#how am i supposed to survive without a proper ending

[mysticcrownwolf]

I have not watched arcane but I follow enough people that do to have to general idea of what it's about and I am calling it right now the only reason this fandom demonize Vi is because they like Jinx and by extension Silco so all the bullshit ass enabling he did with Jinx for years will be forgotten because Vi punches her for killing everybody she ever loved and then the people in this fandom who don't have even a quarter of a brain cell to rub together will be like well Jinx suffered so much because of Vi because she had suicidal thoughts and see people meanwhile Vi deadass saw everyone she loved die in front of her, then lose her only remaining family to Silco and then spend her whole childhood in prison. Like the people in this fandom can't comprehend morally grey characters or even think that their faves can be complex people who can do bad things if the narrative shifts that way.

Look me in the eye and tell me these people have a single thought in their head while watching the show because the writers said these two seasons are the Jinx and Vi story. That they will probably make more arcane stuff but these seasons are focused on the sisters and so why do I see post like I wish Vi didn't have so much screen time or I wish Vi and Cait story wasn't the main focus here and the show focused more on "insert any background narrative they wanted to see" like bitch go fuck yourself.

Like I have never seen such a large group of people utterly incapable of media literacy it's like they need to be handfed concepts like:-

"A doomed narrative means no happy endings at most you get a bittersweet one"

"Your fave can be a bad person and still be your fave you don't have to justify them as a good or reasonable person (and demonize their equally traumatized sister looking at you weirdly purist Jinx fans) to continue liking them.

"Metaphors and parallels shouldn't be spoken or spelled out for you. You as a viewer are suppose to understand then yourself using your brain"

"Good people can do some bad things this doesn't make then irredeemable and bad people can do some good things this doesn't suddenly makes them fully redeemable"

"If a shows ending is ambiguous it doesn't mean the writers were too pussy to commit to a proper ending it means they purposefully made it ambiguous so their can be more than one interpretation for it"

"Not all good stories needs have good or even satisfying happily ever after usually in a doomed narrative you just survive to live another day"

"Just because someone's trauma manifest in a more visible way doesn't mean another characters didn't suffer at all (still looking at you Vi haters)"

To summarise do I think the people who can't see a nuanced story like arcane without generalizing everything in black and white and then complaining about how it's bad are all brainless idiots with the mental capacity of a third grader with no capacity for media literacy or reflection. Yes. Is it probably a baseless generalization. Probably. Do I care. No,fuck you'll and all your arcane hate post you all tricked me into reading by disguise them as actually analysis.

If I can pick up on the subtle nuances and non linear narrative of arcane by just reading Tumblr posts and watching some clips on YouTube you people have no reason to have this shitty of an opinion when you actually consumed the full media.

[filmm-jpg]

finished good omens. im never going to be okay ever again. ever. what do i even do now? why would they do this? im shaking im crying

[cruyuu]

Somehow I don't think sukuna is dead, yeah I may be coping, but is yuji story going to end with no sukuna? It started with THEM. Also no, call me contrarian but I don't want Yuji reduced to discount Naruto trio memes (I liked Yuji and choso more or Todo) without knowing his origins, but this chapter teased at ANOTHER flashback with Gojo (sigh) explaining Yuji's origins (but with gojo on screen who cares about soul uncle or mom bonding with yuji)

I also believe so, anon, hence why I am hoping harder than ever (even if it seems bleak) and want to believe that Sukuna will come back precisely because Yuuji (the one who was supposed to hate him and yet doesn't) wants him to. There's also the fact that they're supposed to be different than everyone else (hence why they were put as the center of the story) and why they deserve better and also deserve to give proper closure to all those themes and tie up the story properly.

Out of all relationships in this goddamn manga, the only one which doesn't change (even if it should, even if the plot is about them) is theirs. Therefore it'll be fitting for the story to focus on them more so than give jjk a typical shonen ending where he gets to be happy about rescuing his friends and in turn make that talk of roles and him still loving and asking for Sukuna back despite everything a straight up lie. It feels like the start of the manga again, except Yuuji never swallowed that finger and I don't want that really, not when Yuuji chose to bring Sukuna back despite Megumi's warnings.

I don't want Yuuji's wishes (or for that matter, who he is as a character) to go unheard or for him to get character assassinated in favor of a happy ending so the casual shonen consumers could be happy, especially not when it's the first time he had done something which was so unlike what the fandom thinks of him and that is wanting his enemy to survive. While everyone was saying that Yuuji despises Sukuna, in the end, that was a lie. The truth was a total opposite. Yuuji couldn't connect with anyone as well as he had connected with him. Why do you think he goes to cradle Sukuna and still insist on his answer instead of going after Fushiguro to see if he was alright? That tells you everything you need to know about who he is.

And that's why I believe Sukuna should come back. Proper closure would be them living despite the odds, them overcoming destiny (that they're forced to kill each other) and that Kenjaku's words are, again, just lies (just like how he really wanted the Merger yet in the end found more happiness in fighting Takaba and dying).

[young-royals-confessions]

Hello hello, it's anon from the flight! And how lovely it's this fandom that I got a moniker from an anon confession? I've read the messages and checked the reblogs and wow! I seriously didn't expect for my unhinged message to be this welcomed since I'm three years too late to this beautiful show! With this beautiful people and thank you so much to everyone who recommended me to listen to the Simon-not-actually-made-by-AI actor. AND SINGER! BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED. I'm still in disbelief he's real, like Omar Rudberg is so pretty AND has such a nice voice??? AND HE'S GORGEOUS and he's a great actor and UGH THE CHEMISTRY. With who I now know iis called Edvin and now I feel the need to see them acting next to eachother forever and ever, so much chemistry can't be wasted!! (looking at Netflix. I'm still so crossed I missed out of this beauty for three years wtf Netflix)

SO I binge watched the second season, patience isn't my name, and WHAT THE FUCK. Was not prepared for that rollercoaster. I gotta be honest, I almost stopped watching and went to sleep halfway through the season like ugh I fucking hate that Marcus dude, sure in the end I understand why he was a necessary evil for the plot but I fucking hate love triangles. I was a teenage girl during the height of love triangles in tv shows, I hate them. But I hate August the most. I think of his face and feel enraged.

BUUUUUUUUUUT UGHHHH. THE LOVE BETWEEN SIMON AND WILLE. That overpowered everything. Seriously, how am I supposed to be functional after being a witness to their valentine's ball kiss? And Simon's song? (Which I have been obbsessively listening on repeat WTF I understand nothing but I can feel FEEL the meaning on my bones. This beautiful dude's voice wtf. I can understand Wille's obsession, I'm practically obsessed too now wtf)

AND THE END OHMYGOD. A BALM FOR MY SOUL. I was kind of hoping to get heartbroken AGAin for shit and giggles but noooo, I got the best ending and I'm trying to not be too spoiler-ey since I'm sure I'm not the only human being living in this planet called Earth who's unaware the most perfect TV show exists and it's called Young Royals and beautiful people are in it to everyone taste no matter your sexual orientation (like hello Felice too!)(still shocked Omar Rudberg is a real person and not generated by artificial intelligence, maybe I'll be convinced after some proper sleep time, but for now he's too beautiful to be real. Not even exaggerating and I'm really good at that okay!)

I'm still processing the second season, I took a nap after I finished but I'm still tired since I cried and laughed and was left with the biggest smile in my face (and I also was in an 8 hour flight!) and then went to youtube and saw a clip from season 3 AND OMFG THESE TWO DUDES ARE TOO PRETTY FOR WORDS. Happiness and love look wonderful in Wille, like the literal heart eyes he's delivering there? That's how I feel when I see Simon too. Relatable character is relatable. What can I say about Simon without sounding crazy except I need to protect him at all costs??

I don't know what else to say except THANK YOU for reading me and thank you to everyone who has been nice to me in the comments even when I'm still anon, it means the world to me. I hope I'll be more coherent after eight hours of sleep and I won't be too embarrassed reading my own message tomorrow lmao and I don't know how I'm going to survive until 2024 for season 3, I'm sitting here taking notes for that too! I already know the answer it's fanfics so I'll be checking AO3 but also analysis? Meta? how are you guys for real? I was expecting a teenage fandom with just vibes but I guess I was wrong. And I love it. As much as I love the show and Simon and Wille's relationship and I gotta be honest, Omar Rudberg's face and voice. UGH.

Thank you so much for reading me again and for everyone who has left messages for me, I'll freak out more once I get some proper sleep!

Thank you and I'm sorry again XOXO

YAY thanks for coming back!! 💜💜💜

[shizunitis]

old man yells at cloud: shen qingqiu and the fandom

cw: discussions of homophobia, abuse & ableism

this was not supposed to get this long, or this disorganised. there’s also a lot of profanity because i am who i am. i half-apologise. annoyed/-ing yapping continues under the cut. i’ll reward u at the end with something i promise

look. listen. hear me out

i agree that shen “yuan” qingqiu is oblivious and it’s funny to see him panic and scramble for a foothold in the insane world of pidw, but some of you honestly sound like you think he should be drawn and quartered for having trauma.

y’all safely out of the closet, loved, accepted and supported since the womb? is that it? you’ve never hurt someone by believing lies purposely fed to you by “the system”? lies that, when questioned, get you punished or shunned? you’ve never been guilty? you’ve never been scared? you’ve never had to hide a part of yourself to be accepted? you’ve never been frustrated by your loved ones’ insistence that “they know better”?

“mxtx wrote a novel where the internet troll gets his comeuppance for bullying the poor author” cannot coexist with “abuse/pain/unjust punishment cannot give birth to a healthy society”. either you want shen yuan broken and made into something else more palatable to you, or you want him to be free to dote on and protect binghe and heal. it is clear what the story chose to do.

there’s a whole ass novel out here that’s basically screaming “be compassionate! be kind! be vulnerable! accept others as they come! solipsism is a bullshit thought experiment and not some grand theory about the nature of the universe!” and yet you’ve somehow, as if hungry for blood, focused solely on the shortcomings of a lost, inexperienced young man trying to make the best of his situation while being coerced by an omniscient, omnipotent, asshole of a god.

there is no clearer allegory in modern media about the destructive influence of coercion, brainwashing, and thought policing, than the one presented in svsss. and yet! here i fucking am, coffee-less, reading with my own two eyes corpsezun-cold ass takes on the “proper” ways of navigating self-discovery.

i hate having to be the one to tell someone to touch grass, so i’ll just urge you to read something else, something literal and educational about the struggles of queer/disabled/vulnerable people in unkind societies (all of them) and outright hostile ones (most of them). watch documentaries, seek out the elders of your communities, think back on your own unpleasant experiences, speak with people you don’t agree with and approach conversations with curiosity. lurk in fandoms before you post.

this is something you’ve internalised: that a queer person must be pure of mind and spirit to expect compassion. that a vulnerable person you deem weak must not be listened to since clearly, someone else knows better. that someone who makes a mistake/misunderstands something should be shunned, or at the very least berated in spite of having already faced the consequences of their actions.

y’all don’t have to love everyone to be kind to them and understand them. and honestly trying to “punish” a repressed queer man for how he’s choosing to survive in a hostile environment by spouting borderline-cruel bullshit about his thoughts that never leave his brain just tells me that you have done close to no self-assessment and are liable to hurt people by accidentally saying some horrendous shit you don’t even realise is painful to hear.

as you have done, and keep doing, especially when seriously and without a moment of reflection you post non-jokey “haha shen yuan is stupid and oblivious of course that happened. every friend he has trying to assert control over his choices is a just and reparative consequence of his stupid pea-brained attempt to survive. the system was good actually.”

i fucking love making ‘liu qingge was a victim’/‘lmao bingy is horny gripping shizun connect the dots’/‘shizun cannot be trusted outside for more than half an hour’/‘lmao ballad of bingqiu’ jokes because yeah! that happens! you get people who crush on you! people sometimes get infatuated with you! sometimes people get very invested in your life! sometimes people worry and care even if you don’t realise it!and it is somewhat comical in hindsight, a bit endearing, a lot bewildering, but ultimately mundane and entirely human!

until it actually starts affecting you in real ways. until people try to corral your movements because they “can’t trust you to be safe” without listening to you, a grown ass adult who clearly knows something they don’t. until your own mistakes come to bite you in the ass and, when you’ve fucking fixed it, you get berated and judged for it because others’ self-righteousness takes precedence.

good people learn and change and take responsibility for hurting those around them. they allow those who have erred to find a better path forward. they act with compassion and respect for even the most undesirable of their peers.

there are many messages in svsss that you can learn from. while it falls short in some aspects (naturally, by virtue of being written by a high-schooler), it does not fail in presenting a human perspective on fucked-up circumstances and asking you to understand and empathise.

characters are there to hold up a mirror for you. it’s a safe, consequence-free opportunity to look inwards and decide if you’re okay, or if some things might need addressing.

fandom is a playpen and you get to do whatever you want forever to the dolls. but your playmates are real people who, in some cases, are susceptible to your influence, and will be hurt by how you choose to present your commentary. when they leave the sandbox and see the distorted reflection of your arguments come alive in the real world, they will then internalise it, just as you have.

and then i’ll have to read it and it’s, frankly, depressing to see what my Not Homophobic, Very Woke (lie) high-school classmates would say all over again. is that what you want? to be likened to a 15 year-old eastern european boy? really?

obviously i’m not talking about jokes, bits, comedies, haha hehe’s, or fanfic depictions that i may not agree with from a storytelling standpoint.

i’m not the mayor of who-gets-to-talk-ville, but i’ve lived all my life in a deeply homophobic, racist, ableist and economically fucked country of former soviet influence and it just, like, annoys me to see the same sentiments in these kinds of spaces coming from inexperienced/young people who just don’t realise the impact of their own ignorance. i hope i’ve made this clear even if i sound like a finger-wagging dirty-mouthed grandpa yelling at the kids on my lawn.

fuck i’m so tired

anyway. here’s the reward:

ah… that makes me feel so much better. <3

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

🖤 + ship of your choice?

kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

I keep thinking "I'm so bad at writing angst and anything upsetting, I hate leaving my stories as anything but lighthearted :/" but then I consistently end up writing angst into everything, including fic chapters that are supposed to be comedic and fluffy so uhhhh lets see how I do when deliberately going for emotional devastation :D !

And since I've been thinking about it lately we'll go with a premise of:

A Jason who knows he's come back from death many times but has no guarantee he'll come back from death again volunteering for a suicide mission and Tim knowing this might be his last chance to confess

There's nothing graphic, but this is all hurt no comfort, angsty as fuck sad shit with an ending that leaves it ambiguous as to whether or not this death sticks. Hope y'all enjoy!

Jason states in a flat, calm tone, "It needs to be me."

They all turn to look at him, their bodies backlit by the glow of the reactor's slowly worsening meltdown.

"What the hell are you talking about," Dick asks, while Tim's blood turns to ice in his veins.

"I didn't survive that plane crash into the meteor. I didn't survive that fall into the ocean. I didn't survive the warehouse. I've been killed over and over and come back from it every time, so if one of us has to die tonight it needs to be me."

"A terrible argument," Damian declares resolutely, standing firm despite his trembling, "We have no reason to suspect that those instances were anything other than circumstance. Random chance and dumb luck runs out. What we need is certainty, and... and Father would bring me back again. We all know it. I can take it."

"I did not come back just to throw another kid to their death! Maybe when you're gnarled and grey and about three hundred years too old to live without a lazarus pit we can talk, but until then I am not about to let you die in my stead."

Damian backs down quietly. He looks relieved, and guilty.

"Then let me do it," Tim demands, trying and failing to sound light and fearless, "Everyone else has had a turn with death, seems a little unfair doesn't it? Hogging all the afterlife experiences for yourselves?"

Jason says with quiet vehemence, "If that's how fairness works, then I will be as brutally unfair to you as I can be."

A long silence stretches between them as they stare each other down. Tim fights to keep the lump in his throat from spilling out into tears and Jason struggles between the need to see himself grieved and the yearning to comfort him and make this all easier somehow.

Finally Dick breaks the silence, "What would you like us to do for your funeral this time?"

"I want to be cremated on the bank of the Ganges with proper rites. Mild preference for a Shaivite or Shakta sect, but I'm not really picky."

And that was it. His fate was sealed.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Tim grabs his hand before he can step into the airlock leading to the reactor's emergency maintenance tunnels.

Jason glares at him, "You aren't stoppin-"

"I know!" Tim lowers his voice to a whisper, "I know..."

"Then what...?"

"I'm sorry if this isn't anything you want, but I can't let you go without saying it. I- I love you. I'm in love with you."

He looks stunned, shocked, almost hurt. Then he kisses Tim fiercely, pressing every bit of affection he can into him with the slim moments they have left. Salt stings their dry lips and they cling to each other with vain desperation until their arms ache.

When he finally pulls back Jason roughly scrubs the tears from his eyes, "Fucking cruel of you to give a dying man something to live for."

"Promise me, please, if you can, if you get a choice, if you're at all able to, please promise me you'll come back?"

"No. I love you more than bread and wine, but my death is mine and I utterly refuse to allow your feelings or anyone else's to sway me in this. However..." Jason's voice grows soft, and he lifts Tim's hand to tenderly kiss at his palm and wrist, "If I am brought back? I swear that it will be you I come back to. I swear that I will give you my heart and everything else you ask of me; this will be the only thing I ever deny you."

Tim grips him tight, squeezing his eyes shut, tears and sweat rolling down his cheeks as the reactor burns itself ever hotter. Then he shoves Jason away, into the airlock chamber.

"I hope it's quick," He knows it won't be, "I hope it doesn't hurt," He knows it will, "I hope you get what's best for you," Just as long as it's not the end you want.

"Goodbye Tim. I love you."

"I love you too. So, so much..."

The blast door swings shut between them.

[boxx-sama]

Small Yuno Rant

CW: Abortion, mentions of sexual activity, mentions of suicide

Why Yuno Kashiki is NOT just “a girlboss”, as she has been mischaracterized by the Milgram fandom for who knows how long.

Oh boy.

I think most of you are already aware of the treatment Yuno gets by the fandom.

“Yeah girl, you abort that baby!”

“She did nothing wrong, she’s a girlboss!”

“She doesn’t regret anything!”

Well, to that, I say:

Do you know ANYTHING about Yuno, really?

These are all highly watered-down statements that prove that people see Yuno merely as some sort of feminine icon who did what was right for her body. And, that is right to an extent. I am pro-choice. But I don’t think they realize how unhealthy Yuno’s cravings were, how messed up her mindset is, and just how jaded she is.

I will debunk these statements one by one, so without further ado, let’s go.

Abortion in Japan, and Yuno’s Family

I’ve done my research on this, and I can easily say that getting a proper abortion in Japan is absolute hell. Taken from this article, an excerpt reads:

In Japan, abortion is essentially a crime except for certain indications. These indications have to do with mental illness, hereditary disease, leprosy, threat to the health of the mother, and pregnancy resulting from rape or threat. These indications entered into force under the eugenic protection law of 1948. On January 1, 1991, a new regulation became effective that shortened the duration of pregnancy termination from 23 weeks of gestation to 21 weeks in view of the advancement of medicine that made it possible for prematurely born children to survive outside the uterus.

Despite the limited availability for abortion, it is definitely seen as a crime by Japanese people. It is known that women are supposed to be held responsible for the death of the baby, not the doctors or pills that may be taken.

And even then, the chance of a proper abortion is slim. For example, birth control pills. The pill is not covered by Japanese Health Insurance, and the cost is approximately 3,000 yen per month. That is about $20 USD. Yuno is not struggling for money, either, as revealed by her T2 VD:

“I'm not pitiable. My family gets along super well. And I'm not particularly struggling for money. I decided, of my own free will, to do it because I felt that it was necessary for me.”

This adds evidence to my theory that Yuno did not want to be publicly shamed for having an abortion at such a young age, and as such, went to more extreme, private methods to rid of the baby; the latter of which I will get to later.

As I previously mentioned, abortion is looked down on in Japan. A few reasons for this include cultural influences, societal expectations, and historical factors, which contribute to a certain level of stigma. Traditional values emphasizing family continuity and societal norms may influence perceptions.

In a previous theory I had, I stated that Yuno had a highly religious family, and her own morals went against theirs. However, she loved her family, so she tried to seek a “cure” to her depression through sex. Many interrogation questions can add to this theory:

Question 4: Do you believe that god exists?

Answer: Obviously not.

(Note: The original TL had just said “no”, but Yuno has でしょ at the end of her sentence, and this can be used to emphasize a phrase or question, to my knowledge. As such, I changed it to be more fitting!)

Question 9: What do you think of your family?

Answer: I love them.

Perhaps she did everything behind their backs not only due to possible religious/traditional views, but because she wouldn’t want to be seen as someone who is “bad” for chasing after her ideals. On a slightly seperate note, this theme is fairly prominent in Umbilical:

Am I a bad girl? Please don’t answer What do you want to do? Please tell me

There are like more examples from the second trial interrogation, so if there are any let me know!

What Yuno Did + Her Regret

I think everyone has a general consensus as to what Yuno’s “murder” is. She participated in compensated dating, got pregnant at some point, and had an abortion, most likely by jumping off a set of stairs to kill the baby and herself.

This can be inferred by her Undercover shot, where she is standing at the end of her apartment balcony, seemingly holding her stomach from behind:

And not just this photo, but this brief shot from Umbilical:

(Fun little detail, but the whole aesthetic part of her MV is designed to be pink like a uterus and the balloons/white specs flying around may be sperm? Which implies she was “drowning” in warmth. Interesting.)

But wait, why would Yuno take herself as well as the baby? I like to think of it this way.

During her compensated dating, she met a man that she liked. One man who saw her for her, and not a complete facade. These dates, where she seems more like herself, are with said man—

The school uniform Yuno, as well as yellow Yuno.

It’s known that Yuno does look less happy in her other two personas by the second bridge, so I think she was more comfortable playing a lively character with this client because it felt more close to how Yuno wanted to represent herself.

So, progressing to Tear Drop, this man wears a gray coat. I saw a theory that I agree with once but forgot the source of it, so I’ll simply state it. I think that the Yuno in lingerie is representative of herself, and the Yuno in her uniform is the client. They keep and having sex and loving each other, but Yuno is betrayed when she finds out the man was using her for money and left her due to the pregnancy and then her life comes crashing down after. I’m kinda shortening this because this was supposed to be short but ended up long instead.

Does Yuno regret what she did? Yes, to an extent.

And anyone who doesn’t read into her character should really reconsider it!

[crystalpop]

Just finished The Penguin and holy shit that has got to be one of the best shows i have seen in a long while. While i did cringe at some of the music choices and wish they had gone with some closer to the soundtracks to the show i can say without a doubt that it has to be one of my favourite soundtracks for a tv show. It fits so perfectly with what The Batman had already set up with its score and perfectly matches the genre vibe of Oswald. It reminds me of Gothams Oswald and his soundtracks. I wish the show was longer but i think it did everything it needed to do in its 8 episodes. Everything about it was so beautiful, obviously they didn’t have the same budget at the movie but i can tell they did everything to make it match in its own way. Im glad we got a glimpse of what Arkam is like in this version and how utterly brutal it really is, how a place that is supposed to somehow heal or help people becomes such a horrific and brutal hell for whoever believes they one day may be free of it. Sophia was so well written, every scene she was in was perfect (except for that situationship between her and her therapist, wasn’t a huge fan at all) all of her outfits suited her and what she was currently planning or doing. I hope we get more about her and her now second time in arkam. Now where do i start with Oswald, he is such a horrible person but i really can’t help but absolutely love and adore his character. Like he honestly sucks and deserves everything that happened to him but I can’t help but somewhat route for him (except for what he did in episode 8, fuck him for that). It was really interesting to get a proper background on him and how he grew up to be who is was in the series, it really humanized him and gave a proper reason to why he does what he does. Everything about him on the outside was so pompous and fake and the way he acted outside of is normally somewhat controlled temperament really shone a light on how much of a lying narcissist he is and how much he really doesn’t care what happens as long as he remains on top and in power. He is such a horrible person and i love him for that. Now i was honestly kinda sceptical about Victor at the beginning, I didn’t want the show to become fully focused on him as a sidekick to Os and all the wacky shit they get up to. Im very glad it didn’t do that and instead we got a well written character that is struggling after losing everything he cares about and then trying his best to prove himself to some random guy that threatened him and tried to kill him before taking him under his wing. We got to see a character struggle with the morally grey and most of the time straight up illegal and horrible things he’s been told to do but does them anyways because he either wants to prove himself or just survive. He became so close to Oswald and looked up to him as a guide and as close to family as he could get by the end. So many amazing complex and wonderful characters where created and expanded upon in this show. I hope we get more shows like this and i am very excited to see where this version of Batman goes. Anyways im gonna go cry and see if i can find any good fanfics about it.

[melishade]

Number 38

This ask game

Dark Timeline Epilogue

Part 28: Ending

Mikasa continued staring at the statue before her in the quiet hours of the early morning, adjusting the travel bag slung along her shoulder. It was in a rather quiet place: in the desert of Fort Salta, but the camp that was set up near the area was not too far from here. It was an hour by foot. That was nothing in comparison to the hoops she had to accomplish in order to get to this very spot from Paradis. But she did experience some unexpected kindness. Onyankopon had introduced her to the Hizuru clan, remembering information about what Yelena had told him about Mikasa being descendant from the royal bloodline. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with that, earning a modest laugh from the new emperor: Kenshin. Someone did tell him that she was there during that battle that decided the fate of their world. Mikasa was afraid of the attention that would come with that knowledge, but Kenshin was kind to keep that information between them. But he stated he and Hizuru's survival were forever in her debt, and promised to pay her back however he could. She just asked for a ride to Fort Salta and a ride back to Paradis.

But still, the statue bothered her. It was actually some type of angel with wings, slaying a demon that was supposed to be Shockwave. They did make the demon have one eye like Shockwave did, but it didn't look nearly as terrifying as the actual titan. It wasn't even made of metal, it was human skin.

Mikasa sighed. She wasn't going to lie to herself; she still had nightmares of almost being taken by Shockwave before Eren made that dangerous bargain.

"Mikasa?" Mikasa blinked at the familiar voice calling out to her from behind. She turned and saw Optimus walking up to her and the statue. He looked better and healthier. His armor no longer looked faded or discolored. He got his proper repairs. However...Mikasa looked up to see that Optimus' right optic was now replaced with a patch.

After they had defeated Shockwave, Wheeljack and Arcee had managed to use his resources to contact Cybertron. There was initial tension between them, what with the communication signal being from a Decepticon warship, and Optimus being alive. But once Optimus picked up the Star Saber, the tension and hostility was met with relief and jubilation. The Autobots have and still help out with the repairs on this world, but Optimus was receiving medical treatment on Cybertron, and when he elected to not return publicly even after he received it, they all knew what that meant:

Optimus was tired. He had been for a long time, and losing both Eren and Megatron seemed to finally be the last straw. He elected to live peacefully despite a few pleas from his old comrades, but they ultimately respected his decision. However, He did send a letter to Hanji, promising to return for any planned reunions, and today seemed to be that day. The Autobots and the humans of Paradis still continued to repair the whole world, Paradis and the mainland, building an era of peace and healing, without the one responsible for putting an end to Shockwave's life.

"I was expecting you to be on the island," Optimus remarked.

Mikasa turned back to the statue. "I found some help to get me here."

Optimus stared at the statue, and Mikasa couldn't help but glance back to see a look of disdain on his face. Seems he also hated the statue. She looked back at the engraving at the statue and sighed. "The Battle of Hell and Earth." Seemed fitting enough.

"It's been four years since we've seen each other," Mikasa began.

"...I am sorry," Optimus apologized, "I needed time."

"Don't be," Mikasa reassured, "I didn't want to help out with rebuilding at all. It shows how selfish I am."

"Mikasa, you made an unfathomable choice," Optimus retorted, "You more than anyone needed time alone."

"Maybe, but Armin lost his friend too, yet he's still helping," Mikasa shot back.

"I think we both know that a life of diplomacy and publicity was not meant for you," Optimus declared.

Mikasa let out a small smile. "Guess so." The Ackerman then looked at the Prime. "I'm sorry."

Optimus raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"...you did not get a chance to say goodbye to Eren," Mikasa answered, "I took that chance away from you."

Optimus noticed the sun was rising in the east and turned his attention to that. "Eren and I had many conversations prior to Shockwave's proposal. And I am proud to see how much Eren had grown."

"But you still did not get to say goodbye," Mikasa retorted.

"I know, and I mourned that loss in private," Optimus confessed, "But it seemed that Eren died without any regrets."

Mikasa remembered that. After she had decapitated Eren, his severe head just looked so at peace. Even before the impact, she saw his expression fade to peace. But...

"...you looked more heartbroken when it came down to Megatron," Mikasa couldn't help but say. It was probably out of line, but she was curious. She had noticed the way Optimus wept over him, even after he unceremoniously ripped his chest opened and ripped out a purple shard from his corpse before blasting it to dust.

"If there is an afterlife for humans, I'm certain that Eren will be rewarded for his hard work and sacrifice," Optimus explained, "I have no doubts and concerns for his well-being. Megatron is a different case. He severed his connection to the Allspark that all Cybertronians possess when he put dark energon in his body. He belonged to Unicron. I pulled it out in one last attempt to save his spark, but...it is a pitiful attempt I do not know will have worked until millions of years later when my spark returns to the Allspark."

Optimus' shoulders slumped. "I will forever live in a perpetual state of fear and anxiety, wondering if my actions to save my brother were for naught."

"But weren't the two of you enemies longer than when you were brothers?" Mikasa asked bluntly.

Optimus couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I suppose family is complicated after all."

“Do you forgive him?” Mikasa asked.

“Hm, I suppose that is a tough question,” Optimus admitted, “I am glad that I was able to say my goodbyes to him and see that he has truly change. I just wish we had more time to discuss.”

Optimus felt his spark ache as he remembered Megatron’s sad smile, dark energon leaking from his mouth. “I wish we had more time.”

Mikasa look back at the statue, the sun now reflecting off the bronze and making it shine in the early morning, but it was already beginning to rust to green. “Eren said that to me too. He wanted more time to make up for how he treated me. Not intentionally but Eren always had a one track mind. Always looking ahead.”

A seagull flapped its wings landed on the wing of the statue. “I want to see him again.”

Optimus saw silent tears streaming down Mikasa's face, prompting him to kneel down to her. He scooped up the grieving woman in his servos before holding her close to his chest. Mikasa let out more wrecked sobs, covering her face with her hands. Optimus continued to let her cry, and the woman cried until the sun was now completely over the horizon.

"Sorry." Mikasa wiped her tears, feeling ashamed for crying in his hands.

"It is alright," Optimus reassured, "You have every right to shed tears."

"I think-!" Mikasa sniffed a little, "I think we should go and see the others. They said they would be at the camp."

"If that is what you wish." Mikasa yelped when Optimus stood up, with her still in his servos. He placed her on his shoulder, and the Prime began to walk away from the statue towards the camp. Unbeknownst to them, the seagull sitting on the statue flapped its wings before jumping off the statue and flying after them.

As Optimus continued to walk, the desert ground started to show signs of life, with patches of grass coming into view. As he walked closer, the grass connected together, until the desert was now a field of grass. When they arrived at the camp, Mikasa noticed someone giving instructions on how to build a new home. The structure was actually made of wood instead of fabric.

"Armin," Mikasa realized as Armin beckoned a few people to bring the wooden beam to a particular spot. "Armin!"

The man stopped and turned around to see Optimus lowering Mikasa to the ground. Armin bolted towards Mikasa, and Mikasa ran at him at full speed. They met in the middle and embraced each other with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. Armin let go of Mikasa and waved to Optimus with excitement, the Prime giving a polite wave back. Optimus heard a cry of joy behind him, and turned to see Hanji riding behind Levi's wheelchair. The captain holding on for dear life while Hanji was cackling with delight. They jumped off the back of his wheelchair and ran up to Optimus, hugging his servo when he kneeled down once again. Hanji then started rambling and pointing to their own eyepatch, saying that the two of them matched. Optimus turned his attention to Levi and saw the one-eyed Ackerman smile at him. Just a little bit.

The seagull landed atop the unfinished building structure, watching intently at the sight of the reunion before it. They laughed and chatted with one another, while the others in the camp were just excited to meet Optimus for the first time. The seagull wordlessly jumped off the wooden structure and flew off into the sky.

(A few cameos here and there and a message of sorrow and hope but yeah. #45 has been asked but everything else is free game.)

[pe4nutastic]

So I made another writing thing, but like WAY longer than I originally thought it'd be. Conventionally, I've never really written things that involves me balancing more than one character lol so I'm not sure how adept I am at the balancing act yet.

All the same, this writing thing takes place in sort of alternate universe where Giegue survives M2 (originating from my old, now defunct, RP blog @anearthstruckalien) and is stuck in a kind of limbo where he needs to put his own destroyed mind back together. This is one of the many fragments he addresses.

Everything is muddled like an unwound thread, always unraveling without apparent end, splayed in all directions like spiderwork and tangled into painful knots where it had been unfortunate enough to cross into its own endless trajectory.  Muddled away into agony and nothingness.  Drenched in darkness and blood, only punctuated by a distorted painful buzzing of so much something. Hot and cold. Wet and dry.  Sparking yet dimmed.  Suffocating and all-encompassing, like a tomb.  Something short and flitting at some points, rising and lowering like especially mercurial tides, and endless at others unlike anything even the deepest and darkest depths of the oceans have ever seen.  Thoughts cannot be formed… whatever that is supposed to be.  Identity cannot be found, whatever that is supposed to be.  Memories cannot be fit together.  Whatever that is supposed to be.  He cannot discern how long it has been.  He cannot even conceptualize how something like that is measured or what it means, even as it passes through him like wind, there and yet not in an instant.

And then.  Abruptly, as if forcibly cutting to the next scene of a film in an especially jarring way with bemoaning screeeeeeeech upon reaching the terminal of some arbitrary counter, a sharp pang brings a few things to focus.  And now, he can perceive and process his environment.  A shred of clarity.  A void-like place, painted in an inky and seemingly never-ending darkness–one tinged in an oddly despairing and desolate hue somehow–and littered with glistening bits of bright shards.  Incomprehensibly bright and ever-shifting in colour and form; iridescence incarnate.  Glimmers of that which is missing, seemingly unable to fit with each other anymore yet drawn to one another anyways with the sense that with enough effort, somehow it could all fit together and become recognizable anew.  And altogether with it all, the first proper thought–as opposed to a mess of disjointed sensations and tortuous pain–springing to mind with a sudden start, something indescribably heavy like a pit coursing through what little remains of his very being intact:

Am… I… dying���?  Ceasing to… be…?

He squints or rather… would, if he had any associated visual to him.  As it stands now, it would seem that the being known as the Universal Cosmic Destroyer, is little more than a flicker of consciousness.  The tiniest and most fragile ember from a flame which had previously been extinguished, now sparking anew against all odds and probability.  Against the schematics of fate which had dictated that he die in the battle against the Earth’s latest set of Chosen Ones.  Dying.  Finality.  Somehow that seems daunting–though he can’t recall why–yet he cannot feel alarmed by it at all by his own questions nonetheless.  He had just regained (or gained?) the ability to properly process his environment and string together thoughts after all.  And either way, somehow he knows that this isn’t the end anyways.  Or at least, not yet.  All he has is a feeling.  One padded out by that which sparked that ember of consciousness, fragile as it is, into being.  A sense of resilience and indomitable spirit that refuses to bend or break, no matter how hard it is chipped away at by the harshest of elements:  willpower and determination.

The will to not die (but from what?).  The determination to endure and survive.

And somehow, without definitive rhyme and reason, part of that lies in the glimmering points of iridescent radiances before him, scattered about like stardust in the void.  He shifts his gaze towards the one closest to him, feeling something almost like a magnetic pull towards it, and as though on cue… –the very moment he eyelessly stares at it for more than a few seconds, the scene before him is softly wiped clean like chalk off a blackboard and replaced with far less monotonous and simplistic scenery:

A brightly lit room adorned by ivory wallpaper dotted with artfully-administered strokes of tiny multicoloured carnations, light brown hardwood floors, and containing little more than a small window with nothing to see but golden radiance of some kind shining through and a tiny wooden table full of various desserts and cups of tea; one cup before the entity himself and the other… before a blonde woman in a neatly-pressed pale pink dress ruffled at its ends and hanging just past her knees.

Dark blue eyes squint anew with a shrewd sense of calculation as he assesses the room anew, trying to piece together what had exactly happened to shift the location, but unable to come to an answer.  A train of thought that inevitably comes to an abrupt halt anyways when he catches sight of himself in the murky reflection of the tea soothingly settled in the ivory nook provided by its petite cup.  Shock jolts through him almost immediately, eyes widening just a smidge, as he almost jumps straight out of his plush seat.  Small fingers tap at his face and pull his cheek in an almost clinical way, as though jumpstarting a more thorough tactile examination.  He looks quite a bit like the blonde woman.  He looks… what was the word for it?  Human.  A young human boy to be precise.  Fluffy blonde hair.  A set of blue eyes set in white sclera and black pupils. A nose and mouth set into a relatively flat profile and smooth skin.  Real skin tinged with warmth, but with minimal color rising to its surface.  Human.  Somehow it feels like an illusion and yet he cannot recall every being anything else save for the formlessness he had experienced a moment prior.  Has he always been human?  It doesn’t feel like it, but…

…–and almost as soon as that particular thought starts, it comes to a grinding halt when, after what feels like an eternity of confusion and strangeness (but in actuality was little more than a few seconds worth of time), the blonde woman speaks up.

“Ah you’ve finally arrived!  I’m so happy to see you here!  It’s been a long time huh?”

She tucks a few strands of gently curling blonde hair behind an ear and all the while, the now human-boy tilts his head to the side a little at the inquiry.  A long time?  A long time for what?  He taps small stubby fingers against the solid wooden top of the table or rather, the long and lacey pale pink tablecloth daintily hanging over it, dull gaze averting in an oddly concentrated way as though attempting to grasp onto something.  Bit-by-bit, it feels like something is trickling in so as to fill an emptiness he had not realized he had, but not up to pace enough to leave him anything but perpetually confused and disoriented nonetheless.  There must be a more… a more… –efficient? yes, efficient method to this but it would seem that he has little more than the ability to think and process at the moment, knowledge itself lacking save for what inevitably trickles in.

“Are you comfortable?  I’ve prepared your favourite tea and some desserts that you’ve always liked just for this occasion.  So feel free to take as much as you want of whatever you want.  Nothing ever runs out here --take my word for it!”

She winks, one bright and lively blue eye–practically brimming with a zest for life and unwavering optimism for whatever the future may bring–of two, momentarily being obscured by the attached flap of skin before re-emerging.  In return, the human boy stares blankly at her for a few seconds before seemingly relenting his inscrutable gaze–unable to find whatever it is he was looking for–before gingerly plucking a shortbread cookie off its pristine plate, intrigued by both the dessert and by what the blonde woman had said.  By the very notion of having information that he lacks.  Something about that feels right… familiar… but he can’t quite place why exactly.  Lifting the cookie directly before him, rather than immediately consuming it, the human boy examines it with just a glint of intrigue in his comparatively dull pupils.

“My ‘favourites’...?  I have a favourite?  How would you know?”

A genuine question.  The entity rather delicately nibbles on the perfectly-formed edge of the cookie, swirling the tiny bit on the tip of his tongue, before taking a proper bite out of it afterwards.  One which he hopes will at the very least serve as a good point of reference or direction towards easing away that thick fog cluttering his mind.  The cookie is… hm… ‘good’.  It tastes good.  Familiar.  Safe.  Safe…?  Safe.  Dark blue voids flicker back up to meet the blonde woman’s gaze.  She seems to have no immediate response, thick eyebrows knitted in thought albeit without ever breaking her gaze on the entity himself, before settling on something, smile dimming a little to something less exuberant and more gentle and understanding.

“It’s a liiiittle tricky to explain if you even need to ask in the first place… but, I know what I do about you because in a way, I’m a part of you.

The one part that’s never changed… –that never could.

No matter how much everything else got rearranged.

…it’s never changed.  You were still you.  You still are.”

She taps a finger over where the human heart would be located, over the left side of her chest as she makes a claim of being part of the entity himself.  And she does just that, something lights up in softened iridescence over that point, in the shape of a stylized heart, the same occurring immediately to the entity himself in the exact same point and thus emphasizing the verity of her very point, dark blue voids widening just a smidge in surprise before giving way to a small pensive frown.  He sharply glances down to his own chest as the light fades away.  Part of him…?  He taps the same spot a few times.  But, he’s right here and yet… even though it seems nonsensical, it somehow seems to make perfect sense anyways.  Instinctively so.  The answer isn’t as direct as he had been hoping, but maybe it’s meant to be this way.  Meant to be?  There’s a word for that.  Destiny.  A bitter taste in his mouth.  Fate.  A sensation that twists and churns his guts (if he had any to begin with) with intense fervor for reasons he cannot entirely parse out… –doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t apply in this situation anyways.  Because this is on a significantly smaller scale anyways.

The entity takes a small sip of the hot and soothing tea before him, a cooling sensation immediately hitting afterwards despite its true temperature setting.  Peppermint.  Much like the shortbread cookies, it indeed seems pleasant to his palate.  Between this, what he captured beyond this world in the form of glittery fragments amidst a void, and the growing conglomerate sensation (familiarity, safety, trust) towards the blonde woman… it seems that there’s more merit than ‘meets the eye’ to this interaction.  Clarity starts with this.  Perhaps that’s why he was the most drawn to this fragment.  Another small sip of the peppermint tea.  Perhaps that’s why not receiving a direct answer is the most conducive to dispersing that thick fog over his mind.  Towards feeling less empty.

“Perhaps.  But, if what you are saying is accurate, then I must be incomplete.

In… pieces.

It is what my… ‘gut’ is telling me… though it also ‘feels’... incorrect to rely on such a thing.”  He glances back down at the tea, settled shortly after his last sip, and down to his murky reflection in it before shaking his head.  “This form feels incorrect.  As though I should have a different shape...”

Yet another sip of the peppermint tea, head tilting slightly to the side afterwards as he continues to speak, any uncertainty from before evaporating to be replaced by what seems to be rather characteristic of him; blank neutrality and flatness.

“Being in pieces is not my natural state, is it?  Is this interaction a way of pulling everything back together?”

The blonde woman takes a sip of her own tea.  Chamomile tea.  He can tell what it is somehow, without having tasted it and even before its smell registers with him.  It’s her favourite.  Just like the carnations dotting the worn wallpaper.  She taps her head for a moment as she responds, a hint of playfulness entering her tone as she does so.

“Maybe.  Maybe not. I can’t just tell you directly, but I can give that knowledge as an exchange of sorts.”

The entity lifts up his own cup of tea anew, as though planning to drink it, before deigning to just swirl the liquid around a bit as if mulling something over before responding, a twinge of determination entering his tone as he does so.  Of course not.  He isn’t being fed direct answers, but being directed towards them after all.

“What kind of exchange?”

Her smile widens, matching the playful tone as it continues to seep into her next few words.

“We can play a game and if you win, then I’ll be more direct with you.  A game of…”

She pauses, frowning a bit herself in a rather pensive manner as if mulling over a few options herself to determine which one would be best for truly helping the entity, before settling on something and with that, clasping her hands together with renewed enthusiasm. 

“... –of riddles!  It’s a pretty simple points-based game with two roles:  the one that makes up the riddles, the Riddle Master, and the one that answers them.

The Riddle Master gets points by making up riddles that the other player can’t answer while the player gets points by successfully giving the correct answer to the Riddle Master’s riddles.  No one loses points, you either get them or you don’t.

In this game, I’ll be the Riddle Master and you’ll be the one answering.  There’ll be a total of 5 riddles.  How does that sound for you?”

The entity hesitates very little, taking just a moment to mentally go over the exact parameters of the suggested game, before offering a definitive nod.  He’s already determined that judging by every minute improvement in his state here… it’s best to simply ‘play’ along, no matter how counterproductive it may seem.  He implicitly trusts her, even if the reason why exactly cannot be parsed out, and so this aspect to him must represent someone that was (and perhaps still is) important to him.

“I accept your arrangement.  Proceed with the ‘game’.”

The blonde woman takes another sip of her chamomile tea, gulping the rest of it down in one fell swoop before gently moving aside the empty cup… one which stays empty for only a second or so before the familiar steam of freshly crafted tea wafts through the air anew, as if no progress had been made on it to begin with.  ‘As much as you want’ huh?  The entity consumes the rest of his shortbread cookie, as if to test the theory for himself, and in line with what he had just seen… the empty spot on the plate from which he had plucked it is immediately filled with a new shortbread cookie as its replacement; a reinforcement that this is a matter of the mind… he thinks.  At this juncture, he only has sensations and hunches –not true concrete data to confirm if there is anything more than this.  He smoothes out the neck of his grey sweater before folding his own hands together with definitive intent and concentration, dark blue voids narrowing accordingly.  All the more reason to ‘play along’ and succeed in this game.

“Alright!  Let’s get to it then.  I’ll keep the first three riddles simple and easy; a good warm-up before getting to the trickier ones.

What… disappears as soon as you say its name?

That’s it.  That’s all you’re getting to work out the answer!”

The entity immediately gets to thinking over the answer.  A riddle is an inquiry that appeals to logic, problem-solving, or both.  And so, it either has an answer that’s so obvious one wouldn’t even consider it or clues scattered throughout as the characteristics of what the answer is supposed to be.  Judging by the minimal nature of this riddle… it must be the former.  The answer is obvious.  Something in plain sight.  An auditory component to it.  Speaking aloud the name of the subject will make it disappear and so, it can only exist so long as one doesn’t speak… ah.  He almost smiles, satisfied, even by such a trivial accomplishment.

“The answer is ‘silence’.  Not making any sound is a condition inherent to maintaining it therefore, it ceases to be once sound is made.”

The blonde woman gives an affirmative nod in agreement, sticking two closed fists with thumbs sticking out as if to reaffirm the point.  The entity isn’t entirely certain as to what he should make of the gesture, but based off her body language, he can only deduce that it is a positive gesture.  One whose continued enthusiasm is admittedly a little endearingly infectious though he doesn’t quite outwardly show it yet.  He doesn’t feel as though he is the sort to ‘warm up’ quickly to others, but something about this comes just as naturally as trust did, tinged with a sense of ‘deja vu’, as though he’s done this many times over before.  Something about this contents him, the familiarity and warmth prevalent throughout their entire interaction thus far playing no small role in this, even though the game has just started.

“That’s right aaaand one point for you!  You’re a natural at this –I knew you would be!  You’ve always been clever.  But, can you handle this one too?  

What has many keys, but can’t open a single lock?”

Hm.  Yet another question with very minimal clues and in lieu of that, an obvious answer to it.  Keys and locks.  A key?  A key is… a key is… hm… oh! something that is used to open places safeguarded by a matching lock!  Keys and locks are a pair, one shape fitting the other in order to move the mechanism keeping its interconnected block in place against those without the necessary key.  Small fingers pensively tap his chin.  But, in this case… the key in question has no matching lock.  Several keys without matching locks to be specific.  A quality inherent to the object in question and not the result of some defect or damage, if he has analyzed the phrasing correctly.

Admittedly… be it due to his gaps in actual knowledge or not, he cannot imagine anything which would have multiple useless keys attached to it.  But then… perhaps the term ‘keys’ does not refer to what his initial instinct falls upon.  Maybe he needs to consider alternate contexts of it…–an abrupt pause mid-thought, by the sound of the blonde woman tapping her fingers over top the table’s wooden surface.  A rhythmic and intentional motion…

… –as though, she’s creating music.  An oddly familiar tune, sweet yet bitter in a way he can almost grasp, like words just at the tip of his tongue.  Understanding clicks into place.  Playing an instrument.  With keys. 

“A piano.  The answer is a ‘piano’.”

No need to explain this time.  The abrupt, almost enthused despite the blandness of his tone, way in which the entity himself answered, cutting straight through the tapping says it all.  He’s certain in his conclusion with no need to explain it to the one that created the riddle in the first place.  And as such, he receives another set of ‘thumbs up’.  Something which sparks a bit of brightness in his heart anew; contentment and satisfaction at succeeding.

“Correct!  Two points now!

For someone that doesn’t remember much, you’re pretty good at this game, but remember, this is the last easy question before things get more challenging okay?”

A playful wink on her part while the entity does little more than offer a curt nod, much of his attention glued more to whatever the next question may be.  It’s difficult to parse out the exact words for this sensation, but it’s hooked him in rather quickly; a combination of its familiarity and the mental exercise it offers.

“What do you call two birds in love?”

And with that question, the blonde woman uses her respective thumbs and and index fingers to form the shape of a heart as if to emphasize the ‘love’ part.  The entity himself stares at the motion, from start to end, with a blank stare despite his enjoyment of the game before focusing in on piecing it out.  It doesn’t seem like a true riddle.  The question does not seem to have an object inherent to its answer, but a term instead.  He rubs his chin.  An odd departure or perhaps a format that he cannot recall, due to his fragmented state of being at the moment.  He thinks on it for a few seconds more before shaking his head, a touch disappointed in himself, and ultimately relenting.

“Apologies.  I do not know.  Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on the matter?”

A short and sweet–almost as musical as her voice, like gentle wind chimes–burst of laughter bubbles out her mouth at that before its obscured by an arm, bare skin far less effective than actual fabric would have been were the sleeves of her dress not short.  Nonetheless, once the blonde woman regains her composure enough, the answer comes out in one similarly short burst as if retelling an especially thrilling punchline to a joke.

“Tweet-hearts!  Get it?  Because they’re birds and in love –like sweet hearts haha!”

Another short and sweet burst of laughter, her hand gently smacking the table with a soft yet no less resounding thunk, clearly thoroughly enjoying the joke herself.  The entity on the other hand… though he understands the concept of it and the wordplay that inspired it, mouth twitching a bit, before he just turns his head to the side.  And he does so in a rather petulant and oddly childish way, as if overcome with an emotion from a separate moment in time tipped in deja vu, before huffing through his nose to forcibly dissipate any genuine amusement that may (or may not) have been felt by him.

“That is not a riddle.  It is wordplay.  You tricked me.”

In response, the blonde woman sticks up a single finger and wags it side-to-side, having long since gotten the last bit of her amusement out of her system, evidently finding great amusement in jokes like this.

“Uh-uh!  By definition, a riddle is a question or statement with a clever twist to it. And all clever twists need ingenuity to properly entangle, don’t you think?”

Incapable of actually keeping up the petulant facade–the emotion as insincere as everything else might as well be about him at this juncture–where the human woman herself is concerned, the entity ultimately relents and turns back to her with a nod.

“... I suppose.  Does it count against me then?”

She shakes her head, high energy dimmed a little but no less bright and warm in her overall demeanor nonetheless.

“It’s just a joke –a bit of humour!  Pretty punny don’t you think?  Don’t worry, this one doesn’t count against you.  You still have two points.  Two for you.  Zero for me.

Are you ready to move onto the next riddle?  Two more left.  And remember, it gets more challenging from here on out.”

The most immediate answer that pops to mind is a resounding ‘yes’.  And yet, the entity finds himself halted by a sudden and odd sense of melancholic emptiness, one which almost completely replaces the contentment he had experienced before.  He downs the rest of his peppermint tea, somewhat hoping to distract himself from the uncomfortable sensation, but ultimately failing.  How familiar.  The sense of deja vu is even stronger than before and it’s only really hitting him now.  It isn’t just the game itself, but the exact questions and wordplay interjection that’s familiar.  Nonsensical as it sounds, this exchange feels as though it’s happened before in every exact step…at least on the blonde woman’s part.  The entity himself has changed.  Somehow, he’s certain of it… certain that when (if) this actually happened in reality… he more closely mirrored the blonde woman’s demeanor.  He glances back down at the now empty cup before it immediately refills itself with the steaming and soothing aroma of the peppermint infused liquid.  The entity himself has changed, even before the fragmentation event, and likely for the worst.  He takes a renewed cursory glance at his surroundings, one with renewed clarity even through the still ever-present fog in his mind.

The surroundings make a lot less sense now.  The odd minimalism and the overly bright hues to everything (now that he really looks at it) as if it all has a subtle glow to it… the lack of anything beyond pure radiance outside the window… it seems less like reality and more like a dream.  A thing of the mind after all.  Something in his chest tightens.  Hesitation encased in dread cutting through what remains of his contentment before he mentally presses on with a determined nod, ready to hear the next riddle.

“A star twinkles in the distance, a wonder of its existence. In exchange for a bird, the silence of a child. A question of the sheep's provisions.

What is it?”

More challenging indeed.  The format is far less simple, especially when he’s on the cusp of what feels vaguely like an awakening of sorts.  A stab through delusion which, if he is to fully submit to the idea that this isn’t what reality is actually like, he must not have wanted to recover from on some level.  Not if it took for him this long to figure it out if he really is as supposedly clever as she claims.  And yet, despite the cloudiness introduced to his logical processes, the answer comes much quicker than before with little introspection needed on his part.  Like he already knows it… because he almost certainly already does.  Quick as it comes however, some of that hesitation from before rushes back with a biting vengeance.   It… hurts?  Something does.  The game is almost over after all and yet, his determination to see it through remains anyways.  Feeble as it may be… the entity nonetheless, pushes on anyways like before.

“...a lullaby.”

Almost despondently so, his gaze averting off to the side, but never fully breaking the blank neutrality of his tone.  Then silence for a bit.  A much needed reprieve and yet, one which even in the absence of the final riddle, only lasts for a short burst of time or so before his mind wanders back to the blonde woman’s tapping from before.  With a bit more clarity gained now… he not only realizes that she was giving him a hint as to what the answer to the second riddle was, but that he actually knows the words.  Sweet yet painful.  More clear images–and with it, the surroundings losing their subtle glow and coming more into focus–starting to filter through like film from an old movie that might have once been in pristine condition, but has now long since degraded, cutting off at certain points while slanting in an unsightly way at others.  Another pang of clarity.  He almost doesn’t want to play anymore.  To stop it at this before things go too far… before he is far too gone to return to being more contented and… and… normal.

N o r m a l.  He’s always wanted to be normal, but they would not let him.

A discordant thought.  One which he neatly sweeps aside, finding it easier to do so as opposed to letting it run any further, before forcing his attention back on the game.  Despite everything… he still, at the end of it all, feels inclined to finish.  He has to finish because this is important.  More than he had initially surmised in his far less lucid state upon arriving here.  At that conclusion, as if on cue, the blonde woman starts on the next riddle with no further lighthearted comments or jabs, her expression going completely inscrutable yet no less determined as if she knows the end is near in more ways than one.  An awakening is coming and though it’s a bit hard to pop the entity’s bubble… though it feels cruel… she must press on.  It’s better this way.

“Three points.  Onto the last riddle

I’m always old yet sometimes new.

Never sad yet sometimes blue.

Never empty but sometimes full.

Never pushy but always pulling.

Always here even when I’m gone.

What am I?”

The entity’s eyes widen as though he’s just been sloshed with a bucket of ice-cold water.  Inexplicably so.  Nothing about the wording is especially offensive and yet something tightens in his chest anyways.  The very feeling which had been building up over the course of this whole interaction peaking and exploding by the very last sentence of the riddle, small hand reaching up to tightly grip just over his chest, where his heart would be were he actually as human as he appears.  The moon.  Gone.  He knows it.  Not real.  She’s gone.  He knows that this is the answer with 100% certainty and yet the answer is caught in his throat anyways, as blocked and paralyzed as he’s abruptly become as something inscrutable splits, fracturing like glass or like one layer of a haze which had hung over him ever since he had gained cognizance anew.  She’s gone.  The moon in all of its mundane glory.  A basic satellite that orbits the earth.  Her home.  She’s gone.  A rock inhospitable to humans and littered with maria, dark flat regions that look like bodies of water from a distance–

…–maria? He shakes his head to himself.  No.  Not maria, but Maria.  Maria.

Maria.  She’s gone.  Always here.  Always gone.

It all cliiiiiiicks into place.  Not in full–that much requires a far lengthier and more arduous journey–but enough to properly identify that which pertains to the blonde woman before him.  His hands curl into tight fists by his sides, posture going completely rigid as he shakes his head, as though that would somehow magically make this particular ‘awakening’ stop.  To Maria.  His dearest mother.  His only family.  The one and only bit of good in his life before everything was irreversibly poisoned.

Poisoned by them.

And as if in direct response to that particular thought, rising up against it amidst everything else, something abruptly breaks on the inside and against all odds, out gushes a sensation even more overwhelming than what’s just hit him.  Overwhelming enough to push aside that odd melancholic emptiness, bitterness, and despair which had all too fast begun to fill him.  A jumbled patchwork of emotions that shouldn’t fit together yet do all the same nonetheless, tumbling out at various intensities and moments without rhyme or reason.  And it is all because of her, with one particular emotion far above the others at the core and helm of it all.  The very base origin behind everything felt now.  The planet to everything else which revolves around it.

An all-encompassing, rich, and impossibly deep sensation, almost suffocating in its concept, almost too overwhelming to contain within his fragile body yet somehow it manages to be anyways.  It permeates every fibre of his being.  It exists in every crevice and space where it could fit within the essence which constitutes who he is.

Warmer than the simple, bright, and short sprigs of happiness from before.

More passionate than the most concentrated poisons of hatred.

Beyond all comprehension and in complete violations of all logical conventions;  the very pinnacle of irrationality, evolved beyond its initial spark and into its final transcendent format.

Love.

Yes.  That’s right.  It’s clear to him now.  More than anything else, he loves her.  He had forgotten that he did, for a bit, but now that he is no longer blinded by… other things… he realizes that there is nothing more important than that.

Nothing more important than her.

That is what has come gushing out with such vigor.  The true form of his feelings towards his adoptive human mother.  That is the precise name of that sensation.  It only hurts because he loves her.  It hurts because it mattered.

Because it still does.

Despite everything, it still matters.

She still matters.

“Maria.  Mother.”

He hesitates, sadness sharply pinpricking his heart with renewed enthusiasm against the seemingly endless onslaught of love as if attempting to strike a particular emotional balance and with it, a strange and foreign wetness forming at the corners of his eyes.  Liquid.  Strange, upsetting, and rending liquid.  Are his optical receptors broken…somehow, even here in a dream…?  He rather tentatively glances down at his refilled cup of peppermint tea to discern the true identity of the mysterious liquid, almost jumping back as he does so, his chair making a muffled skidding sound on the floor as the only indication of his shock.  His appearance is no longer human.  He appears as he feels he should, but perhaps a bit small?  A small clawed digit pokes at an upright and triangular ear, then at his stubby snout, large dark blue voids (the same colour through every part of his eyes, from the sclera to the pupils) narrowing in the welcome distraction that this provides before closing his eyes with a sigh, the clear liquid dripping out and staining the otherwise pristine pink tablecloth before him.  Fists somehow becoming even tighter, claws digging into the palms of his hands without drawing blood.

“Are you really here?”

The question comes tumbling out, rigid neutrality finally properly breaking a bit under the enormous weight of what can only be his own grief reborn–having originally never been permitted to properly manifest and instead, kept at bay by things that seem awfully petty and meaningless now–before he can stop himself.  He knows.  He knows the answer to his own question.  The painful, bitter, and ugly truth.  He knows and yet he can’t help asking, hoping to be wrong.  To receive an answer to halt what he’s reliving; the warmth and intensity of love, outlined by crushing and unrelenting sadness.  Maria herself reaches out–the chairs, table and everything on it having mysteriously vanished now seemingly in accordance with this change in the entity himself, as smoothly and seamlessly as if it had been like this all along–and bending down to the entity’s now diminutive height, her expression twisted a little with concern, and gently presses a thumb at the corners of his eyes to wipe a few more budding tears away.

“My dearest Giegue, I’m always with you.  And I always will be.”

She pulls him into a hug and overwhelmed by the flurry of emotions as he is, Giegue does not resist.  Rather he numbly allows for it to happen, more liquid leaking out his eyes to replace that which Maria had so kindly wiped away, his mouth pressed into a rather tense line that faintly quivers as if holding back so much more.  He can’t breathe, physiological impossibility of that aside.  He can’t move.  He can barely think, what little he can manage utterly dedicated towards “getting it together”, simply-put.  His memories are largely incomplete, but this feels awfully pathetic anyways.  As though he’s supposed to be better than this.  As though he has no right to break and bend at all and rather, has a duty towards remaining completely militant.  To otherwise fail to do so, as he is now, admittedly makes him feel hatred not just for them in general but for himself for being unable to do something so basic and so much more.

“You’ll always have a bit of the most important people inside your heart.  They’ll always be a part of you, even after they’re long gone.

Memories might hide in different parts of the mind’s maze, but they’re never really gone.

You never really forget the important things.  Do you understand?”

Of course he understands, comprehension cutting through the budding self-hatred for a moment.  He slowly, almost tentatively moves just a bit to loosely return her hug.  But, that’s exactly what makes this so difficult.  He knows.  He knows that, though the sincerity of her words rings through, this isn’t the real Maria.  It’s an aspect of his mind.  Love and maybe a bit of hope made manifest in the form that which exclusively inspires such an irrational state of being.  He closes his eyes shut rather tightly, pointed teeth grinding harshly from behind the tight line of his mouth.  He knows.  His fingers claw into the pink fabric of her dress as if he’s been starved of something for a very long time and can no longer continue to push back the desire to be satiated at long last.  He knows that he needs to complete this interaction in order to move onto the next fragment of many out there.  To become more complete.  And yet… his grip on the pink fabric abruptly tightens at the thought of having to move onto something else.  How despicable.  And yet… he briefly entertains the thought of never properly waking up.  Disgusting.  Of never becoming complete again.  Lowly scum.  Of the dream never ending.

Irrationally so.

Irrational.  Stupid.  And selfish.

Childishly so.

Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.

Let go.

But, he can’t.

Move on.

To what…?

Get over it.

How can he?  Everything has unraveled too far to neatly tie back up in its box.

Let go.

NO.  Never again.  That fleeting thought of never repairing himself is promptly crushed underneath his proverbial and unyielding heel.  How can he even think like that?  Be that pathetic and weak?  Somehow.  He knows that it isn’t like him.  And even if it is, then he knows that he needs to transcend such a basal nonetheless.  To be better.  Stronger this time around.  A slow and disapproving shake of his head to himself before the Psion pulls back from the hug, letting go of her dress and recomposed just a bit albeit still teary, and levitates up enough to meet Maria at eye level.  The first display of his psionic power since he regained his ability to think and process things at all, perhaps in response to the latest bit of growth towards becoming complete.

For several moments, he just stares at her.  Just stares and stares and stares while she patiently waits, completely nonplussed–a glimmer of understanding no less prominent in her gentle gaze–by this particular development.  He can’t find the words.  Despite his renewed, albeit still shaky, determination… words fail him anyways.  Despite knowing just how much of an illusion this actually is… mountains of mountains of mountains of words pile up all at once, much like the way all these feelings and thoughts of his had come rushing back in a jumbled mess.  There’s so many things that he wants to say.  Things he’s always wanted to say to her; archived for millenia until the consequent backlog became almost impossible to contain, now bursting out and flooding his mind in violent waves.  She’s not really here.  She’s gonegonegone.  

Destined to never cross paths with him again.  

Like lines that can never intersect.

GONE.

There’s NO POINT in saying anything meaningful.  And yet…

“I am sorry.  I could not be what you wanted me to be.  I have failed you.”

He cannot help himself anyways.  His head dips down, gaze averted towards the ground while his shoulders hunch ever-so-slightly, thoroughly miserable.  Shame.  Pure and unadulterated shame.  Out of the billions of things that he could say… that he shouldn’t bother with saying on principle… this comes out anyways.  A hollow apology tinged with regret.  Like that fixes anything, especially when he cannot entirely recall what he’s sorry about in the first place.  All he knows is that he’s deeply regretful about everything and that it is because he has in a way that is exceedingly wrong.  Utterly unworthy of all that she has invested in him in the short time they had known each other.  Is that really all he can say anymore after everything?  More liquid leaks out his eyes and falls, guided by the gravity of this dream towards the nonexistent ground now, blanked out by pale yellow hues in place of the wooden floor from earlier.  All the while, Maria shakes her head as if in disagreement with the Psion’s outward claims and the thoughts running through his mind earlier on, before gently pressing a hand to his shoulder.

“You haven’t failed me.  I think that… sometimes… we lose our way in life.  That doesn’t mean that we can’t find our way back.  Most people don’t stay lost forever.

The fact that you’re sorry at all is proof that you’re part of that majority.”

She steps forward and takes his small stubby hands into her own, cold contrasting against the very human warmth of her fair skin.  A beat.  And the Psion himself instinctively returns the grip–even though he shouldn’t–though he still doesn’t shift his gaze off the ground.

“Giegue.  You’re capable of more good than you know.

I still believe in you.  I always have and always will.  Because… just as I’ve said before, despite everything, you’re still you.

And I’ve always believed that you had a good heart.  I still do.

It’s never too late to turn away from the path you’ve been on thus far and do what’s right.  To be good against all perceived odds.  Even your own.”

Giegue wants to irrationally resist.  Hands twitching with intent to ball into fists, but only halting that particular action because said appendages in question are intertwined with hers.  Resist her words.  Resist the sense of ease starting to creep its way through him.  He wants to hold onto all that hatred, bitterness, and misery for as long as he can… to press it so close to his very core that he will never forget how rendingly awful it feels.  He deserves it.  Just as much as he wants to never let go of her, even if she’s just an illusion here.  And yet, he finds himself comforted by the words anyways, pain ebbed away by her warmth and kindness.  It’s absurd.

Because even if she’s an illusion… an apparition of his mind… he cannot bring himself to sincerely fight her on this.  He cannot deny her.  Not anymore.  So the only option he has is to simply let himself be comforted by it, somehow, and instead focus on seeing this interaction through to its end.  The surrounding details fading further away, window and wallpaper disappearing until the background is little more than a pastel rainbow of color splotches twinkling with a mysterious kind of radiance, like the starry night sky.

Good.  Being good.  Is it really that simple?

It hardly seems like it, especially for a creature such as himself.  The sincerity of her words come through as clearly as his rediscovered… love… for her and yet, he cannot help doubting himself anyways.  He’s comforted by her words, but doubt creeps in just as swiftly as comfort comes nonetheless.  He’s done nothing to warrant such faith in his apparent intrinsic ‘good’.  Absolutely nothing.  That much, he’s certain of, even in the absence of supporting memories and knowledge to that.  Because he was created by them.  The Psion species and they are certainly not good.  Because Maria is indisputably good and Giegue himself is nothing like her.  His shoulders hunch further, twitching but not accompanied by any further tears, his gaze somehow dipping down even further –fixed to the ground with even more intent than before.  Then he speaks, expression as blank as the tone of his words despite the uncertainty, misery, and lack of direction behind them.

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I nonetheless no longer have a purpose.

What am I supposed to do anymore?

There are many gaps in what I can recall at this juncture, but somehow I simply know that there is nothing meaningful beyond this ‘dream’.”

He pulls his hands away from Maria, so as to wipe away the last few pinpricks of liquid off the corners of dark blue voids, shaking his head as he does so despite the resignation from before, emotional vulnerability of a new sort cracking through his renewed neutrality as he continues on, volume gradually quieting as he reaches the end of his message.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.

I’m… I am…. afraid that I am not strong enough to do anything else.

That I am only good for causing destruction and harm.

I am… afraid that… that I am not strong enough to be more than what they wanted.”

For a moment, there’s a brief flicker of sadness in her ever patient, gentle, and understanding gaze–a breakage in kindness and optimism paralleling the breakage in the Psion’s neutrality–before it snaps back to normal.  Then a pause as Maria carefully thinks over how to answer.  How to even begin addressing his feelings.  Complex things entangled in such a way, hatred completely and utterly integrated throughout, that it could not possibly be resolved in one fell swoop.  Nonetheless, the apparition has hope and unwavering belief in her son’s strength.  The memory of her would not exist at all if he really were as hate-worthy and weak as he believes.  And deep down he knows it.  She places her hands, one atop the other, over her heart while a small, hopeful, and knowing smile makes its way back onto her face anew.

“I only want for you to be happy with yourself and your life again.  It might seem impossible to you now, but I know that it will come to pass.

Giegue.  

You are so much stronger than you know.

The answer might not be immediately clear to you on what you’re meant to do now, but that’s okay.  You’ll figure it out and make it through.  You always do.”

Much like before, the Psion is hit with that impulsive and irrational desire to rebel against her words, but this time he quashes that impulse much more quickly.  Even if he cannot quite believe in himself the way she’d like for him to… he has to somehow try anyways.  If not for his sake, then certainly for hers.  He straightens his posture out and finally returns Maria’s gaze more properly, a fragile yet no less determined glint reflecting off dull pupils.  His doubts and fears cannot be mitigated so easily, but that does not matter because if he allows for himself to be completely consumed by such lowly sensations then he will only end up wasting the time, effort, and love–unworthy as he is of it at all–the real Maria had put into him long ago.  Apparition or not, the feelings of his which manifested it to begin with are real.  And in his… ‘heart’... he knows that this is how the real Maria would feel.

“Do you really believe that…?”

One last slippage, one last glint of vulnerability, and he’s done.  It’s a question he cannot help asking.   Especially now that the apparition before him has abruptly lost her details in line with the renewal of his resolve, demoted to little more than a vague pink outline while the multicolored splotches of their collective backdrop fragments to reveal the void from earlier on, sans a glimmering fragment.  The very development he had been dreading, but he holds strong against it with rigid neutrality.  He has to.  For her sake.

“Do you even need to ask?  Of course I do.”

She then looks down at herself, starting to fade now with the rest of the scattered backdrop pieces, and sighs a touch disappointed.  As if she had been hoping for a little more time despite knowing that this final outcome was near.

“Our time here is almost done.  You’ve achieved what you needed to.  Before I go… can I make one last request of you…?

I know that it might be a bit much with everything that you’ll have to face moving forward–”

The apparition is abruptly cut off before she can finish her sentence when the Psion sticks out a stubby arm, palm facing outward and towards her as a silent indication to cease speaking immediately.  No explanation is needed.  He will always help her without question.  She needn’t even ask.  Such is the ‘power of love’ in all those… stories of heroes and monsters that his adoptive human mother used to tell him, is it not?  In the end, love always prevails and though mere fiction, it certainly applies here.

“Yes.  Anything.  You can have no request that is too unreasonable for me to fulfill.

Though I may be uncertain on where I… ‘fit’... now… there is something that I can nonetheless say with certainty on how I will exist from now on.

And it is that… no matter what happens, has happened, or will happen… I will always stand by your figurative side through it all.

No matter what, I will never abandon your memory.”

The Psion receives no immediate response, the apparition taken aback for a moment, as if she hadn’t been expecting this particular response.  Or at least, not so quickly.  Strange for a mere apparition born of his mind.  As an aspect of him, she should have anticipated this particular result anyways, but then… he was rather heavily damaged.  His entire mind had fractured and so, certain… incongruencies can be expected.  Nonetheless, the apparition quickly recovers, a bit of pride making its way into her fading features as she smiles for the last time, embracing the Psion as she does so which he more immediately returns this time around. A tentative and awkward, as if completely unused to contact like this, but not less sincere in its gentle nature.

“I should have known.  I won’t hesitate then.

Protect the Earth and all life on it, won’t you?”

Gone.  Gone.  Gone.  Her voice fades away as she speaks along with the rest of her form, little more than a ghostly whisper lost to the void.  She’s gone.  One hand curls into a small and tense fist, both dropping by their respective sides, while his eyes screw shut.

Some part of him admittedly felt compelled to reach out, as if that would somehow stop what had happened. Another part felt inclined to call out to not leave, even though he already knew such an inevitability was near. The visuals made that much abundantly clear. He should have done this. He should have done that and yet, it happened too fast for him to do anything but reel in the cold and isolated aftermath of it all. An aftermath from which he cannot falter; he had already done far enough of that and at this juncture, he must remain strong even as renewed bits of wetness threaten to deftly slide out the corners of his eyes.

The real Maria is long gone. She has been for a very long time. That was just an apparition. Nothing more and nothing less.

Gone, but certainly not forgotten.

The pale alien takes a moment to just… accept what’s happened… the part he supposed would be hardest, even though he had braced for it.  One.  Two.  Three.  An inhalation of air.  Four.  Five.  Six.  An exhalation of air.  Then he opens his eyes anew and glances out at the remaining fragments in the darkness as the remaining bits of the previous fragment’s backdrop morph into pure glittering golden light–the very same which had once shone through the window in the dream–before concentrating into a beam that fades into his body, right where a heart would be if he physiologically had one.

“I will.  I promise.”

The semantics of that do not matter. Whether it's more complicated or simpler than he can currently envision, limited as his current database is, he will certainly see her request through to the very end.

It's the least he can do. The only thing he can do for her anymore as her son.

[acorpsecalledcorva]

Lmfao, so for whatever reason I decided to look at the DID tags on twitter, probably as a form of digital SH and the first post I see on there annoys the fuck out of me

TW for discussion of self harm and self injury

Ok so first thing I see is this

And this is definitely a touchy subject subject for me, I get hyper critical when I see it discussed, especially since some early conversations with my therapist. Even before that discussion though I've always hated the way self harm is discussed even if I couldn't articulate those feelings.

And that's because abstinence as a moral imperative might be the most damaging ideology to ever worm it's way into society.

I mean, even the title of that article "First, Do No Harm, Not Even to Yourself" is soaked in moral judgement, "hurting other people is wrong and bad, right? So why would do a wrong and bad thing to yourself? You wouldn't download a razor blade" and it doesn't even make a proper argument on the moral philosophy of harm, she merely attempts to imply immorality by association. Hurting others is wrong because it violates their autonomy, your liberty to swing your arm ends just where my nose begins, right? It's about consent. In BDSM, a sadist may physically hurt a masochist because they have consented to it being done to them. Similarly, gender affirming care doesn't violate the Hippocratic Oath no matter how strongly a transphobe feels about it because informed consent is given to the treatment. Conversely, genial reconstruction surgeries performed on intersex babies or even infant circumsions should be considered a violation because consent has not and cannot be given.

But how does this apply to self-harm? It's your body, it's your autonomy, you aren't violating shit. Even being in a system no single alter has complete authority over the body, it's still possible to come to a consensus without unanimous agreement because guess what? Making decisions while having conflictual feelings or being in two minds is a perfectly normal human experience.

Am I saying you should self harm? No. Of course not. I'm simply saying that self harm is not an immoral act and I will remove the personhood of anyone that tries to weaponise shame in this way against people who almost certainly feel an incredibly painful and torturous amount of shame and guilt already.

The article is also vaccuously lacking in substance. The author seems to think this 'gotcha' is a sufficient argument but itself, checkmate traumatised liberals, but obviously needs to generate ad revenue through scrolling so offers 8 "new realities" to help reinforce a morally pure and healthy mindset.

1. Feelings are survivable and containable

Uhhh sure, they can be, if you have the right coping mechanisms to deal with them. You can't just tell someone to forgo the coping mechanisms they already have without successfully replacing them with something equally or more effective though. The whole point of dissociation from trauma is because certain feelings ARE deemed to be unsurvivable by the brain, you're not weak minded for thinking so.

2. We have art, reading, distractions, therapist, meds

Yeah no shit, that's not always enough though and you haven't failed if you try them and they don't work, the coping mechanisms have failed, not you.

3. We deserve to feel better

So true! Self harming makes me feel better when emotional distress is overwhelming me, I'm glad we agree

4. We don't need to guarantee pain

You know what guarantees pain? Shaming yourself out of using a coping mechanism without addressing it's root cause, but that's ok because feelings are "survivable" right?

5. We don't have to hurt via self-abuse

I actually don't know what that's supposed to mean, I can hurt myself without hurting myself? I don't have to self harm? I know I don't have to, but I can if it's better to do so than to not

6. Our trauma is over, why continue it?

First of all fuck you, retraumatisation is a very well noted trauma response, but so is shame and guilt so who's really continuing our trauma here?

7. We don't have to stand vigil over pain to honour abused parts

EXACTLY! That's what coping mechanisms are for, hey guess what coping mechanism can be really effective at temporarily relieving emotional pain? I'll give you a hint, it's not reading.

8. We will honour our abused parts with self compassion, understanding, acceptance, and encouragement

Once again so true! I will be compassionate to abused parts, understanding and accepting of the coping mechanisms they choose, while encouraging exploration of healthy alternatives without shaming them if they don't work.

Her website is littered with BuzzFeed style listicles of "25 ways to avoid self injury and prevent self harm" "25 more ways to avoid self injury and prevent self harm" "another 25 even more ways to avoid self injury and prevent self harm" and like, sure, they're all perfectly fine distraction techniques but what really pisses me off about the wording of these is that they're framed as ways to distract yourself from the urge to self harm, as though the urge itself is what's wrong, and not the pain and hurt that the urge is a response to.

Just watch one more movie bro, trust me bro, this next one will be the one that makes the pain go away bro just trust me one more movie bro.

I have wasted so much fucking time hating myself and shaming myself and feeling like a failure for breaking my streak. Torturing myself during some of the most emotionally distraught moments of my life because "it doesn't matter how much pain I'm in I can't give into the urge, I can't do that, no matter what I mustn't ever do that" imagining how much worse I'll feel when I punish myself for being too weak.

Do you know what I do now? I take note of the feeling, give it space and allow it to be present and I make a bargain with myself. I will give myself 2 hours to distract and soothe from the emotional pain that I or another part is experiencing, and if that doesn't work then we'll self harm with no shame or judgement. And you'll never guess what, I haven't even come close to self harming, and that's great! And maybe sometime it won't be enough and that'll be fine too, it'll just mean I really needed to. The parts that want to self harm feel respected and listened to, my hurt and abused parts feel seen because I'm paying attention to them and not fighting with the self harm part and we all get to move through the experience with grace.

8. We will honour our abused parts with self compassion, understanding, acceptance, and encouragement

Fucking damn right I will, in every way I can.

So yeah, that was my first 5 seconds on DID twitter how was your day?

[suwisuwii]

When my ex finally moved out I thought I wouldn't really see him again. Or just not very often. Now, I know he isn't going to move back in to live with me, just my daughter, but I have been anxious all day.

My daughter is coming back tomorrow, and he'll be staying at an airbnb or something until he finds a place.

The reason why I allowed my daughter to leave is because she was supposed to stay with his family, who would take proper care of her. That is no longer the case.

Now why didn't I offer to let him stay here too until he finds something?

I know the moment he sits down in my house, he won't leave.

(I'm going to be talking about some graphic details below, tw for death, murder, rape, suicide mention )

This guy tricked me into getting pregnant, following him to his country, and doing sex work for years. He never tried to find a job, he was perfectly happy with me working 24h a day, not seeing my daughter for weeks, just so I could afford him a work-free life. I had agreed to a few months of it while he looked for a job, and was now trapped in it without an end in sight.

When a client raped me and almost killed me, he said it was "part of the job".

On another occasion one of my coworkers was murdered and dismembered, and he showed no symphathy when he saw her on the news and I told him that was my friend.

(the killer is now in jail, I had met him once and I won't go into details but I survived because I made a scene and he left. I felt sick for a few days but it wasn't enough to kill me. He has been found guilty of 3 murders, and 7 attempts)

But I just kept on going and didn't feel human anymore.

At a point I was in therapy because I wanted to die. I wasn't even sad or upset, I just thought of myself as a disposable tool. I was soon to have enough money to buy a flat in cash, and I would buy that for him and my daughter, and then just die. I felt happy thinking about the time when I would finally be free and die.

The only reason I was able to stop, and wiggle out of that situation was because of the first covid lockdown. The whole country shut down for months, we literally were not allowed fo leave our house unless we were going to buy essentials (police asked for receipts). Initially I felt trapped, slowed down. I had to be alive a little longer.

Things changed when I made friends, even if online, for the first time in years. I started seeing myself as a person again and not a tool.

I broke up with him, and kept on mantaining him economically for years just because I felt obligated to. But I started making art again during that time and earning money for myself. When he left, I thought it was finally over.

I know I am realistically not in danger but as my partner said to me today, every time he calls I end up spiraling in a frenzy. I think it's the trauma.

In any case. I can't wait to have my daughter back. And whatever happens, I'll fight to keep my freedom.

I'm also very grateful for the partner I have now. I was in a bad mental state today, and he said that he will not let anything bad happen to me. It sounds like something simple but I know he means it. And I don't feel as scared if he's supporting me.

I know I can't lose my freedom now but damn every time I get so scared. I guess that's how trauma works. It's not rational.

[mdhwrites]

Continuing with your thoughts on Belos and the non-characters of the protagonists, as I was watching WaD I realized I was rooting for Belos rather than the main character and I wanted your thoughts on that.

Although Belos' character needs the improvements you mentioned, he at least still has agency, in that he is moving the plot along through action rather than reaction.

He has a definable goal (genociding all witches) backed by clear motivations (puritanical belief system; a witch caused him to accidentally kill his brother). He has a plan to accomplish this (rising to imperial power; creating grimwalkers to bring his brother back to life) and yet still experiences setbacks (day of unity foiled; grimwalkers always betray him). He is no less determined, and suffers for his beliefs (rotting body; traumatic hallucinations) while he aims to recoup his losses and finally accomplish his ultimate goal (first attempting to possess the Collector and failing, then attempting to possess the Titan and succeeding)

In short, Belos is a more compelling protagonist than Luz, who has things happen to her without her input (her palisman hatching, Amity telling her how to get out of the Collector's dreamworld, the Titan explaining how she can win still, etc). Also, as you said, by the end of S3 she is at her most unlikable, making us less sympathetic to her. She has no personal goals of her own that connect to her as a character beyond desperately wishing to be accepted by others, which makes her out to be more of a people-pleaser than anything (read: a flaw).

I love Luz, I really do. But she could have been more than what she became. She wasn't allowed to have an impact on the plot, and I regret that. Literally any other main character could take her place and the outcome of the finale wouldn't budge a nudge. It ended up making me root for the villain over the actual protagonist, and that seems like a pretty big problem for a show.

Okay, I try to mostly do my asks mostly in order so this has been long overdue. Let's fix that. *cracks neck* Though... Really for that big statement... This isn't one I have a great into. I've made it clear that while I dislike Luz, I actually find her easier to talk about than Belos. That I personally could never root for him because I find anything good about him to be posturing that the show not only doesn't back up but actively undermines. That a good performance and some good lines don't make up for the fact that nothing he does really has a proper impact on anything or anyone. Worse yet, I've already talked about how people really need to stop asking for 'proactive' protagonists because they're not really a thing and commonly DEEPLY detrimental to your story. So... What am I supposed to say here? Simple: Let's talk about payoff. Because at the point where you're rooting for the villain, it's because you know that they can provide a bigger, more shocking payoff than the characters and that what they have been doing, the enjoyment they have been providing, hasn't been working. Because, especially with a racist fuck like Belos, you aren't rooting for him to win. You're rooting for him to genuinely come one second from the brink of winning. This is where sheer entertainment is actually kind of a big deal. 'The Rule of Cool' exists for a reason. If it looks badass enough, has enough production value and has you screaming at the top of your lungs, SOMETHING is going right. In my opinion, this is actually why I like Michael Bae's first Turtles Movie (I saw it in the break room while working at Walmart) because yes, they destroy physics. They survive shit they shouldn't. It has some really dumb shit in it but it is ALL fun. It couldn't pump the breaks even if wanted to because they ripped them out five years ago because YOLO MOTHERFUCKERS! This is a level of entertainment that TOH understood in S1 and seemed to lose until the finale of S3. It's part of why the magic being so boring matters because I'd overlook plotholes more if the magic inciting the plotholes was more fun. It's actually maybe the ONE kindness I'll give Eslewhere Elsewhen because the time portals get some good gags when they're first introduced and I'm not going to deny that. But how about Looking Glass Ruins? It's actually a perfect showcase of when this principle works and when it doesn't. Gus' retcon on illusion is dog shit. It is one of the worst, blatant choices with the magic system. But MAN that ending sequence with Gus! Does it make sense? Not really with just how ludicrously, stupidly powerful it does paint Gus. Does it make you actively question why he spent all of S1 doing jack and shit? Yes. Is it one of the best sequences in The Owl House and genuinely lives up to how terrifying the reality of Illusion magic is? ABSOLUTELY. It's why while I hate the glyph stuff in that side of the episode, I can't hate his plotline entirely because it's just a great fantasy sequence with some good use of horror elements.

But uh... What about that Amity and Luz plot? It's an extremely basic forbidden section, it makes no sense once you find out the head librarian is a chill stoner dude and the payoff is just a cheek kiss for Luz who incited the problem in the first place. She gets it for getting Amity's job back in a high stakes, dangerous adventure... That's off screen. If you're a Lumity shipper, you eat well enough to make up for the fact that really all they do is stand around and talk with multiple backgrounds behind them the entire episode, not even entirely making sense during those moments (this is actually pretty much the ONLY episode where Amity acts dumb because of Luz. Amity doesn't make enough mistakes in the series to justify that line, potent as it is. This is also the only time she's faced actual consequences for her closeness to Luz.) Worse yet, you're robbed of the adventure and potential comedy that is theoretically the core of the show for the sake of cute, gay panic. And I like gay panic but I also kind of want to see this book dragon. One of those is creative while the fact that it's a book mouse instead of a book worm is all that's special about "This creature eats documents and then can broadcast them." And you know... That's an episode where all the payoffs still work. THE ENTIRETY OF S3 IS ABOUT PAYOFFS THAT DON'T WORK.

Luz's angst? I've talked at length about how dog shit her character finish is and that dominates SO MUCH TIME? And what do you get for it? Stringbean? A character people rightfully were pissed about being way too special and not making any sense? And still reflects poorly on Luz's character finish by being literally the opposite of what she's talking about? I did a whole blog on this too.

How about Hunter being a Grimmwalker? We get one conversation with Gus and I guess Hunter getting possessed and then getting magic, one moment that is laughably short frankly and does NOT fix the issues with Hunter's 'arc' and I still despise him getting magic through his best friend dying because it meant we'd NEVER get anything interesting out of him not having his own magic and that's without getting into anything about disability allegories. Oh, and yeah, HIS BEST FRIEND DIED AND WE JUST HAVE TO MOVE ON FOR TIME. Belos' backstory? Entirely wasted to the point where people's frustrations with it come up like once a week in my Discord because it seemed to so clearly be building up to something only for Belos to come right back around to being a dumb, boring, racist villain with nothing more interesting to him. How about villains before Belos? Well, the Collector is poorly written, makes no sense and is written like he's actually five instead of five thousand. Kikimora is the only other villain and she should have been gone so long ago and what does she lead to? Another mech fight? Who we don't even get to see beaten but instead the bully character who has been literally nothing but a joke for over a season assures as she finally got put in her place. This is writing that from a viewer standpoint is ETERNALLY infuriating. You're waiting for something to happen and the closest you get for two specials, effectively four-five episodes of the show, is Willow angst about her magic and feelings in a way that hasn't been true to her character in literally two seasons. If ever. For a character who is 90% plot device for other characters.

Honestly, at that point wanting them all dead and to see the villain win, just for the sheer shock and brutality of it all, seems kind of reasonable when you can't expect anything satisfying from the heroes. I'd argue, in my opinion, they even fucked up Belos' death for a really bad jab at fucking Steven Universe. HOW MANY SHOWS DO YOU THINK REDEEM THE FINAL BAD!? It's a lot less than you seem to think Owl House so why don't you shut up, especially after you REDEEMED THE COLLECTOR AND DID NOTHING WITH HIM! That's not even a joke. They come up with a contrivance so he can't do shit and then he fucks off. Why? Don't fucking know. Maybe the writers realized that a childish god is really hard to write around and should have given it more thought. Like... Anyone who just couldn't give a fuck by the time they're fighting Dragon Belos, especially once Luz is just given a super form so it's time for the victory lap after she didn't have to work that hard to beat the Collector (that's the impression I've been given since NO ONE talks about the Collector's redemption. Literally the only scene I've seen from that part of the episode is Luz playing with Amity's face.) so the stakes are rock bottom already. And boy, the jokes of the episode don't help with it. The fact that it's callback after callback is cute and good for a finale but how many of these jokes are robbing any momentum of the moment? Fucking everything to do with the Collector in the finale seems to be this way where it's like "Hahaha. Okay now let's actually back to the point." Even when he's trying to be serious like not understanding death, I'm sitting here going "Okay but you wanted to play with corpses and grind bones. You don't get to do this shit and not piss me off." So wanting to just make everyone shut up through Belos winning? I can get it. I definitely wouldn't but I didn't watch S3 for a reason because I recognized that with how everything was written up to it and ESPECIALLY after the first special, I wouldn't enjoy any of it. Not when its only payoffs are in fanservice and romance instead of its magic, adventure, comedy, narrative, characters... You know: Technically all the things it pitched in its beginning. It pitched by claiming to be a professional, animated, comedy adventure. So why not root for Belos? You'll get just as much rooting for him as any other part of the show. +++++++

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead, If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And finally a Twitter you can follow too!

[featherlouise]

So, does Hollow just die in that AU where Radiance took control of them? Or is there even a scrap of a good ending there?

Hi anon!! Istg I did not mean to wait this long to answer holy shit it’s been nearly 2 weeks I am SO sorry

But okok originally, I just wanted to redraw the “Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan” painting with my gijinkas, so YES Hollow was originally supposed to just. Die. In this au.

BUT since I’m a sucker for pre-sealing AUs where Hollow gets the chance to forge real relationships with the people around them, ig it’s my turn to do it now lol

SO!! Idk how canon this is, but I headcannon that, while the infection reduces people to their base instincts generally, the Radiance can choose to individually control certain bugs, so when she realises that the so called “Pure Vessel” isn’t hollow, she realises she has the perfect opportunity to take out the Pale King in a way that he’d never see coming, mostly bc of how deep in denial he is that Hollow is hollow, and bc he’s so confident that he’s safe within the palace walls; he’d be caught completely off guard.

So, long story short, Radi infects Hollow instead of Xero (ik he’s not a knight but the caption sounded more dramatic that way) and tries to assassinate the king. In a last ditch attempt to stop attacking their father, Hollow momentarily wrestles back control and stabs themself instead, which further confirms the fact to PK that his child has a will of their own.

Like. When Hollow stumbles in, dishevelled, hair out of place, their armour nowhere to be seen, he genuinely assumes that they’ve finished their tasks for the day and have been ordered into his study. When he realises they’re infected, his initial thought isn’t that they’re alive, but that he was wrong in his assumption that you need to have a mind to become infected, and he’s essentially given Radi an empty puppet to play with. It’s only when Hollow takes the initiative to fight back against Radi that it clicks for him.

So! I’m open to suggestions about how or why this happens bc I’ve not figured it out yet (maybe Radi figures Hollow’s a lost cause and there’s no point wasting more energy on keeping them under her control is they’re dying anyway??? Maybe some void fuckery happens??) the point is, as PK takes Hollow into his arms for perhaps the first time in their life, the heat of the infection leaves their eyes, and PK manages to heal them enough that he can call for help without worrying that they’re going to bleed out in his arms immediately.

In the palace gardens, where Hornet is having a tea party with Herrah and the White Lady, PK’s cry for help is heard and Hollow is taken into a room where they can rest and heal (in the same wing of the palace as pk and wl’s room bc holy fucking shit we’ve been treating our child like an object their whole life they don’t even have a proper bedroom wtf is wrong with us).

That’s honestly as far as I’ve gotten with anything regarding a plot,

Again, I’m really sorry for the wait I swear I didn’t forget lmao and I hope this was worth it?? Did I even answer your question or did I just ramble for however many words

TL;DR: Hollow does survive!! There’s just a lot of whump before, during and after!!

[bthebeachboi]

LA WON <3 aka LA n how I see him

Kinda sad that my boi SF didn't win or Oakland since I didn't make anything of him before, but!! LA it is (and for the people who wanted San Diego, there's smth small under the cut, tho remember that's how I see him)

LA, since he's not built like Austin, has his own body. He suffers a lot for beauty, since he fully believes that he has to. Him and San Francsico are totally different that way, since he doesn't care how people see him and still ends up being usually beautiful.

Things that LA did for beauty: he dyes his hair blond, since he got Cal's hair color (like most cities); he keeps his hair long and spends hours taking care of it, usually loosing his sleeping time; he uses different online diets and it gets bad enough that Oakland gives him a visit with an actual dietishan(?) so he has a proper one; he keeps himself smooth, so he shaves a lot since all of the cities are prone to have some body hair.

I am a firm believer that LA doesn't exercise that much, he usually likes to keep himself skinny, not buff. A lot of his beauty standards are very female beauty standarts, which does come from the fact that ma Cal is trans! When none of the cities ended up being female (how I see it - there's a version of male and female states and their cities and some of the versions disappear (("male" Hawaii exsisted, but was removed for obvoius reasons; since My Cal is trans, his "male version" would be B!))), people who were "watching" them didn't know what to make of it and the more popular cities (San Francisco, San Diego, Los Angeles) were being "pushed" toward the female stuff, but with SF they failed, SD was used as "male California" since he couldn't get a word in at that time (ignoring the when he went full cryptid few times and ended up killing Gov. men :D), somehow Los Angeles was a very easy target.

California still feels guilty that he couldn't keep him safe, though he shouldn't have to in the first place.

BUT, SINCE THOSE HC WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MORE "PRIDE"

LA is pansexual, he never really questioned it much, which is the only thing he never questioned, even if he's an overthinker. He realized at his first Pride Parade when he saw how he loved everyone, he was actually overwhelmed by how he found so many people attractive, since he tried his best at distancing from people for years.

I feel like LA, from all the cities, would be the one to like and feel good with They/Them pronouns, but he also doesn't fully care about them! He believes more into catching people with his looks than catching people with who he is.

He is lowkey poly, but he doesn't actually realize that, since he believes that it "comes with his sexuality" that he loves a lot of people. Not fully his fault, since he actually likes to say that "he is still learning about himself and who knows, stuff might change!" (it will.)

San Francisco knows. He was the one who mentioned to him the "pansexual" stuff, since he's questioning himself all the time (the only thing he overthinks.)

From other cities n stuff, those are the ones that he had/has a crush on:

Austin, because he's the only reason he actually can survive Texas without trying to skin him (SF is holding a rock, a very sharp rock.); he ADORED NYC for a while, but it was only because of the idea of him, not actually because of him; he's aroused and scared every time he sees any city from Alaska or the bearman himself; flirted with a lot of fem NY cities, not proud of it because it made him like B (who still flirts with every fem state that is interested in men in one way or another); he did like Mom and he still believes that her father was a dilf (he was).

Since I believe that B is like the sun and Cal is like the moon, LA would make a good polar star, wouldn't he? He shines the brightest, still believes that it's not good enough. And like a star, one day the fire - the thing he feels he needs more of - will be his end. (I believe that my boi would absolutly wear glasses too, but i hid most of his face anyway)

Now!! Some stuff for the San Diego fans:

He is the one I see as most likely not minding he/she pronouns, he believes that since Cal is both versions, then he must be too!! But that comes from the fact that he's very very queer, he doesn't know any specifics nor does he care about them. He likes the good vibes and colors, but he'd like it more if people wouldn't try to get him into "a box", even if he's okay with being called "queer", he likes how it sounds, doesn't really care about it much more.

He likes pretty peope and he has a lot of body art (tattoos) made by pretty people ;) do the math yourself.

If Cal is the moon, B is the sun, LA is the star and SF is the eclipse then San Diego is the earth.

He is us, he is our love and he is everything that we love. He looks at us with softness that one isn't born with, but that one made by seeing us at our lowest. He is the one thing that would stay if it could, for us, but it only depends on us. (am sorry that sky is so fuckin bad I just suck at 'em).

He's also one of the only California's cities with natural blond hair!! I usually imagine him looking closely to Florida - shirt with no sleeves to show off his tattoos, sunglasses n messy blond hair - he's every "stereotypical surfer" combained.

[lilithfairen]

why am I doing this to myself

...it's another episode of "Fixing RWBY". To recap this trainwreck of a rewrite: we spent several episodes on Celtic Phoenix's fetishization of Asian culture, stalling the plot for no good reason; we had numerous scenes that were only about making Roman Torchwick look cool; Adam showed up on the Argus Limited train and the men told Team RWBY to stay in the kitchen; then Adam caused the train to derail and Team RWBY barely survived the aftermath with their companions' aid because Celtic Phoenix hates women being protagonists.

Now it's time for the Lost Fable, which compose "episodes" six and seven of Fixing RWBY. A reminder that this was Episode Three of V6 proper, showing how padded to hell this "rewrite" is.

Anyway...

Celtic Phoenix starts off by taking grave offense over...Salem supposedly looking too old in Fairy Tales of Remnant. Really. (I feel like pointing out that this is a guy who has written explicit Madoka Magica fanfics, if you want to know where he's coming from.)

Anyway, the story's effectively the same, it tells about Ozma and Salem getting together…and then reveals the framing device to be NEO READING THE GIRL IN THE TOWER. Because remember, Neo is one of the few female characters Celtic Phoenix likes because she's subservient to the character he made into his self-insert.

Then it shifts into a young Yang being read the story, followed by older Yang reading it herself, then a young Blake. So basically, the only real difference in this "rewrite", this "fixing" of the show, is an incredibly awkward, pointless, and confusing framing device.

In fact, I'm not going to summarize any more of this, for the obvious reason we've all become accustomed to. This might be surprising to folks who are unfamiliar with this trainwreck, but I really do need to drive home the fact that, in this rewrite of this supposed-so-awful story, where Celtic Phoenix bitched about "must I fix everything?" at the start of this video because a female character didn't look underage enough for his liking,

THE ENTIRE SALEM BACKSTORY IS ALMOST EXACTLY THE SAME AS CANON. THERE ARE NO MEANINGFUL DIFFERENCES IN THIS WHATSOEVER.

You know what this episode actually is?

It's Celtic Phoenix trying to rip off Fairy Tales of Remnant. Except that worked because each tale was a self-contained story, even as their themes and subjects pertained to the worldbuilding and story of RWBY.

Here, what we get is a disoriented and bizarre framing device that interrupts the story for no benefit whatsoever. It adds nothing to the reveal of Ozpin's past to have these scenes of characters randomly reading stories. It's a nonsensical way to handle Jinn telling the characters about Ozma and Salem's history.

But most telling is the way the story handles the framing device, and the order of the characters shown. Because the emphasis isn't on Team RWBY, by having any of their members be the first or last taking part in the framing device. Rather, it's Neo that starts it off and Qrow that concludes it.

Then at the end Beowulves show up, Team RWBY can't fight because their weapons are damaged (because Celtic Phoenix desperately wants to keep THE MAIN FUCKING CHARACTERS of this show from actually doing ANYTHING), but Maria shows up. End of episode.

Once again we're reminded of the fact that this is a guy who insists that everything about RWBY is so horrible and terrible, yet 99% of his rewrite is just rehashing the series note-for-note, just without the female leads having any agency whatsoever—and now we can add "ripping off the spin-off" to the list.

Talentless hack.