#apart from like its humans etc? but that's different!

[squeakadeeks]

Alliacea OCverse Lore

The short of it:

Alliacea is about a magic island resort margaritaville purgatory that over time infuses people with some part of the environment like flowers, birds, trees, etc. This mechanic is fueled by the person's mental and emotional state, worsening the less stable you are. Pacific is imbued with the tide as a result of being a shrinking violet, Bohai is associated with the open ocean due to his brash and loud personality, and Mansoa has been able to avoid the process all together by clinging to a superficial identity as "the outsider". Mansoa's identity clash causes the island to start coming apart at the seams and they have to figure out how to stop it.

Setting/overview:

Alliacea is about a magicly constructed resort island in an oceanic pocket realm inhabited by islanders that embody characteristic parts of the environment. The resort takes care of all of your physical needs, theres always fully stocked kitchens, bars, hotel rooms, etc that seem to spawn spontaneously and are upkept inexplicably. Both the island and the resort are infinitely sprawling and nonphysical in their layout.

The idea is the island looks after all your basic needs on a physical level, allowing you to move past basic struggles and wrestle with deeper psychological conflicts.

If you end up on Alliacea and you cant make peace with your deeper psychological struggles, the island finds a place for you by converting you into a part of it, such as morphing you slowly into a rock, fruit tree, flock of birds, etc, forcing you to find peace.

There are two iterations of Alliacea. Version A is intended as a PG story about learning to accept and embrace yourself and the world around you, Version B is more of a horror angle trying to critique the idea of perpetual happiness and stability even in spite of any and all dire circumstances.

In version A, almost all inhabitants are able to reach acceptance before the environmental assimilation process is completed. in version B, its nearly inevitable and happens to virtually everyone.

The main story mechanic in version A is actually trying to stop the island from sinking. the island begins to sink as a response to Mansoa's presence and the tension between what the magic wanted to do (help people) and what its actually doing (confusing them or forcing them into tight boxes).

Version B leans more into the actual implication of "im going to turn you into an object if you cant be happy" without pulling punches. In Ver B pacific mansoa and bohai are trying to find a way out of the resort as it begins to crumble and before the assimilation process is completed.

The main three characters worth knowing are Mansoa, Pacific and Bohai.

Mansoa, ends up on the island as an early teen. Now in her 20’s, she remains a regular human, unclaimed by any part of the island. Mansoa found a way to stay on the island by making her own role as the outsider. Her custom ecological niche as an odd man out worked for years, but over time it causes progressive problems. Namely as Mansoa shifts out of adolescence and into her full adulthood, she has to confront the long term sustainability of her sense of self being defined solely as “different”/"not like the others". You know those guys you sometimes come across that are like: "I'm cool and awesome because I'm an outsider. I'm totally not at all like you sheeple because I'm different." Yeah. Thats mansoa.

She has a carefree, hedonistic, individualistic personality (she behaves like a mash between Adora and early Korra).

Pacific has been on the island the longest (time doesn't flow linearly so that means like. decades and decades) and his element is the tide. Pacific struggled to fit in with the community and often preferred isolation. This was a behavior he adapted to manage his intense fear of other people. He had a number of very bad things happen to him that instills this strong phobia reaction. This is analogous to severe traumatic events but the specifics are never delved into. The main idea is he's had many situations where there was life threatening danger, he asked for help and was rejected, and had to defend himself against unreasonable threats. All of this caused him to develop intense avoidant and protective tendencies. This serves twofold to explain why he is afraid of people and why people have a hard time socializing with him as a result of his background.

Anything that happens that's slightly negative he uses as justification for his idea that world = bad. Pacific kept to himself in the shallow waters for decades making peace with the low thrumb of loneliness as the lesser of the two evils until Bohai and Mansoa came around. He has a meek, contemplative, avoidant personality.

Bohai represents the open oceans/seasonal storms. He's deeply dependent on being around other people and doesnt like being alone. On the outside he can seem calm, stable, and relaxed but internally he worries about everything 24/7. He likes being in a support and protector role.

Bohai and Mansoa are quite social and integrate often with the other inhabitants. However Bohai's natural personality can be loud and obnoxious, or otherwise off putting. He feels the need to corral his personality to seem more acceptable. Nothing "bad" happens to him nearly on the scale of what happened to Pacific, but years of social rejection and alienation has warped his sense of self into one that struggles with shame and accepting the parts of himself that arnt "palatable". This can manifest as compulsively seeking company 24/7, or the opposite of acting independent and stoic.

Bohai can be very insecure, he feels emotions to the fullest, and is constantly doing mental calculus trying to make everything better, leading to oscillating periods of burn out and obsessive focusing. (not that it matters but I creator-headcanon him with bipolar II). He and pacific have a very stable relationship that works well with Pacific's ingrained fears -> Bohai's desire to help, and Bohai's internal shame -> Pacific trusting and accepting him.

fun fact Pacific and mansoa actually have a pretty rocky relationship since mansoa cant wrap her head around why pacific is such a weenie, and pacific cant understand why shes so rash and caliver about her effects on others. Bohai has to be the peacemaker to keep their trio functional.

[anghraine]

Operation Annihilate hurts more if you've seen Discovery because Spock does understand what it's like to lose a sibling.

I haven't seen Discovery yet, but I'll admit that my personal experience of TOS and interpretations of what it was doing with its characters and themes in the 60s are very deliberately not informed by the decades of much-later retcons of the original show. Spock in particular*, I think, has been targeted hard by retcons ever since they reset his entire character arc in 1979, and I feel like the later generations of Obligatory Spock Appearances that I have seen (in AOS and SNW) keep ever-more-drastically losing sight of what made him compelling in the first place, across a lot of different axes (including his flawless eyeshadow and narratively central homoeroticism :\).

I don't want to sound hostile or aggressive about the ask at all, though! I didn't mind receiving it, and I don't have any grievance with Discovery fans or people who do feel the need to try to reconcile all the different major Star Trek projects with each other, as long as they don't show up in TOS fans' notes to lecture us on how we've got to engage with ST their way.

I do get "well actually, in [other ST thing] it turns out" on a pretty regular basis, though, so—well, I'm only rambling further about this because I have quite a few new ST followers and want to be clear about what to expect. I'm not trying to attack anyone outside the corporate media hellscape.

I like other Treks than TOS, but I am fundamentally very opposed to the X Cinematic Universe media franchise world where every story in a setting must be perceived as part of a single consistent narrative all the other stories are hammered into, and you've got to keep up with all these different, largely independent projects to truly understand The Whole Story. I'm like, nope, Paramount/Disney/whomever isn't the boss of me, and for me, the TOS movies are kind of the Aeneid of Star Trek to TOS's Iliad, and Prodigy is, like ... uh, Troilus and Criseyde in this analogy, and otherwise, /shrug. It's like, all three texts are fantastic, and I'm intrigued by how the latter two texts talk to each other and to Homer, but they are all very, very different and I have no interest in forging a grand unified narrative of the Trojan War in my head. So it is with Star Trek for me!

I'm not only like this with Star Trek btw—I'm the same with Star Wars (and Lucasfilm is even more aggressive than Paramount about pushing every single thing as integral to The Whole Story). In general, this is just how I as a person respond to fundamentally separate storytelling projects that engage with an ostensible shared setting or shared characters or whatnot.

(I'm not really fannish about any other part of ST, so I didn't bother finding Matter of Troy analogues for TNG/etc, though I enjoy them enough in a non-fannish way.)

So anyway, all of that is to say: for my personal experience and interpretation of how TOS characterizes Spock, it's actually important to me that he really was every bit as isolated his entire life as TOS indicates, until he joined Starfleet and especially until the five-year mission.

For me, Spock's guilt over Amanda in TOS and the stakes of the fraught dynamic between them are deeply bound up in him being her only child (and not only by blood). For me, the "no bigotry on the bridge" scene in "Balance of Terror" really is the first time Spock has had a relationship with anyone who would advocate for him in that way. I see TOS Spock as the child of two parents who care about him but have always been far more preoccupied with each other and themselves, and as someone who was wholly ostracized by all his peers on Vulcan, and who even among the somewhat more welcoming humans, has been continually disrespected in very, very racialized ways.

And for me, part of the heartbreak of that Spock moment in "Operation: Annihilate!" is that TOS Spock and Kirk do have wildly different histories apart from both being bullied, and Spock has never experienced anything like this grief. Spock never had a Sam in his life, nor an Aurelan (who Kirk seems to have been close to as well), nor a Peter and the other two boys who implicitly didn't make it. Spock has spent his life fundamentally alone. But he also has never experienced the kind of horrific losses Kirk has, either—family members, immediate communities, and entire swaths of planetary populations lost, just hundreds or thousands of people ripped away over and over and over while Kirk watches or finds them afterwards.

Something important about Kirk and Spock's relationship to me, though, is that they don't have to personally experience the other's life to profoundly understand and connect to each other in the way they both desperately need. This is one of the reasons they're closer to each other than to any of their other friends or colleagues (something explicitly stated in TOS multiple times). And in S1, I think we really see that evolution with Spock in particular, where in early episodes like "The Enemy Within," he might unbend enough to say, "If I seem insensitive to what you're going through, captain, understand it's the way I am," but by the season finale, he reciprocates Kirk's accommodation of his cultural norms when it really matters.

I think TOS Spock tries to express his compassion in an emotional, human-normative way, down to the phrasing, because at this point, he prioritizes Kirk's suffering at such a time above his own values and preferences. It's more important to reach out to Kirk in Kirk's terms than to Be Vulcan About It, until Kirk needs him to be Vulcan about it. The instant that Kirk makes it clear that he can't deal with human sympathy and needs something productive to focus on, Spock instantly shifts gears to Being Useful because that's what Kirk needs from him, even when it is excruciatingly painful or risks blindness or ... really, anything.

-

*Kirk, notoriously, is also hit super hard by pop culture-filtered characterization retcons from The Wrath of Khan onwards and especially in AOS, well beyond the AU premise. But I think the subtler discomfort seen in modern ST re: TOS Spock as a masculine figure is nearly as egregious.

[scificrows]

Thinking about Murderbot and ART again and how Murderbot is so adamant that ART is not its friend and that they can't be friends and okay fine it'll tell the stupid space ship about its traumatic past but only because it keeps pestering it! And alright, maybe ART can help Murderbot and do a little surgery on it and assist with uncovering the Dark Secrets™ of Murderbot's past but it's and asshole and NOT Murderbot's friend!!!

And then when Murderbot mentions ART to its clients on RaviHyral it just immediately goes for the word "friend"??? And I understand that it couldn't exactly say "there's this giant research transport AI in my feed that helps me pretend to be a human" but like. Murderbot, darling, you could have used anything. You're cosplaying as pretending to be a professional human security consultant, you could have said something like "associate" or "assistant" or whatEVER but "friend" just rolled right off the tongue there, didn't it?

Bonus from Network Effect:

[connormoving]

it is quite interesting to me how the feeling of the sounds of a word can change how the word feels imthats such a nothing sentence i mean like oo sounds bigger than like ee sounds to me you know. and of course theres kiki and bouba snd all of this.

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[madockisser]

thinking abt the significance of balekin looking nearly identical to cardan. not enough for people being unable to tell them apart, but enough for jude to point it out often.

could have fueled cardans hatred for jude seeing that she had a similar looking and loving sibling while he had a similar looking sibling that treated him like garbage.

he once asked jude if having a twin made her feel like she was doubled or half of herself, which makes me wonder how he would’ve felt.

with his and balekins contrasting ideals, ways of living, and views of the world, i imagine he felt quite like balekins half. but he protected himself by acting like balekin, cold and cruel. He played at being balekins mirror rather than his half.

only balekin really saw the side of him that was like his half. this could also explain more of why balekin beats him, if he sees cardan as his weaker half. further seeing him as the embodiment of all of his failures?

meanwhile, cardan saw jude and Taryn’s contrasting personalities, but saw that they still loved each other. despite being so different and looking so alike, it’s hard to tell what Cardan thought of them. if they were halves of one whole or doubles. mirrored faces but opposite personalities.

also makes me wonder if his outlook on human twins as a whole played a role in how he felt abt them. must’ve been awfully confusing to see two twinned humans in a world where there’s no such thing lol. the closest thing the fae have to twins is changelings, and it’s heavily implied that Judes like Taryn’s faerie changeling. (Her horns, her wit, etc)

despite how it may have irritated him that jude received love from a sibling, he must’ve felt similar to jude, because they both were halves of one whole in a sense. both trying to please their elder sibling.

jude was the superior half compared to Taryn (sorry but this is just how cardan perceived it) bc she could fight and was smart and stood up for herself, meanwhile he was the widely regarded inferior brother to balekin. still, they both worked hard to become more like their siblings, or to at least put on that front. and cardan recognized that. he recognized Taryn’s influence (her warning jude off of fighting back), and jude later recognized balekins influence on Cardan.

add on: this could also be why he so adamantly dislikes Taryn. he sees his weakness in her. and unlike cardan, Taryn never really stands up for herself. not to jude, not to Locke, not to their circle. if jude is the superior sibling, like balekin to cardan, then cardan is the inferior, like Taryn, right? i think he would dislike having to be similar to someone that allows themself to be walked all over. Cardan hates to be perceived as weak. Goes out of his way to avoid it.

i think this may have drawn them to one another. Jude’s willingness to “ally” w him. cardans falling for her. they just understood eachother on a deeper level bc they shared the wrath of an older sibling lol

add on: i like how Taryn’s betrayal came right before the kidnapping. i like how cardan was sorta included(or atleast aware) and i like how jude asked him abt it. and then balekins wrath is an obvious theme in that convo. then they smooched it up. i like to think its bc they understood each other on a deeper level. not just jude trying to torment him. Jude realized that they were more similar than she ever bothered to realize. hence the smooching and hence the enjoying?

later, in marriage, they no longer have to play at some false persona, no longer have to please an elder brother or appeal to an elder sisters needs.

but idk. just a thought. Might be reaching but idc 🫶

[hoshi-no-koinu]

What I think would be the most 'impressive' thing about humans

So I've read a lot of funny and intriguing ones out there, absolute gold, BUT I noticed that most of them compare things like our food tolerance, endurance, etc, so I wanted to bring in this take I've had cooking up for the past few days.

Has anyone ever considered aliens' reaction to how different we all are? Like look around at most species even on earth, they are mostly the same and vary only slightly in size, shape, colours, etc, in fact, its more strange to find one that is immediately distinguishable from the rest of its closest animal relatives (e.g for most people orange cats look like orange cats).

Think about it, usually only trained professionals can tell apart two same-species animals, even the animals themselves identify themselves through, like smell or smth

But for humans? no.

It's much weirder to find someone who looks so much like you or someone you know? Over 8.062 billion people and yet how likely is it to find someone who is your exact height? has your exact face? same exact posture? even exactly the same likes as you?

Like really let that sink in............ 8.062 billion people and yet it's confirmed that NO-ONE is almost exactly like you? Even people that just LOOK like you, your doppleganger, is roughly only 7 per person?

Wierd.

[gatorbites-imagines]

I’m not picky just wanna be fussed over & cuddle

Peter Parker x sick male reader

Headcanons

You can imagine most Peters in this scenario, though I always write with comic spidey in mind. Aka, adult, own apartment, job, etc. but I don’t think it’s really mentioned in this. At first, I was gonna write about Trafalgar Law, but I feel like he would we way too much doctor, not enough cuddling.

Not that long, but I hope it’s enough.

I have a feeling Peter would realize before you that you were sick. Like, hed notice a change in your scent, your body temperature or how sluggish you would get.

Noticing early on wouldn’t stop a cold obviously, but he would start getting ready for it, most likely without thinking about it. He just catches himself gathering blankets and your favorite snacks that he knows you can stomach when sick.

Would he make a nest out of webs when you got sick? Maybe? It depends on how spidery we imagine this peter. I feel he would at least stick blankets and pillows together to make the most comfortable bed for you to lay in.

He would try to talk you out of going out or going anywhere when he notices you getting sick. But Peter is known for dating stubborn people, so it would shock nobody if you still went out, thinking you were fine, only for you to get really sick.

Hes never mad about it though, Peter loves you too much. He does tsk and crack a few jokes about it, how your neighborhood spider-nurse needs to take care of you.

Peter would patrol and work less when you are sick, or not patrol at all, depending on how bad it is. If crime is at the normal amount he might stay home anyways, just to spend time with you and make you feel seen and cared for.

I feel like his healing factor keeps Peter from catching common colds and fevers, so he doesn’t worry about kissing and cuddling you. He does joke about the kiss being extra germy, which you would have pushed him out of the bed for, if you weren’t so tired.

Peter likes you feed you when you are sick, since he thinks you should use all your energy to fight whatever sickness you have. He also just thinks it’s kinda romantic.

Peter is also the kind of guy who always worries if you’re drinking enough. He doesn’t just bring you water but all kinds of juices, gatorades, whatever you can think of. You always end up with like 10 different drinks by the bed “just in case you want something else babe”

Not having to worry about getting sick also means Peter will cuddle you. Having a very flexible spider boyfriend also means he can fit right around you inside whatever blanket nest you guys have made up.

His hugs are always so comfortable, since he’s got the strength to give you a good squeeze. Peter would spend this time massaging sore areas of your body, if you are fine with that.

The policy that kisses make it better lives through Peter, so your forehead gets a lot of kisses too.

He also keeps your hands inside his own or under his shirt if the fever makes your hands cold, to keep you warm. You always feel nice and toasty with Peter, there’s no way he’s letting his lover freeze.

Peter also never finds you off-putting or gross when you are sick. It’s just human nature to be sick, and honestly? Seeing you sick makes him love you more, since it means you trust him to be vulnerable around him.

So, peter might be somewhat clumsy and messy in the beginning setting it all up, panicking about getting you everything you need. But he’s a great nurse and cuddlebuddy. When he’s done all his research and gotten all the things though, it’s all cuddles and pampering.

Be careful or he’s gonna bathe you too and not let you lift a finger until you are all better again. Make sure to give him extra kisses to show you are thankful, even if he says its just what boyfriends are meant to do.

[shizuturnspages]

Can I please ask for a yandere Dottore as your ex husband or bf , In where the reader broke up with Dottore so he can be safe from the same harm tormenting the reader , reader loved him so much that they had to let him go so he cannot get hurt from the said harm or maybe even from reader themselves , BUT OH DID THAT BACKFIRE , Dottore or Zandik saw it that you were leaving him because he wasn't good enough etc.. you guys ended on bad terms and after years he's still bitter. Miscommunication at its finest! 🥰

It's ok if you do it or not I just wanted to yap 💔 and your not entitled to do it either , in the end of the day your human too 🤍

A Cure for Regret

Synopsis: The past had a funny way of never staying buried. You thought you could leave it behind. Thought you could sever the strings before they strangled you both. But Zandik never let go of things that belonged to him. Pairings: Yandere Ex-Husband Dottore x Reader

The laboratory in Snezhnaya was dimly lit, the cold air filled with the scent of chemicals and metal. Beakers bubbled softly, machinery hummed, but the man standing in the middle of the room was still.

Zandik—or rather, Dottore, as he was called now—stared at the sight before him.

You.

It had been years since he last saw you.

Years since you had shattered him.

And yet, you were here, standing in front of him as if the past had never happened.

The air between you was heavy with silence.

He could still recall every moment of your breakup with perfect clarity.

The way your voice had trembled, the way you had looked away from him as you spoke the words that ripped him apart.

"We can't be together anymore, Zandik."

"You deserve better."

"I’m doing this for you."

Lies.

Even now, standing here, he could feel the same bitterness clawing at his chest. The anger. The hatred.

Because, after all these years, you had still never told him the truth.

Your face was tired, wary, as if the world had taken its toll on you. Yet, even now, you still had that same softness in your eyes when you looked at him.

How dare you.

After everything.

After leaving him in the wreckage of your love, did you truly believe he would simply forgive and forget?

Slowly, Dottore removed his gloves, his movements methodical, calculated.

“You look unwell,” he murmured, his voice smooth but cold. “Surely you didn’t come here expecting a warm reunion?”

You hesitated. “…I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Ah. How convenient.” His lips curled into a humorless smile.

Your fingers tightened around your sleeves. "Zandik—"

“Dottore.”

You flinched.

He took a step closer. Not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel the weight of his presence.

“Why are you here?” His voice was sharp, clinical. “Regret, perhaps? A sudden realization that you threw away the only person who ever truly understood you?”

Your throat tightened. “That’s not—”

“Or maybe,” he cut in smoothly, his eyes gleaming, “you’re here to apologize for treating me like a fragile thing that needed to be protected.”

You froze.

That—

That wasn't what had happened.

Was it?

No. You had done what was necessary.

There had been no other choice.

You had loved him too much to let him get hurt. To be tainted by the same horrors that followed you.

So why…

Why was he so convinced that you had left him for a different reason?

“You never gave me an answer,” he continued, his voice disturbingly calm. “You never told me what it was that you were running from.”

You swallowed. “Because it didn’t matter.”

His smile faded.

“…Didn’t matter?”

For the first time, his control cracked.

"Do you have any idea," he whispered, stepping closer, "what you did to me?"

The tension in the room was suffocating.

"You left me," he continued, voice slow, deliberate. "You broke me. And you never even gave me a choice."

You stepped back, heart pounding.

This wasn’t anger.

This was resentment.

Deep, bitter resentment that had been festering for years.

“I—”

“You didn’t do it for me.” His voice was sharp now, cutting through your weak protests like a blade. “You did it because you were a coward.”

Your breath caught.

"You didn't trust me," he continued, eyes burning into yours. "You thought so little of me that you believed I wouldn't be able to handle whatever this was."

He reached out, gloved fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

The touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Tell me, dear,” he murmured, voice sickeningly sweet. “Did you think I would just move on?”

You couldn't answer.

Because deep down, you already knew the truth.

Dottore was never the kind of man who let things go.

And if you had ever truly understood him—

You would have known that he would never stop chasing you.

"Did you really think," he murmured, tilting his head, "that I would let you leave me forever?"

Your pulse pounded in your ears. "Zandik—"

“Dottore.”

You trembled.

This was a mistake.

You should have never come back.

But it was too late.

Because the moment you stepped into his world again—

He had already decided.

This time, he would never let you go.

[cece693]

The Better Brother (Damon Salvatore x M! Reader)

A small pet peeve of mine regarding Damon Salvatore fics is how people sometimes gloss over the wave of self loathing this man possesses. Since childhood he's had to bear constant comparisons with Stefan—how he wasn't enough, not as kind, etc.—so in my mind, if he does find someone he would absolutely push them away. That gave rise to this fic!

Summary: Damon finally found the one, however, thoughts of self-hatred and the constant comparison to his 'better' brother had him doubting if he even was deserving of such future.

tags: sad, in my feelings, break up, Damon thinking he's underserving, self hatred

Damon leaned against the bar of the Mystic Grill, the amber liquid in his glass catching the dim light. He swirled the bourbon absently, his mind not on the drink but on the man standing at the dartboard, a soft laugh escaping his lips as he teased Stefan for his missed throw.

M/N had come into Damon’s life like a hurricane—wild, passionate, and with a kindness that made him feel human for the first time in decades. He wasn’t supposed to fall this hard. But now that he had, every insecurity Damon carried weighed heavier on him.

He drained the glass and set it down with a little too much force, drawing a glance from M/N. Damon met his eyes and forced a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his own. M/N tilted his head, his expression softening with concern, and made his way back over. “What’s got you brooding over here?” he teased, bumping Damon’s shoulder as he slid onto the stool beside him.

Damon shrugged, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. “Just thinking about how life is unfairly cruel to us handsome, brooding types.”

M/N didn’t laugh. He didn’t fall for Damon’s deflections anymore.

“You’ve been distant all week,” he noted, his voice quieter now. “What’s really going on?”

Damon’s grip on the glass tightened. He hated how easily M/N saw through him, hated how good he was for him. And most of all, he hated himself for ruining what they had before it could even bloom. But Damon knew how this story ended. It was always the same. Stefan was the hero, the savior, the one who got the happy ending. Damon was the shadow lurking behind, destined to lose.

“You should go back to your darts game,” Damon said, his voice cold now, deliberately so. “I’m fine.”

M/N stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “I know you don’t believe this, but you don’t have to push me away every time you get scared, Damon.”

Scared.

The word stung because it was true.

Later that night, Damon found himself alone in the Salvatore boarding house. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room, but its warmth didn’t reach him. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, a photograph clutched in his hand.

In the photo, they were both smiling—genuine, unguarded. Damon hardly recognized himself in that moment, caught off guard by M/N’s infectious energy. The picture had been taken at the Mystic Falls Winter Festival, a day Damon had reluctantly agreed to attend. M/N had dragged him to the Ferris wheel, teasing him about being afraid of heights.

Damon hadn’t been afraid—not of the heights, at least. But the way M/N had looked at him at the top, with so much trust and warmth, had sent a different kind of fear coursing through him. For a brief moment, suspended in the sky with M/N’s laughter ringing in his ears, it felt like the world wasn’t so bleak.

He clenched his jaw and stared at the photograph for a long time, his fingers trembling slightly. “You don’t deserve this,” he muttered to himself. “You don’t deserve him.”

With a sharp breath, he shoved the picture into the drawer of the side table and slammed it shut. This was the right thing to do. Even if it hurt. Even if it tore him apart.

The next day, Stefan found Damon in the parlor. The sunlight streaming through the windows only emphasized how wrecked the oldest Salvatore looked. He was slouched in the armchair, a near-empty bottle of bourbon in front of him, his eyes distant and unfocused, as if he had been staring into nothingness for hours.

“What did you do?” Stefan’s voice cut through the oppressive silence of the room, sharp and demanding.

Damon let out a low chuckle, the sound bitter and hollow. “Relax, Saint Stefan,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I did you a favor.”

Stefan’s brows furrowed as he stepped closer, his tone tightening with frustration. “What the hell does that mean?”

Damon finally lifted his gaze, his trademark smirk flickering onto his face. “He’s all yours now,” he said, the words carrying a mix of resignation and self-loathing.

He didn’t need to ask to know what Damon meant. “You broke up with him,” Stefan said, his tone flat, more a statement than a question.

Damon shrugged, his nonchalance forced and brittle. “Better for everyone that way,” he muttered, grabbing the bottle and taking another swig.

Stefan wasn’t having it. He crossed the room in two strides and snatched the bottle from Damon’s hand, setting it firmly on the table out of reach. “Better for everyone or better for you?” he snapped, his voice cutting through Damon’s feigned indifference.

Damon’s smirk flickered. He slouched further into the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t get all noble on me, brother. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? A clean slate? No more complications? No more me standing in the way?”

Stefan stared at him, incredulous. “You really think I wanted this? That I wanted you to destroy the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”

“Spare me the lecture, Stefan,” Damon said, his tone sharp, though it lacked its usual bite. “He’ll be fine. Hell, he’ll probably thank me someday.”

Stefan shook his head, his frustration mounting. “You don’t get it, do you? M/N doesn’t want me. He never has. He chose you, Damon. And instead of fighting for him, you pushed him away because you’re too much of a coward to believe you deserve him.”

Damon’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists on the armrests of the chair. “Coward? Is that what you think I am?”

“Yes,” Stefan shot back without hesitation. “You’re so scared of being happy, of someone actually loving you for who you are, that you’d rather sabotage it before they can leave you. You think that’s noble? It’s not. It’s pathetic.”

Damon stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he loomed over Stefan. “Don’t you dare lecture me about love, Stefan. You’ve been handed every happy ending on a silver platter while I’ve had to fight for scraps.”

“And this time, you didn’t even fight,” Stefan countered, his voice soft but firm. “You just gave up. And you hurt him in the process.”

Damon’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He turned away, staring into the dying embers of the fireplace. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “He deserves better. Better than me.”

“Maybe that’s not your choice to make, Damon. Maybe he already decided that you’re what he wants. And maybe…just maybe, you should let yourself believe it.”

Damon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words sat heavy in his chest, pressing against the fragile walls he’d built around his heart. He clenched his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared into the fire, willing the tears to stay where they were. Stefan sighed, his frustration softening into something closer to pity. “You’re going to regret this,” he said quietly. “And when you do, I just hope it’s not too late.”

He turned and left the room, leaving Damon alone once again.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Damon sank back into his chair, staring at the empty spot on the table where the bourbon bottle had been.

Deep down, he knew Stefan was right.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

And that was the curse of being Damon Salvatore.

[splinterclan]

what is the clan's relationship with the warrior code. Because they don't really seem too strict about it.

I just went and copy pasted the Warrior code from the WC Website and I'll put what percent they follow that rule after each one (never actually read the warrior code so this is fun jsjs)

1. Defend your Clan, even with your life. You may have friendships with cats from the other Clans, but your loyalty must remain to your Clan, as one day you may meet them in battle. - 100%

2. Do not hunt or trespass on another Clan’s territory. - 100%

3. Elders and kits must be fed before apprentices and warriors. Unless they have permission, apprentices may not eat until they have hunted to feed the elders. - 100%

4. Prey is killed only to be eaten. Give thanks to StarClan for its life. - 100%

5. A kit must be at least six moons old to become an apprentice. - 100%

6. Newly appointed warriors will keep a silent vigil for one night after receiving their warrior name. - 100%

7. A cat cannot be made deputy without having mentored at least one apprentice. - 90% Was lax for Moor since the clan started without any apprentice age kids, but will be 100% for every deputy after her

8. The deputy will become Clan leader when the leader dies or retires. - 100%

9. After the death or retirement of the deputy, the new deputy must be chosen before moonhigh. - 100%

10. A gathering of all four Clans is held at the full moon during a truce that lasts for the night. There shall be no fighting among Clans at this time. - 0% There's 5 clans total around, but their territories are so massively far apart it's really not feasible for them to visit each other at all (like, miles apart - Oakclan is a 2-3 day journey from Splinter's camp). Every clan interaction in the game I interpret as happening with wandering rogue groups instead

11. Boundaries must be checked and marked daily. Challenge all trespassing cats. - 100%

12. No warrior may neglect a kit in pain or in danger, even if that kit is from a different Clan. - 100%

13. The word of the Clan leader is the warrior code. - 80% ish? the clan is just way too small for there to be the separation that is required for dictatorship effect. It's more like a family where your dad "sets rules" but you know he won't beat your ass if you disobey them, but you mostly obey them anyways bc you love him (Whorlstar is their dad)

14. An honorable warrior does not need to kill other cats to win his battles, unless they are outside the warrior code or it is necessary for self-defense. - 100%

15. A warrior rejects the soft life of a kittypet. - 100% They won't go near or take food from humans - even when Cedar lived near one for a bit, he never took food from them.

So apparently they follow it pretty well? There seems to be a lot of unspoken rules in WC (like don't have kits with outsiders etc. Med cats can't have kits) That aren't on this list, so I guess they're not official? Idk xD I've said this before, but I have only read the first series of books so I don't have the fullest knowledge, but I do feel like with WC-based stories stuff like having the Med Cat get in trouble for having kits or half-clan relationships being persecuted are dumb rules anyways so I'd just rather write about something else

Plus clangen itself has no internal code for punishing that kind of stuff so it's all free game there too luckily ^^

[stitch-away]

ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 day 4 - welcome to the qz ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

pairing: joel miller x reader (gender unspecified)

summary: you bring joel to the qz for a much needed shower. but everything goes south

tags: MDNI no smut but there's nude joel + slight grinding, feral joel miller, fluff, angst, hurt comfort, canon typical violence, descriptions of violence, animal death, blood, ptsd, amnesia, grunty joel bc he can't speak

word count: 5.7k

series: feral joel miller

a/n: i wanted to finish this chapter ages ago but midsem break ended so i'm back on the study grind <//3 the reader's gender is not mentioned. it's kind of implied to be male reader but like barely. i plan on it getting more explicit etc so then it will probably become male reader. but for now it's gn

your chest feels tight, your laboured breathing bringing your mind out of its slumber. as soon as you wheeze you feel the pressure immediately lifted. large hands grab your waist and you’re flipped onto your back. your head smacks against the ground, throwing your eyes open. you’re met with panicked brown eyes, a mere inch from your face. joel. 

last night hits you, as does the stench that lingers on joel. he let you stay with him. or, more accurately, he was not letting you leave him. 

he nudges his head forwards, eyes still wild with fear. he tightens his grip on your waist, letting out a soft grunt. 

“joel,” you smile, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair, “you were crushing me, weren’t you? that’s okay. i’m alright.” with that reassurance, joel pulls you up into his arms, holding you suffocatingly tight as he lets you pet his hair. he lets out a low purr, nuzzling his nose into your neck and inhaling your scent.

“good morning to you too,” you giggle, running both your hands through his hair. as you feel the grime and dirt in his hair, you remember what you wanted to do for him next. “your hair’s a little grimey, buddy. how about i take you back to my place? we’ll get you a shower and clean some of your clothes, yeah?” 

joel stiffens, his purring halting as mind processes the idea of heading into the qz. all those people. all those sounds, loud and painful. it’s the last thing he wants. he growls, pulling back to let you see the discomfort in his eyes. 

“i know it’s scary for you,” you sigh, softly scratching his scalp, “but i promise it’ll be okay. my apartment is quiet. you just gotta trust me to get you there.” despite his reservations, the way you're scratching his scalp and the soft tone of your voice soothes joel. as reluctant as he is, he trusts you now. it's been so long since he's been around another human, let alone trust them the way he does you. it's a scary feeling but he's letting himself feel it. 

he nods, relaxing his grip on you. lord help him if you give him a reason to regret this. 

“thank you,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck hugging him tight, “let's go. i wanna show you place– not that it's very exciting.” you chuckle, standing up and offering joel a hand. “i can introduce you to the delicacies of the qz– canned beans.” joel scrunches his nose. “yeah, that’s about right.” 

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

getting joel leave the forest is tough. he sits at the edge, on his hands and feet, with a pout on his lips and his eyes narrowed. you stand only a few feet away, a little dishevelled from last night, frowning with your hands on your hips. 

“c’mon, joel,” you whine, “it’s not a big deal. you probably need the sun, hiding in that dingy forest all the time.” joel scowls and grunts, turning his head away from you. 

“dude, what are you? 5 years old?” joel snaps his head back, eyes wide as brow furrows deeper. “yeah, well, then don’t act like it.” 

he scowls again but finally moves. he crawls out slowly, feeling at the different texture of the ground outside the forest. it’s drier but the grass is soft. it’s not unkind to joel’s calloused hands, almost welcoming. as he crawls forwards, he looks up at you. there’s a nervousness in his eyes he’s looking to you to quell. 

“you wanna stand?” you ask, “you’ll need to once we get inside the qz.” he nods and rises to his feet. as he stretches out, uncurling his muscles, he towers over you. you’re still not used to the shear size of the man but it’s no longer intimidating, almost comforting now. maybe it’s because you know he trusts you, the only person in 20 years, or because of how he cared for you overnight. regardless, it’s a sense of comradery and belonging you haven’t felt in a long time.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

the walk along the trail is undisturbed. joel seems content to walk alongside you. but as you get closer to the qz, the noise of the bustling city reaches joel’s ear. he shakes his head, letting out a snarl as he slows down. you turn to face him, wincing slightly. you feel a little bad for whining at him before. 

“hey,” you place a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, “hey, hey, it’s alright.” you soften your voice, rubbing soft circles on joel’s shoulder. “i promise this is gonna be okay. just stay close to me and cover your ears if you need to. c’mon.” you slip your hand down to hold his. it’s harsh and rough against your soft palm and much bigger, his fingers engulfing your hand. you see his jaw clench and him nod.

as the guards come into view, joel’s grip tightens on your hand. you give his hand a soft squeeze before he finally let’s go, covering his ears. the guards give joel some foul looks but they let him in without much of a hassle. 

you grab hold of joel’s shirt, tugging him into the busy streets of the qz. the city assaults joel’s senses, causing him to whimper, not loud enough for others, but enough for you to hear. his eyes meet yours, saying all the words he can’t speak. without a second thought, you run, pulling joel with you down the street. he’s more than capable of keeping up as you curl round corners and clamber up the stairs to your apartment. you look back at joel every now and then, giving him a smile. your running became more like a game of cat and mouse than a desperate measure to help joel adjust to his environment. you even get a flash of a smile from him. 

unlocking the door in less than a second, the pair of you burst inside, you jumping straight onto the couch. joel follows you, leaping out the couch to smother you. he nuzzles his head into your neck, letting out a grumble that sounds like a cross between a chuckle and an appreciation. you laugh, feeling the way joel’s beard tickles your neck.

“alright, buddy,” you chuckle, pushing at his shoulders, “you need to hop off. we gotta get you in the shower before you stink out my whole apartment. joel whines, pulling back to rest on your hips. he has a soft pout on his lips as he straddles you, pressing his weight down on your crotch. a moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. joel immediately lifts his hips, hovering over you on his hands and knees. he grunts softly, his eyes wide with concern, he’s terrified he’s hurt you. ignoring the heat in your crotch, you cup joel’s cheeks, softly brushing his beard.

���it’s okay, joel,” you whisper, shaking your head, “you didn’t do anything wrong, buddy. uh– just hop up. i’ll run the shower for you– or would a bath be easier? doesn’t matter.” joel crawls off the couch, a confused look on his face. you really don’t wanna have “the talk” with a grown-ass man. maybe he doesn’t need the talk, maybe he knows but genuinely thought he hurt you. you push those thoughts aside– along with the image of him undressing the other day that has decided to intrude at this moment– and head into the bathroom.

it’s small, a tight squeeze for the two of you, but joel manages to fit in the bath. he squats down, staring at you, sitting awkwardly in this foreign object. 

“so, i’m gonna turn on the water,” you say, pointing at the tap, “it’ll come out at the end. it’s gonna be cold, okay? and i need ya to take your clothes off now.” joel frowns, pulling at his clothes in question. 

“it’s okay now,” you clarify, “we’re in a bathroom and you’re getting ready for a bath. you take your clothes off when you bathe.” joel still looks unsure but starts to pull his shirt off, chucking it on the bathroom floor. seeing his broad, hairy chest and sculptured muscles, fully on display in the soft light of the bathroom, is something you’ll never forget. he looks like heaven.

he stands, hitting his back on the cold tile walls, arms huddled tight to himself as he tries to unbuckle his jeans without hitting his elbows too. he lets his jean drop, his buckle clipping the edge of the bath. to your surprise, joel doesn't wear underwear– why would he need to out there in the forest? you slap a hand over your eyes out of instinct, only hearing a soft rustle as joel pulls his jeans and the new boots you got him all the way off. he grunts at you, chucking the clothes at your feet. when you don’t uncover your eyes, joel barks at you. 

“did you just bark at me?” you ask, dropping your hand. you’re greeted by the sight of joel’s nude body crouched in the tub. his thighs are thick with muscle and peppered with the same dark brown hair on chest. between those thighs is a dense patch of hair, left to grow wild for 20 years. despite the lack of maintenance, it does little to hide the size of his cock, hanging between his legs, taunting you. he’s thick, even flaccid, with a good four inches and he’s uncut. 

you pull your eyes from his junk, back up to his face as he barks at you again. he has a wide smile on his lips, clearly enjoying your reaction to his body. he hasn’t had anyone look at him softly in years, let alone look at him with the kind of hunger you are now. it’s intimidating being truly looked at after all this time, but the warmth of your gaze dulls any anxiety. 

“you’re right,” you chuckle, “i should actually wash you instead of just staring.” you pick up joel’s clothes and dump them in the laundry basket. you head back over to joel, grabbing the soap, shampoo and conditioner, and a flannel, kneeling down beside the tub. 

“remember, it’ll be cold,” you say, placing your hand on the tap, “it’ll take a little while for it to heat up, so bark when it’s warm enough for you, okay?” joel nods, tensing a little as you turn on the tap but he doesn’t snap or snarl at you. “good boy.” 

joel’s ears twitch and he turns his head to look up at you. you see a flash of affection in his eyes before he shakes his head and frowns, turning away so you can’t see his flushing cheeks. 

“come on, cutie,” you smirk, unable to stop yourself from teasing him. he groans at you and then barks, nodding at the tap. you switch it off and start to wash his body with the soapy flannel. he flinches but lets you wash his back.

you’re gentle at first, getting him used to your touch. as he eases, you scrub a little harder. the grime on joel’s body is practically baked on there. 

the water turns brown as the dirt washes off of joel. with the dirt dissipating, you can see the scars the marr his body. he’s been out on his own for so long, it only makes sense that he’d have scars. but seeing them, confirming the pain you know joel’s mind is hiding, it makes your heart ache. you trace a finger along the scars softly, watching the muscles in joel’s back ripple as he flinches under your touch. 

“is this okay?” you ask, stilling your movements. joel looks at you over his shoulder and nods. with his approval, you continue tracing the painful lines on his body, wondering which one hurt the most. 

you turn joel around, washing his soft sculpted chest and arms gently. as you move down his body, you try your best to not to stare at his more intimate areas but it’s difficult– especially when joel doesn’t seem to mind.

“would you like to do your…private parts?” you cringe just asking the question, “i don’t know if you’re comfortable with me cleaning around there.” joel tilts his head and you point to his cock and ass. he frowns at you, gesturing with his head to his crotch as to say you can do it.

“are you sure?” you ask, slowly bringing the flannel to his crotch. he nods, a lot more unphased by his nudity than you. you gently wash around his crotch before taking his cock in your hand. it’s heavy, even though he’s soft, and you can feel it twitch under your ministrations. you know to wash your penis correctly you have to clean under the foreskin, and he probably hasn’t done that for decades, but you think this time round that’ll be too far. so you elect to ignore it, moving his balls and then to his ass. 

“i’ll be right back, joel,” you mutter, dropping the flannel in the tub, “rinse yourself and drain the bath.” after being that close to him, touching his entire body even if it was through the boundary of a flannel, you have to step out for a minute.

you head to the kitchen and pull out a cold beer. the coolness of it helps to calm the heat of the stuffy bathroom and the tension that joel seemed all but oblivious to. 

once you’ve composed yourself, and finished the beer, you return to joel. he’s sitting there naked in the empty bath. 

“it’s time to wash your hair,” you smile, grabbing the shower head off its hook, “i’m gonna have to use the shower for this, so try not to freak out. it’ll only be to wet your hair and then rinse it, okay?” joel nods but you can see his body curl in on itself as he waits for you to turn it on. as the water flows out, joel flinches back with a wary eye on the fast running water. it’s noisier than the bath tap but it’s equally as harmless, joel decides. he shuffles closer, bowing his head to let you wet it. you make quick work of wetting it and turning the shower off again.

“you’re doing great, buddy,” you smile, squirting shampoo into your palm, “i’m gonna put shampoo in now. it’ll get all that dirt out.” you smear some of it on your other hand and start to move them through joel’s hair. as you feel the dirt and grime coming away from his scalp, you can also hear a soft hum from joel’s throat. his eyes are squeezed shut and he has a small smile on his lips as you massage and clean hair and beard. you wash the shampoo out and repeat the process with conditioner.

“look at you,” you smile, standing up to admire a now clean joel, “you look like a wet cat but a very clean one at that.” joel frowns, sticking his lip out in a pout. 

“hey, i wasn’t the one purring like a little kitten getting belly rubs just before. you act rough but you’re just a little kitten, aren’t ya?” joel snarls at you and you put your hands up, backing away. “i’m sorry,” you chuckle, “i’ll stop. you get dressed and i’ll make you some of those canned beans.” he rolls his eyes at your grinning face, but he can’t help but smile a little too. it’s been so long since he’s had a sense of domesticity. his mind has been craving it, even if he never knew it.

you leave joel to get changed and head into the kitchen. you crack open a can of beans and dump them in a pot, chucking it on the stove. grabbing another beer from the fridge, you lean against the kitchen counter. as you take swigs of it, you hear the soft pad of footsteps and the rustle of clothes. a clink of a belt is heard and then joel pops out of the bathroom. he looks frankly adorable in the clean new clothes you got him and with his hair all damp and slicked back. 

he sits down on the couch to pull his sock and boots on. as he does he grunts at the beer in your hand. 

“this?” you ask, shaking the beer slightly, “it’s beer.” finishing fixing his boots to his feet, joel crawls over to you. he sits at your feet and reaches up for the bottle.

“no way,” you tut, pulling it away from him, “i’m not having you getting drunk. no offence, buddy, but a drunk six foot tall wild cat is not what i need running around my apartment, let alone the qz.” joel snarls at you again, baring his teeth.

“is it the cat thing again?” you ask. he shakes his head. “oh, so, you’re just being a little brat are you?” he scowls and lunges for the beer again. 

“joel! jesus christ,” you mutter, pulling back and placing the beer back in the fridge. joel is sitting in front of you still, a frowning pout on his face. you crouch down to his level, placing a hand on his knee. “what’s wrong, buddy? you don’t have to lash out. talk to me. i’ll get a pen and paper if you need it.” 

he hangs his head, shaking it before lunging forwards. he falls on top of you, squishing you as he presses all his weight down, just like he did back in the forest. you wheeze a little, feeling the weight of joel bearing down on you, but you let him stay there, moving your hands to his back. 

the pair of you lay there for a moment in the soft silence of this strange but heartfelt embrace. you run your hands along his back and then up into his hair, gently scratching his scalp and behind his ears. 

“you wanna talk about it?” you whisper, holding him closer. he shrugs. “do you know what’s wrong?” he shakes his head. “i see. it’s okay, i got you.” 

the forgotten beans on the stove start to boil, bringing them to your attention once again. 

“shit,” you mutter, “joel, i gotta check on the beans. let me up, buddy.” joel groans but rolls off you. you flick the stove off and give the beans a stir. “they seem alright. want some?” 

joel nods and you serve you both up a bowl. you place them on the table and sit down. joel doesn’t move from his spot on the ground. 

“you gonna sit up here with me?” you ask, patting the chair next to you. he tilts his head and crawls over to the chair. he sniffs it and feels it out before crawling up onto it. he keeps his legs up to his chest, leaning forwards to sniff the beans. you chuckle as he scrunches his nose. 

“yeah, they aren’t as good as those nice cuts of meat you get out in the forest,” you smile, digging into the beans, “but it’s some of the best shit out here.” joel lets out a small laugh before bringing his hand up to scoop up the beans. you realise you’re gonna have to tell him to use a spoon eventually but you let him simply enjoy his meal.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

“alright, buddy,” you clap your hands together softly, turning away from the kitchen sink, now full of your dishes, “there’s a doctor’s office not too far from here. you wanna go get a check up? make sure everything’s alright?” joel grumbles, shaking his head. “you worried about the noise?” he nods. 

“it’s not too far from here so you won’t have to put up with it for long, okay?” joel frowns. “i can find you some headphones when we go out.” he scrunches his nose up but stands up, giving you a nod. you smile, walking up to joel and cupping his cheeks. 

“i know this is hard for you,” you say, gently rubbing his bearded cheeks, “but you can trust me. i won’t let anything happen to you.” joel purrs, leaning into your hands. you smile, giving him a scratch under his chin. you grab your bag and nod at the door. “let’s go.”

joel follows you out the apartment, hanging close behind you. as you descend the stairs, getting closer to the noise of the street, you can feel joel’s anxious twitches against your back. you turn around to take joel’s hand, catching the eye of one of your neighbours leaving his apartment for his shift. before you have time to recognise which neighbour it is, you see his face twist into a scowl.

“hey!” he yells, storming down the stairs, causing joel to jump, “is that my fucking shirt? you little shit!” you don’t have to tell joel to run, he’s already pulling you down the stairs at a speed you can barely keep up with. you stumble over your feet as joel pulls you into the street, your furious neighbour close behind. 

the chase is a blur, all you can see and hear clearly is the back of joel’s head and the screams of your neighbour. any attempt at civility is gone from joel’s mind with him bowling people out of the way with zero regard as he navigates the busy streets. 

you snap yourself out of the shock of the moment and realise joel is taking you both to the checkpoint of the qz. if you two burst through there, you’ll certainly be shot. with all your strength, you tug joel in the direction of the hole in the wall you use. he looks at you, eyes wide with concern. you haven’t seen someone look at you with such a concern for your welfare, honestly, ever. and it’d be sweet if you weren’t running from your neighbour right now.

“through here,” you yell, pulling joel to through the crack. you slip through easily but joel’s broad frame has more trouble. you watch through the crack as your neighbour catches up. joel looks at you for a second before turning his back to you and blocking out the crack and your view of what's happening behind the wall. 

for a moment, you stand there, chest heaving and mind terrified as you hear your neighbour yell at joel. you hear joel’s snarl, a sickening crunch, and then silence. when joel’s back doesn’t move from the crack you feel your stomach leap into your throat.

“joel!” you scream, running to the wall, grabbing at joel’s shirt, “joel!” your voice is hoarse and tears are welling in your eyes. you can’t be the reason he dies. after all this time surviving on his own, you can’t be the cause of his death. 

your hand is pulled forwards as joel finally turns around. he whimpers seeing the terror in your eyes. he brings his hands up to wipe your tears and you notice the blood splattered on his knuckles. 

“joel…” you whisper, taking his bloodied hand in yours. before you can ask him what happened he shakes his head, pushing you back so he can squeeze through the gap. once he slips through the crack, you get a glimpse of the scene on the other side. your neighbour is lying, motionless on the street, his nose bleeding and face marred with blood.

“joel! wh-” joel slaps a hand over your mouth and shakes his head again. his expression is firm but his eyes are screaming for your forgiveness. he doesn’t give you the chance to before he’s pulling you in the direction of the forest. 

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

the trek through the forest is deafeningly silent. you stare at the ground, following joel’s heels. the image of your neighbour bleeding out on the street is seared into your mind. you didn’t mean for him to get hurt, you were just trying to help joel. 

once you reach joel’s home, you slump down on one of the logs, too out of it to do anything but sit in silence. joel trails off to wash his hand in a nearby stream. when he returns he crouches down in front of you. he lifts your head, holding it gently in his broad calloused hands, to meet his eyes. he doesn’t need to say anything, even if he could, his eyes telling you how sorry he is. 

“it’s… it’s okay,” you sigh, your voice weak, “what you did… that was wrong. but i get why you did it. i don’t blame you.” joel presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, simply appreciating your forgiveness. 

“and i’m sorry,” you whisper, placing your hands on joel’s shoulders, “i should’ve taken you to the qz, especially in stolen clothes. it was my fault you had to do that.” joel whines, shaking his head and pulling you into his arms. 

he holds the back of your head with one hand, the other snaking round to hold your waist. he starts to rock you in his arms. he’s not sure why. feelings of love and warmth come back to him, memories in feelings alone, before the grief his mind has been running from hits him like a truck. he holds you impossibly tight, his mind resorting back to the trauma that put him in this state. as much as he wishes he knew what happened, he can’t conjure more than the gut wrenching feeling of loss. maybe it’s better he doesn’t remember.

the embrace is short lived as joel’s head snaps around. his ears perk up and he immediately carries you inside his hut. he shakes his head at you and then disappears, unsheathing his knife from his hip as he does. it’s obvious joel wants you to stay put and silent, but there’s no way you’re leaving him alone. 

you pop your head out of the hut to see joel crouched behind a bush and a group of four men carrying guns, raiders, enclosing in on him. guilt hits you again when you realise they must have followed you two from the qz. as one of the raiders gets closer to joel, you panic.

“joel! look out!” you yell, the raider’s attention turning to you. joel snaps his head round to you, scowl on his face. his look says it all; you fucking idiot. 

before the raider can take his shot at you, joel growls, distracting the man and lunging at him, slitting the man’s throat cleanly with one slice. as the man drops, joel throws his gun to you and turns to a raider sneaking up behind him. 

you scramble to grab the gun, clutching it to your chest as you back up against the hut. as you tremble, too terrified to move, you see joel disarm and snap the neck of another raider as he fights off one from behind. a bullet nicks his arms and he roars in pain. but it only seems to emboldened him, with him charging at the man behind him, stabbing him square in the throat, wrenching the knife to the side. 

too transfixed on the spurt of blood pouring from the raider’s neck, you fail to notice a dog run at you from the side. the dog growls and lunges at you, sinking its teeth into your arm. you scream out in pain as the dog’s teeth sink deeper into your arm, slicing through all your layers of skin and puncturing muscle. 

joel’s attention is immediately gone from the remaining raider, bounding over to you. without a second thought, joel plunges his knife into the neck of the dog, the animal’s jaw going slack around your arm. joel rips the gun out of your hand and stands, aiming it at the raider’s head. he lets out a guttural roar, giving the man a second to speak. as the the man pulls his gun on him, joel finger twitches and he shoots the man clean through the stomach. he throws the gun away and jumps on top of the man pinning him to the ground, spitting in his face as he growls again.

despite the pain in your arm and the horrific sight of the limp dog beside you, you stand on shaky legs and stumble over to joel and the raider.

“he wants you to explain yourself,” you wince, cradling your bleeding arm, “why are you here? how did you get a dog?” joel scowls at you but doesn’t stop you. 

“oh, so you speak feral fucking man?” the raider laughs, his voice humourless and gargled from the blood filling his lungs. 

“answer the fucking questions,” you snap. the raider groans and joel shakes him, smacking his head against the ground.

“fine!” the man yells, wincing, “we saw you leaving the qz.” joel snarls at you this time, a look of betrayal in his eyes. “and we got a dog from jackson. happy?”

“where the fuck is jackson?” the raider rolls his eyes but answers when joel growls at him.

“it’s in wyoming! okay?” he groans, “now can you just fucking kill me?”

“how do they have dogs?” 

“i don’t fucking know– ah!” joel shoves a finger into the man’s bullet wound. “they’re a massive settlement in wyoming. i think an ex-firefly set it up.” you nod.

“thanks.” the raider goes to make another snide comment but joel beats him to it, snapping the man’s neck. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the sound of joel’s and your own breathing. this can’t be real. you’ve only been venturing out of the qz for 4 days and you’ve already seen more violence than you have in your entire life. at the hands of joel. you knew this man wasn’t a gentle giant or anything, he’s survived in the wild by being ruthless, not kind. but seeing it first hand is sickening. 

after a few silent moments, you feel joel’s hands hold your shoulders, guiding you back into the hut. only once you’re back in there do you open your eyes. your arm is soaked in blood and there’s more covering joel’s upper body. you had washed him clean not an hour or more ago, only to have that effort ruined in a quick few minutes. 

joel rummages around in the bag you brought, finding spare medical supplies and a water bottle you had packed. he pours water over your arm and wraps it up tight in a gauze bandage. he ties it off and then does the same to the wound on his arm. 

you sit, even more dissociated than before, on the blanket in the hut. you can’t go back to the qz. you’ve stolen from your neighbours and one of them is severely injured, if not dead because of that. and you led raiders to joel’s sanctuary in the forest that ended in their deaths and the death of an innocent animal. 

you look up from your daze of self loathing and shock to see joel clumsily writing on the notepad from your bag. 

“betrayed me,” it says when he holds it up for you. 

“i know, joel,” you croak, tears filling your eyes once again, “i fucked up. i should’ve never come out here. i should’ve left you the fuck alone, like you wanted. i know, okay? you don’t have to rub it in. i can leave, for good, if that’s what you want.” joel waits a beat, his heart aching as your tears fall. he considers telling you to leave. 

“no,” he writes, “you need me.”

“i need you?” you ask, frowning, “the hell does that mean?”

“alone,” he points at you, “injured.” 

“but i betrayed you,” you cry, “i’m the reason your home was attacked and you had to kill those men– and that dog.” the image of the dog’s dead body flashes in your mind and a horrible sob is ripped from your throat. joel immediately takes you in his arms pulling you close to his chest. he shakes his head, rubbing your back. 

when you calm you down, your sobs easing out to small sniffles, joel pulls back and writes again.

“you forgive me. i forgive you.” his eyes are soft, begging you to understand him. with a shaky breath, you nod. 

“we should go to jackson,” you say. joel frowns, tilting his head in confusion. “it sounds like they have a lot of resources. i need a new home, you deserve a new home, and you deserve help. maybe they could help us.”

“help me?” joel writes.

“yeah,” you smile weakly, “maybe someone could help you get your memories and your speech back. would you like that?” joel shrugs. he’s spent so long living like this, the idea of change is terrifying. especially the prospect of uncovering his memories. he fears that they’re locked away for good reason. he doesn’t want to know what made him this why. but when he looks at the hope in your eyes, the care you still have for him after everything you’ve seen him do, it gives him a reason, for the first time in decades, to try and get better. 

joel sighs before nodding. he crawls over to the blanket, trying not to put too much pressure on his sore arm. he takes you gently in his arms, holding you close as he covers you with his body again. 

you wrap your arms around joel’s neck, pulling his head into your neck as you run your fingers up his scalp. joel presses a kiss to your neck, nuzzling his nose under your chin. 

“joel,” you whimper, feeling his crotch press against your own, “joel– stop.” he freezes, pulling back with a hurt look in his eyes. “let’s just lay here, okay? i can’t… not now.” joel nods, snuggling back down on top of you, being careful of your arm. 

his mind is all over the place, as is yours. both of you are in over your heads in uncharted territory in the attempt to try and stay together. maybe jackson will be the bastion that reconciles the distance between you. or the place that shows you that loneliness is the only thing binding you two together.

[cheruv-ii]

My Opinions on Bengia(+A borderline character analysis of CT Ben)

(Obviously, JWCT s3 Spoilers ahead)

Okay, a couple disclaimers before we get into this:

•I like Gia. This has less to do with her as a character and moreso how the relationship itself comes into play.

•I try not to let any hcs/bias get in the way here, there obv may be some because that's just how the human brain works, but this is mostly my opinion with any of those biases put aside.

•This is my opinion as someone whose favourite character has been Ben since the day s1 dropped, and therefore has put a lot of time into "analyzing" him.

Okay, into the opinions.

To put it blunt, I don't like Bengia, wow shocker lmao, but my reasoning is more than just basic hcs.

For starters, when they're together they feel like different people to when they're apart, yeah, couples can seem different together versus with others, but its to the point that their relationship feels like an act to me, something they're trying to make seem perfect and over the top. It feels disingenuous to me. Comparing their "chemistry" to other characters with Ben feels very flat, it feels unnatural. Once again, trying not to let biases get in the way, but fuck dude, Benji's chemistry this entire show has felt more natural (which is a rant in itself), as was Benrius in s1.

I would like what they had in terms of matching each other's freak more if it was platonic, tbh, they just both seem like they're pretending they're something they're not when it comes to a romantic relationship and I don't fw that.

As for how Ben's writing comes into this, this entire show he's been played as a joke character, he hasn't been taken nearly as seriously as the other's, in terms of his trauma, his emotions, how he's allowed to feel about everything going on, etc. The closest things we got to him being taken seriously were his panic attack in s2(which— even that was played as a joke, dwrks writers, not everything to do with Ben needs to be funny !) And his fight with Kenji, which barely lasted and there was never a real, serious resolve, other than ig the plane crash and Kenji protecting Ben just to protect the egg, which I don't like, there was no actual conversation, it was just there, played as a joke, and then it was gone. In s3, when the egg hatches, he's emotional, which is valid, but it's for external reasons. When he has the talk with Gia, he's finally allowed to express some sort of emotion, but it's just to do with their relationship, and I do not like that one bit. This season he felt like he was played down to being Gia's boyfriend, their entire arc felt like watching that couple in the hallway blocking your locker make out and just knowing that as soon as the puppy love phase is over they're gonna break up.

Ben has trauma, so much of it, and yes, people grow up, however when you're ripped out of a moving monorail and face a near death experience, then proceed to NOT get therapy for it, it's still going to resurface as trauma, which we haven't seen at all in CT. I saw someone on twt say that CT feels like the writers never actually watched CC, just read the scripts or something and went from there, and I gotta say that to an extent, I agree. So many characters have had their personalities dumbed down to plot points, and Ben takes a major hit in that area.

Now aside from the character analysis and everything, I *really* hate how the queer relationship was treated, not simply because of the breakup, but because in order to highlight how badly yasammy were fighting, they almost always followed it up with/used it to follow up how "perfect" and happy the white, het passing couple was. I'm sorry, but that's just in poor taste. Using your poc wlw ship to make your m/f ship look better is gross, I'm sorry, like I could be that friend that's too woke but it just leaves a terrible taste in my mouth overall.

I have more opinions surrounding how this show treats queerness, but that's a rant for after s4 comes out to see if they can pull off a miracle and fix it, but for now that is my rant. Yk its bad when I prefer CC Kenlynn's writing over a ship.

[horse-girl-anthy]

essay titled "How I read Revolutionary Girl Utena" under the cut

I think that I've stuck with Ikuhara shows for so long because of the sense of confusion they cause in me. I find them bewildering, bewitching; like many of my other favorite pieces of media, they are in some ways ungraspable. RGU is so generative because you can never quite put your finger on it, it always rewards further consideration. and to even enjoy the show, you have to create some kind of schema of understanding. you have to connect the dots and create a picture of it.

I've talked about this before, but maybe I've never fully articulated how I ended up where I did, so here goes. my schema of understanding for RGU is very heavily influenced by my view that it is meant to be read as a piece of fiction; that it is, in a way, more than a story. this is true of all fiction to some degree, but RGU is one of the most insistent on being understood as a human-created narrative. more often, fiction asks you to suspend your disbelief--RGU says disbelieve everything you see. the show's execution constantly reminds the audience that it's an illusion being put on by a creative team. that led me to wanting to know more about the creative team and how the show was made.

Be-Papas did not set out to make a radical show. it ended up turning out that way more or less because the team fostered a spirit of true artistry, and because they faced little to none of the usual TV exec interference.

the hand of the writers can be felt throughout the entire show. obviously there's third-wall breaking moments, but even more than that, it's in the way the show plays out. due to how prevalent this is in Ikuhara works, I eventually stopped looking for a normal "why" answer to any question in his shows. it's often most useful to answer that strictly in terms of a writer, rather than acting like the shows have a "reality" of their own. or maybe it's better put that the "reality" of the shows arises from understanding the relationship between creator and viewer, story and audience.

I just started rewatching RGU, and I think that this approach is especially needed for the early show. so much about it feels canned, scripted. everything that happens could be out of a generic shoujo, using tropes as shorthand. Utena has fangirls, Touga is the playboy, etc. Anthy in particular should be seen in this light. in his interview with Takemiya Keiko, Ikuhara talks about how Anthy was originally conceived versus how she turned out:

– But, you made Anthy with the intention of her being a popular character, right? Ikuhara: We couldn’t. We had to abandon that idea in the process. I wonder why it ended up that way? I guess we got tired of currying favour with the viewers. We completely stopped.

in the first episodes, Anthy is written to be a "fan favorite" character. she's the victim, she's sympathetic, she's cute, she's subservient--almost a waifu! but they ended up dropping that, going in a new direction. I don't think it's only in the later episodes that the writing diverges, I think it was built in from the start. Anthy is like an eerie parody of the "shy quirky bullied girl." then in the later arcs, the show begins to pull that stereotype apart and examine it, dive into its dive into its depths and look for a truth.

but when it comes to the moment-to-moment writing of the show, this background needs to be kept in mind. in a way, early Anthy should be read differently from later Anthy. first of all, the scenes where she's meant to evoke pity, where the writers are trying to curry favor with the viewers, should be taken at face value. the show is only ever operating on the level it is presenting itself as; it's the entire picture which makes up its meaning, not the individual parts.

early Anthy is overall a fairly simplistic character. they hint at her inner depths, at her sinister side, but her relationship with Utena is, at this point, at a very early stage. Anthy is genuinely surprised by Utena's nobility; she reacts to her like the little girl she is. aside from the unguarded moments we see from her, though, Anthy is a stereotyped, strange, emotionally distant character. there was always something a little off about her, and when you look back with hindsight, you can definitely tell she's deeply traumatized. she looks out at the world with alien eyes, eyes that know suffering better than anyone else in the world. but at the start, the truth about her is buried. she's so far gone that she no longer even knows that she's suffering; she has become insensitive. and her true self is buried at the center of the earth, hiding from the world so she can never be hurt again.

to further clarify what I mean, I'll discuss two different early Anthy scenes.

when Utena defends Anthy in episode 1, Anthy reacts in this completely amazed way. I don't think an emotion like this is ever presented to the audience that we are supposed to doubt. the show is characterized by aritifice, but not by deception. there is no hidden secret to this image, or really to any moment in the show. each scene is communicating exactly what it seems to be. if the meaning is ambiguous, then that ambiguity is the point, but often it's not even that.

in episode 12, we are directly told that Anthy has grown attached to Utena and does not want to be separated from her. to cope with having to continue to the obedient Rose Bride despite having desires, she retreats utterly into a place deep inside herself. even when staring at the handkerchief Utena gave her, she shows no emotion. watching Utena fight, she is distant, cynical, almost sleepwalking. but then she wakes up on seeing Dios's nobility in Utena. again, all of this is readily apparent and directly communicated to the audience.

later on in the show, Anthy begins to fracture into increasing complexity, taking on more and more symbolic weight and always unfolding a new side to her personality. but it's not really the case that all those parts of her are simply hiding at the start of the show; they haven't developed yet.

episodic media, especially when created by a whole team of people, changes a lot in production. RGU is one of the most successful pieces of episodic media because it leans in to the ongoing process of TV. speaking of Anthy, Enokido said:

...Even us creators can’t understand Anthy’s inner thoughts (*note: naimen = inner feelings, interiority, true self). We created her while in search of that.

the show itself plays out like a search for who Anthy truly is (who all the characters are). watching, it feels like you come to discover that as the show itself does. RGU is very much a series which rewards rewatch, but it's not necessarily helpful to impose what eventually occurs on to the first episodes. rather, it's the process of development the show undergoes which should be examined. the heights that RGU reaches are to be found in that process of moving from stereotype to truth. in Adolescence, Anthy is presented as, on the surface, an entirely new character, and yet she feels right. this is because, by the process of watching RGU, you learn who she really is, and then when you see her in the movie, you know she is acting, for the first time, as herself.

[scalefeathers]

Thinking once again about how Nobuo Uematsu and Masayoshi Soken are both completely amazing composers but in completely opposite directions let me explain

Disclaimer I am not a music theorist; most of music theory is black fucking magic to me. I barely know what a chord is and the circle of fifths makes me quake as though before an Elder God. I just really like both of their works and sometimes I have thoughts about things. Also this is all just my opinion, it's fine if you don't agree, etc.

So: Uematsu is first and foremost, in my opinion, an absolute master of melody. I believe it's what makes his work so iconic and makes so many of his pieces so instantly recognizable. The Final Fantasy theme, the chocobo theme, Dancing Mad, Vamo'alla Flamenco, fucking One-Winged Angel--Just from seeing those names, you've probably got one playing in your head already. You could start humming it right now. Maybe you are already.

And it makes perfect sense when you consider the era he was working in, because back in the 8-bit and 16-bit era, the melody was all you had. When you have such a tiny amount of storage space to work with, you can really play only one, maybe two notes at a time. You can't do anything that's layered, because you only have one layer to work with. I think that's why so much video game music from that era is so memorable and iconic. It's not just because you played so much Street Fighter II when you were a kid that the music is indelibly seared into your brain (though that probably doesn't hurt); it's also because Yoko Shimomura wrote really solid melodies that had nothing else competing for your aural attention (apart from the in-game sound effects, which are probably also seared into your memory). (Yoko Shimomura, btw, also composed the music for Final Fantasy XV, the entire Kingdom Hearts series, and like 50 other games over the past 40 years, another fucking icon).

But back to Uematsu: like I said, melodic genius. Even when his work is upscaled into full orchestral arrangements, that core melody is always front and center. And his affinity for melody makes even more sense when you consider that before he got into video game composing, he was writing commercial jingles. (Younger folks may not be aware, but there was a time when practically every product had to have its own theme song, and the best ones were short, snappy, and instantly memorable--and for that, again, you need a strong, simple melody. Ba da ba ba ba, I'm lovin' it.)

Compare: Soken. Soken only started at Square 12 years after Uematsu, which isn't that long in human terms (to me at least, cos I'm old), but it is a long fuckin' time in video game years. By the time he started composing for games, there was so much more you could do with game music in terms of layering, complexity, and sound, and you can tell from his work that he takes full advantage of that. His work is complex and dense, a rich layer cake of themes and motifs, all beautifully merging and weaving together, often to extraordinary effect.

And again, if you look at his pre-music career, it makes a lot of sense that he'd have that approach to music, because he first got into the games industry as a sound designer; I believe that he is the sound director for all the FFXIV expansions, as well as being the composer. So of course he'd be very aware of not just how a sound (or piece of music) works on its own, but of how it fits into the greater whole, and of how to layer and balance lots of different sounds to create something greater than the sum of its parts. And of course it makes sense that he'd bring that approach to his compositions as well.

As a consequence of this approach, though, his music often lacks the memorable melodies that characterize Uematsu's work. Like, I ground (grinded?) Dun Scaith a lot the last time it was on the Mogstone rotation, I know all the boss themes extremely well and can recognize each of them instantly. But if you asked me right now to hum one? I don't think I could. (This isn't a deficiency, to be clear; music doesn't need a prominent core melody in order to be good.)

And that's also not to say that all his music lacks iconic melodies. His vocal tracks, pretty much by definition, have to put a single melody front and center; and then on top of that (or rather, behind it), you have all that trademark Soken richness and depth. Which is probably also why his vocal tracks go so fucking hard.

I think that's also why, out of all the expansions, I like Heavensward's music the best. Most of Heavensward's score is written by Soken, but the main theme is Uematsu's, and you may notice it's basically a tasting menu of like 5 or 6 excellent, very recognizable melodies, one right after the other. And basically every piece on the Heavensward soundtrack incorporates one or more of these melodies. So it really does give you the best of both worlds, and gives the overall score a cohesion that I don't see as much with the other expansions.

TL;DR, Uematsu and Soken are both amazing composers with very different and complimentary styles that reflect their differing backgrounds and the different eras of games in which they have worked and I just think that's neat.

[horreurscopes]

i don't even remember what it's called or of if it was good but i read this slice of life novel years ago about the friendship between a gay guy and a girl with some kind of hormonal disruption that made her very big, and perhaps there was some sort of murder or assault in their town that shook them, and they thought a lot about it. i think they drift apart because they have different reactions to it; there was a series of passages or maybe? a trueline through the novel? about the american need for control over the world, how victim blaming is really a psychological self-defense mechanism from the horrifying truth that things can happen to us that we are powerless to stop, and how this self-soothing worldview comes at the expense of empathy. and writing it down seems pretty obvious, right, but at the time of reading it it felt like something very deep in me, underneath the outer layers that already knew victim blaming was Bad, had been cracked. anyway i still find myself thinking about it every time i have a kneejerk reaction along the lines of, well EYE wouldn't have done that, or well that wouldn't happen to ME, because justifications about street smarts or situational awareness or etc etc etc. and i get annoyed about it first before i can digest it, again and again. i think what matters is that i don't forget. i think it's a very human response to have in an environment that is so permeated in an exceptionalism that reaches its logical conclusion through a soul-poisoning cultural refusal to acknowledge that we can die. but it's really stuck with me all these years later, and once you see it is everywhere; from the cult my parents are entrenched in teaching them only they and a small group of people are the ones who will survive a fire apocalypse and live forever in a paradise earth on the ashes of dead billions, including me, due to the whole being a lesbian thing; to like, the billionaires trying to figure out how to keep people in their servitude in their nuclear war bunkers, or the tech bros who firmly believe they will be uploading their consciousness to the cloud before their carbon body begins to rot, or your average grandma asking what your friend who was raped was wearing