#and it still makes more sense than English

[worflesbian]

ik everyone's already torn the discovery klingon redesign to shreds and back a thousand times and there's a high chance somebody's made this exact post before, but seeing the costumes on mannequins really hammers in how Weird they are in terms of design choices.

like the details are all so intricate and gorgeous, but the shapes are SO bulky and awkward. the wide shoulders, exaggerated neck/collar, and flaring out around the thighs puts me in mind of elizabethan english menswear; while the layered effect in the skirts/sleeves (and tabis?? the boots??) is reminiscent of japanese samurai armour.

both of which makes sense! because the heightened language and drama of shakespeare had a big influence on both the writing and visual design of the klingons after tos, and the principles of honour and warrior culture of the samurai also played a big part albeit filtered through the perceptions of the american writers room. these are both well established klingon influences, so i would get where they're coming from, if it weren't for the fact it's such an utter visual departure from anything the klingons have worn before.

the standard klingon armour went through minor changes from the tos movies to the end of voyager, but you can see the basic design stays the same: the shoudlers are wide, but not high, and most of the bulk is in the arms. the tunic part below the belt isn't nearly as exaggerated as it is in discovery, and there's plenty of room for leg movement, in fact the tight trousers have subtle vertical seams that emphasise length over width.

the same principles can be seen in the more ceremonial klingon costumes - the main bulk is still in the arms, and long, vertical lines create a sense of height. which makes sense when you consider the costumes in action, because the massive wigs provide so much bulk and drama, so the costumes don't have to.

here's a klingon costume from next gen, one from ds9, and one from voyager to illustrate how unified these principles were: when the legs are obscured, long vertical lines are created by draped, floor length skirts or overcoats, the bulk is typically in the arms and the torso is broken up by sleeves of a different colour or fabric (the centre costume was worn over another garment), narrowing the chest and emphasising the arms.

although the disco costumes are more ceremonial, they're closer to the classic uniform design so i tried to compare the two compositionally and i--

its a MESS the samurai-style armour plating creates so many horizontal lines that everything looks short broad and stubby, there's no elegance or movement but rather than seeming solid and imposing it just looks bulky and awkward. they also completely ignore the juxtaposition of textures in the old klingon costumes, which combined shiny leather and metal with darker furs and velvets and matte fabrics, so the disco klingon costumes just look unilaterally shiny which adds to the visual confusion. i will say i do kind of fuck with the armoured beetle vibe, it even works with the version of klingon evolution we were shown in next gen, but it's just poorly executed on a visual level.

anyway i dont think ive even said anything new here, it's just crazy the level of budget ambition and talent that went into the redesign with Such a poor payoff

[nobylerdoubt]

Wouldnt the duffers try to do the thing where will gets over mike finally letting go of his childhood/coming to age type thing? Like I see a lot of ppl saying that byler has to happen or the narrative of stranger things wont work but im kinda leaning on the whole its gonna be a coming of age type thing where will grows out of his childhood hes been clinging too while still remaining friends with the party if that makes sense (Like not abandoning everyone just evolving & staying friends with the party. Im sorry if this dosent make sense I am not a native english speaker.)

Hard, hard no.

I'm not sure where this idea that growing up means you have to give up on things you love comes from, but it's such bullshit. Yes, when you grow up things change but it's less than you might think.

A coming of age story is more about coming into your own - it's about accepting yourself and the power that comes inherently from being you. It's not about changing the parts of you that are somehow inherently wrong or childish or immature.

The message of Stranger Things has never ever been about letting go of your childhood.

There's a clip from Beyond Stranger Things that I think about not just in context to the show, but also how it applies to my own life.

It's not a huge moment in this mini-series but I just think about it a lot, especially since I watched it when I was still very young and learning about what it means to grow up.

Growing up, in this specific example, doesn't mean you can't play D&D (read: do things you love, even if it's considered childish).

Throughout the series we see that giving up things from your childhood is a bad thing.

In Season 2, when Mike's forced to pack up two boxes of his toys for a yard sale. His parents see his toys as hunks of plastic but Mike sees them as memories.

In Season 3, during the rain fight, (and I've seen this scene misinterpreted so many times) it's clearly shown that Mike is the one in the wrong for essentially telling Will to grow up, stop playing D&D, and get a girlfriend. We know this because Mike immediately apologizes to Will (running after him) and we see in the next season that Mike goes back to playing D&D.

^A lot of people see this scene as a sign Will needs to grow up??? That's not what's going on here???

Also in Season 3 we get to know Erica - who is a little girl desperately trying to act older and cooler than she is - trying to deny being a nerd, even though she likes My little Pony and is REALLY good at Math. And a lot of that is just who Erica is, but when we see Lucas and Dustin give Erica Will's old D&D kit/box it's this reminder to her that it's okay to be young, to be a nerd, it's okay to not be cool - and we see her go on to embrace this more in Season 4.

And you know what else? This whole idea of leaving your childhood behind to fit this pre-conceived notion of what it means to be an adult?

It's forced conformity.

And that's the real monster.

But aside from that - Will is one of the two characters who demonstrates the tragedy of losing your childhood. After the Upside Down, he couldn't just be a kid anymore, and when he finally found his footing and just wanted to play some D&D - he'd been left in the dust. His friends "grew up" around him, leaving Will behind.

Why, then, is it an acceptable outcome for his story to say to this boy, who lost a huge chunk of his life to trauma, to "suck it up, buttercup! leave your childhood behind!"???

But finally - Mike isn't just a remnant of Will's Childhood that he's clinging to - Mike makes Will feel safe. Mike makes Will feel normal, and wanted, and special. Mike isn't just some childish first crush that Will needs to give up on and move on. But his own admission, in the Van scene, when he's swapping out El's name for his own, Will confesses he needs Mike, and he always will.

Sure, in real life it's sound advice to say, "look kid, I know this hurts now, but there's plenty of fish in the sea and someday someone is gonna love you for who you are, wholly and completely, no strings attached."

But Will is a character in a story, and in the context of the story Mike is so much more than a childhood crush. (If you wanna see an example of an in-show childhood crush, look at Dustin in season 2, and how Nancy was the one to pick him up and tell him that someday there's gonna be someone who loves him.)

And Mike does want Will - he wants that fantasy of staying in Mike's basement and playing D&D and Nintendo for the rest of their lives.

He wants it. He just needs to realize that he can have it, and it's sitting right in front of him.

And to your point - Will has already given up. He's already decided that he needs to move on from Mike, that there's no hope there. That's not the lesson Will needs to learn. The lesson he needs to learn is that he can be happy. He can have things for himself. He can put himself first.

And that lesson isn't conducive to "pack up your childhood and leave it behind"

[folkloure]

⭑.ᐟ roommates!pb&jj au

#5 - the one with the olive branch:

summary: peter and johnny have the talk.

warnings: swear words. talks about parents loss and grief. friendly reminder that english is not my first language. please don't copy or repost anywhere.

Johnny wakes up that next morning to find that it’s raining hard.

He thinks it makes sense, considering how hot it was last night. “If the weather feels sultry, you can bet it’ll rain later”, he remembers his aunt telling his sister whenever she complained about the New York weather. They had just moved in with her, and he was constantly irritated. 

Johnny felt like he had to start building a life for himself all over again. He had to share a room with his older sister now. Had to change schools, leave his friends behind. Had to learn how to live without his parents by his side.

He was sixteen. He missed his mother, he dreaded his father. 

And now he had a new found loathe for Peter Parker. 

In those first few weeks at Midtown High School, when Johnny was still navigating through his new life and couldn’t quite fit in, he’d see Peter across the cafeteria, with his effortless good grades, his tight-knit friends, and a fire would start to burn in his chest. He’d walk back home with his sister and run into Peter and May – because of course, he lived with his aunt too –, with the tenderness of someone who loved his caretaker and was loved back by her.

In a way, he’d see himself in Peter. Except Peter Parker had everything he wished for, and couldn’t find it in him. 

—

The very first thing Peter learns about Johnny Storm is that he has an older sister. 

More specifically, that he too lost his parents and lives with his aunt, but also with an older sister. 

It’s all he hears about these past few weeks, the new guy in Midtown that has slowly but surely won over everyone’s hearts. Like he’s goddamn Princess Diana. 

Peter thinks he’s trying to be amicable, looking at Johnny from across the room as he walks into the classroom. But Johnny always seems to know exactly where to sit, and exactly  who to talk to, and just exactly what to say to make people smile at him, to make him feel welcome. So unlike Peter, who has been struggling to live life as an orphaned teenager, Johnny just seems to get it. He thinks it’s due to the fact that Johnny has a sister – someone to guide him through that. A sister, and the confidence of knowing he’s not alone in this world.

Peter feels a spark of something burning in the pit of his stomach. 

So he immediately averts his eyes when Johnny looks back. 

—

It's hard to say who or what started it. Perhaps it all happened at the same time, both boys unaware of the other’s struggles, and yet a perfect mirror of each other. Matching in family history, in living conditions. Matching in grades and interests, running into each other in the school corridors and in the common areas of university. And yet, so closed off to the possibility of something more than distaste.

Until Peter opens the door and sees Johnny looking at the rain falling outside. 

“Morning.”

“Hey… morning.”

“I, uh, made some coffee…” Johnny gets away from the window, going over to the kitchen table. “There’s eggs and bacon too, if you want some. Greasy food helps with the hangover, I heard.”

“I’m not hungover… I’ll take the food, though.” Peter sits down at the table too. “Uh, thank you.”

Peter eats in silence under Johnny’s stare for a minute. He waits until Peter has eaten at least half the plate before talking again.

“So why do you hate me?”

Peter almost chokes on his coffee when he hears it. 

“Hate is a very strong word.”

“Fine, why do you dislike me so much then?”

Peter looks down at his plate again, sighing deeply.

“Honestly?” He looks up at Johnny, who just nods. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can remember what happened. I just know that one day you were there in Midtown, and you seemed so… put together?” Peter looks up, uncertain of his precious feelings towards the man who’s now in front of him. Making him eggs and bacon. “I guess I was jealous of you.”

“Well, that’s just stupid.”

Peter’s head shots up, eyes wide in disbelief.

“What?”

“You had everything someone could ask for! Why would you be jealous of me?”

“Everything someone– Johnny, I lost both my parents!”

“And so did I!”

“You had company! You had your sister!” 

“My sister was a kid too! You think I didn’t see May picking you up every day? You know what I wouldn’t give to have an actual grown up by my side?”

Peter silences. “I thought you lived with your aunt?”

“I did.” Johnny moves from side to side, weight shifting from one leg to another. “She’s a good woman. We were never close, though.��

“I’m sorry, Johnny.”

Johnny feels Peter’s eyes on him like a weight over his chest. “Look, this isn’t a pity party. Things were fucked up for you too, and I’m sorry.” He looks up at Peter, his hard features softened. “All I’m trying to say is that I thought I was the one who felt jealous.” 

“Yeah?”

“Well, yeah. I wouldn’t know when it started too, but it was… there.”

Both men nodded, eyes averting one another. Peter runs his fork over the now empty. 

Johnny is the one who breaks the silence. “And what now?” 

“Huh?”

“What do we do now?” 

“Uh, where do you wanna go from here?”

Johnny sighs, laying back in the chair.

“Can we just… I don’t know, forgive and forget?”

Peter ponders if forgetting is the best way to get over it. He wants to ask if this is the last time they’ll ever talk about it. 

But looking at Johnny across the table from him, blue eyes expectantly waiting for him to say something, he knows. And he knows Johnny knows it too. They’ll go back to this conversation again and again, when the time is right. When they’re ready to. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Peter lifts his hand in Johnny’s direction. “Call it a truce?”

Johnny smirks, grabbing Peter’s hand and strongly shaking it. 

“I think most people would call it being friends, bug.” 

—

Joaquin thinks he might need to call his mom. Ask her to light a candle to whoever the patron saint of friendship is. 

“No, fuck that. I could be the patron saint of friendship. I’ve just performed a miracle here.”

“Are you talking to yourself?”

Joaquin shrieks, and almost drops the glass cup he’s holding against the door. He looks behind him to find Bob leaning against the door frame, eyes still heavy from sleep.

“Bob, quiet!” 

“Joaquin, what in the world are you doing?”

“Listening to Peter and Johnny’s talk!”

Bob blinks twice. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Shhh!”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because they’re talking! Not yelling, not being rude, talking!”

“Well, thank fuck!” He walks away from the door frame, moving closer to Joaquin, who’s kneeling by the door, holding the glass cup to the door again. 

Bob, snickering, silently grabs the door handle, quickly opening it and watching Joaquin lose his balance and fall down on all fours, his elbows taking all the impact so he wouldn’t drop the cup. “Morning, gentleman. A birdie told me you guys are okay now?”

Bob watches as both Peter and Johnny look at Joaquin on the floor, piecing together the scene. 

“Um, yeah, yeah. We’re… we’re good now.” Peter breaks the silence and Johnny nods in agreement.

“Some would even call us friends!”

“You’re clearly having too much fun with this.” Bob turns to Johnny, who just shrugs, smirking at him.

“I know I am!” Joaquin stands up from position on the floor, completely pushing down the embarrassment he feels and jumping on Peter and Johnny, his arms around their necks, hugging both at the same time. “I’ve been waiting for this! Praying, even!”

“Don’t forget performing miracles too.”

“Shush. I’m exhilarated!”

“Wow, big words coming from you. You must really be happy.” Johnny says, disentangling himself from Joaquin’s embrace.

“You know, I’m actually happy we talked things through” Peter says looking past Joaquin directly at Johnny. “Now I can just ask if you’ve been messing up my things on purpose”

Johnny looks at Peter, blinking slowly.

“Peter, what are you talking about?”

“I’m not trying to accuse you or anything, just wondering like… if you’re messing things up when you’re in there or if I left it somewhere else and can’t find it…”

“I’m… not following”

“You know, when you clean my room on Fridays”

Bob swears he can actually see the color draining from Johnny’s face as he looks to their pinned cleaning schedule on the refrigerator, to Peter’s room, and back to him.

“You’re telling me you’ve been cleaning my room this entire time?”

Peter is regretting this whole thing already. 

“You haven’t been cleaning my room?” 

“See, and here I thought I was a fucking Mr Muscle or some shit.”

“Are you for real right now?”

“Peter, I’ve never even been to your room.”

“Johnny, what the fuck? We’ve been living here for four months!” 

So much for friendship, Bob thinks. Joaquin turns his head left to right as the boys keep arguing, like he’s watching a tennis play.

“Look, I don’t know! I thought there was some sort of silent agreement of not entering each other’s rooms!”

“And why would we have a silent agreement? We’d barely speak to each other until right now!”

“That’s exactly why I thought we had an agreement!” 

“Okay!” Bob claps his hand, asserting the situation. “Johnny, get up. You’re cleaning Peter’s room.”

“Aw, right now?”

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re this petty!”

“I have an older sister, Peter. I’ve known pettiness before I knew fractions.” 

“Yes, Johnny! Right now!” Bob grabs Johnny’s arm, pulling him from the couch and dragging him to Peter’s room. “Oh, hey! You have a Zeppelin poster!”

Before Peter can enthusiastically say something back to Bob, he hears Johnny’s voice in a whisper.

“Who?”

“Dude! What?” 

“I can’t. I can’t do this” Peter says, Joaquin holding back a laugh seeing him so worked up. “Johnny, you can hate me all you want, but you can’t not know Led Zeppelin.”

He stands up from the couch, opening the fridge and grabbing one of Johnny’s Diet Coke, pouring it in the glass cup he brought inside, grinning as he hears Peter yelling at Johnny to sit down and for Bob to grab the CD player and Led Zeppelin’s fourth album.

notes: in all truth, i had this chapter in mind as soon as i started this series. i hope it's worth the wait! i would love to hear your thoughts! thank you for reading! <3

[pynkhues]

talk to me about this "old man pants" thing in regards to Louis outfits please?

do you think he will dress like maybe he is stuck between periods of time but like in a good way with maybe a modern twist? Cause those clothes do look like something from circa 1950's or so.

Hah, yeah! Basically I think that the little hint we got of it in the finale is that his new contemporary wardrobe is going to embrace all the eras that he's lived through, which really feeds into the culmination of his s1 and s2 arc of time and immortality being a gift. I have felt that that's probably where they're going to keep going with his costumes in the future, and I feel kind of quietly confidently with it based off the glimpses we've seen of him on set so far.

Like, okay! Let's start at the top of his post-second-divorce era:

(A face card that truly never declines.)

The first scene we see him in post-interview, we don't get a great sense of his full outfit, but it's clear from the hotel desk that he's wearing a Henley.

Henley's actually originated as men's pyjamas and underwear, but very quickly became sportswear, particularly among British rowers in the mid-1800s (it's even an English rowing town they're named after). They then became popular among the working class in the late 1800s - around the time Louis would've been born - but it wasn't until the 1970s when Ralph Lauren (another self-made billionaire who grew up as a part of a marginalised community in America [Jewish in the Bronx]), rediscovered them and turned them into a fashion staple in the 70s and 80s (something that helped to catapult his career) that they became a stalwart of men (and women's) wardrobes.

(The rest - including spoiler shots - are below the cut!)

His tourist look obviously has a lot of fun nods - he's in a New Orleans Saints hat, his hometown football team, which plays with Lestat having called him as much (and I think is a lowkey wink to the fact that Lestat was going to St Louis only to be pulled into New Orleans because of Louis, and Louis came to New Orleans only to be pulled back to Lestat). That team's only been around since the 1960s, so they would've been one he discovered in his immortality (and hell, maybe at the airport), but the varsity jacket he's wearing had its origins at Harvard back in the 1800s, so he would've grown up knowing what that was.

I personally think him wearing the latter is partially just about pulling him into a tourist look, but it also absolutely works as a bit of a wink to him playing the student of his own life as he's on a tour which, in the moment of it, is literally about his personal history.

And he's in high-waisted pleat pants, which had their origins in the 1930s, but carried through the 50s, and I do think the costume department just like that cut on him (who wouldn't), but they're absolutely a dated pant and right now a stalwart of his wardrobe, because he's also wearing them...

In the reunion scene! These ones are a bit more of a cigarette pant (and potentially styled more late 50s/early 60s) than the ones above, but they're still high-waisted with a pleat. Interestingly, he's wearing a Henley again too, which I think makes a lot of sense for Louis as a go-to given they're still as fashionable as they are, often high end, with a cut that embraces the figure.

He's also wearing a bomber jacket though, which I'm a bit obsessed with! I've talked about it a bit before here, but bombers have a serious history both in and out of pop culture, from their origins in WWI (which Louis lived through) to their rise in popularity in WWII (which Louis capital-l Lived through) to their rise as a symbol of anti-establishment power and the reclamation of them specifically by gay communities in the 60s and 70s. They have a fascinating history, and I don't think that it was an accident that they put him in this for the reunion as it feels like an embrace of so many parts of his history.

His singlet and mohair cardigan in the finale are a little harder to place, just because they both have pretty extensive histories as individual items, but I see the colouring as at least partially calling to a regular 'fit Billy Preston would wear, which makes sense! Billy was a Southern Black gay musician, deeply closeted for most of his life, and a vitally important (and often overlooked) artist across the 60s and 70s in particular.

Not to show my Beatles stan self, haha, but he's had a bit more attention put on him again from Peter Jackson's Get Back documentary in 2021, given he features pretty heavily in it and is emphasised as the first non-Beatles artist they let create with them [and he and George Harrison in particular were lifelong friends] (the doco is where the first cap is from too!), but his influence is massive, and I can see Carol being influenced by his story just as I can see Louis as a character being impacted by him in general.

What's fun about Louis' new white shirt (and potentially the navy shirt if that is his), is that it further points to history.

That double-pocket men's shirt was actually most popular in the 1930s - although it did have a resurgence in the 1950s - which accounts funnily enough for both Louis' shirt and the navy one that Sam's wearing that may-or-may-not be canon, haha. Interestingly though, Louis' still wearing high-waisted pants, but they're flat-front, which are definitely 30s-inspired, but his grey pants in the other pic scream 80s, between the cut and the print.

So yeah! I don't know! I think his costumes will embrace a range of time periods, and that they'll have a lot of nods to Black gay culture, which again, I personally think is a part of the link with Billy Preston, and the James Baldwin physical styling that Jacob's already cited - and I think that older cut of pants will definitely be a part of it. I think Louis' costumes will encapsulate his history as a Black, gay man, and personally, I love that.

[uwuverisntsilver]

Why IDW didn't develop Silver's character

The go-to defense for Silver's IDW characterization is that he's "developing" because he has friends now. This, like IDW's initial presentation of Silver's backstory, is false.

Question: If no life existed in Silver’s future before he returned to the past to help fight against the Virus, then how was he born? Does changing the future mean that he is instead creating an alternate future and traveling to that new one and ultimately leaving his original doomed future behind somewhere to remain doomed? And regardless, when he returned to his future to see no life and sparse metallic plant life, I find it hard that he didn’t touch anything at all. Was he super duper cautious and didn’t touch anything, not even the ground, or was the Metal Virus no longer contagious at that point in time? Why would animal life deteriorate but not plant life? Ian: In issue 25, Dr. Eggman explains that because botanical cell structure is more rigid in nature and can withstand the degradation of the metal virus much better than animal tissue, but it would still take like 200 years for it to completely degrade so that's why there plant life left behind but no people. It has also been noted that the virus has mutated so it could have become less virulent 200 years later. That's why also his TK powers have been known to mess with electronics. How Silver time travels is a mess. What I have been able to put together from my correspondence with Sega over the years is that the blue sky scene we see at the end of 06 is the future, it's rebuilding and okay. But at the same time it has to be affected by past events since they have him come back to the past in the Forces tie-in comic, but that doesn't make sense since it's suppose to be a static future. The answer is there is no answer, it's not applied with any consistency. I have seen interesting theories from fans who try to come up with a reasoning behind all this, but sadly there is none.

As you can see from that answer. For the first few years of IDW Sonic the writers were under the impression that Silver was still living in the ruined future from the end of his story in Sonic 06.

This is wrong. The ending of 06 where Sonic and Elise blow out Solaris undid Silver's apocalyptic future and created the peaceful one of Sonic Rivals which Silver also mentions in Sonic Colors DS.

But for years IDW thought that Silver’s future was always ruined, that Iblis's devastation was never undone. Silver has not actually lived in a ruined future since 06 but Sonic Team evidently failed to explain this to the IDW staff.

Silver was NOT alone before or after 06. Before 06 Silver’s apocalyptic future had people that lived without hope and Silver did interact with as he questioned them about how the world was destroyed(No one will answer me directly. But they always point… to the flames) and after 06 Silver lives in a peaceful future with happy people. The entire point of his mission in 06 is to save the people of the future. It's also an important part of his backstory that Silver was exposed to constant suffering in his future because Silver cares about smiles. Silver IS still poorly socialized and doesn’t understand things but he was never alone before IDW.

IDW and English Team Sonic Racing perpetuated the idea that Silver was alone for most of his life which is easily disproven by his opening monologue in 06. Ian “Silver doesn’t act rude in any media ever” Flynn most likely missed this since he demonstrably does not research Silver.

This is why in Victory Garden, Silver says there is no lush plant life in his future. He acts like he’s never seen any in his own time before.

This is because the Sonic Rivals games were not considered canon during the first few years of IDW(and the last few years of Archie) and were only re-canonized a couple of years ago.

Which is important because Sonic Rivals 1 has the only explored location we have ever seen of Silver’s post-06 future, Onyx Island(the future version of Angel Island) which is lush and green.

So both Silver’s loneliness and his gardening hobby, the two biggest sources of supposed "development", were based on false pretenses.

Silver’s character in IDW is not different because of “development”. He was different because the comic writers didn’t know what they were working with in the first place because Sonic Team doesn’t tell them.

[bleugioh]

Kazuki Takahashi’s death anniversary was a few days ago. I avoided going on social media because I didn’t want to be reminded of it, but of course I can’t run away forever. More than ever, I now understand all the clichés about “I never get used to remembering the fact that they’re gone” or “It hits you every time: They’re not coming back.” Death is so weird.

I’ve dealt with grief and losing people without warning before, but his sudden passing in the summer of 2022 always haunts me. It’d be embarrassing if it wasn’t just plain sad how I feel. The thing is that my last living grandparent also died within a few days of his accident, and back then I was holding back my YuGiOh hyperfixation so I can pursue my master’s degree; I remember finding out the news and just feeling nothing. I was too swept up with my studies and mourning my grandma.

But now it’s over three years later and the grief’s immeasurable. I feel guilty because I didn’t grieve my grandma or any of my dead and gone relatives for this long. I never even knew Takahashi, but YuGiOh’s been with me since before I was even born. I grew up on it and a delusional part of myself believes I’m even actually friends with the DM characters because there were many times in my very lonely and oft-bullied childhood when they were all I had. And just knowing Takahashi can never say more about this story, that he’ll never again surprise us by posting new art, and that he’ll never go to Comic Con or big events to meet us fans and be told how much his work has meant to us for years … it just kills something in me that I can’t find the words to explain.

I don’t know how to make sense of this grief, — how to understand why he died so young and so suddenly — but ironically enough something that really helps is remembering Jonouchi’s parting words to Atem/Yami Yugi: “Since we can’t understand, we have to burn him into our memories! So that we’ll never forget the time we spent with him!”

Or, alternatively in the English dub: “I guess there are some things we’re not supposed to understand . . . But I know that true friends may be hard to leave, but they’re impossible to forget. And even though his stay wasn’t as long as we would’ve liked, we’re lucky we knew him at all.”

Thank you for everything, Kazuki Takahashi. I’ll never forget you. I’ll always love YuGiOh with all my heart and more. Wherever you are, — wherever you went — I hope you found peace and know how much you still mean to us. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

[momentomorix]

Don’t dream it’s over part.2

Summary: The storm had passed, yet the ruins of an unfinished story lingered. Part.1

Warnings:�� Explicit sexual content, sexual tension,emotional tension,references to complex past relationships,sexual vulgarity

Writers notes: English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations. JJ Maybank x fem!reader

The glass of whiskey spun between his hands, the sole judge of the tangled thoughts he couldn’t sort through.

He had ordered it without thinking, a too-familiar reflex. Taking a seat at the counter of that dingy bar, too far from home to run into anyone he knew.

Too far from home to see you.

JJ ran his hand over his face, pushing back his blond strands, feeling a slight ache in his knuckles after having taken a hit from a wall stronger than him.

He knew that reconnecting with his old demons would drive him even further away from you. But it was still easier than seeing you hand in hand with Rafe Cameron.

Even though you had slept together just a week before.

The temptation to drown once again in the amber liquid was strong, but he resisted. He knew you deserved better—a solid guy you could lean on, not a wreck who drowned his sorrows in whiskey at the slightest setback.

And though cowardice had been his closest companion these past years, he had decided he was done with running away.

He still wanted you. The years had passed, but it was still there.

Even though he had spent his time pushing you away, as if to punish himself for the harm he caused, the moment you had shared together had triggered something in him.

He no longer wanted to waste time staying in the background, watching you without shaking up your life.

After all, you had shaken up his. And although you had been ignoring it since your embrace, making him believe it was just a mistake, he was determined to make his presence known.

The time had come.

He left the whiskey behind, like leaving a past too heavy to carry, and hit the road.

The sun was setting in the sky, the fields bathed in warm colors, a scent of flowers in the air.

He had tried to find you at your place. It was late, but no lights signaled your presence. Your car was gone too, so he kept driving around town.

Maybe he should have gone straight to the library, when he saw your car in the parking lot.

It made sense.

Maybe you too were thinking back on what you had shared.

Maybe you couldn’t stand that you had faltered.

You had tucked it away in a corner of your mind, like a pretty memory. Nothing more.

And you drowned it all in work.

But JJ didn’t want to be just an unfinished-tasting memory; he wanted to be more than that.

He first watched you through the bay window, the light illuminating your tired face.

You must have been focused on something you didn’t understand, your body leaning forward, your hands between your legs.

Maybank gently pushed the door open, heading toward you, and you felt him before you saw him.

You could have wiped your eyes, in a vain attempt to hide that you had cried, but you were tired.

Pretending, swallowing all those emotions, was suffocating you.

JJ saw your reddened eyes when you looked at him. Your dark hair in disarray, your lips pressed tight as if to hold back a sob.

You were just as wrecked as he was. Because of him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Of course you were avoiding him. You couldn’t face him now that you knew the lies, the time lost, and all the pain inflicted.

Maybe it had been better before, when you were convinced that nothing was possible.

Now, it was worse.

“What are you doing here?” “I wanted us to talk about us.”

You sighed irritably, rubbing your forehead to stave off the migraine you felt coming on.

“That was a mistake.” Your tone was cold, because you had to believe it. “You were shaken up from your split with Kiara and...”

But Rafe was no longer there.

“We’ve been divorced for three years,” he cut in sharply. Why were you even talking about that when it had nothing to do with this? “Kiara was never you. She never counted the way you do.” he added through clenched teeth. “I can’t deal with this right now. It’s better if we forget it.”

It was too much.

“You really think that’s better?” he repeated, incredulous.

You were already turning your back on him, unable to bear the closeness that hurt your heart. Your steps led you to the archives room, where you had left some old newspaper articles to sort through.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me knowing you’re with him?”

He stood in the doorway, his face closed off by your attitude. It was asking too much, but he would have preferred you to yell at him rather than speak calmly.

“It doesn’t matter, JJ,” you briefly looked up at him. “You live your life and I live mine, remember?”

“That was bullshit.” He regretted saying it, thinking it might be easier if you were no longer in his life, but it was worse.

“Go to hell, JJ,” you hissed, distraught. “It already is. Life without you.”

You froze, crumpling the paper in your fist.

JJ could have died of embarrassment right then and there. He had never said anything that stupid before, preferring to be walked all over rather than let something like that slip out.

But he needed to make you understand, so he dared.

“I can come to terms with... with you being with him,” he grimaced, knowing it wasn’t true, “but I want you to stay in my life.” “What about what I want?” you snapped. “You ruin everything, you impose yourself, and I’m supposed to give in?”

He saw your restless gestures, the papers you usually handled with care, now crumpled by the nervousness rising inside you. JJ saw how much he unsettled you. He could have felt guilty, but instead, he felt a certain satisfaction in seeing you so troubled by his presence.

His arrogance pushed him to move a little closer, despite your dark glare warning him not to. His hand touched your cheek, his thumb caressing your lip as he traced its contours with barely concealed desire.

“You can pretend nothing happened between us… but it did.”

JJ was the first to be surprised when you pressed your lips to his, finally giving in to the desire you had to feel him again.

His hands cupped your face, pressing his fingers into your skin to anchor himself to you. Your noses brushed, breaths mingling with every movement. Your tongues tangled, and JJ thrust his hips toward you as you began to undo his belt.

He felt your trembling fingers open his pants, gently stroking his already hard cock, made harder just by your presence, reacting even more to your touch.

Your nails lightly grazed him through the fabric, making him groan as he stopped kissing you to focus on your caresses.

You weren’t sure of your movements, wanting to do your best for the man you loved and who stood before you.

Once again.

Your eyes locked, your lower lip bitten between your teeth as you slid his boxers down a little more, revealing his already hard cock, swollen with pleasure.

He tightened his grip on your face, one hand holding your gaze, the other sliding into your neck. His mouth brushed against yours as you wrapped your hand around his cock, spreading the precome that was beginning to bead.

Not slick enough, you spat into your hand to coat it with saliva, allowing for smoother in-and-out motions.

“Fuck...”

His grumble encouraged you to keep going, your mouth pressing against his to swallow his moans of pleasure. His hips jerked roughly, matching the pace of your hand, which he found too slow.

You laughed, insolent, at his impatience, and he suddenly pinned you against him, eager to take care of you. The motions on his cock didn’t stop, making him a bit clumsy as he undressed you.

“Am I impressing you?” you dared to ask when he awkwardly struggled to remove your pants.

Of course you impressed him. He was the one who had messed up, yet here you were, ready to forgive him and swallow his cock.

Another time.

He roughly turned you around, his cock pressed against his stomach as you had to let go of it. Your breasts, pressed against the table, were half exposed from your top, JJ’s hands slipping toward your first hole.

“One day...”

It was like a promise, and you shivered at the thought that his cock might one day slide in here.

He continued his descent, already feeling your wetness spreading around his fingers as he plunged into your pussy.

“So wet...”

He enjoyed seeing you like this already, even though he hadn’t properly played with you yet. With a quick kick, he spread your legs wider, opening you up more for him as he made the first thrust.

You stood on tiptoes, your fists clenched as the pressure in your lower belly built.

JJ leaned over your back, his left hand holding him near your face as he began to deepen his caresses.

His fingers touched your slit, stroking your clit that throbbed, desperate for relief. Your wetness flowed between your thighs, spreading on the edge of the table.

You were a spectacle all on your own, and JJ vowed to be the only spectator of your unraveling from now on.

“JJ,” you moaned, pressing your cheek against the table, “please...”

He quickened his movements, his fingers sinking deeper inside you, curling to touch that spot where you were most sensitive.

“Oh yes, just like that...” “Come for me...”

The tension suddenly released, a burning wave descending into your pussy under the pressure. Your walls tightened around him and lifted you up just long enough for him to claim your mouth, more slowly.

You were still dazed, his kiss gently bringing you back to the present moment. His fingers, wet with your slickness, brushed your lips before you welcomed them with your tongue.

His cock kept grazing your ass, your tongue swirling around his fingers.

JJ watched your tongue wrap around him, your mouth making an indecent sucking sound.

“I can’t wait for your mouth to be on my cock,” he whispered, kissing your temple.

Your ass tensed toward him, his hard cock in his hand before he guided it to your entrance and thrust in all at once.

Your body plunged forward from the impact, your pussy stretching to his rhythm. His size reminded you of the pain you’d felt the morning after your first time.

His hips slapped against your reddened cheeks from the hard thrusts he gave. The sight of his cock disappearing between your globes made his head spin, your wetness spreading along the length of him.

“You’re still so tight, fuck.”

He felt your pussy clamp down on him like it was natural for him to be there, gripping him so he couldn’t pull out.

Your mind began to empty, focusing on the sensations: his balls hitting against your slit, his cock seeming to push further inside you, his hips pounding against your ass.

You were struggling to breathe, the sensations overwhelming, even more so when he grabbed your hair in his fist to pull you upright against him.

“Tell me it’s not too late.”

JJ slowed down, wanting you to be fully aware of what you’d say, aiming to bring you right to the edge.

“Come on, Y/N, say it...” “It’s not too late,” you almost cried out in frustration, “please, JJ.” “Please what?” he teased, sliding his hand over your clit. “You want to come?” “Fuck yes!” “You’re going to stay with me?” “Don’t—”

He pulled back just enough to thrust deeper inside you, stealing your breath. He didn’t want to hear you protest—he wanted you to admit the distance between you no longer existed.

“You’re going to stay with me.” This time, it wasn’t a question.

And deep down, you knew it—you’d been waiting for that.

He still wanted you, and so did you.

Why fight it?

Your hand found his on your clit, the two of you massaging that nerve center together. Your mouth sought his, like a silent promise that everything would be okay.

JJ resumed his movements, speeding up because he too felt his release approaching.

Your body shuddered as you came, stars exploding behind your closed eyelids while he kept thrusting to reach his own climax.

With a deep groan, he let his seed flow inside you, giving a few erratic thrusts.

He kissed your shoulder before turning you toward him, pushing your wet strands away from your satisfied face.

“You okay?” he asked, seeing you hadn’t opened your eyes. “Did I hurt you?” “It’ll probably be sore tomorrow, but I’m fine.”

JJ Maybank looked into your eyes as they opened on him, caressing your cheekbones with adoration.

Full of confidence just moments ago while making love to you, he suddenly grew anxious at your silence.

“I’m staying with you,” you said with a smile.

And that was enough for JJ Maybank to understand: he finally had you.

Another with Rafe : 1 2 3 Or with JJ : 1 2 3 4 tag list : @immyowndefender

[garez19]

blackjack

yandere oc x captive! reader

unedited. MDNI. gn reader. yandere themes. gambling themes/simulated gambling. reader is forced to carve yandere’s skin. mention of stabbing. graphic depictions of attempted drowning. spitting. (none of them are done to reader.) please let me know if something is missing! english is not my native language. 2.5k wc.

you like to bet on a lovely day.

“come on, love,” he chirps. his joy doesn’t reach his eyes,

“let’s not do this now,” and it’s more of a demand than anything, although his voice is dripping with sweetness. he grabs your hand slowly, his hand is warm, but it doesn’t look good— his nail picking habits still don’t go away, you recall. you don’t know what triggers it exactly, maybe it has something to do with your tantrums. but none of that matters, as you remember the promise he made over a month ago. the tea burns your fingertips for 21 days, and on the twenty-second, you let go of that feeling of familiarity. he still doesn’t show you the mercy he said he had. and you still won’t allow him to have the satisfaction of winning — which is why you don’t answer. you remain still as his hand reaches out to your torso, the other one gently caressing your hand. he looks down on you. it’s not what you had in mind.

“come on, darling,” he tries once more, yet your eyes are on the cards: the cards are on the table, sitting pretty, waiting for you to grab them.

he becomes aware of the reason why you are distracted, “or…” he begins, “we can play it in your very own way.”

you don’t answer, but you know what he means to say.

the first time you played blackjack with him, twenty-two days ago, the cards transcendented russian roulette. pulling the trigger would take only half a second, but you were supposed to tap the table to let him know — you were on the verge of being busted, of losing it all. pulling one more card took two extra seconds. adding the numbers up and pondering the consequences as you bite your inner cheek — another two seconds.

“busted,” he muttered, looking down at his cards. you uncontrollably let out a shaky breath, relief washing over you for a hot second. but, his grin stayed. the house always won, after all, even when it didn’t.

“okay, love,” he said as he gathered the cards, “you’ve earned yourself a favor,” your body remained tense; however, stepping out of the roulette wheel alive had left you weirdly connected to the cards.

but he gets it, really. there is only so much to do in this house, and he knows you need something to pass the time with. the tea burns your upper thighs for twenty-two days, and on the 21st, he grants you the illusion of free will with fifty-two worn-out cards.

the illusion of fate, of bad fortune and miscalculations here and there. how ignorant and clueless one must be to not understand that the house always wins— even when it doesn’t.

and, how malicious one must be to not understand, a drowning man will clutch at a straw. you get it now, the state where one bawls uncontrollably because of a chess book is an unnerving thought, yet it’s not as distant anymore. you now know how that lawyer must’ve felt.

but unlike the lawyer, you have more than a chess book in this house, you have language learning books, rubik's cubes, and 1000 piece puzzles. he gets you romance novels, stickers, and sketchbooks with high-quality pages. markers and canvases on the corner of the room. nevertheless, none of them gives you the ecstasy the cards do. none of them give you a sense of accomplishment, a victory of sorts. “you know you can ask for anything,” he says, clearly proud of you though it’s nothing but a stupid card game. “except one thing.”

and that one single thing becomes holy. it turns into a scripture. it becomes a dream you hardly dare to imagine.

your dream is his reality. and, it’s not helping that both of you make it painfully obvious. he comes home with clothes soaked in the rain, “it’s raining cats and dogs, should’ve asked you about the weather,” as if you ever feel the need to check it. then, another day, his jacket is covered in cat fur, “it was quite adorable,” he pulls out his phone, “wanna see it?” you shake your head. finally, on a random tuesday, he reeks of alcohol, “my friends said hi,” he’s shameless, “they want to meet you one day.” he says. you look at him, intrigued. he cracks a smile, “a shame you’re so busy.”

but it’s okay, you have your cards. you have your destiny, and the power to catch it with your bare hands.

he hardly stifles his smile when your figure fails to conceal the excitement whenever he mentions playing cards very briefly. you don’t answer at first, but you don’t say no either— he’s proved playing bluff is his favorite. you remain silent, but it’s the only time of the day you get to communicate, even when it’s a little too intense for your tastes.

“well, if you don’t like to,” he starts talking –bluffing– certainly his strongest suit.

the third time you played blackjack, you finally knew how sour defeat tasted. but you also were not as terrified as you used to be. it wasn’t like your life wasn’t on the line, he assured, it was all about fun and games.

on his end, at least.

yet there wasn’t anything to do but try to figure out what he planned with a boxcutter. you absentmindedly took it without thinking too much when he suddenly held it out to you.

“carve your name, love,” he said, pointing at his upper arm with the other hand, “add a little heart while you’re at it.”

mouth agape, you stared at the boxcutter, then to his arm, to his expression—trying to catch a glimpse of sarcasm. an unfunny joke from a degenerate man, but he seemed eager, waiting for you to get out of trance, waiting expectantly.

so now, you can read your name with the big scar right next to it whenever he wears sleeveless shirts— the scar isn’t some failed heart shape, no. and attempting to stab someone with a boxcutter most certainly isn’t the brightest idea you had, to be fairly honest.

still, that’s also the game he’s taught you to play correctly. in a house full of whatever you could ever desire, the only thing that seems to get on your nerves is right in front of you. and he’s smiling softly. you no longer waste your wishes on meals and new books — he would get them in a heartbeat if you simply asked.

the bathtub is full of water. you dip your finger to check the temperature. he isn’t as frightened as you have pictured him in your head.

“if i die,”

“it’s not cold enough,” you cut him off. but you know what he’s meaning to say: if he dies, you die. and it’s not a simple threat. he says it almost endearingly, like a mother warning her children about strangers. he’s worried, he’s kind, and he’s ready to be sacrificed, but still, it’ll not be a game you end up winning. it’ll not be 21.

and you can’t understand if that’s a bluff. he’s really good at it. it’s not a risk you’re willing to take yet.

“oh, reminds me,” he makes a pretense of thinking, “should we pick a safe-word, just in case?” his little grin is nerve-racking. you stay quiet, and fortunately he seems to be on his best behavior as you bind his hands. he still isn’t as terrified as you painted.

“you ready?” you ask right before grasping his hair in a quick motion — too wrathful, too raw, not giving him a second to think. his head plunges under water, caught completely off guard. he tries to lift it, his mouth opens by instinct — you can see the bubbles in the tub. even though his arms and legs brace against the floor, it still takes effort to keep him down.

when you see him moving less, you quickly pull his head towards yourself. he pants, and for once, his attention is not solely on you, as he tries to regulate his breathing. you bend down just a little bit, pulling his hair down to make him look up. he is coughing up water, blinking fast, his chest rising in sharp, uncontrollable breaths.

your expression is dull. you aren’t amazed. it doesn’t give you a sense of justice. you aren’t ashamed. it doesn’t give you a sense of satisfaction.

he yet struggles with exhalation, spluttering after a fit of coughing. quite a sight for eyes, you think. the sound of his chokes doesn’t make you feel better. but well, it’s certainly better than nothing.

an unwavering emotion fills you up when you spit on his face. it’s an unnamable urge. is it out of spite? or did you just do it for the sake of it? not that it matters. his mind doesn’t comprehend the action at first. then he looks up at you — eyes bloodshot and wide. his mouth is slightly ajar. he doesn’t seem as indifferent now. gulping. his eyes darts around in the room, trying to make sense out of something– anything. an exit, an answer, a way to reverse time. there’s a twitch in his throat. and you see excitement in his eyes for the first time. “please,” he begs, voice wretched.

yet you pay no mind to it. your hands forces him underwater once more.

you yet want to play more. the disillusionment of having a fate -even though it feels scripted and cruel at times- comforts you. you seek solace in aggression. talking to someone—anyone for a few minutes sounds like a good bet, a good deal to gamble. abusing him for a couple of hours is a consultation.

so you don’t turn him down.

“wait,” you call out, and he already knows he succeeded in bluffing, though he doesn’t stop collecting the deck.head slightly tilted, he gives a small nod to show he’s listening. “we can play,” you say. he seems content. “are you sure?” he asks, “promise not to rock the boat like the last time when you lose.”

“sure,” you nod as you help him collect all the cards.

the cards are in his hand,

“we’ll have a date if you win,” he says as he shuffles the cards. you look at him dumbfounded— not quite the best bet to gamble. he gives out a light chuckle at your expression,

“in your favorite cafe,” he adds.

and there it is, the last piece of the puzzle. your eyes are wide, you recheck to make sure it’s not a fever dream. but he is sure of himself, and cards are ready to reveal your destiny,

“just one round, okay?” he says as he slowly nods his head. you imitate him.

your first card is a seven. he flips another card for himself. you purse your lips, but his grin is unwavering. the second cards are on the table — he’s slow and deliberate, a little too patient for your liking.

the second card is a five. twelve. you look up to him. his smile is very charming— very serene. he seems amazed. his gaze on you is sweet. almost like, for a millisecond, he’s a good friend, good company, someone you enjoy being around. and for half a second, he contemplates granting you the joy of winning. after all, you’re too cute to lose, too fragile to have your heart broken over a silly game.

your gaze shifts to his cards. there’s an ace on the table, and the other card is yet to be revealed. he waits, slowly nodding as you request one more card. eight.

twenty in total. quite close to blackjack. he looks up again. you wave your hand over your cards -letting him know you stand- your demeanor shifts. confidence lights up your expression, and he hums softly at the sight.

the smell of the air calls out your name, and the sounds of car engines are no longer as distant.

not until he flips the hole card. the card burns down the utopia you had. the king of spades.

it makes your heart sink. the king’s eyes are piercing, sword sharp, it’s a ten. the little purse on your lips is entertaining him.

it’s blackjack.

“lucky, aren’t I?” he says softly, declaring victory.

he then glances at your cards. “i was really hoping we’d grab a drink, too,” he claims, voice more cheerful than intended. the king of spades is in his hand now– he carries it like a medallion of his victory. he does it effortlessly, he does it like you aren’t there. he does it, too comfortable, it’s almost –no, definitely– cruel.

you’re left with defeat and 1000-piece puzzles. the phantasm of the cozy cafe haunts you. the tea burns your tongue on the fifty-second day, and you call out to him in pain, “wait,” you say, the king of spades still there, and you call out his name again, “one more,” he gazes at the cards. “one more time,” you beg.

an old man who lost everything on horse-races must understand the agony you’re in. an unfortunate destiny with its limited offerings for you, that’s all it is. “let’s play one more time,” you try again. a gambler figures the despair, as you keep replaying the scenario you’ve made up. the image is so vivid — the king of spades is on the table, and you’re given the second card now. fingers crossed, you slowly grab the card. and here it is; it’s the ace of diamonds, or maybe of clubs. your eyes widen at the sight. even people who hit the lottery couldn’t be able to describe it, nor could they comprehend such delight.

“please,” your voice is low and shaky. you try again, and again, and again. you’re a drowning man. you clutch at a straw. his expression is unaffected. he has had his fun, it seems. the owner is getting bored with his pet, you’ve seen it a few times. the show is over, destiny is revealed.

you come closer to him, grabbing his arm. he doesn’t seem to pay any attention to you, “do you want me to buy a card shuffler? you know, the ones they have in casinos?”

“one more time,” you try again, even though you clearly don’t stand a chance. “no can do, love,” he sighs, giving up, “you know we’ve talked about this.”

“please,” you say. the conversation isn’t going anywhere.

“it’s getting late, isn’t it?” he ushers you to your bedroom. you keep rambling about demanding a rematch, and how you are definitely going to win if you play again. his heart breaks listening to you cry and beg. you’re now a madman, lost, scared.

he tucks you in, “okay, baby,” he whispers, “let’s play again tomorrow,” he doesn’t wait for an answer before giving a quick peck on your cheek. to an outsider, you two just look like a cute couple arguing over a stupid card game.

in reality, he’s definitely going to burn that deck by tomorrow morning.

[nenoname]

i know it's because the episode cant reveal that stanford pines is the author too early and this would be a dead giveaway, but its still so skddkfdjhd that the agents didnt uncover ford having 6 fingers (especially when they managed to get his fingerprints) or a twin after investigating him for weeks

[buttercupshands]

I've been thinking a lot lately

ref to the quote under the cut

under the cut for maybe some people that would like to try and guess *shruggs*

[dingodad]

"june never fought lord english" is definitely the best explanation for what the burning letters mean that I've thought of, but I feel like that just doesn't make a ton of sense practically? like idc if some stuff from the epilogues unhappens to be clear, I just can't figure out how meat can still occur without resorting to "why didn't they just pass the life ring around"isms.

oh yeah I doubt it's going to be as simple as "John is alive and hanging out with everyone else normal-style now". there's clearly some good reason they're making us wait to actually see what the result of that first addendum was... and it's not like they're just gonna throw out the plot thread where Terezi has been hanging onto the dead John's corpse, right? I donno.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Archery Science Professor at the Vulcan Institute of Defensive Arts [Patreon | Commissions]

[oceandiagonale]

Actually, Guzman is his spanish name.

OH YEAH some other folks pointed that out too, makes sense since it's an irl Spanish name (probably why I see it around a lot!) 😳

(normally it's a surname, I've only seen it used as a first name once in a blue moon -- but also in the pokemon world it's pretty clear that naming conventions aren't the same lol)

[kitchensinksurrealism]

whenever people talk about what they were like 13 and i'm thinking like "wait that was me when i was 15" or someone's describing a stereotypical 18 year old and that was just me when i was 20. etc etc etc etc so like. although there's no way to be one particular age and everyone ages at different speeds. but idk it all adds up that i always seem to act 2 years younger at any age. soooooo tag ramble

[431989]

more resident alien posting. predictions... spoilers so beware

well. i'm upset that the shows going to have a difficult time having more serious scenes now. and that's probably what it's going to try and set itself up for.

i reaaaally would have loved to see this show do something ACTUALLY different and good. by different i mean in terms of writing and not necessarily drifting from source material. yes i'm still sour over last ep, but i wouldn't be AS sour if everyone on the show didn't treat harry and asta's relationship as "mother and child." and also if the show didn't take such a nose dive into the type of comedy it's putting out.

ALSO? IN A RECENT INTERVIEW? Sheridan going on to state that harry would lose his first """love""" (more like lust. awesome that a show trying to teach human emotion gets those two things mixed up) and then realize there's love everywhere or something? why does this feel like "weird" people are forever left to the role of outcasts. already fucked it up once i guess the guy's trying to fuck it up more. could've just left it at "he'll lose his first love, then he will have to reconcile with his feelings." but he had to drop in that last corny bit.

like. the show's source is already good. i don't understand all these decisions they're making to try and make it seem "unique." and now to get numbers back they're dumbing it way down. WHICH. BY DOING SO. HOW ARE YOU GOING TO HAVE YOUR DRAMA? like how am i supposed to take anything seriously in the show. i *could* in season 1 and parts of season 2, but now it's just whatever. it's too goofed up for me to care. and now people who love the goofy won't give two shits about whatever message you want to drop or plot you want to develop. i dont give a shit about the greys!!! i dont care what theyre doing!!!! who gives a fuck if theyll blow up the earth. none of the characters really care anymore either. oh well!!!

also, predictions kind of. i'm not trying to say this will be the be all end all but it certainly could be a turn the show takes. in one of the issues of the comic (suicide blonde i think), harry is investigating the "suicide" of a woman. by the end of the issue, he catches up with her ex-lover and ex-roommate. they were both ladies. and the girl who died had a drinking problem btw. and was constantly seeing boys. i'm all for gay couples on screen as a gay guy myself but it'll feel so cheap to pair darcy and asta together despite the way theyve been played on screen. maybe its doable. i don't know. but i genuinely could care less considering the overall tone of the show's drifted more towards a sitcom than anything else. i think the small handful of 40+ year old gay wine moms would probably love it, but the vast majority of viewers wont. either they'll hate it and say it's forced diversity (there's already people saying that about the gay couple on screen this past episode) or it'll be another nothing moment to a further nothing story. if anything it'd feel one step removed from tokenization, considering they see harry as a manchild. ableism! show's trying to seem fucking wholesome but they can't be bothered to care about their nd viewers. like "haha look we have a main gay couple!!! what do you *mean* our show has rampant ableist tropes, we have a gay couple!"

i'm just so bummed. the show's cornered itself into a sitcom so meaningful moments aren't a thing anymore. plus the comparison of harry to a child is really getting at me. like he's a grown man as a human, and hes a grown alien thing as an alien. it's such a big slap in the face to any person who cherished the witty and unique story telling of the first season... like.... i don't know.... people who would've been fans of the comic too? i have small gripes about the comic, but at least it takes itself more seriously. but the show runners haaate the people who read the comics. why? i dont know. well maybe i do know. probably seen as too nerdy and weird for their idea of the show's viewerbase. despite the fucking basis of the show being weird and nerdy.

they couldve done the darcy asta thing better if they do go down that road. i'm just saying i wouldn't be surprised. they already scared off everyone who would've cared for something like that, so i don't know how they'll manage to find an audience that cares. everything in s1 was so organic and felt real!!!!! now its just!!! nothing!!!!!!!!!!

im also thinking about the fact that after posting that one resident alien drawing i did, i've had to block tons of people because they're freaks. loud and proud conservatives. man this shit sucks.

[mylove-thresher]

new mechanical pencils so fayahhhhh