: characters won’t eat “bread” in the European sense, ie. a baked lump of dough. Steamed buns, yes. Fried pancakes made from batter, yes. Flatbreads, okay I’ll give it a pass. Rice or noodles should be the most common carbs of choice.

3.ETIQUETTE

“In the homeland, we bow to our elders” - angry schoolmistress in The Headband.

Japan Guide has a list of etiquette rules for visiting Japan, which is interesting but not too necessary to read. In general, based on what The Headband tells us, Fire Nation characters would have been raised with a strong nationalist curriculum that values communal contribution over individualist expression. Even someone like Zuko, who openly rebels against that, probably couldn’t help but be affected by it. In general the Fire Nation seems to have an East Asian-ish set of values. It’s patriarchal, all the positions of authority are filled by men; there seems to be a strong emphasis on patriotism; there’s a sense of diffidence and respect towards one’s elders; and finally, there’s an emphasis on “knowing” one’s place in society and fitting into what’s expected of oneself.

I don’t really know how to describe it, but in China and Japan I sometimes feel like there’s rules for everything, and even people born and raised there acknowledge it could be stifling at times. You could go down a rabbit hole researching points of etiquette (for instance, rules on who has to sit where in group dinners...), but to me the most important thing is acknowledging that Fire Nation has a rigid system of etiquette, and also, they’re an imperialist power who’s pretty prejudiced against foreigners. Poor Aang/Kuzon gets called “mannerless colony slob” just for being slow on the bowing action (!!!)

(in firebender’s guide I had a lot of fun imagining the stupid microaggressions Ambassador Sokka has to face in the Fire Nation, so obviously I’m just biased)

4.WRITING AND DESKS

Characters would probably write on paper, with a calligraphy brush. Not quills or pens -- a brush. Technically, old Japanese and Chinese texts should be written top to bottom, right to left, but the show itself doesn’t do this, so I think you’re fine. 

One fun thing about traditional calligraphy is that you don’t use bottled ink. You have something called an ink stone, and then you grind your ink yourself by rubbing the ink stone in a special little dish with a bit of water. In my (very few) encounters with this stuff in the calligraphy lessons of my youth, the ink stones can be plain or have beautiful designs on the side. It looks something like this: 

ATLA is an East Asian-ish universe, so characters are likely to be kneeling at a table, not sitting. To demonstrate, here’s my boy Sokka doing his famous rainbow at Piandao’s:

and here’s the war chamber meeting when Zuko speaks out against a general’s plans to sacrifice some soldiers:

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS: This is Zuko’s cute little setup when he’s writing his goodbye letter to Mai. In this case he’s writing in a chair and table. It’s possible that some furniture items, like a sitting desk and a bed in a bedframe (not a bedroll or futon) are special royal palace features. Normally in a private setting we see characters sitting on the ground or on a slightly elevated platform with a low table. Maybe Caldera is just different? Or rich people are just different: the Bei Fongs also have a sit-down dining table + chair setup.

(That little rectangular box is his ink dish!!)

5.A NOTE ON GENERAL CULTURE

It’s worth talking about a few general points of East Asian culture. I can’t claim to speak for ALL of Asia, and I don’t think I should. But I do think ATLA fic writers who want to set something in the Fire Nation should take a few moments to at least skim the wiki pages for filial piety and Nihonjinron (literally, "theories/discussions about the Japanese"). There’s a certain...vibe to...asianness... that I’m not sure I can explain without like, a doctorate degree in sociology. 

It’s a bit like gender, I guess. There’s no definitive checklist to what is a woman and what is a man, and we can argue that gender is performative, that it’s a construct, but at the end of the day gender is still (tragically) real in the sense that it still shapes people and affects how we walk and talk and dress and think. Nationality is the same. Obviously, the Fire Nation is a made up place in a made up show, but out of respect to the cultures that inspired it, I do think it’s worth familiarizing yourself with some of these cultures’ codes and values.

Also, ahem, if I can direct you to war crimes in the Japan’s colonial empire. Again, worth remembering that the Fire Nation was an imperalist colonizer too.

I might do a continuation of this post and talk through my more abstract takes about Fire Nation culture - Is Zuko an example of filial piety gone right or filial piety gone wrong? Why I think Zuko’s flashbacks are like, at least part teenage melodrama bullshit (the reason is son preference), how someone like Sokka might be treated once he’s openly Water Tribe in the Fire Nation (probably with racism...), specific aspects of asian homophobia and racism, etc. We’ll see.

This is not a definitive guide. Comments and critique welcome.

If you think there’s a factual mistake, PLEASE hop in my asks and let me know. I also think there’s a huge blind spot in ATLA for South and Southeast Asian representation, so I acknowledge that I can’t speak for all Asians, and there is no such thing as a “pan-asian” identity.

If there’s something else you’re curious about, I’m not a historian or anything, but I like research. Ask me and I’ll try to answer the best I can.

And oh, one last thing, this is how I do research when I wrote firebender’s guide, in case anyone’s interested in learning more (LINK)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Survival of the Fittest. 

Pairing: Yandere!Bakugo/Reader/Yandere!Kirishima (BNHA).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Apocalypse/No Quirks AU, Unhealthy Codependency, Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Death/injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Imprisonment.

You were lucky Kirishima had been the one to find you.

‘Find’ might’ve been the wrong word. It implied that he was looking, that he wanted to discover you, bleeding and battered and bruised, cowering in a grimy corner of what used to be a grocery store. It must’ve looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your torn clothes, your matted hair, the way you’d whimpered as he first approached, all wide eyes and open arms. Survivors were few and far between, and it’d been weeks since you saw another living, breathing person. Kirishima hadn’t seemed like a god-send, not in the moment, but he was a miracle. You’d been too shocked to thank him properly, as he pulled you to your feet and practically carried you out of the city, but you should. You wanted to. You owed him that, if nothing else.

You were lucky it’d been him, rather than Bakugo. You were grateful it hadn’t been Bakugo.

You’d probably still be rotting in that corner, if it had been.

He didn’t seem to like you very much, even if he had begrudgingly moved aside when Kirishima asked if he could bring you inside. It was a bunker, judging by the sparse furniture littered around the common area, plain cement walls only adorned with the occasional hunting knife or bat left to lean against them. The bench Kirishima had left you on was wooden, too stiff to ever be comfortable, but it was a practical choice. Fabric was a luxury to be stowed away and treasured, saved for things more important than a stranger’s comfort. You’d do the same thing, if you’d been in his shoes.

That didn’t stop Bakugo from glaring, though, perching himself on the edge of a nearby crate and refusing to take his eyes off of you, as if you’d already earned and lost his trust. “There’s no fucking advantage,” He started, but he wasn’t talking to you. You weren't worth his time, just yet, not while you were still just a stray Kirishima was too much of a saint to turn away. “We’re not a damn food bank. It’s not out responsibility to babysit every dumbass on the verge of death.”

“Don’t listen to him.” At least Kirishima was kind enough to address you as he slipped back into the common room, taking his place at your side and handing you something – a mug, cremated and unchipped and filled to the brim with something watery, steam still rising off the top. Your first sip was hesitant, but you couldn’t stop yourself from draining the cup once you recognized the taste. Coffee. Cheap, bitter, heavenly coffee, the kind you didn’t have enough clean water to risk trying to make. You could’ve kissed him. You might’ve, if the calm levity in his voice hadn’t snapped you out of it. “Katsuki’s just a little defensive, when it comes to guests. We’ve got plenty of supplies to go ‘round, and…” He trailed off, glancing over you. To the bruises circling your wrist, the stained bandages peaking out from underneath your shirt. To the spot where your ankle twisted just a little too far to the left for the angle to be natural, the evidence of a fall you tried and failed to break with something besides your own body. “I don’t think we can kick someone out in good faith with those kinda injuries. Not with all the crawler activity, lately.”

You flinched at the name alone. Crawler, creatures, the things that used to be people and weren’t, not now, not anymore. You used to think of them as zombies, but that wasn’t right. Calling them zombies would be an injustice, even if they did tend to rot if left to their own devices. Zombies weren’t that fast. Zombies weren’t that distorted. You’d encountered three or four, but you tried to avoid attracting them, when you could. It was easier, when you were on your own.

Bakugo groaned, bringing you out of your thoughts. You tried to stop your hands from shaking, as he spoke. “You’ve got a group to run back to, right? Nobody survives that long without one.”

You tried not to sound as small as you felt. Judging from the way Kirishima glanced away, it was a futile effort. “Nobody survives that long with one, either.”

Kirishima’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and Bakugo crossed his arms, a sign that must’ve meant submission, judging by Kirishima’s optimistic response. “Just until your ankle’s healed up,” He promised, a compromise you hadn’t asked him to make. “You’ll stay until then, right? ‘d be a shame if we had to lose another person because of Katsuki’s bad attitude.”

There was a sharp ‘hey’, a barely stifled laugh, and slowly, you forced yourself to nod, immediately receiving a bright grin from Kirishima by way of reward. It was a practical choice, honestly – they had food, they had shelter, they didn’t seem to be grasping at threads just to get by. Even if Kirishima was a little too friendly and Bakugo wasn’t nearly friendly enough, you could life with that, you could get by. Once you’d worn out your welcome, you’d leave. As soon as you were fixed up.

You didn’t want to wait for things to go bad, this time.

~

Despite his reluctance, Bakugo didn’t take long to warm up to you.

Kirishima was still the approachable one, obviously. He was who you went to when you needed to find something, when you had a question about their ration system or weaponry or the parts of the bunker you weren’t allowed to go in, rooms with steel doors and deadbolts on the handle and a raw, metallic smell emanating from the other side, but Bakugo always seemed to be lingering just behind him, ready to scoff and roll his eyes before he took you by the wrist and explained that, if you expected to reap the benefits of their hospitality, you had to at least try to pull your weight. He was helpful, like that, his help less patronizing than Kirishima’s, albeit twice as easily frustrated. Still, he didn’t hate you. If anything, he seemed to—

“If you slow down one more time, I’ll feed ya to the damn bears myself.”

You sped up, reflexively. He didn’t hate you, but it wasn’t too late for him to start.

It’d been Kirishima’s idea for you to go hunting. You were still in a splint, the majority of your calf an abstract blend of medical tape and cloth padding, but you bit back the pain as you followed Katsuki down the rough, unpaved trail, gritting your teeth past the ache forming under your skin. It wasn’t a raid. If anything, you were only getting further from the city, working your way up the mountain their bunker was carved into the base of. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been concerned about the crossbow in Katsuki’s hands, the weapon already loaded and poised, but the hunting knife strapped to your thigh eased your nerves, as did his disinterest in doing anything but trudging forward. If he didn’t take the time to call back to you every few minutes, you might’ve thought he’d forgotten you were there entirely.

But, silence never suited you never well. Not with a near-stranger, at least. “You’re not afraid of crawlers?”

“This far out? Fuck no.” It was an immediate answer, quick and shameless. Like an amputation, if an amputation left you nursing a bruised ego rather than bleeding out. “There’s enough fresh meat in the city to keep ‘em occupied. Only the runts ever bother coming out here to look for scraps.”

“I would’ve been that meat,” You mumbled, absent-mindedly. It was an idle thought, more of an admission than an accusation, but judging by the way his posture slackened, how quickly his attention shifted to the foliage, he wouldn’t have cared either way. “If Kirishima hadn’t found me, I mean. God knows I look like an easy target.”

“You are an easy target. Just be glad he’s got a weak spot for charity cases.”

You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, you lost your footing before you got the chance, slipping on the damp leaf litter as a spike of something agonizing ran from your heel to your knee. Bakugo didn’t flinch, letting you catch yourself on his shoulder as he raised his crossbow, barely taking a moment to aim before firing. You could feel the kick-back, a jolting reverberation that only seemed to make the wet thunk that followed a little worse, the sound of an arrow piercing skin and flesh.

You expected that. You were ready for it. But, you hadn’t been prepared for the deafening scream that came afterwards, heart-piercing and human. You moved to rush toward its source, but Bakugo only caught your arm, shaking his head. Like he’d missed, like he’d only killed a deer. Like there wasn’t a person thrashing in the underbrush, still crying out as he spoke over them. “Looters,” He explained, like that was an excuse. “We’ve been dealin’ with them for a while, now. ’s just a scout, but he would’ve been back with reinforcements if we let him run off untouched.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat. For your own sake, you chose to believe him. “So? We can’t just—”

“Yes, we can.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need your permission, and he didn’t want your compliance. He didn’t even bother to justify himself before he turned away, starting back on the trail as you stood, still too shocked to move. “C’mon, we’ve already lost enough sunlight, and I’m not wasting arrows on scum. The fucker can drag himself back to his hideout, for all I care.”

You could’ve argued. Bakugo didn’t seem to think the blow was fatal, but you could’ve checked, made sure, offer what might’ve been a dying man a few last seconds of company before he bit the bullet. You could’ve, part of you wanted to, but…

But then, Bakugo tossed a glare over his shoulder, and your attention was brought back to the crossbow in his hands, to the machete strapped to his belt, to how pitifully small your knife was, in comparison. You didn’t want to lose the trust you hadn’t really gained, just yet. You didn’t want to take that kind of chance, not when Kirishima wasn’t around to give you the benefit of the doubt.

So, you shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the quiet sobbing in the background as you followed in his tracks.

~

Surprisingly, Kirishima was the first one to slip into your bed.

You told yourself it was a mistake, when he let himself into your room in the middle of the night, closer to sunrise than it was to sunset. None of the doors locked, thin plywood serving as more of a source of comfort than an actual barrier, and beyond your small collection of personal possessions and the bedside table you’d commandeered from storage, your room was identical to any of the eerily unoccupied barracks on the lower layers of the bunker. Still, you expected him to turn around, to see your sleeping form curled up in a corner of your cot and realize he had the wrong room. It was late, and he made a mistake. It didn’t have to be anything more.

But it wasn’t that late, and Kirishima never really made mistakes. He was too careful for anything like that.

At least he was being careful now, too, as far as you could tell with your eyes clenched shut, your breathing restricted to slow, shallow inhales that left your lungs feeling just a little too tight. He was gentle, if nothing else, wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest and burying his face in the nape of your neck. You didn’t squirm, you didn’t push yourself away, but you must’ve been too stiff, too still, too rigid. He didn’t seem to buy the act, however desperate it was.

“’suki’s real proud of you.” His voice was tired, weighted down by exhaustion. Clearly, he wouldn’t be leaving. “He told me about yesterday. Says you were good, cooperative and all. He likes that kind of thing.”

You didn’t respond, digging your nails into the sterile, medical sheets. Your ankle throbbed, and you tried to focus on that, to justify it. To remember why you could still convince yourself to stay.

“He’s a big softie, though. We both are, but I don’t try to hide it.” There was a light squeeze to your side, the ghost of his lips over the crook of your neck. His breath was warm, compared to the bucker’s constant chill, and you tried to think of his smothering body heat as a small silver lining. “I think it’s sweet. Gets lonely ‘round here, y’know? You’re a good fit.” There was a pause, a chuckle. For a moment, you thought he might push a little further, hold you a tighter, but Kirishima only shook his head, going on with that same careless, tired lilt. “I knew you would be, when I first saw you. A fragile little thing like you could never survive out here, not all alone.”

He was half-asleep. He didn’t know what he was saying. He’d probably apologize tomorrow, if he even remembered. “I’m not going to stay for much longer. I’ll be on my own again, in another month.”

“We’ll see.” The cot’s barred frame creaked as he shifted, his weight coming to rest against your back – a constant, oppressive reminder of his presence. A memory flickered to life in the back of your mind, a familiar intimacy that’d been earned and asked for, but you pushed it away quickly. You didn’t want to think about things like that, not here, not when this was so one-sided, in comparison. “Get some rest. You haven’t been getting enough sleep, lately.”

You’d leave when it was safe to. When you healed. When you’d worn out your welcome and become more of a burden than a benefit.

You wouldn’t stick around long enough for things to get suffocating, this time.

~

It was a mutual decision, when Bakugo and Kirishima stopped you from leaving the bunker.

They didn’t ask. That was the part that stung, really, the thorn that started working itself under your skin the moment you caught them standing in the threshold, an empty duffle bag slung over Kirishima’s shoulder and a baseball bat tucked under his arm. Bakugo had his crossbow, a pistol you’d never seen before holstered at his hip, but that bothered you less than the way they were muttering, keeping their voices purposefully low. Like they knew how you’d feel, if you saw them. Like they wanted to avoid the tension.

You’d never been very good at picking up hints, though. Much less those you were desperately trying to ignore.

“You’re going out?” You called, approaching them before you could stop yourself, suppressing a yawn as you made a show of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It was early, and you didn’t want Kirishima to know you’d already been up for hours. If he thought you were tired, he’d assume you were losing sleep, and if he thought you were losing sleep, he’d take it as an excuse to visit you at night, again. You… you didn’t like it, when he did. “Let me grab my stuff, it’ll only take a minute. If I knew you two were planning a raid today, I would’ve—”

Bakugo was the first to shut you down. “Sit this one out, alright?” It was a question, this time, but barely, his usual bluntness wrapped in a layer of kindness so thin, you could practically see through it. “’s just a quick supply run. We’ll be out and back before you notice we’re gone.”

“We’ve done this a thousand times,” Kirishima added, offering a small smile. At least he was trying to be nice about it, in his own, patronizing way. “It’s starting to get boring, honestly. It‘d be a shame to ruin all the progress you’ve made for something so minor.”

Right, your ankle. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d complained about it, the last time you’d been in enough pain to limp, even if Bakugo still insisted on tending to your ‘injury’ once a day, at least. The truth was glaringly obvious, even if they still made a half-hearted attempt to hide it, to let you avert your eyes and pretend you believed them.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your disappointment, your expression dropping as your nails bit into the meat of your palm. “You don’t think I can keep myself safe.”

In their defense, neither tried to deny it. Bakugo only looked away, and Kirishima smiled apologetically, his hand already pushing against the bunker’s metallic door. “We don’t want to risk it,” He explained, like you were a liability. Like you hadn’t survived out there for months without their help, injured or uninjured. “If something happened to you, if someone got to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. We both care about you, even if Katsuki doesn’t want to admit it.”

“It’s practical.” Bakugo didn’t look at you. It was a small mercy, really. At least he was self-aware enough to be ashamed. “You need more time. You fucked yourself up bad before Eijiro found you – all that doesn’t go away overnight.”

Expect, it hadn’t been a night. It hadn’t been a day, or a week, and you were starting to question if it’d even been only two months. It was hard to keep track of time, but the weather was already turning, every scrape and bruise Bakugo could’ve concerned himself with was already healed, and you’d already let yourself get comfortable. You’d stayed too long. You’d let them get attached, and you’d failed to make it clear that you weren’t.

You had to get out. Now.

~

Or, you could try to get out, at least.

You’d waited too long for Bakugo and Kirishima to just sit back and let you walk away.

They were stronger than you’d assumed. It was easy to forget what the human body was capable of, when you were so used to be exhausted and half-starved, but it wasn’t difficult to remember, not with Bakugo’s hands wrapped around your wrists, one of Kirishima’s arms splayed over your knees, stopping you from thrashing as they shoved you against a bed, a real bed, the frame wooden and the mattress more than just sponge and stuffing. It was one of theirs obviously, and if you’d stumbled onto it at any other time, you might’ve felt insulted, left out.

Right now, the only thing you could feel was terrified.

“Fucking bitch.” It was a grunt, a growl, followed by something close to a snarl as your elbow connected with his check. He was the one who’s caught you gathering up what little you had to take with you, a canteen already filled and strung across your back. It was on the floor, now, the metal dented and the contents spilling out, but if either of them minded wasting clean water, you couldn’t tell. They were busy, now, too busy dealing with you to worry about something so minor. Too angry to care, leaving you as the center of their rage. “We tried to be nice. We tried to give you a choice. You just couldn’t take the fucking hint, could you?”

“Let me go.” You couldn’t bring yourself to raise your voice, but you tried to come across as frantic, desperate, as betrayed and as disgusted as you really felt. “You’re both fucking crazy. I don’t want to—”

Kirishima didn’t let you finish, he’d never really bothered to. He was already shifting, leaning on one of your calves while grabbing at the other, calloused fingertips pressing into your newly-healed ankle, the remaining bruises still raw and tender. You cried out, more out of instinct than agony, but Kirishima only grit his teeth, rubbing circles into your skin, like that would be enough to soothe you. “We’re just taking care of you, alright? We’re just doing what’s best.” It was pointless to say, but the didn’t stop him from going on, rambling like he was going to convince anyone, including himself. “It’s dangerous, out there. You just need a little more time to realize that. You just need to see that ‘suki and I are your best option.”

They weren’t. They weren’t your best anything, but you didn’t have a chance to retort before Bakugo cursed under his breath, gathering your wrists up with one hand and forcing the other over your mouth, cutting you off before you could protest further. “Just do it,” He spat, all-but ignoring you as he spoke to Kirishima. “There’s no point in trying to explain this to someone so irrational. Let’s just get it over with before we have to do something worse.”

For a moment, you went still, a series of worst-case scenarios flashing before your eyes before you could rationalize them, before you could tell yourself to stay calm. For a moment, there was panic – pure, unadulterated, brutal panic.

And then, something cracked under Kirishima’s hand, and you forgot how to think of anything at all.

You let out a stilted, faltering sob, something akin to liquid fire running from your thigh to your calf to the point where everything stopped – everything below your ankle numb, disconnected, dead meat that still managed to hurt. The rest of your body went limp, your survival instincts gone and replaced with the unbearable desire to curl into yourself and cry, but Bakugo was still holding you, his arms strung around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as Kirishima slotted himself against your back, cooing soft nothings as you fought not to break down completely. They were talking again, both of them, but you couldn’t seem to listen. It didn’t matter.

Your ankle was broken. Not sprained, this time, not bruised, but broken. Shattered. Dislocated. Forced into a position that meant you’d be forced to stay, voluntarily or otherwise. Whether or not you could still stomach looking at Bakugo and Kirishima, let alone living with them.

You couldn’t leave, and you were beginning to think they were never going to let you.