#Is figuring out how to articulate that lack of satisfaction...

[panvani]

Kind of the problem is I don't understand why someone would engage with a work at all if canon is repulsive to them... there's a difference between overall enjoying a work but finding aspects of it poorly executed or even upsetting, or even just fully disliking a work, and the for some reason now popular fandom thing of disregarding the actual content and text of a work entirely and deciding you enjoy or want to enjoy an entirely different thing

[bungee-gum-b1tch]

so 3.3 happened… what the fuck hoyoverse

rambling in the tags cuz i have way too many thoughts about this

[sokkastyles]

hello! i love your meta, and i think you routinely have the best takes on azula i've ever read - the way you are able to articulate the ability for a younger sibling to abuse their older sibling, how that's rooted in her father's abuse of both his children, how that doesn't change the fact that the character grows into one who becomes an abuser herself.

you have a quote from a while back where you say "I've been thinking about this a lot in terms of people saying they want to see Azula be "humanized," and what they usually mean is that they want to see her given redeeming qualities," and also pointed out the research on how abusers being given support from therapy often enables them into increased mistreatment.

as a person working through their own traumas re: abuse, do you have any insights on how to reconcile abusers in real life? you brought up Zuko asking Azula "why" - but the answer (i think) is simply that she wanted to. and i haven't figured out how to deal with that in my own history yet, much less how that would affect broader public policy issues around ~dealing with~ (for lack of a better term) abusers.

it's easy for me to be an abolitionist for non violent drug offenders. but i don't know how a better society would deal with my ex or my mom, for example. and i don't necessarily think locking them away is the answer... but i don't know what is

Hi, thank you for the compliment on my meta!

I'm afraid I cannot give you personal advice because I don't know you or your specific situation, and of course I am not saying that all abusers do not get better in therapy. But it is common for people who have learned that they can get what they want by manipulating others to learn how to manipulate better by learning what is expected of them and how to say the right things.

That's why it's generally not a good idea to try and fix an abusive person yourself or count on them to change first. A lot of abusers try and keep people dependent on them this way, because they know how to use your caring for them against you.

And yeah, one of the problems with the way people psychoanalyze Azula is that there is a hesitance to admit that she treated people badly because she wanted to, and she was rewarded for that behavior by her father and her mother's disapproval was not enough to combat that, until her friends and her brother started standing up to her and no longer allowing her to behave that way towards them, and she got to the point where her father was no longer rewarding her because she got too ambitious, as is inevitable when a child outgrows a parent who is enmeshed with them in that way.

I mean, of course Azula was abused, and of course there is the damage that happens when a child is raised the way Azula does. Even allowing that Azula did not bear the brunt of Ozai's abuse, just abusing Zuko in front of Azula is itself a form of abuse. It erodes Azula's sense of safety because she knows the same thing could happen to her if she's not good enough.

But a lot of people confuse that with the idea that Azula was forced to treat Zuko badly, which she absolutely was not forced to do. We don't ever see Ozai tell Azula that she's too good to play with Zuko or that she has to be mean to him. He teaches her how to treat Zuko through example, but the picture some people paint of an Azula who didn't really want to hurt her brother just isn't true. In fact, it's because of Ozai's example that Azula got such satisfaction out of hurting Zuko, because it made her feel good to be seen as better than Zuko in her father's eyes.

People don't like to engage with that aspect of Azula. They need to file off the edges to make her a sympathetic victim. Like you mentioned, there's this idea that she isn't "human" otherwise, even though her joy in Zuko's suffering is a very human emotion. And she does enjoy it.

People often talk about redemption arcs when they talk about this, but I'm gonna mention one of the most recent and well-loved corruption arcs in media, and pull a scene from Breaking Bad. One of the most famous scenes at the end of the show is when Skylar tells Walter that she doesn't want to hear any more excuses about how the things he did were because of the family. Walter's response is to interrupt her and say:

I did it for me. I did it because I liked it. And I was good at it.

It's one of the most evocative scenes primarily because it hurts to see Walter go down the path he goes down from the beginning to the end, but at no point is he anything other than tragically human. And finally, finally, we see him admit that nothing that he did was for the benefit of others.

Azula liked what she was doing. And she was very, very good at it. And she saw no reason to be unhappy about it until it wasn't working for her anymore. And even then, she blamed others for her unhappiness instead of acknowledging that they had a right to want to be treated better.

Note that I'm not saying Azula and Walter White are remotely similar as characters, and ATLA and Breaking Bad are very different stories in very different genres. But I bring up BB as an example because I see too many people claiming that the only interesting or human story worth telling is one where everyone gets redemption, and that idea can be harmful especially to people in real life who have been victimized who are struggling with the idea that they need to see the goodness in their abusers.

Anyway, I am sorry to hear about your personal experiences and although I cannot say what is best for you, I do hope you find peace and I want you to know that you have a right to that peace.

[haunthouse]

thinking about how i found someone a couple weeks ago who'd copied my entire personal website exactly for their own website (right down to the images, what each different page looked like, and the hobbies on the 'about me' page), and had it linked on their linkedin account where they claimed to be a software developer as their own work. and i emailed them asking them to take it down, obviously, because what the fuck, right? and i quoted a bit, in my email, from their linkedin post about their (plagiarized) site where they went on about how making "their own" site was an opportunity to let their own gaudy tastes fly free or some shit.

and they replied "lol so embarrassing I had chatgpt write that… ;_;"

followed by three paragraphs of an apology that was obviously, blatantly, also written by chatgpt.

they did take down the website, but like. i'm still astounded by the total lack of regard for other people & the blatant unapologetic plagiarism being used to try to get jobs. also like, the sheer lack of curiosity that goes into doing that — don't you want the satisfaction of making something that's actually yours? don't you want to mess around with things until you figure out something that works?

anyways i think about this every time i see posts defending using chatgpt to write essays or ai art or whatever. this is how you get people who don't care at all about boundaries, who never have to actually develop the emotional depth to articulate an apology themselves, and who never have to respond to the consequences for their actions because hey, they can just make a robot deal with it instead and shield themselves from any guilt, right? you never have to care about what other people are feeling if you can pass all your excuses off to a computer.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

sooo we know what kind of stu look/vibe you prefer, is there a murdoc equivalent to that? i'm curious because you've recently gotten me on the lad stu bandwagon haha. there's definitely a "version" of murdoc i picture in your writing, but it's a bit difficult to articulate. so i was wondering if you had an intended effect in mind and if i'm anywhere near the mark!

Thank you, and welcome aboard the Lad Stu bandwagon! You may not find yourself drowning in content but you'll have a good time! It certainly hasn't eased up on me yet, and despite some fully self-inflicted misery at times I still think there's plenty of reward to be found, haha. He's just neat!

Murdoc is tricky, as I see him as a bit more of a shapeshifter than Stu is, simultaneously more aware of himself and less loyal to who or what that is. My rule of thumb is that Murdoc is adaptable and Stu is malleable, and these are two very distinct ways to affect and be affected by the world around you, even if both ultimately result in the birth of unhealthy self-gratifying habits. Murdoc has the survival experience to know what a situation requires, and how to play it toward his benefit-- and he's comfortable with (or settled more deeply into) the knowledge that sometimes it's bending, and sometimes it's biting. Sometimes you get what you want by removing the capacity to be punished. An inability to be pinned down is a fundamental part of that, I think. By no means do I think that means Murdoc is always sincere in these perspectives, nor do I think he's always if ever been completely honest with a microphone on, but I think he'd see the sort of nihilistic reason to it and lack of reason in splitting those hairs over concepts. Behind his manic showmanship Murdoc has a strange pragmatism to him, but you could turn him inside out without seeing it. He's also just, you know, unwell in less digestible ways. Honestly, you'd have to read every post on this blog back to 2018 to relay back to me what I've said about Murdoc and I probably still couldn't parse it, haha.

As far as looks, that is a bit easier to tackle! I don't mind artwork that depicts Murdoc with his greener skintone and it doesn't register as "wrong" to my version of him, but in writing I'm generally picturing he and Stuart both a bit more human than they're typically drawn with a stronger leaning toward their respective pop cultural muses, and so Murdoc probably resembles P1-P2 models more. Jaundiced and sickly in undertone, but not cartoon-coloured. The broader silhouette of his face and hair borrowed from Keith Richards or Richard Ashcroft. I see him as sinewy and slight, but not proportionately railish and lanky as Stu is; he has some give in the thighs, to put it one way, haha, but in general he strikes me as "the runt of the litter." Small in the way that doesn't entirely carry in photographs. I do like some of the softer-figured Murdoc artwork and definitely enjoy it over a bizarrely muscular depiction (looking at you in that one specific P4 piece, Jamie) but I think my characterization of him has always been scrawny, booze-bellied, making his size something that fuels gratification and in fact prompts comparison/insult rather than downplays it, because that co-opting of his own degradation returns the satisfaction of it to his hands and not Stu's. (Though rarely would he rather anything be out of Stu's hands, given the choice.)

Vibe-wise, I hope the above paragraphs paint a picture, as I'm not sure I'll be able to-- at least not without making it even more confusing, haha. I see Murdoc as more punkish stylistically, not so entirely devoted to the sartorial extremes as he was in his early 20's playing in 7 different Stoke-based bands but rooted within it. I tend to say "punkish" and not just punk to make some distinction, hopefully, that he is informed by a lot of alt British youth culture, Northern culture, poverty from birth through the total establishment of his adult life, and at last in well-fucking-won gluttonous defiance of that, the excesses of rockstardom. He settles easily into topless lounging, or crusty old band t-shirts with coats from the charity shop, or a leather jacket a size too small to keep him from swimming in the sleeves, separate enough from his beltline for Stu to notice. (Again, looking at a different P4 Jamie piece; he giveth and he taketh away.)

[alexthemagicaldevil]

Of Medea, Jason, and Other Tragedies

Some of you might remember a post I made a little while ago comparing how Quackity and Technoblade fit into the lore of the DSMP. Here are my thoughts via a 3k words of angst:

Read it on AO3

There was nothing left of L’Manburg.

It was something universally understood and known. Something that was never questioned. Something that everyone just accepted so that they could move on and not think about the nation that had too many traitors, too many broken promises, too many memories. It was something that everyone thought they believed so that they wouldn’t go looking for little pieces left behind, pieces that miraculously survived the desimation.

But Quackity knew the truth. Those little pieces could be found without looking too hard, whether it be in the fractured relationships of the SMP or the physical evidence that managed to not become ash at the bottom of a crater. And Quackity, well, he held both of those pieces in the palms of his hands.

In one hand, he held the souls of those fractured by L’Manburg’s memory. Fundy and his desperate need of a stable family, with a past scarred by a father that went mad and nightmares that haunt his waking actions. Sam and his futile attempts at control, gradually being poisoned as he pushes everyone away and tries to single handedly keep the server’s god locked in his own prison. Purpled and his lack of legacy, even in a place he so heavily influenced and his skills so valued yet so dismissed. Foolish and his beautiful builds and broken heart, running away from his destructive past and wanting peace despite the possibility of godhood sitting at his fingertips.

In the other hand, Quackity held a poster, one of the last remaining remnants of the place he had once fiercely declared home. He has no idea how it survived. Most of the physical pieces of L’Manburg that could be found were sections of buildings just far enough away from the explosions, items in random chests, or whatever was on the citizens at the time. Yet somehow, through all the fire and TNT, this poster had survived.

Technoblade. Wanted dead or alive.

Quackity had found it relatively soon after Doomsday, wandering around the crater where L’Manburg once stood. It was slightly singed on the edges and an entire corner was gone, but there it was, lying on the ground innocently, Technoblade’s mocking eyes staring at him with something like satisfaction.

He should have left the thing there. It would have eventually faded away like the rest of L’Manburg with enough time under the elements. Or maybe he should have burned it and forgot it was there in the first place. Whatever he should have done, picking it up, carefully folding it, and stuffing it into his back pocket was definitely not it. But he did. And it stayed with him for a long time.

At first, it was just there, a burning reminder in his back pocket of all he failed to do and what he promised to accomplish. It was there as he built Las Nevadas from the ground up, barely noticeable besides the constant nagging reminder in the back of his thoughts. It was there when he hired Purpled and Technoblade to take care of the Eggpire that had gone on for far too long, growing heavier and heavier each time the Blood God looked at him. It was there when he found out about Kinoko Kingdom for the first time, how the only three people he thought he could trust, the reasons he built Las Nevadas in the first place, left him behind without a second thought.

(The poster didn’t feel heavy then, but it did feel like it was laughing at him. Low and monotone, coming from deep within his memories.

The poster didn’t feel heavy then, but the two rings threaded through a chain around his neck did. They felt like shackles threatening to weigh him down and drown him.

Quackity removed the rings and hid them in a chest after that. Somehow, though, they still felt suffocating).

The poster was there for everything, tucked away in his back pocket, even when he began recruiting members for Las Nevadas. Through Foolish and Fundy, Purpled and Sam, and even through Slime. It knew everything, Quackity would find himself thinking. Of course, there was no way for a poster to know anything, but it didn’t stop the thought.

It wasn’t until after Wilbur visited him with Tommy after his revival (and so many memories of Pogtopia) that he finally took the poster out of his pocket. He was alone at the time (as he always is these days, it feels like, even surrounded by other beings) and in his unfinished casino. Sam had left nearly an hour ago to continue his duties as the Warden at the prison. The echoes of their conversation reverberated through Quackity’s mind.

Technoblade is going to the prison to see Dream tomorrow, he remembers saying. I trust you know what you have to do.

Of course, Sam had replied, the intense green of his eyes sparking in the dim lighting of the casino. You’ve done your part. Now I’ll do mine.

Quackity stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand. It had always Schlatt’s drink of choice, when he was still breathing. The smell reminded Quackity of the long nights he spent as Vice-President to a man barely sober enough to stand, let alone run a country. How many times had he put the smallest amount of poison in Schlatt’s drink, hoping that this time, it would be enough to end him for good? How many days had he spent hiding bruises and putting on fake smiles, wondering if it was all worth it? How many nightmares had he endured, thinking about everything Schlatt did and made him do?

He drank all the whiskey in one go. It burned his throat and pooled like fire in his stomach.

The glass made a satisfying thud on the counter as Quackity set it down. It was then that he finally reached for the poster in his back pocket, holding it almost gently in his scarred hands. He traced the edge of it with his finger, thinking deeply.

Quackity unfolded the poster, one fold at a time. The folds were deep from the sheer amount of time it’s spent in his pocket. It was honestly a miracle that it was still intact, given the state it was in when Quackity found it and the constant strain it’s been under since.

When Quackity finished unfolding the poster, he placed it against the wall and used his empty whiskey glass to hold it up. It looked just like he remembered, even back when the Butcher Army was first created. Sure it was faded and threatened to fold on itself at any moment, but it was still there. The reward, Technoblade’s face, the L’Manburgian flag.

Quackity stared into Technoblade’s red eyes. It was only a drawing, but whoever had done the picture nailed the resemblance to the Blood God. The scar over his eye and lip itched just looking at it.

“You know Technoblade,” Quackity found himself saying. “Before we met, I always had a healthy respect for you. Who didn’t? Everyone was in awe over the Blood God, the most terrifying fighter of our generation, rumored to never be able to die.” He sighed. “Of course, fighting was never my strong suit. You found that out first hand,” he added with some humor, though it felt flat. “Still, a part of me longed to do what you do. Words can only get you so far, get you so much respect.

“They say you should never meet your heroes. Something in that has to be true, because ever since I’ve known you, my life has been nothing but one bitter failure after another.” The poster didn’t reply, and Quackity understood with some absurdity that he was literally talking to a poster as if it were a real being. Still, he continued on.

“Well, maybe that’s giving you too much credit, but it sure feels like that. It’s just,” he trailed off slightly, moving his hands around, trying to figure out some way to articulate his point. Words were supposed to be his weapons, but here, vulnerable and trying to express something that’s been gnawing at him for so long, they scrambled in his throat. “Somehow you come out of every battle, every conflict without a single mark, yet I’m punished for every decision I’ve made since I came to this Primeforsaken SMP.”

And those words, Quackity realized, are when the floodgate inside his chest burst.

“No matter what you do, who you hurt, who you kill, what everyone wants or tries to accomplish, you have never paid for anything you’ve done to the people of this server. I remember when we took down Schlatt with Pogtopia, how you were so insistent that the government had to be taken down, all the while talking about how it was the people’s choice to live how they wanted to live. Well guess what, shithead? The people, L’Manburg, us, we decided that we wanted a government, one that listened to us and one that we could trust. And what did you do once the people made their choice? What did you do after we had called you our friend and said you didn’t have to live by our ways if you didn’t want to? You called us traitors. Said we used you, when all you ever wanted was an excuse to push your own anarchist bullshit down the throat of any server that would give you the time of day. You’re somehow the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met, even in a world where Dream runs around as the Admin.

“But that’s not even the worst of your sins, isn’t it? I’ve watched you blow up countries with no remorse, execute a child on the whim of a dictator, corrupt and hurt every single person I’ve ever cared about, destroy what I put every ounce of my heart and soul into like it was nothing.”

There were tears aching behind his eyes now. Quackity took a shuddering breath, trying to calm his hurting heart. He thought about Schlatt and his time in Pogtopia, thought about Tubbo and Tommy and Niki and every other L’Manburgian face as they realized the nation they loved was gone at Technoblade and Wilbur’s hands. “And what were your consequences for all of this? What karma did the oh so powerful universe decide you deserved?

“Nothing. Not a single, goddamn thing. For all your violence and bloodshed, you get to live in a nice cottage in the Arctic, filled with friends that celebrate your birthday, and not a single regret.”

Quackity smiled blankly at the poster, raising his hands. By now he was full on pacing in front of it, his shoes making soft noises against the tile. All the while, Technoblade’s red eyes watched his every move.

“But what about me? Prime knows I’m the furthest thing from a saint this server has to offer, but at least I had good intentions. I went against Wilbur during the elections not because I wanted power, but because I saw what he was doing and no one else was going to call him out on his bullshit. I mean, come on! Running a single party election in a so-called democratic nation? Now, that doesn’t mean I didn’t do bad things. I should have left Schlatt the moment I realized just how bad he was. I shouldn’t have waited until after he ruined L’Manburg and executed Tubbo to join Pogtopia. It haunts me every waking moment.” Quackity stopped his pacing for a moment, lost in the memories. Tubbo screaming, the flash and bang of a firework. The explosion of color from the second firework immediately after, because the first one hadn’t been enough. The burning in his chest as he was hit with a firework of his own.

“And then, after you and Wilbur decided to blow it all to kingdom come, I did everything I thought was best for L’Manburg. I helped people. I rebuilt everything you destroyed and made it better. I wanted to hunt you down and make you pay for everything you did.” His scar began to itch again. “But I guess we both know how that turned out.

“And what were my consequences for this? For doing my best, realizing my mistakes, trying to fix them, trying to protect those around me? What karma did the oh so powerful universe decide I deserved?

“Everything. I was punished for everything. Every place I called home, every person I called a friend, every time I fell in love, anything I tried to protect, every time I tried to be happy, I was punished for it. Somehow in this fucked up version of the story, I’m the villain that needs to be punished for their actions, while you’re the blameless hero that gets a happily ever after!”

Quackity was near yelling at this point. It felt good to let out all of his emotions after so long, putting everything into the open even if no one else heard him. He forced himself to calm down slightly, running a hand through his hair.

“Have you ever heard the story of Medea and Jason?” he asked abruptly. The air of the casino seemed to shift uncomfortably with his sudden change of tone, lighter and lower than before. “You probably have, with your obsession with Greek Mythology and shit. You know something interesting about Medea, though? Even though she did horrible, and I mean horrible things, she never lost the favor of the gods. She abandoned her country for some random dude she fell in love with, plotted the murders of her brother and father, as well as murdered a princess with a poison so strong that it killed anyone she touched, and even killed her own children. Yet she doesn’t pay for any of it. Through all of the murder and sorcery, the kept her favor with the gods, and was allowed to have a happy ending. Hell!” Quackity let out a barking laugh. “She doesn’t even die as far as anyone knows! Greek mythology is known for its love of horrible and dramatic deaths, yet of all of the myths she shows up in, never once does it mention her eventually dying, even of old age! Sounds like someone else we know, doesn’t it?”

He paused for a moment, as if expecting a reply. Of course, there was none.

“Now Jason, Jason, on the other hand, we see something interesting. You see, he loses his favor with the gods, specifically his patron Hera, because he was trying to marry another woman even though he was already married to Medea and had two children with her. Can you imagine your patron goddess being the lord of marriage and family, and then you trying to marry another woman? The balls on that man, I’m telling you. The point is, none of his heroic deeds mattered in the end. He lost favor with the gods, lost his wife and children, and ended up dying alone, crushed under the weight of the Argo. The only thing left to immortalize his heroism ended up being the cause of his death.”

Quackity suddenly paused. His words echoed in the casino around him. No longer was he pacing. Instead, he stared long into the distance, as if he could see something through the thick walls. The weight around his neck was nearly unbearable. When he spoke again, it was just above a whisper.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is you are an awful lot like Medea. Doing horrible things left and right with the gods still choosing to favor you, still getting a happy ending despite all the pain and grief you’ve caused. But…” he trailed off, looking back at the poster. It may have been his imagination, but Technoblade’s eyes seemed less mocking, somehow.

“I have hope. Maybe you’re not Medea. Maybe, just maybe, you’re Jason. You’ll do something so terrible that you’ll lose your favor with the gods, lose everything that ever mattered, and you’ll be crushed under the weight of what once proved your worth.” Quackity walked forward, reaching out his hand. His fingertips stopped less than an inch from the surface of the poster, just hovering. Waiting. Contemplating.

“But I can’t wait for that to happen. I can’t wait for the universe to finally decide you’ve lost its favor.”

He dropped his hand. “You once said something, Technoblade. You said: treat others as they have treated you. That was your excuse for everything you’ve done. I tried to enact that saying once before, and I lost a life because of it. This time around…”

Quackity finally snatched the poster from the place on the wall, rattling the glass in the process. He refused to acknowledge that there was the finest tremble in his hands, making the poster shake.

“Well, the universe already made me the villain of this story. Might as well act like one.”

Quackity ripped the poster to shreds, piece by piece, one of the last remaining pieces of L’Manburg destroyed at his hands. Soon it was so shredded that it was unrecognizable, a pile of paper falling softly to his feet. When it was gone, it felt like pressure was relieved from Quackity’s shoulders. For the first time in a long while, he smiled genuinely.

He walked out of the casino, leaving the pile there for another day. He was sure Slime would clean it up without much fuss.

And if the weight around his neck grew to be nearly unbearable-- well, that was no one's knowledge but his own.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 13

first time readers click here 💖

TWs/Summary: In this house, we ship Reader/Tony's Rolls-Royce. Reader and Tony being dorks on a date. That's it that's the chapter. Lots of sass and Tony being Tony.

A question for my readers: Are you still invested? How's the slow burn? Is everything realistic? 👉🏻👈🏻🥺

As usual, my beta is @miscmarvelwritings . I love her.

"Nice digs, Cupcake."

"Nice ride, Tin Man."

The sass fell from my lips, warm and familiar, paving the way for our upcoming debut like the old, soft living room rug. Any awkwardness I had expected there to be left the moment I saw Tony pull up to my front gate in his Royce: the man was just that extra. The size of my estate, the five-figure outfit of mine - it paled in comparison to his own clout. 

In a world where my choices were usually distributed between stuck-up rich boys or insecure middle-class men, Tony was a fresh drink of water with his absolute indifference towards my and his own net worth.

I wasn't afraid to admire said ride, either. Being a huge petrolhead was what got me interested in engineering, physics and computer sciences in the first place. The desire for speed grew into thirst for knowledge: how to get more horsepower, how to tune, how to mod. No mechanic took an eighteen year old rich-girl seriously even when I had all the lingo right, I had to be a step ahead, at all times, if I wanted my ride to be the best. And I never settled for less than that.

"No driver?" I inquired for the reason behind the unusual behaviour. After all, a Rolls' wasn't the kind of car you drive personally. All the amenities it had, it had in the back.

"Gave Happy a day off," Tony remarked absently. I noticed the small quirk of his eyebrow, however. He was intrigued.

I decided to give it a shot. "So what, this thing packs, what, about five-fifty horses?" I mused, watching Tony nearly swerve into the opposite lane. "At two and a half tons, it's still gotta be pretty quick with that V12-turbo. How fast it go?" The satisfaction was immeasurable, as pleasant to my soul as sitting in a heated leather chair with the smell of a new car, engine quietly rumbling in front of me. And by quietly I mean, it was focus-or-you'll-miss-it kind of quiet.

"Well aren't you full of surprises, baby girl," Tony grinned; a happy, excited grin even. It made his face lose ten years of age just like that. "Zero to sixty in five and a half seconds," He said after a moment. 

"Not bad," I said, sounding impressed. I already knew that but I wasn't planning on robbing Tony out of well deserved praise for his choice in vehicles. 

"Got a ride of your own?" He asked with a smile, like he didn't know it already. No background check would have skipped my three speeding tickets, but I concur. This game was fun.

"I do, actually. It's a 2008 Range Rover. Supercharged," I added in the end, just to emphasise.

"A big car for such a little girl," Tony whistled playfully.

"I'm compensating," I deadpanned. "I'm a little slow on the uptake, y'know, so my Rangie with five hundred horses makes up for it. Gotta keep it balanced."

Tony chewed on his lip. "Five hundred? Haven't heard about that, it comes with three-ninety-five in stock," His eyebrow wiggled. "Tuned it?" He cast me a contemplative glance.

"Yup," I exclaimed happily. As far as the date, I would have been utterly ecstatic to talk about cars all evening. Screw the boring "where do you see yourself in five years" questions, talk to me about your favourite engine swaps. Concept cars, give me those. Monster trucks? Yes, please. Vintage low-riders? Couldn't wait to get my grubby little hands on one. Gimmee!

Tony kept his silence and kept his press smile starting the moment we set foot on getting out of the car. The place he'd taken me to was ridiculously upscale and fancy; the valet hesitated only for a second before catching the keys Tony so carelessly tossed in his direction. There was almost no fear in his body language when the boy approached the massive, expensive vehicle.

The hostess smiled big at Tony and gave me the world's biggest stink-eye when he looked the other way but what else is new? As soon as she left us in the privacy of our booth, I didn't hesitate to stick my tongue at her retreating back. A brief lapse in maturity, if you will.

Tony cackled, growing suddenly serious. "Did she bother you? I can get her fired. I should get her fired."

"Nah," I shrugged. "Don't really care, just wanted to showcase my amazing sense of humour." Snorting, I gave Tony a wink and a secretive grin.

"You really don't give a fuck, do you," His eyebrows twitched again, a sign of mild interest that I noted during our routine sciencing time together. Tony was incredibly expressive if one took the time to observe.

"I could suck your dick under the table right now," I answered honestly. "It's just that when God gave out things like dignity and shame, I wasn't home. Too many fun things to do, y'know," I spoke as casually as I could even though I was dying of laughter inside.

Eyes bulging, jaw hanging mid-way to the floor. Tony was serving Looks™ and I didn't mean just the white tee and purple blazer combo. "Princess, you're going to be the fucking death of me!" He took a sip from his water glass, smirking.

Finally releasing my mirth, I gathered my hands in a lock in front of me. His own, warm and calloused, reached over - I allowed the brief intimacy, clasping them, fiddling with the leather band of his watch. For a moment, it was just us, sitting in the dim light, discovering each other anew to Robert Johnson singing the blues and NYC bustling with life just behind the wall. 

The waiter took our orders - and if I totally butchered the Italian, Tony was gentleman enough not to make any remarks. 

"Somehow, every time I am with you, you both manage to meet my expectations to a T and surprise me at the same time," I wasn't able to completely ignore my nerves. My hand was still loosely in his and he didn't mind at all, me messing with his watch.

"How so?"

"I'm going to loosely quote someone, bear with me." Mr Davies's words popped into my mind just as I was wondering how to best articulate my feelings. "You're eccentric and interesting because it's, well, it's you, because it would be much weirder if we'd be sitting here and making boring small-talk and asking each other the genetic get-to-know-you questions," I briefly paused to sip my Dom Peringon and stare at our hands. Gathering my wits. "That would be why I don't do dates. It sounds so tedious on paper, just sorting through people until a person that's not absolutely mind-numbing comes around."

Tony was silent for a moment, the sheen of his eyes, the faraway look; he was lost in memories. Probably remembering all the girls he had charmed before. I didn't doubt it was easy for him: his smile was distracting and people usually were attracted to shiny things. He shone plenty. Also, most people were stupid, they never cared to look past the golden wrapper. I was convinced there was a diamond under it. But then again, I was biased.

"I've never thought about it that way, but I guess you're right," He finally said, serious. "With Pepper, at least, it was. Come to think of it, we never had that much in common, besides Stark Industries and her willingness to put up with my shit." It was painful for him to talk about her, that much was obvious. His laugh was forced and sardonic.

I, on the other hand, never understood why they got together in the first place. Or maybe I did - but the cold, composed Pepper and the chaotic, energetic Tony reminded me too much of my own parents. All four people in this fucked up equation could have been much happier if they choose... What? Being alone? That was terrifying, too.

I kept quiet, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

"You know, this is so bizarre. Even an eighteen year old kid has got it figured out," He suddenly said, his tone bitter like the coffee that he loved.

"Woah, slow down," I put up a hand. "I never said I know what to do. I just said I know what NOT to do." The 'kid' remark would have made me eye-roll so hard my skull would crack any day. In this context, however, it was pretty spot on.

Tony snorted. "And how did you come by that information, pray tell, Baby?"

I huffed. "Have you met my parents?" We simultaneously cringed and I hurried to erase that mental image. "I make fun of myself for being into old dudes all the time," I made air quotes around the phrase that made Tony scoff, "But, honestly speaking, I've never even been on a date. Like a real one. Usually it's twenty minutes and I'm falling asleep mid-conversation. People can't seem to keep up with me or something," I felt genuinely dejected. "So many meaningless questions, so many downright idiotic comments. From men," I pointed out the obvious. "My mother used to tell me she thought I was gay because I didn't act like a girl... Whatever that means."

"That sounds pretty shitty," Tony was studying me like one would have been looking at an exotic animal in a zoo. "That said, I agree."

"That I don't act like a girl?" I teased him, the left corner of my mouth tilting upward. "Fuck that noise. I want to drive fast cars, drink straight liquor and have orgasms. If that makes me a dude... I look pretty good for a dude in a dress."

We laughed in unison, tension evaporating under the shared, mutual understanding. With Tony, it was easy. The waiter brought our selected dishes. Blink-and-he's-gone. Top notch service.

"A dude in a dress, can't say I'm surprised 'bout your lack of dates," He remarked conversationally, happily digging into his food. The noises he made were intriguing, to say the least, and I followed suit on my own food, finding it absolutely delicious. A delicious meal with a delicious man at my side. I refused to feel guilty about my thoughts.

"I guess I have exactly one (1) date on my ledger now," I raised my argument.

The fork clattered as Tony once again, came to a sudden realization. "Holy shit, you weren't kidding."

"No shit," I gave into the urge to roll my eyes. "But on the upside, my first date was with the most gorgeous, intelligent and witty bachelor of the city. I'd say I don't have it all that bad," I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Aw, you're making me blush," Tony recovered quickly, grinning. "And don't be shy. The most desired bachelor of the country, if not the world."

I shook my head. "No, the world's most delectable bachelor is one of the Saudi princes. What's-his-name, the one who posts goat and horse pics on Insta," I snapped my fingers a couple of times, trying to remember the name as Tony looked at me all offended. "Anyways, you get my point. I could have a go at him, don't you think?" Cocking my shoulder, coyly twirling the strap of my dress, I gave Tony my best come-hither look and was rewarded with an appreciative once-over. His eyes were growing hungry again. 

"You're a million dollar baby," He finally said, voice low. "And the extent of people I would be willing to share you with is very small."

That got me interested, sudden heat prickling underneath my skin. The conversation took a turn I didn't expect it to; and there lied the delight of being around Tony. He was always ready to surprise, in the best way. "Tell me," I requested politely.

"That's a conversation for another time," He was enjoying the chit-chat, desire beginning to creep into his features.

"Mmm, you think?" I allowed the strap of my dress to slip down my shoulder, exposing a collarbone, showing him just how far I was willing to go to satisfy my curiosity.

He swallowed audibly. "I think... You're smart enough to figure it out," He finally gritted his teeth, finishing off his dinner and immediately calling for the check. 

I wasn't done yet, however. The possibility of riling him up, taunting him into a lustful frenzy - I was in heaven. Karma had favoured me that evening, it had given me a chance to get Tony back for all the times he unknowingly made my mouth water and my brain go blip. "Must be Steve then," I bit my lip in thought. 

Honestly? I was as clueless as the couple next table over. Steve it wasn't, that much I knew for sure, he and Tony had their little love/hate dramatic connection that always ended in a massive ego standoff. Tony would be on the frontline fighting against Steve if the blonde dared to show anything even remotely resembling romantic interest towards someone Tony himself had his eyes on.

"Princess," Tony growled, sarcastically raising an eyebrow.

"Not Steve," I replied, cracking a smile. Success! "You know, I'm really bad at guessing who's into me. Unless someone is balls deep in me," My face was mere inches away as we quickly shrugged on our coats. "And even then, I can't be sure."

My giggling was accompanied by Tony shaking his head in exasperated fashion; he took my hand nonetheless and I happily swayed it between us, poster child for "not a care in the world". He allowed it, maintaining the same exasperated air about him, and I let him. Fondness and happiness seeped through that anyways.

"Brat," His voice was kind. And his kiss tingled where he left it on the corner of my mouth, sweet and short. "Here, have a go," Before I could react, the keys to his Rolls Royce were placed in my palm and he was making his way around the car to the passenger's side.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway (it finally let me tag you)! @softie-socks @schemefrenzy

[thenightling]

Does The Frankenstein Monster have a soul?

    I have seen many strange blog posts and articles recently claiming that Mary Shelley’s creature in the Frankenstein novel does not have a soul.  I believe this does a disservice to Mary Shelley and the intention behind her story.       Before we proceed please note that this is written in the literary context of assuming that within the narrative humans definitely do have souls themselves.       First let is begin with the literal and possibly occult aspects of the Frankenstein Story.  Victor studied the works of Agrippa and Parcelsus in the novel.  Agrippa and Parcelsus were a self-proclaimed sorcerer and alchemist.  Victor was not studying hard science as we know it today, despite what you might see in some Frankenstein movies.   Victor was studying metaphysics and he was still a student when he brought his creature to life.  Many consider Frankenstein to be the first science fiction novel but without the actual description of how he brought his creature to life he could easily be the result of alchemy.   

   At no point does any character in the Frankenstein novel ever refer to The Creature as soulless.  Even Victor, who loathed his creation near the end, never described him as being without a soul. The closest thing to it is when he uses the term “mockery of a human soul” which indicates that what soul The Creature has he sees as an inhuman one.      

     An article from “The Conversationalist” argues that because the eyes are the gateway to the soul that this means The Creature is soulless since his eyes are watery and yellow.  But it is not that The Creature lacks eyes at all. It is that his eyes are different from a human’s.  Watery eyes suggests sad, expressive and tragic.   Eyes are usually watery as a result of deep emotion.   I cannot understand why a description of something often used to convey profound emotion would be used to mean “soulless.”   

     A different Google Search result on the subject of “Does the Frankenstein Monster have a soul” is a teacher’s resource site that claims it would be a good exercise for the class to discuss “Ways in which it is portrayed that The Creature in Frankenstein has no soul.”  But this is, again, pure speculation, and not based on anything of the actual novel.   The essay directly under this described “exercise” talks about how The Creature would not have killed Victor’s loved ones if he had a soul and that a creature with a soul would feel remorse for his actions.

     There are two things wrong with this sample essay.  First, many humans have killed other humans and shown no remorse. That does not mean they do not have a soul.  It means there is something wrong with their conscience.   The second thing the matter with this assumption is at the end of the Frankenstein novel The Creature does show remorse.   He laments the pain and suffering he has caused.   His education had consisted of books that glorified revenge as something noble and righteous and justified such as the actions of both God and Lucifer in John Milton’s Paradise Lost.  And he only learned after the fact that revenge only helped to make him feel more isolated from humanity and actually served to bring him no peace or satisfaction and in fact only helped to make him feel worse than what he already felt.      

  Now onto potentially more subjective content.  

     The Creature, who is well-spoken and articulate in the novel, repeatedly talks about his own soul.   He becomes obsessed with the depictions of Adam and Lucifer in John Milton’s Paradise Lost and is actually a surprisingly spiritual figure. He talks about his own soul frequently and does not seem to have any doubt that he has one.  He also seems quite certain of the fact that he will have an afterlife.  The indication here is simple. If humans have immortal souls that can ascend than logically- as he is capable of the full range of human emotion and thought- so does he.  

     Mary Shelley, herself, has been quoted as calling The Creature a “Poor soul” and “wretched soul” or “a romantic soul” and as she is the author I do not think she chose those wordings lightly.   Note:  I cannot precisely source these quotes at this time but most of what I have written here can easily be found in both the 1818 and 1831 editions of the novel Frankenstein.     

      It is also important to consider that if The Creature was indeed “Soulless” this feels like it would diminish Victor’s accountability for abandoning him, and the world’s fault in rejecting him.  It dampens and potentially ruins the entire idea that you ought to pity The Creature and are supposed to sympathize with him despite the horrible things he has done.  To claim he is without a soul overly exonerates those who have wronged him and immediately dehumanizes him, making the portions of the novel where The Creature tells Victor his own sorrows and experiences practically pointless and creates a barrier between the reader and character.  The ability to sympathize with him is dramatically reduced and I feel this would undermine Mary Shelley’s intentions by dehumanizing him further than Victor already did, and almost justifying mistreatment toward him.            

      It’s an odd thing to me, to see so many comments, articles, and blogs talking about him not having a soul.  I think people forget that in 1818 the soul was usually depicted as a person’s spirit, consciousness that could live on after-death, the part of you that thinks and feels.   Your very awareness.  In the nineteenth century if you could feel emotion and think it was considered a given fact that you have a soul because “You are a soul, you have a body.”   

     It seems that the modern “interpretation” of The Frankenstein Monster being soulless mostly comes from not quite understanding what the nineteenth century described the soul as in most literature.  This wasn’t the TV show Buffy The Vampire Slayer where the soul and conscience are easily confused and interchangeable.  

    It’s peculiar to me that a low budget schlock film like “I, Frankenstein” can explore The Frankenstein Creature’s soul and conscience with more respect for the source material and Mary Shelley than some so-called academics.  Kevin Grevioux is a very underrated writer and his film deserved a better budget and care than what it received.  This is why I like that low budget and cheesy little film.  

     In any event, if you are trying to figure out if The Frankenstein Monster has a soul or not I think it is safe to assume that at least the novel’s author and the character, himself, believed that yes, he does have a soul.   And I hope whoever was trying to figure this out heeds this post before the righteous rantings on the Google results from those whom I suspect might not have actually read the novel or may not have wanted to feel compassion toward The Creature.

___________________

Further note:  Lots of people mistakenly think Frankenstein’s main moral is not to play in God’s domain.  

I do not have patience for those with the assumption that the moral of the novel was "Don't play God." That's the 1931 film, not the novel. The themes of the novel included parental responsibility, the need to forgive, the futility of revenge, and judging by appearance.There are literary professors who have assumed the film was accurate in the novel's moral but thankfully most people who read the book know better. The Creature began benign and gentle and only went evil after several instances of mistreatment.  A third of the novel is there just to tell is this.  If simply creating him was Victor's sin then that diminishes Victor's accountability for how he treated him.  It's also why I don't like film versions where The Creature has an "abnormal brain."  It overly justifies the mistreatment of him and exonerates his creator.   If simply creating him was Victor's sin than we would not have been repeatedly told he would have remained Good if he had not been mistreated. Victor's sin wasn't creating him but how he treated him after he was created.  The "I shouldn't have played God thing"  was the 1931 film, not the novel.  Victor, himself, acts as if merely creating him was his sin but The Creature, and (at times) even Victor admitted that The Creature was once benign and gentle, until the cruelties of others got to him. Finally, "Modern Prometheus." PROMETHEUS! Why do so many people think Prometheus was some sinner who was righteously punished? Does no one know Greek mythology anymore? Prometheus was a Titan and the creator of the human race. In short, he was God. Zeus and the new Gods coveted light. The fire Prometheus stole represented knowledge and the power to invent. He gave humans (his own creatures) this and it pissed off Zeus. He severely punished Prometheus but it was unjust and in later myths he was freed. The great centaur who invented medicine even gave up his immortality as payment to keep Zeus from trying to return Prometheus to his punishment.  Mary Shelley's own husband, Percy Shelley, wrote Prometheus Unbound.

[bestworstcase]

it’s feeling gutted about how wasted zhan tiri’s character was hours. like tts really pulled together a few esoteric bits of lore, an evil tree, and some quirky villain of the week disciples and then hired a phenomenal voice actress all so they could… use this character like a cattle prod to make cass do the evil thing. and then killed her off in the most anticlimactic way possible at the end and never elaborated on any of her lore. like. holy missed opportunity batman.

and it’s hard to dissect without discussing cassandra’s arc too, because zhan tiri and cassandra are so intertwined in season three, but even in this regard there feels like so much potential wasted because both of them are so vacuous in season three that they can’t even properly be discussed as foils; they’re just there, making the plot happen more or less by authorial fiat.

and… tts has always had an issue with needing to position rapunzel at the epicenter of everything, to the detriment of other character arcs and also the plot. but it is breathtaking to me that zhan tiri was given such a vital role in the plot without a single drop of character development to go with it, for the sake of her not pulling oxygen from the cass/raps friendship?

fuck THAT.

i’m coming at this from the perspective of someone who was inordinately keen on zhan tiri as a concept from the minute i watched QFAD, and someone who spun a whole character out of her appearances in s1-2 before s3 even started airing and will always prefer my version over canon’s. i’m deeply biased here. but it seems to me that the logical, the obvious thing to do with this character whose sole narrative purpose is to facilitate cassandra taking the moonstone, is to MAKE HER A FOIL TO CASSANDRA.

and it baffles me that tts did not do that. i think perhaps the intention was for them to be understood as foils, but that only works in OAH and even then, only in the most shallow way because it’s all built on the question of whether cass is a villain or not… which is a moral question, only tangentially related to characterization.

but this isn’t really a post about how tts failed zhan tiri as a character so much as it is mulling over bitter snow and like…why zhan tiri is the way she is, because frankly i did not give a lot of thought to who zhan tiri was as a person (“person”) before i started writing og bitter snow—she was very much an intuitive “this feels correct” creature of my imagination—and now that i’m in the thick of the revamp and writing an actual serious story in which she is a significant player i’m trying to… clarify the why of these writing choices for myself.

and it’s about cassandra. at the end of the day that’s really all it is; zhan tiri as i impulsively characterized her is cassandra’s narrative foil. lmao

cass is a character who desperately wants things but cannot articulate her true goal, because she doesn’t know what it is. she is so full of ambition and anger and despair because she has this tremendous unnamed desire that she cannot give voice to and cannot fulfill, and all she knows for sure is she doesn’t have it yet, and the longer she waits for it and the harder she tries to reach it the more she seems to lose. she wants to be a guard. she wants her dad to trust her. she wants to keep rapunzel safe. she wants rapunzel to trust her. she wants…what?

and then she meets zhan tiri in the house of yesterdays tomorrow, and she learns something terrible, and she cuts herself off from rapunzel and takes the moonstone for herself. and then…what?

cassandra’s journey as a character is (or should have been) about unraveling this great internal mystery, about FIGURING OUT what this lack is and how to fill it.

and that is why bitter snow zhan tiri is, fundamentally, hunger. she IS want. she IS desire. she is an insatiable craving that can never be met. she knows precisely what she wants—satisfaction—but that is impossible for her to achieve and she knows that too… but she can’t escape her nature. she can’t stop wanting. she can’t stop taking. but she is so, so old and she has lived and grown and changed herself so much and she’s tired.

so she meets cassandra and feels this kinship. they both are driven by this terrible, implacable urge for something that they can’t reach, and they have both been vicious, selfish, irrational, short-sighted, and self-destructive in pursuit of what they want. zhan tiri can empathize, perhaps more than any other character in the cast, with how excruciatingly painful it is for cass to have this empty feeling she can’t describe and can’t fill, because in a sense that pain IS zhan tiri. or zhan tiri IS that pain.

but cass is also human and she has the potential for relief in a way that zhan tiri does not. and… i think there is at once a compassion and a resentment that grows from this, for cass and for any mortal zhan tiri has gotten attached to over the years. she doesn’t want cass to suffer but she also covets her relief.

and cassandra in turn gets caught up in compassion for this ancient being who is at once so alien and so familiar, and like. i think one of the key reasons s3 was ultimately so unsatisfying is that cassandra never had any…bond with zhan tiri. because in my head there was already this whole vast complicated relationship built on cass and zhan tiri identifying so intensely with each other and cass wanting to understand and coming to see her as not just an advisor or confidante but as a *friend* and someone she wanted to *help* and yet them also being so different in such a small but vital way and the tension that created—and s3 gave me NONE of that. i loved it in OAH when zhan tiri did the “we’re not so different, you and i” but i loved it because it spoke to the character *i* made, the relationship *i* developed, not the one that actually played out on screen where cass didn’t even know zhan tiri’s name.

(and this is not even GETTING INTO how if you want to lean into the s3 zhan tiri backstory tidbits even more you could go absolutely nuts with the ziti+demanitus / cassandra+rapunzel parallels because W H O O F)

[eleutheramina]

Jack Atlas Analysis - Part 2

Who is FC arc Jack?

How about DS arc Jack? - here

How could the DS arc have done better with regards to Jack?

Part 2: How about DS arc Jack?

DS!Jack is certainly in a much different situation that FC!Jack, and I think the line between character derailment and character development can be hard to draw sometimes. There are some who would argue that the change of lead from Tomioka to Yoshida does change him into a different character, but again, I don’t wholly agree with that. I actually am pretty fine with his characterization for most of the arc. I’m not going to touch on Team Satisfaction and how that retroactively affects Jack’s character because that’s a whole can of worms I don’t care to open. 

So who is DS!Jack? Well, he no longer holds his King title, he is definitely not unbeatable, and his Satellite origins are revealed to the public. He spends the first couple of the episodes unconscious, the third in the hospital with a broken arm. FC!Jack would probably think DS!Jack is pathetic and a disgrace. 

Less of Jack’s Internal Monologue More than how he’s characterized himself, I think one of the more subtle but significant differences about DS!Jack is how his personality is conveyed to the audience. Whereas FC!Jack has a decent amount of moments of internal monologue, I feel like there’s relatively little of Jack’s internal monologue for most of the DS arc. This, I think, contributes to why DS!Jack feels different than FC!Jack even right off the bat. Not to say FC!Jack doesn’t also convey a lot about Jack through his body language, actions, or dialogue, but I think how DS!Jack is characterized relies on it more heavily.

For instance, we don’t get much (or really, any) internal monologue about Jack’s feelings about his loss. Jack’s first action in the DS arc is to knock down a vase in anger because of his Satellite background being revealed; he also reacts similarly angrily when it makes the headlines in episode 31, paired with a flashback of his defeat and Yusei’s words about his pride of being a King, as well as when he hears his fans’ cheers and imagines Yusei’s face very heterosexually in the fountain. 

Both the reason for and the impact of not knowing a lot of Jack’s thoughts regarding his loss is, I think, that the audience mainly has Carly’s perspective on him, especially in episode 31. I think this contributes to the foreignness of DS!Jack--after all, Carly did not exist in the FC arc and we as an audience are not used to her perspective on Jack being the primary way we know him. I don’t say this as necessarily a good or bad thing, just to be clear. 

Right at the beginning of the DS arc, Carly is introduced and given an amount of protagonist-like focus to rival Yusei’s, especially notable since she does not initially have any clear connections with any of the other established characters (unlike Crow, who gets a comparable amount of focus but is retconned into being revealed to have been friends with Yusei and Jack). 

Unlike Jack, Carly does get both internal and external monologues, and the amusement park plot of episode 31 is primarily from Carly’s perspective. She doesn’t know where Jack is trying to go or what Jack’s intentions are for 90% of the episode, and so neither does the audience, and only when she figures it out do we know that he’s heading to the tower. We don’t get to hear Jack mourn his loss of his Kingship when he’s staring at the fountain; it’s Carly who narrates his hurt for us. 

This is especially clear with this shot:

Carly is literally looking at the audience during her internal monologue, suggesting she’s talking to us. Also lowkey this line is funny in hindsight because like she does melt his heart later. 

Even while they’re watching Kiryu and Yusei’s duel, or even in episode 37, we basically don’t get anything about what Jack thinks. We only get what he says to Carly or Mikage (most of which is exposition about Zero Reverse or Team Satisfaction), or Carly’s perception of him. 

Jack’s Relationship with Carly Jack’s initial interactions with Carly feel fairly in-character to me. He’s pretty indifferent to her initially, but if Jack is someone who evaluates people based on their merit, I think the moment when Carly defends him from a blast is when she overcomes the threshold to be worthy of some respect by Jack. And even then, he continues to seem either indifferent or annoyed by her--he initially leaves her apartment without any notice, he gets fed up with her antics to get a scoop from him, and he leaves her at the park and does what he’d originally set out to do. Even after the scene at the tower at the end of 31, he continues to not show much warmth to her at all for the remainder of their interactions before she becomes a DS. 

The impact of the scarcity of internal monologues for DS!Jack is that the development of Jack’s feelings for Carly is kept under wraps for most of the arc. FC!Jack has copious monologues about his being King, etc. As for DS!Jack? Well at one point, he thinks, “What I need to protect” when staring at Carly’s glasses. . . and that’s basically it as far as what Jack thinks about Carly.

The rest is conveyed through Jack staring at her glasses a lot--often paired with or commented on by Mikage, which helps put what he’s doing in a more explicitly romantic light--and conversations with Mikage. Indeed, we only fully understand his motivation when Mikage asks him directly why he’s going to Satellite. Contrast with FC!Jack whose motivation is clear from the beginning and which we hear from his own words. 

Now, I think having Jack’s feelings be mostly beneath the surface is a smart move; in hindsight, it’s pretty clear that he has feelings for Carly, but because they are not overstated, Jack doesn’t seem too lovesick or sentimental in a way that would definitely feel out of character. Rushed Relationship Development Even the most ardent of Scoopshippers can probably agree that the leap Jack and Carly’s relationship takes is a large one. In their duel, it is beyond clear that Jack is extremely in love with her, extremely considerate of her wellbeing, her feelings, her desires, and willing to die with her, and Carly’s feelings are of similar intensity. 

Now, I do think we see that Carly as a character understands and pushes Jack in ways other characters don’t, and in a way that I can imagine Jack eventually also comes to reciprocate. 

But ultimately the relationship itself is quite rushed and the two lack actual quality time together on screen. The scene where Carly is imagining Jack in her apartment and crying about things he took from her helps in creating the illusion that they spent a lot of time together and were able to get close--but ultimately, we don’t get to see much of that on screen, and I think that’s probably the biggest weakness of this subplot. Suggested interactions don’t make up for onscreen interactions, especially when it comes to moving characters from feeling lukewarm about one another to the passion and commitment that Jack and Carly display in their duel. The scenes from episode 29 and episode 31 get references in flashbacks a lot later in the arc--and while they’re certainly shiptastic, they don’t feel commensurate to the intensity of their feelings for one another later.  

Of course, I imagine part of this is because, at its core, YGO is not a romance anime, and the DS arc just really needed to move the plot along. Kiryu and Yusei’s duel, and Jack’s subsequent leaving of Carly, starts in the episode right after the tower scene. The writers needed Jack/Carly’s relationship to go from point A to point B as efficiently as possible. 

Part of the drama/mystery of the Jack/Carly plot is that the audience isn’t fully sure what Jack feels until the duel itself, even though it’s hinted that he cares for her; Jack’s confession of love comes as somewhat of a surprise. But I think this also meant that we did not get to see a lot of the moments of them caring about each other on screen. And I also think that it’s possible to increase their onscreen interactions and make their bonding more obvious without sacrificing too much of the mystery surrounding Jack’s real feelings. Continuity With FC!Jack One thing I do think the DS arc does well is articulating Jack’s FC character pretty accurately and continuing his arc with similar themes/ideas. “Change Destiny” is a really heavy-handed card, but I do think that the idea of Jack believing he is destined to be King or walk on the path of the King, and then abandoning that concept entirely for a path he makes himself, is consistent with FC!Jack’s doggedness in being King and the way Godwin/Jaeger talk about it as something he’s meant to be.

Although the execution was not great, I think the idea of Jack being tempted by the idea of being a Dark King - one who “needs not friends, bonds,” and rules over the whole world turned into hell, is an extreme version of the loner king who abandons friends for something better, as Jack did

Similarly, the idea of a real King that Carly hopes Jack will become in episode 59, though cheesy, does expand on the idea of him being a King in a way that is also consistent with not being a loner/gaining bonds. When Jack calls himself “a person who would never give a thought to others... willing enough to betray and hurt [his] friends, sacrificing any and all for [his] own ambitions” — I think that’s spot on who Jack is in the FC arc. 

And Godwin and Jack’s dramatic exchange during their duel at the end of episode 63 about the only way to being a King is being alone, about how Jack abandoned bonds — that’s pretty congruent with FC Jack. And having Jack say that he also abandoned being the King, when his attachment to being the King was the cornerstone of his character before, is an effective move in terms of rounding out his character arc. The other biggest flaw with Jack in the DS arc is that we don’t see him struggle more with abandoning that identity.

In fact, DS!Jack spends a lot less time angsting talking about being the King--which again, makes some sense because he lost the FC and the focus of the story shifts/expands to be more about the Signer vs Dark Signer conflict. If it is brought up, it’s mostly to emphasize that he’s not the King anymore, such as when he corrects Mikage about calling him King in episode 32, or when he calls that man “a different person” to Godwin in episode 42. 

Jack feels notably less condescending and egoistical in the DS arc, even from the very beginning. Part of this can be explained away by the fact that he is no longer in the settings in which his ego can shine the most--the Duel Stadium, or his mansion--and therefore doesn’t really have that many people to look down on anymore. I also think part of it is because, due to the lack of internal monologue (and the use of Carly as a viewpoint character), we don’t hear his thoughts as often, disparaging or not. 

The most we see of the condescending Jack is probably in episode 43, when he beats up Yusei when he’s upset about having to fight Kiryu. It’s also the main time we see Jack talk about how he feels about losing his title - he says Yusei “dragged [him] off his throne and gave [him] such disgrace.” Here we see how this aspect of Jack, rather than mostly serving to make him look cruel as it had in the FC arc, actually helps to challenge Yusei’s character. Indeed, in general we see Jack is more supportive of Yusei. We also see a bit of Jack’s old boastfulness when he says that “Your Earthbound Gods aren’t so great” and saves Martha’s kids in episode 46. 

Jack also doesn’t push other people away as much in the DS arc, though he definitely still does at some points. When Mikage tries to draw closer to him, he ultimately rebuffs her. Even Carly initially leaves without much thought and brushes her off when she first tries to talk to him. When Yusei’s talking about his nakama in episode 45, it’s Jack who says he’s not anyone’s friend. Jack is also arguably the most closed off from the other Signers. No one knows who he’s dueling, and he’s the only Signer to not have anyone watching his duel. 

Yet he also more openly cares about other people. Yusei’s injury in episode 35 gives him great concern for him that honestly he doesn’t show Yusei much during the FC. We are shown Jack’s old caregiver, Martha, whom he clearly cares for. And of course, there’s Carly. 

Finally, Jack has more moments of generic heroism in the DS arc, whereas in the FC he basically has none. He goes into the crumbling Arcadia Movement to save Aki, and he also dramatically saves the orphans from being sacrificed to the Earthbound God Uru. Whereas Jack could be said to be one of the antagonists of the FC arc, he certainly is portrayed as more of a protagonist in the DS arc, when the grander Signer-Dark Signer conflict plays out. 

[adultclipseu-blog]

Explicitly Talking - Love Wins

For what reason is sexual self-articulation and sexual divulgence regularly covering up in the storeroom? We live in a free society that appears to permit open conversations about even the most dubious subjects. The greater part of us are barraged with sexual pictures, from films, Network programs, plugs, recordings, board shows, and so on. We are sold the bogus picture that sexual craving, sexual articulation and sexual fulfillment are common, fun, energizing and effectively available. Sex sells and smart advertisers realize that. Sex sells however it doesn't show us the truth of appreciating sexual delight inside the limits of your very own and most personal connections.

The media shows us thin, solid, in great shape, nimble and appealing young fellows and ladies being a tease, prodding and appreciating energizing sexual experiences. Erotic entertainment, promptly accessible on the web, shows us a sort of sexuality that would be troublesome if not difficult to keep up consistently in an ordinary day to day environment. We are being driven down a way toward unavoidable disappointment. We might be disillusioned in our present accomplice's degree of want, interest or ability to satisfy us. We may feel lacking about our own ability for invigorating and satisfying our accomplice. Or on the other hand we may feel weak in our own capacity to support excitement or to accomplish orgasmic satisfaction.

These deceptive adult films for sale situations are making avoidable issues in numerous connections. People will in general expect such a huge amount from an accomplice that it would genuinely take a superman or superwoman to satisfy these assumptions. What's more, - there is regularly another person standing ready to offer the guarantee of the ideal satisfaction. A renewed individual, somebody whose sexuality has not yet been uncovered, can have all the earmarks of being the sexual response to a current break in energy and joy.

Two individuals who will take the time, concentrate and study these three parts of the internal activities of their accomplice, would have the option to make and support the most adoring and private security possible. With that sort of supported mindful, interest and comprehension, for what reason would either individual want to look for another accomplice? We as a whole desire love and we need to feel seen and comprehended. That solitary accompanies supported sharing, correspondence, interest and friendship.

So what occurs if our accomplice is a sexual maltreatment survivor and isn't effortlessly stirred or orgasmic? What occurs if our adored accomplice has a sexual brokenness, a sexual interest or a sexual excitement design that isn't what we would like? Would it be advisable for us to abandon this accomplice, bid farewell, and look for someone else without these dysfunctions, unsettling influences or issues? Or then again, is there an approach to adore our accomplice into recuperating? I accept there is.

I accept that adoration is the appropriate response and that with enough love everything without exception is conceivable. Love can recuperate our injuries, disentangle propensity designs in the cerebrum, and really make new neurotransmitters and better approaches for speculation and feeling. Consider somebody you have cherished who assisted you with survey something in your reality in an unexpected way. Love is the most impressive mending ointment there is. Yet, figuring out HOW to adore can take a lifetime.

[august-elliot]

don’t wanna be lonely //

WHO: august rhodes and mercy rose WHERE: mercy’s house WHEN: friday morning, 2:15 am || august 14, 2020

Being back home felt strange to August. After spending a solid number of years in a setting that was so foreign to this small town boy, having grown up in such a bustling city did a number on him. Not to mention the heartbreak he endured his sophomore year of college. 

Once upon a time, he was everything good in this world. Well-rounded, articulate, talented, he was a dream. His tendency to put others first were what set him apart from the rest of them; always wanting to make sure others had their fill before he did, ensuring everyone else was cared for, his selflessness was his top quality. And it’s not to say that he isn’t selfless anymore. If anything, that trait had grown exponentially. But through the years, through that heartache, he learned that it was okay to be selfish. He taught himself that prioritizing his own needs every now and then was absolutely okay. 

And it was in learning this lesson that he learned a few traits that he definitely could’ve done without. But given his rude awakening of how love worked sometimes, he couldn’t help but pick up some habits. 

He made a habit of learning a girl’s name long enough to not call her the wrong one, but made it a point to erase it from his memory as soon as the sun broke free from the darkness. Perhaps it was due to having one too many rebounds after the love of his life just ended things out the blue, but regardless of this behavior’s origin, he’d come to know the monsters that lurked in the dark by name. In fact, on his worst nights, he was among them too. 

So the night that one particularly intoxicated specimen at the bar got all touchy-feely at the right moment, August figured, why not? It’d been long enough for him to notice the tension that frustration created, causing him to furrow his brow and make rash decisions for the sake of temporary bliss. It wasn’t his fault. Between his lack of sleep and lack of satisfaction in this old yet new home of his, he couldn’t find the place for him to care enough about tomorrow. And although nothing happened the night they met, he knew he’d still give it a chance if the moment arose. 

And it did. Following a few quick texts and a change of clothes, he made his way to the address he’d been given. He left his phone in the glove compartment, knowing damn well he didn’t want to be bothered by anyone else. Tonight was just for him. Approaching the doorstep, he gave the door a couple of knocks and waited, eagerness building within him.

[whetstonefires]

One thing it behooves us to remember is how much easier it is to think critically about stuff that doesn’t relate to us personally.

Like, consider for example having a really easy time ‘nope’ and ‘meh’ing your way out of unhealthy romance tropes in fiction. Because you’re not really interested in romance for itself, and so romantic storylines have to sell themselves to you as mutually fulfilling human relationships.

Which is a much higher bar than a satisfying love story, which merely needs to provide some form of romantic catharsis.

But meanwhile the same ‘you’ are an absolute sucker for, say, storylines featuring total, self-abnegating devotion on the part of older siblings, and older-sibling figures. That’s catnip.

Sure it’s self-harming codependency just like you often can’t stand in love plots, but it lacks those overtones of sexual exploitation, dehumanization, and implicitly contractual relationship-building that you find so disturbing. Family is different; of course it’s unconditional, and of course the relationship obligation isn’t directly reciprocal. Parents don’t get to be selfish, after all.

And then you realize one day, a few years into working with your therapist to untangle (among other things) some of what have turned out to be the abusive elements of your relationship with your own younger siblings...that that archetype doesn’t work for you the way it used to. It doesn’t get you every time. The old level of satisfaction fails to appear.

The concept of systematic self-destruction in order to upraise one’s vastly more important and loveable younger sib, who’s probably the destined hero or something so it’s objectively correct that they have more value, and merit having martyrs made in their name, has lost some of its glow, and hey, you think you know why.

My point being, not that people lack the self-awareness to tell when media is bad for them, but that lacking self-awareness of why a piece of media is important to you (and thus the ability to articulate it) doesn’t mean there’s not a really good reason. Let people have their goddamn coping mechanisms.

And remember it too when talking about representation. No matter how seriously you take it as a matter of principle, it’s different when it’s you.

[roseamongroses]

Winners Among the Losing:(3) Two Wrongs Can Try

Summary:It wasn’t a matter of whether or not they were worthy.It was a matter of who wanted it more. And now they were firmly on the wrong side of history. A history of unfathomable powers and all-knowing immortals, ancient forests and beasts, and a Stranger who wanted to challenge it all.

Vibes/ Tags:time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

Warnings: Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Mentions of past Death, repression, cursing

Characters: Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders

Ship: Roceit

Ao3

1) (2)   (3)  (4) 

---

(One, Two, twins of gold. The First one is first, the second one is no more. One, Three a competition it seems. The first one is second, the Third one is gold.)

The world was dimmed, but was no longer mute. His body felt like lead, yet he could breathe so free. He was so free. Even though the wind howled he heard snippets of the unfrozen world around him.

A gasp, a battle, a mistake. It was as the world was being awaken with him, becoming focused yet so far away from reach. Each sliver of humanity making him buzz more.

Making him want more.

A hand brushed his cheek, it's touch unbearably warm yet he couldn’t help but lean into the touch. It stroked his cheek in lazy strokes, his mind becoming haze.

“Must you be so close?” a voice grumbled, accent thick, but relatively well articulated. The hand burned at his cheek, sounds becoming harsh. More shuffling, and hushed murmurs of arguments he couldn’t quite grasp. It couldn’t all be in English. Spanish? If only he were that lucky, it was most likely-

----

Words died on Eden ’s tongue, hearing the barest sound of movement behind him. Looking forward again, the Stranger was gone, and Eden was set to be the guinea pig yet again.

Roman was slumped against a large oak, white blouse half buttoned, with various tears and marks from the trip over here. Their chest rising and falling, and face stirring, but his eyes remained shut.

A sharp pain went through Eden ’s side again. The swelling of the wound still throbbing like a petulant child from underneath his makeshift gauze wrap. He cursed under his breath, already feeling the scales solidify underneath the wrapping and refuse to go away.

Roman stirred again, face pinching.

Feeling the pain dull, Eden repeated the curses a bit louder again. On cue, Roman’s, eyes twitched with a soft murmur.

Squatting next to the other and leaning over them, Eden confirmed his suspicions.

Shallow breath, his body too stiff even if he was in a stone coma for who knows how long. And just like Eden thought, not a single nick, not a single wound. It was as if he had just been born, had only just now existed, while Eden dragged his existence with every hidden, scabbed up lie on his body.

He should be jealous, angry, all of those emotions that had been in turmoil since this all began bubbling up in one hazy concoction. But he wasn’t.

He wasn’t sure if it was the soft freckles doting their face and how their auburn hair curled innocently about them. Perhaps it's the way Roman seemed so at peace despite the sheer nature of their abilities. Hearing rumors of it, and seeing it are two very different things.

And Eden wanted to see it again.

He wanted it bad.

Wanted to feel the earth shake and split, wanted to taste a power that seemed so foreign and untouched, yet laid inches away from him, ignored for years. Eden ’s abilities were more discrete,and beyond his understanding, but fuck if he didn’t want the satisfaction of shaping whatever dares listens.

It was almost filthy, and he was half tempted to whisk the demigod in front of him away just to indulge in that urge consequences be damned.

But he doesn’t.

He wakes Roman up, and leads the way without a word.

---

The Stranger flipped a page in the book, not looking up, “Back to see me so soon?”

Emile scowled, chainmail glinting in the desert heat, while the Stranger remain unbothered, sitting within the oasis, long scarf wrapped about his head to shield him from the heat.

The Stranger looked up, a wiry grin spreading across his face, “Now the crusades? You’ve been busy,” Emile’s scowl deepened, not bothering to sit, not bothering to even change his attire despite the biting heat.

“What? What’s got the council all wound up now?” The Stranger hummed contemplatively, “Oh is it my new apprentice? He’s quite a lovely thing, surprisingly well educated despite records. I know him and Eden will get along quite well, hmm? Eden doesn’t quite know what to make of him.”

Emile continued to stare, the glint behind his glasses the only indication that he was actually present

The Stranger sipped his drink, “It’s rather… cute, don’t you think,” he purred, “You have students, I have students. It's almost meant to be,” peered over his glasses, “Maybe the universe has blessed us?”

Emile left without a word.

---

Roman despised being ignored.

The figure hadn’t said much else after he started leading the way through the almost foreign growth of the woods. Though Roman hadn’t technically been here before, he knew something was.... off.

Something just out of reach, but very much alive.

Even the figure regarded the wood with caution, never straying from the path of cobbled roots, only stopping to throw the odd stare behind himself, as if to make sure Roman was still there.

Never speaking, only that look, and the barest of smiles. A polite smile, that seemed more strange on his face then the whisper of the forest itself.

It was stifling, unnatural.

Roman found himself breaking the silence, “What…” he croaked, voice heavy and unused, “What are we looking for?”

The figure paused at that, his broad shoulders stiff and upright, “We aren’t looking for anything,” he said, “We are waiting for orders.”

---

Finding it was easier then Eden expected, even with the Strangers absurd directions. The… tree was enormous, it's large branches dipping down in tangles sprawling across the clearing. Morning light filtered through dew droplets clinging to its leaves, with red blooms spotting the foliage.

Roman had quit his fidgeting hours ago, instead fiddling with some branch, much to Eden ’s relief. Eden knelt near the creek trickling beside the great tree, dipping the bloodied rags through and cooling his wounds. He settled beside the running water, letting the tension unwind from his shoulders, and letting the isolated heart of the forest quiet his senses.

Fingers trailing in the water, he sighed, “Roman, do you need-” He heard the snapping of branches, and scrambled searching for the familiar mass of red.

“What are you doing,” He hissed. Forget indulgence, this is just stupidity.

Roman draped across one of the large branches, legs lazily swinging, “Resting,” he said, much less groggy. He flipped over onto his stomach blinking innocently, “Wanna join?”

“As appealing as that is,” he drawled, “You need to get down.”

They hummed noncommittally, tracing patterns in the bark.

“Roman.”

The flowers on the tree slowly bloomed, dripping a haunting red.

She was waking.

“I quite like you saying my name, do it again.” Roman said, eyes closed.

“Prince Charming, get your ass down here,” Eden sighed, “We don’t have time to do this, here of all places.” he paused consideringly, “Hell, I don’t even know how you managed to get up their seeing as you look like you can barely tie your shoes-- much less climb a damn tree.”

Roman’s face darkened, abruptly sitting up, “I’ll have you know-” The world shook, branch caving . His eyes as wide as saucers as he tumbled.

Eden shot forward, Roman crashing into him. The two stumbling back as the ground continued to shake ferociously, branches shuddering to earth. Grabbing Roman’s wrist, Eden rolled over him, scales rippling down the expanse of his back at the branches sudden impact

Eden winced, as the scales ripped through his wound. He gritted his teeth, forcing the trail snaking up his throat to stop. Although he couldn’t stop the all familiar slitting of his eyes. He frantically scanned their cramped corners, Roman beneath him.

“You okay,” He asked breathless.

Roman’s shoulders shook, his breathing just as erratic, “Of cour- I- of cou-,” The world shuddered again, and he whimpered, curling into Eden ’s chest again.

Eden ignored how his heart pinched, forcing a laugh, “Not so tough now, are you?”

“Oh-- shut-- up,” Roman said between breath, “I wouldn’t have even bothered if you had simply told me what was going on. Like, you bother to sweep me off my feet, and I don’t even get your name or where we’re even going? That’s a lack of proper etiquette on your part.”

Eden snorted, shoulders relaxing as the trembles quieted, “Eavesdropping isn’t proper etiquette either, if I remember correctly.”

“Curiosity is a beautiful trait,” Roman’s lips thinned.

“On you perhaps,” Eden mused, loosening his grip on Roman’s wrist, shuffling their legs in a more comfortable position, “When us commoners are nosy, all we get is bony grandmothers nipping our toes.”

“Tragic,” Roman said, flexing his fingers experimentally. He frowned.

“Can’t you will the branches away?” Even if she technically wasn’t a tree, she was a part of the earth the same. A quiet giant, who made this forest her home.

“Yes—I think,” Roman mumbled, face clouded, “it's just--” He huffed, “Loud”

“Loud?” Eden frowned as well, other then the occasional crash the forest was still relatively muted.

“Maybe loud isn’t the right word,” Roman said, “It’s a lot-- I didn’t even know she was there-- she’s so old---this forest is old and probably hasn’t had contact with a Sanders in centuries, She’s-- she’s panicking and won’t listen.”

Eden eyed as they twisted and untwisted their hands, “Are you sure it’s the forest?”

Roman opened and closed his mouth, face pained, before he asked, “Yes? No-- Why-- why are you so calm about this?”

“Because as much as a dumbass you are,” Eden met Romans offended gasp, with a pointed look, “He still chose you. Plus as much as an dick the Stranger is, he won’t let us die yet...”

“So?” Roman echoed.

“We’re both his apprentice, so we’re partners aren’t we?” He ducked down, his hair a dark curtain, his shadowed face barely concealing the stark green of his eye. Beneath him, Roman stiffened, breathes more shallow than before, cautiously looking Eden over for real this time.

Eden chuckled, brushing the hair from Romans eyes, “You need to calm down.” he said, quieter. He searched for the same control that brought the stone beast down before him.

“That’s easier said than done,” Roman managed a scowl, but still looked pained.

“Then let me make it easy?” Eden suggested mildly, “What do the elite normally do to relax?”

“Duels,” Roman said.

“Yeah, no.’ Eden blanked, “What did you do as a child? Or do children not exist?”

“Of course they exist,” he huffed, “How else are we to continue her bloodline? We don’t need to sully our abilities with immortality of all things.”

Eden tucked that information away for later, instead saying, “So all these kids with earth destroying abilities are running around bored?

“Of course not.”

“So what did the adults do about it?”

“Well…” Roman’s eyes flickered away, unsure, “Marisol always sang to me, but I doubt you know the song, it’s older then this forest--”

“Then teach it to me.”

---

“You seem to be in a good mood.” The Stranger commented between mouthfuls, watching Eden carefully, “Should I be concerned?”

Eden and them sat in the rubble of the giant’s remains, only a few branches remained, shriveled and blackened. Roman curled at Eden ’s side, sleeping softly as the other two ate. It was an apparent trend that Roman’s abilities sapped his energy just as effectively as Eden ’s did, his slumber as if he was still stone.

Eden stopped humming, “If me enjoying something is all it takes to unnerve you, I would’ve done it months ago.” He sipped his drink, pleasant smile now a challenge more than anything.

The Stranger shuddered, “Stop that, immediately,” he said, “And keep an eye on Sanders,” he said, “He... likes you, and that makes you a hell of a lot less replaceable.”

“Yeah well,” Eden frowned, “Is there a reason why he isn’t replaceable as well? He’s powerful,” he was conscious of the Stranger’s sharp gaze, “infuriatingly so, but there’s an entire family of them.”

“All of which are either as good as dead,” The stranger crushed a bloom beneath his boot, a scowl set heavy, “--or untouchable.”

[bwprowl]

God what a ride Power Rangers toys have been the last few years. Bandai of America finally made an earnest shot for the collector set with their Legacy figures, only to prove repeatedly that they just weren’t up to that kind of snuff. And We went along with them anyway because, well, we had to. And dangit, they were finally gonna give us Psycho Ranger figures! Then they went under just as those were being released, before the team could even be completed. Classic Bandai of America!

And now here’s Hasbro trotting out their own, even better Psychos in their first year of being the new license holder. Ha ha ha ha.

So yeah, I was pretty jazzed about getting my hands on this two-pack. Power Rangers in Space is a season I have a lot of fond memories of, and most of those are about how much the Psycho Rangers friggin’ rip. They’re undoubtedly the coolest, most effortful ‘evil Ranger team’ attempt from the franchise, and now they’re killer designs are finally being immortalized in proper plastic. And Lost Galaxy Red is here too.

So the figures themselves work as well as anyone accustomed to Hasbro’s parallel efforts on stuff like Marvel Legends and the Star Wars Black Series knows by now. Fully modern articulation setup, including ankle rockers, butterfly joints, and universal abdomen joints. The base Power Ranger design lends itself pretty well to unencumbered posability, as Leo here can attest. His spiffy spandex style moves just fine; There aren’t even any bulging Bandai muscles getting in the way, thank god. You might think Psycho Red would have slightly more trouble with his added-on unconventional armor design, but he actually works just as well. The chest armor is a separate piece slipped over the top of him, and it all moves around just fine, and he’s even still got the boot-cut joints on his lower legs under their armor. And there’s enough give on the neck joint that it can move over the armor bits up there to still work properly.

The sculpting and style on these things are killer. Psycho Red is the star, of course. Without a direct comparison I’m hard-pressed to say if this is Figuarts-level or not, but I will say that Hasbro’s softer-plastic setup for action figures I think lends itself better to a toy of this character than Bandai’s preference for harder materials. It gives it a nicely muted, monstery organic feel. Some of the bits, like the on-top chest and leg armor, actually pulls off the look of that leathery latex material this and other suits in the show was made out of, which is really impressive to me! And the headsculpt is crushing it, having the right amount of gloss on places like the eyes to do its whole ‘Monster Power Rangers Helmet’ look justice. Galactic Red, meanwhile, is just a simply solid Ranger figure. I dig the Gingaman suit designs more than most, it seems, and this captures their odd simplicity pretty well. Love all the blocky shapes on the helmet design. At first pass you might think those infamous Charlie-Brown stripes not wrapping around to the back is a paint cheap-out, but rest assured, that’s accurate! There is some slightly off paint-matching between his red plastic and the parts that are painted, but take my word, it doesn’t stand out nearly as much in-person as it does in photos.

Of course Hasbro has to go in on accessories to show up Bandai, and while what we get here is nice, still feels a bit shortchanged in a couple places. The affects parts are cool, as always. Love Psycho Red’s lightning energy-absorption hand, and similarly the giant flame effect for Galaxy Red’s Saber is a great extra. But the saber itself seems a tad on the small side (he also comes with a folded-up version that can store in his holster). Similarly, the lack of a Kiba Blade hurts, especially since missing individual weapons were a sore spot of the old Bandai line. I understand the Kiba Blades didn’t have a ton of presence in the Lost Galaxy version of the show, but still, completism! At least he comes with a Leo head that seems a pretty good likeness, and Psycho Red’s got his sword as well. Psycho Red doesn’t get an unmasked head himself, which isn’t surprising really, but would have been cool to see his monster form homaged somehow.

So yeah, despite some accessory issues, these figures are everything I hoped for! Okay, Leo’s mostly a cool extra; I’m really here for Psycho Red and he so lives up to my own hype. From over twenty years ago. But dangit, it’s there, and there is some satisfaction for that inner eleven-year-old in finally getting a Psycho Ranger action figure, and a genuinely kickass one at that! Now to see how that multiplies as we work on getting the rest of the team. I gotta track down Blue.

That’s all for me tonight, everyone! Have a chill rest of your evening, and I’ll see you next time.

[des-shinta]

So As I’ve been in a state of burnout for a significant sect of the year, I’ve been picking up number of Bandai models to relieve my stress, since building things I find a relaxing endeavor, and they’ve been making me feel better.

(no, most of these were not built this year.  Only 7 of them in the first picture were ‘new’.  The rest are bits and pieces of my older collection I’ve happily been able to unbox and display for the first time in years.  Also: Hi Zoids models that didn’t get enough love during their release tenure!) I’ve actually been building models and Figures for years and years--I started out Heavily as A Lego kid--and since Gundam Wing Aired on Toonami in the late 90′s I’ve infrequently bought bandai’s various models as well, but most of the ones I built back then were...well, demolished by my younger step-brother.   My first ones were low-grade 1/144′s ToysRUs’ Got back in that boom, and they weren’t sturdy at all, thus had no chance to survive.

They’ve since been replaced with all MG’s from that series. Well, except for that 1/100 scale HG Altron that was first released in 1996.  that P-Bandai one is stupid expensive, and Altron’s Endless waltz Redesign is the only one of them I OUTRIGHT hate. It was around 2005-ish when I got into it again, when my parents got me for Christmas the 1/60 perfect Grade RX-78-2.  It took me about Eight hours to build and I did it all in one sitting...but it wasn’t sturdy at all.  It couldn’t even lift its arm if the rifle was in it, it wouldn’t stay up.   All I had it do was just stand there...Menacingly.

So from there on out--with the rare exception--I started to intermittently find and get as Gifts ones from the 1/100 Master Grade line.  THOSE--for the most part depending on what types of hands the figure uses and how well they even hold weapons--have been more my jam despite their 50~ish dollar price point.  Large enough they’re not easily smashed, small enough that they’re pose-able and easy to display, and with enough Complexity in their construction with the various implemented gimmicks to give me an immense feeling of satisfaction to see them done and on Display.  Yeah, there’s a LOT more variety and accessories to be found in the 1/144′s these days--in part thanks to the Gundam Build Fighters series making customization even easier than ever between that scale’s market--but I just don’t get the same thing out of them, despite only about 6 or less MG kits being made a year, with some of them being Shunted off now to Premium Bandai’s services to become stupidly overpriced for what they are and what’s supplied...even though I DO have a few P-bandai ones as well.  Stupid obsession with the Astrays, Tallgeese III, and Form/Equipment change gimmicks...

Hell, I’ve even experimented from time to time with custom Color palletes, with one of the first to get that treatment being the sword Impulse that desperately needed more contrasting colors (also thank aura that bandai’s finally releasing the Blast Impulse MG...even if it IS P-bandai so the display isn’t oddly missing a mech).  I’ve got the MG of the Sengoku Astray still in its box (with a bunch of other Gundam seed Mechs I haven’t build yet ‘cause I adore Gundam Seed’s mecha design and will be using those to unwind between overtime shifts this December)  and when I build it, I’m going to repaint all its red parts yellow to Give the Gundam that kind of resembles Kamen Rider Gaim’s Kachidoki arms the full Kachidoki color treatment.  Think I have Enough spare pieces from wrecked stuff to try building it a Custom Tanigashima “DJ Gun” Rifle to go with it as well.

Also the Gunpla hobby led me to doing the papercrafting thing for cheap-to-make Figurines or accessories or even scale props like the scaled-to-figure Gurren Lagann Giga drill pictured above, which I’ve moved onto doing custom templates for on occasion--

--case in point, the 1:1 scale pepakura Pandora Box--

--And my Gate of Ouroboros Broadsword which was a papercraft template I mapped onto Foam to get it near-damn-perfect...after I made a MK 2 of the original ‘cause the original ended up way too heavy.  I can basically trace a lot of my fun crafting stuff to being inspired by the creativity that goes into this kind of thing, and the work of other crafters and cosplayers, and then seeking to try applying that myself from all my learned habits.

But outside of the expected Gunpla you can find in Hobby stores and...for some reason Barnes and Nobles, which has retained a market throughout that time despite Bandai of America’s Idiocy thanks to bluefin Distributions, I’ve started tracking down some of bandai’s other model offerings.  Specifically, the Figurise standard and Minipla lines.

For those not in the know, Super Minipla’s are basically model kit versions of previously released mecha toys, only with a far smaller scaling from their DX Counterparts which you then build yourself.  They seek to retain all of the originals play gimmicks where possible, but come off a LOT more pose-able by their end than the DX toy bricks. Featured above is the Minipla of the Super Galaxy Mega (Astro Delta Megazord) From Denji Sentai Megaranger/Power Rangers in Space.  and this thing is *PERFECT*.  Despite it being half the size of the DX toy, it retains *EVERY* single play feature the original had (transformation, combination, weapon accessories, the works), but has fully pose-able limbs in every single part of it.  The freaking thing cost me $80 when back in 1998 the DX toy versions cost a total of $60, and yet factor for inflation and the impossibility of re-aquiring the 20-year-old vintage toys and this thing was *SO* worth it to get back my second-favorite sentai/PR Mech.

Hell, it’s not just the DX toys they compete against.  On the Right is the Super Robot Chogokin Gaogaigar with Goldion Hammer, and on the left is the Minipla figure of the same mech and weapon.  Both actually retailed for around the same price points on release, but there’s a more distinct compare and contrast between them. The SRC one has better paint apps, is constructed on a metal frame and has metal parts all over it, has distinct limb joints and proper articulation with a screen-accurate scale structure to it and has some weight to it so isn’t likely to topple over easily.  Frankly of the two...it just looks better in person.  Whereas the super minipla, while not perfectly in scale and doesn’t have the brilliance of the colorization to help it, Retains the transformation and combination gimmicks of the original toys which give it a lot more value to collectors that can’t afford the Full DX figures which bear the same.  Its Joints are also a LOT Tighter so the feet and arms aren’t likely to slip, and while not as good as the SRC, the screen-accuracy is far better than the original Takara-based DX toys or even the later Bandai remakes of them after Bandai bought the rights from Takara.  And with the right hand and hammer being a hell of a lot lighter, when I get this thing on a display stand it’ll be able to do more than just stand with the hammer planted on the ground.

The Figurise standard line instead is a model kit version of an anime/live series action Figure--Mostly limited to Dragonball and Kamen Rider figures right now But Digimon ones for the line are coming soon-- with them ending up in competition with Bandai’s SH Figuarts High-quality-Figure line, albeit with a lower Pricepoint than the SHF since you make it yourself and some of the paint apps are replaced with stickers, and their ease of mass production makes them more available than the SHF’s by comparison. Sorry I don’t have the best picture of the figure on hand, but for those not familiar with the character, it’s the Pink/Neon green/black-colored character that’s surrounded by Gundams (the pic was taken in the midst of a bedbug crisis where we were packing everything up in our apartment so it wouldn’t end up damaged)  The Character is Kamen Rider Ex-aid action gamer Level 2, and up close it’s near indistinguishable from the SHF for the character. And yet...I kind of felt like I got more out of the FRS figure than the sole SHF I have, simply because I put my time into putting it all together.  Yeah, the markings are stickers instead of painted on, but if those fade or start peeling?  I can paint-app it myself.  It has all the details I want, it moves how I want it to, and it came with a great stand for it to be placed in a fantastic jumping pose.    I actually want to find more of those for Kamen Rider Figures from the series I like, as I think it’d be better than dealing with the SHF’s which...well, depending on the figure?  Are notorious for production line issues.  while some models can have loose joints or frail pieces (which can be fixed with an easy application of super glue.  And any other scratches, chips and imperfections?  Yeah, those will be my fault, and won’t result in me feeling as if I got gyped in the purchase.

Sadly though, these figures aren’t exactly created equal.  On a limb I picked up the super minipla Shin getter robo set After My Roommate showed by GR Armageddon and we loved it; and...Eeeehh.  They’re not terrible, but they’re lacking for the expectation I had with the Minipla’s.  I think Kaiyodo’s Revoltech Figure line did better with these guys--out of print as may of those figures are now.  Black Getter 1 (Left) actually does look great with the Ragged cape and gun and razor arm...but the ball joints It, Getter Dragon (center) and Shin getter 1 (right) are constructed with do NOT like to stay together.  I can’t pose them at all without risking them toppling over or falling apart.  I think the Revoltech ones are bigger as well, making for better display pieces than these guys who’d be beaten out by 1/144′s.

hell, this mazinger Z Model was a 1/144, and it’s in scale with the Master grades. ...Mazinger mechs be big. But that brings us to a more recent addition via Tsuburaya and Studio Trigger.

One of the newer Additions to the minipla Line has been the Gridman figures, thanks to the anime series SSSS Gridman putting that franchise back on people’s Radar.  I had Gridman’s toys (when the series was imported and adapted into the series Superhuman samurai Syber Squad) when I was a kid and adored them...

..and sure enough, when I built the Thunder Gridman one, it was like popping back to a little piece of my childhood.  Same play gimmicks to them, and while the scaling is not the same, the engineering is all there to invoke the proper good pieces of nostalgia. To the point it resulted in the best thing about these guys, and It almost didn’t happen. When SSSS Gridman was airing, I ended up enjoying myself so much by its end I jumped at the chance to preorder the DX mecha figures that Good Smile company was releasing.  Unfortunately, the seller turned out to be a con-artist, and never shipped me the figure...though i did get my money back thanks to buyer protection.  I saw vid’s on it, and it looked pretty good...but it was completely out of scale and reasonable relation with the old Gridman Toys.  So when I heard about the Minipla’s going out for a lot less than the DX’s original and jacked-up price points?  I put in an order with someone I knew who was reliable for these...and really, I should’ve done so from the start.

The super Minipla Gridman Figures...are all perfectly in scale with each-other, and share all the same connection ports. I can put the SSSS Gridman Figures into the older Gridman armors.  That’s Primal Fighter Gridman wearing the Thunder Gridman armor (right).  Hell, I can swap the arms of the Gridman figures so the effect components can be put in the older ones as well as they use common components across the board in their construction.  I think in the future I’m going to put PFGridman in the king armor (left) as well, as the SSSS-Gridman figure has slightly Longer legs which would make the King Gridman armor scale better.  Because of this, I ended up a lot happier with these guys that I would likely have been trying in vain to get another decently-priced DX one, or even the Actbuilder release of the SSSSG Stuff that did scale with the minipla’s. So Bottom line?  I really like models, they help me relax, and I’ve been discovering some cool stuff this year that Bandai’s done which I wouldn’t have if I weren’t trying to find a way to vent stress.  Thank you disposable $16+ an hour Income for making such possible.