#and we know there are more revelations to come by

[writingfics-passingtime]

Bucky and queen song

Waving Your Banner

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: We Will Rock You - Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (flirtatious, no pronouns used)

Word Count: ~1300

CW: swearing, some flirting, suggestive jokes, a bit of tickling

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a flirtatious/suggestive interaction between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! My initial note-to-self from when you first sent this was, verbatim, "okay but dodgeball would be fucken hilarious with we will rock you" - so we've gone with an Avengers training game vibe with this one

The woods hummed with tension, broken by the occasional crack of a branch or the muffled thud of boots. The Avengers had turned what should’ve been a simple training game into an all-out war, and your team was desperate to gain the upper hand. Somewhere ahead, in the shadow of the tree-line, stood the final obstacle: Bucky Barnes, silent, brooding, and lethal, guarding his team’s flag, the White Wolf circling his den.

You crouched beside Sam behind a cluster of bushes, your pulse steady but sharp as you surveyed the terrain. Bucky was right where you expected him, leaning casually against a tree just outside the flag's perimeter. He looked calm, detached even, but you knew better. The slightest flicker of movement would set him in motion, and if he was after you, there’d be no escaping. Flag perimeters were a no-fly-zone, so you and Sam would have to take it on foot.

“Alright,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan. And by we, I mean you, because I’m not getting anywhere near the Winter Soldier.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “You’re faster than me.”

“He’s a wall. A brick wall with trust issues and superhuman reflexes.”

You sighed, pressing your back against the thick trunk of a tree. “Then we need a distraction. Something that’ll actually make him move.”

Sam raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s your genius plan?”

“You,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “You could bait him. Taunt him. Goad him into leaving his post.”

“And get steamrolled by the murder machine? Hard pass.” He scoffed. "Besides, you’re obviously better bait.”

The heat rushed to your face immediately. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, his grin widening. “You’ve got that whole… thing going on.”

“What thing?”

He waved a hand vaguely at you. “You know. The whole ‘badass with a secret soft side’ thing. He’ll eat it up. Hell, I think the whole team’s noticed the way he looks at you.”

You glared at him. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“He does,” Sam interrupted, revelling in your reaction. “Come on, you could probably get him to do whatever you wanted. Just say something like, ‘Oh, Bucky, is that a vibranium arm or are you just happy to see m-”

You shoved him into the bush.

Sam tried to silence his little grunts as he pulled himself out, yanking the twigs from his armour plates. “Fine. You wanna argue about this all day, or should we win?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just send in Redwing.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

The plan was simple enough: Redwing would create a distraction in a bush behind Bucky, luring him away from the flag, giving you and Sam time to move in and grab it. You moved carefully, keeping low as you crept through the underbrush. The tension in the air was electric, every rustle of leaves amplified by your own awareness of how close Bucky was.

But, true to form, Sam couldn’t resist screwing with you.

As you crept closer to the clearing, Redwing darted toward you and made a ruckus in the bush partially shielding you from view. It was more than enough to give you away, and before you could even curse Sam’s name, you heard it - the unmistakable sound of boots crunching leaves, closing in fast.

Your head whipped around just in time to see Bucky moving toward you with the kind of speed that made your heart stutter. His expression was sharp, predatory, and - gods help you - just a little amused.

“Shit,” you muttered, bolting from your hiding spot.

“Running won’t help you,” Bucky called after you, his voice dark and smooth, laced with amusement.

You didn’t bother responding, too focused on dodging tree trunks and low-hanging branches. But it didn’t matter how fast you ran; he was faster. In seconds, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you clean off your feet.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low in your ear.

“Not yet, you don’t,” you growled, twisting sharply in his grip.

You elbowed him in the side, breaking free for a split second, but he was faster. He blocked your next move, his vibranium hand catching your wrist and spinning you around. You didn’t go down without a fight, aiming a kick at his shin and struggling against his hold, refusing to make it easy for him.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost admiringly, his grip tightening as you wrestled.

You managed to get one arm free, landing a half-decent shove against his chest. He staggered back slightly but recovered in less than an instant, his smirk returning, sharper than before.

“Alright,” he said, his voice edged with amusement, “you wanna play rough? Let’s play rough.”

Before you could react, he was on you, trapping you between his body and the wide trunk of a tree. His fingers darted to your ribs, pressing against your sides with infuriating precision.

You jolted, a startled laugh bursting out before you could stop it. “What the fu- hey! No, that’s cheating!”

“Cheating?” he echoed, his grin widening as he tickled you again, this time catching your waist. “You’re the one trying to fight dirty.”

You squirmed, trying to slap his hands away, but the tickling was relentless, and your traitorous laughter left you weak, your arms useless.

“No! I- dammit, Barnes!���

Seizing the moment, he stepped back, grabbed both your wrists and yanked you against him, hauling you effortlessly over his shoulder. You kicked your legs in protest, but his grip was unyielding, his hand steady against the backs of your thighs.

“Put me down!” you demanded, pounding your fists against his unfairly muscled back.

“Not until you’re in jail,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” you grumbled, your cheeks burning as you felt his arm tighten around your thighs.

He chuckled, the sound warm and agonising. “Unusual, maybe. But I’d say you’re enjoying it.”

“Barnes!” you snapped, squirming harder.

His laughter deepened, and he carried you with an ease that was both infuriating and maddeningly attractive. When he finally stopped, he set you down just outside the jail, his hands lingering at your waist.

“Let me go,” you said, though the bite in your tone had softened.

He stepped closer, his body a looming presence as his eyes bore into yours. “Say please.”

You scowled, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, his smirk widening as he stepped forward, forcing you to step back - straight into the jail’s boundary.

You glared at him, your chest heaving as he stood just inches away, his gaze dark and intent. “Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “but close.”

Before you could fire back, Sam’s triumphant whoop echoed through the trees. You turned just in time to see him flying above your team's base with Bucky's team's flag, waving it over his head like a trophy.

Bucky groaned, his head falling back briefly before he levelled a sharp glare at you. “Distraction,” he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, the word practically dripping with accusation.

Your lips curved into a coy smile despite yourself.

“You’re too damn good at it,” he said, his tone darker now, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and stalked off.

Flushed, you called after him. "This isn't over, Barnes!"

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, turning to face you as he walked backwards towards his next mission. "Not by a long shot."

[girlactionfigure]

Human Rights and Human Wrongs

URI KURLIANCHIK

“It’s impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means… Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies.”

— Apocalypses Now

There has been a lot of talk about the "dehumanization of the Palestinians," so let's talk about this for a minute.

First of all, what does it mean? In plain English, it means Jews no longer have pity for Arabs who get hurt in the war they started to eradicate the Jewish people in the Middle East. This is mostly true. Even the eyes of the most gentle Israelis light up when they see a rocket hitting a Hezbollah launcher in South Lebanon or a building block used by the butchers of Hamas demolished in Beit Lahia.

It wasn't like that until recently. How did we come to this?

When I was a boy, Israel was a leftist country. We had huge peace rallies, the Oslo accords, all our war movies were of the insipid "shooting and crying" genre. We even had a subject called "peace" in school! People like me were viewed as crazy marginals (except back then, I also supported the two state solution, all civilized people did). To even suggest that not all societies wanted peace was seen as vulgar and uncouth. Nice people cried for the innocent dead on both sides. We could forgive the Arabs for killing our children but not for making us kill theirs. Etc… etc…

This euphoria of peace born out of the Oslo Accords was followed by decades of barbarism from the Arabs that eroded the pity reserves of the Jewish people. 

Yes, pity is a resource, and it's finite.

This wasn't the result of slanted reporting or anti-Arab propaganda. The media was firmly left-leaning and went out of its way to defend the Arabs after each new atrocity that was difficult to imagine was done by humans, and the widespread celebrations that followed. More and more, people asked themselves, “where is this peace partner? What kind of a society are we expected to live side by side with?”

Jews were torn to pieces with bare hands, baby skulls were smashed with rocks, little girls were butchered in their beds, children were massacred in schools, in discotheques, on buses. People were mutilated, castrated, crippled; not as collateral damage but meticulously, with sadistic precision, by an enemy that seemed to always prefer to go after defenseless civilians, that seemed to revel in atrocity.

And each time, the Jack the Rippers responsible for these horrors were celebrated as heroes by the Arab street and their progressive allies. No one stood up and said, "guys, there are laws even in war." No, when it came to hurting us, it was always, "by any means necessary." The laws were there to prevent us from protecting ourselves, never to protect us, and “resistance” often seemed like nothing more than an excuse to indulge in sadism.

Time after time, year after year, decade after decade; the Arabs produced images of horror that even the most progressive Israeli peacenik couldn't spin into anything other than what it was: the portrait of a savage society.

The change didn't occur at once. 

People first started voicing opinions that were outside the Overton window, only to be shut down in polite society. Then polite society started shrugging because it ran out of arguments.

Then October 7 came, the ultimate atrocity exhibition, the ultimate barbarity, recorded in vivid details and spread so ubiquitously there was no chance anyone missed it. Shocked and hurt, the Jews who still had pity learned that the Arabs and their progressive allies had no pity or even empathy for them.

"You made it up! You did it to yourself! It was only military targets!" and other forms of sadistic gaslighting were hurled smugly at a grieving nation. "Where are the 40 beheaded babies, haha? With or without baking powder, har har?"

The message was simple: "No matter what happens to you, you deserve no pity. Your very existence is a crime."

For many, this was the final straw. 

This was the moment their last shred of compassion for the enemy evaporated and their hearts became hard. Hearts of survival. Hearts of war. This is what the pseudointellectual farts mean when they talk about, “the dehumanization of the Palestinians.” The enemy finally managed to push Israeli society into not caring about the enemy. It took 40 years of hard word but we’re finally there.

Will this pity ever return, or have we finally transformed into a new kind of nation? I don't know.

What I do know is that when you treat someone without pity for decades, don't expect them to be compassionate towards you forever. 

Commit enough inhumanities and you'll be dehumanized.

[rottenpumpkin13]

I am immensely curious and it's like 4AM here so have some questions! :D That you are under no obligation to answer at all, so no worries if you just wanna ignore 'em!

Have you come up with names for the remnants?

Do Cloud's have simple, nature names like is so frequently HC'd or eloquent names of a sophisticated nature? Or just something in between?

What of all the other's names?

Do Genesis' remnants have simple, common names or something more befitting a thespian lineage? Or do they follow the theme of his own name in their meaning?

Who chose their names?

If they had names before (and not, like, a number or label like "Subject XYZ"), do they wish to change them?

Who was or would be the first, out of origins and remnants, to veto Zack from helping with names?

I think in all cases the remnants just know they're own names? And it's cool if Cloud's remnants' names are related/similar to his. The same goes for Genesis' remnants.

Remnant #1 (Little Kid Cloud): Named something earthy like Sprout to represent growth and innocence.

Remnant #2 (Teen Cloud): Something strong like Storm maybe something to symbolize strength, turbulence, and the transition into maturity.

Remnant #3 (Cloud after the Nibelheim Incident): Named Ember lol, something about the remnants of fire, destruction, pain, etc.

• We have to name Genesis remnants #1, #2 and #3 Psalm, Exodus and Revelation, it's the law.

• Cloud doesn't let Zack name children because he thinks "Dogzilla" is an appropriate name for a puppy.

[scrollonso]

Moira — Marcmarc

The weight of Olympus pressed heavy on Marco’s shoulders. He was no Atlas, condemned to bear the heavens, but the burden Marc had laid upon him felt eternal — a punishment from a god for sins he hadn’t even known he’d committed. He wasn’t divine, merely mortal, yet the agony felt like a curse, his suffering etched into the fabric of their lives like a tragic myth.

Their year together had been a labyrinth, one Marco had willingly entered without a thread to guide him back. Now, trapped in its endless corridors, he realized he was not only Theseus, the hopeful hero searching for salvation but also the Minotaur — beastly, broken, and doomed to perish at the heart of his monstrous love. Every step had brought him deeper into the maze, and every glance Marc cast his way tethered him further, tighter, leaving no escape.

It hadn’t always seemed so dark. It had started innocently — or so Marco had believed. There was no innocence in Marc’s molten gaze, though, sharp and electrifying like Zeus’ thunderbolt. If there was any purity in the way Marc pursued him, it was the innocence of a predator baiting prey. His charm had overwhelmed Marco, drowning him like a wave crashing over an unguarded shore. Marco had been in awe, as mortals always were in the presence of gods, and Marc had reveled in that power.

Marc whispered promises of forever, his voice sweet and golden as stolen nectar from Olympus. Each word was a lie Marco wanted to believe. Marc seemed every myth come to life — a hero without weakness, a god untouchable in his perfection. And Marco had fallen, not like Icarus, recklessly soaring toward the sun, but like Persephone, dragged unwillingly into an underworld he’d never agreed to enter. Once there, he was both enchanted and terrified by the one who had taken him captive.

Valentino Rossi’s shadow loomed over everything, as though his presence were a curse spoken in an ancient tongue. Marco could never escape it. Valentino’s influence was as unshakable as if their lives had been woven by the Fates themselves, each thread tangled in inescapable knots. Valentino and Marc’s history wasn’t hidden; it was as bitter and ancient as the roots of a gnarled olive tree, their animosity weathered by time but never eroded. Every interaction between them was a clash of titans, a silent war beneath the surface.

What no one saw — what Marco had come to understand too late — was that Marc hadn’t simply fallen for him. That would have been too human. For Marc, winning Marco’s heart wasn’t enough. He needed to use it, shape it into a weapon to wield against Valentino. It wasn’t love that burned in Marc’s gaze but vengeance. Every smile, every touch, every whispered promise was a calculated strike, and Marco was nothing more than the blade Marc wielded in his endless war.

“Did you ever love me?” Marco’s voice broke the silence of the dimly lit room, his question soft yet jagged, like the edges of broken glass. He sat on the edge of their shared bed, his shoulders slumped under the invisible weight of what he already knew.

Marc leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, the faintest flicker of something — guilt? amusement? — in his eyes. “Why would you ask that?” His tone was measured, calm, but it didn’t hide the storm brewing underneath.

“Because I need to hear it,” Marco replied, his fists clenching against his thighs. “I need to know if this — if I — was ever real to you.”

Marc stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the room like a dark omen. “What is real, Marco?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, yet laced with a strange softness. He reached out, his fingers brushing Marco’s cheek with a tenderness that felt like mockery. “Does it matter if I loved you? You stayed anyway.”

Marco’s heart twisted painfully at the words. “You used me,” he whispered, barely able to keep his voice steady. “Everything we had — every moment — it was just a weapon. A way to hurt Vale.”

Marc’s expression flickered, but his grip tightened on Marco’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “And you let me,” he said coldly. “You let me because you couldn’t walk away. You wanted to believe I loved you, even when you knew better.”

“I stayed because I loved you,” Marco spat, tears brimming in his eyes. “Because I thought— maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Marc interrupted sharply. “That you could change me? Save me? Don’t be a fool, Marco. Mortals don’t save gods. They worship them. They sacrifice for them. And sometimes, they burn for them.”

Marco wrenched his face free from Marc’s grasp, rising to his feet. “Then I won’t burn for you anymore,” he said, his voice trembling but resolute. “Find someone else to play your games, Marc.”

For a moment, Marc said nothing, his gaze inscrutable, the silence between them stretching unbearably. Finally, he smiled, slow and cruel, and stepped back. “You think you can walk away from me?” he asked, his tone almost amused. “There’s no thread to guide you out of this, Marco. You’ll come back, just like you always do.”

Marco turned away, his chest tight with the weight of Marc’s words. Maybe Marc was right. Maybe there was no way out of the maze. But somewhere deep inside, Marco clung to a fragile, fleeting hope — a thread of his own weaving — that he could still find his way to freedom.

At first, Marco hadn’t seen it. He was blind, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to see. He thought Marc’s love was a gift from Eros himself — golden arrows piercing his chest and leaving him breathless. He mistook Marc’s fire for passion, his intensity for devotion. Like any mortal in the presence of a god, Marco had believed, foolishly, with a heart full of blind faith.

But the truth came like the icy grip of the River Styx — cold, unrelenting, dragging him into its depths. Marc’s hands on him weren’t only for him. They weren’t acts of love. They were tools, instruments of pain wielded not against Marco, but through him. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise was a thread in the tapestry Marc wove to ensnare Vale. Every lingering hand in the paddock, every sly smile aimed at the older Italian from across the garage — none of it was love. It was war, and Marco was the weapon.

“Do you even care about me?” Marco asked one evening, his voice hoarse, a quiet desperation in the words. His eyes searched Marc’s face, looking for any sign of sincerity.

Marc, laid delicately against the silk sheets of their hotel bedroom, didn’t flinch. His eyes flickered to Marco briefly, a cool smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What’s to care about, Marco?” he replied, the words sharp, edged with something Marco couldn’t quite place. “You’re here, aren’t you? That’s all that matters.”

Marco shook his head, frustration building within him. “No. No, that’s not enough. I’ve been used, haven’t I? All this — everything we’ve shared — it’s been a game to you. A weapon, and I was the pawn.”

Marc’s smile widened slightly, as though Marco had finally understood something he’d been too blind to see. “A pawn?” Marc repeated, stepping closer. His voice softened, but the venom beneath it was undeniable. “You were never a pawn, Marco. You were the perfect tool. A beautiful one, but a tool nonetheless.”

Marco recoiled, the sting of those words hitting deeper than he wanted to admit. “I—" he choked, his chest tight. “I thought you— I thought I meant something to you.”

Marc’s gaze was unreadable, and his voice dropped to a low murmur. “You did, once. But the truth is... you were never meant for me, Marco. You were meant for this.” He gestured vaguely to the distance, the track, the tension between them. “You were meant to be the one who brought Vale closer to me. Everything we’ve done together? It’s been for him. Not you. Never you.”

The realization hit Marco like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His world, already shattered, seemed to splinter further. “You— You used me to get to him?” His voice cracked, disbelief and betrayal tangled in every word.

Marc’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Did you think I wanted you, Marco? Not in the way you wanted me. I needed you to make it hurt, to make him see what he couldn’t.”

“God, you’re sick,” Marco whispered, his heart sinking into his stomach. “You really don’t love me, do you?”

Marc stepped even closer, now right in front of Marco, his presence overwhelming. He placed a hand on Marco’s cheek, his fingers brushing against the skin gently, almost lovingly. But the coldness in his eyes made Marco’s skin crawl. “You were a means to an end. You’re not the first, Marco. You won’t be the last. But you’re right about one thing.” Marc’s voice dropped to a low, almost conspiratorial whisper. “You meant something to me. You meant to hurt him. And that, Marco, is all you ever were.”

Marco’s chest tightened painfully, as if his heart was being ripped from him. “And what about now?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you even need me anymore?”

Marc paused, studying him for a long moment before his lips parted in a slow, calculating smile. “I don’t need you,” Marc said, his words soft, final. “Not anymore. But you’ll stay. You always stay.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Marco replied, his voice trembling, though his eyes were burning with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “But I’m too far gone now, aren’t I? I’ll never escape you.”

Marc’s gaze softened, a flicker of something almost like pity passing through his eyes. “No,” he said, almost gently. “You won’t. But you don’t need to. You’ve already done your part.”

Marco turned away, his hand gripping the edge of the table as if it could anchor him to something real, something solid. “You’ve already broken me, Marc. What else is there to take?”

Marc didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let out a slow breath, the silence between them thick with the weight of unspoken truths. “Nothing left, I suppose.” Then, he added, his voice light, almost dismissive, “But that’s not the point, is it?”

Marco stared at the ground, his heart torn between the harsh truth and the cruel remnants of his love for Marc. You’ve already broken me, he thought, but somehow, that wasn’t enough for Marc. Nothing ever would be.

And still, Marco stayed.

He stayed because to leave would mean casting himself into an ocean as vast and uncharted as the myths of old, a lone ship doomed to drift without anchor or direction. Marc’s touch, his words, were like the sirens that lured Odysseus — beautiful, irresistible, and utterly lethal. Marco knew the song was a lie, but he couldn’t plug his ears, couldn’t tie himself to the mast of reason. He couldn’t look away from Marc’s molten gaze, even as it burned through him. And he couldn’t face the endless void that yawned before him, the terrifying expanse of life without Marc.

So, he endured.

He let Marc press his lips to Vale’s cheek during the post-race celebrations, a gesture that wasn’t affection but a declaration of war, the sharpness of his laugh cutting through the air like a spear hurled by Athena herself. He stood by, swallowing the bitter bile of humiliation, as Marc’s hand lingered too long on Vale’s arm, their smiles exchanged like cryptic messages from Apollo — inscrutable, mocking, and meant to exclude him. Marco saw the game they played, each move deliberate and cruel, their reconciliation nothing more than a battlefield where he was the casualty.

He stood there, still as a statue carved of marble, a monument to endurance and despair. He was no hero. He wasn’t Achilles, whose love for Patroclus shook the heavens. He wasn’t even Orpheus, whose song could move the gods. He was the forgotten mortal, the offering left on the altar of their endless feud, sacrificed for the sake of their pride.

In the darkest moments, Marco thought of Achilles and Patroclus, of their love that ended not in betrayal but in fire and grief, forged in loyalty and sealed in death. He wished for that kind of love — a love so pure it scorched the earth and left nothing but ash in its wake, a love so unyielding it defied gods and fate alike. But he wasn’t Achilles, destined to be remembered as a hero. He wasn’t even Patroclus, the quiet strength behind a warrior’s fury. No, Marco was neither hero nor martyr. He was a pawn in someone else’s game, a nameless figure caught in the margins of a tragedy penned by gods who didn’t even care to learn his name.

And perhaps that was the cruellest twist of all: that he was here, drowning in this endless myth of his own making, and yet he knew Marc loved him. Not in the way mortals deserved to be loved, not with tenderness or honesty, but in the way gods loved their creations — possessive, all-consuming, and cruel. Somewhere beneath the manipulation, buried beneath the cruelty that sliced at Marco’s soul like the blade of Perseus, there was a spark of something real. He could see it, feel it, in the moments Marc held him close as though he were something divine, something worth worshipping. But love from a god like Marc was never freely given. Like the fire Prometheus gifted mankind, it came with a cost. And Marc’s love was no exception — it was a curse disguised as salvation, a golden apple that brought only ruin.

Marco bore it like a crown of thorns, his every breath weighted with the knowledge that he could never escape, not truly. Each night, as Marc pulled him close and whispered sweet lies about forever, Marco felt the chains tightening around his heart. He could almost hear the Fates laughing as they wove his story into their tapestry, a thread of pain and longing twisted into eternity.

"Does it hurt?" Marc asked one night, his voice low, soft, almost tender. His fingers traced the lines of Marco’s face as though sculpting him into something new, something more than human — something Marc could claim entirely as his own. The touch was gentle, reverent, but Marco knew better. He knew it was just another tool in Marc’s arsenal, another way to carve away at his sense of self.

Marco didn’t answer. What was the point? Words wouldn’t change anything. His silence stretched between them, heavy and ancient as the myths he clung to for meaning, a reminder of every mortal who had loved a god and paid the price. His story was no different, a tale as old as time itself: a mortal ensnared by a god’s fickle affections, doomed to suffer for a love he could not let go.

Marc’s eyes flickered to Marco’s, searching for something. Maybe an answer. Maybe a sign that Marco would finally confess, finally ask for more than Marc was willing to give. But Marco’s gaze remained empty, locked on a place beyond Marc, somewhere where his heart didn’t ache quite so much.

“You know,” Marc murmured, his breath warm against Marco’s ear, “You could leave. You’re not trapped here, Marco. You could walk away from me, from all of this.”

But Marco shook his head, lips pressed together in a thin line. "I can’t."

Marc’s fingers stilled on Marco’s cheek, his expression flickering with something almost like surprise. He laughed softly, the sound bitter. "You truly do believe I’m a god, don’t you? You think you’re just... powerless?"

"I think I’m a fool," Marco replied quietly, "but I can’t escape, not yet."

Marc’s fingers tightened around his face, forcing Marco to look at him again. There was a coldness in Marc’s gaze, something dark and calculating. “You really believe you’re trapped? You have a choice. But you choose to stay, to endure, like all the mortals in the stories. You know what that makes you, Marco?”

Marco didn’t reply. Instead, his thoughts drifted to Ariadne, the girl who had given everything to help Theseus defeat the Minotaur, only to be abandoned on a distant shore. Ariadne, the forgotten piece of the myth. Marco wondered what happened to her after Theseus left her behind. What would happen to him when Marc no longer needed him?

He thought of the labyrinth, the one Marc had created for him, with no thread to guide him out. Marco was trapped, no escape, no hope for salvation.

“Does it hurt?” Marc repeated, his voice cutting through the silence.

A small, pained smile tugged at Marco’s lips. “Yes. But not in the way you think.”

Marc’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing more. He didn’t need to.

Marco looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in a long while. Marc, the god of his world, the Minotaur that kept him locked in the labyrinth. Marco had been so certain he was the hero, but now he knew. There was no hero here. There was only the sacrifice.

And still, he stayed.

Because walking away, turning his back on Marc, was the scariest thing he could ever do. It was easier to endure, to suffer, to survive — even if survival meant becoming a shadow, nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s war.

“Don’t you ever wonder,” Marco whispered, his voice breaking, “what it would be like to be free? To not have to live in your shadow anymore?”

Marc’s lips curled into a smile, soft but cruel. “Freedom is a myth, Marco. Just like love. But you’re here, aren’t you? With me. In my world. Because you belong to me now.”

Marco nodded, defeated, and let the silence swallow them both whole. There was no escape. There was only Marc.

[gofancyninjaworld]

"It struggles but it still obeys" -- OPM webcomic chapter 150 review

Summary

The trap we've been waiting to see sprung has finally started to close. Everywhere we look, the triumphant Neo Heroes are stopping, stuttering, and freezing, their pupils fixed and dialated like a corpse's. Then, they move, reanimated to a new existence, one they have no control over. Only lucky individuals who've modified their suits in some way -- or had them broken -- have escaped. And as Accel, Puri Puri, and Amai Mask will testify, the new Neo Heroes attack former allies savagely on sight.

Elsewhere, we see Genos encounter 'Boros's' brain-dead corpse. It has been kept functional on life support in the second of Metal Knight's labs. Noting that the creature is an incredibly powerful one that can't be allowed to rampage. Genos nevertheless feels for it: it's being kept alive to fight. Like him. While Google Translate isn't the best, the translation it comes up with, of Genos saying that at least one of them should have an easy escape when he moves to kill 'Boros', really hits hard.

We see how clearly Genos sees the situation he's in. The rampaging cyborg screwed him out of his past and any social context. Dr Kuseno screwed him out of a future. And now Saitama, the lackadaisical, uncaring Saitama, has been screwing him out of any chance to salvage anything of value out of his situation. Damn straight he's angry.* And in a hurry. There better be a kindly deity willing to pour cooling water on Dr Bofoi's soul, for unless there's a miracle of understanding to stay Genos's hand, that soul is about to be parted from its body with flames so hot it'll arrive in the afterlife still on fire.

Speaking of the lackadaisical Saitama, he's been doing a good job of eliminating the robots wherever he's encountered them. Blue follows the trail of the storm of robot parts he's been flinging hither and thither and accidentally gets steam-rollered by Saitama. That's where the chapter ends.

When we'll continue, your guess is as good as mine.

Meta

Insects. That's all that people are worth to The Organization. It's been nearly three years since I first pointed out the difference between the cyborgs we'd been seeing to date to what the Neo Heroes were doing. I brought up this harrowing reality of using insects as cyborgs and forcing them to move according to an operator's instructions:

"It struggles but it still obeys," is what the lead scientist says. In the story, we see human beings living this reality. Raiden must have incredible willpower: despite everything, he's able to stutter a few words to Puri Puri, begging the latter to save him from his torment even as he rains blows down on the hero.

Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/OnePunchMan/comments/1agdu1y/translation_of_raidens_muttering_webcomic_spoiler/

For luckless souls who fall into the tender mercies of Erimin and Destro and their 'recovery' capsules, there's an even crueler fate waiting. I'll save that for another day. We'll find our way back to what's happening at Neo Hero HQ in time.

Yes, we the readers have been sitting on high being fed the answers to the evil behind the Neo Hero facade. We may not know who is ultimately responsible, and we may not yet know why, but we know a lot and a lot looks 'obvious' to us. However, the characters in the story can only discover the reality based on the evidence they actually have access to and what they already know/think. ONE is very strict on rules of evidence. If it's taken various individuals until now to start to know, it's not because they're stupid. Never think that, oh person given the answers from the back of the book.

The question is what are the individuals who have begun to understand what's happening going to do? They're all scattered in a deeply hostile and dangerous world -- and there isn't much time to do something before civilization is too broken and cowed to function.

That is, of course, the most urgent problem. Speaking of saving civilization, is the Hero Association going to be saved? But there are other urgent problems. Like, one cannot help but worry that Dr. Bofoi is the wrong target to eliminate. He surely deserves some karma but it may well be a gross miscarriage of justice. What's going to happen there? What's going to happen with 'Boros' (I'm not going to take away the quotations until the critter has a mind of his own again)? And really, who truly is behind all this and what do they want?

Tune in sometime in the future to find out.

Aside

*Yes, I have a lot more to say about this, but I need first to set the context to what I'm going to say. So look for additional meta. Nag me if I'm tardy!

[thatneoncrisis]

oh captain my captain i didn't know what league of legends game was when i watched arcane. so i thought the plot was alright since i didn't (still don't) know the game lore. if it wasn't basically a prequel story, trying to aim the characters at the way they are in canon, do u think the plot and character arcs would have held up alright? or does that actually make the arcane canon story worse since it wouldn't at least have the existing canon as something it needed to land at eventually as an excuse for any "out of character" decisions? thank u

i wouldnt even call it a prequel story? its like a very elaborate au in a sense, one that feels comfortable changing things to a certain extent- clothes, personality adjustments, motivations, but they still have to hit certain beats. vi has to be an enforcer, jinx has to be a wild card harley quinn type, ekkos time powers ect ect. idk WHAT it is maybe the show needed more time or tighter focus or less characters but i just felt that like, some of the story decisions directly relating to LoL lore werent outright bad but didnt have a lot of time to breathe. the standout example being ekkos time thing, where when i watched that scene i assumed it was both a stylistic representation of a fight and establishing his and jinx's prior relationship (which is kind of too little too late considering they did not fucking speak once as kids pre time skip), and then i had to get a friend to explain to me for SEVERAL MINUTES that he literally died during that fight and it was supposed to be showing his rewind thing. it just wasnt clear at all and his character would not change in the slightest if he didnt have it. but you cant NOT include it so. *

really i have no clue the full extent of the story the writers wanted to tell and how much LoL is binding their hands on story beats. and i REALLY dont want to be inflexible considering i still have a full season coming up that might make me more receptive to certain decisions. but considering how much of the cast i REALLY like just straight up are not in the game, i think they are fully capable of making a solid story completely divorced from league

*someone in the comments told me apparently that Wasnt his time thing and my original read of the scene was correct so im not gonna hold it against the show.

[chirpsythismorning]

With Birthdaygate pretty much confirmed, here are two moments from 4x02 Vecna's Curse that hit different...

(1) First we have Jonathan stopping Will as he goes into Rink-O-Mania to tell him something. Will turns around quickly and almost looks, dare I say, hopeful?

But why would that be the case? Unless of course there's something Will's waiting for Jonathan to say, that he hasn't said yet? Happy Birthday perhaps? Surprise Will! We didn't forget your birthday! We're coming in! We have a party planned and everything! Meet you inside! (interesting that there were birthday decorations in there as well...)

Unfortunately, all Jonathan does is tell Will that they'll be back to pick them up at 6:00. And so Will goes from sad, to hopeful, only to go back to looking sad again...

I think a lot of fans attributed Jonathan's concerned looks in this moment as him knowing about Will's feelings for Mike. And I do still think that's present, especially as he's telling Will they'll be there to pick them up later. In that specific moment he sounds sympathetic like Sorry buddy, that sucks.

However, the look Jonathan makes after Will turns away, as Argyle starts driving off, doesn't look like sympathy or pity from someone witnessing unrequited love. It looks like confusion and almost deja vu being experienced by Jonathan himself. As if he's forgetting something, but doesn't know what it is...

(2) Next is at the very end of Will and Mike's fight. Mike sort of echoes the same level of frustration he had during their rain fight, when he said It's not my fault you don't like girls. We know the scenes parallel each other, and how after both of those things are said, there's this silence that takes over, making clear that this is as far as they can go, otherwise they might risk hurting each other beyond fixing. We see both of them make faces of deep emotion here, because they probably are also being reminded of their fight last summer.

And so Will's options here were to, either (A) take it even further and risk hurting Mike more than he's hurting him, or (B) just don't say anything and let the argument end there before it gets beyond repair.

But the thing is, it almost looked like Will was going to say something. He quite literally mouths the word But-- only to cut himself off all together, looking defeated.

Here's what I think. THIS would have been the perfect moment for Will to say, But, you forgot my birthday, Mike. If it was genuinely something as simple as Mike and everyone simply forgetting and needing a reminder, without any supernatural implications involved, I think this would have been the moment to do it.

It would have also mirrored their rain fight even better because it would have been Will saying something and likely walking away, leading to Mike being like OH SHIT I have to fix this! I messed up.

But we all know it's not that simple.

As far as Will knowns, EVERYONE forgot his birthday, not just Mike. And so him calling out Mike here, might have felt slightly unjustified in that it wasn't just him who forgot.

It's almost like they're not the problem here, he is. (WILL POV ANGST)

That's what truly makes the scenes at Rink-O-Mania so heartbreaking. Because it wasn't just about Mike and El ignoring him, it was the fact that it was his literal birthday. All the most important people in his life, who used the literal memory of his birthday to bring him back bc they cared about him so much in the past, have now apparently forgot about him in the present.

Not to mention, the story not blatantly acknowledging his birthday being forgotten in the narrative of s4, means that it was framed this way bc the whole point was they only wanted it to be hinted at in s4, saving it as a surprise revelation in s5.

And so, if Will did say here, but Mike, you forgot my birthday, how would that have impacted the conflict in s4 and Vecna's plan as a whole, specifically for Will? All it would have taken was them connecting the dots after that, figuring out Vecna's plan before he could even reach Will, rendering s5 plotless?...

S5 is likely going to jump right into this, there's too much incriminating evidence about unused footage at the Rink-O-Mania location. It also fits with them not mentioning it in s4 if it's intended to be an early s5 revelation.

TBH with all the storylines going on in s4, them exploring the depths of Will's connection to Vecna just wasn't an option, bc they wouldn't have been able to do it justice. He needs to be front and center for that.

They're clearly saving the best for last...

[soath]

going back and watching the chunk of 4sd i missed and yeah, brennan's approach to forcing the players into the prime role makes sense! i was really gunning for a betrayer god player and i think specifically something fun could have been done with "betrayer god who doesn't want to destroy aeor wholesale because it's actually their unethical experimentation vibe" (or, alternately, when i first thought taliesin might be playing the chained oblivion as a weird messedup sort-of god, already half cannibalized, a maximum nihilism approach where one member of the party is actually trying to sabotage their efforts so they all die). but his reasoning is very sturdy. and with only three episodes, letting the relationship between the prime deities shine was completely the correct choice. even though i think they could have designed a malicious pc to meet it, his standard of You Can Play A Betrayer God If You Can Make Them Interesting worked out, great management.

[vamptoll]

4b girl told me before class she now believes in LGBT rights.

Yay.

[whatudottu]

Absolute theory/headcanon/analysis/general idea legend whatudottu character arc of slowly becoming one of the four (4) Cerebrocrustacean fans in the entire fandom (even if Petrosapiens will always be #1 in its heart, which, you know, completely understandable NGL) let’s gooooo!

Also I can’t believe I haven’t made this connection until now but:

Cerebrocrustacean: “My people have a rich and complex history and culture, but most of the galactic audience boils us down to being nothing but ‘the violently bigoted xenophobes who keep destroying their own planet’ and it frustrates me to no end.”

Gourmand who’s been forced to hear the same “I can excuse cannibalism but I draw the line at marrying outside of your own race” joke over and over again: “Yeah, welcome to the club, pal.”

Me and my homies (4) being cerebrocrustacean fans: If cerebrocrustaceans have 0 fans we are dead, haha- Would buy merchandise to convince CN that Brainstorm is a cool transformation *looks over my shoulder to see the playdough brainstorm with removable brain toy that either I or my sibling got millions of years ago*

ANYWAY!

It's very evident when I don't think about a particular species when I have to look something up like the gourmand cannibalism, but seeing as though they have a collective pocket dimension where their stomach goes (at least that's where the logic got them in the show instead of being consumed food expelled in energy reflux), if cannibalism didn't implode the two gourmands like how bag of holding inception works then I suppose it's far better than *shudders* perk murk relationships. Got a whole 'house divided' 'alike in dignity' situation over here, Perkulet and Murktague having asses-

...You know what if I get a chance to think about gourmands in more detail I might turn that pocket dimension into a magic thing instead of a xenobiology thing that's just overall bullshit- comes free with potentially real cannibalism but like they've eaten 11 planets I think cannibalism just in general pales in comparison to what they could do-

Well, whatever cannibalism gourmands excuse and all the jokes they have to deal with about perk murk relationships being somehow much much worse, at least they don't get shoveled with 'violent bigots' that 'aren't smart enough to support their lifestyle without destroying their own planet' which well- I don't have any present headcanons as to why Encephalonus is on it's 4th edition yet but let me tell you, when cerebrocrutaceans found out the galvans lost their planet (admittedly to the Highbreed Invasion) and then galvans WEREN'T immediately assumed to have fucked up somewhere, you can bet that Dr Psychobos was one in the crowd that went absolutely livid.

[chiistarri]

gyus i might be a little aro ☝️

[nostalgia-tblr]

Re: Hunting for Sport Poll though, I do want to add (separately) that you don't have to feel bad about not knowing the history of every place on Earth, even the famous bits. The world is very large and history is very long and there is no way you'll ever know even a basic outline of everyone's national histories unless you spend all day every day doing nothing else. Think of how much time you spent in school in a history class and it's no longer quite so shocking that you don't know even quite major things from the history of wherever you live.

So, like. Don't beat yourself up over things you didn't know because nobody ever taught them to you. And hey, you know now!

[twilighttheater]

Relationship tags cause why not

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[specsthesecond]

Being a waitress/bottle girl at a club that caters to monsters.

While serving a table of orcs their drinks you hear whistling from behind you and turn towards the table of werewolves calling you over,

"C'mere Doll, why don't you spend some time with us? It'd be better than looking at those ugly green faces."

The rest of the table barks out laughter and all you do is look back at the table of orcs to gauge their reactions, just incase you have to call the bouncer to stop another brawl.

"Aw yeah cus your slobbering snout's much more attractive ain't it?"

One orc yells and the others hurl their chosen insults across the table as well. The werewolves grumble and snarl insults back and you just stand in the middle of this, trying to think of an escape.

"Maybe she ain't at your table for a reason!"

One of the orcs claims boldly and all the other orcs voice their agreement while the wolves clearly disagree.

"Why don't we let the lady decide" A wolf with greying fur suggests with a smirk and both tables seem to agree on this being just a wonderful idea.

"Well love? Who's better then? Us or the mutts?"

"Aye! The real question is who can treat her better, isn't that right Doll?"

The attention of the two tables are now on you, waiting for your answer with baited breaths and half hard cocks probably.

"....I prefer minotaurs."

This deadpan response takes a few seconds to sink in before a chorus of disagreements and further arguing commences but you're already making your way towards the bar, you're sure they don't mind watching your tiny skirt bounce as you walk away.

That answer wasn't random, it's actually been the only thing you could think of all day. Your Minotaur coworkers cock reaching deep into your stomach while he pounds you into next week. You think that might be why so many customers have been extra forward with you today, they could probably smell the need on you.

You finally make it back to the bar, getting ready to end your shift and finally get some relief-

"You causing trouble?"

You whip around to see just the monster you were so desperate to see. He stands at the edge of the bar in his bouncer uniform, his sleeves hug his biceps very nicely and you nearly purr imagining what that arm would feel like around your throat. He gazes down at you with a knowing look.

"Me? Oh, I would never."

You look up at him and play with the collar of your shirt, successfully drawing his eyes to the generous amount of cleavage your uniform provides.

He huffs in amusement.

"They don't seem to think so."

He tilts his head and massive horns towards the two tables you just left where the occupants are all peering over one another to see the interaction between you and the bovine beast in front of you.

You scoff, take his arm and turn him around so that he's only focusing on you.

"I'm off. You're off in 15...maybe you could come by my place again....or something?"

You nervously bite your lip and he doesn't know why you're getting nervous.

You weren't nervous when you sent him that video of your stuffed cunt clenching around the Minotaur themed dildo you've had since before you were seeing eachother. You definitely weren't nervous when you sent him another video 6 hours ago of you stuffing said dildo into your perfect pussy in the employee bathrooms before slipping your tiny panties on over it, keeping the silicone deep in your cunt.

He pulls out his keys and leans down closer to you,

"Be ready when I get to the car."

You nearly squeal in excitement as you grab the keys and reach up to kiss his cheek. As you skip out the door to his car he looks back at the two tables just to revel a little in the disappointed grumbles and huffs emitting from the groups as they go back to their drinks.

𓄀

[chirpsythismorning]

Today is Day 185: What This Line Means for El's Letter to Mike at the Start of Season 4

I know a lot of fans are convinced that the Duffers are careless since they 'forgot' Will's birthday. But I assure you… they’re not.

There's zero doubt in my mind that the writers have a calendar which they refer to religiously, especially when making decisions about the timeline for the story. 

Literally every season starts with a date to establish the setting. Do we think they just settle on a date, without referring to any sort of notes?

There’s a basic responsibility there, at the very least, to be aware of what the characters would be doing at that moment in time, based on what generally happens during that time of year. This would require research beyond just picking a date and slapping it on the first episode of the season. 

Is it Spring, Summer, Fall or Winter? What events are likely to take place during that time of year and how do they plan the expectations of the setting around the characters and the story itself? That's all intentional and well thought out. There’s a reason every season is surrounding some sort of holiday/event at some point, and it’s because time is very very important in the world of Stranger Things.

Think about the various times they’ve had characters literally countdown events?

Mike with El in s2? El with Mike in s4? Suzie when referring to Dustin’s birthday in s4? They wouldn’t throw out lines like that if they didn’t do the math at least once themselves.

The ‘353 days’ line is one perfect example of the Duffer’s proving to us that they have access to calendars, calculators or even simply, google.

Look at that! It appears when Mike used the walkie to call El on Halloween of 1984 (October 31st) in s2, it had indeed been 353 days!

What makes this detail so so so so so fucking important, is that this might hold the answer to the murkiness of the s3 ending going into s4.

Because as of now, we don't really know when s3 ended exactly.

But the similarities of s3's ending to previous seasons, might help us figure out that answer...

Every season ends with a vague timestamp for the literal ending; the epilogue. They only offer up the date at the start of the season, but when it comes to the ending, they never do. It's always months or days if we're lucky.

For s1-2 we got a vague 'one month later', for s3 we got an even more vague 'three months later' and for s4 we surprisingly got something more specific, with 'two days later'.

I think the reasoning for this seems complicated, but it's fairly simple.

While it is quite commonplace to give exact dates at the start of stories, to set the scene and everything, there's this agreed upon understanding in film and even books arguably, that also providing an exact date for the epilogue feels a little cheap? Or maybe a bit too 'handholdy' is a better word? I could see that being something an amateur would do without realizing it looks tacky.

I also think it allows the writers to be more vague in what exactly the date is for the end, according to the audience at least. Because they 100% know what the date is on their end, but that doesn't mean they have to reveal it to us.

We don't know when s3 ends exactly. We know that the battle at Starcourt ended on July 4th-5th (respectively). Though we also know that based on s1's timeline, Mike's countdown considered El's death to be the morning of November 13th, and so we can presume perhaps that s3 technically ended on July 5th.

And so the s3 epilogue being 'three months later' would bring us to October 5th, 1985 right?

Well, not exactly.

You see, when the Duffers give us their vague epilogue scenes, they're not saying that it's exactly one month or three months later, to the exact day. They're being intentionally vague.

Season 1 ending says one month later, but it's actually been 25 days.

Season 2 ending says one month later, but it's actually been 40 days.

Season 3 ending says three months later, but it's actually been... well we don't fucking know!!!

BUT I don't think it really matters, because if the Duffer's made an effort to do the math correctly for their 353 days line in s2, then it's probably safe to assume they'd do math for their 185 days line in s4 as well? And to also give us the answer to that question somewhere in the show already, as opposed to throwing out some random date seasons later?

Otherwise why have countdowns like that at all? It literally makes no sense for them to give us an exact number, like 353 or 185, without checking that the days match up with the exact countdown they're giving us.

I'm just one fan, and it only took me maybe 3 google searches to figure this out in a matter of seconds. They are however literal experts in their profession, and for that reason I do feel comfortable giving them some credit here.

So now, let's try to apply this logic then to s3.

Perhaps it's safe to assume that El's countdown didn't start when the Byers moved to Cali in the s3 epilogue, just like Mike's countdown didn't start at the end of the s1 epilogue either.

It's believed that the Byers, but El specifically, had to go into hiding after the battle at Starcourt. And so, could this mean that El's countdown started on July 5th?

The day that Hopper died? The day she lost her powers? The day she had to go into hiding and probably couldn't properly communicate with Mike for about three months?

Honestly, I think it would make a lot more sense to have their countdown's (Mike's 353 vs. El's 185) parallel in how they started.

And it would be weird to restart that countdown simply because they reunited for one afternoon to move, again because there was obviously so much significance to everything that happened on July 5th, that it does make sense to me that El's countdown would have started there.

Also, I want to be thorough by mentioning that, the main reason we can easily rule out the Byers move date being the start of El's countdown, is that it doesn't add up whatsoever.

El saying it has been 185 days since the Byers moved, would mean she was writing the letter on April 7th, 1986, which is impossible. (Also Mike's birthday, which is hilariously ironic).

Even if we spread out that three month window, we still have to take into account that if it was closer to two months or four months, they would've just said that instead. So either the Byers moved on October 4th, or sometime between September 5th at the earliest and November 5th at the latest.

And so where do we go from here? 

Basically, from what we understand in canon on the show, there isn’t much to go off of besides that. And I think that’s the intention.

Over the seasons, the obscurity of the time jump between the epilogues has allowed for them to say obscure comments between seasons, such as, Yeah for like a month (Jonathan in s2) and It’s been a year, Mike (Will in s4) and so they obviously like this appeal of the audience not knowing for certain. But that doesn’t mean they don’t know for certain.

I would argue they have to know for certain, and have very likely done the math at least once or twice or ten times, especially because as I mentioned, there would be no reason to have characters countdown to the exact day, on multiple occasions, if the creators/writers or literally anyone involved with the show wasn't checking to make sure those numbers added up correctly.

And so, based on all of that, I think that El started counting down from the day they separated, just like the previous season, which would’ve been July 4th-5th (respectfully).

And so 185 days after July 4th-5th, 1985, would be January 5th-6th, 1986. 

Just work with me here. Because while there are several things that could work against this theory, I think those things could have intentionally been there to trick the audience into thinking this letter was written very close to spring break, even though the math for that doesn't add up. And so lets look at some of the details that might be telling us this letter isn't as recent as we're being lead to believe.

The main detail I want to mention, is that major projects like the one El describes in her letter, requiring a visual aid, is more likely to be assigned at the start of the trimester.

If you don’t live in the United States, or are unfamiliar, basically how it tends to work for most high schools is the school year get’s split into 3 trimesters. The 1st trimester goes from September-December, the second goes from January-March, and the third goes from March-June. It varies depending on the city/county/state. Though it may not seem very equal, it goes like this to accommodate the major holidays with extensive breaks. The first trimester has Thanksgiving then a brief return to school, followed by Christmas/New years. The 2nd trimester starts right after New Years, and ends with Spring break. Then once you return afterward Spring break, that’s the start of the 3rd trimester. It evens out to each trimester being about 3 months.

I think El would've mentioned this assignment to Mike closer to when it was assigned and not right before she was turning it in. And the reasoning for this is kind of obvious but understandably overlooked.

While most kids would probably not think about working on a project like this until the last minute, because most of us are expert procrastinators after almost a decade in school, El however is completely new to this experience. And so I imagine the moment she heard about this assignment, she was just like 'best get to it!!'! We even see her still working on it after the project was already graded because the significance of it was clearly important to her. And so if her and Mike were writing somewhat consistently as it appears, then this would have been mentioned a lot sooner than her most recent letter to him.

And when it comes to the rest of the letter, there are several clues that could also support this theory that it wasn't written as close to spring break as we're being lead to assume.

Like the mention of Joyce's new telemarketer job. It wouldn't really make sense for her job to have been like super new, within the last week from March 22nd, especially if it's intended to be this sort of deterrent for Mike getting ahold of Will on the Byers phone presumably since the move.

Also Jonathan's car, is looked like it had been deserted there for a long time, not a matter of days or weeks, but possibly months (since early winter)... And so Argyle driving them to school wasn't something that happened within the last week worth mentioning to Mike right before their reunion in her most recent letter, but most likely another detail she mentioned as an update, since Jonathan's car is being referred to as still broken.

Even separate from the letter, I wondered if there was evidence somewhere else that they could sneakily be trying to hint to us that this is actually being written early in the Winter trimester and not the very end. Then it hit me.

The lyrics in the background...

Although, there are some things that contradict this theory, again I think those details were put there for the sake of tricking us.

Like just think about it, if this was El's most recent letter, wouldn't it make more sense for her to mention both the countdown for when they last saw each other, and how many days until they'd be seeing each other if it was really that close? Unless of course that number of days until their reunion was still too high at the time for her to hype it up, assuming she was writing this letter, perhaps 1-2 months out?...

I also do think that it's likely Mike and El are quite active in their writing back and forth. After all, Will said El had like a book of letters from Mike, so they want us to think that they wrote a decent amount.

I'm guessing the conversation was casual and broad for this letter specifically, because El is still new at writing/reading obviously and because this letter was also being used to update the audience about the characters whereabouts since we last saw them.

This might not seem that groundbreaking, but what this theory boils down to, is that s4 opened with an old letter, not a recent one. It means Mike was reading a letter, possibly from as early as January, 2 months previous to present. This would mean Mike presumably had other, more recent letters available to him to look at, with countdowns like 20 days and 10 days or 5 days, with El gushing even more intensely over the fact that they're closer and closer to finally reuniting.

And yet Mike was fixating on this letter specifically the morning before their reunion, AN OLD LETTER!!

But why?

Let's again look at the vibe of El's letter. If you look really close, it comes off like a response to a questionnaire.

I've always said that although El's lied a lot in her entire letter to Mike, there's a reason they never let us see a letter from Mike to El, and it's because he probably wouldn't have faired much better.

I don't even think it's actually that Mike would've lied necessarily, as much as I think it was mostly a lie of omission situation.

He showed up in Cali as his inauthentic self, and so it wouldn't make sense for him to have given El updates on Hellfire in his letters, which was pretty much all he focused on back in Hawkins from what it looked like.

And so I think the letter he wrote, which El was responding to in that specific letter, was Mike focusing on asking her questions about how she was doing and how the Byers were doing. It's also probably the last time he asked about the others because of one specific detail he got that time, which he's been fixating on ever since... (you know the one...)

Regardless, Mike was reading an old letter, which makes the implications of this (and this)... astounding.