#can i be a berserk fan yet

[notmerridew]

Guts : ]

[tariah23]

I’m still not rly looking forward to how annoying anime fans are about to be for csm

[ckret2]

Chapter 31 of human Bill grudgingly enduring being the Pines' prisoner because the Henchmaniacs won't take his call: Summerween night! Everyone gets ridiculous costumes!

The Summerween Trickster's buddies are attempting to resurrect him. Robbie's making a music video. Bill's attempting to woo Ford back into friendship, to terrify Dipper with cursed knowledge, and to recover his dignity from THE most gentle chastising imaginable, and he only succeeds in 1 out of 3 of these endeavors:

It's not this one. He's just gotta process these emotions while wearing that stupid wig.

####

Soos was putting the final touches on his cosplay (the suave and mysterious Masked Guy In A Suit, love interest of the heroine from the classic anime Teenage Planetary Soldier Girls) when he heard the phone ring in the office. "Hold on, I'll get it!" He hurried downstairs, ducked under a construction paper chain Mabel had strung over the door, picked up the phone, and said, "Hello?"

A mysterious voice droned, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

"Oh, no thanks, we don't want any." Soos hung up, sighed happily, and said, "Ah, Summerween. Always brings out the weirdos."

"Hey Soos!" Mabel ducked into the doorway. "Where's the candy bowl?"

"Oh, hey Hambone. It's in my bedroom." He put on a stage whisper. "I put it in there so Bill couldn't steal it."

"Thanks Soos!" She ran upstairs.

Dipper and Bill waited downstairs, the tension thick between them (on Dipper's side, anyway; Bill—watching a black-and-white horror movie, sipping at a can of cider, and brooding over going to voicemail—didn't notice). Dipper was waiting by the door in a folding chair; but he kept glancing toward Bill in the living room. When the silence got too much to bear, he asked, "Okay, what are you dressed as?"

Bill was wearing a brown bedsheet toga (the most historically-accurate part of his costume); a cheap wig of a teased mullet that had ended up mostly red with yellow streaks, forming a plume of hair right over his head and then a long straight tail he'd draped over his shoulder; and a bunch of paper faux-Greek homes taped all around the hem of his toga, forming a ring around his calves.

"And are those my sandals?" Dipper asked.

"Take it up with Mabel, she loaned them on your behalf," Bill said. "I'm not telling my costume. You have to guess it."

"Seriously?" Dipper sighed. It had to be a god, gods towered over their mortals' temples. What god would wear brown? "I don't know—Demeter?"

"What? No. Do I seem like the Demeter type? Pathetic." Bill waved off his guess. As Mabel ran downstairs, Bill said, "Hey, Shooting Star, you haven't made your official guess yet."

Without hesitation, Mabel said, "A time-traveling hair metal singer touring the Roman Empire and trying to find a way home before his hair dye runs out."

"Wrong, but I would love to live in the world you've dreamed up." He meandered into the entryway to join Mabel as she plopped down in the second chair by the door.

Dipper screwed up his face. "Are you helping us answer the door?"

"No, you're helping me answer the door. I'm cursed, remember?" Bill leaned over Mabel's shoulder, dug into the candy bowl, and popped a lollipop in his mouth. "But you're not getting rid of me, if that's what you're asking."

Soos headed to the door, cape billowing dramatically behind him. "Hey dudes. Hey Bill." He paused in the door, studying Bill. "Hey! Is that a Bobo the Uncouth Berserker cosplay?"

Bill blinked. "Who?"

"Bobo the Uncouth Berserker! You've gotta read Bobo. He's this primitive hero descended from lost Lemuria who goes on daring adventures through the lush impenetrable jungles of Central Europe. He's got this comic that was so popular it spawned an anime, which got an American movie adaptation, which formed the basis of a second comic continuity that isn't as critically acclaimed as the original but has drawn in a lot of new fans... and..." Soos petered out. "You're not Bobo, are you."

Bill shook his head. "Thanks for playing."

"Aw." Soos's shoulders slumped. "Anyway—me and Melody are gonna be at the cosplay contest at the theater. I'll keep my phone on in case of monsters."

"We'll be fine!" Mabel said. "Go have fun!"

"You too!" With a dramatic flourish of his cape, Soos disappeared into the night.

Bill watched Soos go enviously. He could have been given a human body that looked that good in a suit and top hat, but was he? No. It wasn't fair. And Soos didn't even wear the right hat size.

Dipper glanced sideways at Bill. "Hey. Is... Lemuria real?"

"Not anymore." Bill perked up as Stan passed by, dressed like Frankenstein's monster. "Hey, Stanley! You haven't guessed yet. What am I?"

Stan surveyed him. "White columned buildings, Statue of Liberty dress, and a red clown wig. I dunno, the American government?"

Bill squawked in laughter. "That's my favorite wrong answer so far. I like you, Stanley." He fished a chocolate bar out of the bowl and held it out.

Stan grunted in disapproval, but accepted the candy. "If any of you need me, I'm gonna be up on the roof, terrifying kids." He held up a boombox and a cassette that said "Spooky Sound Effects of Halloween". "If you hear screaming children, don't worry: that means I'm winning."

"Where's your brother?" Bill asked.

"Avoiding you." Stan passed through the living room and left.

Bill's shoulders slumped; but he just dug into the candy bowl for more chocolate. Then the first trick-or-treater knocked on the door, and Dipper jumped up in relief to answer it.

The shack didn't attract quite as many trick-or-treaters as the houses closer to the center of town, but they got a steady stream of children, and more than they'd gotten the year before. Between visitors, Bill dug into their candy stock, gleefully ignoring Dipper's complaints. After the fourth or fifth visitor, Dipper and Mabel realized that Bill was covering up the amount of candy he'd pilfered by meticulously re-folding the empty wrappers and putting them back in the bowl.

"It's fair play," Bill said. He untwisted one end of a Twisty Roll tube, squeezed out the candy, blew into the wrapper to re-inflate it, and twisted the end shut again. "The kids are trick-or-treating, right? Sometimes they get treats and sometimes they get tricks."

"Come on, seriously?" Dipper said. "Even for you this is low. You're literally taking candy from babies."

"The babies are trying to take candy from us. I have no sympathy." With the precision of an origami master, Bill refolded a paper fruit chew wrapper into a box and dropped it back into the bowl.

"They're supposed to take candy from us, that's how the holiday works." Dipper looked at Mabel for support.

But she was holding up an empty 3 Fencers wrapper and squeezing it lightly between her fingers. "Wow. How did you make the wrapper puffy again? It's so convincing."

Bill shot Dipper a nasty smile, then turned to Mabel and said magnanimously, "I'll teach you everything I know." He twirled a glue stick between his fingers.

Another trick-or-treater knocked, and Dipper answered.

"Trick or treat! Please give us the worst candy you have."

Mabel blinked, leaning around Dipper to see who was outside. "Wait, what?"

Outside stood a purple-furred monster with a dozen limbs from a dozen different creatures. He gasped in surprise. "Ohhh, twin costumes! That's so cute! What are you two, haunted dolls?"

Dipper took a surprised step back. "Limby Jimmy?"

The monster was silent a moment, taken aback. He took off a bear mask he'd made out of a paper plate. "Is it that obvious?"

Mabel asked, "Have we...?"

Dipper said, "Oh! Sorry—Mabel, this is Limby Jimmy, I ran into him last year in the Crawlspace under town when I was trying to get your face back—"

Helpfully, Bill threw in, "He's Gravity Falls' most accomplished arms dealer. And legs dealer, and tails dealer, and ears dealer..."

"Limby, this is my sister Mabel. Actually, I don't know if I ever introduced myself—"

Limby Jimmy cut in, "Ohhh, yeah, I remember you! You're Troll Boy, right?"

Dipper winced. "It's—it's Dipper, actually." He paused. "Wow. We meet a lot of weird people."

"Nice to meet you, Jimmy!" Mabel held out a hand. After a moment of thought, Jimmy elected to shake it with a tentacle and a dog's paw.

"What are you doing up here?" Dipper asked. "Is Summerween the one night of the year that Gravity Falls' monsters can walk among humans without fear?"

"Oh no, I'm terrified. I wouldn't be out here if I wasn't collecting donations," Jimmy said.

"Donations?"

Jimmy hesitated, then lowered his voice. "You've been in the Crawlspace, so, you and your sister are cool, but is the lady...?" He wiggled a hoof toward Bill.

Coolly, Bill said, "I'm actually an ancient interdimensional energy being cursed to wear a human form."

Dipper and Mabel flinched in alarm and rounded on Bill, hissing, "Bill!" "Shhh!"

Ignoring them, Bill said, "So, continue."

"Oh," Jimmy said brightly. "That's all right then, yuk yuk." He wiggled his multitude of right arms. "I don't know if you humans have heard yet, but the Summerween Trickster got eaten to death last summer! It's really sad!"

Dipper and Mabel, who had watched as he was eaten to death, stayed quiet.

"But probably happy for him?" Jimmy mused. "Since I think that's what he wanted? But it's sad for the rest of his poker group, we all miss him! So I'm out here with Doug—"

"Who?" Dipper asked, looking around the porch for a second monster.

"Oh, he's back there." Jimmy pointed toward a tree at the edge of the clearing around the Mystery Shack. The tree chittered unnervingly. "We're going around collecting donations to resurrect the Trickster! Or... re-summon him? Or however this works. We never really asked him how he came to exist, it seemed rude."

"Naturally," Bill said. "You can't just ask a freak what made him so freaky. It's a sensitive topic."

"Right! You understand," Jimmy said. "Anyway, we need a lot of crappy candy!" He looked at their bowl. "Which pieces have the kids been ignoring this year?"

Mabel had started bouncing on the balls of her dusty Victorian ghost shoes; and the moment she had a turn to speak, she squealed in excitement. "You're the Summerween Trickster's friend! That's perfect! Stay here, I'll be right back!" She shoved the candy bowl into Bill's arms and zoomed up the stairs. "I've got some stuff for him!"

Bill looked at the bowl, looked at the stairs, shoved the candy in Dipper's arms, and followed Mabel. "Hey, Shooting Star? What are you doing?"

Her voice drifted down the stairs: "Getting a donation! I'll be just a minute!"

"Hold on, you're actually helping that guy?" Bill laughed. "Why?" He climbed high enough to poke his head above the attic floor  and lowered his voice so Jimmy couldn't hear. "I wasn't paying that much attention last Summerween, but I got the impression from your little costume store brawl that the Trickster was trying to kill you kids. Am I missing something?"

"I mean, yeah, he was—but he was in a really bad place back then, that doesn't mean he deserves to be dead for it. And now he knows someone out there wants to eat him, so maybe he'll be less insecure and evil." Mabel laughed, "Anyway, the Trickster isn't that bad! He didn't try to kill me half as hard as you did!"

Bill froze a couple of steps from the top of the stairs. He didn't move for a few seconds; and then wordlessly, he slunk back downstairs.

Dipper watched as Bill, face beet red, trudged into the living room. "Hey. What's Mabel...?"

"How should I know." Bill curled up on the couch, picked up the can of cider he'd been drinking earlier, shotgunned it, and glowered at the horror movie on TV.

Dipper considered Bill—all alone in the living room and not doing anything important—and considered Mabel, upstairs; and said, "Hey, Jimmy. Do you mind waiting out here until Mabel gets back."

"Sure! I don't have any plans." Jimmy rocked back on his many heels.

"Cool. Thanks." Dipper shut the door.

He sidled oh so very casually into the living room and leaned against the TV. "Guess it's just the two of us right now."

Bill's gaze didn't waver from the TV. "Terrific counting skills, Troll Boy." He popped open another cider can.

Dipper grit his teeth. Let it go. "Sooo! You're from the second dimension, huh? What's that like?" (His voice cracked embarrassingly on "that.") "Just—just curious. Making friendly conversation. Caaasual conversation." He flashed a pair of finger guns at Bill, to underscore just how casual he was. "Yyyep." Witness the junior paranormal investigator in action.

Bill turned the cold, empty eyes of a killer on Dipper. He took a long, slow sip from his cider. And he asked himself: what can I say that will make this stupid boy regret ever daring to speak to me?

Bill smiled. "Yeah. Sure. Okay," he said. "You wanna know what it's like? Have you ever read the Allegory of the Cave?"

Dipper hesitated. "By... Plato?"

"That one. You know—ignorance is like being a prisoner chained in a cave, watching shadow puppets being cast on a wall, and thinking they're reality; and having knowledge is like being outside the cave in the sunlight, seeing the real shapes that are casting the shadows—"

"I have read it, actually," Dipper said, a tad defensively. "It was for extra credit in—"

"English class, I know."

Dipper frowned; but he soldiered on. "So... living in the second dimension is like being chained in a cave, staring at the shadows on the wall, and thinking that's reality? Bleak."

Bill laughed so loudly that Dipper started. "Wow, you're so dumb! Use your brain, kid: it's the second dimension. You're not the prisoner: you're the shadow on the wall." Bill's lip curled in a sneer, "An illusion in somebody else's allegory. And the only one who can see the cave's exit... is you. That's what the second dimension is like!" He laughed again. It sounded forced.

"Oh," Dipper mumbled. He tried to wrap his head around the idea of being a living metaphor for ignorance. "Sounds... pretty bad?"

"Awful," Bill agreed. "Doesn't hold a candle to what your dimension has going on, though."

"Wh... why, what's going on in the third dimension?"

Bill gave him a malicious smile, and Dipper had the sinking feeling he'd just walked into an obvious trap. "You idiot, you still think you're in the third dimension? Really?"

Was that a trick question? What answer was Bill looking for? What could this be if not the third dimension? "Nnooo?"

"Wow. I can really see why you're a straight-A's honors student," Bill said. "You're so good at figuring out what answer the test wants and regurgitating it—even if you don't actually understand it at all." He heaved himself back to his feet; and Dipper was sure there was something threatening in the movement—something that reminded Dipper that he was talking to a dangerously unstable extinction level event precariously packed into an unsteady human body. "Although copying the year of the Louisiana Purchase off of Brandon's test in fifth grade  probably didn't hurt, did it."

Dipper's stomach dropped. The secret shame buried beneath the foundation of his honors roll-worthy record. Pull that out and his entire academic career came toppling down. He'd get kicked out of the honors classes. He'd go to jail. Was cheating against the law? "H... how did—?"

"What year was the Louisiana Purchase?"

Dipper's brain immediately went blank. He was silent, trapped in the paralyzing intensity of Bill's gaze. After several terrifying seconds, he croaked, "1803?" and hoped he was right.

"Attaboy. Too bad you couldn't have learned that a little sooner, isn't it?" As he spoke, Bill had closed in on Dipper until he'd backed him into the corner behind the TV set, filling Dipper's exit route with one hand on the TV and the other on the wall. "But we were talking about dimensions, weren't we! Whaddaya like to read, kid," Bill asked too casually, "do you like cosmic horror? Do you know what real 'cosmic horror' is?"

Dipper regretted this conversation completely.

"It's having an eyeball on the inside of your body, and seeing another dimension through it. And ohoho, I think you'd be amazed at the things I can see from here—"

Dipper got the distinct impression that if he didn't get out of this conversation, he would only hear things he'd be telling his therapist about for months. "Cool! Good talk, man. Hey Mabel?" (That was an absolutely humiliating voice crack.) "How's it going?"

A pause. "I think I need help!"

"Coming!" Dipper ran behind the TV to escape Bill and gratefully bolted upstairs.

The kid had caved so fast. And Bill had only just been getting started. He smirked, sat, and turned back to the movie.

A moment later, Mabel and Dipper came back downstairs, carrying four bulging plastic grocery bags. Mabel set one by her feet, opened the door, and shoved the first bag into Jimmy's arms. "Here! You can give these to the Trickster!" She shoved over the second bag.

Jimmy stumbled back under the weight. "Whoa there! What is this?"

"Candy chalk-hearts! I completely bought out the leftovers after Valentine's Day," Mabel said. "I wanted to make sure that if we met the Trickster again, I could let him know he's loved and appreciated as the terrifying avatar of spooky holiday spirit that he is! And that I also respect that he's made out of gross candy nobody likes to eat." She picked up a chalk-heart box and waved it in Jimmy's face. "So here's a gross candy that expresses love! See, the little hearts say things like 'You smell nice' and 'I heart ur face,' but they taste like if dehydration was a flavor."

Dipper handed his bags to Jimmy. "Wait—Mabel, that's why you got all these? You've been planning to help the Trickster since February? I thought you were gonna build a chalk-heart house or something."

"Oooh, that's such a good idea. I should do that next year!" To Jimmy, she said, "I was gonna give these to him personally, but if he's still dead, I guess you can add it to his candy sacrifice pile or whatever? And make sure he gets this!" She handed Jimmy a store bought Shimmery Twinkleheart Valentine's card. It read, "I BELIEVE in our friendship! Happy Valentine's Day!" Mabel had scratched out "Valentine's" and written "Summerween".

Choked up, Jimmy said, "Oh—wow. That's the nicest thing anyone's done for us all night. I'm sure the Trickster will really appreciate it when he's not dead anymore."

Dipper was a little more vengeful. Dipper didn't want to do anything for one of the many guys that had tried to kill them last year. But, on the other hand, Mabel had just gone all in on this, and Jimmy seemed nice enough, so... Dipper sighed. Whatever, it was Summerween and this was a trick-or-treater. "Hey," he picked up the candy bowl. "There's really only one bag of good candy in here. The bottom of the bowl is filled with after-dinner mints our great uncle's been stealing from restaurants for the last six months. The Trickster would probably love that, right?"

"Aww—thanks so much, you guys! We'll have the poker group back together in no time!" Jimmy dug past the good candy and started scooping mints into his bag. "Oh—since I'm here, can I ask about our other poker buddy? Do either of you know Mr. What's-His-Face? He disappeared around the time you were visiting the Crawlspace, maybe one of you saw something? Any information would be helpful." Jimmy looked at them with weird, plus-shaped, but very hopeful eyes. "Between the Trickster's death and Whatsis disappearing, the local paranormal community's been hit hard. Especially us guys in their friend group. I'm—I'm not gonna lie," Jimmy heaved a sigh, "It's been a really hard year."

Dipper and Mabel, who were directly and personally at fault for Mr. What's-His-Face's disappearance and knew he was frozen in stasis in Ford's bunker at that very moment, exchanged a look and came to a silent agreement.

"Nope, don't know anything," Mabel said.

"Sorry, buddy," Dipper said.

Like the Summerween Trickster, Mr. What's-His-Face was a weird faceless shapeshifty monster that had tried to kill them. But they felt like that was where the similarities ended.

By the time of the Trickster's death, Mabel and Dipper had realized that his deepest inner longing was to be called good enough to eat. Mr. What's-His-Face's deepest inner longing was to steal innocent people's faces. If Mabel and Dipper helped resurrect the Trickster, he'd probably go back to ensuring everyone displayed sufficient holiday spirit, while hopefully mellowing out about eating people now that he'd been consumed once. On the other hand, if Mabel and Dipper helped free Mr. What's-His-Face, he'd probably just keep stealing faces.

And on top of all that, they could help resurrect the Trickster without admitting they knew the guy who ate him. They couldn't really lead Jimmy to Mr. What's-His-Face without admitting their great uncle was keeping him captive. And that would be a problem for the whole family.

"Oh," Jimmy said. "Okay, that's fine. Thanks for all your help. You know where to reach us if you hear anything."

Mabel shook her head. Dipper nodded. "Yeah, we'll let you know."

Jimmy hopped off the porch, shouted, "Hey Doug, can you help me carry these?" and chucked a couple of bags of chalk-hearts toward the tree line. Dipper and Mabel stared. Nothing emerged to pick the bags up.

They shut the door.

"Man," Dipper said. "We kinda devastated the paranormal poker group last summer, didn't we?"

"Yeah." Mabel sucked in a breath between her teeth. "Wow. Feels... kinda bad."

Dipper offered her the candy bowl. "Drown our feelings in chocolate?"

"Please."

They grabbed a piece of candy each, tore open the wrappers—and frowned. Mabel stomped a foot. "Dang it—Bill!"

"Hm?"

"How many of these wrappers are empty?!"

Bill poked his head out of the living room and said, smugly, "Like candy from a baby!"

####

A knock, and Dipper opened the door. "Wendy! Hey! Good timing—"

"Hey." Wendy lowered her voice. "Quick question—this is super important—is Goldie here?"

"Uh—yeah, why—?"

"Yello?" Bill carefully wove his way out of the living room, already less steady on his feet than when he'd sat down. "I heard my name, who's summoning me?"

Wendy pointed over the twins at Bill and turned to shout into the dark, "Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you! Live and in person... Toga Lady!"

A half dozen teenagers immediately went bananas. Hooting and hollering and cheering and whistling: "To-ga! To-ga! To-ga!"

Bill's entire face lit up. Without missing a beat, he pushed past the baffled twins out onto the porch and spread his arms wide, basking in the cheering. "That's right, keep it coming! Worship me! I'm the greatest!"

"Yes!" Robbie pumped a fist in the air. "The legends were true!" Nate immediately added, "The prophecy! The prophecy!" Tambry snapped photos of Toga Lady's fresh look as fast as her phone could save them, muttering, "Everyone's gonna flip when they find out you're still in town."

Wendy waited, grinning, until her friends' faux hysterics had died down. "Okay—okay, after getting you hyped up, I should probably say that Toga Lady is actually Toga Guy." She glanced questioningly at Bill. "I think?"

"Eh, I'm not picky."

"Anyway this is Goldie, he was stuck in another dimension for thirty years, it's crazy, and now he's like my illegal backup cashier. He actually... doesn't usually wear togas?"

Bill laughed. "If you can't wear a bedsheet on Summerween, when can you?"

Lee said, "Thompson wore a bedsheet to homecoming."

"Hey."

Bill pointed at Thompson. "A man of impeccable fashion! I like it!" Thompson gave him a look of eternal gratitude.

"And Goldie, this is the gang! That's Thompson, he's the guy with the van; Robbie and Tambry, they're like, gender-swapped versions of each other, they even share their hair dye..."

As Wendy did introductions, Mabel whispered to Dipper, "Did you know she was gonna introduce Goldie to everyone?"

"No! This is bad, I told her not to trust him..."

Bill was responding to a question, "No, no, you've gotta guess, I'm making everyone guess!"

The teens considered the question. Robbie offered first, "Punk caveman?"

"Nope!"

Hesitantly, Thompson tried, "Nero fiddling over the burning of Rome?" He winced when Lee laughed.

"I like where your head's at, but no! I can't fiddle."

"The gremlin king from Huge Maze?" Tambry said.

Mabel piped up, "No, but the wig came from a gremlin king costume and I appreciate you for recognizing that!" Tambry nodded in cool approval.

Bill dispensed of Lee, Nate, and Wendy's guesses—Greek Christmas tree, that one guy who keeps painting burning banks, and hair metal Hades—before Robbie loudly cleared his throat to cut in. "Anyway, would love to stay and chat, but we've gotta move if we wanna be in position before sunset. Dipper, Mabel, you ready?"

"Ready to ghost it up!" Mabel said, squeezing around Bill with Dipper onto the porch.

Robbie surveyed their makeup—deathly white skin, ashen grey lips, and dark circles around their eye sockets. "Yeah, that's pretty good. Could use a little color, maybe. Like bloody tears?" He turned toward Tambry.

She said, "I think I've got some red eyeliner."

"'In position'?" Bill asked, giving Dipper and Mabel a questioning look.

Wendy said, "We're helping Robbie film this music video tonight."

"We're the creepy ghost twins!" Mabel announced proudly. "We get to sing the chorus."

Robbie said, "Yeah, the song's about childhood and growing up, but like, with ghosts? Because once you've grown up, your childhood is all dead? It's metal, but introspective. I'm calling the genre 'intrometal.'" He flipped his bangs dramatically. "It's a super deep song. Metaphorical layers."

"Oh yeah?" Bill stared Robbie down. "Sing some of it."

Robbie blinked. "Oh. Yeah, okay uh, I haven't warmed up my voice but, the hook is like—" He pantomimed playing a guitar and whisper-screamed, "'BABY DOLLS! BASKET BALLS! BASKET CASE! HUMAN RACE!' Like that."

Bill nodded slowly, face expressionless. "Ah, yeah, I see. Really deep stuff. Makes you think."

"Thanks." Robbie looked at Dipper and Mabel. "Anyway, if we're gonna get any footage in the graveyard before the jack-o'-melons start burning out, we've gotta move. Let's go, Creepy Ghost Twins."

"Wait, you're going out?" Bill asked Mabel. "Like out-out? Leaving me here? By myself? On Summerween?"

"Wh—yeah, we're only handing out candy for half the night," Mabel said. "I told you that."

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did!"

"When?"

Mabel thought. "No I didn't," she admitted. "Sorry!"

Wendy punched Bill's arm. "Sorry to steal them. We'll be back in a couple of hours," she said. "Or you could come help—?"

"No!" Dipper and Mabel both shoved Bill back into the house before he could accept. Dipper said, "You've gotta—guard the house." Mabel added, "And hand out candy!"

"Right," Bill said flatly. "Yes. That. Ha."

"See you later!" Mabel said, and then shut the door in his face.

The last thing he heard was Wendy explaining to her friends, "He's on house arrest for, like, academic plagiarism and war crimes or something..." and then they were gone.

Bill's shoulders slumped. Well, now what? He couldn't celebrate a holiday by himself. What was the point of wearing a costume if no one sees you in it. He picked up a piece of candy, discovered it was one of his decoys, and picked up another. 

Someone knocked on the door.

"Yeah, yeah," Bill sighed. He picked up the candy bowl, turned toward the door, and paused. Ah. Right. What was he supposed to do with this impenetrable portal-blocking slab of wood.

Who was left in the house? Stan on the roof, Ford in the basement, Abuelita probably already in bed... were any of them worth harassing to help him answer the door? Maybe Stan, he'd gotten all dressed up, he liked the holiday even if he didn't like Bill—

The trick-or-treater knocked more insistently.

Or. Or.

He could pick up the bowl, peer out the small window in the door, and make direct eye contact with the children outside while he ate candy.

As a piece of mid-tier chocolate melted on his tongue, he saw three trick-or-treaters' faces fall as their faith in a kind, caring universe died. He grinned at them and ate another chocolate.

Oh yeah. He grabbed the rest of his cider from the living room and set up post next to the door. This would keep him entertained the rest of the night.

####

He made seven small children cry.

####

Stan watched from his post on the roof as yet another sobbing kid ran away from the shack. "HA! Gottem! Sucker!" He affectionately patted his boombox. "Creepy ghoulish laughter, you never disappoint! Terrifying moochers since 1989!" He paused the cassette and rewound it a few seconds to replay the best part.

He heard a scraping sound above him, and looked up just in time to see Ford sliding down the roof to join him. "Oh, hey! I didn't think we'd see you again tonight."

"Mabel made me promise to celebrate Summerween a little."

"Good for her!"

Stan had already claimed the sun lounger, so Ford brushed some dust and leaves off the roof's cooler and sat. "So, what are we doing? Scaring trick-or-treaters?"

"Yep. This year I'm taking a more atmospheric approach." He gestured at his boombox, which by now was playing haunting organ music. "Nothing like screaming zombies and rattling chains from nowhere to freak out the kids."

Ford nodded. "Psychological torment. I approve."

"Not quite as good as getting to see the terror in their eyes, but." Stan shrugged. "Bill was hanging out with the kids. I didn't want to put up with him."

"Mm. There's a reason I was spending the holiday in the basement."

"Heh. Well, there's always Halloween."

They were silent for a moment, listening as the cassette moved on from organ music to werewolf howls. Stan asked, "Think we'll be rid of him by then? I know we were hoping to be done with him before the Fourth of July—but since I haven't heard anything lately, I figure you hit a roadblock."

Ford winced. "Guilty as charged." He was still relearning how to keep other people in the loop. Even Stan. "You're right. I have a weapon that can destroy him, but I can't find a fuel source without restarting the portal. I'm hoping Fiddleford will come up with a solution I haven't."

Stan nodded. Ford had told him he was getting Fiddleford involved; even as reluctant as Ford was to admit how little progress he'd made, he wasn't going to tell someone outside the family about Bill without letting Stan know. "Any breakthroughs on his end?"

####

During the credits between episodes of the retired samurai period drama (most recently, the samurai had been asked to use his sword to help cut flowers for a bouquet), Fiddleford leaned over and whispered to Ford, "So I've been a-lookin' at those blueprints you left me."

"And...?"

"And I've constructicated a power adaptor. Just jimmy out the fuel tank, swap it for the adaptor's cord, and you can power that weapon by pluggin' it into the wall! It'll just drain all the power from the town for a few seconds, that's all."

"Fiddleford, that's amazing—"

"Now, hold on. There's bad news," Fiddleford said. "Try as I might, I can't quite get it to draw enough power to activate those energy-destroying features what you'd need to disintegrate Bill. It'll work like a powerful laser, but nothin' else."

Ford sighed. "It's a starting point, I suppose."

"I'll send you home with the adaptor anyway. Never know when you'll need a big laser."

"Very true. Do you have any promising leads on other alternative fuels?"

Fiddleford shook his head. "It's the NowUSeeitNowUDontium or nothing. But I've got a hunch we could synthesize it under lab conditions. I'll letcha know in a few days."

And then the next episode started, and they dropped the conversation.

####

Ford let out a heavy sigh. "He's only had a partial success so far. But I'm hopeful he's on the right track."

"So, if he's working on this weapon, what are you doing?"

"Waiting, mostly. I don't know what else I can do."

Stan frowned. "What—that's it? You've been downstairs all day every day—if you're not figuring out how to destroy him, what are you doing?"

"Passing time somewhere I can be on call if he gets up to something—but I don't have to look at him," Ford said wryly. "And—as long as I'm waiting to hear back from Fiddleford, I've been... picking apart that list of spells Bill gave me. To see if any of them are tricks or traps."

Stan couldn't say he was surprised. That was his workaholic brother. A pamphlet of demon magic was like catnip to him. If anything, Stan was almost glad Ford had that letter to distract him. Over the past year...

Well, Ford was fine on land—when he temporarily had a mystery to solve, an adventure to pursue, an anomaly to study, a distraction to fill his time—but at sea, when his mind was unoccupied, he was listless. He had books he didn't read, field notes he didn't enter into his journal, games he didn't play. He fed himself and exercised and did chores around the ship like a robot programmed to take care of itself, and he stared out at the sea.

Last summer, Ford hadn't seemed happy but he'd seemed alive. Tired and angry, but alive. But after Weirdmageddon, a light in his eyes went out. Stan didn't know if it was the end of summer, or guilt over the memory gun, or the gap between finishing a thirty-year-long quest and discovering the next one. All Stan knew was the light hadn't come back on until the moment Bill Cipher, clad in a new body and a purple cartoon bedsheet, tried to cave Ford's skull in.

Ever since they were children, Ford had had a tendency to develop obsessions. It was somehow simultaneously both what made him most interesting and what made him boring. Depended on the obsession. But these all-consuming interests had always tended to last a few months, at most a year; and he'd never seemed to be without one, much less for nine months. Stan had no idea what carrying a single obsession for three decades might have done to Ford's mind.

Stan was glad something had woken Ford back up, and he worried that losing that focal point again might leave Ford permanently adrift. But another part of him worried that, this time, Ford wouldn't let the object of his obsession go. He tended to collect things related to his obsessions.

But then, he usually tended to like his obsessions. He hadn't seemed bothered to burn the contents of his creepy Bill shrine last summer. Ford wouldn't do anything stupid, Stan told himself. Ford hated Bill. "So? Were any of the spells traps?"

"Not... so far, no." Ford sounded irritated by this.

Stan shrugged. "Makes sense. He's trying to butter us up. If that idiot thinks being nice to us for a week or two is gonna make up for the years of grief he's given us—"

A loud rattle-clattering below made them both start. Stan sat bolt upright. "What the—?"

Ford inched to the edge of the dormer roof, knelt down, and leaned over the edge just far enough to see the window.

Bill's face was pressed to the glass, eye rolled up toward the roofline. He grinned in surprised delight and shouted through the glass, "HEY, STANFORD! What are you doing up here?! I thought you were downstairs!"

"Ugh." Ford turned to grimace at Stan. "Speak of the devil."

Bill pounded on the glass again. "Hey, Sixer! SIXER! Open the window!"

"Why?"

"I wanna talk!"

"No."

"Come ooon, the kids ditched me and I'm bored! There's no one in the house to talk to! The old lady's asleep and Stanley's on the roof, so—" He abruptly fell silent, squinting with deep suspicion at Ford-who-should-be-in-the-basement kneeling on the-roof-where-Stan-should-be, and said, "Wait. Are you Stanley right now? Show me your hand."

Ford did not. "Go away, Bill." He left the edge of the roof for his cooler seat.

"Get back here!" The pounding redoubled. "I don't care which Stan you are! If you don't wanna talk, I can always go wake up Dolores!"

Ford looked at Stan. "Mrs. Ramirez's name is Dolores?" He had gotten used to everyone calling her Abuelita.

Stan stomped on the roof, "Shaddup!"

Bill did not shaddup. "Come ooon!"

Stan sighed in defeat and heaved himself to his feet. "If he keeps that racket up he's gonna break that window, never mind that hex you put on him." When they'd taken out the original Bill-shaped window, Stan had replaced it with the cheapest window he could find. He didn't think it was very durable. "How much trouble can he get in with one open window twenty feet above the ground and both of us watching him?"

Ford Frowned.

"Don't gimme that look. Do you want to pay for a broken window?" Stan flipped through his keys for his key-shaped emergency lock pick, leaned over the edge of the roof, and wedged the pick into the window frame. The latch popped open. Lucky this window was so cheap, that wouldn't have worked on one with deluxe features like "airtight weatherstripping" or "a properly-fitting frame." Stan swung open the window. "Okay, you have our attention. Now what's the fastest way we can get rid of you?"

Bill clumsily climbed out to sit on the windowsill with his legs in the shack, and leaned back so he could see up onto the roof. "Hiya Fo—" He lost his balance, flailed, and yelped as he toppled backwards.

Stan and Ford lunged forward to seize an arm each. Stan snapped, "What are you doing, you maniac?!"

Bill stared up at them both in wide-eyed amazement. "You do like me."

Stan made a noise of disgust, let go, and wiped his hands on his pants like Bill had cooties.

Ford said, "We like you trapped in that body and not free to cause the apocalypse."

"I heard 'we like you'!"

"Shut up." Ford managed to haul Bill back upright. (Touching Bill felt wrong—all soft flesh and skin and the suggestion of bones underneath. Even when looking right at Bill's human body, Ford still expected him to feel like heavy shadows and heatless flames.) From this close, Bill reeked of cider. "Just how much have you had to drink?"

"Not so much I won't remember whatever you say in the morning, so be nice to me!" Bill laughed. He leaned back, this time hanging by one hand off the window frame to precariously maintain his balance, and grinned up at Ford. "So! The least fun person in the house has finally emerged from his lair? And you didn't even come into the house to join in the Summerween festivities! 'All work and no play'..."

Ford had to crouch at the edge of the roof, hovering nearby in case Bill lost his balance again. "I wanted to participate in Summerween, actually. It just so happens that the last person I'd ever spend a holiday with is in the house."

"Listen, Stanford. I know you're holing up in your study for days on end just to hurt me. But let's be honest, you're hurting yourself more! When's the last time you saw the sunlight! Look at how pale you're getting, you look like a vampire."

Stiffly, Ford said, "It's costume makeup. That's my vampire costume." Stan laughed.

"It what." Bill flipped up his eyepatch and squinted blearily at Ford's face.

Wordlessly, Ford bared his teeth to show off his plastic vampire teeth.

"Oh." Somewhat deflated, Bill said, "Nice work, it's convincing."

"Thanks," Ford said grudgingly. Giving in to his curiosity, he gestured toward Bill's (somewhat disheveled) reddish-yellow wig. "What are you."

"Oh!" Bill perked back up. "You've got to see the whole thing. Hold on—" He turned around in the window, ignoring how Ford half reached for him in case he needed steadying, until he got his legs outside to dangle on the roof. "What do you think!"

Ford looked over the brown toga flared out like a cone, the eruption of red hair, the small paper city below, and said, "Mount Vesuvius and Pompeii? Very clever."

Bill's face lit up. "Finally! You're the first person all day to get it!" He smoothed out the skirt proudly, his jerky gestures just a bit more exaggerated than usual. "Do you know how long I've wanted to go to a costume party as Vesuvius? But nobody off Earth would get it! And now that I'm finally here, I can't go to parties and I'm shaped more like a mandrake than a volcano." He flung up his hands, wobbled, and caught himself before Ford had to intervene. "But at least you got it. I knew I could count on you, IQ."

He sounded so sincerely grateful. Ford regretted calling the costume clever. It was, but Bill didn't need the ego boost.

"Oh! By the by—I didn't think you'd emerge before the day was over, so I saved this." Bill fished around in his toga until he retrieved a mini pack of jelly beans. "Here!"

Ford eyed the pack. "Why is it open?"

"Because you only like the weird-shaped jelly beans, so I ate all the normal beans and saved the weird ones in one bag."

"I don't want this. You touched every one of the beans, that would be disgusting even if they weren't coming from you," Ford said. "Anyway, this is a patently transparent attempt to buy your way into my good favor—"

"It sure is, Ford, and if you don't accept it I'll get to be annoying about your ingratitude for weeks! Is that what you want? You know I'll do it. Everyone will be on my side—"

Ford sighed, but snatched the bag from Bill's hand. "Fine. Now drop it."

"That's more like it!" Bill favored Ford with an approving smile. "Anyway, it's just about the only candy left in the house, I ate everything else—hey, have you ever been cross faded on cider and a sugar rush?"

Ford was still trying to decide whether he wanted to engage in this one-sided conversation enough to ask Bill what "cross faded" meant when Bill moved on without him: "It's—not that interesting, actually. 6 out of 10. Anyway, all that's left in the bowl is mints and wrappers. And Mabel even managed to give most of the mints away—hey, she's so nice, did you know she's helping to resurrect the Summerween Trickster?"

She was doing what? "No. Why?"

"She's so nice."

"You just said that."

"What is she so nice for. What's she getting out of it," Bill asked, more to the universe at large than to Ford. "If more humans were half as nice to freaks as she is, your rotten planet wouldn't need people like you and me to save it."

Ford didn't even know where to begin with that. He looked to Stan for help.

Stan was sitting straddling his lounger, elbow on one knee and chin in his hand, watching this exchange like he was watching a weird bug on the wall try to navigate around a picture frame. At Ford's glance, he rolled his eyes and pantomimed sipping from a drink.

He could say that again. Ford cleared his throat. "Bill, maybe you should..."

"Hey," Bill said. "Great talk, we really should catch up more sometime. And pull your weight next time, I always have to do all the talking. But right now, I'm..." He gestured vaguely off to the side. "I'm gonna lie down and try not to throw up. Ciao!" He swayed as he tried to get back in the window, tumbled backward into the shack, and thudded heavily on the floor. "Ow."

Ford gingerly shut the window.

Stan turned up the boombox. "Chatty drunk, isn't he."

"He's chatty sober, too." But in front of the kids? Neither of them saw Bill as a role model, but they still didn't need to be exposed to that kind of behavior. Especially when the responsible adults were outside or asleep... "Did we really leave Bill alone in the house with the kids?"

"W—I—" Stan shrugged defensively. "They were all right! They can take him! They're doing karate or whatever! You didn't see how Mabel flipped him at the mall! It was like David wrestling Goliath."

"David and Goliath didn't wrestle."

"You know what I mean."

Ford supposed he didn't think Bill was any threat to the children. At least, not right now, and not physically. He felt like he'd know if Bill was about to try anything.

He looked at his open bag of gross felt-up jelly beans. Speaking of trying to butter them up... Ford wound up and chucked the bag as hard as he could.

He stared into the dark after it.

A small part of him was beginning to wonder whether this wasn't all just an attempt to get Ford's guard down. The gifts, sure, that was as clear-cut a case of bribery as you could get. Nothing ambiguous there.

But the endless chatter... Back when Ford had called Bill his Muse, this was exactly how he'd wanted Bill to talk to him. Not in the flighty half-distracted way of a friendly businessman catching up on a work project's progress before hurrying on to the next meeting; but just talking for talking's sake, talking for the company.

Getting what he once had longed for made his skin crawl. And he couldn't even tell if Bill was acting.

The boombox let out a ghastly banshee shriek. Ford and Stan both jumped, then laughed awkwardly.

Ford sat on the cooler again. "Is it just me, or... did Bill completely ignore you as soon as he realized I was up here."

"Well. I wasn't gonna mention it. I didn't wanna sound jealous of the attention. But yeah—he's been doing that since he got here. If you're in the room, he tunes everyone else out."

"I thought it was in my head." And he hadn't wanted to sound like he wanted to imagine Bill was favoring him.

"And you do the same thing around him," Stan said, and laughed at Ford's flinch of alarm. "It's—it's fine, I get it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? You've got some kind of superhero-supervillain nemesis thing."

Ford got the distinct impression that Stan was offering him a convenient excuse for the tunnel vision. He took it. "I suppose that's true." The way his jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed around Bill certainly felt like a "nemesis" reaction.

But if Stan thought Ford was a bit too preoccupied by Bill... well, maybe he was right. Once Ford had gotten over his initial wave of fear, of despair, of outrage at the injustice, at finding Bill was still alive—there was a part of him that was almost relieved. A part of him that had been on guard against nothing for the past year, twisting around looking for an absent threat. Now that it knew where the threat was, that part of him could finally settle down and watch Bill with steady, certain eyes. Having nothing to worry about made him more anxious than having one thing to always worry about.

(Maybe Shermie's kid had been on to something when he suggested Ford might benefit from therapy.)

Knowing Bill was back didn't put the old starlight and awe back in that hole Bill had left in Ford's chest. But dread could fill a hole all the same.

Ford tried to push Bill out of his mind and the conversation. "You think I'm like a superhero?"

"You run around fighting monsters with a space laser. What else would you be?"

"Huh." Well. That made his night.

"Just as long as you don't pull that 'hero spares the villain to show how good he is' shtick."

"Never." Ford laughed ruefully. "I think I left 'good' behind a few felonies back." He'd probably left "good" behind the night he accepted the portal blueprints.

"Couple stragglers," Stan said, nodding out into the dark. It took Ford a moment to spot the costumed kids and remember it was Summerween. "I recognize those costumes, I scared them off an hour ago. What are they doing back?"

Ford squinted at them. "Are those toilet paper rolls?"

"Wh—Hey! What are you little runts— Hey!" Stan leaped to his feet, shaking his fist at the kids below. "Get away from my car! Stop that! I'll have you know that's a classic— No, not the eggs!"

Ford slid out his freeze ray, turned down the power, and offered it to Stan. "Here. At this power and distance, it'll feel like getting pelted with invisible snowballs."

Stan snatched up the weapon. "Eat this, twerps!"

The Summerween night air was filled with the screams of terrified children and the evil laughter of an old man.

####

Wow. It sure sounded like everybody was having fun. Outside. Without him.

Bill was nauseous.

He stared at the spinning ceiling, flat on his back, one leg on a cushion and the rest of him on the floor. 

Bill was nauseous and alone. The loneliness tore at his throat. Even Mabel had ditched him. Of course she did—he'd tried to kill her. He'd barely even remembered he'd tried to kill her until she brought it up. Had he tried to kill her? No, surely not—he liked the kid, he'd always liked her—he'd been faking to force Ford's hand, he never would have gone through with it. He would've teleported her into another room and pretended he'd disintegrated her. She didn't know he hadn't meant it. She was just mad he'd scared her. She couldn't take a joke.

But, Ford talked to him. Ford even liked his costume. It wasn't much, but it would get Bill through the night.

When he saw Kryptos again—when, not if—he was slicing him into a jigsaw puzzle for not taking Bill's call. The nerve of that guy, hanging up on a human without even waiting a few words to see if they had anything interesting to say. 

(What if it hadn't been an accident, he wondered? What if Kryptos had realized it was Bill and still hung up?)

(No. Of course it was an accident.)

He shut his eyes. He was probably too drunk to dream tonight. Well, he could try again tomorrow. His little lucid dreaming guide was currently teaching him to influence the next night's dream by focusing on a topic before sleep. Maybe tomorrow he could dream about the Nightmare Realm.

He missed home.

####

(Congratulations to the approximately 50% of respondents who correctly figured out Bill's costume when I posted the art on Halloween, you're officially smarter than everybody in Gravity Falls except Ford. This is one of those chapters with a whole lot going on so if you enjoyed, I'd love to hear your comments!!)

[bozepomagaj]

ATINY/MOA/CARATS vs Made in Abyss was the last thing I expected and its hilarious

feel like I need to say something since twitter absolutely loves spreading misinfo and just accusing people of shit, how have you people not LEARNED your lesson yet? Since when is twitter such a trusted source, especially gossip accounts?

And before you braindead stans start calling me a d!ckrider, I promise you I do not care about these men cuz I've got better things to focus on and I'm making this because people are overreacting and it's getting annoying. It's so obvious 90% of you haven't watched the anime (and thats completely fine, I get you) and then ended up listening to someone who made stuff up and overexaggerated. I'm not here to defend the author because I hate him as much as you do and can absolutely recognize the dude is into some weird shit but saying people are ONLY interested in this series because of r@pe and p€dophilia is INSANE. So let me answer some questions as a Made an Abyss reader (not calling myself a fan because you'll catch me DEAD before you see me buying any merch or manga despite my love for the series), kpop fan second.

Does Made In Abyss contain p3d0ph1l1c themes, gore etc.?

There absolutely is because the author is a creep (refering to the nsfw however, most of the times it's very easily skippable. As someone who hates l0l1con cuz it creeps me out, I can tell you that I really didn't have a hard time skipping said scenes even in the manga which is far more explicit than the anime (Prushka asking about Bond's 'stick', Faputa looking into Regs pants, Vueko's weird comments) and sometimes, they're even added as extras (0.5 chapters) which certain sites that contain scans don't even include. I didn't even know about the existence about a few of these chapters BECAUSE they don't include them.

The OVA is a nightmare to watch and was not only unfunny but creepy as fuck especially when they try to boil down such an amazing character like Ozen into 'I like seeing little kids in pain'. Now I have no idea if this was made independently but I don't remember the author making any spin-offs that they could base this on so I can't tell you who wrote it but even then I doubt that the author minded it since the man himself had to include that Faputas behind smells like the 'Sun' so again, not here to defend him cuz he most definitely is a weirdo, no doubt about it.

Is Made in Abyss torture p*rn?

If MiA is torture p*rn then AoT is military propaganda and supports child labor, TPN is also torture p*rn, JJK promotes violence, Berserk excuses r*pe and Evangelion is also p*do bait. See how stupid that sounds? Just because an anime INCLUDES something, does not mean it necessarily supports it. Yes, r*pe is mentioned but it's not even SHOWN, and it's a cruical part of a characters backstory. The torture that happens, happens only once if we exclude Riko's 'experiment' at the very beginning of the manga. And Mitty's transformation can't even be classified as torture cuz it's a.... transformation. Prushka's death is very censored so its not like you can jack off to that anyways. Now the piss thing is something I have noticed but haven't really payed attention it because bffr why the hell would I so idk, maybe the author is trying to tell us something or the guy thinks pee pee poo poo funny🤷‍♀️.

Is there any plot besides the weird stuff?

See now this is the part that gets me most because the reason why a majority of people nowadays got into MiA in the first place is BECAUSE of the amazing plot. The world building, the mystery, the fight scenes, etc. It's amazingly drawn, nicely paced and unique in its own way. But of course, it's manga&anime and what's anime without fanservice? I already explained that in manga, said scenes can be easily skipped and the anime thankfully doesn't include a lot of these. I do have to admit thag I dropped the manga for now since the chapter where they were in a bath cuz it was another one of those 'here we go again' moments where it made me roll my eyes and just close the tab so I don't really know what's been happening recently and if things go weirder.

I'm also gonna tell you honestly that yes, the fandom is filled with sweaty dudebros itching to see these kids half naked and the author is aware of them and pondering to them because he too is one of them. But a large majority is back from when the anime originally came out and are mostly hiding on twitter so it's easy to avoid them and they've been pretty rare ever since people with actual interest in the series have begun watching it. A reason why back in the day I didn't wanna interact with the fandom at ALL was because the moment I tried to have a normal conversation about the plot and what might actually be going on, I instead get bombarded with "UWAAAA😭😭😭" and 'c*nny' comments. I also cannot defend and don't even plan on defending the fact that Faputa is pretty much naked the entire series. I get that she lives in the literal wilderness, but the very least you could do is put a cloth on her y'know. And mind you, I'm talking about the manga. The anime is a LOT more heavily censored, and from what I heard, even MORE censored in Korea.

To sum it up:

Do I think Mingi/Soobin/Woozi are p*dos cuz they watched the anime? Absolutely the fuck not. Considering Mingi is a big CSM fan, I can see why he watched Made in Abyss because I was in that same pipeline. I think some of you are going way too far with these comments, if you wanna call them weird, creepy, wanna unstan them for reading stuff like this go ahead, not gonna stop because in the end no one can but accusing people of crimes isn't funny and never will be. If they were exposed for watching shit like Kodomo no Jikan then that most definitely IS eyebrow raising. Maybe I'm slightly biased due to me only enjoying MiA for the plot so seeing people say the fans are p3d0s when the first time I watched this was when I was freshly 15.... yeah idk abt that one. Whether they liked the weird and questionable scenes, I have zero idea I'm just here to say that you can enjoy said anime without being a weirdo and you shouldn't begin jumping to conclusions and start calling people straight up criminals. If anyone wants to have a productive conversation and ask questions abt said anime cuz I doubt you're gonna go watch an anime over a Twitter drama, go ahead and ask. If you wanna insult me and call me a d!ckrider then go ahead and do that too, who am I to stop you?

[fillinforlater]

You asked for it

Male Reader x Im Yeojin

Length: 3645 words

Tags: degradation, self degradation, spit, vibrator, anal play, teasing, begging, crying, doming, name calling, dehumanizing, mind-break, rough sex, slaps, breeding kink, daddy kink, slave play, spanks, harsh, hardcore, stand and carry, missionary, slave!Yeojin / master!Reader

TW: ofc spoilers, but this one is very hard. Massive degradation, dehumanizing, slave/master dynamic, mind break, spitting at idol

Inspiration: Her outfit. Yeah.

Credit: @sooyadelicacies for co-writing. Thank you, it was a pleasure!

(A/N: another collab with Sooya! And this time, we went berserk. Poor Yeojin)

“Uhm, hey…”

You never really noticed Yeojin before, but her hair, the outfit and especially the outfit—this was a new Yeojin.

"I've heard what you've been doing with some of my bandmates and I want what they get from you, Daddy. Isn't that what you like to be called when you are dicking down my Unnies?"

You gulp. All the things you've done with the four H's, how does she know them? They were supposed to stay secret, and as their dorm's trusty cleaner, staying there almost daily never caused suspicion.

Or did it?

"Yeojin, what are you even saying?" you speak slowly to sound convincing. It is futile however.

"Stop playing dumb and innocent, Daddy," Yeojin groans, grinding her hips and butt on your jeans covered thigh. The moment you saw those outfits you were ready to plow her members in them, but Yeojin's looks exceptionally hot. The others are quickly forgotten.

"I know how you love to cum all over Heejin's abs," Yeojin sultry says, while her hands rub over yours, "I know you fuck Hyeju from behind, while kneading her tits. And the cat stuff with—"

"Fine, fine! Fuck, shut up. We don't have as much privacy as you might think."

"Give it to me! Those girls, even Haseul and Kim Lip, always get attention from boys and fans. I often feel like I'm just in their shadow, so I wanted to prove that I could attract with my visuals too. Do you like my outfit, Daddy? You want me to be your little baby girl and fucktoy?”

Yeojin's hands straddle your body, her hips still grind on your leg, but her crotch is not moving to the growing problem in your now tight pants. A tease that works.

You answer her wordlessly. Aggressive hands move to her skirt and immediately underneath it. A yelp and a giggle, and then vise-versa when you pull her panties down and go down as well.

"Shut up. Don't moan too loud," you hiss before planting your face under the blue garment. A strong sniff, a remarkable scent from her drenching slit.

"D-Daddy—"

"Yeojin? Why are you already this wet?!"

"For you, Daddy, all for you. I wanted you for a long time. Plus, you've never fucked me before and I can promise you this: my pussy is the tightest of them all, an unclaimed pussy, doesn't that turn you on, Daddy? This pussy, any of my holes belong solely to you, so stuff it with your cock, your cum!”

You rise to your feet again, significantly taller than the small idol. She probably thinks her offer sounds irresistible to you, especially with all the kinky promises spread throughout. However, her needy eyes reveal how desperate she is to get what her friends get: your cock.

"I'll do what I want to do. And we shall see how tight you are, bitch. Now follow me. And don't dare to pull your panties back up. If you stumble, you stumble."

Yeojin tries to carefully, yet quickly follow your pace as you lead her into a special area, down a rarely used hallway, to a designated bedroom where you defiled her other members before. 

"Wait, has this room been here for the whole time? How come I never noticed it before?"

"You must be dense. Oh well, your body still looks hot as hell."

Yeojin doesn't respond to your words, visibly mesmerized by the soft blanket on top of the bed. At this moment, she is not paying enough attention, and finally trips over the panties around her ankles.

"Wahhhh!"

You could catch her. All it would take is stretching out one arm and putting a little effort in it. To your own amusement you decide against it, and watch the small idol fall on to the antique, smelly carpet below. 

Yeojin winces in pain, holding her wrist. She does not look seriously hurt, after all, the fall wasn't particularly heavy. Not that you care.

"You are so stupid. My God, you are even more dense than I imagined." 

Removing your shoes, you walk next to her. Like a vicious god from above, you look down to an insignificant creature below. You can do anything to her. 

"I don't care how mean you are," Yeojin hisses, trying to get up despite her restraining panties,"I just want your cock in my pussy."

"You have no idea what you want… you can't even handle me. If I had to take a guess you're totally inexperienced, aren't you? Why such a need to prove yourself to anyone?"

With a light stomp on her back, you let Yeojin fall back to the ground. She shrieks and shivers, and it only increases when you lean down and rub her bare skin, spine upwards to her nape. With a rough grab, you force her to look at you, confused, fearful eyes.

"I... I just want what they have. You must be so good, having multiple members. I want your big cock to... to..."

"Fucking hell! So needy!"

Yank her head down and pull her skirt up. Don't hold back, and slap the cute, exposed butt harshly. Yeojin wiggles and cries out, but she does not dodge or move away. 

"What if I don't want your pussy? I could just let you stay a virgin. The last virgin of Loona, probably."

"No, please! Do what you want, just... deflower me."

"What are you even saying? Such slutty behavior will be punished." 

From underneath the bed you pull out your favorite toy to use on Hyunjin: a pink vibrator. Although it's actually small in size, compared to tiny Yeojin it looks big.

"Spread your ass, stupid whore! And stop talking like that. Call me Master and only talk if necessary."

"O-okay, Ma-Master."

Turn to her face, grab it in one hand furiously and get uncomfortably close to it.

"That was not necessary, bitch."

"Heejin, Haseul, Hyeju, Hyunjin, those are the ones you know about and I have respect for them. But you? You're just a needy virgin slut way over her head coming to me. You know why your other members are my sluts? Because they are fucking good at what they do and are good partners, you… what can you even offer me? Pathetic."

"I will g-give you my precious first time—"

"Shut up," you shout at her, "I don't fucking care that it's your first time and precious to you!"

With your glaring, fiery eyes on Yeojin, you spit into her face. Full of shock, she touches the spot where it hit her. Before another reaction comes from her, you grab her miniscule body and spin it around. 

Yeojin's skirt does not cover her leaking entrance, but it was never your destination. In rage you tear apart the garment hiding her small breasts, they jiggle in the cups of her bra. Seemingly uncontrolled, you strike at the hard nipples on top of the mounds.

Yeojin screams in pain, despair and fear in glistening orbs that release a couple of tears. Luckily for her, no words leave her gasping mouth. Only a wince at every hit and eventually, high pitched moans.

"This is your punishment, whore! If you apologize, I'll ram something in your cunt. Do it!"

"But… but… I-I didn't do anything… I didn't do anything wrong! I—"

"That's it!"

No further warning: you raise her legs, spread her tight ass cheeks just a little and mercilessly shove the vibrator up Yeojin's puckered hole. In a shadow crushing scream, she exclaims the pain shooting up her body.

You will not leave it at that: turn on the vibrator, to turn shock and pain to a punishment of pleasure that makes her tiny frame twitch and jerk all over.

Yeojin screams in a mixture of pain and pleasure as her body is rocked by the humming of the vibrator, she starts to leak. 

"Leaking on the bed? The bed preserved for my girls? Disgusting. You're getting your juices everywhere!" 

You spank her ass with the toy still shoved in. 

"Naughty filthy bitch, staining my sheets like that."

"S-stop, please! I-I want it in here!" 

Through the uncontrollable movements of her body, Yeojin somehow manages to trace a trembling hand down her toned midriff and spread her glistening, almost spraying pussy. 

"P-plug me up!"

"No, slut!"

You spank her again, this time on the exact same spot, in a fast rhythm that makes her ass turn a deep reddish color. Yeojin sobs and cries, like she doesn't know a solution to end it.

"Apologize, you idiot! Stupid whore, it can't be this hard!"

Click. Realization kicks in. Yeojin doesn't want this to stop. She likes it too much. She loves all this rough, violent behavior you considered punishment. It's not effective, not teaching her a lesson, not showing her her place.

But it's too enjoyable for you as well.

"You're, you're rough with the other girls, but you like them. You care about them, but with me you don't have to like or care about me. I’m just a toy for you to fuck and use. Be as rough as you want with me, break me, ruin me. Please fuck my virgin pussy hole and claim it as yours and only yours!”

Her words trigger you. A fuck toy? You didn't have to keep a relationship going with her? Yeojin offers herself as nothing but a cumdump, a fleshlight for your own pleasure. Finally, she found something that spikes your interest. She might regret these words.

"I'll fill you everytime I fucking want. I don't care if you are in the mood, or tired or already full of cum. If I call, you are coming and you will kneel or bend over. You won't get kisses or cuddles, and don't even think about love. Your orgasm doesn't matter; you don't matter. Do you understand that this is the life of a fucktoy?"

Stare at her melted, needy face in devilish seriousness, before pushing the vibrator into the furthest depths of her rectum.

"If you say 'Yes, Daddy, I'll be your fucktoy slave' I'll use you as a cockwarmer, an anal cocksleeve, a slapping bag, a stress reliefer. Hell, if I want to ruin and end your career just for fun, I will. Are you desperate enough to accept it, sex toy?"

"Yes, Daddy! I'll be your fucktoy slave! I need to… I don’t care about my career, I only care about your cock, your pleasure—so fuck me! Own me, Master!”

The one hand that used to shove the vibrator in Yeojin's asshole now reaches for her throat and gives it a passionate squeeze. If her tongue was out before or came out at that exact moment is an irrelevant factor. It would have been a nice mechanism: choking leads to ahegao.

Yeojin's hands try to tear off the remains of clothing hanging on her body, but she ultimately fails. The penetration of your rock solid cockhead into her tight, unused cunt brings her entire focus to the one thing she always craved.

"Master's cock! It's filling me up!"

"Shut up, toy! Only speak when spoken to."

Not a second thought, the palm of your hand crosses her face, leaving a red imprint on the tiny, lustful face. The idol smiles through the sting, the harsh treatment of her make-up covered features, and continues her “defiance” with a wave of devoted screams.

"Mhmm, Master! Master! Fuck me harder Master, fuck me, ravage me, break me!" 

Slap after slap hits her face. She is too far gone, too broken to understand your commands. Nevertheless, you continue to drill into her. A hand spreading her legs makes it easy for your hips to push and push, with the force of a tank. Yeojin might have been a virgin seconds ago, but her pussy is slick and wet like she does get this pounding daily. These hard thrusts make you feel every inch of her insides. From lips to cervix, your cock attacks it with an unrivaled power. It's not surprising anymore that Yeojin starts to cum with shrieks and squirt. 

It motivates you to go faster, break the soundbarrier. Overstimulate her, flick her clit, she is nothing but animalistic sounds. In her eyes you see nothing resembling decency, control or human. 

Yeojin is broken. From a cute, little idol dreaming of stardom to a cockloving, mindless sex slave.

"Bitch, I'm going to fucking explode in you. Don't you let a single drop go to waste. And if I  happen to breed you, you'll carry that child like a good whore won't you?"

Yeojin nods. Or is it her head rocking back and forth from you fucking her into the bed? Her eyes flicker, tongue spills drool all over her face, depending on how her neck bends in orgasm. The tiny rest of mascara is everywhere, just like chestnut strands. 

The girl is a sweaty bundle. You pick her up, just to try a little stand and carry. You have never finished with one of the girls like this, although Hyunjin is perfect for it. However, the cat girl is visibly scared of taking you in this position, and because you care for her, it’s a pass.

For Yeojin, you don't have to care. Even if the company fires you, she will crawl to your house and serve you with her body. Even with her face, more red because of your slap then from arousal, she yearns for more and even with her completely destroyed pussy, probably hurting from being deflowered with your massive rod, Yeojin is ready for her life as your private slave.

"You're so small but you take my cock decently, you little whore. How ruined is your pussy right now? Hm? Still fucking mean what you say, my toy?"

"Hmmmm, y-yes, Master."

Yeojin squeezes out actual words through her mewls, even as her eyes roll into the back of her head. An orgasm of mind-altering dimensions. As wave after wave of galactic pleasure jolt through every cell of her tiny body, the thought of being an owned toy, a slave is connected with pure joy and satisfaction.

You continue to hold onto her small body rocking on your cock and you don't relent pumping into her pussy. As you continue to carry and fuck her, you reach for a phone and hand it to her. 

"Prove it! I want you to call someone from the company right now and tell them you'll quit your idol life to be my cocksleeve."

Yeojin's hand looks like it's lagging from all the convulses and shivering. Her orgasm is still overwhelming her, and moans from overstimulation put you further into heat. If she does it or not, it doesn't really matter to you. You will fill her with cum, until she, consequently, will be bred. 

Ironically, her body seems to fight back against the prospect of calling. When you try to start the call, the phone firmly pressed to her wet, flushed cheek, her pussy grips. A next... level of tightness makes you yelp in surprise. Scorching, like the shape of her walls are imprinted onto the skin of your throbbing cock, you still manage to start the call. How will a silly-fucked Yeojin respond properly, though?

You stop your thrusting waiting with a smirk as the phone rings and a voice of a manager picks up on the other line.

"Hello, Yeojin-ssi? Why did you call me? Is everything okay?"

"I, ahh!"

You buckle your hips and legs, while simultaneously pressing her slender body onto your shaft. A few slow, hard pumps, and Yeojin squeals and moans into the phone. Put your ear next to the phone to hear what the confused and panicking manager is saying.

"Y-Yeojin, what is happening? Are you... h-hurt?"

"F-f-fuck! I need... I want... I cum!"

With perfect timing, you pull out of Yeojin's tight pussy grip, only the tip parting her folds. Immediately, she starts crying, wide open eyes full of fear of losing what she craves the most. Her attempts on getting your cock to penetrate her slit again are erratic yet futile. Easily you hold her back. She breaks completely:

"I don't want to be an idol! I only want my Master's cock! Please, fill this needy, useless hole and use it as your toy!"

"W-what a-are you s-saying?! Yeojin, are you having s-sex right now?"

You can hear the manager heavily sweating from the other side, and if he isn't hard already, the lewd sounds of Yeojin's wet core being fucked again should do the job. 

A piercing scream later, and both you and Yeojin finally cum. Yeojin’s tightness went above what you ever expected, and so your load is pumped fully into the velvet cavern. The manager on the other side has stopped talking, but he is definitely still listening. You whisper to Yeojin:

"Tell him Yeojin, tell him what you want and why. Tell him if he doesn't execute your wishes...you'll leak to the higher ups about this call and he'll be fired....tell him what you want my slutty slave."

"I am a bitch, a cockslut, my Master's toy. I only love his cock and want to serve him. B-but if you tell the boss... I'll make you lose your job. U-understood?"

Her intimidation attempt is laughable, but with the Manager groaning on the other side and saying 'Yes, of course!' It seems that Yeojin's career might not be over. Yet.

You take the phone and end the call. Seconds later, the manager tries to call back, but you just turn off the device and look down to Yeojin playing with her folds. She spreads them apart and watches the cum slowly run out of her. Amusement, covered as rage, makes you shove three fingers into the leaking snatch and push all the white goo back in.

"Never do that again, slave! Stand up, and keep it inside yourself!"

The small woman obliges with whimpers. She waddles on her sore legs, unable to stay upright properly. Your stern eyes roam her body and stare her down. Yeojin avoids them, looking down with a lowered head, as your vicious plan unfolds.

Gravity lets the cum fall out of her, no matter how tight she is and tries not to. Tiny globs of your stickiness run down her thighs and legs to stain the carpet. In horror, she looks up, tears at the corner of her adorable eyes.

"You failed. Turn around and bend over."

You slowly rub your cock on the rim of her pussy. 

"Master, please… I need your cock!" 

"No, you deserve nothing. You deserve no pleasure, because you're a useless slave. You can't even be my slave because you're still an idol, so what good are you to me?"

"Master, I'm not an idol anymore. And, although I need your cock, I only deserve—"

Yeojin raises her hand, and with an unexpected harshness, she slaps her cute, red butt to make the new coloring seem permanent. 

"—spanks. Spank me, until I can't sit, Master. I deserve this."

"You mean you want this. Maybe I just want to leave you like this, and lure all your friends here to see you in this position, craving for nothing but my cock."

Yeojin gasps. Yet again, you found a turn on for her. She is like an open book to you, never before has someone been this easy to look through. As your fingers fondle the soft, beaten skin of her bottom, you realize the vibrator is not inside her twitching puckered hole anymore. It must have fallen out at some point during the fucking.

"Pick up the vibrator," you command, pinching her thigh for emphasis, "and shove it up your whorish ass. Only wear your skirt and top, no underwear, no bra."

Your wish is her command and through her task, you see a diligent, delightful side of Yeojin. She is ready to do everything for her Master. Maybe it's only because she doesn't know what's next.

"You actually did that well, slave. Now, for your real task: go about your day."

From below, a confused look on her face. Roll your eyes in annoyance and fiercely bunch up her hair. You guide her to the door, open it and point out into the vacant hallway. Yeojin's breathing gets heavier. You feel it as you bend down to her and make her look at you. Pull her hair painfully, then spit into her face.

"Stupid bimbo! Go about your day as usual. Let my cum drip out of your cunt, bend over to show off, moan when you are randomly alone with someone. Give them hints about how you are a slut for me. And if someone notices and tries to confront you, masturbate in front of them with your vibrator. I'll always watch you. They don't get to fuck you. You are my toy after all.

But they should see what a big slut you are. Nothing but a lusty object."

A hand on her sweaty back shoves her out onto the hallway. She is not hidden by soundproof, closed doors anymore. A tiny movement and her skirt flies upwards, revealing bare cheeks and folds. 

Yeojin stumbles. After a couple of meters, she looks over her shoulder. She looks too afraid to plea and too ashamed to walk towards one of the doors where people do their jobs, stylists, producers, idols.

Your gaze is unimpressed. After the fuck session from before, a trembling Yeojin leaves you unfazed. With a cell phone pressed to the side of your head, you wait for the person you saved at ‘1’ to respond. 

The words you whisper into the speaker barely reach Yeojin.

"Haseul, tell the girl's to come to the long hallway behind the stage.

Your maknae has something to show you."

(A/N: I know this went wild and hard, but FUCK. Yeojin makes me feral!)

[arkus-rhapsode]

Manga Recommendation: Tower Dungeon

So looks like Arkus Rhapsode is here to recommend another fantasy manga after the last one. So this time we're going for a bit of a different flavor with the series Tower Dungeon by by Tsutomu Nihei who you may know as the creator of Blame! and Knights of Sidonia.

Now I've known about this series for a bit even though it is relatively new. Having only started last year in Monthly Shonen Sirius. But I remember its announcement from people like Manga Mogul and hearing Makoto Yukimura (Author of the incredible Vinland Saga) recommending it. Now I always loved Sword and sorcery so I was gonna read it eventually, but it just wasn't translated. However, now being able to read the available chapters, I can say this is a very different type of fantasy series.

The premise is very basic: An evil sorcerer has killed a nation's king and kidnapped a Princess and now the royal knights need to ascend the "Dragon Tower" to save her. One battalion has conscripted a young man named Yuva for assisting troops medically has found he has impressive strength. Now Yuva must strengthen himself for the journey ahead as they explore the deadly tower.

Now like all simple premise stories, the real strength is in execution. And unlike the other fantasy series I've talked about before which have bucked the trend of "RPG fantasy" be leaning more into a traditionalist fantasy stories a la Tolkien, this goes for the more realist fantasy of something like Berserk or Dark Souls.

The world of Tower Dungeon may have things like magic and dragons, but it is a dingy, dirty, and lacks any frills. Knights wear heavy armor and people are covered in blood and scars from their adventures.

The mighty Dragon Tower itself? The most iconic thing about this series and the basis of the adventure? Looks like this. This isn't an opulent tower, this is a massive imposing structure where monsters dwell.

However, unlike some grim dark or edgy fantasies, this world isn't indulgent in its darkness. The violence and death are never cool or cheap. They are simply the way the world is. Even when magic exists, the world is still like Medieval Europe and all the "joys" that come from it.

The people as well are similar. These aren't romanticized or polished fantasy archetypes that often come with the idea of a Dungeons and Dragons style adventure, these feel like average joes plucked off the streets having to do a job. If you are say a fan of something like Chainsaw Man, this sort of post modern emphasis on people acting like regular weirdos and not some "anime characters." And I think that is something quite nice that even in a fantastical world, we can see our regular selves in them.

But that's just the story, what about the art? Well if you've noticed this series does have a very minimalist style. Something similar to that of Land of the Lustrous or Chainsaw Man. These almost scratchy and not the most detailed designs that make use of their simplicity to create this very unique atmosphere.

Creature designs themselves are less fantastical and more grody. Feeling as if they come from an off shoot of man rather than some majestic beast. Right down to the cat people.

This series is still new and sadly hasn't been officially translated yet. I've had to use mangadex to read this, so my heart goes out to the translator team. I can understand that this may be a niche that's not for everyone, but its something that feels like such a good sign for fantasy as a genre. A genre that I think has somewhat been stagnated in popular belief with the greater emphasis on Urban Action manga and the reliance on escapist fantasy anime like isekai. To see a more dirty but down to earth take on the premise, I highly recommend it.

[shiroyamaberserk]

Making a fan manga of Locus

Almost all of Berserk fans would have once had this question; "How this guy became an apostle?" Yes, so have I.

Locus is my favorite villain from Berserk. He is noble, loyal, and one of the strongest apostles. He hasn't lost his spirit as a knight even after becoming an apostle. That's why I love him.

His backstory is still hidden. We don't know how he became an apostle. I decided to depict what I imagined for his past life in manga. This is not an official, but I believe it has a reality as one episode from the world of Berserk.

I started this manga around the end of 2021, then have been posting the panels on Instagram. It has not been finished yet, but you can read all the pages I drew until now in my account; https://www.instagram.com/shiroyama_berserk/

When it is completed, I will post all the pages in tumblr too.

[sgiandubh]

Arguments

Hey Mordor,

Spare the 'shippers are stupid', the Our Lady of the Rings tango (two steps forward, three behind and there we go again), 'S is gay', 'you lie' (we don't: we are vetting everything we go public with to death, whenever possible) and the 'GRO, GRO, GRO' mantra you chant like Hare Krishna, do you have any more solid arguments for your theory to hold?

No critical thinking.

Tunnel vision.

The attention span of a midget porcupine.

Zero curiosity to even check for context and connect the dots.

And last - but not least - seemingly no knowledge of the ways and means of a global, sophisticated world.

You're not even fanning them. Or the books. Or the series. You just hang in here because you need to be collectively right and yet you somehow fail, even with the Narrative making it so easy for you. After all, surface 'facts' are validating. Until they aren't, because this is what they are: surface. Superficial and calibrated on purpose for an undiscerning, docile audience.

Also, it's never really been about Her, right? It's been about Him, all the way. And when They failed to deliver on your fantasy, you went berserk: the replacement Tait story is frustrating AF and I understand the anger - again, you cannot properly worship something that has the appeal of a wet mop.

Yeah. Good morning. It's Saturday and you're still the same old bunch of sad fascists. See, I can play the same idiotic game as you, too. Except I don't do it every single day: it's tedious and if anything, it spells despair. In full letters.

Cheers. I'm off to my hairdresser's. Finally. And sorry for the delay, my lovelies. I unexpectedly fell down a rabbit hole again and didn't want to deliver a half-baked job.

[possiblylando]

Csm Chapter 151 not so early analysis

Late cause of bullshit.

This guy Miri is genuinely so fucking cooked if he grew up with internet his brain would be absolutely fried by twitter he's so fucking gullible I can not believe it this guy.

I'm more interesting in finding out what Whip thinks is going on. Because as far as we've been told and shown Miri is right about their goal here being to stop the death devil from doing whatever shes going to do. But Whip seems to think theres some true reason beyond that, that Miri doesn't get. It's possible their goal is just to bring back chainsaw man for no reason at all- like just to have him there.

Oh wow okay uhmmmmmmm geeeeez look ah wow ahem woo ahem okay maybe uhhh maybe I get barem fans okay just a little bit uhhhhh hmmm moving on

This whole scene was great because Barems moving like a fucking Zombie he totally could've entered his hybrid state here because he still has enough strength left to get up and walk over to Nayuta and fucking choke her out but he chose to stay in human form to prove a point. He's fucking scary as shit here. Barem does this little monolog about being a Makima fanboy but honestly I doubt he's right. Barem is SCARY here imagine being like 8 years old and this motherfucker gets up after being shot a dozen fucking times and he just starts walking towards you like a fucking zombie that is SCARY Nayuta is absolutely intimidated by this dude. Plus as far as I remember there hasn't really been an instance of devil powers sticking around after the devil dies they just seem to reset to 0 each time a devil dies.

The fact they've been keeping Fumiko alive this whole time really does just go to confirm my thoughts that she's going to end up playing an important role in this final saga/arc of part 2.

We finally enter the end game. I've said it in previous posts but we're fucking here now. We have maybe 1-2 arcs left in part 2 before we reach the end of it. I don't know for sure whats going to happen to Denji next chapter but I doubt it'll be good. The transformation is so low key it almost feels like its incomplete. Like the real chainsaw man has yet to appear. It possible due to the fear of chainsaw man around the world spiking due to the fire devil's contracts going off, Denji is about to go berserk as the black chainsaw man because aside from Nayuta he has nothing left. But there is one question I can answer.

He's laughing about the 3 week break see you guys in 2024

[8um8le]

I'm not even a big fnaf fan and yet you got me obsessed with your cyberpunk!au, your design and style is so clean and lively, and the DETAILS <3 I'm in love <3 I kept scrolling since morning through your blog, and I got a thought regarding cyber aus in general: how love between mortals and immortals is a constant race against time and grief. I mean, even with the y/n part of your universe. They will eventually start aging, or just the fragility of human y/n and the threat regarding sun/moon/8bot/eclipse's job. Given that Eclipse and 8bot already lost humans dear to them, how do they cope with the thought of loving another? Rejection, denial? I see they would push y/n away for their safety and to spare themselves pain of losing them. And even if they all fall for human y/n against any logic, I can sense the impending feeling of doom and overprotectiveness. Perhaps nightmares and unwanted memories. What do you think?

Eclipse and 8ot rambles down below <333

8ot and Eclispe had their run with humans, both reacting differently based on their circumstances. Eclipse’s human was a smart successful high status guy, who could spend the rest of his life being by his side. He taught him all the ropes. So with Eclipse’s new human, he would do his best to make sure they live a long healthy life, constantly nagging them about what’s not good for them and what’s good for them :-)))

8ot’s human was a deaf woman who taught them sign language since 8ot didn’t have a voice, they got along well. (Though they had other ways of communicating) Unfortunately she was killed by the raucous gang, which made 8ot go berserk. So they would be too protective of their human :-))

The main characters Sun and Moon are more pure when it comes to their contact with humans, they don’t casually come across them too much. It’s usually just kids from the daycare or when greeting their parents. It would be a whole new experience if a random human treated them as equal, with endless possibilities. 

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Astarion's scars as a tattoo, yeah or nah?

tl;dr - that's a hard nah from me

I'm pretty heavily tattooed, but I don't have any pop culture tattoos, yet. I am considered a few different pop culture tattoos, including some bg3 related ones. Astarion is my favorite character, and I am definitely not getting his scars, but another pop culture tattoo I have considered at multiple points in the past is the brand of sacrifice from Berserk.

If you're not familiar, it's a popular tattoo among Berserk fans and it functions in universe as a sign that this person has been marked to be consumed in another person's ascension to godhood.

There is a pretty big difference between the brand of sacrifice and Astarion's brand though.

Those baring the brand of sacrifice in Berserk's universe are not slaves. The mark was not put upon them by their slaver. You can argue that they were similarly exploited, but it's not a one to one analogue with chattel slavery at all.

When I thought about getting Astarion's scars as a tattoo I immediately didn't feel right about it, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't recognize why I felt that way. I was not thinking about it deeply.

Later, after discussing it with my sister (who is covered in recognizable pop culture related tats) she managed to put my discomfort into words. Basically, she pointed out that the scars are a slave brand. There is historical significance to these kinds of marks, and it's use in the story of bg3 only emphasizes that.

What I'm describing is a very white woman, talking to another very white woman, like 7 months ago when we'd isolated ourselves and been playing the game nonstop and hadn't peaked in on the fandom yet, because we (correctly) thought that would probably be horrible.

And, I just say that, because I think that if the two of us could pick up on the implications of the scars, everyone else should probably be able to (at a minimum) understand this position when it's spelled out for them. If that's how uncomfortable we felt, in the privacy, basically of just our own minds, playing the game in a vacuum, I can't even imagine what it's like for black fans trying to participate in the fandom.

Ultimately, it is an individual's choice what tattoos they want to get, but the assertion that I've been seeing from people that they shouldn't be judged for it is just not correct. Judging people for their tattoos is totally allowed, actually. The kinds of tattoos that someone gets says a lot about them. I'm positive people judge me for my tattoos all the time, and they are allowed to do that. I have those insect knee-bending wing tattoos, I'm sure someone thinks those are dumb as hell.

So, I've had the chance to talk to a few people who wanted to get Astarion tattoos. I always tell them outright why I don't think they should get the scars and then I try to work with them to come up with something else. I've been prepared for pushback, but I actually haven't gotten any. I think people are more likely to be reasonable when you talk in person.

It's only in internet conversations between strangers that I see real pushback.

On the other side of things, I know the idea of identification with this character, and reclamation feels very powerful, and it's just not effective to try and convince people to have a totally different emotional response to something they experienced. So, I'm not surprised to see people double down in that context.

I wish empathy was enough. But, in case it's not, I'm actually going to try an adjacent angle, as a person who is covered in tattoos.

Let's talk about the most common reasons that people regret their tattoos: 1) They get big, bold, distinctive tattoos before they have a realistic idea of what their adult aesthetic and vibe will actually be (happens a lot to people who get serious and huge tattoos before age 25)

2) They experience a paradigm shift (often social, cultural, political, or artistic) that causes them to feel negatively about the tattoos they got in the past, and they subsequently have a negative relationship with them. Often, these people will start wearing clothing that covers the tattoos before they really confront the fact that they don't like them any more. It's a very hard thing to admit to yourself.

I can see how this particular tattoo doubly qualifies on all accounts.

I'm relieved that I didn't get all the tattoos that I wanted when I was in my late teens and early twenties. Like, fr, thank god I was poor and thought I'd go to hell, because all my tattoo ideas at that time in my life were exactly the kind of stuff I would have regretted later.

So, if you really want the scars, and you're feeling even more convinced than ever to do it because you're annoyed by how passionately some people argue against it and you want to prove that you can do what you want with your body, and that the meaning is immutable to you and can't possible change, keep in mind that regretting tattoos is very common, changing your mind is very common, and growing the hell up is inevitable.

Even the most innocuous tattoos with absolutely no broader implications might make you feel negatively about your own body one day, and no one wants that. That definitely wouldn't be the legacy that you want to attach to this tattoo.

There's a big difference between trying to control someone's behavior and trying to just be real with them about the increased likelihood that they will be unhappy with the tattoo at some point down the line. Like maybe after they make some black friends.

It might sound like I'm being flippant, but I am actually dead serious. With how many people are getting that tattoo right now, it's basically inevitable that some of them will one day learn or experience enough to completely change their opinion on this exact debate and then feel all kinds of gross about the tattoo.

And, to reiterate, I don't think that's as good an argument as just not doing it because you listened to black fans about how it made them feel and empathized. That should be enough.

[sweatytyrantobservation]

when p2 berserk horses

The moment you've all been waiting for...

Part two of berserk horses that caught my eye!

Wyald.

I don't like wyald, but I like his horse. It looks just as crazy as him and I think the fur on the tack is a cool, small but distinctive detail.

Black Ram Iron Lance Knights

With the most ridiculously long winded name I've ever seen, I love these guys. I like the horns on their heads.

Andon, general of the blue whale knights.

Again, not a fan of this guy but Jesus christ this animal is an absolute unit. I'm really a huge fan of its helmet.

The green knight

Yeah I can't lie I was confused as hell at first I thought this was locus but I like this guys armour. Kinda smooth, sleek. Pretty.

Locus

Gorgeous. Like hello? Definitely one of my favourite designs. I can really appreciate the details

The Headless horseman?

I've heard this dude is a combo of the green knight and some demon? Anyway, spiky horse. Reminds me of a holly Bush. Which is cool because I like Holly bushes.

The Holy purple rhino knights

I had these guys super confused with the blue whale knights for ages because the design of horse armour is really similar. Still, neat. I like how the armour is made to match the name of the army, rhino knights? Rhino armour.

Judeau!

Our favourite boy. I love his horse. Simple, smooth, cute. I bet he takes good care of it. Sorry this was the best photo of it I could manage.

Tudor knights

Yeah I'm not sure much on these guys yet but I like the boar snouts on the cavalry. Again a neat detail

And finally!!..

Isma and isidro

I know the unicorns aren't their horses bur they're cute, So damn cute I love how they interact with the both isma and isidro.

[its-monster-mash]

Alright so, there’s been a sleep between me and the House of Wax rewatch, so I’m going to TRY to organize my feelings by Chronological order of the movie. This is going to get long, so there will be a cut so I don’t take up too much dash-space for people who want to scroll past.

Basics of it: Bo Sinclair apologism and Let Vincent Have Agency over his own actions. Also people are DICKS to rural people for no reason, like seriously FUCK Wade. Wade Deserved It.

So RIGHT off the bat, with Bo’s first appearance in the woods with his truck—Bo did NOTHING wrong here. I live in a very rural area(I grew up in the middle of the woods, but now I live a ten minute walk from where I used to—there are so many cows). Where I’m from, if the landowner catches you in his woods you’re as likely to get SHOT AT as not. Showing up in a truck and staring at you is kind of a universal POLITE, gun free, warning—most people WILL scramble when someone shows up if they’re trespassing in the woods.

Now, what I think Bo was doing here was taking a headcount—deciding whether or not he wanted to deal with them, and I actually think he decided AGAINST killing them.

Despite the fact that they treated him aggressively and fucked up his truck, I feel like it cannot be stressed enough that BO DID GET THE FAN BELT.

Again, as a person from the middle of nowhere, it made ME fucking furious the way Wade came into town and just started breaking into places and LITERALLY breaking things. And, without prior knowledge that the church was full of wax victims, Wade was so impatient that he just couldn’t wait for Bo to FINISH UP AT THE FUNERAL, and decided to just let himself into Bo’s shop and take a fanbelt—leaving a “This is probably enough” amount of money. The entire time ripping on rural people and how they live(not to mention how he treated LESTER. Lester 100% acted like a normal guy around here. 10/10 girls I knew growing up would have LOVED to see his knife. That was an EXTREMELY normal interaction where I’m from.).

ANYWAY BO.

Bo straight up told them they could wait for him while he went ALONE to his house to get the part(also Wade questioning that a MECHANIC has some of his stock at home?? Fuck you man), and it was Wade that insisted on going along.

I do not think Bo intended for Vincent to go Snip Snip through the floorboards. (On top of that, Wade made the DUMBEST little noises after getting sliced—Bo getting changed upstairs probably 1000% thought “Jesus Christ the fucker is blowing up my goddamn bathroom”. He may not have even known yet that Vincent got him; depending on whether or not he noticed the signs of struggle in the already kind of messy house.

(On THAT note, I got pissed as hell the way Wade was judging the Sinclair Home—like bitch you are the reason moms in the early 2000s went berserk about the house needing to be spotless when guests come.)

Bo was genuinely surprised when Carly LOCKED HIM OUT OF HIS OWN TRUCK. I feel like THAT was the point where Bo decided “Fuck it.”

I think that, up until then, Bo WAS going to fix up their car and get them on their way, because he KNEW they had a whole lot of friends who were coming back for them—Bo may not be the brightest, but I feel like he was smart enough to know that that could have got them caught or hurt.

My best friend and I joked that we would have survived our trip to Ambrose because we simply would not have been assholes. (And we would been HUGE nerds in the Wax Museum, and well, NOT took a lighter to the pieces??? Vincent probably would NOT have shanked us. Tbh we would not have gone into the Sinclair home because when Bo said “You can wait here if you want” we would have simply said “Thank you.”. Well, we wouldn’t have broken into the Museum AT ALL, but given who we are we may have ASKED Bo if we could see it.)

Now, I’m not saying Bo ISN’T a bad guy, like, he very much definitely DID lock Carly in a basement and glue her mouth shut, but I didn’t really see a whole lot of like?? Gratuitous Sadism?? Is there more in a novelization or something?? Like, he threatened her to keep her quiet—but since he and his twin are literally serial killers I think that’s pretty standard?

The fact that Carly was able to so EASILY dismantle the chair makes me kind of feel like it wasn’t really used much? I mean, Bo is a mechanic, you’d think if that were a thing he made a habit of it would be in better repair. I didn’t really get the feeling that this was like, an average Tuesday Night for Bo or anything.

(On that note, I would have been the worst victim because the MINUTE he turned the music on I would have been like “Oh shit dude I like your taste” and he would just “???” Of course, I may have met a completely DIFFERENT fate because I simply would not have locked him out of his truck. There would have been no chase.)

AND VINCENT.

I don’t get where the “Uwu Soft Boy” “Bo’s Victim” thing comes from unless people were just taking Carly’s late-movie assumptions at face value??

Like, Vincent DID very much get in a truck and go into the woods just to hunt Blake and Paige. Like, he had no reason to do that, and Bo was straight up mad about it until he settled down and told Vincent he did good and they’d fit the set. Like, Bo is the one who imprisoned Carly, but Vincent VERY MUCH WAS THE ONE WHO DID THE KILLINGS. Bo did not tell him to do any of that. It kind of makes me mad because it feels like Vincent’s agency is downplayed a lot in the fandom and that it’s just because of Bo snapping on him One(1) Time, and Carly’s assumption in the final chase.

And as far as Bo snapping on him goes!!

Bo had AN ARROW IN HIS CHEST AT THE TIME(Also Bo, I love you, but FUCK WHY DID YOU PULL THE FINS OF THE ARROW THROUGH YOUR ARM??? He should have just?? Cut the arrowhead off and pulled the SMOOTH part through?? This man). I think most people are prone to snapping when they’re in severe pain(and I think the way Vincent IMMEDIATELY rushed in to survey Bo’s wounds shows a lot about how they DO care about each other, like very clearly Vincent is not AFRIAD of Bo—considering even after he snapped Vincent was just like “Whatever, go ahead and bleed, I’m going back to fixing up my mask.”). The sibling of mine I actually KNOW is significantly younger than me, so we didn’t have any kind of antagonism with each other—largely because I was a Parentified Sibling—but every close in age pair of siblings I know can be pretty mean to each other, but always in an “ONLY I CAN PICK ON MY SIBLING” kind of way. Bo calling Vincent a “Freak” and then IMMEDIATELY taking on a softer voice and telling him how great his art is had HUGE “I’m sorry, you can hit me back, don’t tell Mom.” Energy. I really don’t think Bo abuses Vincent.

I mean, he said “You’re not supposed to go anywhere WITHOUT ME”, which implies that they DO go places together; and given how easily Vincent killed everyone he killed in the movie, it makes a LOT of sense that Bo wouldn’t want him going out alone. Especially if(and this is my own speculation) Bo is used to always being around to “Protect” Vincent from people who would make fun of him.

>Inserting this here because I forgot to mention it: I genuinely think all the killing started while Trudy was still alive, because Bo talks about how he and Vincent can “Finish what she started”. Additionally, in the beginning of the movie, Lester gives that little speech about how people can “get used to a lot”. That makes me feel like the brothers were probably RAISED to do the things that they do(supported by the fact that the fucked up machinery Vincent puts his victims in looks OLD, so it’s not unlikely that Trudy used it first). That doesn’t absolve Bo and Vincent, of course, but it does make them ALSO victims.

Moving on to Carly’s speculation at the end—she CLEARLY pissed Vincent off. I mean, she just BEAT HIS BROTHER TO DEATH and then called BO a freak and suggested that BO was behind everything. Not only did she kill HIS twin(and she and Nick would know better than anyone how much pain Vincent must have been feeling in that moment) but she called BO a Freak too. Given the amount of abuse Vincent watched his parents hurl at Bo, that was probably a rehashing of how he felt when his parents would bind and beat Bo and yell horrible things at him. (Also like, FUCK, the fact that Bo’s high chair STILL has fucking blood on it??? Like their father was a DOCTOR, and he just made Bo sit and eat with his Rotting Old Blood right there??? FUCK.)

And finally, Lester sitting on the back of his truck at the end of the movie, Jonesy sitting with him—he was probably waiting around for some sign of what happened to his brothers, and THAT breaks my goddamn heart.

But like, bottom line, I don’t think Bo was the “Evil Twin” much in the same way that Nick wasn’t actually that bad of a guy. The Sinclairs are obviously the result of a very fucked up upbringing, but aside from the whole wax thing and the locking Carly in the basement, Bo actually feels like a pretty normal dude??? By slasher standards??? I definitely don’t get any kind of a “Bo is the mastermind” vibes from the movie—it feels very much more like this is just the life that’s been NORMAL to Bo and Vincent for so long.

Yeah, they should have just left Ambrose and NOT kept killing, but Bo is CLEARLY still trying to get his mother’s love, and I don’t think Vincent even WANTS to stop. I don’t think Bo would have ever left Vincent even if HE wanted to stop.

[bthump]

I still don’t understand the logic behind everyone urging guts to go on his own path and leave griffith after they rescued him, it annoys me to no end. It makes sense from a pushing-the-plot-forward standpoint but as in-universe logic i cant make sense of it. Casca saying if you want to be griffith’s friend and equal you should leave liiikkeee..….i dont think griffith gives a fuck about that anymore hes crippled!!???? The only explanation i could come up with is not so nice….and its that they dont care about making sense they just want guts out of the picture because it benefits them personally, like casca not having to share griffith with him anymore, and judeau maybe not having to see casca and guts together all the time? Idk it sounds mean so i dont want it to be that lol, but its like why is everyone acting like griffith lost all agency and doesnt get to have a say in who he wants in his life? why is everyone deciding for him knowing full well that's not what he would want? everyone knows how dependent his well being is on guts and yet….they dont care?

Just a heads up, it's my understanding that the term "cripple" or "crippled" is often considered dated and offensive these days when not being reclaimed, so it's probably better to say Griffith is disabled.

But anyway yeah I get what you're saying and I get why it can feel contrived. I've talked to other Berserk fans who have the same issue with these scenes.

But like I actually do think it makes sense both from a characterization perspective, and thematically.

Thematically everyone has to tell Guts to leave, because that's the consequence of the decision he made. And it does make sense imo because he did a very good job convincing Judeau and Casca that it's what's best for him and what he desperately wants and needs to do for himself and his own sense of worth etc. While they do theoretically have enough knowledge to realize that Guts doesn't need to strive to be Griffith's equal after he spent a year in a torture chamber because of Guts, it makes sense to me that that's not what they're thinking. They're not reading the story and picking up on the subtext, after all, they're just trusting what someone told them about his own goals without overanalysing it. Guts said he wants to pursue a dream the way Griffith did because he feels inadequate, and it makes sense to me that they take that at face value.

So to them it makes sense to think that Guts offering to stay and take care of Griffith isn't him realizing that the whole equality thing was bullshit, but him sacrificing his future potential glory because he feels like he owes Griffith.

Then on another level you do have those darker characterization notes that also, imo, make sense and help make it believable that Casca and Judeau would tell Guts to leave. Judeau has been trying to get Guts and Casca to hook up for a while now, he's personally invested in them having a relationship, and the two of them being in a relationship is contingent on them going off together without Griffith. We can deduce from a few clues that Judeu is invested in this because he doesn't feel good enough for Casca himself and he wants her to be happy, and he thinks Guts can make her happy.

So Judeau telling Guts to leave with Casca while he takes care of Griffith himself is basically Judeau making a sacrifice for Casca's sake, as well as thinking it's probably better for both Guts and Casca, based on what he knows about them. It's not better for Griffith, but his priority has never been Griffith, it's been Casca.

And Casca telling Guts to leave also fits their love triangle, and Casca's own jealousy and residual feelings for Griffith. Even if she could potentially put two and two together and realize that Guts genuinely wants to stay with Griffith, it makes sense to me that she wouldn't want to make that leap, because the three of them together spell jealousy, and if only two of them can be together without devolving into resentment, well, Griffith just demonstrated that he needs her the way she's always wanted him to need her, and Guts has his own dream to pursue, so this way she at least gets to have something she wants. And she can tell herself that Griffith will get over Guts, that Guts isn't good for Griffith anyway considering what happened, etc.

But yeah ultimately the reason they tell him to leave is because Guts made his bed and now he has to lie in it. So it is to drive the plot towards the Eclipse at the end of the day, but idk, it works for me. Both Casca and Judeau have their own priorities that aren't Griffith and Guts living happily ever after together, and those contribute to them telling Guts to leave, and setting off the Eclipse. I find it believable and interesting for the characters.

[unassumingastartes]

Part 1 of Heresy Era Primarch fan casts.

I'm currently working on the remaining 15 of which I have 6 selected (3 more going up shortly). I just need to get the time to find fitting images for them all, and create the posts etc.

Part 2 is up!

[Also, please ignore any grammatical errors. I am very ill, and I'm doing this to cheer myself up]

I seem to take issue with most fancastings I come across of primarchs; in my mind must be played by someone that has that kind of special visual property to their appearance that's very eye catching but can't be placed. Primarchs have a super natural aura that makes people drawn to them but also very intimidated. So it's a very unique mix that one must have.

Here are a few I think fit the bill.

Jaghatai khan-

Baljinnyamyn Amarsaikhan.

Mongolian actors are very unrepresented in cinema, I believe that for a character completely inspired by mongol culture, casting anyone outside of that would be a shame. Just like the Khan, he has a strong, very intimidating aura but also has an equally strong charisma and powerful appearance that demands respect. His performance in Marco polo was great. The Khan is full of contradictions in his character he's jovial yet serious, he's just as quick to laughter as he is to rage, he doesn't take himself seriously but if you do something against him he'll never forget it, he's logical yet impulsive.

Leman Russ-

Travis Fimmel.

No fan of both Viking and Warhammer will be surprised by this casting. You'll know it doesn't even need an explanation as to why this role is perfect for Travis. Travis' performance as Ragnar in vikings was legendary. His feral but caring nature, like a wolf that wishes to be tamed but fights back when it happens. Just like Leman. A quick-witted, silly, carefree but battle crazed berserker. I talked about outstanding physical appearance being a must, and Travis' eyes are one of a kind. No description can do them justice.

Angron-

Manu Bennett.

Angron is a very misunderstood character in the fandom. He was forced to become a gladiator as a child, he never knew love, his aura was stolen from him due to the butchers nails, which drove him insane and made me bloodlusted craving violence just for a moments relief. He was denied an honourable death with his loved ones, then again, and is still forcibly kept alive as a Daemon. Even his own sons were terrified of him and hated him. Being around Angron was like being caged in with a starved and injured apex predator. Manu's experience with playing a gladiator previously is fitting along with his ability to tap into that hyper intimating mode, where even tho he is extremely handsome, it's not welcoming. It's the lure of the beauty in a tigers stripes where you want to admire, but you know you must run.

[dropintomanga]

Berserk's Continued Popularity and Trauma

I often keep up with what's selling in the manga world, so it's not a surprise that I check out ICv2's Manga Week when the site posts up interviews and insights about the industry. What caught my eye this time was Kentaro Miura's Berserk still being a top-seller and a top manga franchise in the English-speaking side of the world.

How popular is Berserk right now? It was the top manga franchise of Fall 2023 beating out everything that was either Shonen Jump, Junji Ito or Attack on Titan. The Deluxe Editions have sold well for all of 2023, especially the first edition (which contains Volumes 1-3 of the series). It helps that Dark Horse Comics, the North American publisher for the manga, has been promoting the Berserk Deluxe Editions non-stop. Even when they didn't announce anything new at Anime NYC last year, Dark Horse made a huge note about the latest Berserk Deluxe Edition that would come out.

I think it's great that Berserk is getting a lot more attention (especially after Kentaro Miura died) because this is a story about trauma and how we still carry the wounds of it at times.

In my opinion, Berserk is a story about people trying to overcome their own trauma - one caused by interpersonal relations. Ultimately, it's about three people in particular. Guts, the main hero who falls into despair after his experiences in the Golden Age Arc and has to deal with the curse of constantly being hunted by monsters beyond his imagination. Griffith, the antagonist who once had admirable dreams, but fully gives into darkness after going through painful torture and is the main source of Guts' trauma. And Casca, the strong heroine who becomes a victim of Griffith's desires and mentally shattered as a result until recent events in the manga. The connection between all three characters says it all - sometimes, the trauma caused is not from strangers who are "dangerous," but those closest and dearest to us.

Berserk is so relatable because we carry on the weight of whatever personal trauma we experienced without realizing its hold on us until it becomes apparent. The worse thing is we often have a very hard time talking about it.

Around 2021, I heard about a certain book about trauma that took during the COVID pandemic. It was Bessel van der Kolk's The Body Keeps the Score. Originally published in 2014, the book blew up for good reason because COVID forced everyone to confront issues kept hidden for a long time. Van der Kolk talks about how horrible people can be to one another and that psychiatry seems to ignore the complexity of trauma when it comes to helping its victims.

Because of the nuance and how long it takes to heal, maybe that's why we can't talk about trauma easily.

Which is why I want to get to this point - I sometimes find it hard to talk about Berserk because of the sexual violence and horror aspects. Yes, fans love to call it the GOAT and/or recommending the manga to other manga/Western comics fans. But I will say I can't exactly recommend Berserk to anyone who's experienced trauma, especially sexual trauma. If they haven't come to terms and/or processed their pain, why would any manga fan shove Berserk in their face? I know there's heavy debate about microagressions and triggers, but just because it's critically-acclaimed doesn't mean it's for everyone.

I will say that the sexual violence in Berserk is used in a way to highlight the brutality of the real world at times. It serves its purpose in the story. Maybe I feel that Berserk is about acknowledging the dark side of life. The world is full of absolute cruelty. And maybe more importantly, you never fully move on. That's the key point. Moments that hurt will stick by you for a long time. People love to shame others for not being able to move on and/or cheer up. They don't know how trauma forces its victims to stay still out of a realistic yet unhelpful fear of certain kinds of people.

But you can still move forward. I'm admired by Guts fighting in the face of despair. He embodies the belief that you probably can never move on from whatever emotional pain you experience and that's okay. At least take the steps to make your own life worth living. It's the best you can do for yourself.

And a good start to moving forward is accepting the bad thoughts. I recently read how positive thinking is pushed so hard to promote better mental health. Some positivity is fine, but there's so much pain in this world that all the wellness industry strategies in the world will never make go away. It is a huge problem when we're told to grit and grind while suppressing our inner-most vulnerabilities.

A lot of people can't handle that kind of vulnerability. Maybe that's why I'm happy that Berserk is being discovered by new fans. Guts is a strong yet so very vulnerable hero. I think it's those vulnerabilities due to his trauma that allow him to gain some very good friends (Puck, Farnese, Serpico, Isidro, and Schierke) along the way who genuinely care about him.

We all want someone to acknowledge our pain and be willing to sit with and stick by us through the neck of it all.

I remember a friend who once told me that when they went to see someone perform, all of their grief and vulnerability was so apparent that they wished that they didn't need to air it out since a lot of people can't handle it. I told them I can handle it and they said that I was built different.

Much like the popularity of Berserk these days and what I hope the series encourages, I want my difference of being able to sit with trauma to be the norm.