#bring back proper narratives

[jumpinjordan]

Lamenting again about the lost art of multiple LI’s with substance and personality

[lunarharp]

figured i'd do this again..bit early i guess..

[cosmocove]

this is petty n most likely an issue of ive just been exposed to entirely different shit but those posts about how people complaining about redemption arcs is bad bc its important message that people can change is just completely ignoring why people are actually complaining cause the big two examples i can think of for why people complain about redemptions are 1. the redemption is poorly written n ignores and/or retcons the previous seriousness of their wrongdoings just because the writer(s) want them to be good now n its kind of hard to do that if (for example) we take the lives they intentionally n mercilessly killed into account and 2. this character is an abuser but instead of taking accountability n bare minimum apologizing n letting their victim(s) choose whether they wish to still have them in their life the writer(s) choose a narrative where the abuser doesnt really have to change as a person they just dont abuse anyone anymore n the framing is weirdly unsympathetic to their victim(s)

[arolesbianism]

I've been thinking more abt raccoon universe Olivia again and I love her sm she's so fun imagine if your wife plagiarized years of your work and then cut you out of her life with no warning and then had the audacity to invite you to work at the company she founded on the basis of the very work she stole from you. Id have considered murder Way sooner than she did Jackie is lucky Olivia went with the thinly veiled threats route for several years before finally getting a bit bloodthirsty

[silkscream]

bullfight of love

ੈ✩ choso x reader

ੈ✩ tags: flirting, masturbation, porn watching, vaginal sex, riding, soft sub!choso, 2000s au, coworkers, workplace relationship, film bro stuff

ੈ✩ wc: 4.7k

ੈ✩ a/n: i wanted to write choso being a weirdofreak pervert boy that's all. this is part of my fics for gaza <3 there will be a part two for this. do not ask me about a part two because it's already being made

Maki could kill you for being late again. Five missed texts, the final exaggerated with periods and exclamation points – and she never used proper spelling, let alone punctuation. It wasn't serious the way she made it out to be. 

Toji never cared about your track record. The bastard was never in the shop anyway, probably high off his ass in whatever shed of a place he lived in. Maki already hated her cousin enough for the rest of the crew, running that stupid video store like it was a real family business. It was a summer job to you and nothing else.

She sighs when she sees you walk through the door, handing you your name tag without a word before fucking off to the storage room to look at the new shipments.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment!” you yell after her. In response, you only get a middle finger, chipped black nail polish with half a skeleton decal hanging on.

It’s always slow on Mondays. Considering the new cinema that opened across the street, it's slow every day. You should’ve taken a job there, scooping buckets of buttered popcorn instead of telling off porn-stached men who continually mistook the shop as the old adult video store. 

You mindlessly watch Reservoir Dogs on the CRTV, shaken by the sudden flood of middle school students paving their way to the used video game section. Fumbling with the remote, you meet a hard-faced Maki once again. 

“You can’t put on Tarantino, dude. Kids are in here.”

“It was already on,” you shrug. 

Maki rolls her eyes and points to a small stack by the register – some John Hughes VHS tapes. Sixteen Candles. The Breakfast Club. Most shit that both of you hated.

“Gotcha.”

“Can you deal with the new kid, today? Toji didn’t scan all the new shit in like he was supposed to last week.”

“New kid?”

“Uh, yeah. Goth-ish. Like he got spit out of a Hot Topic or something,” she snorts. “No hazing.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

She scoffs at you before rushing back. You’d had a crush on her when you started working there, back when she still had an eyebrow piercing before she let it get infected. She had that Silent Hill look about her for lack of better words. Resting bitch face with a raspy pout. 

Your head swims a little, pounding from dehydration. The morning joint didn’t help, either, nor did the fact that you had to train a newbie today. 

It’s quiet after the kids leave, snatching up some forbidden R-rated movie that’ll traumatize them during a basement sleepover. You nearly doze off once the clock hits three, but loud footsteps bring you back to life. 

A boy that couldn’t be much older than you stares into you, narrowed eyes boring into your soul. You see the dark birthmark across his nose first, as if someone had slashed him with a blade in one straight swoop. He smells like cigarettes and his eyes are decorated with some reddish eyeshadow. Either that or he had the complexion of a sickly Victorian child. 

“Hey,” you deadpan. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the new hire,” he says. His voice is low. He reminds you of the goths that would hit on you at high school parties. He's prettier, though. 

You give him a once-over quickly – he’s taller than you expect, for some reason, and you notice the blooming swirls of abstract tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves.

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” you smirk. 

He rolls his eyes and introduces himself. Choso. You repeat his name, tasting it on your tongue. He has half a mind to shake your hand but pulls away awkwardly. You take note of the silver rings adorning his fingers.

You tilt your head. “I like your, uh, space buns…”

“Uh, thanks,” he narrows his eyes.

“Okay, so… have you ever used a cash register?”

“Yes.”

“Great. That’s basically half the job.”

You show him the ropes – how to make sales and deal with teens. Cash drops and tracking inventory. You ask him what attracted him to the idea of working at a run-down video store and he says he likes movies and easy money. His brother liked the place, too. 

“You got the Human Earthworm series, boss?” he drones, bored.

“Yeah, think so. You like romance-horror or just terrible practical effects?”

He snorts. “My little brother likes it. Wants to have a marathon with me.”

“Cute.”

Hours pass and he’s gotten the hang of it. If anything, there are more customers than usual today, because you suppose that Choso is conspicuous in appearance and the teenage girls that hang around at the food court need something new to play with. 

It stirs something uneasy in your gut, the waft of saccharine perfume in the air. Girls with tongue piercings, lollipops staining their lips as they bend over the counter to talk to Choso. Ripe girls.

They probably thought he could buy them alcohol, take them for a joyride. He’d only offer them an aloof, blank stare in return. It makes you almost giddy. By the time night comes around, you tell them to fuck off like flies.

“Closing time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Choso mock-salutes, an amused smirk on his lips. Half-lidded eyes like a cat, maybe a stoner, though he didn’t smell like it. You saw him on his break anyway, sipping down an Asahi Super Dry in the back as if you weren’t looking.

He already knew his place, knew that you wouldn’t rat him out. It was the way something flickered in his eyes when you caught him. A taunt, a quiet challenge. 

You watch him count cash. Chipped black fingernails looked odd on his veiny hands like they were painted in a rush by a child. You notice scrawled pen on his pale skin. Smudged phone numbers.

“Getting hit on already?”

He glances at you and shrugs, hiding a smile. “Half were just from bored teenagers. Other half bored single mothers.”

“Any takers?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You narrow your eyes. 

“Ha. Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not,” you snort. “As long as we get customers I guess.”

“Oof. You’re cold. You don’t care how I get these people to buy these movies as long as they buy ‘em, huh?”

“You’re not whoring yourself out by being a cashier. Relax.”

He shrugs on his jacket. Crumpled leather, the kind that held the smell of smoke over generations. It made him look like Takuya Kimura in that way, maybe if his hair was down.

He grins when he finds you staring.

“We done for the night, then, boss?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname. “Uh-huh. Night, newbie.”

He smiles sardonically, looking out and noticing the rain. He curses inwardly, knowing that skating home would be a bitch, and the next bus to his side of town wasn’t for another half hour. He clears his throat.

“Leaving already?”

“Yeah. What, don’t have a ride home, kiddo?”

“Fuck off. I’m not a damn kid. I’m just not someone with a car,” Choso mutters dryly. “I work at a movie rental place for a living. I take the bus everywhere.”

“Sucks to suck then,” you smirk, saluting him goodbye. You throw him the keys. “I trust you to lock up then, yeah? See ya.”

He lets out a frustrated scoff but doesn’t bother to convince you, opting to watch you go. Once you’re out of reach, he sighs and turns, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking around the dim store. 

Yuuji was probably out with that sea urchin–haired punk again. He had to remind himself to save up for a car instead of constantly having to share their parents’ beat-up Toyota.

He could take advantage of the shitty TV in the office, maybe. Watch a stupid re-run while he waits, because he sure as hell isn’t going to wait out in the rain. He walks in and settles on the black leather couch straight out of an amateur porno. He snorts and looks through a fat stack of DVDs in the corner. 

His mouth twists when he picks up something with a racy title. His eyes widen when he realizes it’s an adult film.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, scoffing. He lets out a low whistle, glancing around the office as if someone’s out there, ready to jump him. It’s eerily quiet. He can’t even hear the pitter-patter of rain from in here.

He skims the back cover. It looks crude, but Choso has never really been one to turn down something raunchy. He liked stupid movies, gory ones, art films with weird unsimulated sex. He’d gotten off to In the Realm of the Senses when he was thirteen. Skimming through something this cheap shouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t arouse him — it would be as entertaining and silly as watching a sitcom for him.

He inserts the disc into the DVD player and waits for it to load. There are no cameras in the office, he notices. Figures. The way you talked about the owner made it seem like the place was barely being held together if not for you.

And then, he thinks of you. He immediately thought you were pretty, not that he’d ever let you know that. Plainer than his usual type, but something was alluring about the curve of your mouth, the way you spoke. He liked that you didn’t take shit most of all. It was probably the hottest thing about you.

He knew better than to fuck around with a coworker, however. It never ended well and resulted in petty drama. He was too old for that shit, wasn’t in high school anymore — he was a man.

When the intro to the film finally loads, a woman in a skimpy, barely-there dress appears on the screen. It’s something vintage, for sure, given the grain. She’s in a love hotel. 

Choso fast-forwards through blurs of messy kissing, colored lights illuminating a heart-shaped tub. He pauses on a frame of the girl riding, her mouth wide open in ecstasy. He presses play.

After about ten minutes, he finds himself in a trance watching with rapt attention at the way the actress moves. His cock twitches when he realizes that she looks a little too much like you. 

She moans particularly loudly and his mouth parts. Something snaps inside of him. 

He has to pause it again. Jesus.

Choso feels like a pervert. No, he’s a man with urges, needs. It’s a pure coincidence that the actress in the porno looks like you of all people. It’s not like he sought her out himself. A movie like this shouldn’t even be in here.

He grits his teeth, hands clenching around the couch leather until his knuckles are white. He takes a breath before pressing play again and his eyes widen when the girl gets even louder.

Ah, fuck it.

He mutters under his breath, shifting on the couch. Glances at the blowjob lips on the screen, soft and plush. He thinks of you and swallows. He bites his cheek, conflicted.

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Then again, no one has to know.

He lets out a shaky exhale, trying to resist the pressure building inside him. It feels like trying to contain a geyser with a cup, and he hasn’t even touched himself yet. 

After contemplating for a beat, he sighs and unbuttons the fly of his jeans, using his other hand to press play again. A gasp escapes his lips as he watches the girl on the screen. The curve of her back, the bounce of her tits. She looks soft. He wonders if you’d be as —

No. No. He’s not doing that.

He spits in his hand and strokes himself, his breathing starting to come out in short, uneven pants. There’s a rush of heat in his gut as he watches. His head tilts back slightly, eyes roaming the ceiling before closing them as he attempts to calm himself down. It’s no use.

His breath hitches, eyes glued to the screen. He’s memorized by the slick flowing out of her. Fuck, he hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. It’s killing him.

It’d be okay if he pretended it was you. It’s not like you would find out. He could imagine fucking your face the way the guy was doing right now in the video, making the bitch gag and moan. Whimpering at being called a good girl. 

“Oh, god–” he mutters, his voice a strangled gasp. She really did look like you. Disturbingly so. When he’s done, he’ll have to wash his hands for five minutes straight from the shame. 

He pants, his grip on himself firm as he squeezes his shaft. Precum smears over his tip and he groans at the sound of the woman’s whimpers getting louder and louder. It makes his lungs seize. He’s getting close.

He doesn’t even register the jingling of the doorknob.

Choso’s head jerks up, his eyes widening in shock as his head turns to see you in the doorway blinking at him. 

“Oh.”

His throat’s dry. What a cruel fucking joke from the universe. There’s no coming back from this. Not when the video’s still going and he’s still half dressed, hand on his fly in mortification.

You tilt your head, smirking. “Nice cock.”

Choso’s at a loss for words, staring at you with embarrassment and utter daze. What the fuck?

“I, uh…” he chokes out, his voice rough and more high-pitched than usual. Face burning. 

He’s going to get fired. No – he has to quit before you even get another word in, save the little dignity he has, maybe convince Yuuji to move to another shitty town with him so he never has to see you again —

“Forgot my wallet,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

You walk into the room, peering at him. Your eyes fall on the TV, which is still going. The moans feel cheap and tacky now that he’s back in reality. 

Choso scrambles to press the stop button on the remote, his other hand moving to put a pillow on top of his leaking dick. His eyes flicker wildly between your face and the screen.

“You find that in here?”

“Uh… yeah… I, um—”

You snort. “Forgot to tell you that this used to be an adult video store.”

“That explains the selection,” he mutters sheepishly. 

You eye him carefully. He blushes. “Didn’t finish?” you taunt.

He feels too fucking humiliated to say anything, so he mutely nods instead. He fumbles with the zipper of his jeans underneath the pillow.

“Need some help?”

He gapes at you for a moment before looking away. You look amused as you scan his face. Was he hearing you correctly? Was he dreaming?

“Are you— are you offering?” he gasps out, dumbfounded. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something like that in here.”

Choso’s jaw drops. 

He stares at you for a moment at a loss for words. Curiosity begins to win out over embarrassment.

“With… who?”

“None of your business,” you chuckle.

He doesn’t like that answer. His jaw clenches, knowing that it’s stupid that it hurts his ego a bit for no reason at all. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t press the issue as his gears turn back to your previous offer.

“Then you… uh… want to…? With me?”

“You want to, right?”

He swallows nervously, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks at your body shamelessly for a bit. He’s still so fucking hard. Finally, he nods shyly.

“Okay. Take your clothes off, then.”

For a moment, he wants to protest. This is the last thing he expects from you. Maybe it was a blackmail situation — if he doesn’t let you fuck him, would you fire him? 

He realizes that he doesn’t care either way if he gets to fuck you.

He pushes his jeans down with his boxer briefs, shoves the pillow in his lap away with a blush. Slowly, he strips off his t-shirt, leaving him completely exposed. He can feel your gaze on him, raking his chest and arms, the tattoos on his skin. He looks up at you again almost desperately. 

“I meant it,” you drawl. “You do have a nice cock.”

“Th-thanks…” he croaks. 

“Why so nervous?” you tease. “You were flirting with me all day.”

“Yeah, but–” he mutters, huffing defensively. “I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“Wanna fuck you?” you finish for him.

You say it so bluntly that it catches him off guard. He hadn’t really given it too much thought. You were somewhat receptive to his advances if he could call it that. It was mostly him being himself. His sarcasm was meant to be flirting, but none of it was that serious. He found you hot and interesting. He liked that you could keep up with him. 

When he started touching himself with you in mind, everything was thrown out the window. He wanted you, and would probably dream about you when he got home, but the guilt and shame of doing something so depraved in his place of work made him embarrassed. He wouldn’t have been able to face you on his next shift, and then you decided to barge in and ruin everything. 

And now, you’re offering yourself to him on a silver platter. It was absurd.

He narrows his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“I think you’re hot. Isn’t that enough?” 

“You… you actually wanna… uh–”

“Yeah, Choso,” you roll your eyes. “I wanna fuck you.”

He shifts on the couch, eyes roaming hungrily over your body as his breaths grow labored. He swallows a lump in his throat.

“Then… do it,” he mumbles.

You grin, moving to straddle his lap. His hands flex and he has to remember to not appear so eager. This is just a casual hookup with a coworker. One born out of bizarre circumstances, sure, but he needs to play it cool. He grips the edge of the couch.

“Don’t wanna touch me?”

He feels even more meek, if that was possible. He hesitates, throat bobbing as he swallows. He’d had girls in his lap before. Bouncing them on his cock until they cried. For some reason, he feels like the submissive one here just because you’re on top of him. 

“Uh,” he stammers. His voice is quiet, nervous. You think it’s cute. “I didn’t know if I was, uh, allowed to—”

“Go ahead.”

He holds back from kissing you. Instead, he smoothes his large hands over your hips, the curve of your waist. He lifts his hands to the edge of your shirt and hooks his fingers into the hem, slowly tugging it upwards. The reveal of skin is tantalizing, makes his mouth water like a man stranded in a desert. 

Sparks jolt the length of his spine as his fingers brush over the bare skin of your stomach. Fuck, you’re soft. He knew you would be. He pulls the shirt over your head and ogles stupidly at your chest. 

“Someone’s worked up,” you tease, playing with his hair. You undo his buns, leaving his hair down.

“Of course I am,” he mutters, his voice strained. “You’re sitting on my lap, looking like that—”

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes widen. 

“Please,” he breathes. It almost comes out like a desperate whine. “I mean— yeah—”

You raise a brow, laughing. It makes his face heat up down to his neck. 

“Begging already? Thought you’d be more of a dominant type.”

You’ve thought about me?

“I— I am,” he grumbles. 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you prove it later.” You lean in.

“Promise?” He looks at you with something eager in his gaze and your eyes soften. 

“Mhm.”

Finally, he captures your lips with his. You sigh into it and it makes his cock throb underneath you. He takes that as an invitation, his tongue immediately pushing past the plush of your lips. He reaches up to grab the back of your head and tangles his fingers in your hair as if he’s done it all before. It makes you moan a little in his mouth.

He moans back, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. You pull back slightly, leaving him to chase your lips for a moment as he lets out a small huff of protest. When you look at him, his eyes are half-lidded, lips slightly parted and shiny with spit.

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. “Real pretty.”

He flushes, unable to form words. His expression immediately floods with disappointment when you get off his lap to stand. 

“Where are you going?” His voice would be whiny if it wasn’t so gruff from desire. 

“Relax, idiot.” You unbutton your pants, sliding them down slowly. He assumes you’re teasing him, which he doesn’t particularly mind. You’re a sight to behold. His cock twitches as his eyes look at your smooth thighs. 

“Get over here,” he huffs. You laugh, moving to straddle him. 

He doesn’t have time to react before you lean in to immediately nip at his neck. He lets out a moan, hips bucking involuntarily. You can feel his pulse quickening, the vibration of his moans underneath your lips. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. His fingernails dig into the meat of your waist. 

He can’t stay still. It takes him everything in him to not rock his hips up into you. It doesn’t help that he can already feel your wet heat hovering over his cock. His brain nearly short-circuits. He preens under you, grabbing at you like you’re going to fly away. 

“Be patient. Wanna play with you first,” you mumble.

Choso’s eyes flutter closed as you speak. You sound so fucking sexy right now, he can’t stand it. It’s better than the stupid filler plot he scrubbed through in that damn porno. Miles better. 

“Play with me,” he grits. “Fuck — later.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot you were pregaming this before I walked in.”

He glares at you. It’s entertaining watching the expression melt off his face when you lift your hips and immediately slam down on him. The moan he lets out is guttural. His hands immediately find your hips.

“Hah – fuck,” you breathe. “You’re bigger than you look.”

Choso lets out a strangled chuckle, head falling back on the couch. It makes him look even hotter, the way his tattoos flex with his collarbone. 

“Told you I wasn’t a kid.”

Your laugh tapers off into a moan when he gives a small, tentative roll of his hips. Testing the waters. You’re so fucking tight that it’s making it hard for him to even think. When he hears you gasp at being filled by him completely, his eyes widen.

“Shit,” he gasps. “Wanna make you do that again—”

“H-Huh?”

His eyes lock on your face as he grins, grinding into you slowly. 

“That noise–” he groans, his throat taut and dry. “You made this little gasp—”

“Ah–”

“There it is,” he snickers. His eyes gleam. “Just like that.”

Your eyes roll back, mirroring the roll of his cock inside you. Your cunt clenches around him and it feels like fucking heaven. He can feel all your wetness drool into his lap. He had the urge to push you into the leather, cant his hips up like something rabid. 

It feels like his brain was going to fall out of his nose, the head rush in tandem with the blood pumping into his cock. Impossible tightness. Snug cunt, petals closing into a bud. 

When you wrap your arms around him, it almost feels romantic. It’s dangerous.

He kisses you, then. Quivers when he feels you getting lost in it, tasting nicotine in your swapped spit. He whimpers as you start to move your hips with more intention. You smile wryly at his reaction, pulling away, eyes fixed on where your bodies meet.

You’re a fucking wet dream while you’re riding him. The way your hair brushes messily over your jawline, the way your mouth parts with a gasp every time he feels you pulsate on his cock. Choso grabs your ass greedily and kneads it, mesmerized at the softness of your flesh. 

“God, you look so fucking good right now—”

His eyes flash as he watches you move. He tries to match your tempo, rutting up into you with frenzied effort. His cheeks are flushed as he nearly unravels himself for you, his expression raw and hungry. He leans in to suck on your tongue, descending his wet mouth down to your jaw, your tits. Oral fixation.

You can feel him deep in your stomach, buried in you. It’s as if he could pierce you through the throat. You’re sure that you’ll ache everywhere by the time you get home. You’d never taken a cock quite this big, never been this wet, your insides swirling around like a washing machine. Your guts all muddled with something that felt too warm for just lust.

“So fucking hot,” he mumbles, hands pressing into your bare thighs. 

All his preoccupations with you had disappeared. He didn’t care if you thought he was a pervert, since you were one too, in a way. Letting him fuck you like this when he barely knew you at all, yet a repressed part of his brain made his heart flutter at the thought of you. It didn’t help that he could practically feel your heartbeat with his cock.

It isn’t romance — it has to be the sex. He can’t think about it too much right now. Not when he’s in a state of delirium inside your cunt.

“Choso, I’m close,” you whine.

“Yeah?” he rasps. “Fuck, me too.” 

His hair is tousled and sticky. Eyes glazed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He grabs at your hips, guiding them to grind on him faster. Your wetness makes it all so smooth — all buttery, no resistance. You feel full.

He feels like he’s being squeezed to death, to heaven. It sends him over the edge at the same time he feels your pussy clench around him. You tremble in waves as you gasp out a moan. It’s more like a choked breath. He can’t stop watching you as you come, the way your eyes roll back. 

A whine escapes his throat as he cums. Everything that seeps out is slick, feels like something new and primordial at once. Seraphic, he’d say, if he happened to be drunk. He certainly feels drunk.

Choso doesn’t expect you to kiss him so sweetly after such a vulgar affair. He lets out a long exhale into your mouth with eyes closed, letting his head fall back a little while your hands cup his cheeks. His body is all melted limbs, languid sex. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. 

“Hey.”

He opens his eyes and gazes at you through sleepy lids. He lifts a hand lazily, brushing the hair away from your face.

“Yeah?”

“Did you pick an actress that looked like me on purpose?”

He freezes. His hands tighten around your waist as he looks away.

“No,” he scoffs. “Just thought she was hot—”

You chuckle.

“I didn’t pick it, I found it,” he gruffs. “I’ll admit that… she looks like you… I guess.”

“Was I as good?” 

He scoffs again, his eyes flashing with a mix of playfulness and irritation. You were as much of a little shit as he was.

“You’re better,” he rolls his eyes. “I already told you what I think, dumbass. Real pretty.”

“Oh, did you?”

There’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “I’d be pretty pissed if you weren’t better than some stupid video—”

“Idiot. Those girls are probably like, Olympians at fucking. Porn isn’t like real sex anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grins. He pauses for a moment, suddenly looking timid. “It’s just… a decent placeholder for when I… y’know.”

“Just call me next time.”

Choso’s eyes widen slightly, unable to hide his surprise. He sputters for a second.

“What? I’m, uh— not gonna call you every time I—” he groans, “That’ll be way too many times.”

You raise a brow.

“Wait, no— that came out wrong. I’m not some horny freak or something—”

“I mean, given how I found you…”

“That’s—” he stammers, unable to complete a sentence without his brain completely blacking out every millisecond. “That was a one-time thing.”

“Hope so. I don’t wanna fire you, newbie,” you grin.

His pulse quickens at your smile. 

“Like hell, you will. You’re too understaffed to fire me.”

[lucidloving]

I learned how to be quiet about pain when I was very young. I learned how to fold in on myself like laundry, to take up less space in the cupboard. I learned how to keep the peace around me by sweeping the dirt under my own rug.

I have been taught that expressing my less favourable emotions is just complaining—something weak people do when they're too incompetent to solve their own problems.

Incompetent. Incompetent. This word is very important to me. Incompetent is the word I am always running from. To run from incompetency means to run from feeling dejected, feeling lost, feeling hurt. To run from incompetency is to run towards goodness. To run towards a me who knows all the answers and shoulders all the burdens and shrugs off all the pain.

Some days I am not very good at this race I am running. Days when the past lurches forward to bite my ankles, or days when the future looks back to scorn my present.

On these days I am weak. The poise slips. It's all too easy to cry a little and vent my fears. I forget that I am supposed to be keeping all of this shut away where no one else can see. I forget that I am not supposed to be dragged down by these feelings in the first place.

Today I feigned nonchalance and I feigned it well. No one noticed that I was hurt by the thing that happened, and sitting alone in all my hurt, I was bitterly gratified. I had fulfilled the proper narrative of an animal who is injured and returns to its cave to lick its wounds only in private.

But there is a desperation for the hidden pain to be noticed. This is the Achilles' Heel of the whole stealth operation; it threatens the little play I have constructed in which I suffer alone and inconvenience no one and am all the stronger for it.

Today I stood upright to talk to my mother and doubled over in pain the moment she left the room. It is satisfying, knowing I did the valiant and honourable thing of keeping the damn pain to myself. It is infuriating, the way my eyes flickered to the door in the dark and private hope that she would come back in and witness me while I was down.

I want to be strong and hide all the hard things away. I want someone to see my efforts to hide all the hard things away and realise I'm strong. I want to bring to life this character I have created who suffers without complaint and is loved when the truth is revealed. Who suffers well.

This is the person who stores up agony to a breaking point, to justify the ultimate snapping of composure. This is the person who wants to be depended on relentlessly and one-sidedly, so that someone someday might notice the unfairness of it all. This is the person who virtuously and righteously take all the hits without a sound, so that when they finally, inevitably break, their pain will come to light all at once and inspire awe and guilt in equal measure.

Who am I, really? Is it terrible to want to play this character? Perhaps some old wound craves acknowledgement and understanding and doesn't know how else to ask for it except by hiding until it festers.

Strength. Competency. Resilience. Dependability. Independence. They have all become synonyms in my black and white dictionary. They have all become straws for the drowning man.

I self-impose silence. I take pleasure in denial and secrecy. I take pride in successfully keeping a problem to myself.

Pride. That's another important word. I think I have too much of it, although it pains me when others point it out. Pride implies I think highly of myself, which is something a good person should never do. Pride is so audaciously self-absorbed, so high-and-mighty, so filthy with ego. There's probably a lot of it in this damn thing I've written.

Pride is the other thing that keeps my mouth shut. The thing that says I should be austere, untouchable, immovable. Pride is the thing that says look here, you don't have a lot going for you so you better keep this mask on right if you want to be good. If you want to be admired.

These terrible things keep me safe. I can't let go of that stupidly noble character or that cowardly pride. I need them to shield me from the reality that I am emotional, not all that put together, and honestly hopeless most of the time.

I need to have something worth liking about myself. I need to have a grit that makes me undeniably good. I need to have a strength that goes unsung, that lies in wait of discovery.

What an exhausting way to live. But it's the only way I know.

[briebysabs]

I’ve been deliberating for a couple days now and have decided to discuss in-depth about Kim Dokja and the tendencies of putting his life on the line. For most of the novel, I was split on whether I should view KDJ as a self-sacrificial bastard or a suicidal character. And by the end, I’ve reached the conclusion that he is both.

Before I elaborate further, it should be noted that while we all meme about KDJ’s dying count, he actually isn’t that careless with his life. What I mean is he sacrifices himself usually as a last resort, plans A to F didn’t work and it’s the only option left to hope for kimcom’s safety-ditch effort. Usually. We’ll circle back to that when we bring up OD. But his sacrifices are always done as granting his companions salvation, utterly blind to how they feel about it. But to understand his constant need to do this you have to first start with where he learned how to love. Lee Sookyoung’s love was sacrificial, she’d take the brunt of her husband’s rage to shield KDJ, she’d take on blame for his death and be incarcerated for years so Kim Dokja won’t discover the truth. All of this, in my opinion, unbeknownst to KDJ, imprinted onto him this interpretation of love. As nobody else until the scenarios began had loved him (Yes HSY technically but he doesn’t know that). Which gives the irony that multiple characters KDJ resent in the story such as Kim Namwoon, his mother, the constellations are ultimately revealed to be reflections of himself.

Another component to his self-sacrificing is “Kim Dokja the reader”. I’m not going to dive deep into how orv interweaves dissociation and escapism into its narrative, I’ll do that some other day. But KDJ views himself as the reader, an outsider, the sole member in the audience watching the story unfold before him. Yes he grants commentary, the players notice and acknowledge his existence, but he isn’t part of the play. So if he decides to step out of the auditorium for a while, if he decides to leave a bookmark where he left off and close the book, nothing should change. The story will continue in his absence, the characters cannot possibly miss him because Kim Dokja was not a character. He was not part of their world so even if he’s gone, the ending will still happen. And that is something I want to stress here.

KDJ says “he wants to see a certain story’s epilogue”. Specific choice of words, “see”. He doesn’t say he’ll be part of it,that he’ll be with them, or any close variation of those phrases.

This is where I want to diverge to talk about KDJ's suicidality. You can say “Ok then, KDJ has a clear goal in mind to reach the ending he desires. Yes he may feel the need to step out of the story every now and then, but he does so reluctantly. So obviously, he doesn’t want to die.” And you wouldn’t be wrong really but that simplifies it to an overwhelming degree. That’s how I initially thought of it until I realized how complicated it actually is. Because most people who deal with suicidal thoughts aren’t searching for death but rather feel there’s no other choice. It often isn’t as clear cut as 1863 YJH who, anyone that read this arc will say with certainty that he was suicidal. Yes KDJ isn’t chanting in his mind over and over that he wants to die but why does he want to live? To see the proper ending of a web novel that stopped him from attempting again to begin with. Over the course of orv he finds people he loves and who love him back deeply. People he longs to live for but despite that because of the disconnect between them, his self-loathing, accompanied with what I said before, believing he has no other way out of these threatening situations. Yeah it’s to save his companions but in the end Kim Dokja still feels the need to die. Even if you do not see KDJ as a suicidal character, it is undeniable that so much revolving him, the impact it has on those who care for him, and the visceral descriptions used to convey their thoughts, is a direct metaphor for that.

Or in a few cases, straight up what’s going on and now we arrive at what I think was the final straw for Kim Dokja. Meeting the Oldest Dream. For me, this is THE scene of orv. The biggest twist and what finally irreparably broke KDJ. Prior to this, Kim Dokja had become the “Enemy of the story” but it was unlike his previous dances with death. This time he truly had no intention of dying, he wants to be a part of the ending with his companions, he understands now that his sacrifices do hurt them. That according to him “I, someone of no redeeming quality, could be loved by the others.” That he is a character and that just maybe, he does deserve to live happily ever after with them. And then Kim Dokja meets a 15-year old boy with the same face as his, doodling in a notebook his ideas for Ways of Survival and a notification tells him to ‘Please end the Oldest Dream’. All of that progress is shattered in an instant.

KDJ tries to excuse himself by recalling his promise to SP to kill OD but we all know if that was any other kid, he would not have tried to kill them. He would’ve hesitated much more, he’d look for a loophole, he would’ve tried talking which is his biggest strength for every corner he gets into. Killing them would not be the first option but now it is. Because this isn’t an instance of sacrifice anymore, KDJ is sick of himself. OD is a presence that confirms KDJ’s worst fears. That he’s meant to be weak and pitiful and alone, that he was always an outsider, that he unintentionally causes pain and misfortune to people he loves, that everyone would be perfectly fine and better even without him. And Kim Dokja is the physical manifestation of them: a monster. And there’s only one way to get rid of this monster.

The chain of events from him swinging his sword at OD, trying to stab himself with the blade only for YJH to stop it desperately with his hand, everyone restraining and begging him to stop, KDJ crying and screaming for SP + the other Outer Gods to kill OD. Everyone else is forgiving him and KDJ is only thinking of getting a blade.

This is Kim Dokja’s relapse. It’s real, it’s harrowing, and he never recovers from it. He reaches the conclusion that he has to be alone, it’s his atonement, it's what he deserves. So he splits himself 49-51. I interpreted this when I first read it as presenting 49% of what you believe people want to see. More real than a facade but it’s not the true you. The true, fucked up version of who you are is trapped in a prison of your making, trapped in a darkness you feel you don’t deserve to escape. Which is why it’s so powerful that KimCom went after that 51%. They didn’t want just their version of KDJ, they wanted everything KDJ is including the larger side of him that he wishes didn’t exist. But the plan fails, they managed to turn that full stop into a comma but they couldn’t save KDJ. Because you can’t drag someone out of that train, out of that mentality, you can’t force someone to love themself. All you can do is reach out to any corner, every worldline you can and let them know you’ll always love them. That you’ll always love every aspect of their story and hope that perhaps one day, they’ll accept your hand and believe it.

[ID: Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint art by Blackbox: first of Kim DOkja smiling, seen through a space in a bookshelf, and second of astronaut Yoo Joonghyuk floating upside down as letters float around him. End ID]

[percheduphere]

I don't think Mobius is happy in his timeline. Don, as we find him, is different from Mobius.

He's less confident.

He's more desperate.

He's less responsible.

He's more lonely.

Owen's delivery of "Are you really my friend?" Didn't sound skeptical to me. It sounded more like longing.

I originally thought his wife died, but upon second review, the delivery of "long gone" was rather flippant. If it was a divorce, however, it seems like it wasn't an amicable parting. It rather leans toward a marriage that struggled to work.

I still stand by the notion Mobius isn't making enough money. Yet, the kids stayed with him. That, to me, suggests the wife cheated and left to be with her lover. To prevent disruption in his kids' lives (changing schools, leaving behind friends, etc.), I think Mobius argued for primary custody.

Again, he needs the money. He brings up his wife, but it's not her he misses.

He misses the sense of adventure, the fun, the companionship. Someone to share a drink with, someone to share a meal or something sweet with.

Even in his timeline, he doesn't actually get to ride a jetski. The most he can get is fantasizing about it.

While Loki sacfricing himself to ensure his friends are safe, to ensure Mobius's kids are safe, to ensure MOBIUS is safe, feels like a forgone conclusion, I don't think this feels like a proper ending for Mobius.

I think Loki will survive, and I hope he and Mobius will find a way to make it work since Loki explained to him he can take Mobius back to any point in time. Meaning, he could have Loki in his life without abandoning his kids.

But where will Loki go? Even if OB and Casey want to stay full-time at the TVA (I honestly don't see either of them wanting their timeline lives), it doesn't feel right for Loki.

This house looks like it can fit one more person.

I don't care that I know I'm about to get hurt, but the narrative set-up is all there, and it's driving me crazy. There's an indisputable basis for a romantic relationship, there's Loki's powers enabling a timeline life and a TVA life to work, and there's a fucking HOUSE that can fit one more person that we know would be welcome there.

Adding to all of this is that Mobius shows up in Deadpool 3.

This is driving me absolutely bananas. The happy ending is there. It's mechanically feasible. But it's Disney, so what the hell ending is it going to be???

[abstract-moth]

One detail I really like in Nimona is that everyone is a terrible detective

Ballister is in the spotlight the most bc he’s actively trying to prove his innocence. Except he’s real bad at it. Like the first time we see him after the whole Queen killing fiasco, his notes on the wall show that he already suspects the Squire knows something.

But then he does literally nothing about it.

Instead he strolls into the Institute with an iron-clad “trust me bro I’m innocent” argument that leads to extremely predictable consequences.

After Nimona gets him out of that mess, he actually talks to the Squire and miraculously get proof of his innocence! And then he promptly decides to not make a backup copy of the recording... or secure a witness statement... or even ensure the safety of his single witness (some knight he is). Instead Ballister simply walks straight back into the Institute again with a new “trust me bro, I’m innocent just look at this thing in my pocket first” and predictably looses all his evidence.

Then a third time, he and Nimona get sneaky and record the Director’s actual confession, uploading it for everyone to see. But they only take a small soundbite, which backfires on them later when the Director makes the very logical “we have proof Boldheart is working with a literal shapeshifter, so maybe it was a shapeshifter that said that.” Ballister and Nimona didn’t even show that the Director was in possession of Ballister’s sword or that she tried to stab Ambrosius.

And Ballister (and by extension Nimona) aren’t the only terrible detectives. It’s implied that nobody did a proper investigation after the Queen’s death or else the Squire’s testimony would have been uncovered.

Plus Ambrosius‘ suggestion that ‘hey maybe we should watch the clip for ten seconds longer to see if there’s anything else we missed” seems like a novel idea instead of standard practice. And upon discovering Ballister’s real sword, Ambrosius also makes no attempt to secure evidence of it’s existence within the Institute (which could prove Ballister’s innocence) and instead gives it away. 

Taken at direct face value, this makes the characters seem incompetent and unintelligent. But the genius is that it makes perfect sense within the larger narrative of the story why the knights are not taught investigative or problem solving skills.

They live in a society where “monsters” exist.

If monsters were allowed to have a voice, to prove to others that perhaps they are actually innocent, it would fundamentally shatter the perception that the accused were evil monsters to begin with. And this, in turn, would bring the entire system crumbling down.

Their society is one where anyone can be labeled a monster and there is no room for questions or analysis.

Truth does not matter.

Facts do not matter.

There is simply blind obedience to those already in power.

And this leads to innocent people being hurt. 

[underdark-dreams]

ok, I'm too cowardly to actually reply to your post about Rolan/ Dammon headcannons/ prompts but here are a few:

Rolan:

-He finally gets to be hero, he saves Tav from some scenario and when Tav is thanking him he has no idea what to do with himself.

-Cal and Lia being siblings and absolutely embarrassing him anytime Tav is around. (Sharing embarrassing but endearing stories from when they were younger, hinting at his feelings for Tav, making kissy faces from behind Tav when he's trying to have a conversation.)

-Also, I just have a feeling that he's a jealous green monster whenever someone who isn't any one the companions try and talk to Tav.. especially if its another wizard.

Dammon:

-Him trying to muster up the courage to ask Tav out when he has his shop in Baulders Gate.

-Dammon would 100% be the type who wants to court someone the 'proper' way, but could be convinced otherwise.

-He seems like he would act like a love sick puppy when he's in love.

Thank you for this delicious bouquet of ideas!! 🖤 Twirling my hair over these!! I do want to save a few for fics, but I couldn’t look at this in my inbox any longer without writing out some headcanons:

Rolan 

[Cal & Lia embarrassing him around Tav]

The three of them have a super close bond underneath all the bickering. So the absolute second Rolan catches feelings, Cal & Lia smell blood in the water

Honestly they probably catch it before Rolan admits him to himself

When Lia starts to drop hints or Cal asks if he’s gotten up the nerve to kiss them yet, Rolan is like "what? stop being stupid"

But then he turns away & checks in with himself for a second & he's like "oh fuck"

Rolan makes an effort to only interact with Tav far away from his home, his workplace, the general vicinity of his neighborhood in Baldur’s Gate—basically avoiding anywhere they might run into his sister or brother. They already make him nervous enough

But once they start getting closer he also really wants to bring them home, so at some point, he’ll suck it up and face this potential trainwreck head-on

His siblings make light conversation over dinner about what Tav’s been doing or working on lately. Lia’s like “oh yeah Rolan mentioned that, you know he talks about you a lot, like all the time”

Tav’s hand silently taking his under the table is the only thing that could distract Rolan from snapping back

Somehow, Rolan is even more embarrassed when his siblings start genuinely reminiscing and telling Tav stories about the three of them growing up in Elturel

He’ll chime in if Tav asks him a question, but otherwise he’s pretty quiet. Rolan doesn’t want them to think about him as a refugee or an orphan

In his mind, he still thinks he needs to be powerful and significant in order to truly deserve Tav’s affection

If Rolan paid any attention, he’d realize that Cal and Lia talking up what a stubborn, protective big brother he’s always been is putting stars in Tav’s eyes

[Jealousy]

He’s so fucking jealous and it drives him crazy

Rolan likes controlling the narrative, keeping any vulnerability under control & well hidden from others, etc.

Falling in love with Tav creates a big complication in the way he usually operates

Once he’s master of Ramazith’s Tower, he has a certain amount of social obligations—hosting members of the wizarding community, professional gatherings, etc

And Tav is an integral part of his life now, so they'll always be involved to some extent

Midway through the evening, Rolan glances across the room and sees one of his colleagues talking much closer than he'd like to his beloved. As he watches, their hand actually reaches out to touch Tav’s elbow

Whatever he's doing or whoever he's conversing with is abandoned without ceremony

Rolan does that thing where he casually walks up to join the conversation and places a hand on the small of Tav's back, just resting there with a slight smile as he pretends to listen. But he’s staking his claim

In his head the gesture means step the fuck back, this person is with me. It’s honestly about as subtle as a sledgehammer

After they're finally alone again he'll probably want to fuck Tav on his desk or against one of the bookstacks in the Tower

Capturing them for himself and hearing them moan his name and making sure they know they’re his

Dammon

[Working up the courage to ask Tav out]

He’s been really glad their paths have converged here and there along the way, but nothing could make him prouder than when Tav comes to visit the Forge of Nine Hells in the city

Dammon is completely in his element in Baldur’s Gate

He’s pretty modest and down-to-earth, but he feels a swell of pride when Tav finally sees him running a proper forge. It’s how he always hoped they’d see him

And is it just his imagination, or does he see them…often? Almost every day they’re dropping by for one reason or the other, and they seem to linger to chat and watch him work

The hints that they’re interested are all Dammon needs to start working up his courage to make a move

He's alone and tied to his work most of the day, which gives his mind ample time to run through different options

Getting the timing right drives him a little crazy. So often Tav is in a hurry, or with their companions, or he's got a rush commission that he has to get finished

When he finally finds the moment, he’ll probably come right out with it & ask them out for a drink. He wants something simple where they can talk, plus smithing is thirsty work

When Tav agrees with a smile, Dammon drops everything, his leather apron snagging as he pulls it over his horns in his haste to get going

Gathers his courage and puts an arm around their shoulders as they walk

With anyone else Dammon would be self-conscious about how he smells like iron and smoke and sweat all the time. But if anyone can look past it it’s Tav, with everything they’ve been through

A feeling that's confirmed when they lean further into him with a laugh

[Being totally lovesick over Tav]

The definition of devoted

He would 100% be that type of boyfriend who likes to be always touching Tav when they’re close

Prefers to rest his hand on their hip while they’re side by side, maybe on the curve of their ass if he can get away with it. The contrast against the doting look in his eye is classic Dammon—sweet and hot 

It's not a possessiveness thing, and he'd tone it down if Tav asked, he's just super into them & touching them feels natural

Just in general, he loves telling Tav yes and has a very hard time telling them no

At the end of the day, Dammon likes to pull Tav down to sit on his lap and talk about their days. He might stroke their hair or rub their back while he listens, just helping his love relax at the end of a long day

Dammon’s used to being a single bachelor and taking care of himself, but he discovers that he adores when Tav does little things to dote on him or pamper him

One night he comes home with the usual soot stains on his skin and ache in his shoulders to find that Tav has drawn him a warm, pleasant-smelling bath. Ignoring any mild protests, Tav insists on helping him peel off his sweaty layers and sink in, then loosens his knot of hair to gently lather and wash his locks. The feel of Tav’s fingers and nails massaging his scalp is the most loving, tender thing. Dammon feels like he could fall asleep right right there in the water under their hands

He calls Tav all kinds of pet names: darling, love, dearest, gorgeous, sometimes angel if he's feeling especially whipped

Dammon is one to say "I love you' freely and often, but hearing Tav say it back never fails to make him sigh with happiness

[scarapanna]

The main premise and events in the Intertwined Opposites AU

It's finally here!!!

I've managed to finally make a proper info post for my personal take on this silly possession AU craze as I've planned to do for a while since I'm totally normal about this concept (lie) /silly

Before proceeding, keep in mind that this post is gonna be pretty long as I'll be diving into important story events troughout the first half of it, so it gets the read more treatment as usual!!

There will be no crk spoilers here (except for the beast-yeast episodes), just a ""prologue" to current narrative events in the AU

[[Little edit but there now are some ref sheets for both Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla!!! They can be found here]]

•The beginning•

Everything starts in beast-yeast, once peace has been returned to the fairie kingdom

Now that the area is mostly free from danger with the silver tree's seal being properly mended, the crowd decides to start repairs and preparations to further celebrate everyone's victory for the remainder of the day.

However, as everyone starts to leave the area, something starts creeping out from the shadows created by the tree's roots

Turns out that Shadow Milk, now severely weakened from the blow taken in battle, has managed to flee from being forced back into his prison once more.

During Lily's blast of magic, he essentially "split" and discarded part of his own power as a last resort, separating what was already being sucked into the renewed seal from himself to avoid getting dragged into containment once more.

Unfortunately for the beast, both his panicked and sloppy procedure combined with the added strenght of the new guardian's spell left him with a very poor amount of strenght, with it not being enough for anything useful.

Needless to say, his mind is filled with hatred and anger as soon as he emerges

he can't really do much with this state, and thus lingers on formulating a plan to get what he wanted from the start, but how?

How would he get back on track, rid himself of the guardian, and break the seal once more like this?

The answer eventually comes to him, just right on top of a bridge alongside the one who restored his prison.

His souljam, the one he was once the owner of

Now "purified" and held by Pure Vanilla, it binds the two together with the virtue of knowledge, split in the lights of truth and deceit during the purification process.

These lights are owned by the beast, and the figure by the bridge in front of him, yet come from the same thing.

Shadow Milk has finally decided on a proper plan.

◆ What comes after and what it leads to ◆

Days pass, turning into a few weeks and ending with a trip back home to take a break and write down what happened during the beast-yeast expedition.

Everything seems to have gone well in the end, yet something still feels..wrong?

It's not the best term for it, but does the job well enough.

The vanilla kingdom is peaceful, and Pure Vanilla's return safe and sound brings back some joy to the citizens.

Yet it just doesn't feel right, he doesn't know what precisely, but the ancient is riddled with an odd feeling almost like being watched.

He might not realise it for now, but he had been right. Someone has been following him inside the castle for the entire duration of the trip.

Pure Vanilla slowly grows more wary as days pass, and his doubts are confirmed as Shadow Milk's idea is proven successful.

In the void Pure Vanilla is confronted by Shadow Milk cookie, he spills everything he's done without esitating twice, as there's no reason to hide it anymore.

Shadow Milk had always been there ever since the re-sealing of the tree, following Pure Vanilla and draining magic at a slow enough rate to not be noticed, until it was enough to take over his body without trouble.

Now that he had a "vessel" to work with, he could keep recharging power and be finally able to do his bidding.

He's questioned multiple times by Pure Vanilla, but he wouldn't budge, and the ancient manages to gather only their location and a few loose details.

This was not a void, this was a ""mind space"" where he was bound to stay while shadow milk used his body as a disguise, and he could not use magic to fight back against the beast.

Being out of options, Pure Vanilla quickly tries to think over what to do, and lingers over the situation to come up with something.

Shadow Milk proposes an idea to Pure Vanilla, sharing the vessel that both are confined in, to be sure he doesn't get caught.

This is only to one condition: the ancient must work in favour of the beast under it's watchful sight at all times

The Ancient complies, and a deal is sealed.

It's not a loss nor a victory, only a beginning

◆The current situation◆

Now that the main prologue is set, what happens precisely to both?

So, Shadow Milk cookie is essentially ""possessing"" Pure Vanilla, but not completely.

The two switch up control of the ancient's body in certain times of the day and night, sometimes Pure Vanilla is granted the lead and when he's not needed Shadow Milk takes it. He's pretty much using the ancient as a puppet, a disguise and a tool for his own gain, assigning him certain tasks so that his plan will work as intended.

Whenever one of them is not in control of their shared ""vessel"", they're send in the mindspace until the shift of control takes place and so on. Shadow milk never gives Pure Vanilla full "freedom" or personal space, having control of the shifts in lead and constantly keeping the ancient under watch trough mirrors and reflective surfaces (The only moments in which he's given alone time is when the beast is asleep in the mind space to retain magic).

The ancient, on the other hand, accepted Shadow Milk's offer right away without esitation, but for a much different reason.

Pure vanilla is trying to get the best out of his situation, and thus feels forced to go against his own morality to keep cookies safe and attempt to alarm them trough hints and hidden messages scattered in the kingdom.

Even if he doesn't like the means, what else could he do to keep everyone safe?

The difficulty of his situation causes him great stress and paranoia, which worsens as time goes on and Shadow Milk regains his powers bit by bit, making his actions more difficult to get away with unnoticed.

Here's some more info regarding the effects of sharing a vessel in two:

• Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk's connection by souljam makes sharing a body possible, otherwise it would be fatal to most cookies (As they're not made to be vessels).

• The slit in the souljam is a shared element which hints at Shadow milk's presence in both, during control shifts it flickers in different shades of gray.

• Remaining on the topic, control shifts are not plesant in the slightest to both parties involved, being defined by acute physical pain on the area covered by the souljam. This is inflicted on the current cookie in charge of the vessel during the shift, fading away only when back in the mindspace.

•The two can see eachother and comunicate trough reflective surfaces, with them displaying the current entity in the mindspace instead of the one leading the vessel.

• Pure Vanilla's voice sounds somewhat overlapped or distorted when shadow milk is in charge of his body, he can't change this aspect unfortunately for him.

• Certain factors like hunger and thirst are shared between the two due to their predicament, they can sometimes be heard debate over what to eat and when during the day.

• Sleep in the traditional sense is the only factor distinct to the two instead of being shared, as it's strictly based on "individual energy" rather than "shared energy"

[flopdriversenthusiast]

how likely i think the drivers would be to whore it out on the podium based largely on vibes and minimal knowledge. also organized within their tiers

explanations under cut extra empty category because i thought it was funny

dr: drinks from his fucking shoe i mean. if he won another race i think he would let someone pour champagne down him sebastian vettel style from that one wdc picture

cl: we couldve been a proper country again at the monaco gp this year but nooooo. he has it in him i know he does. cmon charles. please.

aa: i dunno i just think hes got that dog in him.

fa: hes done it before and he'll do it again. only that far down in the tier bc hes older but he also did post that thirsttrap yesterday so hes not in the second tier with lewis

cs: same as charles. i know you have it in you. please. we could be a proper country

lh: hes done it before but he needs the right person on the podium with him OR needs to win his like 8th wdc or smthn. hes got too much of a reputation to go slutting it around every other podium now

gr: HE COULD DO IT. I KNOW HE COULD. i know your reputation is cringefail radios and t-poses and crashing when carlos wins for some reason but i think he'd do it. someone has to initiate though

pg: hes got that slut energy someone just needs to push it out of him. and he also needs to get a podium again.

lsargeant: he just needs the chance to drink champagne somewhere other than his richboy yacht. your sad doomed by the narrative aura does not deter me i KNOW the slut is in you

op: listen. i know what you're thinking. i have no explanation.

nh: breaking his no podium streak would make him start acting up i know he can do it this man has no shame ive seen his old interviews

lstroll: idk vibes

eo: i dunno he also has like no shame but in the cringe way but not in the george way. hes strange to me.

vb: only this far down because he does his shenanigans for the giggles if someone initiated i think he could

sp: the catholic guilt man. he could!!!!!!! stop flopping checo and you could bring (yourself) this country back to its former glory please!!!!!!!!

mv: the catholic guilt man pt 2. he would though. if he got over it i know he would.

yt: wow all the rb drivers. he doesnt give as much slut energy tbh but i think he would!! he just needs to get over it first

zg: EYEEEEEEEE KNOW YOU HAVE THAT DOG IN YOU. just get on the podium and like get over the fact that all of china will be watching u slut it out and like he'd do it. i swear he would. if he managed to convince his parents not to disown him.

km: i dunno not the right vibes

ln: i dunno pt 2 i didnt really know where to put these two they werent like against it enough to be in the last tier but not slutty enough for the catholic guilt one

[yannaryartside]

WE NEED 5 SEASONS

Okay I need to vent a little. Please indulge me

This is for this article that says the 5th season is up to Storer.

Storer said they filmed most of season 4, and some things still need to be filmed. So we will have s4 next summer, and we don't know if there will be a 5th one.

I could put my hand on fire to my belief that we will have 5 seasons. Mostly, because regardless of the importance of showing “being trapped in negative patterns” that was s3 for multiple characters, is not gonna be a satisfying conclusion if all those patterns are resolved in one season.

Realistically, i would not make sense.

Even if you think Claire is Carmy’s salvation, this graceful, perfect angel that came to serve Carmy’s redemption, and when they get together, everything will be fine (that narrative sucks ass, by the way, is perpetually insulting to everyone that had ever had a mental illness to suggest them they only need to fall on the hands of someone that ignores all their defects and are determined to please them). You could believe this is all about self-sabotage, and Carmy will wake up next season, apologize to Claire, save the restaurant by ex-maquina magic, and get his happy ending. Yeah, that will be 4 seasons of a conclusive story and an objectively terrible narrative. It is also very insulting to every person who has a romantic partner who struggles with addiction and/or mental illness to tell them they need to be this fairy tale of a person who is Claire to bring "peace" to their partner and basically solve their life. Fuck that. I refuse to believe they are doing that on purpose.

But if they put the “sleigh of hand” and Carmy has to realize that his emotional dependence on Claire is toxic and only contributed to his depression and disassociation, since you spent all S3 pulling him in that direction, making him believe that is what he wanted/needed, you are going to need a whole season for him even to “scape the illusion.” All of this will align with the Bear having to close, Syd potentially leaving, and starting dating Luca. So, S4 is going to be the “wake-up call.”

S5 should be the season of creating new patterns. Carmy will get into therapy. Syd will come back. The two will create new recipes and work on the menu (collaboration, vulnerability). They will realize they have true feelings for one another. Each character will move towards the place they are gonna end up with.

If you created a whole season about "being in the freeze response" and another two previous seasons of extending trauma and bad coping mechanisms, you are gonna need more than one season to fix that; mental wellness is not like that; it should be treated like something that requires more time combined with efforts.

Not to mention, if SydCarmy is indeed happening, you have spent 3 fucking seasons creating distance between them. I also feel like so much of Sydney's life (to her and to us) is trapped around Carmy's issues, and it actually would make more sense for her to realize being with Carmy is too taxing for her, regardless if she had the most realistic tools to actually help him to grow.

You also had not given Sydney a proper arc to grow from her insecurities and follow her dreams. She still seems to be as insecure of her own skills as when she came in, because Carmy insist on creating a menu based on his trauma. Regardless of his good intentions and the beauty of their connection, she will leave the "bear narrative" as if Carmy is the closest thing she had to a chef David, as if Carmy was the monster she needed to endure to "grow" or "decide better." Fuck that.

[writingwithfolklore]

Surviving Death

                I am a sucker for revival after character death—as long as it’s done well. Maybe in the future we’ll do a separate post on killing characters, but what I’ll say about it now is that revival can be a fantastic plot twist or narrative turn as long as both it and the death has proper meaning.

                While you may want to revive a character for a happy ending--they wake up and not only is the world saved but everyone made it out alive! This can also sometimes feel a bit cheap. What was the point of suffering the death if they were just to get to come back easy-peasy? Consider, would End Game have been as revered if Tony got to survive his sacrifice?

                So here’s some ways to bring a character back to life without losing the meaning of their death:

They are forever changed from the experience

A classic “came back wrong”, one of my favourite things in fiction. You get to choose to the extent they are wrong. Maybe the ‘wrong’ isn’t some supernatural influence, but rather just a result of the experience of dying.

                They saw something about the afterlife, they’ve lost memories, they’ve gained new memories about a past or a future or alternate timeline, they realize how much they mean to certain people, they discover just how little they meant to others, etc. etc.

                Their death (and subsequent revival) should quite literally change the course of their life. That’s not something one could go through lightly. Whether it gives them trauma, new perspectives, or a complete shift in personality/morals, they definitely didn’t come back how they left.

2. Sacrifice for a Sacrifice

Also a pretty common trope—you don’t get to gain something unless you lose something. To bring them back, someone else has to take their place, or something important is lost. Maybe to trade for their companion back, the main character loses the greatest asset to their quest. Maybe they have to choose between two people, and the two who live have to live with that fact.

                I read a book once where the main character had to choose between his love interest and his brother in a Saw-like trap. He chooses his brother, and the villain kills him anyway. Now he must continue his quest with his love interest, who knows he didn’t choose her. It was tragic, and completely changed their dynamic.

3. They’re only half back

They come back, but only some of the way. Maybe they are cursed to die again in a year. They’re tied to one place and will disappear if they leave it. They’re a ghost, or otherwise not fully present. They exist only in relation to certain objects or people. Their communication is lost, or certain other abilities they used to have.

                They came back, but only some of them—the rest is lost to the beyond.

Most importantly to reviving characters is the permanent consequences. Death is no easy thing to overcome, and whatever the circumstances are--it should remain with them forever.

                What are some other ways to revive characters?

[geminialchemist]

It’s been about a month since I beat Shadow of the Erdtree. Thinking it through, especially the ending, I think my thoughts have changed.

I think I hate that final boss and the lore around him even more than I did before.

Call me a Godwyn Stan, but I will die in the hill that he made far more sense than Radahn, and I’m gonna explain it.

Building up to the dlc, we know Miquella is close to three people in particular. His sister, Malenia, his father, Radagon, and his half brother, Godwyn. After Godwyn dies, Miquella becomes obsessed with bringing him back, or granting him a proper death. He tries an eclipse to bring him back, it doesn’t work, implied to be because the eclipse just will not happen. Now why would a heavenly body not move into its proper place again?

Oh yeah, Radahn! Guys got a hard on for holding back the stars. So it made sense that him being dead was a dlc requirement, on top of why Malenia would have fought him in the first place. It just fueled the idea we were going to see Godwyn even more.

Yeah, Godwyn is dead. I keep seeing that argument thrown around like it means literally anything. He’s super dead, prince of death, lord of the undead, blah blah, this argument is nothing but noise. The Realm of Shadow is where all things that die pass through. It’s basically the land of the dead! This argument that Godwyn is dead, to me, is the single dumbest argument against his return when you’re in a place all dead things go. That’s like saying Godwyn’s soul is trash, so you shouldn’t expect to find him in a garbage dump. If there was a single narrative way to bring that beautiful idiot back, it would be in this dlc because of where it takes place. If they had brought him back this way, no one would have batted an eye at its inclusion.

So, the dlc takes place in the land where all dead things pass through that is super hard to get to through by any normal means, so no one could really try to revive Godwyn this way. It has a plot where Miquella, who is obsessed with bringing Godwyn back, is trying to revive someone from death by shoving them into a new body, and then they don’t do it? They bring back Radahn like that made any form of narrative sense? Like two missable lines of dialogue from two separate NPCs can satisfyingly explain this stupid idea?

I don’t know if it was Miyazaki or GRRM who wrote this, but maybe next time they should let the intern with no writing experience do the plot for the next game, they might do a better job at crafting a sensible narrative.

There is so much to love about this dlc, and I’ve said it before in a previous post that I’m just better at airing out my grievances at a thing than my praises. But when I replay it, I have such a hard time finding the motivation to finish the second half of the dlc, knowing that is what waits me at the end. It feels like such a waste.

Rant over. I hope you have a nice day.

Edit: you know what, rant is not over(but I still hope you had a nice day)! This entire mess of a plot could have been avoided if they just… didn’t have Miquella resurrect anyone! Have an original boss! It’s almost as if this plot was designed with online discourse in mind because there is no way to not think of Godwyn when you think of Miquella trying to bring someone back from the dead!

Okay, now I’m done.

[not-too-many-eyes]

Unexplainable Tragedies

(Also Known as: Reverse is a story about the apocalypse)

I always found the concept of The Storm fascinating. When I started playing Reverse I messaged a friend saying that I was really upset that I didn't think of it first since the concept of it is so interesting. A storm of time that (usually) brings the world back in time. It's such a compelling concept for a time travel story.

As a result, I've done a lot of thinking about it and it's place in the game's narrative. So, I have now decided to write this post so that I may articulate my opinions and feelings when it comes to it.

So, with that out of the way:

The Foundational Blocks of Society

Reverse depicts a world in which society is never safe. It's a world where at a single drop of rain the entire world as we know it can be destroyed and reverted back to a "backwards" version of it. Nothing is sacred because nothing ever stays minus a few pockets of the world that were lucky enough to be safe from it.

The Headquarters of St. Pavlov Foundation exists in of those pockets and it has existed even before The Storm. As a result it's a bastion of Pre-Storm Society. They are Worldwide and seek unite humans and arcanists so that they may return the world to it's "normal state" the one they used to exist in before. The one before all this tragedy occurred.

This, on it's surface, is an altruistic venture. But, considering the name of this place comes from Ivan Pavlov. The one who discovered Classical Conditioning. I think the intentions of these people should be questioned, just a tad.

The Foundation have consistently shown themselves as comprised of bad actors and feuding parties. Bigotry runs deeply in the Foundation's...foundations. Their modus operandi for "recruiting" Arcanists is to find the youngest ones who are disenfranchised and "teach" them what is proper in SPDM. Where they are taught the Foundation's ideology. That:

(Chapter 4 Part 2: Frog and Toffee)

Sonetto: We are born to die Martyrs

Later on, Matilda remarks that she was almost refused from the school because she's too old.

(Chapter 4 Part 10: O' Captain)

Matilda: My name is Matilda Bouanich! I am the most senior transfer student in the school- in fact, I was too senior to be taken in, if nor for that special approval. That is to say. I remember the outside world a lot more than you do...

She remembers things that she shouldn't.

Outside of this. Arcanists from the outside world who know the Foundation are critical of them. A lot of the ones we've seen like Regulus and Kakania don't want anything to do with them, and the ones inside have...mixed feelings on them as a whole.

Ms. Mossian: Although the Foundation is well-known for their effective ways of teaching, they always overlooked each student's character and personality. Hmm… I find their teaching philosophy difficult to comment on.

Even Sonetto and Mesmer Jr, some of the most ardent members of the Foundation have Undoubtedly been negatively affected by them. With Sonetto always wanting for freedom, and Mesmer Jr having and being on the verge of a mental breakdown every second of the day.

The world The Foundation creates isn't a just one. But this was Always part of it's institution. It's premise of wanting to unite humans and arcanists has Always had the asterisk that says "as long as we humans rule"

(Revival! The Uluru Games, Part 10: Let's Play House)

Spathodea: Make life better? Get out! You think I never saw the ad of Laplace? Spathodea: "Guide arcanum with science, tame the orderless power with sense." That's what you tell the people!

This isn't a new change. It wants to return the world to how it was before, and the world of 1999 doesn't seem to have been in the hands of arcanists.

They justify themselves, say that arcanists are inherently more emotional and that's why they Must exist. Without them the world would be out of control.

But, frankly, this is a bold fucking thing to say from a Institution who's vice president has beef with a teenager.

Humans cannot claim to be reasonable compared to the "irrational" arcanists when so much of this game showcases human irrationality. Even before the Storm people were competing to make it big in the stock market. Even before the Storm people burned witches and panicked in the streets over Y2K.

As much as arcanists perceive and understand the world differently, any existing evidence in perception or emotion sensitivity is greatly exaggerated to fit the narrative that The Foundation (that Humans) Must Exist to control them.

Greta Hofmann says it best in this chapter.

(Chapter 6 Part 15: With Hope Rekindled)

Hofmann: We have all heard it, humans are more rational and arcanists are more emotional. Hofmann: Their sensitive to the darkness of the world, so they can easily become absorbed in their own emotions and ignore reality Hofmann: But, if we put a human child in the position of an arcanist, who always takes on the world because of his uniqueness, who is never understood for his talents... Hoffmann: Maybe he too will become impulsive, sensitive immature and unstable Hoffmann: And that's why it sometimes dwans on me that if we put an arcanist child in the position of a human being who receives enough love, education, and positive feedback... Hoffmann: These 'instabilities' might be controllable. At least enough to keep them from hurting themselves or others.

This the world the Foundation wants to return to,the one unaffected by the changes that The Storm brought. The one where humans and arcanists were together but we all knew who was Really in charge.

"This the true path to the future!" They say. "We just need to return to the past. The beautiful past that was taken away from us!"

However, The Foundation isn't the only organization in this game.

The Rapture.

The Manus Vindictae are the arcanist parallel to The Foundation. A group of arcanists dedicated to arcanist supremacy in the same way The Foundation is dedicated to human supremacy. They believe that the Storm is actually a cleansing of impurity. Eliminating the bad habits of that era.

The also believe in The Guiding One/Arcana, and that arcanists are the ones Chosen to lead the world into a brighter era and leave this world of humans behind. The chosen ones of the new civilization that will bring everything to a new era of peace, they just need to go far back enough in time until:

(Chapter 1, Part 14: The Eye of The Storm)

Vertin: Which past do you want to return to? Fifty years ago? A century ago? Or... Forget Me Not: The past with the right order, of course

Of course this is rather...unethical, to say the least. However, this is not unique to the Manus in the slightest.

Again, The Foundation wants to return to the past before the Storm, and Matilda was almost refused from the school for the crime of being older than they would have liked her to be.

As the arks of the Foundation become more filled, less people are allowed to enter, and a lot are refused entry due to similar unethical reasoning,

(Chapter 4, Part 18: Road of a Puppy)

Sonetto: Schneider...a friend we met in Chicago Sonetto: She once chose to join The Foundation under the pressure of both the "Storm" and Manus Vindictae. Sonetto: But instead of offering any solution or help, you just gave her a rejection letter. Sonetto: I found this letter in her suit pocket. Sonetto: It had a small line written on it, "Paupers fuck off" (...) Sonetto: I do not understand...why there was such wording on it. Sonetto: Was it because she did not pay enough "shelter fee" to qualify for sheltering? Sonetto: Or was it because the wand she used was transformed by arcanum, which made you think she was an arcanist?

Really, the Manus are just more "honest" about their intentions. There's not much to discuss when there so open about it.

Still, there's a sort of, religious leaning to the way the Manus and it's affiliates talk. The idea that it's a trial, the idea that this is salvation, the idea that they are the ones chosen.

When the Y2K bug was something people were panicking about there was an expectation for it to be an Apocalyptic Event. Religious groups and similar organizations were all about being the ones chosen.

What the Manus exhbits here is it's own form of rationalization, which is funny considering how much they insistent that rational is a human thing.

If a tragedy occurs, then it's a tragedy in the favor of your organization. You will be rid of a world where cruel things happen and be brought up to one where your holiness will be confirmed and you will be happy forever as everyone who has ever committed evil rots below you.

It's a joke to think The Storm cares though.

The Pre/Post-Apocalypse

Something I've been leaving out about The Storm until now is that we do know Why it starts.

It starts due to:

Vertin: Community conflicts, turbulent history, new technology...all of these may lead to the "Storm."

Y2K, The Great Depression, World War 1. All important moments where time reversed, and all events that caused fear, panic and instability in the world.

Y2K isn't even disastrous, nothing actually apocalyptic Happened at the turn of the millennium. But it was such a terrifying concept it made the world go backwards before it could continue. We never see the after of these events, only the start. The panic is enough for a Storm to be caused.

It's a joke to think the Storm cares because the Storm isn't a person. It's an event, a tragedy, a change in the world. A moment in time that consumes anything that's within it's radius. Trying to explain it through something inherent is silly. Arcanists may be able to see through it but they still get consumed by it all the same.

You can formulate theories, maybe even pin down exactly what caused it, but that doesn't change what it did. The characters have been living in the moments before an apocalypse and the moments after one for ages now. You can't bring the world back to how it was before because that world simply doesn't exist anymore.

The Manus may accelerate it but really if it wasn't them it was going to be someone else. You can't keep everything in static normalcy forever. Especially a normal that's so cruel to people. Eventually someone is going to say that this sucks and try to change it, for good or for ill.

But, the beautiful past where nothing was wrong also Doesn't Exist. It's a fiction. But it's one that's easier to believe in than the future full of tragedy and suffering.

(Chapter 6, Part 20: War and Peace)

Isolde: Heads full of holes! Heads covered in shrapnel! Empty Stomachs! Even the ghosts of little children...I can see them all! Cities bombed to the ground, and trains full of people headed straight to death! Isolde: It is coming! IT IS COMING! By then, the guts hanging from the trees will be more vibrant than spring flowers. There will be bullets, helmets, gauze! Hahaha! Isolde: We have no future, doctor!

Everyone in Reverse is marked by that existential terror in a way. That the world is ending, that the world is going to end, that the world has already ended and they just have to pick up the pieces. That nothing really matters because nothing is permanent and nothing can be truly understood.

The Foundation and The Manus believe that:

Sonetto: As the instructors have told us, to live is to lose things around us until the day we lose life itself to death. That's why we should only focus on the supreme missions.

And, if they are right, if to live is to lose things around us. What Should we do? Do we do as they say and focus only on things larger than us? Survive the Storm by detaching ourselves from the world around us?

...

I'll let the end of Chapter 2 present my counter-argument for me.