#he has so completely separated the idea of choice from his actions he just

[independent-variables]

anyway while i'm on the topic, fucked up davijaan fact of the day:

out of the wolffe and fox and cody and davi friend group, davijaan is the one who would kill a person in cold blood and feel no guilt

[mias-back-from-the-dead]

so this was a line in a fanfic I recently read but it has me fuckign crawling up the walls and watching D&W in a new light

it's part of a larger oh/oh moment paragraph rant wade goes on but the line is:

"I would have happily gone on assuming that this Wolverine is canonically a fuck machine who only sleeps with women ever and that I could hit on him to my dick’s content and never have to worry about the possibility of real rejection"

and that last line COMPLETELY reframed half of wade's actions for me in the movie.

Cuz on the surface level there's the hee-hoo deadpool hits on every single hero joke of it all, which is probably all the writers were thinking about when those lines and directions went onto the script. They needed the throughline of wade being seriously still hung up on vanessa for plot reasons but didn't want to give up all the ridiculous flirt jokes.

From a hollywood writer's perspective, the solution is an easy 'Okay, he flirts with dudes ONLY, no prob, there's a Logan shaped comedic 'straight man' for him to do that at for 90+minutes'

But like. There's Implications to that as a Choice, when you characterize a dude that's so rejection avoidant and purpose-seeking that an avengers' dismissal kills all motivation for putting the suit on at all.

Pointing affections at literally any direction other than people who MIGHT take him seriously. Flirt on his favourite heroes, antiheroes, maybe even a TVA employee or two instead. It isn't that he's not ACTUALLY into Colossus's giant metal ass or Logan's oiled up tits, I'm sure they rev the engines like anything else, but I'm super willing to explore the idea that he's way more comfortable in throwing himself in directions where the rejections aren't 'real' to him. If the writers never thought about that implication, I'm going with concept that Wade doesn't even realize he's doing it at all unless he's in a fanfic universe with a decent oh/oh moment.

It makes me wonder what style of bluescreen he'd go through the second Logan yes-and's in a way that might be interpreted as flirting back. It makes me think of the countless number of dudes he's hit on in the comics despite most of his longer-term relationships being with women. Don't get me wrong, I KNOW the Doylist perspective is likely that most writers go down the straight relationships, gay jokes avenue but it's SO much more interesting to play it watsonian here. it's just a really good fanfic direction to lean down, this fucker is made up of exactly 50/50 emotional anguish about rejection and shitpost dick humour and I just wanna read more works where they feed into each other instead of being tackled separately

HHHHHHh I dUNNO IF I KEEP WRITING IM JUST GONNA GO IN CIRCLES JUST GO READ THE FIC ^

[barrenclan]

sorry if this is spoilers bc we might learn more later. I'm super confused with Rainhaze's thought process. When he was saying its pointless. like. I get not wanting to go back bc he killed his mom. but what did that have to do with Asphodelpaw? Couldnt he just walk away? Did he see her and decide he wanted to be part of Defiance? And this was the tipping point to prove it? I'm super confused. Was it because if she left she'd tell someone? I assume we'll get a better explanation later?

Absolutely! I've actually been waiting for a chance to really dig into this. Like Rainhaze himself, his issue is written with a lot of confusion and uncertainty, and it's not very straight-forwardly, so I understand why his motivations are easy to miss. So here it is!

Firstly; Rainhaze as he existed in BarrenClan and Rainhaze as he is now are two very, very different beasts. Obviously he's still the same person, but he's gone through a mountain of trauma, violence, and was forced to confront the fact that if pressed, he would kill a family member - even his own mother. Sure, in the moment he was threatened into doing it, but it opens the possibility that he'd even do that. Maybe he would've done anything to protect his family then, but it's been a long time.

Then, over many months, he's subjected to propaganda, murder, and terrible treatment. His mental state from where he was when he killed Dustfeather is massively changed. He's depressed, listless, and much more willing to kill. Not only that, but Defiance propaganda has worked on him.

(Issue 24)

With so much constant killing in his life, and being constantly vulnerable, he begins to see death as a good thing. Something that ends suffering, something that doesn't really matter in the end.

(Issue 28)

So now we're at Issue 31. Rainhaze is in a "doldrum", like Ranger says (a period of inactivity or lethargy). He's so torn between his new life and new beliefs, and his old regrets and old connections to BarrenClan, that he's basically attempting to end his own life through inactivity. Ranger doesn't want this. Here's his plan:

Ranger knows that BarrenClan lives opposite the forest, across the prairie. He specifically orders Rainhaze to "kill something", planting that idea in his mind. He's hoping that Rainhaze will find one of his Clan members, and make the decision to kill one of them. This would push Rainhaze over into whatever full breakdown Ranger wants, and solidify his ties to Defiance. And that is what happens. So why did Rainhaze make that decision?

We already have the basis of an incredibly traumatized Rainhaze. He views himself as he is now, and who he used to be, as different people. And he belives that's completely beyond redemption.

Yes, all those months ago he promised he was suffering in Defiance for his family and Clan, but it's really hard to hold onto those noble morals when you're being put through hell every day. Rainhaze hasn't even seen his family in months. They don't seem real to him anymore.

Then he is finally confronted by Asphodelpaw, the symbol of everything he's put himself through torture to protect, and all he wants to do is go back to Defiance. And here we go, getting to these lines;

Rainhaze is a coward.

He's separated from Deepdark and Ranger, by at least several days. He could absolutely come home with Asphodelpaw and warn all of BarrenClan - they could evacuate in time, be far away by the time Defiance arrives on their territory. But then he'd have to face his family, face his sister whose mother he violently murdered. Have to stand there and have them look at him and know him and see the scars on his body.

When he says, "this is vile, pointless, irredeemable, monstrous", he understands that killing Asphodelpaw is a disgustingly cruel action. He knows that. He understands that he's choosing Defiance over her, and over them. But that's the choice he feels he needs to make to protect himself. He's not thinking about his family any more.

So he does something so completely vicious and irredeemable that he is forced to choose Defiance. Because there's no way that any BarrenClan cat would forgive him for this. There's no way he would forgive himself for this.

And thus, Rainhaze figures himself out, and burns every other bridge entirely. He makes his choice.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up. 

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you? 

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest. 

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time. 

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck. 

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed. 

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness. 

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then– 

You stop. 

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action. 

A whimper. 

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain. 

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect. 

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood. 

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom. 

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure. 

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up. 

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance. 

You don’t. You don’t. 

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now. 

“Fuck.” 

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.  

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack. 

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident. 

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it. 

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?” 

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!” 

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.” 

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that. 

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there. 

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping. 

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you. 

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile. 

You’re a shit pretender. 

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.” 

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too. 

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words. 

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.” 

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had. 

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.” 

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?” 

Did he just check me out? 

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention. 

Which hand did he use? 

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?” 

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?” 

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes? 

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing. 

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.” 

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.” 

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air. 

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t. 

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual. 

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead. 

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night. 

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor. 

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far. 

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly. 

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.” 

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening. 

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.” 

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied. 

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.” 

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed. 

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet. 

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?” 

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him. 

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you. 

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.” 

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band. 

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.” 

“How did I never know this?” 

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band. 

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.” 

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this? 

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two. 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables. 

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.” 

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.” 

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation. 

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice. 

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.” 

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room. 

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?” 

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends. 

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is. 

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.” 

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.” 

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling. 

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall. 

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers. 

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.” 

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.” 

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” 

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing. 

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act. 

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations. 

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing. 

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain. 

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils. 

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time. 

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will. 

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?” 

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling. 

“Alright, fuck it.” 

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser. 

“Um, Eddie?” 

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.” 

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.” 

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.” 

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.” 

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.” 

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-” 

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.” 

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close. 

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly. 

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room. 

It takes you less than one. 

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry. 

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools. 

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work. 

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts. 

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?” 

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come. 

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?” 

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again? 

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him. 

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck. 

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it. 

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued. 

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.” 

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now. 

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap. 

“And neither could you.” 

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet. 

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.” 

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him. 

“I hate you.” 

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days. 

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about. 

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle. 

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.” 

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly. 

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie. 

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back. 

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood. 

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you. 

“Good.” 

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden. 

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket. 

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike. 

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!” 

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.” 

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding. 

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you. 

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached. 

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you. 

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.” 

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?” 

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact. 

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date. 

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment. 

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours. 

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way. 

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!” 

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same. 

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own. 

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay? 

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?” 

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?” 

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep. 

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them? 

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her. 

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more. 

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?” 

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself. 

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taglist is now closed.

[romchat]

The On1y One visual analysis (Ep. 5): Seeking an opening

Something I really enjoy about The On1y One's visual storytelling is how it uses framing to represent the tentative way Jiang Tian and Sheng Wang embed themselves into each other's lives. Through their interactions, we see Tian learning to let people in while Wang gives himself permission to trust those around him, and that fraught journey towards connection is beautifully captured by the show's cinematography choices.

From the first episode, we see the show using architectural framing to represent Tian’s aloofness, whether it’s the walls of his old neighborhood that tuck him away from his classmates or the closet that hides his always packed suitcase. So I find it really interesting how the architectural framing of his homeroom’s classroom window serves a completely different purpose: to showcase Tian’s ability to fight against his instincts for pushing people away and gradually open up to Wang.

As noted by @heretherebedork, that open window changes the (physical and emotional) wall between them. Ever since he acknowledged their relationship in Episode 3 through this window, it's here that Tian continues to signal the changing boundaries of their relationship.

Each episode he slowly transforms from a silent observer removed from the world around him to someone extending the care Wang so desperately craves, and the window, as a frame within a frame, directs our attention to the significance of these moments. Tian not only offers Wang physical relief but also emotional relief--he sees Wang despite the latter having experienced a lifetime of being ignored, and this all happens through the window.

Moreover, the camera language The On1y One uses to frame Wang's response reveals how heady that recognition feels.

One of my favorite examples of this is when Wang confronts Tian about helping capture the thugs who had attacked him. Tian denies having been involved but Wang refuses to believe him, playfully pushing him against the wall as he lists all the evidence to the contrary.

What makes this sequence of shots so compelling is how the framing changes as the two characters become more aware of the significance of Tian's actions.

The sequence is just a series of single shots (meaning each shot only features one person), but we can feel the tension between Wang and Tian because of the shift in balance and shot size. The shots start off-balanced and dirty, the characters' faces off to the edge of the frame and obscured by the other, but soon the framing closes in on their eyes gazing directly at each other. The extreme close-up is strangely honest and intimate, evoking a sense of wonder and nerves.

Being confined to such a tight frame proves to be too much for Tian, however, and the camera responds accordingly by shifting to a medium shot, as if to give him a breather. But from Wang's small smile, you can tell he feels pleasure at the idea of someone caring enough to protect him, and the camera language for the rest of the scene uses several techniques to visualize the emotional connection he allows himself to indulge in.

(See the lovely rack focus during Tian's "I was just thinking you must have been very scared" speech". Rather than editing together separate shots of Tian and Wang, the camera keeps both characters in frame and smoothly changes the focus between the two, visually linking them together. Their vulnerable conversation has fostered an irreversible shift in their relationship.)

So it's notable that when Tian tells Wang he is thinking of leaving Wang home to stay in the school dormitories, we get this absolutely devastating shot from outside their window, the closed frame now creating a stark line separating the two:

Tian: Why do you want to stay at the school? Wang: ...I wasn't familiar with you. Tian: How about now? Do you still want to stay at school? Wang: No, now that I'm more familiar with you, right? And you? Do you still want to stay at school? Tian: I think I will in the future.

Wang interprets Tian's decision as a rejection of him, and the shot is cold and isolating to reflect that. Their last few interactions were one step forward and two steps back.

What smart visual storytelling.

[pavel-chekov-appreciator]

I want better for Sybok.

I want a world where he got a fighting chance to do anything but become a cult leader. I’ve seen aus where he becomes a counselor and I can’t stop thinking about it.

No gods, no Sha-Ka-Ree, no cult. Just a kid who knows his history. Who researches Surak, and the world before him, and finds himself dissatisfied with present day Vulcan’s interpretations of his teachings. Unable to see the logic in following one ancient man’s words with no additional input or thought. Is this truly the best way for them to live? His mother didn't think so. He doesn't think so either.

He’s young, and he has big ideas and a lot of charisma, and a lot of inner pain from losing his mother and being suddenly told the way she was raising him was wrong. He quickly earns a reputation as a troublemaker. Indulging in blatant displays of emotionalism, just to prove his point, that he smiled and nothing bad happened, he cried and he felt better after.

He’s dissatisfied and ostracized and convinced there’s a better way to be living.

He fucks off at 18-not quite banished, but so strongly encouraged to leave that he might as well have been-and goes to a college on Earth, because the federation is a post-scarcity society so he has his basic needs met and he just wants to figure himself out, and where better to do that than a college campus, as far away from Vulcan society as possible. On his step-mother's home planet, where he knows at least a little of the culture, the language, what to expect.

He sees the school counselor a lot, and gets a lot out of their sessions. Takes some psychology courses and ends up getting really passionate about it.

Teaches himself to embrace his emotions while acknowledging that it’s very easy to be ruled by them. Utilizes aspects of traditional Vulcan control combined with the human practice of mindfulness to understand his emotions and control his strong impulse to act on them, without completely rejecting them. Knows he is choosing not to control his emotions, but he can and should control the actions he takes in response to them to avoid hurting himself or others. Knows that understanding why he feels a certain way can help him understand himself better.

Lives his best life and studies psychology to help other people find the same joy and peace he has, in whatever form that takes for them.

Then he finds out his baby bro basically told the VSA to fuck off and that dad more or less disowned him for joining Starfleet. Feels so damn proud of him for standing up the their parents like that.

Reunites with his brother after years of separation.

It’s rocky at first, but after both being disowned they’re all the family the other has left now, and they both do really care about each other.

Spock doesn’t understand Sybok’s choices, but he doesn’t need to understand them to respect them; Sybok is clearly still exercising some degree of control over himself, he even still meditates, he’s just controlling himself less, and differently, and his mind is more at peace than it’s ever been before. Sybok doesn’t really understand Spock’s continued dedication to logic either, but he respects it too, because clearly it still means something to Spock in a big way.

They make peace with each other, and their differences, and with the fact that their parents and society have rejected them. That Sybok did everything “wrong” and Spock did everything “right” and yet they both ended up in the same place; on Earth, with mom ignoring their calls, because she loved them both but she loves her husband more.

And ultimately he enrolls in Starfleet medical to become a ships counselor, because he still takes great joy in doing things he knows dad would hate, and because he wants to specialize in trauma and grief counseling and Starships need a lot of that, and because getting a new perspective on life from being around humans helped him a lot and he’s rejected a lot of philosophy that he found unhelpful but IDIC is something he still believes in; he wants to be around as many different ideas and perspectives as he can to improve himself and his practice, and Starfleet is a great way to do that.

Getting to follow his only remaining family into space is just a bonus.

[saintsenara]

I’m curious why you loathe the implication that wizards are immune to muggle diseases. Is it because it reinforces the idea that they aren’t really the same species as muggles?

thank you very much for the ask, @urupotter!

and the answer is - yes, pretty much.

how the body is understood, how illness and disability are thought about, how the medical system works etc. are all questions that i am primed to obsess over in any piece of media - even when they're not actually significant parts of the story.

which is to say, i completely understand the reason why the harry potter series treats these topics in the way it does. magical medicine isn't one of the themes the story is designed to focus on - which means that its purpose is as incidental worldbuilding detail which reinforces the whimsical vibe of the earlier books and the darker vibe of the later ones, and which means that its treatment in the text makes sense within the setting and genre conventions of canon. harry being able to take a bludger - a cast-iron cannonball moving at speed - to the head and living to tell the tale is the same as john wick being able to fall from a great height, land on his back, and then get up and walk around: he's an action hero in a fantasy.

and so wizards being more physically durable than muggles - and also wizards having their own magical diseases, and being immune to muggle ones - all makes sense within the context of the books as literature. kids don't want to read about harry having a cold. they want to read about him being a wizard.

but when i'm deciding to enjoy myself by taking the question of just how fucked-up wizarding society is much more seriously than canon does... the implication that wizards are immune to muggle diseases and that they are broadly unaffected by physical trauma unless that trauma has a magical cause really bothers me. entirely - as you say - because it directly undermines the series' thesis that the purity of magical blood is irrelevant and that the wizarding world's dehumanisation of muggles and muggleborns by treating them as, essentially, separate, lower species is wrong.

the main canon example of this which i detest is dumbledore's suggestion in half-blood prince that merope gaunt could have survived childbirth if she'd simply "raised her wand to save her own life". after all, if a little bit of magic makes one immune to experiencing complications during childbirth [unlike thousands upon thousands of muggles throughout history, who would probably have very much liked to have lived to see their children grow up]... then voldemort is completely justified in thinking merope's death was a selfish, shameful, deliberate choice.

[i do understand that the idea merope chose to die is primarily included in the text so dumbledore can segue into saying that lily "had a choice too", contributing to the gradual reveal in half-blood prince and deathly hallows that she's the key to the whole mystery. but i still think that jkr could maybe have though a little bit harder about what she was suggesting with this than she evidently did...]

and so i think in fandom it's both fun and important not to accept the idea that wizards are automatically resistant to anything which might kill, injure, or disable a muggle - especially because it lets us really play with some of the big worldbuilding questions surrounding the conventions and institutions of wizarding society.

what do disability rights look like in a world which is so rabidly intolerant of difference, and which appears not to have any sort of welfare state? the nhs is a recent invention, created in a muggle britain which is culturally and institutionally separate from the wizarding one: so is treatment at st mungo's free - and, if not, what happens to those who can't pay? how is queerness understood in a society which appears to have views on sexual expression which are fairly conservative - and how does this mean the wizarding state responded to the aids crisis? what do reproductive rights look like in this kind of society? if the dementor's kiss results in - essentially - a vegetative state, what is done with the people the kiss has been performed on? what might it be like for your relative to develop dementia at 100... when you know they might live to 250? what impact do biases about blood status have on how muggleborn patients are treated?

i just think it's interesting!

[tsukana]

this is a vent post, from the pov of someone who does not main BBH and views his actions as an outsider who mains others on the island. this is tagged for neg and crit. i am NOT inviting bbh mains for their opinions on my post. thanks.

in my personal opinion. i am so incredibly done with whatever bbh's current lore 'arc' is rn that has him somehow canonizing in his opinion being on both purgatory and the island. to my knowledge, he's somehow split himself into two separate entities that have knowledge of the going ons?? and this isnt just limited to him as bagi, tubbo, and etoiles are all also doing it as well, but in my view he is the most culpable for actually causing 'canon' impacts on those still on the island NOT in purg2 despite that they were kidnapped.

i /extremely/ disagree with whatever justification he had on telling richarlyson and pomme yesterday they were at purgatory, while seemingly lighthearted going back and forth between quesadilla island and purgatory like its no issue. the implications of it?? does he realise that by doing this he's making it seem like its not a big deal to get back to the island and that those left behind like cellbit and baghera are voluntarily doing so and abandoning their kid and making an active choice?? when just today he came back during an intermission for 1v1s during the purgatory event and IMMEDIATELY started talking about purgatory and said to sunny "i saw your dad today!" as if sunny and tubbo didnt have an entire sad goodbye scene (which they did justify as canon, no matter my own opinion on that matter which i wont get into). but like. i understand that the admins have said that the players can choose whether or not purgatory 2 is canon to their lore or not. and more eloquent people than i have explained reasonings that i agree with on why i don't think that's a good idea for keeping a cohesive main plot between everyone- but. i think if theyre going to be in purgatory and make purgatory /canon to their lore/ that should have consequences and effects and like if they were able to that easily go back and forth from purgatory which has been CONFIRMED THE SAME ISLAND AS THE FIRST ONE, why was the first purgatory even a big deal at all. it completely retcons the importance of it to everyones lore as a side effect.

i think if the purg2 players decide that purg2 isnt canon for them and come back to the island to hang out and chill, good for them and i hope their lore conforms with that! but if youve decided that purg2 is CANON to their lore that should have an appropriate impact, and by implying its so such a simple thing to go to and from purgatory, it's completely minimizing the actual effect it would have on his own lore and the lore of others that have chosen to canonize. i dont begrudge them for logging back onto the main server to hang with friends, but does that make sense that your character would have full knowledge of whats happened in whats supposed to be an emotionally draining isolated island???

that last paragraph was supposed to be a tldr but i kept going. real tldr; if players decide purg2 isnt canon to them power to them. if it IS canon, then anything from the island should NOT be brought up in an rp conversation on the main island later on until purg2 is over??

[absolutebl]

Industry question for you, please: Why is it that it seems that Thai BL in particular has some really systemic issues with writing endings? Screwed-up pacing/editing, out-of-character/illogical actions, not being very satisfying... it seems like a show avoiding that fate is more of an exception than the rule, unfortunately. Do a lot of them just... not write the ending ahead of time? 😅 That would make having these sort of wacked-up endings at least make some sense, but... really, it makes *no* sense to me that that would be the actual standard writing strategy-- I mean, for example, one of the best living novel authors I know of *always* has very satisfying endings, literally without fail (I have read everything he's written and been perfectly content with the ending of every one), and the reason for that is he purposefully always writes the endings of his books *first*, then works everything back up to that point. Similarly, some of the best TV shows I've seen (from any country-- and this does actually include some Thai ones, to be fair) were written either all in one go or at the *very* least with their endings obviously already very firmly in mind, regardless of if they were completely original or were adaptations of some other source material. So... why does this often seem to be such a difficulty for the writers of Thai BL? 😅 (Sorry if I sound a little salty here, but endings either make or break all fiction for me {novels, manga/manhwa, TV, movies, games, whatever}, and I've been getting burned what seems to be more and more often lately with shows being great for the vast majority of their runtime but then inexplicably totally botching the landing, seemingly out of nowhere-- so I'm a bit frustrated with that when it seems to be a really simply-solved problem {that, indeed, has already been solved by many others before}: JUST WRITE THE DAMN ENDING *FIRST* and then work up to it? 🙃😅)

Endings huh? You a romance reader by nature? (Wait, no, you said... HE. So... Sparks? Green?) Anygay, where was I?

But yeah, I get it. I've always fancied the dessert course the most, myself.

To answer your question, not sure. I'm assuming its a narrative expectation based in culture. Like Japan and their lanes, China and 6 act structure, or Korea's adoration of love triangles. And producing culture comes to film and storytelling with its own set narrative conceits, archetypes, and tropes and aren't proscriptive but are leaned on a lot. Much as they come to film with a certain style as well.

Think about the "look" of Korean BL compared to the "look" of Taiwanese BL, for example. They have an entirely different flavor to them. Korean stuff is usually all bright and airy, lots of distance shots, super clean and uncluttered, filtered and filmy and atmospheric. Taiwanese stuff is much closer, more grainy, more bold with it's color choices and contrasts, kind-up n your face and gritty, a bit messy sometimes.

It's jarring to go from one to the other.

After watching nothing but Asian dramas for so long, I always find it jarring to go back to American shit. It feels over-acted and unsubtle and kind of brash. Over all "loud" and in my face. Jarring.

So when first encountering 4 or 6 act structure most westerners feel a little unmoored, it doesn't feel comfortable until you sink into it and leave 3 & 5 behind.

I'm mean I'm so used to K-dramas with that arbitrary year or more separation in the final episode I;m now shocked when it's not there.

I guess what I'm saying is maybe it's just a thing with Thailand, not to put that much truck in endings. The way (especially) romances do in the western world. There's a very fixed idea of what an HEA should look like in the west. Thailand may not share that idea.

I've not read the source books of any of these BLs, so I don't know if this is just their narrative style or not.

I mean there are some Thai BLs with good (if not great) endings, and plenty of Korean BLs with terrible middles, and far too many Taiwanese BLs with bad beginnings.

Ya just kinda get used to it, I guess.

15 Thai BLs with Good Endings

A Tale of Thousand Stars

Bad Buddy

Lovely Writer

2gether

Be My Favorite

Dark Blue Kiss (possibly my favorite on this list)

Destiny Seeker

Make a Wish

Naughty Babe

SOTUS

[shoyosoneandonlywife]

INCOMING RANT

Yoshida shoyo should be treated as 1 whole man rather than 2 distinct characters.

(with manga panels and light analysis)

I will be exploring multiple personality disorder to a certain extent and the pivotal role it plays on his character as well as in gintama.

when I see people treating this man like he's twins or just legitimately viewing this man as two different people as if it is the right interpretation genuinely gets me tweaking so I need to put forward the facts of my case your honour😭😭😭

RANT BELOW:

I have to get this off my chest, Utsuro and Shoyo are two different PERSONALITIES, not two different men. Up until now, about like 50% of the fandom treat him as if he's two whole separate beings which is completely WRONG AND DUMB. He has multiple personality disorder, which is the reason why he started a whole ass school for free, but also somehow wanted to destroy the world. Why? Because he's mentally deranged, are you with me?

And these are the same people, the ones that see him as two different characters, sometimes ship these two personalities together, even that is not that important but what's more pressing is that ive seen them end up condoning the problematic ships in the fandom, like you just got to ship him with someone and they end up shipping him with his students from Shoka Sonjuku.💀

I'm including all of his disciples from oboro all the way to nobume, he has played parental figure for all of them.

Even though he may have disappeared for around a decade or a lil more, and then returned after they've all grown into adults, it doesn't change the fact that he played a crucial role in raising and influencing the ways they view the world as a parent would.

I'm emphasising on this because ive seen mostly oboro and gintoki as the victims, just because oboro may be a little near to a decade older than the rest of his shoka sonjuku juniors does not mean he was way more mature

Oboro was as young as gintoki when he had met shoyo and had since been learning from shoyo as his teacher/parent.

(oboro is technically blood related to him too since he had shared his blood the moment he saw oboro was dying so that amounts to accepting oboro as his son to me🤷🏽‍♀️ I said the truth didnt I)

Further emphasis on the fact that it was canonically discussed that Utsuro is a grandpa even to incredibly old geezers and he sees them as youngsters, so his shoka sonjuku disciples are technically fetuses to him😭😭😭

This is a man that cannot be shipped with anyone that's just the type of character that he is. I'm not even biased if you look at it from a general perspective you have no choice but to agree.

This particular idea/headcanon or whatever the fuck you wanna call, is a very common conception and dulls HIS(SINGULAR) character to a large extent. Seeing him as the character that he truly is, a mentally ill man that has a profound amount of knowledge, yet is unable to heal himself would make someone appreciate gintama even more, for its habit to cover many topics that are diverse in it.

A man who is torn WITHIN HIMSELF WE ARE SEEING IT THROUGHOUT GINTAMA AND IT GETS KNOCKED INTO OUR HEADS ALL OF THE TIME. And I promise you his character will appear to be much more dynamic, amazing and explosive I guarantee it.

I'm being so honest when I say that seeing him as an individual who's, like, not okay in the head, and how he went about handling these issues, is a much more fun and interesting perspective as well, in my opinion.

But I think a lot of people can't wrap their head around the fact that he has multiple personality disorder. I've seen a lot of people say, "oh, he's a bad character, his character doesn't make sense, especially when he comes back as a villain." However it's understandable since Multiple personality disorder is a very complex and tricky issue to understand

To the theories that Utsuro's plot and actions don't make sense, YES it doesn't make sense, and it doesn't make sense because he's unpredictable. Why? Because he's not okay psychologically and psychological imbalance can lead to irrational decisions(to put it in a summary)

Multiple personality disorder is one of the disorders that's considered like the apex of instability because the person themselves do not have control over it, due to how affected the person has been. And MPD IS ALSO UNPREDICTABLE ASH.

(Shoyo did claim he was planning to run away for a while to Oboro but a man that's been running this organisation for centuries suddenly taking this decision in a span of a few short years can contribute to this MPD)

Even the characters in the show couldn't tell what he was gonna do at all until the end(at least up till the finale). They couldn't tell what he was gonna do. Why? Because he's unstable and, the distinct contrast between the era where he was their Sensei to becoming the destroyer of the universe is like a slap to the face.

He's not okay in any sort of way, actually, which is why he's more traumatized than the average human could ever be. So it makes sense that he's very unpredictable and his actions don't make sense.

His whole character is actually a genius, sorachi was cooking when he introduced him because there are so many underlying facts that stem out to many aspects surrounding human suffering all the way till the cycle of life that intertwine with his character

AND so much intricacies to the way his character is shaped, which is considered complex. THAT is the reason why he's underrated and half of the time people call him a bad character/two different people because they have zero media literacy and they won't accept anything else beyond what they already know

(for example the variety and different ways psychological repression can be expressed)

I just know the reason he is not as famous or talked about often like aizen, sukuna, johan etc is because of his complications and so many many many aspects to his character that needs more research and more observation to be understood. The perplexity in this aspect of his contributes to him being overshadowed and underrated.

These mentioned characters are amazing villains in and of themselves but what makes utsuro specifically stand apart is his absurd backstory and the disorder that he had developed due to said past lives. It's not common for us to see villains with multiple personality disorder is it?

Hence my reason as to why people should probably take more time to understand his character, scratch that if you just watched it with an open mind at first I think you'll get his character's purpose and actions fast enough.

The same applies for gintama as a whole, the best way to watch it is with an open and empty mind, especially so that you won't miss the nuances and other areas that build gintama's characters.

In this case Shoyo requires us to really observe his actions and be able to understand why he is taking such drastic and contradictory measures no matter what he does.

It's just that Sorachi never really bothers to tell it to our faces or really jumbles it up here and there and we're left to pick up the puzzle pieces😭

E.g. The finale where it was only confirmed in an interview that it was takasugi reborn and it has other metaphors in it as well or smth😭

Shoyo's backstory and trauma leading which ultimately lead to the state of his psychological state:

When some people are like, "yeah, yeah, it's just two different characters". It takes away a really important aspect of his character. Believe me or not, his mental illness plays a really important role in the major events of Gintama.

That's due to the fact that THIS IS THE SAME MAN, THE ONE AND ONLY ONE, that raised the main characters and antagonists of the show, but also was the one who committed mass genocide, wanted to destroy the universe, etc. Why? Because of his multiple personality disorder.(STAY WITH ME)

And why did this MPD come about? Because of his extreme suffering and trauma, And to cope with that, he got MPD. So when people are like, "yeah, it's just two different people". You're missing an extremely vital part to his character,

and putting up a wall from understanding the various intricacies to his characterization including when you treat this mentioned miserable man like he's split into half and somehow is a pair of twins now like be fr w me💀

(it is much less entertaining than how his character is actually portrayed and it ruins his character, it dumbs down the unique qualities of him and lumps him in with the rest of some mediocre villains in shonen manga.)

(It somehow also dims the fun and variety of gintama and majorly makes shoyo ooc, like I said, seeing his character the way he has been given is without a doubt the one and only best way to view him and it's much more fulfilling)

Sorachi himself has joked about how this one man's confusing character can be mistaken as two different people due to their contrasting traits, but as explained in this panel as well,

in any media actually a character with MPD is often treated as if the person is two separate entities for a more easier understanding and mostly comic relief (in this instance as well in the 3-z segment). However it is still enforced that these oddly contrasting sides came from one singular brain, it is already enforced in the very same sentence of this dialogue in the panel shown above as well.

Sorachi already summarizes up his whole characters misconception in that dialogue for you 😭 Bro really wrapped it all up with an abrupt bang

it's just one singular man, who has multiple personality, or in this case just two personalities warring with each other that leads to the self sabotage hes doing rn in this panel😭😭😭

it is One man who has split his mind into many segments which have manifested to become two polar opposites of his mind, yet both are HIS thoughts,emotions and ideals.

To help provide an easier understanding,

The average human has many voices running in their minds, and are always contradicting one another like there are different personas living in our heads, however it is to a controlled level and we are able to distinguish these to a certain extent when making decisions and taking actions.

Multiple personality disorder stems from that same phenomena of the brain but multiplied by many many more folds due to psychological trauma, PTSD, and repression of emotions as a method to cope with said trauma

✯Yoshida shoyo is without a doubt an S tier character and villain as well

Hmmm not to be political or anything😭, but you're really undervaluing and undermining the issues of someone who's extremely mentally ill and deranged😟, and the fact such individuals need professional help to overcome their trauma and recover.

But then you're just twisting this problem into your own superficial convenience at the expense of an incredibly full-fledged character and a unique characterization. I truly think some media which has been as long-standing and entertaining as gintama should be appreciated at a straightforward and honest level.

Especially when the topic touches on mental health and trauma, trauma recovery. Gintama covers a lot of other topics like LGBTQ, beauty standards, Social outcasting, etc as well and I don't see us talking too much about it.

However I also think sorachi himself also could have dealt with the topics more extensively instead of glossing over in some places, still, this is mostly a comedy manga and is for shits and giggles, so I can't really expect a thorough run through of every topic covered. This can also be seen when he has many side characters that are loved but we still did not get enough screentime of time.

E.g. Katsura, Sakamoto, Nobume etc

Open your eyes and process the information you're receiving please🙄. Blatant disregard of the trauma here can come off as inconsiderate and insensitive, you're just treating him as two whole different people, like he's possessed or something, your honour.🤨

(Very derogatory to people affected by MPD by rejecting their inner turmoil as just another human being coming from them out of nowhere instead of addressing the complexities of the human brain that are still yet to be uncovered)

This isn't the 16th century where mental illness is treated like you've got a ghost in you or you've secretly been replaced by a clone.

This is NOT a yuji and Sukuna situation. Hes just one man, one soul, one mind, that mind is just broken into many pieces(personalities), because of his extreme suffering.

So please understand that okay just appreciate the mentally ill men representation smfh. I LOVE BROKEN TRAUMATISED MEN REPRESENTATION PLEASE

***IMPORTANT NOTE

TO CLARIFY multiple personality comes under dissociative disorders, considering how his life was, his mind coping with his trauma using this method makes the most sense

Of course trauma can cause many disorders like schizophrenia and what not, but this kind of like the apex of it

Makes sense given the amount of unimaginable horrors he has been put through. Therefore to put it simply he's completely torn within himself, but its just one source NOT a whole new other identity/man coming outta nowhere

And that same persona is DEFINITELY NOT something that shoyo himself cannot understand, he VERY WELL knows himself and all his different identities

(As shown when he clearly has his memories with all of his shoka sonjuku disciples even when he became utsuro) -> e.g. uses his past personification and sayings to taunt gintoki during a fight

He is completely aware of his nature, its just out of his control because of all the overwhelming psychological trauma (this leading to the reason on why he switched back to utsuro after his execution)

NOTE: MY ANALYSIS POST ON WHY SHOYO IS A VIRGIN ALSO COVERS THIS TOPIC TO AN EXTENT IT CAN HELP GET A BETTER UNDERSTANDING THATS ALL BYE BYE GO CHECK IT OUT

[princess-of-the-corner]

hey im having some trouble with something fic-wise and i wanted to ask if you had ideas. if todo hadn't had his chimera-perfect quirk, do you think enji would have been trying for another kid? also, do you think toyua's breakdown would have been delayed or just Different?

Hm!

I think it kinda depends on the exact nature of how you're writing it? Because like.

I think there's a few factors in it.

/Why/ specifically is it the Fire/Ice child he wants? Because remember: Enji was perfectly fine training Toya despite having only Fire and no Ice until they found out that Toya wasn't fireproof and therefore using his Quirk would be putting him in danger.

So even in Canon, while the Fire/Ice child was an ideal scenario, he settled for 'less'. So what, exactly, changed? Why couldn't he just turn his focus to Fuyumi or Natsuo(those two are free to do whatever they want)? Why make another child and hope for the combo like originally intended instead of just writing off Toya specifically?

Another factor in this is Rei. How much of a choice does she have? Obviously I write Enji as a decent person so if Rei had said 'no, we're not having any more children' then he'd listen. Some people clearly write differently and think he didn't give her a choice already.

Like I clearly write Enji one way and while Canon narratively backs a lot of this up, I do take my own liberties and I can see why people interpret things completely in the opposite direction even if I think they should refrain from stating it as fact and being shocked when people don't agree.

Anyway! There's a lot of ways to interpret these characters depending on the story you want to tell.

For example how I write them in CC:

Enji wanting a Fire/Ice child is him projecting his own trauma and guilt. Though he was fine with Toya initially, he now feels guilty to 'cursing' him with a Quirk that causes him pain and having to crush his dreams. Therefore a Fire/Ice child would be projection for both of them to succeed where they both fail.

He doesn't go to Fuyumi or Natsuo 1.) because he wants the Fire/Ice to make up for everything. If he doesn't succeed in what he started, Toya suffered for nothing and 2.) as insane as he is, he's not going to fully force them. Fuyumi and Natsuo don't want to be Heroes. If they did he'd train them, just like he later trains Shoto. But they don't so he doesn't. (Shoto may have had less choice/would have been more pressured to be a Hero, though Enji tells himself he would've listened if Shoto wanted something else. But he wanted to be a Hero anyway. In a way, Enji is just doing exactly what he wants. (I don't mean this in a victim-blaming way I mean this in a 'Enji is justifying things' way))

As for Rei. I haven't gotten to this in Road to Hell, but after everything with being pregnant with Shoto? She doesn't want to be pregnant again. It scares her. It scares her even years later no way in hell would she want to do it again immediately. Now, given her own traumas re: her parents and her inability to say 'no', she might not express this and she may crumble if Enji tries to talk her into it not realizing how scared she is. But she doesn't want to.

As for Toya's breakdown:

Again this can be up to the writer on how they interpret his actions/behavior/choices.

But I think that regardless of if Shoto came out 'perfect' or not, the base setup for Toya's breakdown was already coming. Without intervention on that particular front, I don't think things could've stopped. And that's a separate thing from how Shoto turned out.

I think at best what might happen is Toya having some camaraderie with Shoto in a 'Shoto got rejected too and Enji moved on to the next kid' kind of way. I don't know if it'd totally change course, but Toya would have someone to feel the way he feels in some way that Fuyumi and Natsuo don't understand./Maybe/ this could change things in that Toya has someone who 'gets' him and also someone to look after more, but I think he'd still have problems.

[gralunaisland]

being a Graylu shipper am i the only one that doesn't like the idea of Lucy or anyone else being a Gruvia Shipper?

About Fairy Tail members being either complicit or enablers of juvia abusing Gray

You're definitely not alone, my friend! I personally am a Gralu shipper, but I don't necessarily agree just because of that.

I've said it in a post before, but I became an Anti gr///vian first and a Gralu shipper second. I totally understand people who don't like a certain ship just because they ship those individuals with other people, and I think that's a perfectly valid reason to hate a ship, as we can hate ships for mostly any reason. So, yes, being a Gralu shipper gives me another reason to not like it if Lucy were to ship gr///via because that basically just reconfirms that they don't like each other.

However, for me personally, I hate it whenever Lucy (whom I don't remember supporting gr///via very much if at all, but she definitely didn't actively oppose it to the best of my knowledge), Erza, or anyone in Fairy Tail/the FT universe supports gr///via mostly because that makes them, at best, complicit in juvia's abuse of Gray, and, at worst, enablers of this abuse.

I refuse to believe that manipulative and toxic affection was the true moral of Mashima's Fairy Tail, even if his characters actively advocate for it. I think he lost sight somewhere along the line of what it truly means to be a Fairy Tail member, and that means to be a loyal, compassionate, brave friend who always looks out for each other and love one another. juvia is none of those things, not even loyal to Gray, because what she does is a detriment to him, and she's really just loyal to herself and her "love" for him. Yet, Mashima promotes her behavior by giving her what she so desperately coveted in the end and by forcing his characters to be completely OOC and back up juvia, the slobbering, nasty, selfish pig, and not their loving, stalwart brother-in-arms and victim here, Gray.

That is despicable.

What's more, beyond how awful it is that FT people would rather back juvia than Gray, it's just bad, lazy writing. In no world would juvia be able to abuse other people and manipulate them and bully women and yet also be praised and protected and loved by those same people. Erza should have never sided with juvia over the 413 days matter or berated Gray for "not being clear enough" when he's been plenty clear. The other FT members shouldn't have ever blasted Gray for "leading juvia on". No one should even like juvia or want to be her friend because of what a b*tch she is.

Yet of course, everyone loves her for NO REASON. There are so many reasons to hate her (and honestly not one good reason to love her in my opinion), but does Mashima care? Absolutely not. juvia is his self-proclaimed self-insert's waifu, after all.

Anyway, true FT fans should be enraged that juvia lockser is one of the main people we are encouraged to be like in this show. They should be indignant that juvia has been made a poster child for this anime, when she embodies none of its values. They should refuse to accept this as healthy and desirable. They should balk at the fact that their beloved characters endorse juvia's actions and life choices, which are wholly unacceptable and unhealthy not only to herself but most importantly to others.

But lots of fans delude themselves, and the fans drive Mashima, so unfortunately, here we are, with a whole cast of characters who promote and affirm juvia, the least deserving of the Fairy Tail members.

For the record, I am not really talking about the fans who acknowledge juvia's toxicity but still like her and the ship because of a sort of suspension of disbelief. Honestly, there are many problematic or evil characters that many people like, and I usually see no problem with it if you are able to separate your fictional fantasies with reality. (Some deeply problematic things I do not excuse though). For example, I like Sukuna from JJK. Do I think he's a good person? Aaaaabsolutely not. He's a completely awful person. But still, I think he's cool and his power is sick, so I like him.

My issue lies within the area of the FT community who refuse to accept that juvia's behavior is deplorable and who attack anyone who tells them otherwise. These are the rabid fans who'd go for Mashima's throat if he dared to not make gr///via canon. I don't believe the fans who know juvia is a bad person but still ship gr///via would be so up in arms about it because this sort of self-awareness indicates maturity to me.

[Sidenote, the really aggravating and only thing that sets juvia apart from the characters who are literal villains and douches is that juvia isn't treated like a bad guy within the story. Sans some uncomfortable stares and sweat drops, she is largely treated like family, and everyone loves her. When even the canon material itself won't acknowledge a character's toxicity and awfulness to itself, of course there'll be people who don't think she's toxic. I hate that Fairy Tail lies to itself in this way. It just helps to turn the deluded fans against well-meaning Antis who speak literal objective truth, that the way juvia acts is not okay in real life.]

Anyway, those are my two cents, thank you for your patience and ask!

[bluepillednormfag]

This post was inspired by @zerodaytime, who made a great analysis of this poem back in april. I've really based my own thoughts on his point that the main theme of the poem was power. (I've chopped up the poem a bit just for ease of explanation: the full poem is here and zerodaytime's analysis of it can be found here)

"The gun may be the perfect weapon," he said,

standing between a rock and a hard place

"But a gun is nothing without a bullet," I replied

As zerodaytime put it, someone is suggesting to the speaker that the gun is the ultimate source of power. But the gun's dependance on the bullet makes the gun nothing: powerless. Allegorically, this implies that to experience true power a killer must be completely independent and in control.

Furthermore, I think it's important that the gun is a very impersonal weapon: it is not actually the gun kills someone, it is the bullet. The speaker is suggesting that that the power experienced in killing is not felt through any tool used to bring you there, but through the final and tactile act itself, and thus that any truly perfect weapon/murder cannot have even the illusion of separation from that act, as a long-range gun does.

I am my bullet.

The speaker, who is almost certainly Cal, views himself as the final piece to a perfect weapon. By being a bullet, he implies that his only purpose is to hurt. If Cal is bullet, there is a sense of inevitability about Zero Day: a bullet can either harm people or go unused and wasted- in a way, this is the "rock and a hard place" mentioned before: the choice between a wasted life or completing Zero Day. This sentiment is also seen in the final line of the poem.

Additionally, by being his own metaphorical bullet, he is in a way owning himself: being dependant on nothing and no-one, having complete control/power in the act of killing: All of which make it seem that he views his murders as an experience of perfect and ultimate power.

I live my life along the parabolic arch of purpose, meaning

Describing the path of his life as parabolic connotes that his actions are simultaneously natural and mathematical: predicable and unchanging in their destination- Cal feels Zero Day is inevitable and meticulously planned/executed.

I really like what zerodaytime pointed out about this line: a life lived in an "arch" suggests that Cal is in a continuous upward motion, implying striving for a higher purpose. However: an arch has both a rise and a fall: the fall being Cals planned suicide and the uselessness of any life beyond the culmination of Zero Day? Perhaps I am reading too much into it here.

And then there was that time when you stepped on a landmine

And I never forgave you

And you could feel the entire rise and fall of the Third Reich at your feet.

Here I am less confident about what the poem means. I do think it is interesting that the person who the speaker addresses has been the victim of some event (compared to a landmine and the Third Reich under their feet) and this victimhood, being at the losing end of some massive destructive power, is what angers the speaker. This could suggest what what most repulses Cal is the idea of victimhood and powerlessness in life.

Also the tense of "I never forgave you" stands out to me: the fact that it is in past tense implies that Cals ability to forgive the person is gone- because he himself is too consumed by the anger that motivates Zero Day? or because the person he is speaking to died as a result of their victimhood? Either way, its interesting.

It's a wasted life.

zerodaytime suggested that the life that Cal is speaking of is that of the person who stepped on a landmine, conveying that a life spent as a helpless victim is a useless one.

Alternatively, he could be speaking about life more generally, or his own life, as reflected his earlier implications that continuing his life without Zero Day would be pointless or perhaps impossible.

I love this poem so much and I really hope that you guys like my analysis :)))

[centrally-unplanned]

I felt strong kinship to Mekkah for his latest video criticizing Fire Emblem's support system; he did a good job verbalizing my thoughts. To outline the Ash-version of this take, Fire Emblem in the Game Boy era (when modern supports were born), had simple plots, from a sheer "quantity of text" standpoint. A lot of that was convention; a lot of it was limitations of technology. The supports were simple to match, and so they worked fine as a way to bolster the characters and connect narrative choices (who you like) to gameplay (on-field bonus for affection). The downside here is that those supports are about the two characters; they aren't connected to the plot of the game nor the actions on the field. This is fine when, as in FE7, the number of supports a unit has is capped at 2-3 people and unlocking them is hard. The downside is not observed.

Fast forward to Three Houses and the same system is breaking under the weight of modern, 40+ hour, long-form plot concepts and modern player demands of flexibility and customization. Every character can unlock every rank with every other character (mostly), unlock happens trivially, but this 20x quantity of text is still divorced from the actual plot. They are, by design, required to be repetitive fluff in some way. In Three Houses this was taken to the extreme as supports were over twice as long on average as the ones in Awakening/Fates, with even *less* ability to connect to the plot given the branching, timeskip nature of it. It was extremely common in that game to complete a level and have unlocked 5-6 new supports (aka reading text with no gameplay) that would on net take 20+ minutes to complete, none of which has connected consequences with anything else. Engage at least cut the support length back down, but its a band-aid solution.

Support ballooning also reduced its gameplay incentive - in Awakening at least, where pair-up is absurdly broken, you did have some support specialization. But in Fates/Three Houses/Engage (to a lesser extent) support bonus are largely aura-based, provide flat bonuses, and are more-or-less equal between characters. Given how many you develop it quickly becomes the case that each unit in your squad has a B~ rank with every other unit; meaning you can just send them wherever on the map, and they will probably get a similar-ish bonus no matter what. So you stop paying attention to them.

Now some of this is certainly inherent to how games have evolved, but I don't want to give the games a full pass here; there are a lot of changes they could make to mitigate this problem (branching supports, more story-progression-locks, integration of sidequests, etc) and they just aren't doing that. I definitely don't want the games to ditch their "dating sim" elements, the building of bonds alongside teams is a core differentiator of Fire Emblem. But overall I think fixes are a stopgap to just ditching the idea of support convos altogether, which the games should pursue. With the much-larger stories integrating the characters into that story directly is much easier, and Fire Emblem has a lot more non-combat gameplay mechanics these days it could use as a base for a new relationship system (As opposed to those simply being ways to grind relationship points for the - otherwise completely separate - support system). But I would take change in either direction for sure - its all about execution anyway.

[holyshonks]

I don't know you. But you are the only one I follow that I feel somewhat comfortable saying this to, since none of my friends are into halo and I'm only just getting into it-

I only know some of the lore, but imagine if the characters met their old selves, before their "canon events" happen.

Before Atriox loses his planet, or even before he goes against the covenant.

Before Thel gets marked a heretic, and becomes the Arbiter.

Before John gets taken to become a spartan.

Atriox made a mistake, and chose the wrong choice for the sake of his own pride and honor, and the pride and honor of his crew (from what I know from the lore.) Thel made a mistake, and his failure was too grave to be forgiven completely, but without it he would never had gone on the path away from Truth to find actual truth. If John wasn't as good in class, or wasn't as strong, he would have never been taken from his family.

I think it would break them in separate ways.

I think Atriox would break a bit, cause I doubt he'd warn himself. If he did, I don't know if past Atriox would be too stubborn to listen or not.

Thel would break on both ends. Current Thel would be looking at an old pride, a false pride. Past Thel would see a villain he lived to become, instead of dying honorably for the covenant: marked as a heretic, betrayed and killed one of the Prophets, works along side the "demon." Both would probably be too devastated to talk, but for different reasons.

John would probably be the worst though. He would see an innocent child, a human that he couldn't get to be. The kid stolen, not just from his parents, but from himself. He'd probably give a bullshit speech to the kid, saying how he'll grow up to be a hero or something, but internally he would be dying. He could have been normal. He could have been human. Not a soldier, not a spartan, not a beckon of hope. He could have been a kid, with straight As and a good future ahead of him. If the covenant didn't exist, or a different plan of action was taken, John could have had a normal life, started a family of any kind (married, adopted kids, adopted dogs, stayed with college friends, stayed with his parents, etc.) But now he can't, he grew up, and will never be that kid with a bright future ever again. That kid was killed, and in his place, raised a beckon of hope and justice, that didn't have any real choice in rising from his ashes.

Sorry for rambling in your ask box, had no one else to talk to about this idea that has been bugging me since I've been brainstorming about halo-

Thank you for such a thought-provoking ask! I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to share. I’ve tried to give it the consideration it deserves. 

The Human-Covenant war was long, and the characters change a lot (something Halo does well that I take for granted too often). 

I do wonder if Atriox would have done things differently, had he known how far Cortana was willing to go. He’s proud but he’s not a fanatic. He isn’t one to call a bluff without weighing the possibilities. But would he go so far as to tell his old self to back down? Refusing to submit is the foundation of his worldview–he defied the Covenant, an arguably worse, more pervasive threat (at least at the time). I agree that he wouldn’t be able to tell himself to compromise his belief system, because in his mind, it would compromise the principles of the Banished, which are more important than any planet. I think it would hurt him, but he would not do things differently.  

I think Thel would be the only one who might actually try to convince his past self to alter the course of his life. He got a second chance and gives second chances in turn–no one is completely forfeit. It is always worth trying to reach people who have been led astray. But it wouldn’t be for his own sake. While he may believe that he deserved to go through what he did, his morality is more important than penance.  He might do it to lower the death count, not for himself, but for the people whose lives he stole in the furtherance of a lie. Would his past self listen? As you say, probably not–the precise events that opened his eyes were so high stakes, so impossible, that he probably wouldn’t care to listen to a disgraced version of himself. Worse, he might even double-down and cause greater damage in an attempt to course-correct. So he might let the past be the past and focus on the future, as he has been. He is haunted but hopeful–otherwise it's just him and the ghosts. 

Sadly, I actually think John does not have the emotional intelligence to mourn his childhood. One thing I think you’ll notice as you get deeper into the lore is that the Spartan-IIs have a complex, rationalizing relationship with their conscription. Even when offered a look at their personnel files,  Blue Team declines, and the way they seem to rationalize it is that it just does not matter. And, in their shoes, it makes sense. They know the Spartans turned the tide of the war. They know that humanity was doomed without them. So, thank goodness, no? Thank goodness they were kidnapped, thank goodness they were trained and augmented so that they could save their species. Their beliefs are reinforced with every new danger they encounter.  When their origins are thrown back at them, the standard reaction seems to be that it was not ideal but it was necessary. It’s interesting, because it's the type of war crime that they would probably try to stop if it was anyone but the UNSC. 

John logically understands that what Halsey did was wrong. But he does not regret it. He, like her, for so long, believes it was necessary. Even if the Covenant never attacked, the Insurrection was still a looming threat. I think his protective instincts are too all-encompassing. He doesn’t want to be normal. Normal people are helpless. He wants to be strong, because it is the only way to keep people he cares about safe. And even then, he fails sometimes. 

Even harder is admitting to himself that he was abused.  It’s hard to look back on the one life you’ve got and say “this was tragic and horrible”. It’s easier to say “I am doing this because I am needed,” than to say “I am doing this because I am being used.” 

It might be easier for a well-adjusted person, who feels good and hopeful about where their life is going, but John is not that. His most cherished people are missing or dead. He is missing, technically. And he shoulders the blame for every loss. I don’t think he’s done the inner work necessary to acknowledge that growing up normally would have been a good thing. 

And just because I pitch Halo books at every opportunity, the Kilo-Five trilogy tackles a lot of hard topics, including the reality of Spartan-II kidnapping and a Spartan-II who is deeply angry at Catherine Halsey for taking away her childhood. I have my hang-ups about it, but it is brave about challenging the messaging around the Spartans in a way that most Halo novels are not. 

Welcome to Halo!

[betajams]

Ok so im thinking way too much about the layout of these fucking menus (that will probably never exist. rip i guess.) so im just gonna list things out under the cut (its messy whoops) so please bear with me lol 😔😔

* RECORD puts the game into a 2.5D first person state where you can (obviously) record anything (which saves to a separate folder). Most cutscenes can’t be recorded, but some will let you. Some you have no choice but to record.

* TALK is also obvious lmao (TALKing can initiate certain cutscenes, and if(ex: when Tim and Jay team up) you want to talk to party members(or if they have something to say) you have to select TALK before doing so).

* INSPECT is, again, obvious, but doing it too much will negatively affect the (i dont have a better name for it rn lmao) Operator meter. Doing it too little and watch out. you’ll miss something and they’ll get you.

* INVENTORY. Do i even need to say anything lol The menu style will change according to who you’re playing as and what they’re currently using(ex: jay’s camera bag in #69) to store items. This also means the on-hand inventory quantity will change. Storage inventory(most of the time the cars) is for storing excess items.

* Health is health lol the other meter is the Operator meter. That fills up/ depletes and changes colors depending on exposure to The Events™️. The more filled the bar is, the more exposed the player is, the more black the meter is, is how affected the character is( ex: so in the final scene of #72, jay’s meter would be completely filled in, with only a hint or green while tim’s meter would be completely filled and about half red, maybe a little more red of anything. Now that im thinking abt it that entry would probably knock jay out of playable character for a little while too) the more affected the character, the less control the player has

* T key to swap to Tim, J key to swap to Jay, status bars and icons grow/shrink and move over to make room(im shit at explaining things but you can see what i mean in the two screens i made lol)

* When jay is on his own, his stats/icons are pretty much where they are in the first screen i made, theres just a tim shaped hole in the menu until he teams up with tim for real(jessica im sorry i know you technically team up with jay first but,, , its not for very long,,,)

* There would be tta minigames/segments (plus whatever the fuck brian/hoody is doing. we stay silly) during which those stats/icon are set up the same as jay’s(alone), stats would def be different from normal play but idk what they’d be lol havent thought about that too much yet tbh (maybe even a little alex minigame. As a treat :3)

* during the divorce separation, tim and jay’s icons/stats are still on screen, but swapping between the two is locked. you will be who you need to be when you need to be them.

* After jay dies, all his icons black out, but they linger around. Hes not exactly haunting the narrative per se, but hes always been like, something adjacent to that to me

* Any glitches and tearing that happen in game can be separate from glitching that happens in the menu and vice versa

* Font i used for talking is the yt captions font. Id probably use it for smaller text/some bg text/item desc., but the action menu is all drawn(idk what this style is but its oddly fitting in a weird kind of way)

anyway thats all i have for now customers keep coming in and i keep loosing my train of thought/getting distracted by other ideas lol