#Read with a grain of salt

[stxrrynxghts]

Abhimanyu: why do we love him so much?

OK, perhaps not everyone loves him a lot as we do. I have seen people comment how Lakshman Kumar defeated him, how Abhimanyu died in a fair fight, how he was powerful because of a boon, how he was part of group attacks, how he is nothing special and is just highlighted because he is Janmeyjaya's grandfather etc.

Abhimanyu's life is very great and very tragic. When he was born, the Yadava-Pandava relation was flourishing. His mother Subhadra wasn't just the dear of her Yadava family, but her co-wife and the Empress, Draupadi, adored her extremely as well. Abhimanyu became his father and uncles' favorite since birth.

He was raised in Dwarka, where Subhadra was respected and cherished, and so was he. Balaram, Krishna and Pradyumna themselves educated him. Abhimanyu seems like someone who works very hard, and strives to be better at each moment, the type of student who ever teacher likes.

Then, later, he was the first of his brothers (except Ghatotkacha) to marry. Abhimanyu already had the Yadavas backing him up, and then, he becomes the son-in-law of the kingdom who is about to aid them in the War.

Abhimanyu is described as having a moon-like face, and broad shoulders. He was very handsome, over all, and must have been seen as charming.

Abhimanyu's marriage to Uttara is an extremely grand wedding, if you see the details about the wedding gifts given and received from both sides, and the number of guests that arrived. Almost ALL the important people of Aryavart had attended that wedding.

Abhimanyu's relationship with his wife is not detailed, but she grieved for him a lot, and the Stree Parva shows Gandhari explicitly mentioning their love life in....more than one aspect. It seems that he was a genuinely loving husband, who cared for his wife's happiness and needs, and in return, his wife too, loved and cherished him a lot, albeit returning his affection a bit shyly.

The crux of Abhimanyu's character is the tragedy that is in him, growing up without his father, a love story left incomplete due to him dying a premature death, his child growing up fatherless, and such potential being wasted away.

Abhimanyu is also fiercely talented. He was the 2nd highest ranking warrior in the Pandava army, and he defeated all of the major Kaurava warriors (except Bhishma) in one-to-one combat. Group attacks were common in the War, but Abhimanyu's case is different.

Abhimanyu enters the chakravyuha formation alone. The rest of the army is held at gate 1. He fights, not only against the numerous Kaurava warriors, but their common soldiers too, at the same time, for 12 hours continuously.

He defeats them, and then continues to fight back despite being attacked in groups. He loses his weapons, and fights with literally anything that he can, and is heavily injured. He is stabbed from behind by warriors far more experienced by him.

Abhimanyu's last duel is with Dushasana's son Durmasena, where the two of them faint after simultaneously knocking each other out from their mace fight. Durmasena is the one to wake up first as he is less injured. He bashes Abhimanyu's skull while he is just getting consciousness, killing him. This, is what certain people love to call, a "fair" fight.

Abhimanyu's death has severe consequences. The text provides detailed descriptions of his parents and wife's mourning. Arjun is devastated, and blames Jayadratha for this whole incident. (I wonder how and why he still respected Drona, Ashwatthama, Kripa etc after this incident?)

Arjun kills 7 battalions of the Kaurava army on his own the next day. (Abhimanyu had killed 1 battalion on his own the previous day.)

The war ends, and Abhimanyu's blood rules the throne. Abhimanyu is a person who strives to be better despite numerous personal tragedies marring his life. He is perhaps one of the only such detailed characters from the Mahabharata who is faultless, and yet gets the cruelest fate of them all.

Abhimanyu is someone who would have been one of the heir apparent candidates if he had survived. He is someone who had loved and cherished his relationships a lot. Abhimanyu is someone who should be loved and remembered for who he was, and what he did.

[the-hollows-pale-whisp]

Hollow Knight.

Let's talk about that.

I've seen so many people say that the Radiance is worse than The Pale King, and vice versa.

Some say that the one who's in the wrong was The Pale King, others, The Radiance.

In my personal opinion, The Radiance is the worse of the two. Why?

Mostly because she killed off most of an entire civilization and turned them into mindless corpse puppets.

And I get it, The Pale King might have also done her wrong yes, but that still doesn't justify her going after other civilizations and infecting them.

Such as the Hive, Deepnest, Greenpath, or the Mantis Tribe.

The Radiance wants to be remembered and doesn't care who she hurts to be able to live. If she stuck to just the people of Hollownest I would have gotten that.

But no, she went after the other civilizations as well, and yea. You could say that she went after Deepnest because of Herrah's part of the Dreamer plan.

But that still wouldn't at all give her the right to go after Greenpath, The Mantis Tribe, or the Hive.

Those three had no part in the plan at all.

And yes, The Pale King has killed multiple of his children via the void climb, is that excusable?

I would be concerned if you thought it was, but anyways.

The Pale King granted bugs mind and free will with his arrival to what would be Hollownest. Is that his fault? No, it isn't a wrong thing that he granted bugs sentience, it was a good thing in fact.

Was The Pale King in the wrong for accepting their worship of him and being king? No, I do not think so either.

The Pale King isn't perfect and with him being a god. Do you really think he wouldn't be happy with being worshipped? Him also being king makes sense, he granted the bugs mind and free will.

He's most likely more knowledgeable than all of them too, and he's a god. So, it really only makes since for them to elect him as king.

Another thing, I saw somewhere about The Pale King being unable to accept the end of his reign and yea, it has merit.

But then you have to also think about what that would mean for his citizens as well. The Pale King never had any children that could ascend the throne in his place, and as he is immortal via godhood, the child wouldn't ascend normally.

Which is via the king's death and the like, or, if the king gave up the throne. Which again, The Pale King had no children that could do that.

Even so, The Pale King didn't want to give up his reign, nor die. Why? His Kingdom of course.

If he were to die, then the Radiance would take away the free will that he granted to the bugs, and therefore his kingdom would be gone as a result.

After all, a kingdom is nothing without citizens.

Based on some things I have seen, the citizens loved The Pale King, and he did in turn. It would make sense why he wouldn't want to end his reign without someone to ascend in his place, nor why he would want to end it while the Radiance was still a threat.

Upong further readins of this section devolves into some canon, and my own fanon headcanons. Read with a grain of salt to every sentence.

The Pale King loved his citizens, and he wanted an eternal kingdom that will stand the test of time. For he, himself, is immortal. So of course, he would want his kingdom to stand along with him forevermore.

The Radiance is a threat, for she threatens to destroy his kingdom, kill his citizens, and drag them into a hivemind. Which takes away his work of giving them free mind.

We can see from the lore that The Pale King was a good- great even, king. His kingdom prospered under his rule, and everyone within Hollownest basically loved the guy.

Another thing, diplomacy.

There's quite literally, zero chance of that every happening.

The Radiance was nearly forgetting before the vessel plan, and her coming back was the reason it was made in the first place.

You can't achieve diplomacy, if the target in question doesn't wish for it themselves.

The Radiance wants a hivemind.

The Pale King wants a kingdom where bugs have free will.

Both of their ideologies clash with each other, which, adding that onto the Radiance nearly being forgotten. Lowers the chance of diplomacy even more.

It's too late for diplomacy, and it was also too late for it before then. Because obviously the Radiance had to have done something to cause her nearly being forgotten.

But anyways, was The Pale King in the right for throwing lots of his unborn children into the void in hopes for them being hollow void constructs with a pure mind to seal the Radiance?

Nah, not really. Not by our standards anyway. And certainly not by mine either.

It was a pretty shit move, a shit move that caused multiple of his children's death in climbing out of the Abyss and loads of trauma upon the one that did make it out.

I understand why he did it, but I ain't happy bout it.

Moving on from them.

Let us take a look at who I think is really at fault for everything that happened.

The Moth Tribe.

Really, they are the cause of everything.

The Radiance and The Pale King? They're just, the escalators of the whole thing.

Yes, while The Pale King gave them sentience, it was up to them what they do with it.

Continue worshipping the Radiance.

Or.

Follow and worship The Pale King instead.

They chose the second option.

And that, is what started everything.

The Moth Tribe forsake the Radiance for The Pale King, even though the Radiance was their creator, and their original deity.

And that-understandably, made her livid.

Her taking it out on The Pale King also makes sense, for he was the one who took them away from her, even though they made the choice to follow him.

And if she took it out on The Moth Tribe?

It would still end up with The Pale King and The Radiance coming to blows. For the Moth Tribe are his followers now, and as their god, he has to protect them.

So, either way. The Radiance's choices were:

A) Be forgotten and fade away.

B) Attack the god that took her people and get them back.

C) Direct her rage upon The Moth Tribe and kill them for forsaking her.

No matter what option she took, it would end up unfavorable for her regardless.

B and C would result in a fight with The Pale King, and A? Well, that's pretty obvious why.

[isatartdump]

Would do the entire dialogue but drawing Bonnie crying is the bane of my existence! HA

Anyway my reaction to when this entire dialogue was over was just. Hihi.

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

My understandings of what Primarchs are currently alive and dead, what their status' are: Loyalists: Leman Russ: Running butt ass naked in the Warp, if the armour if any indication. Probably a Wulfen and horribly mutated like Corvus. Possibly could be fine. Chances very slim for him not be a mutated wolf thing with viking braids. Anyway his sons are mildly disturbed by the armour they keep finding Lion: Alive and pissed. Commits so many war crimes behind Guilliman's back. May or may not be making it his personal goal to give Guilliman as many grey hairs as possible. Roboute Guilliman: Stressed and thinks humans can't rule themselves. Asshole. Needs a break and to actually spend time with humans and actually thinking about the fact it's been ten thousand fucking years. That's impressive for an empire. Corvus Corax: Fucked up bird man in the warp. Probably learning that feathers suck to get blood out of and questioning how the fuck his white winged brother kept his feathers so fucking clean even though said brother routinely caused blood baths in life. Has probably pecked someone to death. Vulkan: Probably alive. Somewhere. Might actually be in a volcano somewhere. His death goes against his lore so who knows what the fuck is going on here. Jaghatai Khan: Also in the warp, has no idea where the fuck he is and isn't stopping for directions. Honestly he's actually existed the warp couple of times he was going so fucking fast. Probably also slowly getting mutated. Might be fine though. Probably passed a naked Leman a couple of times and is really confused by the fucked up bird thing calling itself Corvus. Rogal Dorn: Could be dead, could have a sick ass prosthetic hand. No idea what's going on with him. Sanguinius: Incredibly dead. Probably a good thing that he is. Otherwise he'd probs be a traitor primarch too with the Imperium in its current state- Ferrus Manus: Also very dead. Probably was seething mad at being killed by Fulgrim. Very likely died seething mad. Traitors: Fulgrim: Is a four armed winged snake thing. Having mad sex and doing way too many drugs. Probably also eating a lot too. And then sleeping it off because snake. Has a chunky boyfriend if Tumblr is to be believed. Magnus: Trying to rebuild, also an arrogant prick. I support him even if he's a dick. If only because what happened to Prospero was a travesty of the highest order. You go my weird rainbow nipple horned demon prince. What is your obsession with titty horns??? Mortarion: Depressed but has family. Is infected with diseases that are probably not even invented yet. Probably also not a skinny rail of a man anymore courtesy of Papa Nurgle who is a better dad then the Emperor ironically. Probably can't stand to look himself in the Mirror. Angron: Angy, so very angy. And obsessed with blood. Even if he wasn't immortal by virtue of being a demon prince, he'd probably be too angry to die. Not entirely sure if this is actually better then being dead. Lorgar: Not entirely sure, but I assume he's somewhere in the warp spreading the word of chaos like some sort of messed up anti jesus or something.

Alpharius /Omegon: One's dead, the other is alive. Which twin died and which one is alive is a damn good question. Possibly neither are even dead. Absolute bastards (affectionate). Perterabo: Grumpy old man wanting to be left alone and forge. He yearns for it. Mostly content to just make stuff and burn his skin off. Good things he's a demon now I guess. Go make stuff, have a hobby that's kinda healthy. Sort of. Konrad: Pretty dead. Saw it happen and let it happen. Probably for the best because dear god this man as a demon prince is terrifying. Horus: Also very dead. Might actually be even more dead then Sanguinius considering Horus' soul was probably destroyed.

[silverskye13]

Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

[rockethorse]

That pink soup post is well-intentioned but loudly wrong. fwiw

[dustjacketmusings]

I do wonder what sjm is doing in her newest books because while rhys' actions frequently indicate he's a much worse character than the narrative claims, i don't think that's what she meant to do. She loves him and wants readers to love and forgive him. She's expecting her readers to suspend disbelief and go where the narrative tells them to go (and mostly they do)

So I'm seriously wondering why she had a likeable character stand up to him and say "you remind me of my abuser" in such blatant terms

She's clearly going to keep writing him as doing very dubious things to cause conflict and expects her readers to keep suspending disbelief for her, but it's significantly harder to do when she stops mid scene to go "THIS IS ABUSIVE - anyway isn't rhys great?"

This is some fourth wall breaking shit. Like, does she know? Why would she write it that way if she knows? Is it supposed to be ironic and failing badly?

I thought her plotting was bad, but this is seriously next level

[folkdances]

replaying aa4 and i am obsessed with how trucy wright performs femininity. when she's talking to plum kitaki, when plum says:

trucy answers with:

which is weird, right? because plum is describing how, if you live a certain life, you start seeing people for their true selves and this often skews towards the negative, which is exactly what trucy's life has been like for, well, her entire life. she doesn't need to chalk it up to 'female intuition' because she's seen her father go through it right with her.

in turnabout serenade, apollo points out that it's weird trucy is so excited about the concert even though she didn't even know the lead singer's name until recently:

and trucy answers:

and i just think that is so fascinating. because we see time and time again that trucy isn't super interested in being "girly," for lack of a better term. we see characters like dahlia hawthorne in this series who hide behind a stereotypically "girly" mask by way of their appearances, and therefore we know what ace attorney's shorthand is for "girly" characters, but trucy doesn't dress like them. no frilly skirts, no pink. she's a professional.

instead, she falls back again and again on this veneer of "being a girl." she's never heard of this rock band but she knows she has to like them because that'll display a certain image. she can't reveal that she knows what plum means, so she subtly insinuates it is her gender and not her experiences that allow her to relate to her. of course, that's not to say that she doesn't like the gavinners or rock music, and it doesn't necessarily mean that she wasn't just making a little joke in response to plum's observation, but i think that it would be remiss of me to not point out that trucy wright, as a character, is constantly wearing a mask or putting on a performance of some kind. it is seriously very difficult to know what she truly thinks about a lot of things because she has this persona of being just a silly and unserious teenaged girl, and we know it's a facade because every now and again she allows apollo to see through it.

and i think that is just fascinating. she wants people to see her as this not shallow per se but definitely unobservant and peppy girl, and she conveys it through very subtle means and turns of phrase that are honestly quite blink-and-you-miss-it. it's easy to get roped into the performance and believe what she's putting out is her honest and unguarded self. of course she's not dangerous; she's just fifteen, and a girl to boot! it would be silly to worry about her. and this works on kristoph. much to think about.

[rosesnbooks]

Astrology observations #1

-gemini moons talk A LOT, or at least, so many things are in their head..i feel sorry for them lol.

-3rd house placements are usually really good at something, and others praise them for this. very smart individuals. may be good with words or memorising lots of info

-libra rising know how to dress and they have their own unique style. even if they are wearing something basic, the outfit fits like a glove

-scorpio mars are either highly sexual or aspec, i feel like there is nothing in between. i'm a scorpio mars and my bestie is a scorpio rising and we are both aspec

-aquarius rising always give off this mysterious and private vibe, and when they start talking you realise there's so much more to them

-11th house stelliums may focus a lot on friendships in their lifetime, and they often leave a strong impact on them. but they need to choose them more carefully

-taurus mercury and their voices are so sweet and pretty. men's voices are deep and calming.

-taurus moon people? i love you, never change. the way these people are so welcoming and kind, so grounded yet soft and sensitive. you feel like coming home in the best way possible.

-sagittarius mars people are all over the place. even if they have introverted placements, i feel like they want a lot from life, a lot of excitement.

-aries moons want to be in charge wherever they go. if you make them feel small, they will cut you off from their lives. also, i think they focus their identity on specific things they like, such as music and films

-scorpio venus and their love can be addicting and suffocating at the same time. as if they want to become one with their partner. honestly, a lot of people can deal with this intensity, and if well-developed, this love can be rewarding

-capricorn mercury seem very mature when they speak, people always listen to them and trust them with their opinion. however, they are so stubborn sometimes and they don't even see it. it takes a lot of effort to change their opinion

-i think cancer moons worry too much about how people feel all the time, it drains them. very sensitive and moody folks, but so loving and attentive

-leo venus shine so bright, and they want a lot of fun. romance is important to them, and they seem like a kid when in love. it's really sweet. they just need to find someone who would provide them this idealistic view of love, otherwise they'd get bored and disappointed

-virgo placements are so hard on themselves, such perfectionists. some are harsh on others too, while others observe people's flaws easily but accept them momentarily.

-gemini moons, surrounding themselves with knowledgeable people makes them inspired

-capricorn venus are really loyal. they don't want to settle, their standards are high. if you seem flaky to them, they won't waste their time with you

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

My entry for the SatoSho Discord Weekly Prompt: Just Friends

[zukosdualdao]

(forgive the somewhat poor quality screenshots, especially on that third one. wifi is still out at my place post-storm so i took these from youtube and am writing from my phone. alas, alack.)

this is one of my favorite blink-and-you’ll-miss-it facial expression moments in atla. the animators 100% did not have to include this reaction shot of katara, sokka, and suki watching zuko rise back up on one of the war blimps and face off with azula, but i’m really glad they did. i also love the differences in their reactions.

suki’s is the most straightforward to me. she and sokka share similar posture, both of them leaning forward slightly and bracing an arm against appa’s saddle to support themselves. but suki looks almost disdainful, with her eyes narrowed and brow heavily quirked and sort of defiant. i think she’s a lot more focused on the azula of it all, since azula captured her and just last episode she was saying how “this is a rematch [she’s] been waiting for.”

sokka shares suki’s posture but katara’s wide eyes here. his mouth isn’t agape, but it is parted, suggesting in this context some amount of surprise or worry. though they’re all waiting to see what happens, there’s more of an air of… excitement isn’t the right word, because i do think he’s concerned, but anticipation, maybe, of the fight that’s about to come. he fought azula with zuko last ep, after all, and though i do think he’s worried for zuko here, i also get the sense that he has a lot of belief in zuko’s ability to fight her off at this point.

katara’s definitely registering the most shock, with her wide eyes, mouth open in surprise, and raised eyebrows. the most notable thing about this, of course, is that she was only minutes ago deriding zuko for pushing her out of the way of falling rocks, and now her expression actually suggests a lot of concern for him, which is reinforced by her pulling him onto appa’s saddle once he and azula fall. i keep wondering what exactly she’s so shocked about, though. at first i thought it was because they saw him fall and were surprised along with azula to see him alive and still ready to fight—but they were getting everyone onto appa and trying to figure out how to flee, so i’m not sure they would have seen. aang did seem very concerned when zuko told them to go on without him, so it’s possible they weren’t really expecting him to survive in general, even without seeing him fall. (which, fair. facing off against his set-on-murdering him sister alone does not seem conducive to zuko surviving.) but i also wonder if it has something to do with seeing zuko fight azula on their behalf considering the contrast it makes to his siding with azula in tcod. there, he chose azula’s side and katara felt betrayed, which is why she hasn’t been able to forgive him even as he proves he’s on their side. but here, he’s risking his own life to protect them, and while he’s done that before with combustion man, i think this is the first time katara is able to consciously acknowledge to herself that it’s not really about trust anymore. (but later, that only makes her angrier, because she’s still hurt, even though she knows he’s on their side, because she connected with him and wanted to trust him all the way back in tcod.)

[transingthoseformers]

Oooo, Megan, Maggie, that is actually an excellent defense as it doesn't deny that he did the accused actions but rather that the autobots have been doing some serious judicial no-nos. Smaaart. Because both of these? Both of these statements are true as hell.

He may be a horrible person, but this is still not a fair trial. They've been legitimately blaming Megatron for everything that went down in the war, while conspicuously staying quiet about their role in it. Optimus bringing in Chromedome is indeed a low fucking blow, rifling through someone's head is absolutely not something that should be happening in matters such as this (as we see time and time again mnemosurgery has pretty dark implications about bodily autonomy and privacy). By giving Optimus such a big and official role here when he and Megatron have a heavily biased past is pretty fucked up. And I'd argue yes, at every turn they've been saying he's automatically guilty and that he deserves to die.

Ever since the beginning of this entire process the autobots have proven this court cannot deliver a fair verdict.

[nicorobinphd]

btw am i the only person that hates the fandom conception of sabo as like crazy & unhinged irt violence? like not only are there ableist undertones, more specifically as it pertains to his head injury & potential brain trauma, but it also just seems to function as a way to ignore the fact that sabo isn’t just a part of a militant anti-establishment resistance group with the aim of revolution because it’s en vogue. like, he is not regularly partaking in violent direct action against the world government because he thinks it’s # edgy. he’s partaking in it because he has specific political aims that will be furthered by such acts, with the hope of bettering society on the whole. tbh it comes off as very like “oh of course we don’t need to think about the fact that he’s presented as having a very thoughtful & coherent system of beliefs regarding the nature of freedom, the right people have to autonomy & self determination, the corruption innate to capitalist structures & the function of state apparatuses, etc. that is rooted in personal experience as well as compassion & understanding granted to the experience of others. we don’t gotta reflect on what that could say about the narrative or how it interacts with the themes of the main plot or anything, there is no genuine political commentary or espousal to be found here. he’s just a cuckoo bird who’s in it for the kicks lol!”

maybe i’m being overly serious, but like. okay it’s not necessarily that i don’t expect characters depicting an ideology that is radically against the status quo of the modern era on a foundational level to be entirely sanitized of their beliefs in audience discussion as a means of making them more palatable while allowing the audience to remain intellectually complacent to the aforementioned status quo, but does fandom have to partake so wholeheartedly? & do so without a hint of irony? can’t we do better? & like, again, to be clear- i am aware that this is generally what happens to revolutionary characters on the whole, it is just disappointing to see in the op fandom particularly when considering how integral the politics reflected by both the revolutionary army & the straw hats are to the source material.

[violinist-rachel]

Fluster

It’s the end of the day and the sun is starting to set. Karl is leaning against a wooden support beam, somberly looking outside.

Karl: "Hm. Time passes unfairly quickly when you're here..."

He turns to Rachel. Karl: "I suppose you have to go soon?"

Rachel: "Yes... It appears so..."

Rachel looks down at the inside of her violin case. She tucks away her instrument and its bow so that they remain in place within their molds. A question pesters her, causing her to fidget nervously while Karl continues to quietly look at the sunset.

Finally, Rachel breaks the silence.

---

Rachel: "Karl?"

Karl: "?"

Rachel: "Forgive me if this is a rude question, but can you really not feel anything?"

He gives her a skeptical look. Karl: "I don't know… This conversation's starting to feel a little painful, if you ask me."

Rachel: "O-oh... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said anything..."

Karl (waving his hands): "I'm kidding! I'm kidding. But last I've checked, statues don't have any nerve endings."

"Why do you ask?"

Rachel looks down at Karl's foot. Rachel: "Well... You almost lost your leg from those crocodiles that one time... But even if you did, would it have hurt? In any way at all?"

“That’s what she’s worried about?” He thinks to himself, bemused.

Karl: "I can feel things, but probably not in the sense you're thinking of."

"I can 'feel' the tugging and impact of forces hitting me, and I can 'feel' my limbs in the sense that I can still move them, even when they're detached. But I have to admit, I barely have an idea of what you humans consider 'pain'..."

He pauses.

"Not that I'm envious. It doesn't look like a good time."

---

Rachel: "Does that mean you can sense if something's on you?"

Karl grins wryly. Karl: "I'll always be able to tell if it's you, but we can test that if you're curious..."

Rachel blushes lightly and pushes Karl playfully by his shoulder. Rachel: "Karl-! Do you even know what you're saying..?!"

Karl (clapping): "Haha! Your reaction's really all I need to know! You're so cute when you're flustered."

Rachel (flustered): "Y-You…! Ahh!! Stop teasing me-!!"

Karl laughs at her again.

Karl: "But to answer your question, it depends on the object. If it were something light, like a bug, then probably not."

Rachel: "Let's say you were to balance a heavy book on your head. Would you feel it?"

Karl: "An odd thing to put on your head, but I might be able to feel its weight. Heavy can be relative, after all."

Rachel: "What about water? Do you feel damp when you're drenched?"

Karl: "Thankfully, my resin coating makes it glide right off me, like water off a duck's back! So… no."

Rachel: "How about temperature? Do you feel bothered by hot or cold weather?"

Karl: "Not particularly. Though, I can feel the effects of it; the cold makes me more rigid, so I feel myself using more energy to move around"

Rachel: "I see..."

---

Karl eyes her curiously. Karl: "Why the sudden interest, though?"

Rachel: "Hm?"

Karl: "Gasp! Could it be?" Karl: "Are you, perhaps, interested in learning about my body more... intimately?"

Rachel (amused): "Karl..."

Karl (coyly): "Because if you want, I can teach you everything you want to know, and more."

Rachel scoffs and rolls her eyes at him. She ponders a bit before her eyes light up and suddenly, her expression turns mischievous.

Rachel: "And what if I take you up on that offer?"

Karl raises an eyebrow. Karl: "Oh?"

---

Rachel starts advancing closer to him.

Rachel: "I've always been curious about you, Karl. And I've been wondering how you'd feel if you were put in... certain situations..."

Rachel doesn't break eye contact, gazing at him as she closes the distance with an expression that makes him nervous, and yet, excited at the same time.

Karl: "For example...?"

Rachel: "For example..."

She puts her hand on his chest, pushing against him with just enough force to make him lean against the wooden support.

Rachel: "Would you be able to feel my weight if I sat on top of you?"

Rachel rests her other hand against the support and brings her hand up to lightly caress his lips with her fingertips.

Rachel: "Would you be able to feel the moisture of my lips if I were to press them against yours?"

She moves her hand onto Karl's shoulder and leans forward, her face inches away from his face.

Rachel: "Would you be able to feel the heat radiating from me if you were close enough to hear my heart beat?"

She gazes at him intently. Rachel: "I'm just so curious, Karl..."

Karl looks back at her, speechless and baffled by this sudden shift. His eyes scans her face as he desperately tries to process a cryptic expression that he’s never seen from her before. Tense with anticipation, he waits to see what she’ll do next.

---

A moment passes, and Rachel sighs wistfully, backing away from Karl with faux disappointment.

Rachel: "Based on your answers, though, it doesn't sound like any of those would do much for you."

"...Right?"

Karl snaps back to reality, realizing it's his turn to answer.

Karl: "...!" Karl: "Ahah…" Karl: "Ahaha!!" Karl: "Well!" Karl: "M-Maybe in theory...!"

Karl relaxes a little, though still shaken from the residual fluster. He tries to laugh it off, hoping she hasn’t noticed his lost composure.

Karl: "But you never know unless you try... right?"

Rachel smiles teasingly. She walks over to where her violin rests and picks it up.

Rachel: "It's getting late, Karl. I think should get going before it gets too dark."

Karl deflates a little. Karl: "Ah yes… Of course…" Time really does pass unfairly quickly when she's with him.

Karl: "Let me walk you to the bridge, at least."

Rachel: "Please."

---

The two walk over to their usual parting spot outside.

As usual, Rachel's stayed a little longer than she should've tonight. Not that she's ever minded, but she feels bad about worrying her poor mother back home. She'll have to do something to make up for it later.

Rachel: "Alright then. I'll see you around, Karl."

Karl: "I'll be here..."

Rachel smiles. Rachel: "Take care."

Karl watched Rachel as she walked away.

He wished she didn't have to go. She usually visits him once or twice every week, but he's never truly sure when he'll see her again, whether it's due to an upcoming event, or simply because she's not feeling well. She tries to keep him updated, but there's been times when he wasn't able to see her for weeks, without any warning. Sometimes even months.

Karl: "Rachel!"

Rachel turns around.

Karl (grinning): "Made you look!"

Rachel laughs and shakes her head. She waves at him before turning back around.

He always hated sad good-byes.

[angel---eater]

Thinking about this passage from page 4489, and wondering if splintering Hal actually changed Dirk's persona. Not personality, something deeper than that. I have no idea how to describe this to singlets, but... the difference between 1 alter who was a fused combination of 2, and then that 1 splitting into 2 again. Combined, they're 3 distinct people, with 1 being a brand new person made up of 2. I dunno, think about the 2^sprites for a good and startlingly similar example. Probably should've just started with that instead of attempting to explain plural math, lol.

Mainly I'm wondering about this because there are, at first glance, subtle but also sometimes startlingly distinct differences between Dirk and Hal throughout HS1. Obvious caveats being that a shit ton of change and development can happen to a teenager between the ages of 13-16, Hal is in an incomprehensible situation of duress, and Dirk is also under a lot of pressure that he put on his own shoulders. But I can't put this thought down. Hal is distinct. His speech patterns are different, he uses different words, he has a different sense of humour. He jokes around more often, for one. He uses more puns. He focuses and worries about different things. Mr Paprika Prick is Homestuck's plural poster boy, after all. I'm becoming more and more convinced that Hal was in there the whole time, and that - along with dealing with impossible loneliness - something else was compelling them to code up the AR. A tragically failed attempt at giving an alter life outside a shared brain.

'I am more like him.' is a massive overcompensation, probably also hangover urges from Dirk's backbrain to hide his plurality from him, because that's like... the main symptom of DID. Amnesia and denial. You won't know what you're not ready to. Dirk is scared of the AR because if he faces the fact that Hal is a distinct person from him, it means there was something deeply, deeply wrong. And he's not ready for that.

[t00thpasteface]

there's a lot of comparisons to be made between catch-22 and m*a*s*h, and i think those have a lot of merit, but the thing about catch-22 is that in addition to the dark humor and pointed social commentary, it's DEEPLY absurdist. and for this reason i would say the most apt popcultural comparison for catch-22 is not m*a*s*h, but rather... ace attorney